A/N: Hi, guys. I usually hate starting a chapter with an Author's Note, but I need you to do me a favor. Before you start reading, go to Youtube, or a music playing app, and look for a song called "Reckless Love" by a band named 'Bleachers'. The song is featured in this chapter, and it's brilliant. Also, if you've never heard it, that part of the chapter might not make sense. Please and thank you! Oh, and a thank you to my sort-of-beta Arnold's Love for reading and reviewing a portion of this chapter!

Chapter Nine: Muddled

Muddle – V; When mixing cocktails, using a tool (muddler) to smash or grind herbs, fruit and/or sugar in the bottom of a glass before adding the liquid ingredients to intensify their flavors.

"I should kick you right outta here. You know that, right? I should kick you out, and punch you in your stupid face."

"Yeah, you should."

"It's what you deserve. I wouldn't even feel bad." Helga said, crossing her arms. Even though she was standing in her own kitchen, but still felt the need to guard herself. If anyone was going to give her a run for her money, as far as arguments were concerned, it was this man.

"You shouldn't."

"I won't. I'd break your nose and not even bat an eye." Helga said. When the person standing across the kitchen from her only looked abashed at his own feet, she broke. "Geez, Gerald, what do you want me to say? You…you said some things to me that no one has ever said. Not because they're scared of me, like usual, but because they were mean. You were mean to me. And I know I poke and prod and irritate you on purpose, but I've never been mean to you. Not like that."

"No. You haven't. And, I'm really sorry. My intentions-"

"Intentions count in your actions." Helga said, simply.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know…"

"Let me ask you something…do you know who the love of my life is?"

"I'm almost scared to say." Gerald responded, after a long pause.

"Phoebe." She sated. "Don't look at me like that. The 'love of your life' doesn't always have to be romantic. It's the person who comes into your life and makes you a better person. Who makes your past seem a little bit okay. When I was a kid, I loved Arnold, as much as you can love someone when you're nine years old. There was a brightness to him that I'd never seen in anyone before. He made everything around him brighter. But, he never made me brighter.

"So, if you can tell me that what you said the other night hasn't taken away the best friend I've ever had, then I can forgive you. I'll write it off and chalk it up as you wanting to protect your best friend, and we'll never talk about it again."

Gerald took a deep breath, taking in everything she said. "I'm sorry. I know it's lame, but I really am. I know what I said was out of line. And you know Phoebe loves you. Me being an idiot the other night wasn't going to change that. But, Arnold…he's my best friend. He's lost a lot these past few years. I don't know what he's told you, but he's not the same guy who left Hillwood ten years ago. Something changed him, and I'd hate to see him hurt."

"And you think I'd hurt him?"

"Not on purpose. Not…maliciously. But, I know you, Helga Pataki, at least a little bit. You're one of my closest friends. And not just because of Phoebe. I've watched you take down guys twice your size, without batting an eye. You can be…bristly when you want. You're stubborn and you hate opening up."

"And you think", Helga began, skeptically. "Arnold needs some soft, flowing princess, with silken locks and a voice like a babbling brook to come along and take care of him?"

Gerald followed Helga's lead and rolled his eyes. "You read too much."

"Speaking as a perpetually 'broken' soul, I can tell you, not all of us need fixing."

"Don't I know it. Second to you, Arnold's the strongest person I know. He's also the second most stubborn person I know. Just…tread softly with my man, alright?"

"Deal." She said, extending her hand.

Gerald took it, returning the smile. "So you guys are really going through with this?"

"I haven't spoken to him yet. For all I know, he might have already found my replacement."

Gerald scoffed, leaning back on her makeshift dining room table. "He'll come around. Just give him some time. Besides, I had a crazy idea the other day, but I thought I'd run it by you first."

"Of course you did."

"If you guys are serious about this…I could- I mean; Phoebe doesn't like it-"

"Well, if she doesn't like it, I don't know if I should agree. She's definitely the brains in your relationship." Helga said.

