Sunny Side Up By Shahrezad1 Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone

Sunny Side Up

By Shahrezad1

Summary: It's been years since the gang was together, and time's passed for everyone. As adults, can Arnold and Helga get past their pasts and finally see the bright side again? Rated for future pranking.

Standard disclaimer applies. Don't own, just enjoy. End.

WARNING: This is going to be a really long chapter. Those that go into shock easily, please read at your own risk. Make sure to take short breaks involving sunshine, and exercise your eyes with a few eyebrow lifts.

Chapter 11

"What can I do for you, Meredith?" the teacher asked the youth standing before his desk, eyes coquettishly fluttering and form liberally covered, head to toe, in the latest fashions.

The girl merely smiled, pastel sheet of paper held in one hand, disregarding any indication that he might be leaving the room.

He couldn't be late for another staff meeting. Molte would have his head.

"Mr. Babcock," she breathed soulfully, before handing him the ominously colored paper, "Ever since you gave us that announcement about the Winter Social, I've been completely struck by inspiration!"

"Excuse me?" he responded blankly, thoughts derailed by her unexpected words.

"I would like to submit my idea for the social," she scolded him lightly, eyes twinkling discretely as his eyes turned to the paper at hand, forgetting for a moment that he had places to go.

Family Social: A Family Intercultural Festival and Dance welcoming all faiths and nationalities to share the holidays together. Tickets running 5.00 per person. Proceeds to go to Hillwood Orphanage.

Gaping at the girl, he stumbled his words out as his began tracing details. Details a fourth-grader couldn't possibly have come up with.

But details a socialite of a mother, and an insane risk-taker of a father might have put together in a moment's notice.

"You came up…with all this?"

"Yes. And I've even determined the color scheme and decorations," she added cheerfully, finger hovering over the plans, "blue and silver. It's neutral, so won't offend anyone. And if we put up blue paper on the walls, then we can cut out silver stars and white snowflakes, which will reflect any color of lighting we chose."

"Meredith—."

She interrupted him with the crowning point, the one idea that had been 'the Group's inspired creation, "the theme will be unity. Lots of us believe different things, and everyone tries to make everything 'ok' by not choosing anything, especially for winter holiday stuff. What about if everyone did dress up based on their beliefs or culture or whatever, and we had booths everywhere for them? With food, and some info, so people could have something to do during the dance. Like, we could have those weird pancake things, and then at the Japanese booth we could have white chocolate for…well, actually I think that's for their Valentines day. But still, it would be cool."

He held a hand up, pausing the monologue before he drowned in it, "so tell me again…you came up with this? All on your own?" Arnold asked pointedly again, suspicious.

And there was the dilemma. Meredith, daughter of a well-known crazy and a prima-donna, had a lifetime of experience in fibbing. The one thing she had learned in all her years of practice was that for a lie to be convincing—for her to really be able to look a person in the eye without anyone questioning her word—she had to tell the truth, at least in part. It wasn't so much what was said that was important, but what wasn't said.

"Well, Jalilah did suggest the charity part of it. I was thinking it could be a tax deduction for the school," she responded perkily, meeting his eyes with her own bespectacled ones.

The blonde teacher stared at her in momentarily disbelief, before turning to run a hand through his hair, eye falling on his watch in the process, "um. Okay. Thank you for your suggestion, Meredith. I'll be sure to give it to whoever ends up being in charge of decorations, okay?"

"Thank you, Mr. Babcock," she responded sweetly, watching as he left the room, "and it's no problem. It was the least I could do, considering."

"Considering everything…"

…………………………………………

He managed to get to the staff meeting not only on-time, but early. Despite the interruptions of both friends, colleagues, and students. Including a few unexpected interactions.

Rather than taking the bus home, as expected, Gerald had magnanimously offered a ride to both Elena and Jonah, as well. Arnold had seen his daughter off, but not before the duo, believing themselves free from watching eyes, had passed a series of notes to several children from different grades. While on one side of things he was happy that his daughter was finally making more friends, the other, more worried side of him had taken note of exactly each child they had come in contact with.

