Author's Note: I do not own these characters. But I do love them.
This story does not follow the Jungle Movie - think of that as a dream. This is post FTi only.

8.

Sunday morning Phoebe woke with an absolutely terrible taste in her mouth. Ugh! Smacking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, Phoebe was trying to remember - well - anything. Finally she managed to open her eyes - she wasn't looking through her glasses but she could feel them wedged under her chin awkwardly. Oh god - everything hurt! Her head, her gut, her hand - why her hand? When she looked up she saw Gerald asleep next to her, pinning her wrist beneath his elbow. He looked sweet, drooling and doughy in sleep.

Phoebe stared at him. A sour wave passed over her that had nothing to do with her hangover. She tried to breathe - tried to stave off the panic. But she knew she had to deal with it. Soon.

Not now. Not right now. She will deal with it later, she told herself.

Just let me stay here, looking at him. For a little while longer.

She rolled over to be face to face with him. He blinked his eyes open.

"Hey," Gerald said. His voice was husky, sleep still in it.

"Hi," Phoebe managed, a small smile forming. But the sour feeling was returning - oh, nope. That's nausea. "Hmmmph!" Phoebe ripped her hand out from under Gerald, fully fell out of bed, heavily clambered out the door and into the first floor bathroom. She purged what was left in her stomach - very very loudly.

Gerald got out of bed, grabbed his shoes and hers and stepped out into the shady hall.

"Oh - hi." Rhonda was standing in the doorway, still in her robe, a morning coffee in one hand and the newspaper in the other.

"Good Morning, Rhonda."

"That Phoebe in there?"

"Yeah - she's - " But Rhonda cut him off.

"She was in rare form last night! Get her some greasy breakfast," she said, now stepping to the side and opening the front door further. "Somewhere else."

"Yeah - no problem. Phoebe!"

"Please be quiet," Phoebe whimpered.

9.

Gerald managed to successfully shuffle Phoebe along to a greasy spoon called Hubies - only two blocks away, thankfully. He sat her down, ordered some water and a black coffee for her, and an oj for himself. Phoebe always drank black coffee, like a trucker or something. She said she liked the taste, but he suspected it was more a caffeine addiction than a mature palette; he saw her nose wrinkle at the first sip every time.

"Why aren't you hung over?" Phoebe whined - her voice so tiny.

"You were on a mission last night - I couldn't keep up! I also was trying to keep an eye on you." Phoebe had her forehead to the table and made a nasal kind of groan.

"Stop being so goooooood!"

"I don't know what that means, sweet thang. I can't be any less rad than I am - it's a curse." The server, a woman who has clearly been there since 4 am, dropped off the drinks and Gerald thanked her.

Phoebe picked up her head and went straight for the coffee.

"EH! No way - water first." Gerald was faster and snatched the mug up. She gulped down half the glass in one.

"Ok - coffee now, please." He couldn't help but grin. She was so god damned cute! He slid the mug to her and watched as she wrinkled her nose and took a sip. The first sip was followed by a huge sigh - a comfortable and contented sigh.

"I love you." Gerald said it simply, like he'd said it so many times before. Phoebe inhaled sharply, like he poked her in a sore spot. She flicked her eyes up to meet his and took a long moment there.

"I love you." She said it with a weak smile.

"God…you really look like shit." Gerald said. Phoebe cackled now, a full smile cracking her tired face.

"That is really nice of you to say, lover-boy! You, on the other hand, look sun-kissed and dewey like you slept with angels!"

"That's cuz I did."

"Oh you are so cheesy - " Phoebe scoffed. But Gerald cut her off.

"Yeah I went and slept with some cherubs while you slept in that sweaty silken hell of a bed."

"Oh yeah - silk sheets are so impractical. I don't think I have ever sweat so much in my sleep!" She reached her nose down to her armpit and recoiled. "Oh my gosh, I stink!" She was so shocked, hands over her mouth and Gerald guffawed.

"No you don't, babe! You smell… musky. Natural."

"Shut up!" She threw several sugar packets at him.

"Seriously, those sheets though. Rich people really think that's comfortable?"

"Well of course, the rich don't sweat." Phoebe said matter of factly. "They all get their sweat glands removed to spare themselves this embarrassment."

She looked more relaxed now. She felt more relaxed. He did that for her - made her laugh, laughed at her jokes too. He took her out of her head and let her be present, weird, and stinky, apparently. The best. She was at her best with him. She really did love him.

Yeah, she loved him - so maybe she could let it go. For a little while longer.

10.

Helga spent that Sunday cataloging the touches, the eye contact, and tender speech Arnold had spent with her the night before. Between sighs and poetry, she also cursed her stupidity, clumsiness, and foolish hope that things would change this late in the game. She texted Phoebe feverishly as soon as she had left Arnold on her stoop.