Gerald was just happy to hear the teasing tone return to her voice. "-she says it's an archaic and misogynistic ritual, based on the misguided belief that a woman is property to be passed from one caretaker to another-", he said, ignoring the look of shock on his friend's face. He knew that if Phoebe said the phrase to him a hundred times, Helga heard it a hundred more. If nothing else, his wife was not only opinionated, but vocal. "But, if you want to succumb to societal norms for the big day, I'd be happy to lend my services in getting you to the end of the aisle, I'd be happy to lend my services."

Helga's shoulders fell, realizing the weight of what she was being offered. Save for Gerald and Phoebe, no one knew the impact of Bob's loss in her life. She rarely spoke of it, and even so, her friends knew the feelings with which she wrestled with. Gerald, having suffered a similar loss as well, knew that, in losing one parent, Helga essentially lost both. Miriam was anything but physically gone, but he knew that it was something she would never ask her mother for.

"Really?" Helga finally asked, trying to keep her voice from cracking.

"Yeah."

Sniffing once (and only once, she swore), Helga squared her shoulders furrowed her brow. "I would be honored, Gerald." She replied, trying not to smile too hard. "Alright, that's enough mushy stuff. Did you happen to drive here?"

Gerald shrugged, knowing any moment between himself and his adoptive little sister wouldn't last long. "Yeah, why?"

"Good, I need a ride to Mt. Vernon."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, you do. I have an audition I can't be late for. Grab your coat." She asked, as he rolled his eyes at her and immediately pulled out his phone.

"Fine, let me just send a text…"

Arnold fought distraction for the third time since walking down the long street. Early afternoon sun was breaking through the clouds, and the buildings around him were casting interesting-shaped shadows over the asphalt and concrete. The street corner changed a lot from his childhood, but that was sot of the running theme of his walk Downtown.

The message he received from Gerald, nearly an hour ago, was cryptic to say the least. It was merely an address in the business area of Mt. Vernon, with no details at all. I was just his luck that his first few days of training on the tour boat were short, and he could catch a bus in that direction immediately. Unfortunately, the closest stop was a few blocks away from his destination, and the chilly air didn't help the walk around the now foreign part of town.

Across the street, Arnold looked curiously at a building he hadn't seen in years. The only time he remembered visiting it (with any intention of going inside) was a class field trip to see an opera. The building before him had over gone numerous renovations, and even bore a new name.

'I wonder how many other places around here have new names…' he thought, suddenly interested in taking a small walking tour of the area. According to the map on his phone, the address Gerald gave him wasn't far away, and since there was no specified time to meet him, he decided a small walk wouldn't hurt. 'If anything', he reasoned, 'It might just keep me warm out here.'

He seemed to find himself in an artsy part of the city; signs pointed this way and that, leading to differing galleries, another concert hall sat across a grassy knoll, and nearly every corner seemed to have its own artisanal coffee shop. He wondered briefly why Gerald would want to meet here, of all places. Almost on que, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

You there?

Just around the corner, Arnold replied, typing quickly and turning back to the street that housed the address Gerald gave him earlier. He still wondered why he was meeting him there, but figured Gerald would give him and answer when they finally met.

The building bearing the address was made of plain brick and sat on the corner of the street directly across from the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. It was ordinary, save for a black, vintage-style sign that read 'Baltimore Theatre Company, Inc.' in white letters. Arnold considered knocking on the doors, but tested the ornate brass handle first. Upon finding the doors unlocked, he walked into a nondescript lobby. The lights were dimmed in the large anteroom, signaling to Arnold that there were no shows going on at the moment. On one wall, behind an uncluttered counter, Arnold read the ticket times for a number of plays and musical productions. A makeshift list below it, written in messy handwriting, read a series of auditions. Scrolling down, Arnold saw that the last one started just over an hour ago. It was then that he heard music crescendo from the double doors on the other side of the lobby, which no doubt led to the auditorium. Before he realized what he was doing, Arnold cracked the door between the lobby and auditorium, and watched the lights over the stage grow dim, leaving the sole source of the light just in front of the stage, where a panel of people sat behind a desk. Making sure that the door behind him didn't slam shut, Arnold, slid into the last row and sat quietly, watching the stage curiously.

Seated in the back of the auditorium, the lone figure on the stage stood in stark white under the bright light over him, save for the top of his head, where dark black hair sat, obviously cut close to the head in some places, and longer in others. The music pulsed around the curved amphitheater, and Arnold's realization that he was no longer in the area to meet his best friend was fading against his growing interest in the display before him.

