Out of the Ashes, Part 1
23 years earlier…
"It was a murder-suicide."
"She just went crazy! Grabbed a gun and shot her husband and burned herself."
"Took gasoline and poured it all over his body on the first floor and then herself on the second."
"The girl was locked in her room and almost didn't escape the fire. Had to jump out of her window on the second floor."
"Helga." The soft voice of her beloved saying her name shattered her surroundings.
She refused to look at him as she half-sat, half-laid on the hospital bed, still staring at the wall next to her. Almost everyone had come to see her, which had surprised the hell out of her. Helga thought she was hated by everyone, but there they were, passing on their condolences and signing their names on her leg cast as if it would erase everything that had happened in the last seventy-two hours. She had hardly said anything to them, unable to even lash out.
The one face she had wanted to see had not been part of the group. Not that she would ever tell anyone that. But, now, here he was.
He stood there in silence and she could feel his eyes on her, staring. No doubt she looked a mess with her arms all cut up and in a cast.
"Would you like me to go?" She didn't look at him or say anything.
Yes. I don't want you to see me like this…so weak and stupid.
No... Please don't go. I'm never going to see you again and I don't want this to be the last time.
He moved closer to her and she tried not to flinch. "I…I wanted to let you know that you can come stay with us." She frowned, still staring at the wall. What, no I'm sorry for your loss? No, I can't believe this happened? "My grandparents said it was ok so you don't have to go live with some other foster family far away. You can stay as long as you like. Or until your sister comes, whatever-"
She forced out a sarcastic laugh, interrupting him. "Stupid Football Head. I'm not going to wait for my sister. I'm not going into foster care. I'm going into some center for kids with issues or something like that." She mentally flinched at the lie and suppressed a sigh. Well, better him think she's crazy.
Arnold frowned in confusion, not taking his eyes off of her. "What are you talking about? What issues?"
She gave him a droll look but he just shook his head. "I don't believe you. You don't have issues like that."
She opened her mouth but miraculously caught herself. Looking down at her hands, she fidgeted with the blanket. Why not just tell him? Sighing, she turned her eyes upward to the ceiling.
"Some 'Men in Black' guy named Gray or something – what kind of a name is that anyway – in a suit asked me if I wanted to go with my sister or join his little government group. They said that I get to fight people and travel the world so why the hell not? My parents were murdered, Arnold, and I'm going to find their killer."
His eyes widened from shock. Those three sentences had completed shifted his world upside down. "Murdered?"
"My mom was an alcoholic and careless and forgetful, I won't deny that. And my dad had guns for hunting, but he never left his cabinet unlocked. Never. And Miriam was so drunk all the time there's no way she could have lifted a fork let alone find the key to the cabinet, load a rifle, shoot Bob and then set herself on fire. I don't buy it for a bit. She may have been depressed but she wasn't like that." Arnold stared at her in dismay and worry, but did not question if she was lying. Why would she lie to him? She was always honest. Mostly, at least. He chose to ignore the jip about the center from moments ago.
This was probably going to be one of the last times he would see in her in a long time, if ever. He didn't want to think of that and he didn't want it to end with him trying to talk her out of anything. Nothing he said would change her mind right now. She was in pain and in shock and this wasn't how he wanted to say his goodbye.
Instead, he hugged her, silently letting her know that he wouldn't question her and that she could come to him with anything. He didn't know if she was really going into some governmental group after telling everyone else that she was moving with her sister to Alaska, but she wouldn't make up something so serious like this either. At least, he didn't think she would.
Helga didn't fight back and any other time she would have been ecstatic to be in Arnold's embrace, but now she barely felt it. Instead, she closed her eyes and lowered her head, focusing on her breathing and to keep from crying. She would not cry in front of him. She would not break. Not yet.
They didn't say goodbye. There were no words that could be expressed. He came by three more times after that but they never really said much. He mostly just sat there, waiting for her to open up, but she never did. Not that he really expected her to, but Arnold knew that she really needed a friend.
Phoebe came every day but he never saw her.