Meredith, the snobbishly intelligent child of his old schoolmates; the same girl he'd only just spoken with. Jared, with his cool head and knack for puzzles. Brainy's twins, and Cherelle, daughter of his old pen-pal, who'd weirdly decided to return to Hillwood after her brief visit so many years before. Stinky and Sheena's kid were in there, and even Lila and Sid's son. It was like shadowy reunion of the past, in the form of the next generation. He should be overjoyed.

Yet it was hard to do so when every single one of them had played a part in previous pranks performed by the triplets. Shivering, he couldn't help but wonder what they were coming up with. And if it was something that might pull his daughter down farther than she already was. He knew she was still having a hard time with her mother's death, but couldn't she realize when enough was enough?

He would have to ask Phoebe and Gerald if they had caught on to anything their girls were planning. Especially if Elena and Jonah were being pulled along for the ride.

Arnold shot a discrete glance at the boy's mother, sitting across the room from his position by the window. Leaning against the long table that served at the staff's meeting place, her blonde head nodded as she listened avidly to whatever Dr. Harmony was saying them abruptly burst into laughter. A matching smile twitched the corners of his mouth, then faded as he leaned against the windowsill, just looking at her and taking in the tide of time.

It was almost ironic, he mused, for them to meet at the time and place they had. With him a single father, and her a single mother. Living lives similar, yet different enough that he couldn't even begin to understand what had happened to shape her into the person she was.

But he wanted to know. The child in him was brimming with curiosity and concern for the girl he'd grown up with and had always watched out for, and the man in him was eager to bring them closer. To protect her, to care for her, and, he admitted in embarrassment to himself only, to get to know her better. As a man draws close to a woman. But how? How could he get her to open up to him? He just needed the right opportunity.

As a boy, he had always believed that, deep down, Helga was a good person. Regardless of the abuse she'd poured down on him, sometimes literally. Truthfully, he had been her primary target, yet it was to him that she had committed some of her most charitable acts. Again and again she'd proved common belief wrong, as she had helped him with everything from finding his hat, to saving the neighborhoo—.

The young teacher colored as memory threw him back in time, and in his mind that day passed before his eyes, as clear as though it had only been yesterday. He remembered, once again, what he had never forgotten. The words, the disguise, the kiss…

At the time he'd set her actions aside as being spur of the moment. He'd been nine, and there had been little more he could do. But a part of him hadn't ever let it go, buried deep down beneath college and marriage, and the worries of single parenthood. He'd never forgotten her words.

Despite his incredulity at the time, they'd explained everything. Her contradictory actions and words—they'd been those of a girl wanting to be cherished. A girl he'd only seen in glimpses over the years. This was the true Helga, the Helga that had raised Jonah to be the well-adjusted, undoubtedly loved child he was.

Yet as much as forthrightness was a part of her personality, so too was standoffishness. A part of her was held back, even now, but it seemed like only toward him.

Slight irritation tugged at his mind, mixed with confusion. Why did she always push him away? What was it about him that made her hesitate? He was tired of it all, and the next time he was given the chance to change things between them, he would take it.

Principal Molte entered the room in stately disapproval, hawk-nose framed by wire-straight grey hair. Silence followed in her wake, and Arnold instantly felt nervousness overtake him.

He would have to cross her path to take his seat. All around him, his peers shot sympathetic looks as they abandoned him to his plight. She hadn't yet reached her place at the head of the table, and, taking a chance, he headed for his seat with calm determination, eyes focused on the only open chair. Next to Helga.

Only to be frozen in place by words frigid with disapproval.

"Late again, Mr. Babcock?" she shot at him coolly, eyes ice chips behind horn-rimmed glasses.

His shoulders dropped momentarily before straightening, "actually, no. I," he searched for a defense, and met Helga's confused eyes in the process. Swallowing fear, he managed to find the courage he needed, "I was just making sure my daughter got to her ride okay. At the window."