The man, tall and muscular, clad in all black moved expertly in on the far left side of the stage, seemingly ignoring the words, and dancing instead along to the actual music, but in such a way that only emphasized the lyrics more.

I keep finding my way to the harshest words
I've got a strange, strange vision

Of a reckless love

Arnold was focused on the rhythmic, sharp movements of this dancer, so much so that, the entrance of the second dancer was a genuine shock. Another performer ran from the right of the stage, in what Arnold could only foresee as an oncoming tackle. The male dancer, turned his back, seemingly unaware of the approach. The run slowed in her momentum, and the resulting leap spoke of strength and grace.

Standing in a world of my own
They call it reckless love

Sitting upright, Arnold held the back of the seat in front of him and stared intently at the second dancer, having leapt on the back of her male counterpart, with one leg tucked close to her own body, and the other extended straight out in front of them both. Her arms clung tightly over the shoulders of the male dancer, before he threw his arms back and released her. Even in his very limited observations of her dancing (before now, simply a photograph of such, and an old one, at that) and a gaping unfamiliarity with her body, Arnold knew he was watching Helga dance.

So give me a chance to remember
What I've given up to defend you

When she swept her arms out and over her back, they curled like wisps of smoke, somehow formless and fluid at the same time. Helga managed to transform her body from soft curves and bows, to solid, straight lines seamlessly.

I would burn my dreams away
Just to stand in the thankless shadows

Of your reckless love

When she leapt, as she did often in this sequence, every muscle in her legs and back were engaged, each foot bending to an impossible arch.

Standing in a world of my own
They call it reckless love

Several times, Helga would find a way to contort her entire body in such a way that Arnold wasn't sure if her was watching a performance of dance or a magician. She would come down from a leap and extend her legs to the side and over her head in an elegant arch.

Standing on the other side
Of your reckless love

Thinking on the other side

Of your reckless love

The true shock came when the drums of the piece, which Arnold always considered the heartbeat of any song, dropped, and the singer's voice rang loud and clear through the auditorium. The words were uttered sharp and fast, and Helga, facing the audience, stood by her partner, matched the tempo of the spoken words.

Get out,

stand back
If you don't let go, you're gonna break me,

and you
Get out,

stand back
If you don't let go, you're gonna break me,

They were not facing each other, but, despite this, their movements harmonized, like two hands controlled by the same mind. It was almost startling to see; two dancers, so opposite in body types, moving with absolute synchronization, without missing a beat.

Get out,

stand back
If you don't let go, you're gonna break me

and you
Get out, stand back,
If you don't let go, you're gonna break me

The sequence lasted no more than a half-minute, and before Arnold knew it, the music began thumping through the hidden speakers again, and the pairing seemed to dissolve. Helga still moved with poise and purpose and her partner with strength and depth, but their matched movements were finished.

It wasn't until then that Arnold realized what he was watching. More than a piece of choreography, he was privy to an act that Helga probably did not reveal to many. Even in the intensity of her movements, she divulged a vulnerability that she somehow kept out of every other interaction he'd had with her. It struck him as odd, and little bit moving, that a person, possessing such power and vigor could in the same moments uncover a soul holding itself together with thread so thin. Some of Helga's ire from the week before became even clearer, and Arnold's guilt bubbled into another sharp jab of pain under his ribcage. The thought made his curiosity deepen, and when the music was abruptly stopped, and the only other occupant of the auditorium, a man hidden almost completely by the lack of light over the seating area, stood up, Arnold took it as his que to vacate the area.

Once safely outside, he contemplated Gerald's seemingly urgent message again. Maybe his friend did not intend for him to see Helga perform (a short and informal performance it was, but brilliant all the same), but he intended to thank him for the invitation anyway.

Helga rubbed her sore shoulder – an injury should have seen coming when her partner suggested such a risky move- and shifted her duffel bag to her left shoulder. She didn't mind stepping in to help a fellow dancer nail an audition (which she was sure he did), and it wasn't so bad that the casting director approached her afterward, offering her a role as well. The pay was reasonable, nothing extraordinary, but money was money.

"Hey."

