((AN: 'Bout time for another story. :3 I worked on and off on this one inbetween other writings; I had fun with it, as it felt a bit like I was channeling something out of an actual episode for the most part. xP If there's one thing I love writing just as much as shippy moments, it's banter and conversation; and these kids are perfectly ripe for such moments. The beginning was inspired by the beginning of the episode "Das Subway". I dunno why, I'm just amused by the thought of these kids talking about movies they saw with a heavily critical eye. I wasn't thinking of any movie series in particular when I wrote that part (though I may have let my own thoughts slip into them...). You guys can use your imagination. x3
The idea as a whole for this one was among those I came up with early; I felt it would be a slightly-amusing thing to go into, as I've never seen a fanfic as of yet touch on how weird Arnold's luck is, though for not the reasons he may think. Plus it's a nice change of pace to go into some of his own hangups, and not giving Helga all of the spotlight on that front. xP Miles and Stella are getting particularly fun to write the more I explore their personalities.
With that, I wanna thank you guys again for your lovely comments; as always I feel humbled and glad that everyone enjoys my attempts at writing this world. ^^ This one turned out almost as long as the last one; I hope it doesn't feel like I'm dragging it on. I always try to make every chapter fun, but sometimes my muse makes me feel like I could be doing better. ^^; As for the requests I've been given, I have them in mind, promise, it's just a matter of making a story out of them. I will eventually, I hope. XD
Anyway, enjoy this one! All characters and the world belongs to Craig Bartlett, though I make up some extras. I can never steal from this show, it's too good.))
Jinxed?
"...If y'all want my opinion, it's the best durn movie o' the lot."
"Nobody exactly asked for your opinion, Stinky...and how can you say that? There was barely anything of actual plot in this one, and just more senseless humor."
"I dunno, Helga, I mean we got a continuation of the story, so..."
"It still could've been better, is all I'm saying."
This unfolding banter came from a small group of youngsters exiting the local movie theater one windy afternoon, in discussion of the third release in a lately-popular film franchise.
Originally it had been Arnold, Helga, Gerald, and Phoebe all going together as sort of a double-date...but not long into the previews, Harold and Stinky had entered and taken the row right in front of the couples (leaving them a little self-conscious in attempting anything remotely affectionate as a result...Helga wondered if she'd have to concoct a convoluted spy-movie-esque plan involving walkie-talkies and code names to ever have a significant amount of time alone with Arnold in public), thus at least making it an interesting conversation about the film as a whole when walking out.
"Aright, aright, here's my thought," Gerald piped in after Helga's last line, "Did the original movie even need sequels? Maybe not...but we got 'em, and they were pretty alright to me. At least the second one."
"Indeed," Phoebe agreed with a nod as she adjusted her glasses, "The second installment showed attention to the visual quality of the first movie, plus the plot expanded on character development and as a result seemed more attuned to a dramatic story-line. Of the three, I would say that one is vastly the best, although that is only a subjective thought. The third was still entertaining."
"What she said," Helga agreed with a jerk of her thumb to her best friend, "Of the not-needed sequels, I'd say the second one is the best...but, nothing beats the original of any franchise. It's the one that set the heart and soul and tone. The third one, it just doesn't mesh up anymore. After the second movie, all franchises just become that...franchises."
Arnold gave Helga a smile, though he tried to keep it at his usual kind grin rather than letting it go a little smitten at the bit of passion she showed in her reasoning about anything. "I guess that's true; I'm always gonna like the first one."
"Eh, the movie biz is annoying like that," Gerald agreed with a shrug, "Y'all know how I'm a sucker for a good story. Sometimes y'just gotta tell it once, tell it right, an' leave it at that."
The kids muttered their agreements, but Stinky had to huff and cross his arms. "Y'all are jus' bein' a buncha fuddy-duddies. Th' movie looked amazin'! It's th' best durn movie o' the lot, an' that's that."
"You're a real simpleton, you know that, Stinky?" Helga sighed; she could see Arnold giving her a stern quirk of an eyebrow, to which she just smirked. Whatever they couldn't do in public, at least she and her beloved had been perfecting the art of silent conversation.
Gerald, though, snickered. "'Ey, some of us are just easy to impress. Let 'im have his opinion. And yeah, the visuals were pretty boss."
"Eh, the movie was alright," Harold finally said from behind the group, still casually munching on the jumbo bag of popcorn he'd bought. "Some of the acting was dumb. The one guy with the fake accent kept buggin' me."
"Who played him again?" Helga inquired with her brow quirked.
"The one guy who's in all the cartoons..." Arnold pointed out.
"Ohh, yeah, that guy. He should stick to the Saturday morning lineup."
"Well, anyway," Arnold hummed and turned to the group as they walked, "What should we do now?"
"I was thinkin' some Stickball at Gerald Field," Gerald grinned. "We still gotta settle that tie."
"Settle it for my team, you mean," Helga smirked.
"Yeah, we'll see, Pataki."
So far, it seemed that settling back into a normal life was coming fairly easily to the soon-to-be sixth-graders. There were still quite a few classmates who would still bring up the jungle adventure, and for sure Gerald had put the whole ordeal in his many annals of Hillwood legendary feats; it was certain to be talked about until at least the start of school. Arnold was just happy that it was starting to be put behind him, in favor of getting back into a normal (mostly) routine of banter and play...just being kids again like nothing ever happened, sans any nightmares.
And in fact, another normal part of their routine was about to swiftly, and quite literally, collide with them as they started to cross another street up into Arnold's mostly-quiet neighborhood...for all of a sudden, as they were walking, there happened to come a loud CLACK around the corner, followed by a familiar shriek.
"...Was that Eugene?" Arnold blinked as the kids looked around until they could see the direction from whence the scream came.
And at the sight of the familiar red-headed form of Eugene Horowitz barreling down the sidewalk towards the group, screeching as he was trying to balance on one leg with his scooter having lost both a wheel and any braking control, Gerald had just enough time to deadpan "Yup," before they all tried to scatter out of his way with a few alarmed yelps of their own.
As they did, and only seconds before Eugene flew by as fast as a jet (his high-pitched wail just about as loud as the engine of one), Arnold turned to see where the unlucky boy was heading in his latest out-of-control journey...all the way to the end of the sidewalk on the next street, straight toward the flank of an oncoming bus.
"NO!" the concerned football-head shouted as the trouble was registered...lightning-fast, he'd reached out to snatch his friend from off of his scooter—only to lose his footing and be dragged along for the ride.
"Hey, whoa, Arnold, wait-!"
"ARNOLD!"
The cries of distress from Gerald and Helga respectively echoed out from behind him as he gripped onto the back of Eugene's shirt and tried to brake the runaway scooter with one of his heels. "Eugene, brake with your foot!" he instructed loudly over the rushing wind; with his own effort, the scooter slowed, but not nearly enough to stop from its quick descent toward the open street.
"I tried, but, funny story, the sole of my shoe got ripped off-!" Eugene stammered out between his frightened wails, and his eyes widened at the sight of the oncoming traffic. "Well, this is gonna hurt..." he could only mutter in the way he always did, so used to all of his painful, close-call adrenaline rushes that almost nothing could faze him emotionally.
Arnold's eyes narrowed with determination; there was a moment where it felt, in all of his focus, that the danger was approaching at a slow-motion crawl. It was that moment where the decision had to be made now, the difference between what could happen and what could be prevented, and almost as if it were his only impulse, the bold kid always aimed for the latter option.
