Author's Note: The news that a new Hey Arnold! TV movie is in the works has completely re-ignited my love for this amazing show. I hope you enjoy this fic I've come up with as a result.

Disclaimer: Hey Arnold! © Craig Bartlett

There was something surreal about returning to your childhood neighborhood for the first time in years. Memories were buried in every landmark, in every street, in every building, and every single one of those memories had shaped Arnold into the moral and compassionate person he'd always been.

Not much had changed about Hillwood over the years. P.S. 118 was still there, as was Principal Wartz, along with their kind, sensitive teacher, Mr. Simmons, who now taught a new group of bright young fourth graders. Mrs. Vitello's flower shop and Mr. Green's butcher shop were still in business. The Jolly Olly Man still drove his ice cream truck around town. Gerald Field was still there, too, now frequented by new generations of kids whenever they wanted to play some baseball.

Last but not least, there was the boarding house, Sunset Arms, inhabited by the same group of boarders, all of whom had experienced their own fair share of wonderful changes throughout the years. Suzie and Oskar had adopted a daughter, now seven years old, a creative and energetic young girl who'd unknowingly played a big part in helping her adoptive parents' marriage grow stronger than it ever was before. Mr. Potts was also happily married now, and Mr. Hyunh was on his way to becoming a grandfather, as his daughter, Mai, and her husband were expecting a little girl of their own.

They'd all welcomed Arnold back to the boarding house with open arms, and he, in turn, had eagerly accepted each one of their loving embraces with his own earnest and sincere affection. The biggest, most bone-crushing bear hug of them all had come from none other than Arnold's grandma, Gertie, who, even at ninety-two years old, sill had the same pluck and endearingly eccentric nature that made her who she was.

Finally, there was Arnold's room, the same as he'd left it. The biggest difference was that it was noticeably emptier, as he'd taken most of the furniture with him when he'd moved away for college, but it remained otherwise untouched, as his grandpa, Phil, had refused to rent out the room to anyone else. His reasoning behind it was that he wanted Short Man to always have a place ready for him whenever he returned home to visit.

Arnold hadn't visited often, though, which was easily the biggest factor behind the crippling feeling of guilt he'd been harboring ever since he'd set foot back in the boarding house. In fact, the last time he visited was on Christmas Day. The boarders still did their annual Secret Santa gift exchange, and Arnold had received a pair of new sweaters from Suzie, while he'd gifted his grandpa with a new fishing pole and a promise that they'd go fishing together the next time he was in town.

Unfortunately, life didn't always care about your plans. Arnold had learned that the hard way. Now, completely exhausted after a long day of traveling, he was more than relieved to kick off his shoes and climb into his old bed. Drawing the covers over his body, he shut his eyes and allowed sleep to take over, all the while trying his best to ignore the restless stir he felt over the thoughts of the emotionally draining day awaiting him tomorrow.

Many of Arnold's old friends had shown up to attend the funeral, a lot more, in fact, than he'd personally thought were going to be there, especially given the short notice. He'd suspected his long-time best friend, Gerald, had been the one to spread the word and encourage everyone to pay their respects. Regardless, Arnold was both humbled and grateful for it, as it was nice to see them all again, even though he truly wished it were under happier circumstances.

Arnold had been the one to deliver the eulogy, an appropriately given responsibility he'd made sure to carry out with the utmost care. He delivered the speech with eloquence and emotion, honoring the life of the deceased with a mature poignancy. By the time he'd finished, there wasn't a single dry eye in the entire room.

The service capped off not with a typical, touching song like "Amazing Grace," but instead with a lively and patriotic performance of "Yankee Doodle," led, of course, by Gertie. She'd even included firecrackers in her production, which had frightened some mourners, but had only made Arnold smile, as he knew his grandpa would have loved every second of it.

Afterward, everyone gathered at a local catering hall, where lunch was being served, and Arnold's friends were offering their condolences.

"I'm real sorry to hear about the passing of your grandpa, Arnold," said Stinky, who'd grown even taller and lankier, and now he also had a bit of facial hair. "I reckon he was a real swell feller, on account of he helped raise you and all."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, too, Arnold. But, hey, look on the bright side. At least the food is really good," said Harold, more bulked up and solid than he was overweight. He grabbed a tiny quiche from one of the platters and popped it into his mouth.