Helga whirled, knowing that in the part of two she was in, she was likely to have someone ask her for her number, or where she got her shoes. Her sore muscles made her disagreeable to either option. Instead, behind her stood the only person she was both elated and disheartened to see. "What are you doing here?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

"I got a text, and-"

"Of course. Freakin' Gerald…" she said under her breath.

"Can I…walk you home?" Arnold asked, not sure what to say.

"I'm actually not headed home." Helga replied, directing her gaze elsewhere. To her surprise, Arnold merely walked closer, smiling optimistically (Helga briefly wondered if he had any other smile), and continued speaking.

"Then I guess I'm headed wherever you're headed." He said. "We need to talk." Helga curled her lip and advanced down the street, and Arnold followed. "I should apologize."

"Ya think?" Helga said, walking faster to avoid him, and the awkward conversation.

"I should have been more sensitive to your feelings before asking you to…marry me." Arnold said, jogging to catch up with her. He didn't have to, as she stopped abruptly and turned to face him, seriousness sketched on her face.

"Let me stop you right there. You're talking about being 'sensitive to my feelings', but you're already wrong. There aren't any 'feelings'. Not really." She said, realizing how harsh she sounded. "I mean; I like you; we're friends. And whatever happened in Portugal…it is what it is, and you're definitely one of the better kissers I've run across…"

"…thank you…" Arnold said, not sure if he should take the comment as a compliment.

"…but that little girl, who made shrines and carried around a locket with your picture in it-"

"That was yours?!" Arnold asked, shocked.

"-she's gone. It was exhausting then and it'd probably kill me now. I'm not saying there's...not something still there; but you have to believe me when I say that I'm not trying to fulfill some childhood fantasy here."

Arnold nodded. "Okay. I understand now. Sorry I didn't before."

"Thanks."

Let's just carry on…as friends." He offered, resuming the walk next to her, even though he didn't know where she wanted to go. He smiled when she fell into step with him.

"Deal." She stated, for the second time that day. They walked quietly, Helga guiding the stroll subtly by walking half a step in front of him. A moment later, she spoke again, this time a questioning cadence to her voice. "So…by 'carry on', are we…still doing this?"

"Do you want to?" Arnold asked, surprised that she was the one bringing it up.

"Well, you do have a job now…it wouldn't hurt to have someone covering half of the rent." She reasoned.

"Rent?"

"Yeah, you know, rent? It's what I pay a tiny Filipino lady so I can live in a one-bedroom apartment, with exactly one window in it, that faces a beautifully scenic brick wall." Helga explained, turning the corner to another busy street.

Arnold seemed unfazed by the joke. You want to…live together?"

"Not right now." Helga said, immediately. "Eventually, though, we'd have to."

Arnold looked questioningly at her, as if she'd ask him to donate an arm to her.

"Did you read any of the references I sent you? The Federal government isn't going to just interview us once and leave us alone forever. Every three years or so, we 're going to get called in for interviews, separately and as a couple. They'll question Pheebs and Gerald as well, not to mention our neighbors and coworkers. Questions like, 'Do they live together?', 'Do you ever see them coming and going in the same car?', 'Does Arnold have a picture of Helga by his desk?' It's pretty intrusive."

"Well, neither of us has a car….and I don't have a desk, so-"

"That's not the point, Footballhead!" We'll have to look and act like a couple…for years. Maybe forever."

"Oh." Arnold, replied.

"Yeah, 'Oh'." Helga mimicked. "So, if you're in, you gotta be all in. Balls to the wall."

"That's weird thing to say." Arnold said, wrinkling his nose at the expression.

"It is what it is." Helga repeated.

Arnold took a deep breath and released it. "I'm in…under a few conditions."

Helga crossed her arms and looked impressed. "Footballhead throwing around demands…I can get used to this."

"I learned from the best." He answered. "First, let me pay you back for the other night."

Helga shrugged her shoulders. "I can handle that."

"And…I get to propose. Again."

"Ugh. You had to go and make it mushy."

"Or convincing." He reasoned.