Two weeks later, Helga was out of the hospital and on her way to prepare for her transition to Arkansas.
And Arnold was being visited by one Mr. Gray from O.G. at the hospital across town, being treated for minor burns of his own after rushing out of an inferno that had swallowed the boarding house the night before. Not even Abner had survived.
They only took orphans and guardian-less kids with little family. None was preferable. She had never really given it much thought before, but after her first field assignment, she knew why. It wasn't just to keep their organization a secret. Outsiders made things messy.
In her first field assignment, she had left with a group of eight and came back with three. She hadn't known the others, since they were part of groups from other training camps, so it wasn't as hard to lose her comrades for her in the beginning. But as the weak were weeded out and the stronger thrived, they all became close.
There were four training camps located throughout the country and every month brought more recruits. Kids were promised what they wanted the most: for some it was the idea of a family; for others, like Helga, it was the promise of vengeance. In the end, after all the fucked up shit she had learned and gone through, she stayed because of the people. And because of Arnold.
She hadn't known what to think when he got onto the private plane with her that early Fall morning. He hadn't said anything to her at first, but he didn't need to. There was only one reason why he would have been there and it wasn't because he wanted to join in her crusade. His eyes had said it all.
It had been a tough transition for both of them. During the flight they were cordial to each other, but neither really said much. If it had been any other time, it may have been considered awkward. But, as it were, both had recently been ripped out of everything they had every known. Helga didn't want to admit it, but it was scary.
There were two other kids at the orientation into the world they had willingly joined; one younger than them and another older. Age didn't matter here. Knowledge, experience, and ferocity did. You either were tough or you were trampled.
She knew Arnold wouldn't last. She knew from the first day that Arnold shouldn't have been there. He should have stayed home and lived with his cousin, as much of a freak that he was. More than once she wondered if he came because she was there, but never gave it more than just a passing thought. Of course he wasn't.
They learned that there would be one teacher per student. This teacher would force them to learn how to think, to fight, to strategize, how to find their weaknesses and transform them into strengths, immerse them into languages, and who the hell knew what else. But something that did resonate with her was Isolation. They would be separated from everyone else until their teacher was satisfied they were fluent enough in the language they were forced to learn, blocking out any temptation to revert to their mother language, or any other, and fluency meant just that: it included both reading and writing. Until then, they would not see anyone else except their teacher. Even mirrors would be prohibited. Mirrors!
Helga thought it was a joke.
It wasn't.
The last time that Helga saw Arnold was after they had been introduced to their instructors and were finishing up a really late lunch. After this, they would be lead to their solo-rooms for the duration of the time that they needed to learn French. It was a daunting task ahead and Helga was not looking forward to it at all, but it was what she had to do. She would find out what happened to her parents and get her vengeance.
Yet, on the other hand, she was freaking out a bit too. She and Arnold had been together for about forty-eight hours now and they had yet to fight. The recent terror of realizing that they were both truly alone had not really set in with each other yet, and Helga knew this. Arnold hadn't really acted any different, just a bit quieter than normal. There were no panic attacks or crying or anything remotely close to what she would have expected from him, that she herself had experienced while in the hospital. It was like he had just flicked a switch and turned that part of him off.
It was fucking creepy and very un-Arnold.
All day he was acting buddy-buddy with her and she had no idea how to handle it, especially since she wouldn't see him for who-knows-how-long in just a couple of hours. So she pulled up her defensive mechanisms and turned inward to her anger, projecting it out on the only person who had ever been truly nice to her.
"Do you think we'll learn both languages fast?" They had been told they would learn French and then Spanish, and were expected to be fluent in both in less than a year. What were they, crazy? "That'll be pretty cool, I guess. French and Spanish. I never thought I'd really learn one, let alone both."
Helga laughed sarcastically at him, very aware that his face was turning a fine shade of pink because of it. "Oh please, Football Head. You're too much of a dreamer. You're way too distracted to be able to learn any other language except Geek-Bait-anese."
Arnold's face flushed deeper, slightly taken aback by her complete turn in attitude. Up until now, she had been quiet and nice to him. "You're wrong, Helga."