"PHEEBS! I know you're drunk right now but Arnold just walked me home and I want to die." Phoebe didn't respond till late on Sunday.

"Oh - how wonderful!"

"It's not wonderful, Phoebe! I'm a total idiot!"

"I'm sure that's not true, Helga."

She wrote several new poems, a few of which were fairly good! Of course, nothing she wrote would ever see the light of day - but she knew they were good.

Some of the glee had worn away, however, in the ugly cold light of yet another Monday Morning. She dressed herself, halfheartedly - ripped pink jeans, a think black sports bra, and a white shirt she knotted around her midriff. She shuffled downstairs and picked up her boxing clothes from the laundry room. She slowly, meticulously rolled up her dried hand wraps - pink and polka dotted with hearts - grabbed the rest of her shit and headed out the door.

Phoebe was waiting at the bottom of the stoop as usual, dressed for fall in a navy sweater dress and black boots, reading a worn paperback.

"Good morning, Helga!" Phoebe sang.

"Oh God, why are you so up?" Helga asked. Her friend shrugged and tucked the novel in her shoulder bag. "Your hangover finally pass? Or is it still lingering and you did a bump of coke to compensate?"

Phoebe giggled, "I'm fine! I just want to have a good day. Because yesterday absolutely sucked. Never let me drink that much again."

"No promises. What was with the bender anyway, Pheebs? I've never seen - " but Helga was cut off.

"It wasn't a bender - I was just - I don't know - letting loose!" There was the slightest edge in her voice, hiding behind the sunshine. Helga caught it, but decided to watch from a distance.

"Alright, whatever. Anyway - I've got boxing tonight, but you can wait for me after Debate so we can go get dinner around 5."

"Yes, Helga, that sounds just fine. Shall we go to Larry's Dawg Haus?"

"Doi!"

"There are other restaurants, you know."

"No. No! Not that have bratwurst corndogs! Not that have curly fries and soft serve and -!"

"Alright, alright! Don't yell - maybe my headache isn't totally gone yet."

The girls walked along to school chatting and joking.

11.

Phoebe and Helga walked to school every morning, because that is the only time they consistently saw each other. In their senior year, they have absolutely no classes together! Why would they? They do have A Day lunch together with Gerald… and Arnold, but not B Day. So when they got into the school they said,

"Have a good day, Ell-Ga!"

"You too, Foe-Be!" A standard sendoff in best friend code.

Senior year was chugging along just fine, I guess. I mean, most everyone either already knew where they were going to college, waiting on one more letter, or decided on trade school or a gap year. So most seniors took either AP classes or total bullshit. Helga was taking Government and Physics because she had to, AP Lit and Creative Writing because she wanted to, then Photography, Weight Training, and study hall because who cares.

This was a B Day, which means Physics, Creative Writing, Lunch, Study Hall, and Weight Training. Physics in first period is criminal, so she fell asleep. Creative Writing was fine, she shared her thoughts on everyone's terrible poetry, then after she completed her free write prompt, she fell asleep. Then lunch. She was starving - she never ate breakfast, not that she could have really. As per usual, no food in the house.

Helga picked up her traditional hamburger, fries, and pudding and went to sit down with the dipshits from the Boxing Club. There was Brainy, whom she'd been punching her whole life - he was finally learning to hit back. Then Joey and Jackson, twins, (shocker, I know) two meatheads about 3 inches shorter than Helga and definitely afraid of her - but in a respectful kind of way. Aaron had been in the club as long as Helga - they kind of learned the ropes together and bonded over Wrestlemania. Not everyone saw the good in Helga though - Dustin, the biggest guy at the table with a head of thick black hair and clear pale skin, was not her biggest fan. He was broad and strong, but still thin and very mean. He was quick on his feet and quick to argue with anyone who said anything too confidently. Helga was a constant target for his anger, as he was for her. They were at each other's throats constantly, an unspoken war for dominance in the group. Since Patty graduated, Helga was the only girl. She was used to that dynamic fine, but Dustin had some old school ideas about girls in a "boy's sport" - regardless of the fact that Patty was the best boxer the team had ever seen and that Helga was fierce and vicious in her own right.

Helga sat at the end of the table next to Joey, Brainy across the way. The twins were in a heated discussion about the Saw movies - they were working their way through the series, and they had some opinions and theories. Dustin was talking to Aaron and a couple of Juniors who joined the club this semester. Helga sat there eating and scrolling through her phone.

Brainy tried to talk to her, "Um - hhhmm - Helga-"

"Nope." Helga said without looking up.

