A short piece while I work on my other HA fic. This is one of several chapters. I don't believe in disclaimers because if the corporate sharks want to tear into me, then they will have me, eventually. The rating may go up a little, as a warning. Chapter Two should be up shortly. Any criticism, good or bad, is welcome. Thanks ahead of time.

"Go Rest High On That Mountain" is by Vince Gill.

Saison D'Enfer (A Season in Hell)

The only seat without a passenger lay next to Helga Pataki. He paused where he was, barely able to breathe. Because she was breath-taking? Well, no…well, yes, she was pretty, if you got right down to it, but actually, it was because in reality, he was scared shitless of her, and he knew it. A guy scared of a girl? A girl that still wore pigtails from time to time? Ah hell, Helga Pataki was not the average the female...far from it. She was strong -- very strong, and yes, it scared him and yet made him respectful of her domineering presence. She was just the sort of woman that commanded respect, he guessed, without actually having to ask for it. Or beat it out of someone, which she could still do. No, no male alive could fault him for being scared of this girl. It was just a fact of life that you came to deal with, like how you came to deal with the fact that jelly and peanut butter go together; you may not always like it, but they just go together, and there's nothing you can do about it.

The fact of life was…that girl could kick ass.

And not just other girls' asses. Hell, she could fist-fight with the best of them. She still scared Harold -- Harold who was a 350 pound linebacker, no less -- into making wee-wee in his pants when she scowled and raised that ever-loving fist of hers in his direction.

So he paused to collect his emotions a bit before he had to sit next to her. Gulping hard to make the lump caught in his throat pass, he continued on down the aisle slowly just to make the time pass quicker. If he was lucky, he could make the journey stretch some, and he would be at school before he had to even take the seat.

But who was he kidding? When it came to Helga, he had never been lucky.

Oh yes, he knew almost everything there was to know about her, but he still felt that she kept some things to herself that she was just afraid to let the general public, including him, know. Even though she had admitted long ago that she really liked him, he still found it a hard pill to swallow. Who could believe it? Helga had stayed nearly the same over the years. Sure, she had grown quieter and more pensive over the years, choosing to forgo her friendship with Phoebe altogether in favor of keeping to herself all of the time, but she could still brawl when the passion entered her. She could still be a bully, and yes, always to him. Curse genetics for his damned oval-shaped head that had never quite grown to fit the rest of his body.

But there he was right next to her, taking in her cheap, although be it overly flowery perfume. She was engulfed in some music and a book of poetry, which failed to surprise him. He sat next to her and cleared his throat.

Feeling the sudden change in the air around her, he watched her as she carefully marked her spot and closed the book. He looked at the worn cover and read the title indented in the leather: Arthur Rimbaud, Saison D'Enfer. She looked at him with curiosity plainly evident in her eyes. With music still playing, she asked, "How's life treating you, football head?"

He sighed and shook his head. "It never changes, does it, Helga?"

Thoroughly pleased with herself, he could tell, she smirked and answered, "Nope."

He sighed again and looked her over, taking everything in. Her hair was up in pigtails again -- two short ones streaked with hot pink. She was dressed in one of her many infamous black dresses -- dresses that made her look like she was always ready for some Victorian-style funeral if it were not for the heavy, black work boots that accompanied her feet. This dress was lacy and a bit more feminine-friendly than usual. Her face was painted with black make-up; eyes and mouth were covered completely. The way she pouted her lips when she wore black made her have a sexy aura about her. He noted that she had grown into a pretty girl over the years -- not drop-dead gorgeous but nothing to dismiss easily either. She still had the clearest blue eyes and the sunniest hair that reminded him of a nice summer day.

She was such an oxymoron to him; a gothic version of a Barbie doll come to life. The image he conjured made him laugh aloud, and she turned from looking out the window in order to figure out what was funny. He shrugged, smile still glued to his face, and she sneered and then turned her attention to the sites outside again. He almost broke into laughter again when he saw the look on her face, but quickly restrained himself, thinking better of it.

The he noticed the soft ballad coming from her headphones and out of curiosity, he leaned over and grabbed her left ear-bud so he could listen in. He wasn't ready for what was coming from the CD player -- Bluegrass music. He heard a man with a soothing voice singing something about resting high on some mountain, and the effect it had on him made him feel a sort of sleepy calm.

Suddenly, the piece was ripped away from him, and a very pissed Helga was frowning at him.

"Do you mind?" she growled.

He felt like laughing again, but he couldn't muster the courage to do so. Helga Pataki, derriere kicker extraordinaire, liked listening to Bluegrass? Gerald would absolutely laugh himself to death when he told him!

Ah, damn it. He just couldn't do it. He still felt like he owed her something every time she opened up to him. After all those years, he still felt guilty for never loving her back. Well, yeah, he liked her, and she was pretty and could be nice when she removed the stick from her ass, but he had never found the special thing in her that she seemed to have found in him long ago. He felt a certain paternal need to watch over her every now and then just because he knew her secret, and he would readily admit that he called her one of his friends…albeit on nonspeaking…or rather barely speaking terms, but he just didn't feel that way about her.

She reached down with her left hand and turned off the CD player and then took off her headphones, winding the cord carefully so it wouldn't tangle later. Then she peered up at him, maybe just to see if she had his attention; he didn't know. Smiling gently, she said as if she was answering what she thought was the question on his mind, "It's by Vince Gill. 'Go Rest High on the Mountain' is the name of the song." Then she hesitated slightly, and her eyes turned their attention to the floor. She seemed to be unsure of whether or not to continue talking to him.