The steely matron sniffed dispassionately, "Elena Bacock? The girl who makes trouble with those Johansson triplets?"

He gritted his teeth and forced a smile, even as he saw Helga's fist begin to form in the corner of his eye, "not anymore, no. I've had several long talks with each of them, and they've promised not to—."

"Really? Then explain to me the fact that they, as well as several other known Juvenile Delinquents, have been meeting regularly for several days in a row?" she demanded archly.

Oh, no…halted mid-thought as his fears were confirmed, he almost missed it.

"Actually," a calmly defiant voice sweetly broke the silence, "they've just been working on ideas for the Winter Social."

Arnold as well as the rest of the staff whipped around to stare at Helga, her audacity subtly veiled behind an elegant smile as she met the Principal's eyes.

The old Valkyrie blinked rapidly, composure lost momentarily as she was challenged by their newest staff member, "…really, Mrs. Billings."

Her smile lost some of it's warmth, "it's Ms., actually. And my son has also been working with them on the project wisely assigned to them by their teacher."

Beside the blonde secretary, Dr. Harmony smiled peacefully, as though watching her favorite television program. While her eyes bounced between the battling duo for the most part, he caught her glancing his direction once or twice, but paid little attention to its significance.

He was too busy watching the upcoming train wreck.

Principal Molte steepled her fingers together and smiled, her usually down-turned lips grimacing in a mockery of positive expression. Triumphant look fading, only he noticed Helga's realization that she had stepped too far. And the elderly warrior was coming in for the kill, "if they are so far along with their planning, surely you wouldn't mind sharing these miraculous ideas with me, now would you? I did, after all, notice that the two of you had been placed on theme and decorations—despite the words I expressed wishing for the opposite," she spat out scathingly, causing her normally bubbly secretary to nearly burst into tears, "but if you're so eager to take up your cause, I suppose I can't stop you. And I would love to see the results your darling children have come up with so far."

As her nemesis had spoken, Helga's eyes had slowly widened until they nearly reached her monobrow in height. Using the reprieve to his advantage, Arnold rushed to his place besides hers, knowing what Principal Molte knew: Helga hadn't been told about the staff members' part in the social, secretaries included. She'd been bluffing to save him from condemnation, which Molte was completely certain of, if her malevolent expression was any indication.

Without thinking, his hand dove into his briefcase for something, anything that would help them out of their predicament.

While it was standard procedure for him to receive at least some measure of reproach at staff meetings, he remained safe in his status of teacher with moderate seniority. Helga had only just been hired on, and while the staff majority was on her side there was not telling what would happen upon challenging Principal Molte.

His hand fisted on a colored piece of paper and yanked it from the disorganized depths it had been piled under. A little worse for wear, but triumphant, he passed the page to his former savior, currently in need of aid. Who stared at him in confusion for several seconds before finally reading its contents.

Then she smiled.

"Mrs. Billings?" the elderly woman prompted bitter-sweetly, smile starting to show fangs, "are you going to share their plans with us or no? I can understand if you are unprepared. We can always have the two of you present your plans tomorrow—."

"No," the blonde responded tartly, smile newly-returned to her face, "we're prepared."

"Well, pass it over then. We haven't got all day."

The sheet was shuffled down the row before finally landing in her claws. The woman's lips immediately took a downward turn, frown furrowing wing-like brows. Then, miraculously, it cleared. Replaced by something that looked like respect.

Sitting side by side, Arnold's hand brushed against the woman beside him, his shaking with agitation. He flushed, and made to move the offending appendage, but froze as hers lightly patted his own. Reassuring him with a single act, yet her expression remained the same—focused on confronting Molte.

"Well," the Principal said once again, pausing to slowly fold her arms, eyes resting on the united couple, the quiet teacher standing up to her in his own fashion. For the first time in his career, to be honest. And all for the woman beside him, who, rumor had it, despised him. And yet she had been the first to defend the man.