"Then just roll off! Right now!"
At the very moment he made that order, he yanked Eugene free of the scooter and sent it and them flying sideways, dropping and dragging onto the concrete with equally-pained grunts, just a hair of a second before they were to reach the black of the street and the moving side of a very heavy vehicle, which seemed to pay the whole thing no mind. The scooter had vaulted into the street itself to meet its fate underneath several passing car wheels when the light changed again.
After a few seconds on the ground, Arnold tried to lift himself up on his arms, hissing in pain. "Oww...Eugene?"
The other boy, in response, raised his arm and waved. "I'm okay," he muttered back with a dizzy air, a little worse for wear but nonetheless alive.
"Hey! Arnold!"
Hearing his name being called with concern, he looked up quickly to witness Helga and Gerald catching up to them at a breathless run with Phoebe close behind, and Harold and Stinky not far off either, wanting to witness the latest damage done via another masterful Eugene mishap.
Gerald and Helga were both instantly at Arnold's sides, while Phoebe went to help Eugene to his feet and look him over. "Geez, man," the tall-haired kid shook his head with a never-ending look of incredulity toward his best friend as he lifted his arm, "Haven't you had enough heroics for a lifetime already?"
"Seriously, Football Head!" Helga chided from his other side and took him by the elbow of his other arm, "Last I checked, I'm pretty sure you have parents now who want to see you in one piece!" Not to mention a GIRLFRIEND, you overly-confident, brave, stupid little hero, you...she added in her thoughts, hoping that Arnold would catch her concern from somewhere within her annoyed tone.
"Had to do it," he muttered back with some pained exhaustion as he allowed himself to be helped, and tried to steady his body on scraped and bruised limbs. "There's no way he'd have avoided the street, and that bus."
"Mm-mm-mm," Gerald could only sigh. "One a' these days you won't be so lucky..."
"Willikers!" Stinky uttered out in awe. "That's some dang lightnin'-fast re-flexes y'got, Arnold...Eugene'd have been a goner fer sure..."
"Flat like a pancake," Harold helpfully added.
"Indeed, it is quite fortunate that we crossed paths," Phoebe had to admit as she succeeded in getting the unlucky kid in question to his feet. "Eugene, how on Earth were you suddenly careening out of control like that?"
"Ugh...I dunno," he admitted, standing well enough, but he wobbled off-balance for a time. "I was just taking the scooter out for a spin, since I just had it fixed...and all of a sudden, I lose a wheel and I can't stop..." he let out his nervous laugh, giving one of his grins that nobody could ever guess was either forced or genuine. "And that wasn't even the thing that broke and got fixed before...isn't that weird? Golly, that made today a little more exciting, though."
Gerald groaned. "How that kid can be so upbeat after all the things that happen to him is beyond me," he said in a muttered voice to his friends.
"That's Eugene the Jinx for ya," Helga sighed, "He'll never change."
"Well, actually," the kid in question piped in, "The scooter felt fine until I happened to come in sight of you guys...I mean, I could be wrong, but, everything that tends to go bad to me, only still seems to go bad when Arnold's around..."
At that, Arnold let out a groan (and Gerald fought back a tiny, knowing grin). "Not this again...c'mon, Eugene, things have happened to you before that had nothing to do with me...I think. I just try to help! And...it backfires...more than usual..."
"Speaking of which, thanks for that save," Eugene continued. "I really appreciate your help, Arnold, I really do...especially since this time it could have turned out worse...still, I'm just saying...there's a really big chance that you're..."
"Don't say it, Eugene," Arnold instantly interrupted and rubbed at the stress that was accumulating at his forehead. "And I was happy to help. Later maybe I'll help get you a new scooter."
"No, no, that's fine, you've done enough today," Eugene quickly said with his good hand raised; the other was feeling his spine for any breakages. "Thanks again, Arnold...I'll catchya later."
"Are you sure you don't require any more assistance?" Phoebe asked. "You look to be limping rather painfully."
"Eh, it's better than when I could only roll around like a giant ball," he weakly joked. "I'm just fine; you know me, right? Sunny and cheerful all day long...! Ow." And with that (plus an audible crack in his bones somewhere), Eugene let out another nervous laugh and kept walking at a slightly more brisk pace.
The group of six watched their classmate as he hobbled back the way he came...and then an uncomfortable pause filled the air for a few seconds, during which time Gerald could be heard holding in a few snickers, and the rest of the kids just seemed a little perplexed.
"Well, gawrsh," Stinky said with a scratch to the top of his head, "I wonder what he was goin' on about you, Arnold."
"Yeah, that was kinda new," Helga admitted with a quirk of her brow toward Gerald, whom she noticed seemed to want to double over in laughter, and to Arnold, who was rubbing his eyes with two fingers. "Anybody wanna clue me in?"
"Later, Helga," Arnold sighed. "I think it's time we started heading back."
"What a dweeb...still, that was weird. It's like he thought you were the..." Harold started with a faraway look and a thoughtful scratch to his temples...which stopped almost on a dime as something in his brain clicked. He barked out a cackle. "No way! Ah-nuld's the jinx!"
"What? Yer pullin' my leg!" laughed Stinky right along with him. "Arnold ain't the jinx!"
"Yeah, but Eugene came to that conclusion on his birthday more than a year ago," Gerald informed their tall classmate with a lot of held-back giggling. "Poor kid's in denial."
"Who, Eugene 'r Arnold?" Stinky replied, making himself and Harold double over in continuous laughter.
"Yeah," Harold had to keep jeering along, "I bet we all have to avoid Arnold now, or he'll curse all of us!"
"Alright, alright, that's enough outta both of ya!" Helga snarled as she dropped Arnold's arm for a moment to face the boys with her fists at her hips. As funny as the situation kinda was to her as well, she'd noticed her bruised and battered beloved was starting to get fairly agitated, though he just rolled his eyes passively upward and let them have their fun, as he tended to always do. It was about time for her to stand and break up the teasing, if nobody else was going to. "Jinx or not, in case you haven't noticed, Arnold probably just saved Eugene's life. Even I have to give props to the poor schmo. And unless you have something intelligent to add, I'm sure you jokers have something better to do, so I suggest you beat it!"
"Okay, fine, jeez...don't get your pigtails in a twist, Helga," Harold just dismissively sighed.
"Seriously though...that was an awesome save, Arnold," Stinky had to acknowledge, though still with a mirthful grin on his features. "I don't reckon I know if yer really the jinx, but at least Eugene'll be owin' ya his life again."
"Tell him don't mention it," Arnold said with a short sigh, waving them off. "We gotta go. We can have the Stickball rematch another time."
"No problemo," Stinky gave a thumb-up. "Seeya guys. Hope nothin' ain't broken."
"Unless you get in another accident," Harold joked with a laugh, and the boys parted ways with the two couples.
Once they were alone again, Helga shook her head. "Buncha yahoos...alright, we'd better make some tracks so you can get looked over, Football Head."
"Indeed...perhaps we should get you to your parents," Phoebe suggested to Arnold, "Both are accomplished doctors, and we are quite close by."
"That'd be the idea," Gerald nodded with a smile to his girlfriend, but also giving his blonde compatriot a serious look. "Think you can walk, man?"
"I'll be fine, Gerald, thanks," he replied with a light shrug and felt the grip on his arm release. There was some limping as he took a few test steps ahead, though, so Gerald and Helga shared a silent agreement to stay at his respective sides just in case. "And Helga," he looked up at her with a grateful, sweet smile, "Thanks for getting them off my back."