Was he that far up there on the popularity peer scale that she was actually afraid of carrying a conversation with him?

Well, he was pretty far up there, but Helga was just uneasy when it came to communicating with other people, period. But still…she seemed so lost when it came to him. Goddamn it! Was he actually sitting there and making himself worry over her again? What was his problem? She was the same age as him, for Christ's sake, and capable of taking care of her own needs and worries, so why was it that he always needed to butt into her life like he was her very own personal savior?

"Arnold, are you okay?" Her voice was so soft that he almost didn't hear her. She appeared worried now, but the fear and confusion were still there, behind everything.

He forced himself to snap out of it and talk to her. "Yeah…so what's the song about?"

The part of her unibrow that was over her right eye arched. "You mean…you liked it?"

He nodded and smiled. "Yes, I like it. So tell me what it's about."

She turned the CD player back on and searched the tracks for the song again, and when she found it, she handed him the headphones. "You'll just have to listen."

He put the headphones on, and the same enchanting melody came from the tiny speakers.

"I know your life
On earth was troubled
And only you could know the pain
You weren't afraid to face the devil
You were no stranger to the rain
Go rest high on that mountain
Son, your work on earth is done
Go to heaven a shoutin'
Love for the Father and Son
Oh, how we cried the day you left us
We gathered round your grave to grieve
I wish I could see the angels faces
When they hear your sweet voice sing…"

He listened as the chorus repeated, and when it was done, he handed the headphones back to her, somewhat reluctantly. It was such a sad song, and he honestly wondered for a minute why anyone would want to listen to music that would only make them cry. But that was Helga. Her whole life to her had been a badly-played joke, as she had once commented. Was it any wonder she always wore black?

He did have to admit though that it was a beautiful, if somewhat depressing, song.

"So?" she asked as she turned the CD player off again and wound the headphones, again, carefully.

"It was…." He paused for a while, searching for the right word.

"You didn't like it," she whispered.

"Actually, I did like it. It was just so…why on Earth do you listen to such sad stuff, Helga?"

"Because, Arnold, I am sad," she said softly, almost to herself. Then she looked out the window again.

He sunk in his seat a little, feeling, once again, sorry for her because of all she'd suffered, and yes, because of the secret. The damn secret! Sometimes, he wished she'd have just kept things to herself just so he could live a normal teenaged life, free from the heavy burdens that had plagued him in his early years and certainly free from the damn grip that she had on his manhood! Figuratively speaking, of course.

But he couldn't bring himself to hate her…maybe to dislike the hold she had on him, but…well, then again, there he was blaming his problems on her. It occurred to him that he only thought she had him by the balls because maybe…well, maybe he had put the hand there, himself?

He shook his head and looked at his watch. They still had ten fifteen minutes to go before the school came into view, so he unceremoniously grabbed the Rimbaud book from her lap and ignored her angry outburst while he thumbed through the book until he found the page she had been reading. He read the passages she had underlined with a pink -- he laughed to himself again, amused at the way she always chose pink -- marker.

"O my eternal soul,
Hold fast to desire
In spite of the night
And the day on fire.
You must set yourself free
From the striving of Man
And the applause of the World!
You must fly as you can...
No hope, forever;
No orietur.
Science and patience,
The torment is sure.
The fire within you,
Soft silken embers,
Is our whole duty-
But no one remembers….
Now all desire has gone --
It has made my life its own.
That spell has caught heart and soul
And scattered every trial…
And, oh, the day it disappears
Will be the day I die."

He closed the book with a "huff", like he had been punched in the stomach and was letting out air. Very nice writing, he supposed, but it was all a little over his head. Though it definitely wasn't over Helga's, he was sure. He noticed that she was staring out the window again, and she had that soft, sexy pout on her lips that he liked and her eyes were downcast. Even though she looked so sullen, she was still a beautiful woman, and he wondered why she wasn't out breaking guys' hearts instead of breaking their heads. Why were they not allowed the same carefree lives that other kids their age had? He with the whole damn world on his shoulders and her with the whole damn hurt in the world in her heart.

They were really the same, he and Helga. Why hadn't he noticed it before?

He placed the book back on her lap, and she turned away, eying him first with frustration and then slowly with confusion as he smiled at her…and miraculously, she smiled back. She rarely smiled for anyone, and when she did for him, he felt his heart skip a beat because he knew he had seen something that would, if it were a work of art in a museum, be considered priceless. She was showing her hidden side to him, again, and he didn't understand why him, but he found that he didn't really mind this time as he hadn't the previous times. In fact, he actually reveled in it.

She noticed him grinning like a loon and asked, "What's with you?"

"Why don't you smile more often? You look pretty when you do."

She blushed almost the same shade of pink that was dyed into her hair. "I…I guess I usually don't have a reason to."

"Well, you should find a reason. Guys would fall at your feet if you did."

She smiled again, although this time to herself. "Well, I don't care about guys. There's only this one guy that I like." It was an old joke between friends. They both giggled together, and then she settled back into her seat again, and he kept to himself when he saw that the bus was approaching the high school campus.

Maybe Helga wasn't so bad, after all. Maybe everything he had ever thought about her was wrong. Helga was synonymous with mystery, and she liked it that way, and maybe, he did also. Hell, maybe she had always worn her sensitivity on her sleeve, but he had been too dense to notice it before. Maybe everyone was wrong about Helga, and maybe she was really better than them all.

Nah.

But he had finally found that special something that was deeply hidden in her many layers, and he was really starting to like her, after all.