As the plane climbs higher and higher in the sky- the world below spread out like a map- Henry finally allows himself to relax. He sighs and sinks back in his seat, feet scuffing the ground, and checks his phone. A sharp exhale of breath hisses from his lungs, followed by a muffled laugh as he reads the message there:

An image pops up in his head; Alex in said suit, curls artfully tousled and that wicked grin of his that makes Henry want to do unspeakable things to him curling a corner of his mouth. Fingers beginning to shake, he sends back:

then returns to being nagged constantly by Pez on the topic of what suit he's going to wear; what array of semi-famous celebrities he thinks will be attending.

Henry barely hears him. His thoughts are all full up Alex. He wonders what the First Son is doing now; probably surrounded by a cloud of hairstylists, his sister June nagging him like Pez is doing to Henry. He smiles a little at the picture, and jumps when Pez confronts him:

"You haven't been listening."

"I-"

"So much for royal manners."

"I wasn't aware they even existed- if you take my brother as an example."

"Yeah, well Phillip's just a prick. I hardly think he can count for your whole family."

"Whatever." Henry waves away Pez impatiently, already leaning forwards in his seat to try and catch a glimpse of America on the horizon.

The rest of the flight passes by in a whirl of food and bad films and Pez's even worse jokes that he produces from up his shirt sleeve- proclaiming loudly that he somehow managed to smuggle them out of a Christmas cracker over dinner the previous night.

The trip passes by, and then- just like that- they're there.

***

The gentle breeze cradles Henry in a warm embrace as soon as he steps from the plane onto the slick concrete of the landing strip, flanked one either side by two hulking security guards. It's warm here- much warmer than in perpetually grey, foggy England, and he's not used to it, he thinks, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun.

His team of security are met by the White House's own- who look like bigger, more-tanned and even more muscled versions of the English ones. They escort them to the standard car- black-out windows, bulletproof glass, the usual array of paperwork and NDA's lying around on the backseats that he and Pez sign; Henry with his signature lack of enthusiasm, and Pez with his usual flourish and drama.

"Come on, H, you could at least try and look as though you're excited- international relations and all. Exciting!" Pez fake cheers, and Henry frowns.

"I'm fine. It's just jetlag." He answers shortly, stiffly.

Now that Henry's actually here- in Washington, with the White House an ever nearing smudge of cream and brick in the car's windscreen, he's beginning to feel sick; maybe this wasn't a good idea- maybe there was some mistake, and Alex didn't mean to invite him at all.

But maybe...maybe Henry's just nervous. Just letting his nerves get the better of him. Because the thought of seeing Alex- of seeing him in person- is enough to banish even the most stubborn of his 'maybes'.

"You ready?" Pez grins at Henry, as the car slows, then jerks to a stop in the imposing shadow of the White House. He grits his teeth, then pulls a painful smile, conjuring up that image of Alex in his mind and shoving away his nerves for later.

"Yeah. Let's do this."

One last glance at Pez, and then the two of them step out of the car and into the already dimming evening light.