Hello everyone out there! We're back with the sixth chapter, at long last. I'm so sorry to have been gone so long, but my teachers kept piling on homework. I had a huge essay for English, a poetry project for English, a ten-page research paper for Government, and then all my other teachers seemed to have doubled their homework load. I can only hope that things slow down soon . . .

I hope everyone is enjoying this story as time passes and more and more chapters appear, and I apologize again for making you all wait so long. Oh, that reminds me! I recently got a question asking me why the story is called "A Rainy December" when it's not rainy, but snowy? (As you can guess, this one was from stormqueen. How does she come up with all these questions you ask? I honestly have no idea.) Well, here's my answer:

You're going to have to wait and find out! (Begins laughing evilly) Trust me on this one, anything that happens in this story happens for a reason. Well, maybe not everything, but yeah.

Well, I suppose I should get going with the story, shouldn't I. Oh, and keep answering those questions! I love your answers so much; they're great!

Love forever and ever: pottergal

PS. Disclaimers still apply, blah. You know what I'm talking about, so let's get this show on the road. But before I can, I forgot I need to give credit for a couple of songs that appear in this chapter. There's one that I have no clue what the name is, I just remember the lyrics from the movie Dark City. If anyone has seen the movie and knows the song when you read this, PLEASE TELL ME! Not only do I love that song, but also I can't find the name anywhere. And the other one is from the Escaflowne movie. It's the song called "Sora", so if you have the soundtrack for the movie, you'll know what I'm talking about. Listen to that song on repeat when the dream shows up! It'll enhance the mood or something :P.

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A Rainy December

Chapter Six: Crazy Dreams and Thunderstorms

By: pottergal

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Two days had passed since Helga had begun to take care of Arnold such that it was now a Saturday afternoon. Just as Dr. Smith had said, Arnold's fever had indeed come and gone for the past few days, once even reaching a temperature as high as one hundred and three. Miraculously, Helga had maintained her calm all throughout the crisis and hadn't pulled all her hair out in frustration and helplessness. Sure, it had torn her up inside while her darling had lain on his back, suffering horribly from the fever, but she'd struggled to do everything she possibly could to help him.

She'd made ice packs to place under his neck and arms, just as Olga's instructions had said, and she'd dabbed his face with ice cold water continuously, feeling glad that she didn't have to dunk him in the tub just yet. She couldn't imagine a ruder wakeup call than being dumped in freezing water.

And so, she had struggled on, with Arnold waking up occasionally to drink as much water as she could force down his throat. Never again did she ask him to come downstairs for fear that the fever would return as badly as it had after the first time they'd gone downstairs. That Thursday night had been horrible, with Helga setting his alarm clock at hourly intervals to ensure she kept a steady watch over his condition. It turned out, however, that she didn't need it. She was so terrified that something was going to happen to him that she never dozed off in the first place.

Friday night had been better, with Helga making up for her missed sleep then. She managed to snag about seven hours and awoke Saturday morning to find a peaceful Arnold, his fever minimal. It gave her hope that it had finally broken, but she tried not to press her luck. Hope for something good was always like a soap bubble for her; if she stared at it for too long, admiring it, eventually it would pop, crushing her desires.

Arnold had slept on, all through the daylight of Saturday, giving Helga time to devote to herself. She'd showered, despite her disgust for the filthy bathroom, and had done some laundry, finally washing her dusty clothes. Then, after checking on Arnold to make sure he was still doing fine, she made something to eat; it had been small to be on the safe side. Then, not wanting to do homework just yet and feeling possessed by a strange power, she'd hunted down the cleaning supplies and began to attack their bathroom with every cleaning solution she had.

Once the bathroom was finished and spotless and smelled strongly of bleach, Helga had checked on Arnold again, and he was still sleeping. Still not feeling any urges to do homework, she began to clean the kitchen, sweeping and mopping and dusting until it was shining. She then went to work on the living room, giving it the same treatment. She polished, dusted, cleaned the windows, and so forth until the whole downstairs smelled of lemon cleaning solution.

What has gotten into me? She wondered with a touch of horror as she caught herself humming as she put away the cleaning supplies. Since when do I enjoy housework? But . . . it was Arnold's house after all, and cleaning it made her feel . . . well, so very happy. It made her feel like she belonged and actually was a part of his life. For the rest of the day, she couldn't get rid of her dopey grin, even after she started folding her clothes.

And so, the afternoon rolled around. Helga had finally broken down and had started her homework, which mainly consisted of math and some grammar. It was all ridiculously easy, and she finished it in no time at all. After putting her books and school things away, she pulled out a book of poems that Olga had shoved into her bag and sat beside Arnold's bed, her back resting against the mattress. Her love was still asleep, but she didn't mind.