I swear I'll never get used to that look he gives me now...maybe there's hope for me in mending my evil ways...well, a little. "Eh, it's nothing about you; I was just getting tired of hearing them jabbering." Her smile in return was wry, though genuine, and despite the dismissive demeanor on the outside, it was sure that he recognized the sincerity in her eyes for the truth. "Let's get moving."
"...So really, he wasn't joking? He really thinks that Arnold is the unlucky one?"
"Oh yeah...there's barely any convincin' him otherwise!"
Though it was only a short walk back to the boarding house, to Arnold's growing annoyance, it felt like a miles-long trek when the conversation went back to filling Helga and Phoebe in on the whole fiasco. Usually the good-natured sort when it came to teasing, he had long dismissed Eugene's theory as just that—after all, he knew the truth. This had been the first time in a while that it had come up again, though, and it was starting to leave him with a few worried thoughts...and a bit of forgotten guilt.
...Why DOES everything bad usually only happen to Eugene when I'm there? I thought I was always just there to help, like I am with everybody...and nothing bad happens to anyone ELSE when I'm around them...I mean, not always...there's still the Dangerous Lumber...and then there was La Sombra, but I don't know if that one counts...but they came along in the first place because of me...
"That barely makes any sense," Phoebe was heard chiming in from ahead of them, "Statistically speaking, everyone should have the same amount of luck, with superstition just based on olden beliefs. No one person is luckier than another, or unluckier."
"Then how do you explain Eugene?" Gerald argued. "Kid's been breakin' bones and hittin' his head since we've known 'im."
"I would simply put it up to him being quite clumsy," Phoebe hummed. "He doesn't always have the best coordination."
"He takes dance classes," Helga said then. "There should be coordination coming out his ears."
"...Okay...perhaps then, his sense of timing and reflexes..." Phoebe blinked, and removed her glasses to rub her eyes. "...Would also have to be augmented by dance. Hm...concentration. Dancing takes focus, and he isn't always focused..."
"Phoebe, babe," Gerald placed his hand on her shoulder and gently smirked, "Maybe just don't overthink it. Maybe it's all those things. And heck, we've all seen weird things happen, right? Y'can't prove it's bad luck, but...y'can't disprove it either."
"Mm," she agreed after a second and nodded, "I suppose that is a good assessment, Gerald," she giggled with a grateful smile. "As always I thank you for your input."
"Aw, hey..." he blushed, "Ain't no problem. But," he cleared his throat, "Back to the original problem; does Arnold actually influence his luck?"
"...It is a tad strange that he seems to always be there when a grave accident strikes," the intellectual girl murmured, "But it could all just be coincidence."
"It's a buncha crock, is what it is," Helga scoffed. "Being around Arnold's never caused me any bad luck." You only make all my troubles seem so distant, my beloved... "No, you can blame my family for that. Everything else...I'd just blame on myself." Myself and my wretched impulses to keep my secrets about him so very tightly locked...
"Eh, my man's gotten me in some trouble over the years, but he ain't givin' me any kinda Eugene luck. Okay, maybe y'all are right, it's all nonsense," Gerald chuckled. "Still, it's just interestin' to think about..."
Arnold by this point, having been silent and thoughtful, listening to the conversation and letting everything whirl around in his mind from the doubt to the guilt to trying to walk on pained legs, just about had it; and it was evident in the shocked silence of his friends when, coming upon the side alley to his house, he immediately broke from the group, whirled around, and full-force kicked a trash can, bending it almost in half and sending it careening straight for the back fence.
The deafening, echoing KA-CLANG it made once it hit the mark and slid down, still upright with a sizable dent, made the air between the four wide-eyed children even thicker as they watched Arnold try to come down from his sudden adrenaline high with deep, shuddering breaths.
"...Wow," A mildly stunned Helga had to let out after a pause.
"Yeah...s'been a while since we seen him do anything like that," Gerald said, just as amazed. Seriously, where was Arnold the Karate Kid HIDING in San Lorenzo? The jinx thing must've REALLY gotten to him.
"Guys," Arnold forced out between his breaths, trying not to clench his teeth, "Can we please stop talking about the Eugene stuff, and get going inside n—OW!" he yelped all of a sudden when he tried to put his weight back on the foot that he'd used to kick, all but falling over to hold his pained leg.
"Arnold!" he heard Helga call as, immediately, she and Gerald rushed to his sides again and bent down to look him over. "What's hurting you?"
"It looks to be an ankle strain," Phoebe observed, having also come up in front of them right then.
"Oof, man, I thought you might've strained somethin' in that heroic act," Gerald shook his head and nabbed his arm to put around his shoulders. "Let's getcha up those stairs."
"Yeah, seriously, Arnold...we won't talk about it anymore if it bugs you so much, but don't be doing any more of that!" Helga demanded, albeit in a lighter tone than she usually took with her orders, and placed his other arm around her neck, helping to lift. "Not until you've sat down for a while. Pheebs, couldja get the door?"
"Getting," Phoebe chirped, already placing her hand on the knob, while her friends put their effort into helping Arnold onto his stoop.
Hissing between his teeth, the injured kid lifted his head. "Watch out for the..."
"No worries, Arnold; I think that all of us know the routine by this point," said Helga's best friend with a tiny grin as she released the throng of pets and semi-pets from inside their temporary home, with the rest of the kids carefully over to the side and out of their way.
Once they were gone and all was clear, Gerald chuckled. "Oh hey, Stinky should've stuck around, there's his pet bat...and I still wonder why that snake happened to bum a ride back..."
"One snake will not disturb the local ecosystem," Phoebe pointed out. "Well, one hopes...best not think about it, right?"
"Heh, now you're gettin' it, Pheebs," her boyfriend said with a toothy, flirtatious grin, to which she could be heard giggling.
Helga couldn't help but grin and roll her eyes at this display. Keep on truckin', Hair Boy. At least you and Phoebe flirting seems to be getting the tension down around here. Indeed, Helga's first concern now (after getting Arnold to a safe place) was getting to talk with him about his sudden hangup on this whole "jinx" craziness.
Once they'd managed to get a less-pained Arnold into the house and to the couch in the den, Gerald called upward. "'Ey, Doc Shortmans, either o' you around?"
"I am, I'll be there in a second," called Stella's voice from somewhere in the kitchen (at this, Arnold felt like a weight of worry had been lifted from his shoulders...he always wondered if this was the feeling that every kid had when they heard their mother's voice in a comforting tone, knowing they were always there).
Helga slumped on the back of the couch, just above where Arnold was reclining, her arms dangling over him. "Whew," she grinned and wiped her brow in an exaggerated fashion, "You gain weight or something, Arnoldo?"
"I think he's always been that heavy," Gerald smirked along. "S'gotta be his overbearing sense of heroism."
"Ha-ha," Arnold snorted, batting Gerald's shoulder and Helga's arm with his respective hands. "Can I live that down sometime this summer?"
"Nope," his two weaknesses both chimed in together, only making him shake his head with an amused smirk while Phoebe hid a giggle in her palm.
Stella appeared in the room not a second later, wiping her hands free of dishwater as she sent Arnold's friends a warm and welcoming smile. "Hello, everyone, what...?"
She was struck silent right then as her widened eyes fell upon Arnold, and she immediately knelt to his side, her face falling into panicked concern. "Sweetie, you look like you've been dragged over the ground! What happened?" The kids knew that the question was just as much directed to them as it was to her son, as her eyes wandered to each of them for clarity.