Patricia Ann Molte was cantankerous, arrogant, and irritable to a fault, but she wasn't unintelligent. She had specifically set aside the decoration section of the social as punishment for a lax second grade teacher, while allowing the new hire and fourth grade teacher easier assignments. Yet somehow they'd been assigned to the very one they should have avoided.

It didn't take a genius to connect the children's plotting with the mysterious switch, and while the disciplinarian within her felt the need to move everything back…the hidden romantic said to let it go.

The new secretary, Helena or whatever her name was, had something within her that reminded Patricia of herself. That unquenchable spark. She had seen it in herself at a young age, only to watch it dim with time, sorrowing its loss with a wall of anger.

Eyes misting over the past, Principal Molte came to a decision.

"I have to say…I'm impressed despite myself," stares and gasps filled the room, overshadowed by the triumphant smiles the two cohorts shared. And watching them, Patricia couldn't help but see years wash away from their faces as they enjoyed their reprieve. Down several chairs, Dr. Harmony passed her a subtle nod of approval, and the old woman beat back an embarrassed flush. The day she was on the same side as that woman was the day she retired in order to accept a position as a clown.

She would let them have it, but she wouldn't make it easy for them.

"So impressed that I would love to see your plans regarding estimated costs and the use of our school tax exemption by next Monday," she smiled as their faces dropped, and the good doctor settled into an eye roll.

After all, close proximity between the two might help. And it would definitely be interesting to see what the children came up with.

…………………………………….

And that was the current predicament they were in, Helga thought wryly as her mind returned from her memory of the day previous. They'd gotten stuck with the largest responsibility of all (basically the whole social, to be honest), and they had to have everything planned by Monday.

It was Saturday, and she had a dinner to plan for.

A planning dinner, not a date, she reminded herself sternly as she drove into the grocery story parking lot. It had been Dr. Harmony's idea, voice sympathetic at their plight and eyes twinkling. But if she didn't know any better, and if Arnold hadn't agreed so readily, she'd think the good doctor had something to do with the whole mess.

Pulled from thought, she blasted her horn at a moronic driver.

"Crimeny! Can't anyone tell an entrance from an exit anymore?" she muttered irritably as the driver, an old lady with a purse-sized poodle, gave her the finger.

"The same to you," was her inevitable response, taking the woman's spot with satisfaction. The walk to the door was short but wet, as it had started raining on the way over, leaving her drenched within the three minutes it took to get from her car to the store. Rolling it off her shoulder, she pulled out the List.

While the dinner had been Bliss' idea, it had been Arnold that had suggested the time and place. Namely, seven o'clock and at his place. He'd even offered to cook for them, provided she pick up a few things. Which was what led her to her current situation: fighting with a punk sporting a nose ring for the last cart in a gladiator-like staring match. The girl glared at her, Mohawk quivering, before turning to snatch up a hand-basket.

The child in Helga snickered gleefully, while the adult in her merely moved to the produce isle.

Spinach…spinach…spinach, finger hovering over the racks of lightly watered vegetables, she slowly walked down the aisle. Finally finding the green she wanted, the blonde woman reached out to grab it from its place.

"That's a type of lettuce."

The sprayer took her pause for assent and doused her liberally with water. Gasping, twice-drenched, and ultimately pissed off, she snatched up the irritatingly cheerful piece of vegetation and threw it in her basket.

"Look, kid, I know what I came here for. And I don't know what planet you hail from, but mine says this is spinach," she responded flatly, before moving onward

"Your planet must be Mars, then, since that's lettuce here on earth," was the surprisingly sarcastic response, "and while Dad can probably toss it into a salad, it might not taste right in his Lasagna."

Dad? Blinking rapidly, Helga whirled around only for her gaze to land on a certain football-headed child. Memory superimposed her view and for a moment her world seemed to spin. The same eyes, that same stance...

"Why did you do it, Helga?"

Clutching her cart with a death grip, she gasped out for breath, eyes closing and throat slowly cutting itself off. Only to be drawn back by a tug on her damp jacket, limpid green eyes gazing up at her in worry.