"The New Yorker, Selected Poems from Contemporary Poets." She murmured the title as she opened the thick book and began to read through the hundreds of poems crammed into it. Time rolled passed without Helga bothering to notice, and from the corner of her eye, she caught Arnold moving closer to her unconsciously. She smiled slightly at him before reaching over and running her fingers through his hair absently.

She didn't even realize what she'd started doing, she just kept reading her book. She'd stop occasionally to turn a page, but finally when she quit for good, Arnold muttered something and rolled closer, subconsciously asking her to continue. She blinked and watched his unconscious reaction when she began to play with his hair again; he smiled.

"You'd think I was petting a cat or something." She said softly as his expression relaxed into a peaceful, dreamy smile. She was sure that if Arnold had been a cat at this very moment, he'd be purring with content.

A faint knock at the door made Helga sigh, but she stopped and stood, placing a marker in her book as she set it down on Arnold's bedside table. With one final glance over to make sure he'd be all right, Helga slipped out of his room and downstairs. Once she'd peered through the peek hole, her heart gave a small thump; it was Arnold's grandmother.

Helga drew a deep breath and opened the door slowly. She knew this moment would come, but for some reason, now that she'd gotten used to caring for Arnold, she didn't want to give it up. She was finally close to the one she loved with all her heart without having to push him away, and a huge part of her didn't want to give it up just yet.

"Well hello there, little Eleanor! So good to see you. Is Franklin any better, or is he still feeling under the weather?" Helga blinked in surprise as the old woman gave her a fierce hug. "I really hate to have you do this, but I appreciate what you're doing for my Kimba." It clicked for her suddenly; Arnold's grandmother played word games. She must be Eleanor, and this Franklin and Kimba were Arnold.

"Um, actually he's still asleep." She said in a half whisper. "His fever has been pretty bad for the past few days, but he managed to make it through all right." His grandmother beamed at her.

"See, Eleanor? I knew you could handle it." She gave Helga a pat on the back. "Now about my reason for stopping by." Both of them entered the main hallway and Helga shut the door. "Phil is still in the hospital, and as much as he hates it, he needs to stay there for a few more days." Helga's heart leapt slightly; did that mean she was still needed here?

"And as you can guess, I still have to stay by his side. But since I left here in such a hurry, I forgot a change of clothes, so I came by to check in on you and get me some supplies." Helga followed her as she walked into her bedroom and began rummaging around for a suitcase.

"How long do you think you're going to have to stay there . . . ah . . ." Helga trailed off, uncertain what to call her.

"Call me Grandma, or if you're not comfortable with that just yet, call me Pookie or Gertie, Eleanor." Helga elected the one that sounded a bit more normal and less pet-name like. "But about your question, I think those people at that institution are going to finally let him out next Tuesday, so we'll be back then." Gertie said as she began to throw things into the suitcase.

"Tuesday?"

"Yessir, just in time for Christmas too. I know how much Kimba loves Christmas, and I'd hate to have it ruined this year." Gertie straightened and stretched a little. "Well, I think that's everything I need to survive in that place. What do you say I fix up a little something to eat before I go? And by the way, the place looks great. Kudos to you, Eleanor."

"Thanks." Helga said, and felt her cheeks heat slightly. For some reason, this woman intimidated her, but she couldn't put a finger on why. She tried to shove the thoughts away as Gertie put a hand on her shoulder and steered her into the kitchen.

"How about some pasta? It's quick and simple and tastes great." She said as they entered the kitchen.

"Sure, I don't mind." Helga said and the two set to work, boiling the noodles and cooking the sauce. After about twenty minutes, the most delicious smells wafted from the kitchen and the two ate their pasta as they talked about the most incredible things. Helga found herself opening up to the older woman, talking to her about things she'd never even told Phoebe. And before she knew it, Gertie had become sort of the mother Helga had never had.

"You clean up this mess and I'll go put on some mood music, okay Eleanor? I know just the thing." Gertie said as she disappeared into the living room. Helga put everything in the sink and washed them quickly. As she dried, she heard some faint clicks, and soon a slow, sultry voice was drifting through the house.

"When the rumba rhythm starts to play, dance with me, make me sway."

Helga blinked a little at the familiar song, but the one she'd heard had been a remix. The one she was listening to now must be the original. She put down the dishtowel and ventured out into the living room, where Gertie as dancing by herself. Helga stared, and before she knew it, Gertie had grabbed her hands, and the older woman was swinging her around like nothing.

"Like a flower bending in the breeze, sway with me, stay with me."