"Mom, it's okay, it's not bad; just got a strained ankle," Arnold spoke up first.
"Doing what, might I ask?" Stella inquired as she helped her son take his shoes and socks off to inspect said ankle a little more. "You're all scraped up!" She sighed loudly and shook her head. "I swear...for a while I thought you weren't going to end up as clumsy as your father..."
"Well, Arnold's never been exactly clumsy, Doc—Stella," Helga corrected herself as she spoke up as well, "But we did run into a chronically clumsy classmate of ours on the way here..."
Phoebe cleared her throat. "Indeed, Helga's correct, Doctor. A compatriot of ours, Eugene-"
"-Who we pretty much labeled as the class jinx since preschool, he's that unlucky," Gerald added.
"...Was barreling at full speed on a broken scooter towards the street. Arnold managed to snatch him and, in the process, sorta..."
"Tripped," Helga suddenly jumped in, knowing that Phoebe's eloquent manner of speaking would falter if she'd been forced to downplay the exact event (never had she been a good liar herself), "Got pulled along a little and scraped them both up; but only a little bit. I mean, give the kid props anyway, he did probably save Eugene's life."
"All in a day's work for Arnold the Saint," Gerald said with a nonetheless proud smirk toward his best friend with his arms crossed, and the kid in question rolled his eyes, a tiny smile appearing on him as well.
Stella blinked in surprise for a moment, taking in the story, before letting out something between a hum and a groan (the tiniest of smiles appearing too, though she hid it well). "You are definitely your father's son...which ankle is it?"
"Left one."
"Gotcha. Anyway; if you aren't clumsy, you definitely have his sense of altruism down...he'll rush headlong into anything if it means helping people."
"Hey, I can feel my ears burning from upstairs," came the laughing voice of Miles as he too appeared in the living room, sparing a friendly wave towards Arnold's friends and, after glancing at his prone son, a short wince. "Ooh...someone got up close and personal with the pavement..."
"Your son saved one of his friends, hon," Stella spared him a sideways grin. "Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" She turned back to her task at hand, holding the offending ankle. "Here, does it hurt if I squeeze here...?"
At that, Arnold hissed and tensed up, a groan settling at the back of his throat. "Yeah; and it's hard to walk on it."
"Seems like a strain to me...no swelling, that's good; should be back on your feet with some rest today."
"Wow," Miles chuckled as he came beside his wife and leaned on the back of the couch with his elbow, beaming with some pride at his boy. "Saving peoples' lives at your age; I was just saving stray pets when I was ten."
"Heh," Arnold chuckled shyly and scratched the back of his head. "Well, see, it's not a terribly big deal...Eugene does things like that all the time. Tripping, falling or bumping into things, going down manholes, getting stuck in trees, and the roller coaster at Dinoland broke down once when just me and him were on it, and we got stuck for hours..." It was then that Arnold started on a tangent of things that he was involved in. "His bike got broken, I accidentally killed his goldfish, I planned three birthday parties that got ruined..."
"Right, right, I think they get it, man," Gerald said, placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Basically, like we said, he's a jinx. The list just goes on."
"Holy..." Miles slapped the side of his head, eyes wide. "I mean, I'm bad sometimes, but I'm not that bad...poor kid..."
"Yeah...but he's always up and walking again hours later, maybe days if he broke something," Helga pointed out. "Guy's so used to his bad luck, never complains about it...I swear he's just snapped somewhere and now is just a ball of perpetual optimistic denial. At least Arnold here, he's always been there more than once to help him out."
"...Or make things worse..." Arnold muttered.
Despite it being said beneath his breath, everyone around him still heard him, standing for a second in brief, thick silence as his gaze turned to the back of the couch...away from everyone's eyes.
"Dude," Gerald said, breaking the quiet, "You can't actually believe that, can ya?"
"S'hard not to when it keeps getting brought up," Arnold pointed out, grimacing (and making his friends shrink into their shoulders a little). "Think about it...I really was there every time something bad happened to Eugene..."
Helga rolled her eyes. "You couldn't have been there every time..."
"-And then every time I tried to help, it only failed," he interrupted harshly. "EVERY time. And, really, unfortunate things have happened to everybody around me at least once...it's just, sometimes..." Arnold struggled to find the words of his mood, just letting out a disturbed sigh. "...Sometimes, maybe I do feel a little cursed."
"Oh, Arnold, sweetie..." his mother sighed, breaking him out of his thoughts as she leaned forward to gently tussle his hair. "Don't be silly. You aren't cursed—there's no such thing...and there's no being 'jinxed' either. Some people are just more prone to things like that."
"Yeah, seriously," Miles laughed off with a wave of his hand. "I've lost count of how many accidents I've had. And from what I've seen of you, son, you're a pretty capable kid...I wouldn't call you cursed at all." There was a short pause, and then as if something struck him, the father's face fell from a laughing grin to a thoughtful frown. "...Unless..."
All eyes glanced up to him in curiosity. "Unless what?" Arnold cautiously inquired.
Miles then seemed to break out of his thoughts like he broke out of a trance, his wide eyes darting to meet those of his audience. "Ahh...nothing, it's nothing...y'know what, I'm probably getting in the way of things here, I oughta get back to leafing through my journals..." he started backing away, "I mean, all this organizing since we got back, it's never gonna get done...I'll catchya later!" he finished with an exaggerated wink and a pointing gesture to hide the fact that his grin seemed a little nervous, and quickly enough his back was turned and he was all but rushing back to the stairwell, footsteps echoing easily even above them on the ceiling.
There was a quick beat, before Helga cleared her throat. "Is it just me, or does he seem to be hiding something?"
"Helga..." Arnold sighed and placed a hand on his girlfriend's elbow, but didn't really try to chastise her more about being tactful...after all, she was right, and now he was dripping with curiosity.
She shrugged back at him as if to say, "What, he does," but only spared a small grin.
Stella, with a sigh, stood up. "No, Helga's right on the nose; he only acts that nervous when he is hiding something, and usually something I won't like to hear." She crossed her arms and turned back to the children. "Could you guys watch over Arnold while I go investigate?" And probably interrogate my dear husband...
"Y'can count on us, Doc," Gerald saluted, as did the other two kids surrounding the prone boy (who, himself, just let his head fall back on the arm of the couch).
"I know I can," Stella said with a gentle smile and added while turning toward the stairs, "I'll find you an ice pack to put on that while I'm gone, sweetie."
And with that, she marched with a determined state of purpose to the stairwell, her own footfalls more subdued in tone but nonetheless just as urgent as she followed her husband's trail.
"...Was it in this one...? Oh, no, that's the translation for the ciphers, forgot where I put those...maybe it was in this one..."
Once Miles Shortman had reached his destination back upstairs (which turned out to be one of the rooms that could barely ever be filled, having been turned into his and Stella's personal bedroom and sort-of office space for all of their clutter), he'd immediately began sifting through the boxes labeled in his name for the notes on the Green-Eyes; he could have almost kicked himself for having forgotten to separate any of his notes, or at least label them when he packed.
He wouldn't have even been so hasty to disturb what progress he'd made on them so far, if it weren't for the fact that his son's predicament left him with a sort of hazy memory that, nonetheless, he wanted to make sure to confirm for himself.
