Author's Note:
Friends, Romans, countrymen... Hiya!
This is a fanfic that I started about six years ago, long before TJM was a reality. I recently found my old notebook and decided that this was a story I wanted to tell, even though it no longer fits with canon.
For this reason: AU where TJM never happened. Enjoy!

Content Warning:
This fanfic contains adult themes and content, including but not limited to drug use, alcohol use, swear words, sexual themes.

—-

Arnold awoke, drenched in a cold sweat, the scent of rosewater and passion lingering on the edge of his consciousness. Every time he closed his eyes he saw in vivid detail the same scene, and when he opened them it was gone, stealing like mist from his awareness.
He remembered the smell, sweet and salty and hot on his nostrils. He remembered a wind, cool and wet, running its long, willowy fingers through his hair. He remembered soft lips, urgent against his own. Those lips were not Lila's.
He glanced down at his girlfriend, her two neat braids lying flat against the blanket, her back straight against the lumpy earth. She could not be further from the frantic, impassioned girl of his recurring dreams. He had tried, at first, to believe it could be her, but with his heart pounding and splintering, he could honestly say that this mystery girl gave him an adrenaline rush that Lila never had. He sighed, burying his face in her hair, the scent of lilacs weaving between the russet strands.
Arnold untangled himself from Lila and stood, stepping gingerly from the quilt to the cold, dewy grass. He fished his phone from his pocket and checked the time:
10:43
Time to go; Lila's curfew was at eleven and the last thing he wanted was to upset her well-intentioned, over-zealous father. He cupped her shoulder and shook her gently, her full auburn lashes fluttering as she was roused from her impossibly graceful slumber.
"Whatever is the matter, Arnold?" she slurred drearily, sitting up and fixing her sea-green gaze on him. He flashed his phone at her. She winced away from the light, pushing herself from the ground and bundling up their blanket.
They climbed sleepily into his tiny blue car, the dashboard lighting up as the Chevrolet Aveo sputtered to life. The drive to her house was silent, the air thick with things they'd never said.
Exactly seven years ago, at Helga Pataki's goodbye party, Lila had spun a Yahoo! soda bottle which had, inexplicably, rumbled to a halt with its open top less than an inch from the soft denim of Arnold's pant leg. And so, in honor of their seven-year anniversary, as well as the end of their last summer together before university, he had set up a picnic in the park on the quilt she'd made him for his sixteenth birthday two years ago. They were the perfect couple; there was no doubt in anyone's mind that, after a springtime wedding, Arnold and Lila would parent a brood of nauseatingly sweet, beautiful children. Their relationship was comfortable, expected. Between the cuddling and the chaste kisses, Arnold wondered if maybe what they had was not, in fact, love.
This was the idea that plagued Arnold's thoughts as he lay in bed that night, his heart sinking. After what felt like a millisecond of sleep, a millisecond occupied by the same frenzied blonde as before, Arnold was forced out of bed by his cell phone's alarm, the harsh ringing grating against his eardrums. He fumbled in the dark, flinching away from the white light emanating from the screen. He half-wished he hadn't already packed away his potato alarm clock as he brushed his teeth and pulled on a pair of jeans and his usual red flannel.
It was a long drive to the airport. He and Lila held hands in the backseat of the old Packard, stone-faced and afraid, while Phil and Gertie braved the rainy, stand-still freeway with a CD of showtunes and their windshield wipers on high. After tear-filled goodbyes, promises to visit, and a tight-lipped kiss from Lila, Arnold scurried through security and boarded.

—-

The glass was smooth against her mouth, and the air reeked of marijuana. She inhaled, feeling the hot, damp smoke spreading through her limbs, making her light as air. No. Lighter. So light that if she wanted, she could stand up and float far away from this place. And Helga wanted, very badly.
She passed the bong to Zeke, who took a puff and smiled at her, his eyes already glazed over. She sighed and turned from him, checking her watch.
It had been seven years exactly since Arnold had given her that watch; the memory had long since ingrained itself into the backs of her eyelids. Everyone had drifted out of the house and out of Helga's life, the balloons floating lazily to the ground as her last day in town neared its close. Standing barefoot on her stoop, she caught the strong smell of lemon shampoo as a breeze ruffled Arnold's sun-drenched tufts of hair. She still remembered his smile when he gave it to her, lamenting the length of the wristband. She'd wanted to kiss him, recite poetry for him, something, but with a hug and a wave he was gone, his oblong head silhouetted against the angry orange sunset.
Helga was pulled from her reminiscing by a hand on her bare thigh. She glanced up, meeting Zeke's clumsy hazel eyes briefly before he slid his tongue into her mouth. As his hand snaked under her blouse, she closed her eyes, imagined the smell of lemons, and kissed him back full force.