"Oh yeah?" She looked up at the boy, turning her stare from her plate to him, laughter still apparent on her face. She didn't bother waiting to talk again after taking a bite into a baby carrot. "I bet you that I can learn both before you can."
Without hesitation, he held out his hand. "You're on!"
Helga eyed his hand before his face, contemplating and slowly chewing the carrot. After she decided that he was serious, she smirked and shook it. "Fine. Winner chooses prize."
It was the last time that they would be able to talk to each other. Helga could barely remember the last English conversation she had. Her lessons, both academic and physical, were in French. For the first week she flipped out, screaming at her instructor that she didn't understand what they were saying, that it was only Greek to her and how the hell would she ever be able to learn if they couldn't teach her in her own fucking language?
And what the hell was she watching! It was all stupid kid shows and soap operas!
The third week she said her first coherent sentence in two different tenses. By the second month she was reading at her age level. By the end of the third month, she was writing poetry up to her standard.
Five and a half months later…
With a sigh, Arnold sat at the lunch table, his tray in hand. He really hated today. Nothing had been going right, including when he had first woken up. Someone had messed with his alarm and everyone had left him without so much as a nudge. He got chewed out in front of everyone for being late, left his notes under his bed, forgotten that they were not allowed to speak anything other than French, – even if they were all out of Isolation – got reprimanded again for apologizing for his tardiness in English, got tripped in the hallway, and someone had taken the last tapioca pudding. They rarely had that, and it reminded him so much of home he would look forward to lunch every day for just the hope of them serving it. Of course he would miss it today of all days.
He really, really hated it here in Group. And he had only been here for three weeks. Five months of Isolation was much more preferable than this. Why couldn't he just go back to how life used to be? With his grandparents and the boarders.
His throat tightened at the thought of the accident. He didn't think he would ever cope with losing everyone and everything. His family, his friends…would he ever see them again?
How could he be so unliked here? It was really hard going from a place like Hillwood, where everyone liked him and everyone listened to him and his advice to a hellhole like this, where no one would give him the time of day. He was so desperate for companionship, that he would always keep his eyes out for Helga, particularly at mealtimes. He knew that it was futile because she was on a completely different schedule than him. Why Group felt the need to separate the boys from the girls he would never know. It wasn't like there were even a lot of them. Between both sexes, there had to have only been like sixty kids. And that included the teenagers.
He no longer had an appetite and was so caught up in his moping that he didn't realize that Yancy, the likeliest person to have sabotaged his alarm that morning, had come up right behind him. His only warning was the jerk's high-pitched, obnoxious laugh before something was dumped on his head. "What's in your hair, enfoiré?" he sneered in French. No English was allowed.
Arnold let out a surprised yelp and jumped to his feet, almost teetering backwards on the bench he was sitting on, which caused even more laughter from his tormenter.
Before he could get his bearings back and react to whatever the heck was on his hatless head, Yancy was on the ground. There was a collective gasp and then silence from the cafeteria that seemed to drag out.
As he turned to face a downed Yancy, his hand frozen in midair as he was reaching for the upside down cup that was stuck to the top of his head, he saw Helga looming over his bully, her fist still clenched.
Yancy was crying, holding his face and writhing on his back in obvious pain. "No one ever touches Arnold, but me. Got it, cunt flap?" Yancy did a poor attempt at nodding and Arnold was surprised to hear her speaking in French. It was logical that she would, but he hadn't seen her in months and then bam, here she was sticking up for him in the middle of lunch yelling in the language of love.
Helga lifted her boot, settling it down between his legs. Yancy froze as Helga pressed down, forcing a strangled cry from the bully-turned-victim. "Louder, dickshit!"
Yancy cried out again and Helga removed her boot. "Now get the fuck out of here." She glared at the onlookers, all who promptly returned back to their meals as Yancy scrambled to his feet and out of the cafeteria.
Arnold could only gape at her.