Miles was only probably halfway through one box when, suddenly, he heard the door to the room shut quickly behind him; not loud enough to slam, though. It was the deliberately-loud click that the latch made when it closed that made him gulp. He knew that his wife would have followed him up anyway...but as always, it was nice to hope that she would overlook his haste in leaving.
He turned slowly with what he hoped was a placating smile toward Stella, who was standing at the door with her arms crossed and a do-not-mess-with-me frown.
"Alright, Miles, spill; what had you running up here all of a sudden like the dogs were biting your ankles?"
"...Did I really go that fast? Heh, I thought I'd taken the stairs at a jog, at the most...I mean, you're always telling me we should get some more exercise, y'know, get our strength back-"
"-You have ten seconds."
"...Uh...okay, look, the thing is...I don't remember the specific details, I mean this was nearly ten years ago that I'm thinking of, and some of the things about the jungle are a bit of a blur, and that's why I was looking through my journals, for clarification-"
"-Five seconds," she interrupted through gritted teeth. She usually found it cute when Miles was trying to backpedal to save his skin from her wrath, but currently, she was starting to get annoyed.
For Miles, he only had to love that he still knew his wife—and she him—so very well, that he recalled when it was better for him to spit it out, and then explain.
"...I maaaaay...have put a Green-Eye curse on our son...when he was a baby. On accident!" he added quickly, his hands up in a plea for mercy.
Stella though, after hearing that, was torn between being frustrated with him and being amused...neither was particularly winning, and it just made her nose scrunch up when she gave him a look of confusion. "...What in Heaven's name are you talking about?"
Miles let out a sigh, gathered his thoughts for a beat, and then began again. "It was just an idea I had at the time; the Green-Eyes had helped us out so much, for all the time we lived there, and when Arnold was born...so, I did some research on some of their rites and rituals, holy blessings...and, to honor them, I suppose, I wanted to give our only newborn son a blessing, in their way." He chuckled shyly. "Probably sounds silly now, I mean, we could never even speak to the Green-Eyes, they were too secretive...perhaps there would have been a way to get their permission. But then again, Eduardo and I had studied their language enough, I thought I could do it myself."
At this explanation, Stella's look softened, and she couldn't help but let a grin tug at her lip. It was so very much like her husband to want to do something that sentimental; something special to both honor their son and the people that had given a guiding hand in bringing him into the world—in their world, a wild and nigh-unforgiving jungle that had been silenced for the few moments that the boy had drawn his first breaths in a cry.
But, of course, there was more to the explanation. Her head tilted. "While that's very sweet to think about you doing that, I'm wondering exactly where a curse comes in, instead?"
"Heh," he gave a toothy, sheepish grin and went back to the box in front of him. "That's exactly why I came running here. Hearing Arnold talking about being jinxed, it made me suddenly remember that day...I could even remember, just like it was yesterday, Stella, the exact words of the blessing..." he cringed a little. "...Then I remembered wondering all that night if I'd done it right, because if I'd gotten just one thing wrong, mispronounced a word, whatever, then it would be like putting a curse on him. And every single time we watched him almost get into trouble, had to narrowly escape the danger he'd wander into...I never really got to double-check my notes back then until now. I just suddenly really wanted to find out."
After a moment of contemplative silence, waiting for her reaction, he heard his wife step closer and kneel down with him next to the box, her hand on his shoulder. "Then how come, back then, you didn't just ask Eduardo for help? And come to think of it, why wasn't I part of this impromptu baptism, huh?" She lightly smacked him on the shoulder, but there was everything of mirth in her smirk.
He laughed and nervously scratched the back of his head. "You were out getting more supplies at the time; and plus, according to their culture, it's a father-son thing."
"Oooof course," Stella snorted.
With a snort of his own, he placed his hand on hers. "As for Eduardo..." he paused and frowned, putting his free hand to his temples. "...Y'know, I forget why I didn't ask him for help...or even if I did or not...it's...so many things are still a blur."
Stella frowned back with understanding, leaning against him and staring down into the box like it was naught but empty space to comprehend. "We were asleep for far too long."
She felt him breathe in deeply. "Well, we're here now...those Green-Eyed kids are probably the bravest and most resourceful youngsters in all of human civilization, having kept us and their parents alive in our sleep. Along with Arnold and his friends, braving the jungle to rescue us."
The mother chuckled. "You'd better give the kids their credit; they deserve it. And you know...I would just bet that if that blessing was meant to do anything for our son, then it did. He found us. He and his friends...and Helga...everything that they keep saying that he's responsible for...he really turned out to be a lucky kid. You shouldn't worry about a silly blessing."
"You know I do worry," he argued. "I've studied the Green-Eyed people for a long time, and I feel I treat their culture and beliefs as carefully as they do. With everything I've seen, I can't help but believe in it somehow."
Stella fought back against rolling her eyes; while she could never deny the mysterious power that the jungle people seemed to have along with the nature of their world, her feet had always been planted in the grounds of reality. Blessings and curses were fine and well; but the real world was just as much a factor in fortune, if not more so. Still, she looked her husband in the eye and gave him a reassuring smile. If this was going to make him feel better, then she was going to be there.
"I know, Miles. C'mon, we'll look for those notes together. They have to be here somewhere. If I know you, Mr. Meticulous, you packed them all and then some."
"Well, I've been known to have bad luck, too. Meticulous as I can be, I can still never find some things again." He huffed and rested his chin on his hand. "Maybe I'm the one with the Green-Eyes curse."
"If you're cursed, then I'm cursed, being married to you," Stella laughed, "Yet, miraculously, I'm still here."
"Stell, I firmly believe that you're the only woman alive who could probably fight a curse tooth and nail and come out without a scratch."
"Flattery gets you everywhere," she grinned and sneaked a kiss to his cheek. "But right now, we've got boxes to dig through."
Downstairs, meanwhile, Arnold had his eyes closed while he was still resting his head back, just listening to his mother's footsteps until they could barely be made out on the second floor. As always, his thoughts were on a running blur.
What in the world could've made Dad rush out all of a sudden? What's he know that we don't? Is...am I ACTUALLY cursed, and they've been hiding it from me all this time? Is it a Green-Eyes thing? And how does Eugene fit into the picture, I mean, HE'S the one that always nearly getting everything broken, but I'm always still there...
"...Arnold? Hey, Arnold! Dude, get back to Earth for a minute, huh?"
At the sound of his name, and Gerald's voice getting progressively louder, and finally the sight of his fingers snapping in front of his eyes, Arnold blinked and quickly sat up again. "Huh, what!" he whipped his head around to him. "What's goin' on?"
Phoebe gently cleared her throat. "Well, again, we were hoping that you would tell us that."
"Yeah, man, you're spacin' like there's no tomorrow!" Gerald said with an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed.
Arnold just shrugged. "I space all the time."
He heard a sigh from above him, and he turned to see Helga still leaning her arms over the back of the couch. "What our two best friends are trying to say is that you suddenly look real pensive about this whole 'jinx' malarkey. You're practically being hailed as a hero, again, for a demonstration of the great deeds you do, and here you're being sulky. Lighten up, Football Head," she smirked and gave his head a light noogie, "You of all the little balls of sunshine aren't allowed to be sulky."
"Yeah, man, you're among your friends," Gerald pointed out as he leaned against the coffee table before the couch, "Tell us what's buggin' ya."
"It should indeed help to speak candidly about the problem at hand," Phoebe said as she adjusted her glasses. "You know you won't be ridiculed for it."
Arnold let in a deep breath and sighed again. "...I'm not afraid of being ridiculed. It's just like I said. What Eugene said just seems to be sticking with me, and now I'm wondering if there isn't some truth to the whole thing."