Beside him, Big Patty shook her head, though not without smiling to herself. Harold had grown to be slightly taller than her, so she really was no longer considered big by comparison, yet somehow, the nickname had stuck with her throughout high school and now in college, but she didn't really mind. On the contrary, she'd actually come to grow fond of it, as it gave her a tough girl reputation, which made her feel powerful.

"Boy, I tell ya, the whole concept of death really gives me the creeps," said Sid, who'd lost his signature baseball cap but had kept the long hair. "Think about it, your body goes into a coffin, which gets buried six feet below the ground, leaving all the maggots to feast away on your corpse." He shuddered violently. "Sorry again for your loss, Arnold."

"It really is a terrible tragedy," said Rhonda, who wore an expensive black dress and a string of even more expensive pearls around her neck. "I mean, have you seen some of the outfits these people are wearing? Such cheap, tacky suits. I have to say, when I die, you can be sure there's going to be a strict dress code at my funeral. Every single guest will have to wear glamorous, name-brand clothing only, and anyone who isn't dressed accordingly won't be allowed to attend. That's how you keep an event classy, my friends."

"Oh, Arnold, I'm ever so sorry about your grandfather," said Lila, who'd replaced her braids with a sleek ponytail, showing all her freckles on her pale face. "I can only imagine how difficult a time this has been for you and your family." She promptly directed her attention to Arnold's cousin, Arnie, and she batted her eyelashes, evidently still not over her childhood crush on him, even after all these years. "Arnie, I want you to know, should you need a shoulder to cry upon during this oh so sad time, you can turn to me."

"Thanks," said Arnie, snorting loudly, the ever-present dull look in his eyes. He hadn't changed one bit, and in his case, Arnold wasn't sure if that was a good thing. "I'm gonna go find something to count. Maybe the olives. I'll catch you later, cousin."

On that note, he departed. Lila followed him, while Harold wandered back over to the food table with Big Patty in tow. Rhonda, with her wrist bent against her hip and her nose turned up in a snooty manner, simply walked away, as did Sid and Stinky, which left only Arnold, Gerald and Phoebe. The latter wore a black sweater with a matching black pencil skirt and tights, her hair up in a perfect bun. She was still the same soft-spoken girl, donning the same prescription glasses, only now she was on the fast track to graduating summa cum laude from the Ivy League university she attended, paving her way to earning her doctorate.

Meanwhile, it had taken many flustered, fumbling conversations and an enormous amount of courage for the smooth Gerald Johanssen and the meek Phoebe Heyerdahl to finally confess their feelings to each other, but they managed to do so during their junior year of high school, and they'd been happily going steady ever since. Arnold predicted they'd be married within the next five years, and when that big day finally came, he'd be there by his best friend's side to celebrate the momentous occasion. That was one of the many things he cherished about his friendship with Gerald. No matter how much time they'd spend apart, they were always there for each other, through thick and thin, especially during tough times, on days like today.

"Listen, Arnold, I'm sorry not everybody could make it today," said Gerald, a grim tone to his voice. "I know Eugene told me he was going to try his best to come, but the poor guy has gone back to riding his bike everywhere ever since his parents took away his car after he got into three accidents in less than six months."

As if on cue, the red-haired jinx himself went whizzing past them, down the sidewalk, where he promptly lost control of his bike and crashed into a fire hydrant. He flew off the bike, barreling head-first into a fruit stand. A few people rushed over and looked out the window to see what the commotion was about. Eugene groaned but still managed to lift an arm over his head and say, "I'm okay."

Gerald shook his head with a good-natured smirk on his face, but for Arnold, it didn't take long for the melancholy feeling to seep in once more. It weighed down his heart with the relentless strength of an anchor, resulting in his polite smile to take on a far more forlorn quality to it. Picking up on the abrupt shift in his best friend's mood, Gerald reached out and clasped a comforting hand to his shoulder.

"You gonna be okay, man?" he asked.

Arnold, for his part, managed a genuine smile, albeit a small one. "Yeah. I will be," he said with as much conviction he could summon up in his raw emotional state. "Seeing everyone again has definitely helped make this whole grieving process a little easier. Well, almost everyone…"

Gerald frowned, feeling a surge of inexplicable guilt. His hand slipped from Arnold's shoulder as he shared a glance with Phoebe, whose eyes were just as solemn as his, her tone just as remorseful as she at last addressed the elephant in the room.

