Helga was so engrossed in her book that she didn't realise someone was climbing up the ladder until she caught a flash of movement in her peripheral vision. She jumped, her heart thudding in surprise, and thudding harder when she realised who it was.

"Oh, Hey Arnold." She croaked. What the hell is he doing here?

He flinched at her voice, his eyes raking up and down her as he clambered up onto the wooden floor. Her heart fluttered as she appraised him, she almost never saw him up close nowadays. He was just in a hoodie and jeans, both wet. The hair falling into his eyes was beaded with water, his face was pale, drawn.

"Hi, Helga." She could hear the petulance in his voice and her heart sank. She supposed she couldn't blame him for hating her…

"Whatcha doin?" She tried to keep her voice light, she couldn't remember the last time she had spoken directly to Arnold. He fell into the chair beside her, his eyes swept around the space.

"Just trying to find some peace and quiet."

Well… that was a hint if ever I heard one. "Yeah, Pete's good for that." Helga said softly and turned back to her book, resting her chin in her palm.

It was peaceful, sitting in the old tree house in the rain. The rustling of Pete's leaves and the occasional crackle as Helga turned a page in her book made it easy to ignore the traffic noise. A light fleece blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, her feet up on the seat. She was warm and cosy, and alone with Arnold. She could hear him fidgeting, stretching his legs out, tapping his feet on the wooden boards of the floor. She turned a page, not quite sure if she was reading the words in front of her eyes or not.

"What do you do when it gets dark?" He asked suddenly, surprising her. Since when did Mr Shortman ever initiate conversations Miss Pataki?

She raised an eyebrow at him. "That's rather forward of you, don't ya think?" A smile curved her lips, mocking him. He shook his head.

"Reading, I mean. Do you have a torch or something?"

She grinned. "Better than that." She bent the corner of her page over and closed the book, slapping it down onto the beer crate that served as a table between the chairs. Leaning over, she pulled a backpack up off the floor into her lap. "Camping lantern." She put it on the crate and turned it on.

White light flooded the small space. "Cool… what else you got in there?" He leaned forward, actually smiling. This is… strange.

"Uh…" she peered into the bag. "Water, coke, chips, cookies… another book, if you wanted to read a cheap sci-fi?" She looked up at him "I wasn't expecting company, sorry. But feel free to help yourself to my meagre offerings." She held the bag out.

Arnold waved the bag away. "No thanks. Not hungry." He rubbed at his arms, the wet fabric bunched beneath his fingers. Helga tugged at her blanket, feeling suddenly guilty… the poor guy was saturated!

"Cold?"

He smiled ruefully at her "Freezing."

She leaned forward again, twisting to pull a grey sweatshirt from where it was jammed between her back and the chair. "If you don't mind smelling like a girl?" She held it out to him. "It's huge on me, so you should be fine."

He took it from her fingers. "Shit, thanks Helga." He stood to tug off his wet jumper, frowning when he realised that the water had soaked through to his T-shirt.

"Don't mention it." She curled back into her chair, regarding him. "Take off your shirt, dumbass, or you'll just get wet again." She scowled. "And before you ask, no, I don't care if you're naked under my jumper… look, I'll even close my eyes." She put her hands over her eyes theatrically.

Arnold's wearing my sweatshirt. She heard the slap of wet fabric as he dropped it on the floor. Even after all this time, he made her feel funny. She wasn't in love with him anymore, by any means… but some part of her ego wanted him to acknowledge her, and that same bit of ego made her sensitive around him. Damn. She thought that would have stopped by now… she hadn't even really talked to him in years. She mentally slapped herself. Stop being a moron. She scolded herself.

"Look at that, it's a perfect fit." He mused as he hung his damp clothes over a bunch of sticks that had been stacked in a corner.

"Always prepared, that's me!" She saluted him.

"Yeah… you are…" He eyed her again, all curled up in her blanket thing, with her book and her lantern. "You come up here often or something?"

She shrugged, her chin in her hand again, her elbow on the arm of the chair. "I suppose so. Gotta get out of that house sometimes, y'know?"

His laugh was derisive. "yeah… I know." He sighed.

They sat in silence for a minute, both of them looking out into the rain. "So, Football Head, why are you hanging out in a tree house with me of all people, instead of getting shitfaced at a party and shagging some chick you hardly know… like a normal teenager?" She grinned "After all, it is Friday night."

It was his turn to shrug. "I dunno. I just used to go to parties to give Gerald moral support… now that he's finally gotten up the guts to ask Phoebe out, I don't get dragged along anymore."

"Ditched for the new girlfriend, huh?"

Arnold frowned. "Not really. A little I suppose, but I don't mind. I don't actually like those massive piss-ups, to tell you the truth."

She chuckled. "Why doesn't that surprise me."

He chose to ignore that. "What about you, PacMan… how come you aren't at whatever big shitstorm is brewing tonight?"

"I hate that name." She scowled. Pacman Pataki… chasing down freshmen to eat in the hallways.