Helga turned to the table once she was convinced that Yancy was gone and everyone was minding their own business. Picking up a tray Arnold hadn't realized was next to him, she pushed it to the other side of the table and took a seat across from him, not waiting for him to sit. What the heck was going on and why was she being so completely nonchalant? Did the last two minutes really happen?
He watched her, still gapping at her, as she began to cut up an apple. "I left Isolation after three months," she continued in French with a smirk. "How about you?"
Still trying to convince himself that one, she was really there and two, she had just kicked Yancy's ass, Arnold didn't immediately catch what she had said. When he did, his eyes widened. She left after three months? Helga? "Um…five…"
Her smirked broadened. "Looks like I won that bet then, Football Head."
Arnold sat down, finally reaching for the cup on his head and realized that it was honey, and did not correct her that the bet wasn't over yet; they still had to learn Spanish. He frowned deeply at it and took the napkin she handed him. "What are you doing here?" He found his voice and she hesitated for a minute and he momentarily wondered why.
"I'm being transferred. Turns out that I'm doing pretty well here." He blinked at her, not really knowing what to say.
Apparently she took that as an insult and she pointed the knife at him. "What, you think I'm stupid?" He just shook his head.
"You've never been stupid, Helga. It's just…what's going on? I haven't seen you since orientation and you just show up in the middle of lunch, beat up a guy, and are sitting across from me for lunch." A lunch time that was reserved only for the boys, but they both knew he didn't have to say that. He glanced around for a moment and noticed that there were a lot of boys looking over at her and he realized that it was probably the first time they had seen a girl in a while, especially if they didn't have female teachers. He frowned at that and looked back at her, hoping someone wouldn't do something stupid. "Thank you…by the way. But you really didn't have to do that."
She just shrugged and dipped the apple into peanut butter. "No one gets away dumping honey on that football head of yours. Actually I'm going to have to say American football now, non? By the way, it'll come out in the shower."
He stopped trying to get the sticky stuff out and was relieved to hear that. In fact, he was relieved to see her. Now that things had calmed down, he was fully able to appreciate her being there. After a moment, he grinned for the first time in months. "It's really good to see you, Helga. I was beginning to think that I had imagined you being here."
She grinned back at him and he ignored the bits of apple stuck to her teeth. "Not so lucky, hair boy. You can't get rid of me that easily."
Feeling a bit more relaxed and oddly finding comfort in her un-translated, familiar nicknames, he wiped the honey that slipped down his neck and also started breaking into his lunch. "So why are you here?"
"I told you, I'm being transferred."
He gave her a look. "To the boys' group?"
She shot one back. " . I'm moving into Group 3 and I leave this afternoon. This was the only time that I could get lunch after packing and other shit."
He stopped eating then and stared at her as a figurative bucket of cold water was dumped over him. Even though Helga hadn't been around, he knew that she was somewhere in the same underground building and that it was only a matter of time before he would see her again. The kids here were all nearly around his age so it just made sense that they would 'move up' in levels. And there were plenty of whispered rumors that they were co-ed. But Group 3 was in Nevada.
He was truly going to be alone.
She had finished her peanut-butter apple slices and was staring at him now, her arms crossed on the table. He didn't need to look into a mirror to know that his face gave away his fear, and so nothing was said as they stared at each other across the table: he in almost-panic mode and she unusually calm. It was Helga that spoke first. "I told them that I wasn't going anywhere without you."
And so that was how they found themselves in Group 3.
Helga was immediately put into Isolation for Spanish and Arnold continued with his French with the Group. He had a new drive and new motivation. Once he completed his Spanish Isolation, he would be put into Group training and unlike Group 1, everyone here was put together.
Group 3 was much smaller than Group 1. There were only two other guys in his classes before he left for Isolation a week later. It was weird, especially because he had thought that Group 1 had been small. This wasn't even a comparison to that group of sixty.
It would turn out that they were all recently transferred. Group 3 had been the weakest Group and everyone had either been killed in missions or were MIA. He wouldn't learn that for some years, though, or else it wouldn't have been an easy transition for anyone. Arnold was still in denial over everything, and even though he was learning how to fight defensively and offensively, they really were not going out to play G.I. Joe. This was just like some sort of weird boarding school.