Gerald's eyes rolled. "Now you know that's not true. I know I picked on ya about it, but ya know I was jus' bein' funny, 'cause I thought you found it funny. Eugene's the one with the bad luck, and he's the one that gets everyone around him caught up in it, whether you're there or not. Y'gotta know that."
"Besides," Helga added, "If anything, you bring everyone else luck. Every single time a huge problem pops up, you're there to solve it. People in our class don't actively come to a jinx for a right answer, they come to you...you're always there when Eugene's breaking bones, because you're the best guy for the job to keep him out of trouble. There aren't many people in this entire city who don't praise you for doing your impossibly amazing guardian-angel thing." She smirked playfully. "Or didn't a certain prize-winning video compilation get that hammered into your wide head?"
Remembering said video, Arnold felt a familiar warmth in his heart, and he hummed a chuckle. "Yeah...true, I guess...I dunno why being called that just gets to me. Eugene..."
"Eugene's in denial, is my guess," Gerald said, shaking his head. "Don't be listenin' to him, man. Anyway," he grunted as he pushed off the coffee table. "If that's settled, mind if I raid the fridge? I'm dyin' for a soda. Anyone else?"
"Yeah, grab me one too, Geraldo," Helga gave him a wave. "Whaddya say, Hero Boy? Say the word, and we can probably get a tray of gourmet snacks in here too."
"I'm not ordering anyone around, Helga," Arnold said with a chiding look and a laugh. "My ankle'll be better soon. Just a soda would be good."
"Aw, c'mon, live a little an' let us put together a snack tray," Gerald snickered. "You almost never let anyone give ya anything in return unless we insist. So don't make us insist."
At least I didn't save SID'S life again, Arnold thought with a sigh and rolled his eyes. "Alright, sure, make snacks too if you want."
"Shall I come with?" asked a smiling Phoebe with her hands behind her back. "I feel I should be of some help in the endeavor of snack-making."
"Hey, the more the merrier, babe," Gerald said with a flash of a smile and gestured her forward. Giggling, she took his invitation, but grabbed his hand in passing as they wandered toward the kitchen.
The two blonde kids shared a few snickers at their best friends once they were out of earshot. "I'm glad to see Gerald happy with Phoebe," Arnold smiled. "I've had to help him through too many girlfriend problems."
Helga snorted. "Suddenly I have an image of you playing Cupid."
"Heh; the stories I could tell..." he said, his voice trailing off into a sigh. His mirthful smile didn't last long, however, as it fell back into a pensive frown. As much of a wonderful distraction his friends and their advice were, still his mind would always stick to a problem, like gum to the underside of a desk...and it wandered again back to what his parents could be finding out...and what exactly it meant, come to think of it, that he always was there for everyone else, fixing their problems.
Arnold never considered himself a selfish person, and nobody could ever tell you that he was, by a long shot...even if he'd had some moments in his youth. And to a fault, he never complained about the help he gave to others. Their happiness was enough to make him happy, too. So why now, and sometimes on other occasions, did it make him feel just utterly exhausted?
Helga noticed the sudden silence and glanced down to see him no longer on Earth again, mentally. Frowning with concern, she moved around to the front of the couch and reached to flick his nose.
"Ow!" Arnold exclaimed as he jolted up again, holding the aching appendage and giving Helga a pointed look. "What was that for?"
"I felt it was faster than calling your name a buncha times to get you to get outta space again," she said with a matter-of-fact tone, then turned around to sit on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, closely next to him. "What else has to be bugging you, Hero Boy?"
"That my new nickname now?" he had to ask with a sideways smirk.
"What, you actually prefer 'Football Head'?" she smirked back, rather amused at that.
He shrugged, glancing up. "I guess I'm just more used to it. You've called me that for as long as I can remember."
A memory then struck Helga, of the first time she ever did call him that. It had been in first grade...it was also the very first time that she'd ever lashed out at him in particular, instead of the other kids so that they'd refrain from ever teasing her. He'd wanted to find out what she was sad about (not that she could remember why, she just was, big surprise). She also still remembered the shocked, almost pained look in his eye as he just walked off to leave her alone, as per her high-pitched, shouted wishes. She had almost run back to him to apologize...but as always, she never got the nerve, and the name had been used again later...and stuck. Helga could never pinpoint the exact moment that she'd cemented herself as the iron-fisted bully of their grade, but that was one of the moments that stuck out.
All things considered, probably better late than never. She took a long breath, as she practiced before saying anything sincere, looked around in case of eavesdroppers, and spoke. "Y'know...that I never really meant that as an insult...right, Arnold? I-I think it came out on the fly, long ago...but it's always been more of a...pet name, I guess? I mean, I end up giving a nickname to everybody, but even if it always sounded like yours was an insult...you can tell by now I love everything about you...including your head. A-anyway, yeah...if you ever were insulted, I-I'm...y'know...sorry," she finished and squinted her eyes shut, her hand over the locket at her heart, as always waiting to receive some sort of comeback or act of justice for her apology on impulse.
Instead, she felt Arnold's weight shifting forward on the couch and his hand on her shoulder. When she turned to meet his eyes, there it was, the forgiving smile and shining eyes that also held an extra spark of warmth, of caring, of what she would dare call love...the look reserved for her alone.
"I'm not insulted by it, Helga...I mean, maybe I was at one time," he shrugged it off, "But, like I said, I'm so used to you calling me that, that I just sorta never think ill of it anymore. I'd probably be worried if you ever stopped calling me that. But, thanks for the apology...I know those take a lot to bring out, and so I know you're sincere about it."
Helga swore to every deity that would listen that she'd never, ever get tired of that fiery, warm feeling that gripped her heart whenever Arnold brought her out of her own doubts. Every bit a hero as the ones in myths of old, my beloved...
She found herself with a quivering, smiling lip as she tried to hold back the giddy happiness that threatened to make her monologue, in a boarding house full of people who'd probably hear it from straight through the floor. "I...thanks...Football Head," she said in a tone that, probably for the first time, hadn't come with the snide attitude linked with the nickname. It was soft, quiet, probably for the purpose of just being heard by the two of them in the public space of the den. "Heh...see the good that you do? Even you saying something like that, it...well, frankly, makes me happier than I could imagine ever being before."
Arnold smiled at that, feeling the same warmth gripping his heart when he saw Helga beaming, just because of something he'd done...somehow, it was better, stronger than the feeling he'd gotten with helping others. Whether it was because he cared deeply for this girl, or because he knew that she was the one in need of happiness the most of all, or both, he couldn't feel bad about achieving this one. "You're always welcome, Helga."
There was a moment when they were just watching each other with hazy eyes, before Helga turned and laid her crossed arms on the couch by his side, her head resting on them. "Anyway, you sentimental little shrimp, you didn't answer my question. What else is bugging you?"
He hummed and laid his head back again, eyes to the ceiling as he thought about it. "I just...suddenly wondered, while you guys were pointing out to me how much I've helped people...I've...wow...I've done a lot."
"You've done more than a lot," Helga pointed out with a quirked eyebrow. "Doi...you've done more than any kid your age has any right to do."
"I know!" he exclaimed, throwing up his arms. "I mean...it's still kinda amazing, and I'm still proud of everything I do for everybody, and I know how grateful everyone is...but...I dunno...is it selfish of me to think that...maybe...I don't do enough for myself?"