"Good point. Now, for paying me back…" Helga said, before grabbing his arm and leading him down another busy street. The concrete sidewalk turned to chipped cobblestones as they walked down what felt like a widened alley. Cars parked on both sides of the street here, making passage via automobile tricky, but their path was surprisingly wide. The opening of the lane revealed a bevy of small shops; a convenience store, another art gallery and framing shop and others. Helga passed them all and stopped in front of a store, somewhat larger than the others with large windows, displaying furniture and wares in varying shades.

"A furniture store? You want me to buy you furniture?" Arnold asked, looking at the display.

"Not quite." Helga said, pulling the heavy wooden door open, as a bell signaled their entrance. They were immediately greeted by a young brunette woman at the cash register, asking if they needed any help. Helga smiled politely at her and said they were fine, even as she dragged Arnold toward a corner of the store, and released his hand to look at an array of objects on a shelf.

Her companion, however wandered nearby, socked at the variety of the store. Couches were spread out in no real order. Some areas of the shop looked to cater to a specific taste; one corner was decorated entirely in shades of red, while others seemed to be an amalgam of different styles competing for the same space. Arnold reached for a porcelain bust of a French bulldog (wondering for a moment why anyone would furnish their house with a bust of a French bulldog), when Helga's voice stopped him.

"Don't break that. This store is worth more than your life." She said, not looking away from the shelf.

Arnold contemplated the absurdity of her statement, he decided to skip the dog head bust and check out a white leather couch nearby. Turning the price tag over, he gasped, and dropped it immediately, if it were on fire.

"Helga! That couch is three thousand dollars!" he said.

"I told you…" she sang, still rifling through the shelf of knick knacks.

"Why are we in a store where couches cost three thousand dollars?"

"For this." Helga said, finally facing him and shielding her face with half of a vintage style lunchbox. Even with half of her face, hidden, Arnold could tell she was grinning like a fool, though he couldn't figure out why.

"A lunchbox? You want me to buy you a lunchbox?" he asked, skeptically.

Helga lowered the metal box and was indeed grinning wildly. "Not just any lunchbox. It's a Charlies Angels lunchbox. With a thermos! I had on when I was a kid, but I lost it." She finished, turning it over and smiling softly.

"This is what you want?" he asked, taking it from her gently and discreetly inspecting the price tag. Impressed that it somehow managed to stay a reasonable price something about the store told him they didn't quite make their money off of high-priced couches, but on people looking for low-budget trinkets), he shrugged and looked back at Helga, who was nodding. She was smiling genuinely for the first time since their fight, and he as happy to see it.

"Yup. And all will be forgiven." She promised.

"Alright." He said, palming his pocket for his wallet. "How'd you find this place anyway? Doesn't really seem like you style."

"They needed a bartender for their grand opening party, and I answered the ad. They even let me pick out something I wanted from the store as a gift." She said, beaming.

"And you didn't pick the three-thousand-dollar couch?! I'm disappointed in you, Pataki." Arnold joked.

"The gift limit was fifty bucks. But, I did get a fancy new muddler. And a soy candle."

"You'll have to remind me what a muddler does again…"

"For drinks like mojitos and Old Fashions, it…" Helga said, before her face paled and a look of utter fear crossed her features. Arnold looked around for the source of Helga's silence, before she grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, and pushed him down roughly onto another couch of white leather and gave him the universal sign for "be quiet", rather urgently. Arnold had little trouble obeying the order, as their current position left him with many questions, but none he could seem to get out. With Helga's hands still clutching the front of his jacket, she'd fallen directly on top of him, their bodies flush against one another. Unintentionally, Arnold briefly thought about Helga's performance on stage; the long lines that her legs made when she extended them, glaringly white under the stage lights, contrasted by the black shorts she wore at the time, and following the curve of her hip up to her torso. Struggling to imagine something else – anything else, really – he hoped Helga wouldn't notice the reddening of his face, despite the proximity of her own. Chancing to look up, he saw that she wasn't paying him any attention, and instead glancing around the store like a startled deer.

Ignoring her previous signal, Arnold turned to her, perplexed and asked, "What is going on?"

Helga pressed her finger firmly to her lips, before slowly raising herself up to look over the back of the white leather couch. Before Arnold could turn his head and look as well, she spoke. "I need you to do me a favor." She said in a whisper.

"I thought the lunchbox was the favor…" Arnold replied, whispering back.