Spanish was easier for him than French had been, but it probably helped knowing a similar language. On the off chance that he stopped to reflect on the bizarre changes his life had brought in the last seven months, he would have been awed at what had been able to accomplish. Fluent in one language and on his way to a second, learning how to fight outside of karate, how to strategize...but he refused to think about it because thinking about it meant remembering the accident and he couldn't do that.
Not now. Instead, he pushed it down inside, burying in depths he hadn't known he had. He could only move forward. Once he passed Spanish, it would be a whole new game changer. Things would be different after that. He just knew it.
Arnold had been out of Spanish Isolation for about seven weeks.
At first he was a little smug when he realized Helga wasn't out yet. It just meant that he had been able to learn Spanish before her despite the week starting difference and he was proud of picking it up just shorter than French. But after another couple of weeks rolled by and still no Helga, he started to get worried. He should have asked one of the teachers, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He'd rather have a false security of thinking she'd show up any time than the truth that she wasn't there anymore.
"Oye, Arnold!" He just finished setting his tray down at a table when he heard his name, jerked out of his thoughts. His back was incredibly sore from how many times he had been flipped in that morning's technique training and he really just wanted to be left alone, even though it was almost impossible in their small numbers. As the weeks passed, more started coming out of Isolation and their little group had grown to a whopping number of four guys and one girl. Kayla didn't seem to have a problem with that, though, and really fit in.
He forced out a smile as Jonathan, or Stitch as he was called because he loved to actually stitch things, sat across from him. He liked Stitch, but sometimes he was just a little bit too loud and too much, and Arnold was really in no mood to be hackled. "How are you holding up? It looked like you took quite a beating today," Stich snickered, sitting across from him at the round table.
"Sore, but I'll live," he responded in French. They all spoke both languages when they were together in order to keep the knowledge fresh. It was awkward sometimes, but they were always up for the challenge. He often found himself thinking in both, but realized that if he didn't keep up with English in some way, then he may lose it. Especially since there was still a strict no English rule. Any other language was fine. He didn't understand why there was such an importance to learn languages but yet was not allowed to speak his own. Soon he'd be learning another. It was just insane.
Quinten, a tall and quiet guy, supposedly spoke nine. He'd been with O.G. the longest and the rumor was that he joined when he was two. The guy didn't really interact with the rest of them and his nose was always in a book so the rumor was never validated. Even now he sat off to the side reading something with a stoned henge on the cover. Arnold himself had only spoken to him a couple of times. The first had been when he had originally joined Group 3. The others couldn't even really be called a conversation; the guy spoke maybe three words.
"So when are you going back into Isolation?" Stitch asked with his mouth full of mashed potatoes. Arnold sighed, picking at one of the vegetables.
"Two days. Brazilian Portuguese."
"Dude, that's awesome! I've always wanted to go to Brazil. All those hot mamacitas. Maybe they'll send me there too."
Arnold didn't respond as Stitch went on about Rio and beaches and babes. He had just gotten used to these guys and was really starting to feel right about the whole thing. He was not looking forward for another five months in Isolation. Maybe if he tried really hard, he could cut it down a little early.
Why had he even decided to go with 'Gray from O.G.' anyway? He had been so hurt and angry that he thought this would be a good way to escape things. And while he did stay really busy and rarely had time to think about how things used to be – even nights he'd be too exhausted to do anything else but pass out the moment he got into bed – there were times, like now, that he wondered if he had made the right choice. Heck, he'd been in this organization for almost a year, and he still had really no idea what the organization did. But he didn't really stop and ask either.
When Gray had shown up at the hospital, he had instantly known who he was from Helga's description and really had not needed to hear the full spiel. Gray had left, giving him time to think about it but Arnold had given his answer before the strange man had left the room.