"I…reached out to Helga," she said, only to pause, as if the mere mention of Helga's name required a more delicate approach. During the brief span of silence, she brought up her hands and tapped her index fingers together, shifting her gaze, until she finally continued, "I spoke with her a few days ago, as a matter of fact. Unfortunately, she informed me she wouldn't be able to catch a plane in time, as you see, she's been studying abroad in Italy. She's currently in Venice. Oh, but I suppose you don't want to hear all about her excursions in another country while you're here grieving the death of your grandfather. Gosh, I'm awfully sorry, Arnold. You know she would've been here if she could have."

"I do know that," said Arnold, and he meant it. "Please don't be sorry, Phoebe. I appreciate that you got in touch with her. And I understand why she couldn't make it. After all, it's not like I could have expected her to drop everything for me."

It was partly true. He did understand. Yet, even so, he still couldn't suppress the feeling of disappointment that mercilessly eclipsed his heart. He knew he had no right to feel that way, as it wasn't like he'd gone out of his way to call her himself. But then, he'd been so preoccupied with his own plans, making all the necessary arrangements for his trip back home, not to mention helping out with everything that had to get done in preparation for the funeral. He hadn't even thought about calling Helga. Not to say that he wouldn't have. She must've known that. Right?

"Hey, Arnold."

Arnold snapped out of his stupor long enough to glance down and see Gerald holding out his hand to him with his thumb raised. Cracking a grin at the familiarity of the gesture, Arnold brought his hand to Gerald's the same way, and as the two of them performed their simple, signature handshake from their youth, his heartache was momentarily alleviated.

It was late in the afternoon when Arnold wandered into the living room to find his grandma sitting in a rocking chair, surrounded by some of his grandpa's old possessions. She had a soft smile on her face as she turned the page of an old photo album, lost in the warmth of blissful recollection.

Arnold watched her from the doorway, not wanting to disturb her. She looked peaceful and content, but at the same time, he couldn't help but worry about her. The boarding house was definitely going to feel a lot lonelier without Grandpa around.

"Now, now. Don't think I don't see you standing over there, watching me," said Gertie, taking Arnold by surprise. She looked up at him and only smiled wider, undoubtedly taking delight in her uncanny sixth sense. "I don't want you to start worrying about me, okay, Arnold? I may be old, but I've still got a few good years left in me. When my time comes, your grandpa will let me know. He told me so himself. Right now, he's saying, 'Not yet, Pookie.' So, I'll let him have his fun up there until we're reunited someday. 'Course, that's not to say I won't miss him in the meantime."

A rush of tears filled Arnold's eyes, but he didn't cry. Anyone who knew his grandma assumed she was completely off her rocker, but Arnold knew her far better than that. In actuality, she was one of the wisest people he knew, which was why he trusted her wholeheartedly when she said she was going to be okay. He found himself consumed by a whirlwind of emotions, tightening into a lump in his throat, as he strode over to her and kissed her on the cheek.

"I love you, Grandma."

"I love you, too, Arnold," she said. "You're my favorite grandson, you know."

"I know," said Arnold, smiling at that, as he was, of course, her only grandson, but he knew she was only teasing. It felt good to smile over something silly. It was all part of the healing process. "I wanted to tell you that I think I'm going to go out for a little while and walk around the neighborhood, clear my head a little bit. I won't stay out too long."

"You got it, kiddo," said Gertie with a wink.

As Arnold headed out, he could hear his grandma humming the buoyant tune to Dino Spumoni's hit, "You Better Not Touch My Gal." It brought another smile to his face.

The air was cooler and the sky was darker compared to that morning, which was a bit strange, as Arnold hadn't anticipated any bad weather for today. Nonetheless, he set out on his walk with no clear destination in mind. He cast a look at the sky, which grew thick with gray clouds. His grandpa was up there, somewhere, he was sure of it. He was reunited with his twin sister, Mitzi, and his best friend, Jimmy Kafka. They probably had a lot to catch up on.

The longer Arnold walked, the colder and windier it got, but he didn't mind. It almost seemed inevitable that he'd end up at the pier, where he now stood. He gazed out at the water, rippling fiercely with the strengthening wind, and he wrapped his arms around his body and shivered. He remembered sitting at the very end of the dock with his grandpa, the two of them watching the sunset together as they each enjoyed a corndog. His grandpa had been so convinced of that alleged family curse and dying at the age of eighty-one, only to find out it was, in fact, ninety-one. After all was said and done, he'd still outlived it by a year, which could only mean the curse had finally been broken.