"Are you okay, Jonah's mom? Are you sick?"

Swallowing her nausea back, she forced herself to smile and reached out to rest her hand on the young girl's shoulder, "no, I'm alright. I just…lost my balance there for a second."

"You're not sick, then?" the girl checked again with an overly worried tone.

Not thinking, the young mother placed her hand on the girl's head, brushing a few strands back into place, "no, I'm not sick."

Several seconds passed before she realized what she had done. Attempting to rectify the situation, she pulled back, only for her hand to be snatched up by Elena's own, the girl's left hand drawing a hand-basket nearly half her size. Surprised, the adult let her have it, allowing her fingers to remain clutched within the tinier ones, steadfastly ignoring the warm feeling that had spread through her heart.

"So," she broke the silence as they headed for the next clump of vegetables, pace slow in respect for the child's shorter legs, "if that's not the spinach, then what is?"

"That," Elena pointed with her chin at a pile of freshly dripping plants, before indicating that Helga return the lettuce back. Which, with a discrete eye roll, she did.

"And do you happen to know what kind of squash your dad wants me to get? 'Cause his handwriting seriously needs some work."

"That one. We only have spaghetti squash when we have vegetarian spaghetti, for George's sister when she comes over," was the prompt reply, basket awkwardly balanced as the tiny girl shoved her glasses up her round nose.

Watching her out of the corner of her eye, Helga spoke, toning down her earlier sarcasm in favor of finding the right way to broach the elementary school student. While she was familiar with the little girl, seeing her in the halls and when dropping Jonah off to play, Helga had had very little one-on-one contact with Arnold's daughter. She would have to tread carefully, not knowing either how Elena would react to dry wit, or even whether their conversation would end up being parroted to her father by the end of the day.

"So…what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"Just lucky, I guess," was the automatic reply, and Helga bit back a momentary smile, "but I guess I could ask you the same thing," Elena continued, large blue hand-basket dwarfing her miniscule form.

"Shopping," was Helga's unchecked reply. A can of mushrooms was tossed into the cart, then summarily rescued from its dinged death.

"Um," the girl's glasses slid down her nose as she reached into the cart's metal depths, pulling out the container, "that's olives. You might want to grab the mushrooms."

Determinedly expressionless, Helga continued onward.

"Well," the child corrected herself, returning to their previous conversation , "I'm here 'cause I asked Dad if I could choose dessert. So I've got to get some ice cream and stuff."

"Ah," was Helga's neutral response, before she came up with an idea, "you know what, Elena? How about you go put that basket back and we can share a cart. How does that sound, Kiddo?"

"Okay! I'll be right back," bouncing along in her lavender blouse and pleated skirt, Elena rushed off before swiftly returning minutes later. Not nearly enough time for Helga to collect her thoughts.

Half of her monobrow arched in surprise and a little respect, "you gonna try out for track one day, eh Shorty?"

The girl snorted indelicately, and her adult companion hid a grin, "maybe. The day Abner flies, and I have a Mom again."

The girl seemed to freeze at her own words, before forcing herself to relax. The blonde woman wisely said nothing, giving her a chance to regain her composure.

"So," Helga began very carefully as she tossed a can of tomato sauce into her basket, "what's your favorite subject in school, Elena?"

"Art," was the prompt reply as the girl rescued the item once again, "and this is tomato paste. Can you grab that jar up there?"

"No problem."

"You don't do this very much, do you?" was the tiny brunette's dry response.

Helga bit back a bitter comment in favor of a lightly sarcastic one, "no, I absolutely love to create elaborate creations with a variety of mysterious ingredients, is all. Especially when it'd just two people I'm cooking for, because you know how wonderful leftovers are after a big meal. Doi!"

"You sound like my mom," she chortled, then abruptly feel into completely seriousness, "but you really don't do that, do you?"

"No."

"Good. Otherwise I'd have to kill you," she explained with completely solemnity, but a twinkle in her eye.

"Agent Double-Oh-Negative, then?"