He had only seen Helga twice. Once when they first got there and then again when she had transferred with him. He had spent his birthday in Isolation last year, and he'd be doing the same again this year. Had she spent her birthday alone, too? His was coming up in a just over two months. Holidays were the worst for him here because they had meant so much to his Grandma. The instructors usually gave him the day off, but he refused, instead working the hardest to block out the memories and feelings.
Why was he even with this weird organization, anyway?
Portuguese took seventeen weeks. He was thirteen-years-old when he left, but he felt more like thirteen hundred. It was hard to keep up with his stupid lessons, he had no motivation to box or kick or swing swords around – really, swords, what was this the 17th century? He just wanted to learn Portuguese and get back to people and the tiny bit of civilization that the other kids had created. His Isolation prof was great, but this one-on-one crap was getting really old, really quick. And the movies and shows he was forced to watch were borderline torture.
Arnold was a people-person. He thrived on being around others and helping and giving advice. He hated the fighting and the idea of hurting people. The closest that he had ever gotten to anything like that was with Gerald and the FTi incident. This was Helga's element, not his.
Helga. He so badly wanted her to be there at breakfast when he walked in, but he knew she wouldn't be. She never was.
It would be his first time seeing everyone again, and he really hoped he was wrong and that she would be there. He was drowning and he needed to know that he wasn't going insane with this extremely drastic turn-of-events from the last two years. Knowing she was nearby wasn't good enough anymore. Only by seeing her, touching her would convince him that he wasn't falling into something dark. All too often he had to push away dangerous thoughts and he hoped that being back with familiar faces would help.
He wasn't holding his breath.
Arnold rubbed his face as he walked into the cafeteria and was immediately bombarded by Stitch. "Arnold! Thank god you're here!" Arnold blinked at him, trying to focus on the Spanish. Spanish and French were different enough, but having just come from Portuguese, it would take some getting used to.
"What?" He'll stick with French and hopefully Stitch will as well. Fat chance of that.
"Dude, we have been in fucking Hell without you." Stitch steered him towards the buffet and kept his voice low and Arnold was both surprised and grateful that Stitch took the hint and switched to French. He noticed that there was only one food tray on the tables, abandoned, which could only belong to Stitch.
"Good morning to you, too," Arnold grumbled and rubbed the remaining bits of sleep from his eyes before grabbing a tray.
"Dude! Super serial! It started a few weeks ago. A couple of new chicks popped up and Quinten has been hanging out more often, big surprise right, but then he starts hanging out with just one, and the other chick, Lucy, apparently got jealous or something and there was a huge fight and nobody fucking came to stop it so we all had to do it ourselves and now there's eleven of us, well twelve now that you're back, but then Emilio is going into Isolation in…two days or something, so I guess we're back down to eleven, and we're fucking divided, dude."
Arnold stared at him, trying to follow his rapid Spanish and wrap his brain around what the heck he was even talking about. "You're all divided?"
"Yes! We've really needed you here. You'll be able to snap sense back into everyone. I feel like I'm in a fucking zoo."
"What's the big deal about that? What makes you think I can do anything?" He slowly moved down, grabbing tons of toast and skipping the eggs. Almost all he had to eat in Isolation were foods in high-protein and anything remotely like junk food was golden.
"Dude! Because you're…you."
"If people don't want to be friends, you can't force them. I don't see what the big deal is, anyway. Cliques are normal."
"No way, dude. Before you left, that was how things should have stayed. We're too small to have animosity against each other."
Arnold sighed and sat at the table with a thud. He didn't even know what was going on so how in the world was he supposed to help? "Ok… So…what's the problem again? Lucy is upset because…?"
"Because she's not dating Quinten," Stitch gave Arnold a look like he should have been paying attention. Arnold just blinked at him.
"And?"
"And what? That's it! Chicks are crazy, but this is a whole new level, believe me."
"Does Quinten know this?"
"Of course he does. He keeps telling Lucy that he isn't interested and that he has a girlfriend already. Can you imagine, dating someone in a place like this? That's another crazy thing too! Like last week, I was-"
"Quinten isn't interested in her because he's gay," Arnold interrupted, not having the energy to listen to any more stories, and lathered up his bread with tons of butter. He couldn't wait to dig into that stack of gravy-covered home fries.
