Chapter 9
In Which Our Little Team Gets Back Together
"…so I came here. I didn't know where else to go. Sorry Pheebs." Helga took a deep breath. Her story had taken a lot longer to tell than she would have thought, though this was partially because she had cut out all the names of the other people involved, including Gerald. Helga had told the whole thing while staring at the floor, words just spilling out of her. Now she chanced a glance at Phoebe.
Phoebe was grinning. Uh oh. Did she flip?
"Pheebs? You ok?"
"Of course, Helga. Why wouldn't I be?"
Definitely flipped. "Oh no reason. I only told you that your best friend is a CIA agent working on an anti-terrorist operation and that glass tube you've got there is some kind of secret weapon, but hey that happens every day, right?"
Phoebe rolled her eyes and started clearing away the breakfast dishes. "No of course not. But I always assumed you'd end up doing something like this. I'm just glad I finally get to be a part of it."
"Part of it? Whoa, Phoebe girl, um, I mean," Helga rubbed the back of her neck and looked at the floor again, "You really can't be involved here."
Phoebe laughed. "Don't be silly Helga."
"No I mean it. This is dangerous stuff. Besides, I've already broken every rule known to the Agency just by telling you what happened. You need to just forget everything I've told you. In fact, forget I was even here. I should get back to work. Assuming I even still have a job." She got up to gather her things but was blocked by her friend.
"Listen Pheebs—"
"No, you listen Helga. I'm your best friend. You're in trouble. Gerald's in trouble. There's no way—"
"Wait a sec. How'd you know about Gerald?"
"You keep talking about your partner. You're obviously worried about him, and Arnold told me you and Gerald lived in the same area. It was a logical conclusion."
Helga blinked. "Phoebe, you amaze me."
Phoebe blushed lightly and started to say something else when Helga's cell rang.
"Hello? Oh, hi Moria." Time to lie my butt off. "Back to English I see—what? Yes, I'm fine. No, I don't know where he is, he wasn't with me. Rule breaking? I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Gerald and I would never do anything without the express permission of—" There was a pause while Helga frowned at the noises coming from the phone. "Now look Moria. I don't know anything about some fiasco that happened at the shipping docks all the way in New York. I was in New Jersey, for crying out loud. No I'm not there now, our position was compromised so we split up and left. I haven't heard from him since…no. No. Ok. No." She smiled. "Alright. I'll be awaiting further orders. Good luck figuring out what happened. No Moria," Helga looked at the still grinning Phoebe, "No one else knows about this."
*********************
"Um, Helga? You may not want to touch that."
Helga drew back her hand from the strange metal device she was investigating and looked at Phoebe. "Why, what is it?" she asked, and then stifled a yelp as a small furry white creature appeared and sniffed at her from inside the object.
"It's the door to the rat cage. I designed it to open quickly if I needed to get to a rat having a reaction to a product. Once, while I was testing the versatility of—"
"Pheebs? Let's not talk about it ok?"
Phoebe smiled slightly and turned back to what she was doing.
They were on the top floor of the Colic-Hyerdhaul Laboratory, in Phoebe's personal lab. The sun was setting outside, casting odd streaks of color on the small glass tube, now inside a larger glass container. Phoebe was preparing to open the tube and test the greenish contents inside.
"Ready?"
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked Helga somewhat nervously.
"You want to find out what this is, don't you?"
"Actually, no, I don't. I know it's dangerous, and that's really enough for me."
"But Helga," Phoebe was shocked, "Think of what we could learn from this, even if it is deadly! This could be the beginnings of a new type of weapon, and we could be the ones to find a counter attack! Or a cure, if this is some kind of germ warfare. Or a way to neutralize the weapon completely!" Her face practically shone with delight at the thought.
Helga shook her head. "I still say it's a bad idea to mess with it. But you're the genius, Phoebe." She pulled over a rolling chair and sat down…not too near the container.