"No. Forget the lunchbox. I need this favor now. Right now."

"Okay, what is it?"

"I need us to stand up, calmly, you put your arm around me, like we're a real couple, and we need to leave this freakin' store. Now." She said, urgently, while remaining silent.

"Wh-"

"Don't ask why!" Helga said harshly. "I'll tell you why later."

"Well, why are we whispering?"

"Because this is too urgent a matter to speak of in raised voices…"

"Why would you raise your voice-"

"Because we need to get out of here now!" she said, her whisper turning angry.

Arnold shook his head, but consented, Helga moving slowly, with him following suit. Abandoning the lunchbox on the couch, they walked, arm in arm (a gesture that once unnerved at least one of them, but now being performed seamlessly) toward the door.

"Did you find everything you needed today?" the brunette behind the counter asked.

Helga nearly jumped, but recovered. "Uh, yes, we were just leaving-"

"I see you two found our newest gem!" the saleswoman continued, happily. "100% vegan leather, hand-stitched, with solid birch handles. Isn't it just beautiful?"

"Yes, very beautiful, unfortunately-"

"Unfortunately, she's allergic to vegan leather." Arnold said, patting Helga's hand that sat in the crook of his arm.

"Oh." The woman said, her smile falling. "Well, we get new pieces in all the time; be sure to come back and see us!"

Arnold assured her that they would, and the two again turned toward the door.

'Home free…' Helga thought, just as her name rang out from across the store, her relief immediately followed by a string of obscenities.

"Helga? Is that you?"

She gripped Arnold's arm a little tighter (if the act was possible) and muttered a quick apology to him, before turning, a bright, though artificial smile on her face.

Arnold watched as a tall man, dressed immaculately with a cardigan tied over his shoulders and seemingly only a few years older than himself, walked toward them. His sandy blonde hair was cut in a tapered style, and brushed entirely to one side. Black rimmed glasses sat upon an aquiline nose, and while he looked friendly in his approach, Arnold couldn't help but wonder why Helga reacted so alarmed at seeing him. That is, until she said his name.

"Hello, Marc." She said, leaning into Arnold just slightly.

"Wow…it's been quite a while. How are you?" he asked, directing his question only at Helga, though his eyes made a pass in Arnolds direction for no more than a moment.

"Great." Helga replied, nodding profusely. "Well, it good seeing you, drive safe!" She attempted to turn Arnold around, but budging him was harder than it looked.

"Hi, I'm Arnold." He said, ignoring her tugging at his arm, and extending the other toward their new acquaintance. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Marc. And only good things, I hope." He said, cordially. His gaze fell back to Helga, who resumed her smile.

"Of course." Arnold said, responding in kind.

Helga on the other hand wanted to throw a heavily embroidered pillow at the both of them and make a run for it.

"What brings you two here?" Marc asked, a little too interested for Helga's liking.

"A coffee table." Arnold answered. Helga had to remind herself to tip her hat to him for lying so flawlessly with so little prep time.

"Ah. Well, this is the place to find one. Give my name to salespeople; I have quite the business relationship with them." Marc said, feigning humility.

Helga was holding herself back from rolling her eyes and gagging, when a syrupy sweet voice came around the corner and ambushed the small group.

"Honey! What happened? One minute, I was looking at the most darling napkin rings, shaped like little itty-bitty kitties, and the next, you've disappeared…"

'Oh no…' Helga thought. 'I should have run…'

"Oh. My. Goodness! Helga? Is that you? How are you?"

Before she knew it, Helga was pulled away from Arnold's arm and into a lung-crushing hug that lasted several seconds too long, as the person holding her attempted to jump up and down and bend her from side to side at the same time. Once released, Helga scowled at her sore muscles (again) but hid the grimace well with another fake smile. The woman before them was shorter than Helga and slim, dressed in a flowery sundress that no doubt, left her exposed to the chilly weather outside. Her tiny pale hands were constantly moving, either gesturing, or reaching for Helga, or flipping her long, curly, strawberry blonde hair in different directions.

"Molly. Hi. I'm great, thanks." Helga uttered, trying to answer all of her inquiries at once to make the conversation as short as possible. Remembering her manners this time, she brought her arm back to its spot in Arnold and gestured between the two. "Arnold, this is Molly. Molly, Arnold."

