Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold, never have, never will, although I have been called Helga by many of my friends, but that's another story. And I do not own "Same Old Lang Syne" by Daniel Fogelburg. I wish I did, but alas, I do not.

Author's Note: Hey guys, I've been writing this on and off for a while now, and I finally finished it. I was originally going to wait for it to be a little closer to Christmas, but I know that if I wait until then I'll go insane. So I'm posting it as an early holiday present to everyone. I hope you enjoy.

Now, without further ramblings, Here is "Same Old Lang Syne".

Same Old Lang Syne

Met my old lover in the grocery store

The snow was falling Christmas eve

I stole behind her in the frozen foods

And I touched her on the sleeve

Another Christmas Eve had rolled around again for Arnold. And, once again, he had nowhere to go. Oh, he had offers. 'Come spend Christmas with us!' Phoebe and Gerald had suggested, pushed, one more than one occasion, but he didn't want to feel like an intruder. Christmas was a time for family, and he had none, so he spent it alone.

Phil had died a few years back, along with Pookie. The boarders took care of the house since, but very few of the originals were still there. He knew that the few that were still there kept his room the same for him, in case he ever needed a place to come home too, but the thought saddened him, rather than comforted.

Shortly after Senior year, Arnold had taken up guitar, learning from Mr. Hyun, and started writing his own music, playing small gigs in coffee shops, open mike nights at bars, the same old places. About a year after he started, a small record label had offered to sign him, and he agreed. He had been touring since then, small shows with a few hundred people, a CD here and there.

Sometimes he stopped back in Hillwood. He couldn't just forget about his hometown, especially around times like the holidays, like now. As the snow fell around the old city, he walked up to the grocery store, intending to buy a six pack of beer and some food, and head on back to the small motel he was staying at.

Walking past the old houses was the worst part for Arnold. He knew that not many of his friends still lived there, but around the city. They would have been happy to see him, but he never let any of them know when he was in the city, but he preferred to be alone, didn't want to interrupt them. It was their home now, and he was just visiting, passing through. He didn't belong there anymore.

So that was what brought him to the grocery store on this lonely Christmas Eve. It was nearing Ten, and right now, his only thoughts were getting some frozen pizzas and going back to the motel to celebrate the dawning of a new year on his own.

Until he saw her.

He might not have recognized her if not for the dainty pink ribbon around her wrist. The ribbon he'd given her, back when she thought she outgrew the one that'd been worn in her hair since forever. He said that now she wasn't losing a part of her, just exchanging it. She'd said that she'd always think of him, as long as she wore it.

Arnold moved behind her and touched her on the sleeve of her old, worn jacket, just above the ribbon.

She didn't recognize the face at first

But then her eyes flew open wide

She went to hug me and she spilled her purse

And we laughed until we cried.

She looked at him with quizzical eyes, and he smiled back at her, waiting. 'I know she would remember me eventually. She has to.'

And she did. Almost a second after, her blue eyes turned wide, highlighting them, brightening them.

"Arnold?" She whispered in a hushed tone, and then barreled into him, forgetting her cart, forgetting her groceries, and hugged him. Looking up at him, his hand caught on her bag, and it spilled its contents all over the linoleum floor of the store.

"Oops…" She whispered, tears rimming her eyes as we both burst out laughing, as she held onto him tightly, keeping herself steady.

We took her groceries to the checkout stand

The food was totaled up and bagged

We stood there lost in our embarrassment

As the conversation dragged.

It occurred to Arnold, as he accompanied Helga to the checkout stand, that he had no real reason to be there.

He could have given her a hug. He could have said a rushed "Merry Christmas!" and then have left on his way. He could have stuck around for a moment, they would have had awkward chit-chat, about families, or friends, or occupations, until she realized the ice cream in her cart was melting, or the pizzas in his hands had gone soggy, and then they would have parted ways, never seen each other again.

He thought of a thousand other things he could have been doing. He could have been back at the hotel, writing. He could have been working on some of his newer songs, or answering some of the fan mail he got. He could have been anywhere but here. He wasn't needed here, but he couldn't leave.

So he walked with her.

And she didn't seem to mind.

We went to have ourselves a drink or two

But couldn't find an open bar

We bought a six-pack at the liquor store

And we drank it in her car.

He helped her carry her bags to her car. The snow outside was still falling rapidly around them, the lights from the city flickering down the street. From somewhere far off, they could hear carolers, singing classic tunes.

"Wanna go have a drink?" She asked, almost shyly. Arnold smiled.

"Sure."

They searched all over the city for an open Bar, but apparently Helga and Arnold were the only ones in Hillwood who didn't have a place to be on Christmas Eve. The two wound up buying a six pack at the liquor store, and sat, sipping it in her old car.

It was the same car Helga had in high school, the beat up old Chevy that held so many memories, for the both of them. It breaking down on the way to their prom. It taking them all the way to the woods and back for the groups annual camping trip. It driving them to the hospital when Olga was in labor with her baby girl. The first place where Arnold kissed her. The first place where she kissed him back.

We drank a toast to innocence

We drank a toast to now

And tried to reach beyond the emptiness

But neither one knew how.