After a short but somewhat heated argument, Helga had finally given in to Phoebe's insistence on being involved. And, since Helga could hardly bring the Hot Air tube to the CIA without having to explain where she got it, (and, consequently, probably not be employed by the CIA any longer) she agreed that the best place to bring it was Phoebe's lab. She was going to have to bring the sample in eventually, but she knew better than to test Moria's patience right now. Maybe she'll be calm enough in a week. And by then, Phoebe will have figured this thing out, and I'll have my ticket back into her good graces. Hopefully.
"Ok," Phoebe took a deep breath, and Helga tensed visibly, "Here we go." She moved the cylinder into position inside the box, and using a safety arm lifted off the cover.
Nothing happened. Phoebe let out her breath and inserted a probe into the tube for preliminary testing.
"So now what?" asked an impatient Helga.
"First, we have to determine the composition of the solution, which should help us in discovering any harmful effects. Then, I should really run a test for radioactivity before I can begin to have fun with—"
"On second thought Pheebs, don't tell me. I'm nervous enough already."
Helga's cell rang again, and she clicked on her phone and frowned at it.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't recognize the number." Helga's forehead was screwed up in thought.
"Should you answer it then?"
Helga shrugged and pressed the talk button. "Hello?"
A breath of air was let out on the other end of the line, making Helga think she had a prank caller until a voice added, "I take it you're alive then?"
So are you. Thank God. "No Gerald, they let me bring my cell to the next world. It's a perk from being the daughter of Big Bob."
"Funny."
"I thought so. You ok?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Yeah."
There was silence for a moment, and Helga conveyed to Phoebe through sign language who she was talking to. Phoebe smiled and went back to her tests.
"Did you talk to Simon yet?" Helga asked.
"No."
"Deny everything."
"Gotcha. I take it things haven't gone exactly according to plan?"
"What plan?"
"True. What about the you-know-what?"
Helga looked over at Phoebe, who was studying her computer screen with an odd look on her face. "It's in good hands. Not mine."
Gerald was surprised. "Moria took it after that mess?"
"No."
There was another pause, then Gerald said, "Don't tell me then, at least not over a cell phone. I think we need to meet up somewhere."
"I agree. Any suggestions?"
"Like Italian?" Man Gerald, did that ever sound like a line. And on Helga G. Pataki, no less.
"Sure."
"I know the perfect place."
They arranged their meeting, and both hung up their cells. If they had been paying more attention, they might have heard the tiny click as a third person hung up.
******************
Arnold was also on the phone, but he hung up as he once again got an answering machine message. Phoebe was probably working late, enjoying her solitary lab privileges. He had her work number, but didn't want to bother her there. He didn't really have anything to say anyway, just needed to talk to an understanding soul.
Arnold ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he had picked up lately whenever he was frustrated. And tonight, he was very, very frustrated. He got up from his bed and went downstairs to find some sort of snack and get away from his painting.
Paint Christmas, Mrs. Vitello had said. It had seemed easy at the time. But he just didn't feel like Christmas. He knew this was his first real chance to make a name for himself, and he didn't want to just paint Santa or a Christmas tree or even some kind of intricate snowflake. He wanted to paint Christmas. He just didn't know how. He wasn't inspired.
He paused in the middle of getting pastrami out of the fridge when the phone rang. He had left messages on several friend's machines, so he hurried over to the phone in the hall.
"Hello?"
"Hey Arnold."
"Oh, hi Stinky. How are you?"
"I'm doing just dandy on my end. But it must be you with the problem, seeing as you left a humdinger of a depressed sounding message on this here machine," Stinky drawled in his usual direct way.
"Sort of. I'm kind of stuck on a painting."
"I'm sorry to hear that Arnold. Hey, maybe you should paint a picture of my pumpkin patch! I've got a whole lotta juicy pumpkins this season—"
"Thanks Stinky, but I'm supposed to be painting a Christmas scene."
"Well I don't want to be the judge of anyone," a slightly stern tone came into Stinky's voice, "But it sure ain't Christmas without pumpkins. 'Sides, it's not nearly Thanksgiving yet. What you want to be painting Christmas for this early?"
"I guess you're right. It's not like it has to be done today. I'm just a little frustrated."