"Yep."

A bark of laughter escaped the adult's mouth as Elena climbed on to the front of her cart, arms wrapped around the rim.

"You're funny to talk to," the child stated, smiling.

"You should see me really perform, then. At the Hillwood Star theater every Thursday, at nine. Ask for Lenny," blue eyes sparkling, Helga began pushing the suddenly heavier cart through the aisles, not really focused on the list anymore but rather the conversation they were having.

While there were sparks of Arnold within the little girl, much of Elena was made up of her deceased mother. The retorts and ready comebacks were intelligent, her vocabulary was somewhat expanded when compared with her peers, Jonah and Jordan excluded, and her sense of humor was up to par with Helga's own, for the most part. Helping Helga along to the realization that, while surprising at the first, she didn't mind the short girl's company at all.

And if she'd been given the opportunity, she probably would have liked Susan Babcock, as well.

"Can he get me a seat in the front row?"

"Yes, but only if you give him licorice-flavored jelly beans. He's very particular."

"Licorice?" Elena scrunched her nose in distaste, then grinned, "maybe chocolate strawberry malt."

"Strawberry?" one side of the brow shot up, "naw, I'm allergic," her hand rested on her chin as she pretended to ponder the serious matter of candy flavors, "what about peach berry vanilla smoothie? Now, that is a flavor!"

A grin spread across their faces.

Which came to an abrupt halt as the scowling face of an elderly matron passed by, her own grandchildren suitably chastened within their basket, rather than perched on the edge as Elena was. The two small boys looked enviously on as Elena gripped the front of the basket, feet propped up on the bottom bar. Suddenly remembering the sign on the baby seat indicating the lack of safety coming from such an action, Helga calmly draped it was her purse and jacket, then waited for the woman to turn away.

And her tongue was immediately out, blowing a raspberry at the elderly customer's back. Before the woman could react, Helga and Elena had already turned the corner, holding their laughter back until they were several rows over.

"That was great! Did you see those boys' faces?" the brunette child burst out geefully, giggles overtaking them as their eyes watered with mirth, "and you sticking out your tongue! That was so cool!"

Calming enough to breath, Helga ruffled the girl's wavy brown hair with a fond smile, "thanks, shorty-my-girl."

She froze mid-stretch, "you don't mind me calling you that, do you?"

"Sure," the girl shrugged, pushing up her slipping glasses once again, "I'm okay with it."

"Great," the smile they shared fought bravely against the gloom outside, momentarily lighting the area.

It was Helga that broke the moment with an unholy grin.

"You wanna race through the store?"

And they were off, fighting an invisible foe to the finish line as they snatched items up as they passed. Several laps later they had reached the checkout stand, panting with exhaustion and mirth. Piling their items onto the counter, they studiously ignored the looks they were receiving from the grandmother several checkouts over. It was this circumstance that directed Helga's eyes elsewhere.

Eyes that thereby landed on a pickpocket taking advantage of a young mother's distraction to relieve her of her wallet.

In that instance she was back on the playground, excitement cooling in favor of pure adrenaline. Indicating to the cashier that she would be back, she turned toward the scene.

A tug on her sleeve halted her momentarily, and she was met once again by Elena's eyes, pure confusion staring up at her.

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere," was her reply, then a smile emerged, "this'll just take a second."

"Okay."

Trailing after the sound of bickering children, Helga once again found them. The silent youth, pants bagging with bulging pockets rather than chains and hoodie pulled down low, had almost extricated the pocketbook in question, but not quite. Just as he thought he'd shaken it loose, he felt a breeze brush against his cheekbone.

Something was wrong.

Ready to whirl around, he was frozen in place by the fierce grip upon his shoulder, other wrist trapped in a vice-like hold.

"You know you really don't want to do that, right?" a silken voice whispered soothingly, darkly, like poison swirling within a cup of wine, "because you can only imagine how it will turn out. The poor woman gets to the checkout stand, only to realize that her wallet is gone. She has no money to buy food for her children. Because, if you'll notice, she's only bought the bare necessities. And at the lowest prices, too. Tsk, tsk."