A cold droplet hit Arnold's nose, and he blinked with a start and glanced back up at the sky. Another raindrop landed on his forehead, and another, on his cheek. In a matter of seconds, the sky opened up, and a light rain began to fall. However, Arnold didn't move at all, and instead he merely shut his eyes, breathing in the fresh, damp air and listening to the soothing sound of the rainfall, despite the growing chill in his bones. As the rain grew harder, he realized he was shivering now.

Out of nowhere, the rain stopped hitting him. Confused, he looked up to see an open umbrella above him. When he turned around, his heart froze for a staggering moment, as he thought he was dreaming.

"Geez, football head, you don't have to look so freakin' surprised to see me," said none other than Helga G. Pataki, in the flesh, her tone as caustic as ever. Her long, blonde hair cascaded in glistening waves as the wind whipped around her, and she wore a scowl on her face, as she always did. "I know, I know. I'm late. I would've gotten here sooner, but the flight kept getting delayed, and then the plane kept hitting turbulence, and then when we finally did land, the stupid airline lost my luggage. So pathetically clichéd, right? Anyway, I finally got fed up and said, 'Screw it,' so I hopped in a cab and set out to look for you. Who would've thought you'd be out here by yourself, getting pelted by the rain? I mean, really, even you have to see how completely idiotic that is. Do you want to catch a col—"

Arnold flung his arms around Helga, which of course immediately shut her up quite nicely. She was too shocked to react, and had barely the chance to reciprocate the spontaneous embrace, before Arnold pulled away from her. He smiled sheepishly and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

"Sorry," he said, even though an apology was completely unnecessary, as it had been an involuntary reaction. "I'm just really happy to see you. It's been an emotional day."

Helga's stunned expression softened, as did her voice as she said, "I can see that. You look like you could use a cold, hard drink. C'mon, let's go grab a beer. I'll buy. Just don't get used to it."

"You know I'm not twenty-one yet, Helga," said Arnold.

Helga let out a laugh with a slight toss of her head, only to flash a wide smirk at him. "Still the same goody-two-shoes, huh, Arnoldo? Some things never change, I guess. Fine. How about a couple of Yahoo sodas?"

Arnold grinned back at her now.

The rain had thankfully stopped, and though the sky was still a bit overcast, Arnold and Helga had gone up to the roof of the boarding house. They sat side by side on a checkered blanket, clutching their freshly uncapped bottles of sweet and bubbly Yahoo soda.

"To your grandpa," said Helga, holding out her bottle to him.

Arnold met her halfway, and, after lightly clinking their glass bottles together, they each took a sip. Helga was the first to pull a face and recoil at the syrupy taste.

"Yuck," she said. "I can't believe we used to drink this stuff when we were kids. It's nothing but sugary, carbonated crap."

"Yeah, I guess it is, isn't it?" said Arnold, gingerly swirling the soda around in the bottle. "It's kind of weird when you think about it, how you can love something so much when you were younger, only to completely outgrow it when you're older."

"True," said Helga. "But then there are other things you don't outgrow at all. Hell, sometimes, no matter how hard you try to let go, your love for someone—I mean, something…only grows stronger as time goes on."

They looked at each other, a deep, soul-bearing look, though they only held it for a second, before they simultaneously looked away. Helga set her bottle down, as did Arnold, and they sat in silence for a little while, until Arnold decided to redirect the conversation elsewhere.

"So, Phoebe mentioned you've been studying abroad in Italy," he said.

"Yep, I sure have," said Helga, glad for the change in topic. "I've traveled all over Italy. Florence, Milan, Rome. Although, I gotta say, Rome really ain't all it's cracked up to be. Don't get me wrong, it's a stunning place, with lots of rich culture and incredible architecture and amazing food, but personally, I find Venice to be a way more romantic city."

"Romantic?" said Arnold in unanticipated curiosity.

Helga, being as sharp as she was, picked up on the true reason behind his inquisitive tone right away, and she let a sly smile dangle from her lips. "Criminy, give me the tiniest ounce of credit, will ya, Romeo? Do you really think I'm even remotely naïve enough to fall for some stuck-up European guy and his so-called 'charm?' I know all they want from me is to get into my pants. They can keep dreaming for all I care. I have no interest in any of them. In fact, I haven't been with anyone since…"

She trailed off, but she didn't need to finish for Arnold to know where she was heading.

"Me neither," he said.