"I understand frustration, alright. Why, my one pumpkin I was growing…"
They talked about frustration and pumpkins for a few minutes more, then Stinky somehow got on the subject of lemon puddin', which lasted them another fifteen minutes or so. Arnold was about to make an excuse and hang up when Stinky mentioned something else.
"Actually Arnold, I'm right glad you called this evening."
"Why's that, Stinky?"
"You recall my saying I was growin' a pumpkin patch?"
"Um, yes."
"Well it's doing mighty fine this year, and my thinking is, if it keeps on doing this well, I'm going to buy myself a pumpkin farm."
"Wow, that's great Stinky! Then you can make a living doing something you enjoy!"
"Yep, and I won't have to work in no second-hand shop no more, neither. I figure it'll take me about a year to raise up the money for it, then I'm moving out!" Stinky was silent for a moment, then added, "I just wish I didn't have to do it alone, Arnold."
Arnold was afraid he knew what was coming. "Listen Stinky, I'm glad you're doing so well, but I have responsibilities here and—"
"Oh I wasn't talking about you Arnold. No, I was thinking of someone who might enjoy farming like I have. Only problem is, there ain't no one around here who enjoys it like I do. Too bad Miss Lila went and married that strange dull-as-dirt cousin of yours."
Now Arnold definitely wanted to get off the phone. "Yeah Stinky. Well I hope you find someone. You've got some time."
"You know, I never did figure what Miss Lila saw in that—"
"Goodnight Stinky." Arnold hung up and started back up the stairs to his room. He wasn't hungry anymore, and that painting was still bothering him.
"That painting", as he was beginning to internally call it, was in the middle of his room waiting for him when he got back. It was about halfway finished – the outline was sketched, and some of the colors were filled in. The scene was of a snow-covered street, and a little blond-haired boy trudged along it, as if Christmas meant nothing to him. But above the street, steering the little boy, was a beautiful angel, the Spirit of Christmas reaching out even to this boy, whom everyone else had abandoned.
Well, that's what it would be, if he could just get the angel right. It looked wrong up there, the lines were unflattering, the colors clashed, and she was hanging oppressively above the boy like a parade balloon gone wrong. The faint tint of her dress looked swamp green, her long crimson locks were blood red – it was just all wrong, and he couldn't make it right. He felt like growling at the painting, but decided that probably wouldn't help matters. Instead he took it off his easel and jammed it in the back of his closet, where hopefully he wouldn't have to see it again. He put a blank canvas in its place, and tried to think Christamas-y thoughts. He drew a couple different ideas on a scrap piece of paper, then gave up and decided on an early bedtime.
Oh well, he thought as he drifted off, maybe I'll be inspired tomorrow. But somehow, he didn't really think so.
A/N: This chapter was supposed to be quite a bit longer, but I felt sorry for ya'll having to wait this long so I decided to post this as it is and make the next chapter longer. I'm really sorry I've been behind lately, real life has just been nuts. I'll try to get the next chapter up soon. ~PJ
Miss Matched: Japanese, hmmmm… I'll keep that one in mind. ::lives off of kudos bars in a desperate attempt to finish the next few chapters::
TADAH: Another chapter! Hopefully the next won't be so long a wait…
Rachael West: Huh, actually I was thinking of another defenestration, though that would have been an interesting touch also. Go to www.m-w.com and look it up to see what I was talking about. :) I promise it's worth it.
Jacquleine Schaeffer: I'm afraid some of your questions won't be answered for quite a while…but they all will be eventually, honest! :)
DropsOfJupiter: I love long reviews! (who doesn't?) Yay, thanks! Heh, I'm a grad now so summer doesn't matter much to me…though really every day is like summer right now since I'm still job-less, ugh. Summer with no money anyway! I will say that it is *not* Dr. Bliss. I can say that for certain since I already wrote him as a male. :) Stinky's Pumpkin showed up slightly again this chapter…as did the Arteest, briefly anyway. Happy? :)
Sennical: Well if I ran the world, *I* would have access to that kind of technology. Kind of obvious that I don't, huh? Oh well, a girl can dream.
pokey: Lol, why thank you. :)