"You wouldn't want to do something like that to a defenseless," the hands clutching him tightened painfully, and he bit his lip to hold back a whimper, "Young. Mother. Now would you?"

"N-no," he choked out shakily.

Behind him, Helga smiled. Then snatched up the wallet, giving the thief a little love tap on the head. He dropped soundlessly, and she shoved him into a side aisle before strategically passing by the woman's cart, then calmly returned to the front of the store.

Ignoring the two store associates exclaiming over the fallen youth a small distance away.

And peaking around the corner, Elena remained silent as she stored the image within her memory. Of Jonah's mom stopping a thief, then returning the stolen item with neither praise nor recognition.

………………………………………….

Arnold stared at the stove's interior, debating whether or not to scrub it clean.

Saturday was Arnold Phillip Babcock's day for cleaning the boarding house, repairing anything that needed fixing, and tending to the boarders' needs. However, for some reason he had felt the need to be a little…enthusiastic in his work.

"What are you doing?" George had asked as he had walked into the kitchen to find Arnold scrubbing at the bottom of the table several hours previously, gloves liberally covered in a sticky substance.

"Getting all the gum off of the bottom. Elena likes to stick it there when no one is looking," had been the terse reply, as the oblong-headed man had scraped ineffectually.

"Um, you might want to close your…" he'd winced as the man began hacking out a cough, piece of petrified rubber trapped within his throat, finally leaving with a calm, "…never mind."

Arnold had given up on the table after that, instead turning to other tasks. And the boarding house was showing it. Scrubbed free of caked on grime and soap scum, the bathroom practically twinkled with cleanliness. Anything carpeted was vacuumed, while wooden and tiled surfaces had been swept and mopped. Hanging pictures were straightened, and the refrigerator was summarily cleaned out. All while his radio crooned out tunes from years past, a soothing harmony to the cacophony he was creating.

Frankly, he couldn't help it. While in a logical sense he knew that Helga knew he was a single father, given to disorderliness. In addition to the fact that he ran a boarding house; a place perpetually beset by clutter and disastrous mess. Logically, she would neither note the grime, nor even care, being that the dinner he was to put together was based purely on the camaraderie of two people doing a project for their mutual jobs. It shouldn't matter, especially when it came to areas of the building unlikely to be seen by the blonde secretary.

But his emotions were egging him on, urging him to clean regardless of logic. They wanted the place clean and impressive—perfect for her inspection, as though the process in itself was an indication of his worthiness as an interested bachelor. Whether or not she was interested in him or not.

Unbidden, the feeling of her hand resting momentarily upon his, returned. Removing with it the worries of his logical side and opening his mind to more important questions—such as whether to clean the stove or not to clean the stove?.

Carrying the image of a beautifully created lasagna within his mind, he headed for the supply closet.

And in that moment a set of two children climbed out from within a series of air vents above the stove, silently aiding one another out before slowly making their way to the man's radio, popping in a tape, and pressing play. They were gone before the young father had returned, and even then it took him several minutes before he realized what was different.

"Moi beloved husband died three years ago, in a disastrous train accident. At ze time I was but a young mother, with two little ones just under ze age of four. We were both sent into a shock for quite some time, and it has taken my children and I a long time to heal from our loss."

Frowning, Arnold tried to remember if his favorite station was prone to switching toward a talk-radio type angle, before quickly coming to the realization that it was more than likely a wiring problem in the old piece of machinery. It had probably just switched to AM radio, accidentally, flipping from one to another without pause. Rising to change the station back to its former place, he stopped halfway across the kitchen floor as the woman caller continued, frozen by her words.

"I'm truly sorry to hear about your loss. How are things for the three of you, especially your children?"

"I'm doing…better. But Danielle and Patrick are haffing a difficult time of it. Zeir largest difficulty is in not having a father figure, zetting them apart from many of zeir peers. And I…I haff a dilemma of moi own."