Their eyes locked again, and, although neither one of them made a point to overtly bring it up, they both knew they were thinking about the same thing. After years of back and forth feelings building up between them, it had been a particularly warm spring night when Arnold and Helga, then a pair of nervous, yet excited seventeen-year-olds, had fully given themselves to each other. It had been clumsy and awkward and far from perfect, but it had also been gentle and intimate and wondrous and satisfying, a night that had meant so much to both of them, a night they'd never forget.

After a while, Arnold asked, seemingly out of the blue, "So, how long are you in town for, anyway?"

Helga gave it some thought, but she found herself stumped. "Huh. That's a good question. I guess, right now, it's open-ended. Which means at some point I'll probably have to stop by and pay Big Bob and Miriam a visit. Let 'em know I'll be home for a while. Not that it'll make a difference to them. Ever since Olga had a kid all they ever seem to do is fuss and fawn over how perfect their grandson is. They send me pictures all the time. Whatever. He is a great kid, though, I'll give him that. Real gutsy, from what I can tell. I like to think he gets his attitude from his old Aunt Helga."

From there, she paused, as she realized she'd been rambling on and on about herself for seemingly no good reason at all. In fact, she realized their entire conversation had revolved mostly around her thus far, which was actually pretty ironic. The only reason she was here in the first place was because of Arnold. The only reason she'd dropped everything and flown out of the country and essentially put her entire life on pause was to be with him during his time of grief. Because that's how much he meant to her.

"Okay, enough about my crap already," she said decisively. "How are you holding up?"

For a moment, Arnold was taken aback, his eyebrows shooting up and everything. It wasn't so much Helga's sentiment, which had always been a brutally honest one, but rather, the less than tactful way she went about expressing it. She always did seem to have a befuddling effect on him, her blunt disposition never failing to catch him off guard. However, he'd come to find it was one of the many things about her he found undeniably charming. It was probably also one of the reasons why he was able to speak so openly with her.

"As good as you'd expect, I guess," he said. "It's just really hard to say goodbye, you know? I miss him so much already, and it's barely been a week since he's been gone. It's going to be hard living without him. He's been there for me through just about everything." Suddenly, he let out a slight chuckle, a modest grin adorning his face. "You know, he was the first person to point out to me that the reason you were always so mean to me was because you secretly liked me."

"No kidding?" said Helga, impressed. A brief silence followed, in which a contemplative smile formed across her face, and a shameless twinkle caught in her eye as she remarked, "Smart guy."

"Yeah," said Arnold with newfound sadness. "He was."

"Hey. Chin up, bucko," said Helga in an attempt to lighten the mood. "I'm here for you."

"I know you are," said Arnold. "And I want you to know it means the absolute world to me. Really. I don't think I can ever thank you enough."

The way he looked at her now, with that serious, almost longing gaze of his, nearly had Helga reverting to her old, desperately in love nine-year-old self, tortured by the deepest, darkest secret of her innermost feelings for him, back when she'd run off and deliver an admiration-filled soliloquy while clutching her treasured locket containing a picture of him, back when she'd make shrines of him with his used gum, back when she'd release a quivering sigh every time he'd so much as glance at her.

"Do you still write poetry, Helga?" asked Arnold.

"Huh?" said Helga, in a daze, until she forced herself to come back to her senses. "Oh. Yeah, actually. A little. Here and there."

"Would you mind, maybe…reciting one for me?" said Arnold. "One of your classics."

A wistful smile involuntarily spread across Helga's face, and, without hesitation, she recited one of her favorites:

"All the days of my week
I write the name I dare not speak
The boy with the cornflower hair
My beloved, and my despair."

Neither one of them said anything else for a while, allowing Helga's words to simply linger in their minds in a lovely cadence. Eventually, Arnold was the one to break the serene silence.

"I remember thinking, when I first heard that poem, that who'd ever written it was one truly insightful person with unbelievable talent. I should've known all along it was you," he said, pausing to let the words set in, only to add, "Of course, I also used to wonder who the poem was about."

Their eyes met again, and there they stayed. The two of them found themselves getting swept up in a powerful wave of endless emotions—love, confusion, desire, fear, admiration, excitement, hope, desperation, courage, joy, sadness, need.

"It's you," said Helga, boldly, sincerely. "It always has been, and always will be, you…Arnold."

No other words were exchanged between them, as there was nothing left to be said. They both leaned in, and their lips met in a tender kiss. Arnold gently took Helga's face in his hands, while Helga, ever the passionate one, threw her arms around his neck.

As they lost themselves in the romantic embrace, there was a break in the clouds, casting upon them a ray of light from the beautifully setting sun.