Moving her finger in between them (and subsequently making Helga want to tear it off of her hand), Molly smiled wickedly at Helga. "Are you two…"

"Dating. Yes, we're dating." Helga answered, intentionally avoiding eye contact with Marc. Her efforts, however went unnoticed.

"That's…that's really fantastic Helga. I'm so glad you're happy." He said, smiling sadly.

"Well, I think you look awesome! I haven't seen you in forever. How's the bar?" Molly asked, tilting her head, much like a puppy.

Helga noticed the ploy and released a breath. She nearly kicked herself for not seeing it coming. Molly was of the type to layer on compliments to ease the sting of an awkward inquiry, much like laying frosting on a cake that's falling apart. She could feel Marc leaning forward in the conversation, eager for an answer as to whether or not she still worked as a bartender, hoping against hope that she'd quit.

"It's great. You should come by sometime…" she suggested, tilting her head as well, knowing full well that neither Molly nor Mar would take her up on her offer.

"Speaking of coming by, you just gave me the best idea ever." Molly said, fishing around in a bright green bag that hung from her shoulder. It made Helga's clunky duffel bag look like an elephant in comparison.

'Really? The best idea ever?' Helga thought. 'Better than curing polio, or sliced bread or Netflix?!'

"We're having a little get together this Sunday. It's actually a housewarming party for Marc. He just bought a condo; isn't that lovely?" She said, leaning into him and patting his arm. "I wanted to have it on his dad's boat, but Marc said it wouldn't be a housewarming party…anyway, we'd love to have you."

Helga's eyes widened at the conversation happening before her. She decided to cut it off at the pass. "Well, Sunday is pretty busy for us…we have a thing to do in the morning. And then some…additional things to do that afternoon, so-"

"We'd love to come." Arnold chimed in. Helga rewarded him with a stare that promised to melt flesh and bone.

"Oh goody! I know I have an invitation in here, somewhere…" Molly said, Marc staying silent at her side. "Here it is!" she finally exclaimed, pulling the envelope out of her purse.

"Goody…" Helga repeated, taking it begrudgingly.

"I can't wait! This is going to be so. Much. FUN." Molly said. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I need to see a man about some napkin rings!" she said, pulling Marc behind her deeper into the store.

Helga snatched her arm from Arnold and made no attempt hide her stomping exit from the store. Once outside and away from the wide store windows, she whirled on Arnold for the second time that day.

"What the heck did you do that for? Now we have to figure out some way to get out of this!"

"Don't you think we should do things as a couple?" Arnold suggested, the sweetness in his voice a mocking tone that made Helga want to punch something.

"Not that!"

"Well, I think it's perfect." Arnold said, taking her arm gain. This time she didn't fight him. "We'll show up as a perfectly normal couple, at your ex-boyfriend's housewarming party, that may or may not be on a boat."

"How'd you know he was my ex?"

"You told me his name was Marc. With a 'C'."

"That could have been a different Mark. A Mark with a 'K'."

"Any man that ties a sweater over his shoulders doesn't spell his name M-A-R-K. I can't believe you dated a guy who ties sweaters over his shoulders." Arnold said, poking Helga. "Besides, he was acting very familiar with you. He didn't seem pleased when you said we were dating, either."

"Jealous?" Helga asked.

"A little." He answered, much to her surprise. "Why did you tell him we were dating? Is it because I haven't given you a ring yet?"

Helga flinched, knowing the conversation would come eventually, and braced herself for it. "It's not that…its, well…Marc is my ex. Just not exactly my ex-boyfriend…"

A/N: Did you like it? This is probably my favorite chapter of the story so far, second only to the next chapter. They're really funny, but the next chapter, especially is meant to be kind of thought provoking. I hope it comes through okay.

And, yes, to answer your question, I am obsessed with Helga being a dancer. I will find a way to add it into every story I write forever and ever. I just think it's so cool; this tough-as-nails, baseball-playing, tomboy, who can pirouette like a boss. She's my hero. I hope the dance scene was believable. And isn't that song awesome? I had to listen to it 1,000 times when writing that scene.

Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Thanks, guys!

-PointyO