"Don't you just love the rhythm? This has always been one of my favorite songs. I simply adore it!" Gertie said as she spun Helga around. "Oh my, is that really the time? It sure has flown hasn't it? I've been here for almost an hour!" She exclaimed as Helga collapsed onto the couch. "Hope you don't mind me running out on you like this, Eleanor, but I told Phil I'd be back earlier than this!"

"I don't mind at all." Helga said as Arnold's grandmother raced from the living room and snagged her suitcase from her bedroom. "We'll see you and . . . Phil? Yeah, Phil back on Tuesday." She got up to see Gertie to the door, and the older woman grabbed a large umbrella from the bunch in the rack.

"Looks like a storm's brewing, Eleanor, so be sure to stay warm tonight. I can feel it coming in my bones and this horrible headache, and I can tell it's going to be a big one." As Helga opened the door, a large gust of wind blew down the street, scattering snow and making people clutch their jackets more tightly. "I expect it'll rain for a while, and we might even see some lightning! Hope that doesn't scare you." Helga shook her head.

"I don't think so. We haven't had one in a while." She then blinked as Gertie pulled her in for a hug.

"Take care, Eleanor. I know you and young Franklin will be fine, but it doesn't hurt to be careful." Gertie said and patted Helga's shoulder fondly. Helga couldn't help smiling up at her.

"I know. You take care too, okay? I hope Phil gets better quickly." She called as Gertie walked down the steps to the green Packard parked infront of the house. The two waved, and before Helga knew it, Gertie had driven away in a blaze of snow.

That woman's crazy as a jay bird, but . . . I can't help liking her. Helga thought with a smile as she shut the door and locked it. She then turned back to the living room, where the record was still playing. It took her a moment to figure out what she needed to do, but soon she had it replaying the first song.

"When the rumba rhythm starts to play, dance with me, make me sway."

Helga smiled as the woman sang and started imitating the steps Gertie had led her through, though she did so at a much slower pace. The one the older woman had set had been too fast for the music, and plus Helga could barely remember the steps from that whirlwind moment. Humming along with the song, she dipped and twirled, bowing to an imaginary partner.

"Like a flower bending in the breeze, sway with me, stay with me."

*~*~*

"Win dain a lotica

En vai tu ri Si lo ta Fin dein a loluca En dragu a sei lain Va fa-ru les shutai am En riga-lint."

Arnold opened his eyes slowly as a haunting melody reached him, the voice singing so very sad and heart wrenching. He blinked a little, trying to clear his vision and take in his surroundings, but all he saw was the darkened shapes of trees looming overhead. He pushed himself up slowly to find that he was lying in the middle of a narrow dirt path, lined by thick dark green bushes. Frowning a little as he wondered how he got there in the first place, he managed to stand and brushed himself off.

"Win chent a lotica En vai turi Si lo ta Fin dein a loluca Si natigura neuver Floreria for chesti Si entina."

"Who's . . . who's singing?" He wondered aloud before starting off in the general direction of the voice. There were only two directions he could possibly go, after all, since the bushes were so thick on either side that he couldn't even begin to make them budge.

The voice continued singing the beautiful, yet very sad melody, as though it was urging him on somehow. Arnold followed the path as the voice continued to repeat the first two verses he'd heard. He followed it, despite the seemingly endlessness of it and the multitude of twists and turns. Just as he was tempted to give up hope of finding the singer, the volume would get louder, making him believe that he was indeed getting closer.

"Finally." He muttered as he reached the end of the path. The bushes and thick trees on either side suddenly gave way to a giant circular clearing. Arnold's mouth fell open in sheer awe as he looked around it. Here the trees were non-existent, allowing the night sky to shine down on an enormous pool of inky black water. Part of Arnold wondered if it even was water because it was so incredibly still; there wasn't a single ripple or wave marring the smooth surface.

"La la la . . . Fontina Blu Cent De Cravi esca letisimo La la la . . . De quantian Le Finder eve."

Arnold's gaze finally traveled to a sight he was surprised that he hadn't seen in the first place. In the dead center of the black pool, a single ray of moonlight shone down on a figure in white. As he stared, Arnold began to realize that the figure was actually a young girl in a flowing white robe. She was sitting on a large curved log that rose from the surface of the pool, her toes dangling just above the water, and it didn't take Arnold long to realize that she was the singer.

"Win dain a lotica En vai tu ri Si lo ta Fin dein a loluca En dragu a sei lain Vi fa-ru les shutai am En riga-lint."

Her song was beautiful, sung with such sorrow and pain. Arnold listened quietly as he took a seat at the edge of the pool. He listened intently to her gentle soprano, her voice rising and falling gracefully as she sang. Part of him wished he knew what she was singing about, but deep down, he knew. Her song . . . he'd known what the words had meant from the moment he'd heard them uttered.