"Hey Helga."

"I said no!" Helga shot her head up and realized that it wasn't Brainy the second time, but-

"Arnold!" Helga fumbled her phone, right into her ketchup.

"Hey, I usually eat with some kids from the newspaper, but they're dealing with an urgent hot dog issue today. So I thought - "

"Yeah, yeah - ha - sure! Yeah, welcome!" Helga was desperately trying to keep her voice at normal pitch.

"Who are these guys, anyway?" He said quietly, looking down the table.

"Oh, these are the Boxing Club guys. That's Joey, Jackson, and Dustin" she added some spice on that D, "and you know Brainy. Then that dopey one is Aaron," she said with a wink, " And Greg and Chuck down there are new. Bunch a good ol' boys and blockheads."

"Who are you calling a blockhead, Pataki?" Dustin spat from beside Jackson.

"Aw, put a sock in it, Dusty. Just given' football head here the lay of the land." Dustin rolled his eyes and definitely didn't look at Arnold when Helga pointed to him.

But he did say, "Great, just what we need, another Pataki laggie."

"For fuck's sake, shut up and eat your lunch. I didn't sign up for your zingers today, as clever as they are." Dustin didn't reply this time, going back to his conversation.

"You guys seem… friendly." Arnold said, biting into his sandwich.

"Yeah, well, you know how likeable I am." Helga cast her gaze down to her food, flushed in the face. She didn't like to admit it, but Dustin got under her skin, just a little too much.

"Maybe he's intimidated by you," Arnold said it so plainly, he meant it. Helga was momentarily speechless, looking at him.

"I - ha ha- I don't think so. He's just a - What's the urgent hot dog issue?" Helga managed.

"Are you afraid of him, Helga?" He looked concerned, keeping his voice low. But this ruffled her.

"Absolutely fucking not!"

"I mean, "Pataki laggie", sounds like he's afraid that you have support behind you."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Arnold. It's not that serious - just the way the team talks to each other." She could tell it wasn't that convincing. He sat there in silence, chewing, looking at all the characters around the table. To him, it was easy to see that this Dustin guy saw Helga as a threat - as he should, Arnold thought. He'd taken beatings from Helga long before she was taught how to throw a punch and they were always brutal. But he could also see that Helga was compromised somehow, so he dropped it. Then he remembered -

"Oh, I was gonna ask you - would you want to submit some poetry to the newspaper?" He wasn't quiet about this, why should he be? But Helga's cheeks flushed hot.

"What?" She squeaked out.

"The newspaper wants to add some weekly poetry to the Arts section. And I immediately thought 'Oh I gotta ask Helga!'." She was so torn between feelings. On the one hand Arnold had thought of her all on his own. On the other, he just talked about her stupid poetry in front of the one bunch of blockheads who need to be afraid of her, or at least respect her.

"You write fuckin poetry, Pataki?" Dustin whipped his head around with a wicked smile on his face. "Like mushy stupid love poems and shit? You an artist or something?" He was suppressing laughter.

"She's really good actually!" Arnold interjected, but all that did was pivot Dustin's attention.

"Was I talking to you, pussy? No, I wasn't. You're little pet is really fucking annoying, Pataki!" He said this looking at Helga, jabbing his thumb back toward Arnold.

"Excuse me?" Arnold started, turning and rising from his seat. Dustin was standing up too.

"What part didn't you understand, bitch?"

"What the hell is your problem!" Arnold was stepping forward, but Helga dragged him back by the collar. It occurred to Arnold that this was the second time in the last 48 hours this had happened.

"Shut the fuck up, football head." Helga had pulled him out of the caf and around the corner.

"God, Helga, you don't have to choke me out every time - "

"Dustin is not the guy to mess with or try to reason with or talk to at all - he's a fucking psycho! And I do not need you fighting on my behalf in any way!"

"I wasn't, I just - "

"You were just making my life a helluva lot harder. He is just going to -"

"Why do you let this guy get away with shit like that?"

"How is this any of your business?"

"You're my friend and he was being an asshole -" Helga was touched but also angry. Unfortunately, as usual, anger won out.

"I don't need a little pussy like you to fight my battles for me! I can take care of myself and I can definitely handle Dickhead Dustin all on my own! So just - stop - helping!" The words just tumbled out of her mouth without passing through her brain for proofreading. By the look on Arnold's face though, she knew it was bad.

Arnold felt something drop into the pit of his stomach. He was so used to Helga's venom that he found he was surprised at the hurt he was feeling. He searched her face for what felt like a long time. She was red and breathing hard and angry - and he wasn't sure if he knew why.