Stitch squeaked and Arnold ignored him. How the hell he didn't know that was beyond him. "He's what! How do you know that?"
"He told me. Just after we got transferred. He was upset because he had to break up with his boyfriend."
Stitch stared before busting out laughing and Arnold continued. "Obviously he's just messing around with Lucy. I'm surprised though. He seemed to rather stick to himself than try and start trouble, let alone try and put up a divide between the Group. He's hardly said much more to me." Arnold still didn't understand why this was a reason for Stitch to be so upset. Sure, they had all really liked each other when he had left, so it sucked hearing that there seemed to be some sort of problem with everyone, but everything always settled after some time.
And Quinten pretending to be straight did not seem to be as big of an issue as Stitch was making it out to be. Arnold questioned it again.
"Well, it's mostly Lucy hoarding all the new people," was Stitch's reply. They're starting to take on her personality too, which really sucks but now that you're here, everything will be back as it should." Arnold raised his head to give Stitch a look, wondering why he would think that, but then a commotion outside of the cafeteria prevented him from asking.
A girl he didn't recognize, who was definitely a couple of years older than him, was walking with two other guys he didn't know. One had to have been about eight, maybe seven. His heart broke for the kid, wondering what had happened to him. He seemed meek and it was obvious to Arnold that he was following around this duo because he thought he was supposed to. Maybe was even bullied into it.
The trio ignored them, walking right up to the buffet. The girl let out a shrilly laugh and Arnold cringed. "Lucy?" he asked in a hush tone. Stitch replied with a quick nod. Arnold couldn't help but wonder if the reason why she was acting this way was because, like all of them, she was hurt by the loss of her family.
It was something they never spoke about. They all knew why they were there so why bring up painful memories?
Then another group walked in, but these guys he did know. It was Quinten who pointed out Arnold at the table, much to his surprise. Quinten, the always quiet, corner-sitting kid was actually grinning at him as Arnold was swarmed by his friends. He smiled at everyone, answering quick questions and it wasn't long before everyone had their meals. Their voices and laughter echoed throughout the room and Arnold finally began to feel his spirits lift.
His unhealthy breakfast was quickly devoured and he had already gone back for seconds. He couldn't get enough of the stuff. What he wouldn't give to have a cheeseburger right now, or a corn dog from the pier. Breakfast or not, he would do almost anything for any junk food. And, oh god, candy. He could barely remember the taste.
Arnold stood up from the table, tray in hand to discard. "Anyone want anything?"
"Yeah!" piped up Stitch. "See if there are any oranges left? Man, they were so fucking gooooood!" He just shook his head at the continued profanity and smiled, heading towards the buffet. It was really good to be back. He had missed these guys and after seeing how everyone was this morning, he really didn't see the issue his friend had been so upset about earlier. Stitch was one to exaggerate a lot, anyway.
Perhaps he was-
"Hey, Helga! Morning!" Arnold whipped his head towards the front of the cafeteria at Quinten's casual announcement and froze when he saw her walking in with a large yawn. Her head was down and she hadn't brushed her hair that morning. In fact, she hadn't even changed out of her pajamas. At least, the sweats and baggy shirt looked like they could be pajamas. Her eyes were barely open and she looked like an absolute mess. But Arnold couldn't help but think she was one of the most beautiful things he had seen in years.
He didn't realize that he had dropped the tray he was holding, although it would explain why she was suddenly looking at him, and didn't realize he had moved. And when he got to her, he didn't hear the collective gasp in the previously-silenced room when he hugged her tightly to him.
"A-Arnold…!" He could feel how tense she was and it was only a second later that she tried to push him off of her. Arnold hugged her tighter, refusing to let go.
"I started to think that you really weren't here."
She grunted and lightly pushed against him again. "You're wrinkling my clothes, Football Head." He pulled back, grinning at her and she was taken aback to see how glassy his eyes were. Helga had refused to think that he would miss her, especially now that he had new friends. She hadn't even taken a step into the cafeteria all those months ago to realize that he wouldn't want her to be with him, bullying him like before, and she had turned right back to her instructor, demanding to be put back into Isolation. She didn't care for what. Arnold had looked so happy with those boys and that girl. He was obviously finding his place in this fucked up new world and she couldn't take that from him.