Helga stumbled into the two-bedroom apartment a little after midnight. Miriam, watching Jeopardy with a bottle of gin, didn't comment on the disheveled hair, the bloodshot eyes, or the lace panties peeking out of her daughter's purse. She merely muttered that they had a big day tomorrow, turned off the TV, and fell asleep curled in a ball on the couch, cradling her liquor against her face.
The university was a six hour drive from Los Angeles, six hours she was determined to drive alone. She tumbled out of bed at five in the morning, showered and dressed as quietly as possible, and slid into the leather driver's seat of her powder pink Yaris, leaving only a note behind.
Miriam,
Thanks for the food. See you at Thanksgiving.
Love,
Helga
The six hours went quickly, with a British Invasion playlist and the air conditioner running on high. By the time she checked in and pulled into the parking lot, the sun was high in the sky and there wasn't a cloud in sight. Helga unloaded the few things she had with her and tossed them unceremoniously into a red cart from the front desk before venturing up to room 323B.

—-
When Arnold left the airport, the first thing he noticed was the sweltering heat. It wasn't the mildly uncomfortable late-summer humidity that he'd grown accustomed to. This was a dry heat that grasped hungrily at his skin, threatening to pull every drop of moisture from his body. He already felt himself slouch and sag beneath the weight of the sun's rays bearing down on him. He hailed a taxi faster than he'd ever done anything in his life and climbed into the heavily air-conditioned backseat. He could have sworn at that moment that every bead of sweat on his skin instantly froze.
"Where to, kid?"
His cab driver was an older gentleman with weathered skin and a startlingly shiny bald spot. His aloe-green polo was stretched taut against his portly belly and his sunglasses rested on the pinkest cheeks Arnold had ever seen.
"Uh…I'm going to college… er, the dorms, please..."
"Oh, fresh meat, eh? You like parties, kid?"
Arnold shrugged as the man pulled away from the curb.
"Not especially."
"Your tune is about to change. The kids there sure have fun. I'm sure you'll loosen up in no time."
The driver's laugh sounded like it may have been pleasant a few thousand cigarettes ago. The rest of the ride passed relatively uneventfully, with the driver amiably pointing out local landmarks like "the cheapest tacos in town" and "the drive-thru liquor store that doesn't always ID".
Arnold settled into his dorm with ease and, after a brief introduction to his mousy new roommate and a quick wardrobe change, decided to wander the campus on his own. He found his way to a section of old, timeworn school buildings that seemed more or less deserted; most of the students he'd seen on the way were swarming around the dining centers or the student union, socializing with old friends or taking part in the variety of ice-breakers that the school had put together. Several large signs boasting a "Back-To-School Rave" were scattered throughout the campus, but this area seemed untouched. His feet led him down random pathways, crissing and crossing and doubling back until he spotted a small set of stairs ending in an archway that seemed to lead under a squat grey stone building. Through the archway he found a small garden, the brightest patch of green that he'd seen since he arrived. A few people were scattered across the courtyard; a young couple was canoodling under a sago palm, a lanky upperclassman was splayed out on the grass reading Tolstoy, a blonde girl was writing furiously in a little pink notebook, and a small group of girls were comparing tattoos in the corner.
He smiled and started towards a vacant bench, but his gaze was drawn back to the blonde girl. Something about her made his heart race, and he felt as though he'd met her before. He went to her, his palms sweating.
"You're blocking my sun, asshole."
She didn't even look up, her pencil continuing its rampage against the smudged paper.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I just thought… well, I guess I was just wondering…"
"Spit it out, I don't have all day."
She lifted her bowed head, her blue eyes narrowed. As they locked eyes, they both gasped.
"Helga Pataki?"
"Arnold? What're you— I mean— do you— you look— I mean— can I help you?"
"Helga! It's so good to see you! You look so different. I mean, good different. I like your new uh… eyebrows…"
Before he could finish his thought she was on her feet, her arms locked around his neck in the tightest hug he'd had in a long time.
"It's really good to see you."
"You too, Helga. Wanna go for a walk?"