Helga's skeptical look disappeared into surprise, and she blinked, raising her head. "Arnold...you're probably the only kid I've ever heard say that they feel bad about thinking of themselves for once."
Arnold gripped his head and groaned. "I don't feel bad, I just...it's..." he fell into a dead silence and let his arms flop back down onto his stomach. "I do do things for myself, enjoy myself, but, I just find I'm mostly enjoying myself when I go out of my way for others. It's complicated I guess."
"...Nah. You're just letting yourself think it's complicated," Helga pointed out. "You do feel a little bad about thinking a little selfishly. But you shouldn't."
The football-headed child glanced back up at her, blinking. "Really? I mean, all everyone really compliments me on is how helpful I am, and I'm just used to really being seen like that..."
"Look," Helga sighed and sat up again, facing him with her arms crossed. "It's like I said. You're still just a kid. A kid who puts way too much on his shoulders. You're not Atlas, bucko; the world's not gonna fall into oblivion if you give yourself a break."
"The school almost did, that one time everyone was calling me a busybody..."
"-Okay, no, that was my fault for insisting on giving advice in your stead; I admitted that one," she held up her finger to keep him silent as she spoke. "If I hadn't done anything, I would hope that everyone would've just found out what to do themselves...they're all goofballs, but I think they're all mature enough to do that, or try to be. That was not on you. And if you decided for one day that you wanted to do only what you wanted to do, it would not fall apart."
"Well, it did for me one day; remember The List for a Kid's Perfect Saturday? Everything I tried, all failed."
Helga scoffed loudly. "Do you remember being warned that no kid could finish that list? If you did anything, it's that you were so overly-confident that the Universe decided to hit you with the mother of all Murphy's Law days."
"'Murphy's Law'?"
"'If it CAN go wrong, it WILL go wrong'. Stay with me, Einstein," Helga sighed. "I know that one intimately. The Universe and I have a love-hate relationship."
Arnold couldn't help but laugh, and Helga reveled in the sound of his mirth before continuing. "My point is, you have to have times where you focus on caring for you too. Do what makes you happy, and if it ever turns out that helping someone doesn't make you happy, then don't. The others will live, the world won't end, and if anybody gets mad at that, well...you can karate chop 'em in the head," she smirked and smacked her fist in her palm. "Or, call me, and I'll do it for ya."
He chuckled warmly. "I doubt it'll come to that...and...thanks for the talk, Helga. Y'know, it's funny; you say you were bad at giving the others advice. But...you're one of the few people who gives me real, solid advice whenever I need it. You actually give back to me...and you've done more than I could ever ask of you, or imagine of you...and..."
"Please, enough of the mush," Helga stopped him with a wave of her hand, and she wished that she could willingly stop the blood from rushing to her cheeks or cease her heart's relentless pounding against her ribs, whenever he started to go on a tangent about how wonderful he suddenly found her. "I'm just evening things out, is all."
He shook his head and took that hand in his own, tightly squeezing her fingers and making her eyes go wide. "You should take your own advice, Helga. Won't you ever accept compliments? You deserve good for yourself as much as I do. In fact...you might be just as bad at letting yourself have that good, as I am."
"Arnold, I told you," she sighed, turning to him, "You are what makes me happy; one of the few things in this stupid world that does. I don't care what you say, Football Head, I am happy to give back, if it means that much. Living that knowing what I did actually helped has been enough lately. Besides, this is about you and your dumb hangups about whether or not you're meant to live for others. So, you'd better be feeling better, because I'm suddenly feeling drained." Not to mention EXTREMELY warm right now...must you be so good at touching my heart?
Despite seeing her aggravation start to rise again, Arnold just smiled and leaned forward to lay a soft, lingering kiss to the fingers of her hand. "I do feel better. About everything. Thank you, Helga." He let her fingers slip out of his, only catching the tips together before it did. "So much."
And he did get to see how happy those compliments made her, when she let her hands cross over her heart and she let out her breath in a love-struck swoon, falling back against the couch base, eyes fluttering closed. He watched her with a smitten look, lost in his own warmth. If I only make ONE person happy for the rest of my life...
After a second of trying to hold her effervescent, poetic side in, Helga sighed and turned again to him, her eyes opening half-way. "Well, hey, you're always welcome, too. But," she stood up, "Speaking of making each other happy...now that your mystery is solved, I happen to have one more request of you."
Arnold blinked, slightly cautious at her sudden, serious demeanor. "...Alright...lemme hear it."
But, he suddenly had to gulp when Helga's scowl came back, and she gripped his shoulders, bearing closely into his wide eyes.
"I can never stop you from doing your heroics. But crimeny, for the love of Pete, don't you ever, EVER do something so dangerous again! For cryin' out loud, do you know how it was for me to always see you attempting every painful, stupid, twisted STUNT in the hope that you come out alive?"
Still wide-eyed and frozen solid, all that Arnold could do was listen to Helga while her fervent grip slowly softened with her eyes. He caught the very slight moment when the demanding set of her lips wavered. "Promise me that, or I swear someday I'll just kill you myself! And...spare us both the trouble," she finished, her voice easily losing its edge and falling quiet again, almost...pleading?
His aching heart raced; she'd never yet say it, but there she was, telling him with her look alone, that she'd been worried...had always been worried, before he ever knew enough about her. At the moment, all he wanted to do was hug her, tightly.
It hadn't been Arnold who'd broken the silence at that moment though, but instead Phil, who'd come in from the kitchen's back door (and had come into the den after listening to the conversation a little from the other room) with a chuckle. "Heheh...I believe this is the part where you'd better say 'yes ma'am,' Short Man."
"Grandpa..." Arnold sighed, shaking his head as he felt Helga letting him go in surprised self-consciousness, instead setting herself back to the floor.
Phil waved his hand. "Aw, I'm just teasin', Arnold. Really, it's natural that your girlfriend'd be worried about ya pullin' off all that you do. Sorry to bust in, kids, I'm passin' through wonderin' where in tarnation'd I put my shovel. Seems one of the trash cans got the dickens beat outta it; there's garbage everywhere in the yard by the alley fence! Know anythin' about that?"
At that, Arnold put on a wide, nervous grin and glanced to Helga, who only shrugged. "Search us. Some dogs probably dragged it back there on accident or something."
"Right," the grandfather grinned with narrowed eyes at the youngsters. "Well, I did get to hear about your latest escapade from yer friends in there; so just rest up an' get that ankle better, Short Man. And Helga, guard 'im with yer life; might just disappear on ya if he feels the need."
The blonde girl snorted loudly and gave him a mock salute. "You got it, Phil. I can keep him in line."
"Can she ever," Arnold muttered, albeit with a fond grin back to the girl in question.
With that, Phil barked out another laugh and a wistful sigh. "Oh, you're definitely a chip off the ol' block, boy. Us Shortman men always seem to end up with the gals that can kick our butts three ways t' Sunday, heheh!" He rolled his eyes upward and walked away, muttering himself. "Must be another family curse."
"Please don't say the word 'curse'," his grandson just grumbled.
Left alone again, Helga just snickered and scooted closer so that her back was to his side, crossing her arms. "What's he mean by 'another' curse? Don't tell me you're actually jinxed."
"No," he just sighed out a laugh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Grandpa's referring to the fact that everyone in the family before him died at ninety-one. There was this whole scare when his birthday passed last year and he thought it was eighty-one. He thinks it's a curse...I just think it's coincidence. He's too healthy."
