Disclaimer: Head up, I still don't own Hey Arnold, or Shakespeare. I think some of you may actually hate me for this. Sorry, no refunds. Read, Review, and Spread the word.
HA
She sat on the stoop of her apartment complex, head in her hands watching the cars go by. Carmine hadn't called her in a few days, and she was growing concerned over his silence. He hadn't met Lila, had he?
With a heavy sigh, she pulled out her cell phone and scrolled down until she came to Carmine's number. As she hit her green phone button and held the speaker to her face, a voice broke the partial silence she had grown up with.
"Who're you calling?" snapping her head up, Helga's eyes caught Carmine's, and a smile immediately bloomed across her lips.
"Carmine! I was beginning to think I'd never hear your voice again." She voiced her fears, but her smile faded when he didn't return it, nor make a move towards her. She allowed her eyes to flutter towards Anthony who stood flanking Carmine, but he wasn't smiling either.
"And why would you, when you told me to never call again?" Carmine stated in a low voice, and Helga's brows knitted together in confusion.
"What are you talking about?" she asked while shaking her head, nothing but bewilderment in her voice. But Carmine was on a mission, and didn't read into tones and voice inflexions.
"This, Helga, I'm talking about this." He insisted, pulling out his cell phone and opening the text message from her. As she read it, Helga's mouth dropped from shock, and her eyes reflected hurt when she brought them back up to his.
"This is incredibly hurtful; you think I wrote this and sent it to you?" she asked, surprise, but no fight in her voice. Once again, Carmine couldn't hear it.
"It came from your phone, Helga."
"Carmine, I didn't write this." She stated flat out, and Carmine scoffed. Anthony, meanwhile, caught sight of two men approaching them from down the street. He had been in Helga's apartment, seen her photos and heard the stories of Arnold. Putting a hand to his cousin's shoulder, Anthony nodded towards the other two men. Helga caught the action, and turned her head in their direction. With wide eyes, she looked at the message in her hands, then back at Arnold. No, it couldn't be, he wouldn't . . .
Arnold and Gerald, meanwhile, had watched as Carmine and Anthony advanced on Helga; and Arnold suddenly felt sick again.
"Draw thy tool; here comes two of the house of the Bianchetti's." He warned, and Gerald nodded while rubbing his bare knuckles.
"My naked weapon is out: quarrel: I will back thee." The dark skinned man confirmed, and Arnold clapped him on the back with a smile.
"How! Turn thy back and run?" he joked, and Gerald shoved him playfully.
"Fear me not." Gerald took on a good guy pose, and Arnold put up his hands in mock defense.
"No, marry; I fear thee!" the two laughed, only to fade when they noticed Anthony and Carmine were watching them with dark eyes. Quietly, Gerald learned over to whisper the game plan in his friend's ear.
"Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin." Arnold nodded, and then it was his turn to lean into his friend's ear.
"I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list." Gerald returned the nod, then held up a hand to stop his friend.
"Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bare it."
As Arnold and Gerald reached the three standing on the stoop, Gerald bit down on his thumb. Carmine groaned and turned away, while Anthony nearly tore the black man's head off. Helga placed a calming hand on his shoulder, and for a moment, Anthony forgot why he and his cousin were there.
"Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?" he asked in a voice full of restraint. Both Hillwood boys grew matching smirks, and Helga had a sinking feeling in her stomach.
"I do bite my thumb, sir." Gerald shrugged, and Arnold snickered that guilty sound again.
"Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?" Anthony emphasized, motioning between himself and Carmine. Gerald faltered, and pulled Arnold aside in conference.
"Is the law of our side, if I say ay?" Arnold thought it over, then shook his head.
"No." Satisfied, the two returned to the conflict.
"No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir." Gerald charmed, and Helga groaned with an eye roll. Carmine turned his attention to her, but Arnold had to resurrect the hostility.
"Do you quarrel, sir?" he asked Carmine with a smug look, but Anthony responded.
"Quarrel, sir!" he shouted enthusiastically, but an arresting look from his cousin had him calm, cool, and collected again, "no, sir." he sighed.
"If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you." Gerald announced with a smile, a hand resting reassuringly on Arnold's shoulder.
"No better." Anthony stated, nodding towards Carmine who really had no interest in the confrontation up until this point. He may not be one for senseless fighting, but he was still a full-blooded Italian, and they always defend their honor.
"Well, sir." Gerald faltered again, and Arnold came to his rescue.
"Say 'better'." Arnold conferred, and Gerald understood where this was going.
"Yes, better, sir." Gerald stated proudly, and both Bianchettis rounded on Arnold and Gerald with a murderous intent.
"You lie." Anthony sneered while Carmine subconsciously moved to stand in front of Helga.
"Draw, if you be men. Arnold, remember thy swashing blow." The atmosphere was like a powder keg, just waiting for the igniter – and Gerald's statement was the spark. No one was really sure who threw the first punch, but the next thing Helga knew, the four of them were in an all out fight to the death on the street. Realizing the gravity of the situation, Helga rushed forward and pulled the men apart, shoving them away from each other.
"Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do!" she shouted, pushing them back in their advancements to beat each other. When the killing intent had diluted, and she felt it was safe to release Carmine and Arnold from her grasp; she sighed and moved towards her stoop.
"Helga, we still need to talk about this!" Carmine shouted after her, and she smiled at him with heart wrenching sorrow.
"No, I think you and Arnold need to talk about this." she replied softly, before leaving the four men confused on her stoop for a few minutes. When she returned, she had her purse and a different air about her; they were still in baffled silence. She stood taller than them, watching with hard eyes as one by one the lifted their gaze to make eyes contact with her.