"So… this is…. Wow." Helga said, blinking, then staring, as if expecting him to disappear into thin air, leave her again.

"Yeah." He said slowly. "Yeah…"

"What've you been up to?" She asked, not really needing an answer, she just had to hear his voice. To know that he was real, and this wasn't one of her dreams.

"Oh, not much, same old same old. Living in the moment, you know me." He grinned, and she returned the favor.

"Same here, I suppose. Just wishing we were back in school. Remember that?" She giggled at some memory, which one, he didn't know, there were too many. "When we were young, carefree, innocent…" Helga smiled a sad smile and raised her can. "To innocence."

Arnold tipped his can to her and then made a toast of his own. "To now." He said and she nodded slowly. He looked for something to say after that, but could find no words.

They sat in silence for a moment, but not an awkward one. It was a silence of being able to sit, not saying anything, with someone who knew you so well, you didn't have to speak.

It was a feeling they had both missed.

She said she'd married her an architect

Who kept her warm and safe and dry

She would have liked to say she loved the man

But she didn't like to lie.

"So…" She said, trailing off, losing her train of thought. "Its been, Jesus, how long?" She asked.

Six years, 5 months, 3 days give or take a few. He thought about answering her exactly, but decided against it, so instead he replied nonchalantly that it'd been about Six years.

"Jeez. And weren't we the ones that said we'd always stay in touch?" She asked, laughing slightly.

"Yeah… Hard to believe we're the same people we were back then." He reminisced. "But, remember, 'To Now!'." He smiled easily for a moment, before it turned forced. "So," He coughed, looking for something to say, anything. "Tell me, what've you been doing? College, Friends, Jobs… Boyfriends, Family…" The last two were hesitated words, almost not said, but they rolled out anyway.

"Well," She started, a faint tint of pink billowing out from under her pale skin. "I didn't go to college, actually. I got a job right after we graduated. Journalist. In the Village Voice. I was living in New York for a while there. Came back for the reunion, which," She added accusingly "You didn't come to." Arnold had enough sense to spare her a sheepish look before looking on again intently.

"I met up with Phoebe, roomed with her for a bit, then bought a place of my own, just outside of Hillwood. Phoebe and I, we still talk almost every day, meet up a lot. Me, her and Gerald. They're married now, you know. Gerald complains about not having his best friend around anymore." She said quietly, and Arnold felt that small pang of guilt whenever he heard Gerald's name.

"So there I was, at the reunion, having a good time, but still missing one of my best friends, who was too busy touring the country than visit his old friends..."

"Enough with making me feel bad!" He rolled his eyes, elbowing her playfully in the arm. She stuck her tongue out at him, but continued.

"So I was hanging out there, and ran into Sid. You remember Sid." She said it more as a statement than a question. "He's an architect now. And we're… well, I don't know what we are… I think we're together, but…" She trailed off, a blush flooding her cheeks once more. "He was supposed to meet me tonight." Her voice turned quiet, and Arnold shifted uncomfortably, the feeling like he was intruding on something private. Helga didn't notice. "You know, to celebrate Christmas. But he called and said he couldn't make it. I don't know why. I didn't even bother to ask…" Arnold looked at her with questioning eyes, urging her to continue talking.

"I mean, I shouldn't be complaining. I live with him, and he gives me a house to stay in, there's always food on the table, he's actually a decent cook, believe it or not. But… I don't know…" Helga blinked and took a sip of the beer from her can.

"Do you love him?"

Arnold didn't know what possessed him to ask it, but once the words were off his lips, he knew they had to be said, the question had to be answered. Helga stuttered for a moment, and Arnold asked the question again, clearer, more desperately. She closed her mouth and took a small breath, tears threatening to line her eyes once again.

"I don't like to lie, Arnold, I don't. Please."

And that was the only answer he needed.

I said the years had been a friend to her

And that her eyes were still as blue

But in those eyes I wasn't sure if I saw

Doubt or gratitude.

"Well," Arnold said, changing the subject, hoping to draw the tears away from her eyes, to make her happy. "You haven't changed all that much." She giggled, a slight, disbelieving, watery laugh.

"No, no, I'm serious!" He laughed slightly, but meaningfully. "You still look like you did when we left High School, just as beautiful, you're eyes are still that… that shade of blue… and your hair… its still that color of gold… and… what was I saying?" He trailed off, feeling foolish. She was with Sid. You had your chance. You blew it.

But if Helga noticed, she didn't say anything, just lowered her head, hiding a slight blush, and her eyes.

She said she saw me in the record stores

And that I must be doing well

I said the audience was heavenly

But the traveling was hell.

"Well…" she laughed, for now it was her turn to change the topic. "I still can't believe shy little Arnold became a big Rock Star." She laughed.

"I'm not that huge of a star." He said indignantly. "I have, what, one fan, maybe two, on a good day?"

"You have more than one fan." She told him. "I went down to the music store to pick up one of your CDs, and there was only one left. I asked the guy at the counter and he said that they'd ordered a bout a hundred, maybe one fifty. They were all gone in a matter of days. People around here love your music, they love the fact that Hillwood has a big star in its history now." She smiled, as he bowed his head, mumbling something about not to call him a 'star'.