—-

Both new to campus, they let their feet lead them down strange streets and more than a few dead ends. They made small talk; Helga learned all about how their old classmates were doing, Arnold learned about the best food trucks in LA. They covered all the usual small-talk bases and eventually ran out of small things to talk about.
"So, Football Head. The only person you haven't told me about is you. How have the years been treating you?"
Arnold couldn't hide a smile at his old nickname.
"Well, my head shape hasn't changed, so lucky for you you don't have to think of a new insult."
"Insult? Please. It's a term of endearment."
Arnold laughed.
"I'm doing pretty well. I have no complaints."
"Any special ladies in your life, Arnoldo?"
Right to the point. There never was any beating around the bush with Helga, and any notion that the years may have changed that was swiftly dashed.
"Well, I guess it depends how you define special."
"Spit it out, Arnold."
"Lila and I have been dating."
"Oh."
"For seven years now."
"Well that's… that's really great. I know how much you 'like-her-like-her'."
Arnold knew better than to laugh at her little joke. Her sarcasm couldn't hide the hurt behind her eyes.
"Hey, remember your going away party?"
Helga smiled weakly and lifted her right sleeve.
"I do. I still wear that watch you gave me."
"Remember when Rhonda suggested Spin-The-Bottle and you stormed off into the kitchen because you didn't want to play?"
"I forgot about that! Leave it to Rhonda to hijack my party."
"Yeah… well, Lila got me, so… that was it…"
"Oh. Well, leave it to you assholes to hijack my party too, then."
"Helga, it's been a while but I still know how to tell when you're upset."
"Upset? Me? Why would I be upset? No, I hope you're really truly happy. I hope you have billions of chubby smelly babies and a house in the 'burbs. Really. Enjoy. Have a good one. I have to go shampoo my hair."
Arnold grabbed her wrist.
"Helga, wait."
"What?"
The truth is that he had acted without thinking and truly had nothing of consequence to say to her. He only knew that he didn't want her to leave. There was something about the way she made him feel that he wasn't ready to let go of.
"Well uh… you never told me about you! Anyone special in your life?"
"You know me, Arnold. Never get too attached. Just a string of decidedly un-special guys to waste my time with. Can I go now?"
"Not yet. Tell me more. How's your mom? Do you talk to your dad?"
"Arnold, why are you doing this?"
"Just please don't go. Please, stay with me a little longer."
Helga sighed. Her heart betrayed her with its violent pounding. Even though she knew he was with Lila, she couldn't deny the way she still felt about him after all these years.
"Na, I don't talk to Bob much anymore. He sends me a Christmas or birthday present every couple of years, y'know, if he remembers. Miriam's doing well. Still hitting the bottle but she makes pretty good money working for one of those hotlines for lonely dudes and she funds all my bad habits, so I can't complain. We mostly stay out of each other's way but she does what she can."
"Well that's… good… how's Olga doing?"
"Olga? Olga. Perfect Olga. She's fine, I guess. If you like being married to a millionaire tech guy living in a mansion with three kids. Y'know. If you're into that sort of thing."
Arnold laughed, relieved. Things were finally back on track. He didn't know what he was doing here with Helga G. Pataki, walking so close their arms kept bumping and he could smell her shampoo. He didn't know what his intentions were when he lifted her up onto a stone wall, holding her hand for balance as she tiptoed across and jabbered on about how excited she was for her upcoming creative writing class. He didn't have any plans when he helped her down with his hands on her waist, holding her just a bit too long and looking just a bit too deeply into her eyes before lowering her back onto solid ground. And he certainly didn't have any ulterior motives when he pulled her closer and kissed her, just once, so gently that she thought she may have imagined it. He pulled away, his hands finding the sides of her face, his eyes hungry for the sight of her, then let the smell of roses wash over him as she pressed her lips against his.