"You are arrant knaves, all; I'll believe none of you. I'll go thy ways to a nunnery." She announced, and of the four men she addressed, only Carmine understood what she meant.
"Helga . . ." he began, but she held up a hand to silence him.
"You know, I have done some horrible things, but I've atoned for them in my own way. I think I deserve better than this. I deserved to be trusted." She said pointedly, sending a sharp glance at Carmine. Quickly she turned, addressing Arnold with the same narrow look.
"I deserve to be happy." The other three men stared at Arnold, who lowered his head, unable to keep her gaze. Helga released a hallow laugh, utterly broken and already rebuilding the walls from her childhood.
"So much for the Do-Goody Arnold, huh, Football Head? It's a shame, I was just starting to forgive him; come to find he was assassinated by the manipulating bastard that stands before me now. Che, men." She laughed again, before moving to the side of the street to flag down a taxi. When one finally pulled over to aide the young woman, she looked back to the men who had turned to watch her leave.
"Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe." She told Carmine, and when he sent her a perplex expression, she continued, "Arnold, why don't you tell Carmine about that message he received." Was the last thing she said before climbing into the back seat, swiftly shutting the door behind her.
"Um, airport please?" She asked, and the cabby nodded, pulling back into traffic and away from the super-charged aggression.
All the while, Anthony and Gerald turned their attention back to Arnold, who had gone to sit on the stoop. Carmine was still watching the taxi take Helga away, unable to shake an overwhelming sense of dread that had washed over him.
"Arnold, what was she talkin about man?" Gerald asked, and it was then Carmine remembered Helga's parting words.
"It was you that sent me that message, wasn't it? Not Helga." The young brown-haired man assumed, turned back to Arnold with eyes holding an unfathomable amount of anger. Arnold sighed, and nodded in confirmation.
"Yes."
Before anyone had a chance to react, Carmine had his hands fisted in the collar of Arnold's shirt, the smaller blonde man shoved against the nearest wall.
"Listen you little strunzo, you are going to tell me everything about Helga, and you're gonna tell me now. Capisce?" He whispered through gritted teeth, slamming Arnold against the wall one more time for good measure. Arnold nodded, and let out a shaky breath when he felt his feet re-establish contact with the ground.
HA
Helga had never been a woman who runs away from her problems; never. Well, Arnold was a sick weakness, but after that last fight when things were over indefinitely, she had vowed that she would stop running from him. But on that stoop not fifteen minutes ago, when Carmine had accused her of writing such a cruel Dear John letter, not even hearing her out – and then, by some stupid twist of fate, Arnold and Gerald show up. It suddenly became unbearable for her.
She knew that she had to leave, it didn't matter where, she just had to leave. And that was how she ended up in the ticket lobby of the Hillwood City Airport, staring at the ever changing departure and arrival times. It all made sense, really; why she couldn't ever get what she wanted: someone else took it from her. Olga took her parents, Lila took Arnold, Arnold took Carmine – what was next? And in all honesty, what had she done in her life to earn the right to keep these good things?
She was awful to people who would try to get close to her; kept them at arms distance to protect herself while simultaneously hurting them. She mocked, yelled, and even hit her classmates from first grade all the way up to eighth.
She was a bully.
Helga had been cruel and nearly heartless most of her life. Why should things go well for her now?
"Excuse me, miss?" a soft voice interrupted her thoughts, and Helga lifted her gaze to the woman behind the counter in front of her near the baggage check. Smiling, Helga realized she had been zoning out at the reader board for damn near ten minutes.
"Sorry. Rome, Italy, one way please." The woman smiled, and accepted Helga's debit card as she rang up the charge. After shallow small talk, Helga was directed to her gate, which was all the way at the end of building. Just outside the terminal was the security check point, which she passed through easy enough without any hassle.
As she was sitting on the bench re-tying her shoes next to a woman a bit older than herself, the metal detector went off, and the security guard let out a surprised gasp. Turning towards the noise, Helga spotted a man with what appeared to be a homemade bomb strapped to his chest hidden beneath a long trench coat. The amount of explosives had to have equaled her weight near to a t, with flashing lights and a detonator in his hand. The security personnel couldn't move in on him, because it was painfully obvious the detonator was a pressure release one – if the death grip he held it in was any indication.
"He has to know he wasn't going to get on the plane . . ." Helga whispered to herself, looking around the terminal. There were a lot of people in the immediate area, not running out of fear that the slightest movement would set him off. Rapid flashes of light caught her eye, and Helga returned her gaze to the bomber – his lights appearing to pick up momentum. Then it hit her: he hadn't intended to get on any plane.
Helga knew next to nothing about bombs, but she was positive that fast blinking lights picking up speed were never good.
Jumping to her feet, Helga grabbed the first person within reach that was closest to the bomber – a middle-aged man who went through the detector moments before the bomber – and began to pull him towards her. There really wasn't much time for a scream, anyone's scream, as the lights reached a crescendo before suddenly stopping. There was an eerie moment of silence, like in the eye of a hurricane, before an ear-splitting bang and a bright light filled the area. It was as if a star exploded as an invisible force field of hot gas and debris rippled through the terminal, sending people to the ground. Helga had used the force to her advantage, moving the man she had grabbed from above to beneath her as they both went over the bench. Helga's body acted as a shield between the man and the force of the explosion.
All around Helga was darkness, and there was all at once both roaring silence and deafening cacophony. The heat and the wind engulfed her, almost as if it were a protective mother's embrace if it wasn't for all the pain.
And there was so much pain.
HA