A/N: The Ice King's story made me cry for him... so I wrote this bit of happy Christmas-y fluff about Simon and Betty before the sadness. Just a oneshot for fun.

Also, yes, slight allusions to the Betty/Dr. Princess theory. I couldn't help it.

Carry This Picture

"Who is that girl?" Simon Petrikov nervously whispered to his roommate and best- well, let's be honest, only- friend.

It was a Friday night, and there were hoards of people in the pub, mostly undergraduate students around Simon's age. Finals were over, everyone would be going home for Christmas soon to be with their families, and they were all in the mood to celebrate.

Simon wasn't much for parties though. His nights and weekends were diligently spent on his studies. He considered himself a model student, as did his professors. He never missed a deadline for any assignment, never answered wrong on a test. Whenever he finished a paper ahead of schedule, allowing him some free time, he would spend it making his way down a list of books one of his professors had recommended, even though they weren't required reading for the class.

In short, Simon was a nerd. And he was okay with that. He was happy and thankful every day just to be where he was, going to a respected college, working toward his dream, and if he had to sacrifice any hope of a social life to make that dream come true, well, that was all right. In fact, it was a good excuse not to have to stumble through awkward conversations, embarrass himself in front of girls, accidentally rambling on about the differences between one ancient culture and another.

His natural aversion to socialization was the cause of his anxiety that night, after his roommate had insisted, rather forcefully, that Simon come along with him for a night out. He was too young to drink, as were most of the attendees, but the bartender was in a charitable mood, and after all, it was the holidays, so Simon nursed a single glass of eggnog for nearly half an hour before he noticed her.

He swallowed and pushed his wire-framed glasses up on his nose. He didn't know how he could have missed her when she walked in. She looked a character out of a fairy tale, with rosy pink cheeks and hair the color of sunset. He thought she must be the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on.

When his roommate ignored the inquiry, Simon tugged on his sleeve to get his attention. "Gunther," he said insistently. "That girl over there at the end of the bar, do you know her?"

"The redheaded nerd in the green sweater-dress-thing?" Gunther asked, pointing his chin in the direction Simon was ogling.

"Yeah," Simon replied dreamily.

"I don't know her."

"Oh." He was disappointed. If Gunther had known her, he could introduce the two of them, and they'd quickly discover how much they had in common; Simon could make jokes and she'd laugh, then of course they'd fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after- right after graduation. But, since that wasn't the case, he took another reluctant gulp of his eggnog, now room-temperature and watery from the melted ice, and decided to just admire her from afar for the rest of the night.

"What, you like her?" Gunther asked with a sly grin, nudging his friend. "You should go talk to her. She's kinda cute, I guess, for you."

Simon shook his head anxiously. "No, she probably has a boyfriend already." Pretty girls, in his experience, always had boyfriends.

"Well, you never know until you ask," Gunther pointed out. "She's over there alone, she's probably all nerdy and weird like you. I bet she totally goes for shy hipsters in argyle sweater vests and glasses."

"I didn't know what else to wear," Simon said defensively. "Not everyone has a tuxedo just hanging in their closet, you know. You look ridiculous in that thing, by the way. You're incredibly over-dressed for this venue."

Gunther straightened his thin black necktie. "This isn't a tuxedo, it's just a black suit, and I happen to look amazing in it. Don't be jealous. And don't change the subject. You're going over there."

Simon huffed and rolled his eyes, about to argue, but Gunther turned him around by the shoulders and gave him a hard shove. He stumbled, almost bumping into several people, but eventually caught himself and regained his balance, amazed that he hadn't spilled his drink. When he turned to glare at Gunther, he saw that his friend had already fled the scene and appeared to be chatting up a group of girls by the pool table.

Feeling slightly betrayed even though he knew Gunther was only trying to do him a favor, Simon decided he might as well give it a shot. He took a deep breath and turned back toward the girl, who was now- wait, no, she couldn't be- smiling at him? He looked over one shoulder, then the other, since obviously the smile must have been meant for someone behind him, but to his surprise, there was no one there meeting her gaze. When he turned back again, she moved her eyes down to her drink, still smiling. He tried not to look too dumbfounded as he forced his legs to move toward her, ignoring the slight burning he felt in his cheeks, and was thankful for his skin-tone, which held a tan even in the winter, and didn't show when he blushed.

When he reached her, she looked up at him with eyes that sparkled behind her glasses, reflecting the white twinkle-lights that were lazily strung from the ceiling and along the edge of the bar. Simon opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, a large and ox-like boy bumped into him from behind, causing him to lurch forward, and spill the last of his eggnog onto the front of the red-haired girl's dress.

Simon gasped, instantly horrified. "Oh no, your dress, oh, I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed when he saw the mess he'd made.

The girl recovered quicker than he did. "It wasn't your fault," she said rather calmly. "It was that oaf behind you. He should learn to watch where he's going."

She had raised her voice loud enough for said oaf to hear that last part, and he regarded her rudely, letting out a grunt. "Excuse me, princess," the large boy said sarcastically before turning back to his group of friends, all obviously taking more advantage of the bartender's generosity than Simon had.

The girl rolled her eyes and shook her head, then looked down to examine the damage to her dress.

"Here," Simon said quickly, reaching into his back pocket and handing the girl a crisp white handkerchief. "Use this."