"I know you do… probably not as much as I hate Football Head though… so answer the question."

"Fair enough." She tugged her blanket thing tighter around her. "Uh… fuck. I dunno. I hate parties. I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I'm not exactly a people person." She grinned ruefully. "Honestly, I don't feel like I'm missing out. I only have a good time if I get pissed, and the last thing I want is to turn into my mother, so I just keep away from those things as much as I can."

She cringed as she heard the words leave her mouth, twisting out into the ether. Too much, I must be more tired than I thought. She never talked about Miriam… it was embarrassing enough to have an alcoholic train wreck of a mother without inserting her presence into conversation.

"So you come sit in a tree, instead."

"Hey man, you're up here too!" She grinned. "I don't know why more people don't come up here, actually… not that I'm complaining. But you'd think this place would be inundated with drunk kids on the weekends."

Arnold laughed. "They've tried. Mr Roberts calls the cops as soon as there's any noise."

"Ah, that's it. Cool… my retreat stays mine." She grabbed the bottle of water from her bag and took a slug. "Snack?" She offered, trying to keep the conversation in safe waters.

He took a cookie. "Thanks… Hey, Helga…" He started, unsure whether to proceed.

"Yeah?"

"Are you OK, like, with your family?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because you don't want to go home."

They sat in silence, Helga's gaze fell to her lap. Eventually, she sighed. "No, not really. Miriam drinks because Bob's a cheating, bullying asshole. I'm not being actively abused or anything Arnold, you don't need to call the cops… it's just not a nice place to be."

Well, so much for benign chit-chat.

Her fingers toyed with her blanket thing, pulling at the tassels on one corner. "You can always come to my place, if you need a place to stay." Arnold said softly.

She couldn't look at him. An infuriating mix of shame and elation roiled in her stomach. She wanted to hang out with Arnold, but not under the pretence of pity.

"I'm not a stray, Arnold." She murmured, her brow furrowing as she concentrated on destroying her blanket.

He sighed. "Don't be like that."

"Like what."

"Like throwing a perfectly reasonable offer back in my face. I'm not asking you to move in, just offering you a place to crash if you need it." They sat for a second. "Actually, fuck that, I'm offering you somewhere to hang out, so you don't need to spend all your evenings in a tree."

"So we can be like Forrest Gump and Jen-nay?" Helga scoffed. "I could climb through your window at night and we could cosy up beneath the covers." Arnold cringed, that sarcastic sneer was in her voice. Why do I do this?

"Why is that such an outrageous idea? What the hell is it about me that makes you so sure we could never be friends? Why can't we just hang out like normal people?"

"Because you make me feel uncomfortable!" She barked. "I don't know what to say! Oh yes please Arnold! I would love to come and crash on your sofa when my father decides to have a tantrum and throw his dinner plate through the television again! Can you get me a key cut?" She glared at him, watching his face collapse, but she couldn't shut up. "How am I supposed to tell you the shit that goes on at home? What if I just want to curl up and bawl my eyes out? I couldn't do that in front of you. What would I even say at the front door? Hi Phil, just come to escape my horrible household again, yes, I'd love to stay for dinner, thanks."

"Do you talk to anyone?"

"Yes."

"Who."

"Dr Bliss."

He blinked. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yeah. For ages now, off and on."

"Well shit. I never knew."

"Yeah, only Phoebe knows. I suppose it goes without saying that you should keep that to yourself?" She glared again, furious at herself for being unable to shut her damn mouth.

Arnold smiled. "Yeah. You know I wouldn't say anything." He sighed. "Would Dr Bliss tell you to accept my offer?"

Helga growled, throwing her head back and closing her eyes in frustration. "Well fuck, Arnold. Yes, she probably would."

"So why won't you?"

"Because I don't want you to pity me!" It was all too much. She jumped up from her chair, pulling the blanket thing off her and bundling it up. "This is all going wrong. I didn't want this. I thought when you came up here that we might actually just… I dunno… talk like normal people or something for once. But you have to get all heavy, always prodding and poking and shit. Why can't you just let it go?"

She stuffed the blanket into her bag, ranting as she went. "I can take care of myself, you know. I've been doing it for long enough. If you invite me over to your place, I want you to do it because you want to spend time with me, not because you see me as some pathetic waif who needs babysitting."

"Helga, please…"

"… No! I don't want you to pay attention to me because you feel sorry for me." She tugged her jacket from where it was hooked on the back of her chair and wrenched it onto her arms. "You've only ever noticed me when you've felt bad for me, and I fucking hate it. That's why I can't accept your offer. You don't treat me like I'm a whole person… you treat me like all I am is my shitty domestic situation."

She slung her bag over one shoulder and stomped to where the ladder hung from the floor. "Keep the sweatshirt." She growled before she hooked her feet in the rungs and disappeared from sight.

Helga heard him call to her as she stormed across the grass. "I'm sorry, OK? Come back!" She balled her hands into fists. "Aw, c'mon! Don't… don't…" But she turned out onto the footpath and she couldn't hear him anymore.