'Their largest difficulty is not having a father figure…' the words echoed within his mind again and again as his hand repeatedly clenched down on the scrub-brush he held, mind frozen as he remembered another conversation weeks prior. 'She's just missing a mother figure, that's all.' George's words took on a parallel tone, and unnoticed, the therapist and her patient continued.

"What do you mean?"

"Zer…zer es a man. From work. He…he has asked moi if I am free to do things. Coffee, a movie, etcetera. But…" the woman sobbed momentarily, words caught tightly by sadness, "how can I do somezing like zat to Frederick, my husband. To honor his memory wiz betrayal? Especially when, in moi 'art, I feel it es my fault for his death. What if et happens again?"

How can I do something like that to Susan? To her memory? Especially when everyone who loves me has tragedy thrust upon them? Unbidden, the words blossomed in his mind like a deadly flower, and his heart nearly stopped as an image appeared before his eyes. Of Susan, happy and young. Then, exhausted but filled with joy, Elena lightly sleeping within her arms. Of smiles, and kite-flying days. And, finally, the image that would remain forever imprinted upon his memory, of him at his wife's bedside, her beautifully heart–shaped head covered in a cap to hide the lack of hair, her own curly dark locks lost in the struggle. She'd smiled up at him, one last time, her withered hand gripped within her daughter's tiny sun-browned fingers, before telling them both how much she loved them. Then had fallen asleep, to never wake again.

"What happens again?"

"I sentence anozer man to death! I'm truly not worzy of any man's love. Oh, Dr. Phoebe, whatever should I do?!"

"Well, Miss Antoinette, I believe the problem here is not so much whether or not you begin a relationship with this gentleman, but rather…the choice to move on. You need to let go of the past, Marie. Not just for yourself, but for your children. And even for your husband. I truly believe that he does not blame you for his perishing—you yourself stated that he died in a cataclysmic train accident. He loved you, and above all, needs to know that you are loved past his death. Give this new gentleman a chance, as a friend if nothing else. Regain that strength of self-confidence that is inherent within your personality and perhaps, with time, you can learn to love again."

She loved you, and above all, needs to know that you are loved past her death…suddenly calm, a wave of warmth filled his heart and soothed his anxiety. Absently, Arnold began his attack on the oven. Noticing neither the end of the conversation, nor the pointed click as the tape recording came to an end, caught up in his own thoughts and possible plans.

Give this new lady a chance, as a friend if nothing else. With time, you can learn to love again, the words came unbidden. And this, time, in Susan's voice.

He had the answer he needed.

…………………………………………….

AN: And I was going to make it even longer. wiggles eyebrows mischievously The actual dinner will come next chapter, and will probably be entirely by itself, as a stand-alone thing. Sorry for all of you that I promised action in this chapter. I just didn't expect for it to end up so…long. I'm already 12 pages, single spaced, 12 pt type, and counting, when the highest length I've had for any given chapter is 9 pages. But in this instance, splitting up the situation will be a blessing. Because then I can give the interaction the attention it deserves.

evil laughter

I really did enjoy this chapter, although it was written in pieces and then pulled together. Everything worked the way I wanted it, however, and the tape from Phoebe's study strikes, fulfilling its purpose. We'll probably be seeing more of it later. Also, the request for 'Elena/Helga quality time' was fulfilled, and will continue to be fulfilled with following chapters. Phoebe and Gerald will also be playing a part in the chaos, now that they know what their children are scheming.

And lastly, man, I feel bad for Susan. She's told Arnold to 'move on' so many times, yet his so dense. I guess that's part of his lovability, though. Let's see how well she does with Helga, though.

("Jonah's Mom"--I have this bad habit of calling the parents of my friends "So-and-So's Mom" rather than their first name. It just feels wierd to say, for example, "Hey, Julia, how are you doing? That divorce working out for you?" Wierd, just wierd.)

Shitsurei shimasu, Minna-San. (Farewell, everyone.) Until chapter 12.