"Whatever, Helga," was all he could manage. And then, he turned around and walked back to the table to grab his bag. The guys at the table all gave him sidelong looks like he'd just gotten in trouble with the teacher. Dustin stared at him brazenly though. Arnold surprised him and made eye contact with him, a blank half-lidded stare, grabbed his bag, then turned and walked back toward the hall.

Helga cursed herself as Arnold walked away from her. Her heart was racing and her mind was a buzz: Oh Helga ol' girl you've done it again. You've wounded your true love. One day he won't come back.

She followed back into the caf in time to see Arnold heading back her way.

"Arnold, I -" she reached out to him. But he dropped his gaze so as not to look at her, and walked right by, back into the hallway.

Helga let him by and raised her gaze to Dustin, who was loudly chattering about footballs and bitches. Helga clenched Old Betsy and the Five Avengers, tight.

12

Phoebe and Gerald had Study Hall together, so they reported to the library at a slow pace.

Gerald took Phoebe's hand and looked down at her with a grin.

"What?" she asked through a giggle.

"Oh nothin," he said, "just thinking about next year…"

"Oh - yeah." Phoebe gave a small smile and blushed. She let go of Gerald's hand to open the library door. Gerald looked at his girlfriend with warmth and love, imagining their new adult lives in college together.

Gerald's eye was pulled to something on the circulation desk while Phoebe went to their favorite table, the one under the big window. At this time of day, the sun was on the other side of the school so the window was always the perfect mix of daylight and cool shade. The table was dark wood, worn clean of its varnish from years and years of books, hands, and bags sliding across it. The big window was also beyond the reference section and something of a blind spot for the circulation desk, so Gerald and Phoebe had contributed to the erosion of the tabletop in other ways too.

"Hey hey! Have you done this yet?" Gerald was waving a couple sheets of paper.

"Well, Gerald, I don't know what "this" is - there is no information to be gleaned from the blur of paper you are waving about, so - " Phoebe retorted, returning back to her bag, pulling out her AP Physics homework. It was already half done, so she might as well get it out of the way.

"Ha ha - very funny." Gerald sat down and slapped the papers down too. "College Acceptance Report! Gotta tell 'em so they can brag about my Quinceton Girl! Early acceptance is nothing to sneeze at, baby!"

"Cut it out -" but Phoebe was blushing. She loved when he called her his "Quinceton Girl", almost as much as she loved when he called her "baby." But then that sour feeling was back. "No, not yet."

"Well you gotta! I'll do it for you - "

"No - you don't have to."

"I know! But - "

"Gerald, seriously -"

"Look - let me consider it practice for when I get into Quinceton!"

"Gerald, stop!"

Her voice hit Gerald in the face, stopping him mid laugh. Phoebe was turning red and breathing hard. "Phoebe, what the - "

"Nothing. It's nothing. Nothing, I - just - no. Nothing." Her voice was breathless, high pitched, almost a whisper.

"Tell me why I don't believe you?" He leaned in close.

"It's. Nothing. Really." Phoebe slipped the papers out from under his fingers.

They sat in silence for 8 whole minutes. Gerald watched each of them tick by on his Wacko watch. She had returned to her homework, looking like she hoped Gerald would forget about it.

"Are we really not going to address - " Gerald started, but Phoebe cut him off.

"I'm just stressed out." Phoebe exhaled.

"Ok - but this all seems. I mean, this is - that was intense!"

"I know - I just. There are so many schools…" Her eyes wandered up and away.

"Woah woah - are you second guessing Quinceton? Baby, it's your dream school. Your number one!" Phoebe visibly softened. Gerald reached across and took her hand in his fingertips, stroking her hand with his thumb,

"I know, it is. That's not… it's -" Phoebe's eyes fell down to their hands then flicked up to Gerald. It wasn't time. Not now. "Nevermind."

"If you say it's nothing one more time - "

"I just don't want to talk about it right now. Please." Phoebe took her hand out of his.

Gerald watched her retreat, pulling away, back into herself, into her homework. A flicker of something had crossed her face. Something that made Gerald feel just a little sick - but he couldn't place his finger on why. Not yet.

"Okay," he agreed, quietly.

Something was wrong. It was probably just the stress of senior year, of her whole life making her feel out of control. Probably. Or it was about him… but what did he do? Nothing! So…

He tried to turn his brain off. He put on his headphones and turned on some music. Tried to let it go. Tried to be the boyfriend his girlfriend needed him to be in that moment. But still… a paranoid voice in the back of his head said: No, this is about me.

"Shut up - let it go!" He whispered so lightly to himself. He had to say it out loud - that was the only way he could shove those thoughts back. Phoebe didn't notice. She noticed nothing at all.