She laughed. "Why won't you ever let anyone tell you how good you are?" He looked up at her, smiling, shaking his head slightly.

"You hypocrite." He called her, playfully. "All throughout the time I've known you, I've tried to tell you about how good you are, about how you have a good heart, and the only answer I ever got from you was something along the lines of 'shove it, football head.' and then you'd throw me in a trash can."

She laughed slightly, blushing for the tenth or so time that night, hanging her head, embarrassed of her past behavior, of what she couldn't tell him, even after all these years.

She felt a hand come to her chin, gently urging her head up. "Hey, hey." He said softly, "I was kidding, don't be upset." It was then she realized that she was crying. He lowered his fingers from her face, but then entwined them in her own.

His hands were soft, but still a bit rougher than she remembered. Fingers calloused by years of guitar playing, a rough mark across his palm from carrying suitcases or guitar cases. He had a bump on his ring finger, a mark from writing often. She'd forgotten that he was a lefty.

We drank a toast to innocence

We drank a toast to now

And tried to reach beyond the emptiness

But neither one knew how.

He'd forgotten how soft her hands were, soft, thin, but sturdy, from years of defending herself, and others, at times.

He'd also forgotten how good it was to hold her hand, comforting, relaxing. He looked down, his tan skin contrasting with her pale. There were a few short scars running down her palms, from scratches of falling off monkey bars, and some thin, long forgotten ones on her arm, reminders of past mistakes and blackened years.

She was crying again, but not openly. Her eyes were watering, but she didn't notice it. She too was staring at their interlocked hands, a small smile on her face, the same one he wore now, the one he wore whenever he thinks of her.

She moved her left hand to her beer, tipping it upward slightly, an unsaid toast, as he did the same with his right. They took a small sip and leaned back in comfortable silence, both not caring that their hands were still laced together.

We drank a toast to innocence

We drank a toast to time

Reliving in our eloquence

Another auld Lang syne...

They talked for hours, neither knowing when or how to say what they both wanted to, words left unsaid from years before.

They talked about family, Helga's sister, Arnold's grandparent's. They talked about jobs, her writing, his singing. They talked about movies they'd seen lately, songs they'd heard, books they'd read, places they'd been, all little, unimportant topics that filled up the silence, each grasping onto every little fact tat slipped from their lips.

She didn't say how she analyzed his letters that he used to send her, looking for some hidden meaning, some declaration of love that she could never find.

He didn't say how most of his songs were about her, about how he kept a picture of the two of them tucked way in his guitar case, work and fading from being handled so much, on lonely nights where he needed inspiration the most.

She didn't say how she'd missed him so much, and when she looked at Sid, that sometimes she would see his eyes, and then feel overwhelmed with guilt.

He didn't say how so many times he had looked up her name online, finding he address, her number, his fingers itching to dial, seconds away from pressing the buttons on the phone, before chickening out and going to bed.

Neither told how much they had missed the other, neither wanted to say, for fear of the reaction. So they just talked, until the snow stopped falling.

The beer was empty and our tongues were tired

And running out of things to say

She gave a kiss to me as I got out

And I watched her drive away.

"Look," Helga said, giggling slightly, pointing to the dashboard clock. "Merry Christmas, Arnold."

Indeed it was. 1:55 in the morning, going on two, on Christmas day. He smiled up at her, and she looked back at him, the moment dragging on for what seemed like forever. He would have kept it like that too, if the couple outside the car window hadn't disturbed them, walking by, laughing, smiling.

She jumped, and he looked away clearing his throat. Helga began stuttering reasons as to why she should leave, and he began silently thinking of reasons she shouldn't, reasons he couldn't.

But instead he smiled, held her hand once more, and then turned to leave. Arnold felt a tug on his hand and turned back to her, Helga's lips colliding with his for a moment, one single, solitary, sweet moment.

As quickly as moments come, however, there is always one lined up behind them, waiting to end it. Time does not, cannot, stand still, and however much he didn't want it to, this moment came to an end.

She leaned back, her fingers touching his cheek one last time, before she smiled sadly, and he took his cue to get out of the car and back into the night, into reality.

"Merry Christmas." She said again, sadly, reminiscently. Arnold nodded and closed the door, watching as she started the car, and began her descent back home, not hearing the whispered goodbye.

"Merry Christmas, Helga."

Just for a moment I was back at school

And felt that old familiar pain

And as I turned to make my way back

home

The snow turned into rain

So he stood, just as she had, so many years ago, watching the car recede into darkness. He stood, now knowing exactly how it felt to have silk flow through your grasp, untouchable, and there was nothing to do about it.

He now knew what she much have felt, years ago, to not tell someone something, something important.

He now knew, though, that the world moves on. The Earth turns, the days go by, and you just have to move on.

The couples continued walking arm in arm, the snow continued falling, and the choir went on singing about a Christmas love lost.

And Arnold continued staring, until a shiver sent through him, his clothing drenched, car lights making the silver on the sidewalk dance and sparkle.

So he turned, in the direction of his hotel, with a sad tune in his head, and went home, as the falling snow slowly turned into rain.