She took it and smirked at him. "You carry a hanky?"

Simon felt his cheeks burn again and he stared at the ground. "It's silly and old-fashioned, I know, but they come in handy."

"Obviously," she said brightly as she dabbed at the stain on her dress. "Although I don't think it's quite enough to fix this." She managed to soak up most of the eggnog, but there was still a large splotch on her dress that was a darker green than the rest. She handed the handkerchief back to Simon. "Will you lend me your sweater?" she asked him.

Simon swallowed and pushed his glasses up again. "M-my sweater?"

"Well I can't walk around looking like this," she laughed, gesturing to her dress. "And I don't want to wear my wool coat indoors."

"Of course." Simon shook himself out of the stupor her smile had put him in, removed his sweater vest and handed it to the girl.

"Thank you," she said sweetly. "You won't get too cold without it, I hope?"

Simon grinned and put a hand to his shaggy mop of dark brown hair, making sure it wasn't sticking up too much. "I'm Russian. I never get cold."

She laughed, a soft and musical sound, and Simon felt a strange lightness in his stomach. His sweater was large on her, but not overly so, as he had a fairly lanky built, and something about the sight of her wearing it gave him an odd sense of satisfaction.

"I'm Betty," she said, and held out a delicate looking hand.

"Simon," he replied, trying not to let his voice crack as he took her hand in his and shook it gently. He didn't ever want to let it go.

All the bustling sights and sounds of the dimly lit pub, the juvenile drinking games and cacophonous laughter of their peers, the tacky red and green plastic Christmas decorations, the faint smell of stale beer and tobacco- they all seemed to disappear. For hours, it was as if the place had been emptied out just so that Simon and Betty could get to know each other in peace.

He learned that she was pre-med, and had dreamed of being a doctor since she was a little girl. She asked him why he chose anthropology as a major, and actually seemed fascinated when he told her of his love of ancient artifacts, how they told stories about the the people who had crafted them so many years ago. They laughed and traded stories about their well-meaning, if slightly unfocused roommates, and wondered aloud how they managed to keep up with their studies along with such busy social schedules. He found out that she would be leaving the next morning on a plane for California, to stay with her parents over the break, and he tried not to look disappointed. It was ridiculous, because he knew quite well that he'd be on the bus back home tomorrow too, but for some reason, he still hated the idea that she'd be so far away for so long.

"So you won't get any snow for Christmas?" he asked, trying to keep things light.

"Not where my parents live, no," she said, a little disappointed. "Will you?"

Simon nodded. "In Syracuse? Definitely. Maybe I'll pack some up and send it to you when I get home," he joked.

She laughed and shook her head. "Somehow I doubt you could magically keep it from melting along the way."

He let his smile fade slightly and bit his lip. "Well, I could just give you a call instead."

Betty blushed and held his hopeful gaze for a long moment, then dug a pen and a scrap of paper from her handbag. "I thought you'd never ask."

Before he could silently rejoice, Simon felt two large hands grab his shoulders from behind. "Hey big papa!" Gunther said loudly, slurring his words just a bit. "It's almost closing time, you gotta help me walk home."

Simon rolled his eyes and let his best friend lean most of his weight on him. "Had some more of that eggnog, did you?"

Gunther didn't reply, just grinned slyly at Betty. "Well, hello, nice lady who is wearing my friend's clothes."

"Hello," she said a bit awkwardly, "Gunter, is it?"

"Sure, why not," he said, eying the sweater vest curiously.

Betty looked down, having obviously forgotten that it didn't belong to her. "Oh, right," she said and started to remove it.

"No, that's okay," Simon told her. "Just give it back next time I see you."

She smiled and slipped the scrap of paper into his hand. "Thanks. I should get a cab, I think my roommate left without me hours ago." She paused, looked to the floor, then back up to Simon and shyly kissed his cheek. "I'm really glad I came out tonight."

Simon wore a dopey expression and nodded. "Me too," he managed to say.

"Me too!" Gunther exclaimed.

Betty laughed, then got her coat from one of the hooks next to the door and headed out of the pub with one last look and a wave back at Simon. The moment she was out the door, Gunther straightened up.

"See, I told you talking to her was a good idea," he said, sounding as sober as ever.

Simon's jaw dropped in surprise as he watched his friend smooth out his hair with his hands and straighten his tie. "I thought you were smashed."

"Nah," Gunther laughed. "I just wanted you to look like an upstanding young gentleman compared to me. It totally worked too. Is that her number?"

Simon unfolded the little scrap of paper she had given him. "Yeah, it is."

Gunther punched him on the shoulder. "All right, man," he said happily and ruffled his friend's hair. "You're the king. I'm so proud."

Simon just smiled as they retrieved their coats and hurriedly made their way back to the apartment, only a few blocks away. Gunther complained about the cold, but Simon didn't even feel it. His thoughts were filled with pictures of Betty, the first girl he'd ever felt like he made a real connection with. She was pretty and smart and didn't get bored when he talked, or scan the room for someone more interesting. She was everything he could have hoped for, especially given the fact that he hadn't been looking to meet someone. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and chuckled to himself, inexplicably amused by the thought that somehow he already knew, just knew, that she was the girl he wanted to marry.