But now here he was, hugging her! And it looked like he was almost going to cry. Her heart thudded hard against her ribcage and she was going to make a snide comment, but stopped herself when she saw the rest of his face.
He looked like death. His once bright skin was ashen and she could count how many circles were under his too-small eyes. He looked like Arnie…only worse.
"Your clothes are already wrinkled, Helga."
"Yeah, well, you're making them worse," was her snappy, automatic reply. She mentally flinched, having not expected this type of reaction from him and wondered if she would ever say the right thing. When his grin didn't waver, she gave a small smile, still startled at how juxtapose his appearance was. She was going to say something else, perhaps something nicer, when she heard the whispers.
She looked around him towards the others with a scowl. Although the whispering was too soft to hear exactly what it was they were saying, she had no doubt they were asking each other how they knew each other – she knew that Arnold wouldn't have spoken about her – and why was Quinten's 'girlfriend' giving him any attention at all.
She huffed and showed them Ol' Betty, glaring at them with trivial menace.
"You better shut your mouths if you know what's good for you!"
"Helga?"
She snapped opened her eyes with a gasp and jerked to her right, unconsciously trying to find the source of the sound that woke her. Her heart leapt in her throat before settling down in her stomach, finally recognizing Arnold's dark outline after a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to being roughly awoken.
"What are you doing here, Football Head?" she whispered harshly in French. He stayed silent, seemingly staring down at her and unmoving. She felt unnerved and slowly started to sit up, ignoring the tinge of fear licking down her spine. "What's wrong?"
Her heart thumped hard in her chest when he moved towards her. She felt the blanket lift up and he slipped quietly under the covers, leaving her in stunned silence, trying to figure out if she was still asleep or what the fuck was really happening.
His arms moved around her, gripping onto her tightly as he buried his face into her neck. She flinched when she felt the wetness on his face and her stomach dropped. Oh. "Arnold…" He clenched her even tighter and let out a sob.
Helga bit her lip as her arms came around him, holding him loosely in uncertainty. A million thoughts raced through her mind, images flashing and being replaced as quickly as they appeared. Was he hurt? Was he sleepwalking? Memories of her younger childhood were brought forth of her waking up in Arnold's house, not knowing how she had gotten there. It couldn't have been junk food in Arnold's case. They weren't allowed to have any.
"They're dead," he choked out and she suddenly felt even sicker at the realization that this must be the first time that he's really accepted the fact. She remembered that time on the plane, heading towards Arkansas. She had thought he was acting a little weird, but didn't force anything out. She could tell he was miserable when she saw him months later in the boys' cafeteria; there was a dullness there that she had never seen from him before.
And then just last week, when he had hugged her like she was a long-lost friend. His face had been hollow, his eyes sunken. She had seen and read things that had given her nightmares, but nothing was as chilling to that.
Over the last week, he seemed to be getting more sleep because the darkness and circles under his eyes were diminishing. He had color in his face and he seemed to be eating ok.
Another sob brought her attention back to him and gentle hands moved through his hair, hoping it was just as relaxing for him as it had been for her. The occasion had been extremely rare, but she could remember the comforting feeling of when her mother would do that for her. The last time had been her sixth birthday and her mother hadn't known why she was upset but had tried to soothe her anyway. Of course they had all forgotten her birthday. She closed her eyes against the assault of unwanted memories, forcing them back into the recesses of her brain. This wasn't about her tonight.
But she could not help the few tears that did fall, stubborn and resistant to her pleading to actually stop. She silently cried for him. She deserved to be in a place like this, away from their friends and locked away from society. Arnold didn't.
It wasn't long before they had both fallen asleep, both lost in their own grievances but fully aware of each other. No word had been exchanged; none were needed. The knowledge that they had each other, no matter what happened, was enough.