Helga chuckled. "Well, only time will tell. Heck, maybe it'll cancel out." She leaned closer, rising to sit on the edge of the couch beside him, and raised her eyebrow. "Plus, you're gonna have someone who makes sure that you live to see ninety-one." Her eyes narrowed. "About that promise?"
Arnold put on a nervous smile and scratched the back of his head. "Almost forgot, heh." Then, his look turned sincere as he scooted to sit upward. "I'm not sure I can promise that I'll never get into dangerous situations again, but..." his hand went to her shoulder, "I can promise to try. I don't really want anyone to worry about me."
As always, she felt a wave of warmth where he laid his gentle touch, and Helga had to hide a loving smile behind a snide grin; it shone in her eyes instead. "Worried? Heh, c'mon...who said I was worried?"
"Kinda had a feeling," he smirked back with his half-lidded gaze, and before she knew it, she'd been tugged into a tight embrace.
As used to his unscripted, grateful hugs as she was, Helga's eyes were still wide with (wonderful, beautiful) shock; but this time she dared not try to pry him off, even with a single movement. After the talk they'd had, with Arnold always finding it so easy to talk to her, to say what he thought with all of the trust that she'd take it to heart...she felt the weight of her importance to him. And it was anyway true; she was worried, would always be worried for the young hero that sometimes came to be in her charge. Oh, you keep on doing what you're meant to be doing, my love...and may you know that I will always be there to help you up again...for as I've said...you have my love, always.
With only a tiny pause, it was his turn to be slightly surprised as she wrapped her arms around him to return the embrace, in full. They held each other for a blissful moment of warmth, and Arnold felt the pain far away, both in his ankle and what had been gnawing on his mind. They were just lost, floating, safe together. He soon pulled away, stealing a lingering kiss to her cheek as he did. Their hands rested on the other's shoulders, and closely they locked their hazy gazes, green to blue, forehead to forehead, communicating again without words.
But Helga was the first to come to her senses, as always, clearing her throat with a deep blush as she sat up and took back her hands to lay one nervously at the back of her neck. "Heh, w-well, anyway...glad to get that cleared up, Football Head." As much as I love these moments, there's gotta be a better time and place...but GOSH he has to be the best hugger, she sighed with regret and playfully slapped his shoulder. "Enough mush; you're still injured, and I'm starting to wonder what's taking Gerald and Phoebe so long with those sodas and snacks."
Arnold, shaking his head a little to come out of his love-struck daydreams, just chuckled. "I'm sure they haven't been gone that long, Helga. I'm wondering what's taking my parents, though."
"We're right here, sweetie," suddenly called Stella's voice, right on cue as she could be heard entering the den with her husband's footsteps trailing behind. "Found the ice pack, too. Here," she said as she leaned over the couch and placed it on his left ankle, "Keep that on there until it doesn't feel cold anymore." She cast a quick smile toward Helga. "And thanks again for watching over him."
"Hey, easy job," the girl laughed as she slid back to the floor, resting back on her arms over the couch. "Guy doesn't complain about laying around."
"When I don't have a choice, that is," Arnold quipped, eyes rolling up, but his smile stayed.
Stella snorted. "Again, just like his father, he's easy to take care of...if you can keep him from hurting himself in the first place. Anyway, I'll go help your friends in the kitchen. They seem to be having a time looking for the lunch meat."
Arnold snickered and whispered to Helga. "I'll bet Mr. Kokoshka stole all the lunch meat again."
"I'll bet that our friends are just using that excuse to flirt with each other," Helga murmured back, the two of them sharing a knowing grin.
"Oh, hey," Miles suddenly piped up, looking around, "I thought I heard my dad's voice through here a moment ago."
"You did, he's looking for his shovel."
"Again?" Miles threw his hands up, sighing. "I told him I put it in the garage."
The kids both laughed, and then Arnold caught his attention by tugging on his shirt. "Hey, Dad, I got a question about Grandpa. A million of 'em, actually, but one right now."
Miles turned to him with a wide smile; if there's one thing he and Stella both loved, it was the feeling of being there to answer anything that might be on his mind. "Shoot at it me, son."
"Is there really a family curse, or was he caught up in believing one of his stories again?"
The older man barked out a laugh. "Which curse, the one where we only live to be ninety-one, or the one where we seem to only marry women who can beat us up?"
Helga tried to hold back her cackling behind her hands, and failed miserably (her head after all was filled with the buzzing thought that there could be real metaphysical proof that she and her beloved were destined to be), as Arnold laid his blushing face in his palm. "Both."
Miles shook his head, snickering out the last of his own hysterics. "Oh, man, Pops and his stories...I kinda doubt the first one. Great-great-uncle Toby lived to be a hundred, but he'll argue that the curse only deals with our line directly. As for the second...well..."
"Miles, if you say that one is a curse, I will beat you up," Stella deadpanned, suddenly appearing again with a laughing Gerald and Phoebe close behind, one carrying sodas and the other carrying a platter of sandwiches.
"'Bout time, Pheebs," Helga sighed, "Toss me one of those sodas; I'm parched."
"Tossing!"
"So Arnold," Gerald grinned in his best friend's direction as the snacks were laid on the coffee table. "What'd you and Helga talk about all alone in here?"
The blonde boy grinned back and popped the cork off his Yahoo. "What'd you and Phoebe talk about that took so long?"
"Geez, man," the tall-haired boy raised his arms, "Ain't gonna be no fun teasin' ya if we get teased."
"Sorry Geraldo," Helga laughed. "Eye for an eye. So, Pheebs?" she toothily smiled at her bespectacled friend.
As always, Phoebe couldn't help but blush. "We simply misplaced the location of all of the snack ingredients, is all."
"Riiight."
Miles and Stella stood back and watched the four children bantering together, holding one another and feeling a warmth in their hearts. There probably would never come a time where they weren't grateful for everything that happened; though they'd missed a good amount of their son's childhood, they could still watch him grow up now, alongside the special kids with whom he surrounded himself.
Their attention went back to Arnold as he moved to glance back at them though, his smile having vanished and his eyes curious. "So...what happened before that made you run out of here?"
The two parents shared a look, and then Stella gave him a short nod and a nudge. Miles smiled reassuringly. "It was nothing to worry about, Arnold; I'd just kinda remembered that when you were a baby, I practiced a blessing on you that the Green-Eyes have for their children, and almost thought that I cursed you instead. I had to look up the blessing to see if I got it right."
As the other three children shared interested gazes between them, Arnold tried to lean closer. "...And?"
The father chuckled warmly and laid a hand on his head, right between his unruly tufts of hair where the little hat that they'd given him still sat. "And, turns out, I did have it right. Roughly translated, I said, 'may you be a blessing to your world, and may you be blessed with the world'. But I'm sure, even without it, you turned out to be one of the luckiest kids ever. I know we're very lucky to have you."
That, Arnold felt that he already knew; not a bad day went by where, at the end, he always counted his blessings...and he found that there were always more of them to count when all was said and done.
"Ay-men to that, Doc," Gerald said with sincere enthusiasm. "Now c'mon, we got snacks to eat in honor of my best friend."
"So long as he doesn't get a big head about it," Helga quipped, ruffling his hair and sending him a discreet wink.
And so they ate and relaxed away the rest of the daylight, regaling the parents with stories about their son's past bravery (and downplaying the parts that would have made them worry for his life), with Arnold feeling all the more grateful that he wasn't left to stew anything over, and still humbled at every word of praise...as he figured he always would.