It was about being alone.

The girl was singing about a person who'd become trapped by her own fate, her own destiny, to be alone, apart from everyone for her entire life. All her emotions, all her joy, suffering, and sorrow had been locked away for so long that she no longer felt them. And so, she was alone. Trapped by her inability to feel, she walked her chosen path by herself, too prideful to change it, too prideful to bring back her true self.

Once the girl finished her song and opened her eyes, Arnold began to clap slowly. The girl looked up to him and smiled slightly, and it was then he noticed the veil she wore. It was a thin, opaque piece of material that obscured her features enough so he couldn't tell if she was someone he knew now, or it was someone he had known in the past.

"You enjoyed my song?" The girl asked, and her voice was annoyingly familiar. If only he could see her face . . . then he'd be able to place it for certain.

"Of course I did. It was very lovely, even if it was so sad." He could see her lips curve in a small smile. "That person you were singing about . . . who was it?" He asked as he stood and took a step towards her. He noticed then that the water only reflected one thing; it swallowed every reflection except for the girl's.

"Can't you tell?" She asked, a small note of disbelief in her voice. Arnold shook his head.

"It was about a girl who was trapped into being alone . . ." He began as the girl lifted her arms. His eyes widened. "It's . . . you?" He breathed, for around her wrists were a pair of silver manacles. The thin chains from the manacles were connected to another pair around her ankles, and then the chains disappeared into the inky black water.

"It is, in a way. I am that girl's true self, you see. I am her emotions that she locked deep inside herself to keep anyone from discovering them." She said, the sorrow in her voice making Arnold take an unconscious step towards her. "I'm not at all surprised that you could hear the true meaning behind my song. For you see, Arnold, you are the only one who can set me free."

"I . . . I am?" He asked in surprise. "But . . . but how could I do something like that? And how did you know my name?"

"I know almost everything about you, Arnold, and if you break these chains that hold me, you'll understand why." He bit his lip as she waited, but the veil hid her face well enough that he couldn't see what she was thinking. "Will you do it, Arnold?"

"But how can I get to you? Is there a boat or something? This water looks really deep, that is . . ." He peered down into the water, slightly unnerved that there was no reflection. "If this is even water."

"You can cross it, Arnold. You are the only one who can do this." He looked up from the water to the girl. Drawing a deep breath to summon courage, he put a foot out to step into the water and to test its depth. However, his foot didn't meet icy cold water. Instead, it met something very solid. It looked as though he could just walk across it. Drawing another deep breath, this one from relief, he started walking towards the girl.

"Do you know how I can get those chains off you?" He said once he finally reached her. The log curved higher than he'd thought, the flat part level with the top of his head. The girl shook her head slowly as Arnold took a look at the ones around her ankles. However, when he touched them gently, something incredible happened. They dissolved completely.

"Did you see that?" He said, his voice echoing the stunned expression on his face. When he looked up at the girl, all he got was a mysterious, yet happy, smile. "Let me see if it works on the other ones." He took her hands in his own and touched the manacles around her wrists. Each one dissolved completely and the chain fell way soundlessly.

"See, Arnold? I told you that you could do it." She said with a laugh and Arnold helped her down from the log. Just as her bare feet touched the surface of the black pool, the water began to rise up around them violently. Arnold drew a sharp intake of breath from shock as waves threatened to tear them apart.

"What's going on?" He shouted as he struggled to maintain his grip on the girl's hands.

"It's trying to reclaim me! Please, Arnold, don't let go!" With that, he started to draw her closer until he'd enfolded her in a tight embrace. Dimly he heard her gasp of surprise, but her arms went around him, squeezing him firmly.

"It will pass in a few minutes." She breathed into his ear. "Just don't let go, or it will take you quite a while to find me again." The water rose up around them angrily, battering them to get them apart. Suddenly it seemed to swallow them, and a sickening falling sensation gripped him.

"Have I found you before?" Arnold asked through clenched teeth, trying to get his mind of the feeling. He sensed her nod.

"You found me once before, Arnold. But . . ."

"I lost you." He sensed her nod again and suddenly the falling stopped. "Is it over?" He asked as he opened his eyes cautiously, and blinked. They were on that same beach, the one with the white sand and the deep blue sapphire water. "I think . . . I think we're safe now."

"You're right." She said as they stepped away from eachother and she slowly removed the veil. "Isn't this wonderful? I love the beach." She did a small spin before him, her long golden hair spilling out around her and her robe becoming a white sundress. Arnold's mouth fell open as he realized who she was.

"It's . . . it's you!" He said in surprise as the girl turned to him, a happy and utterly beautiful smile on her face. Her eyes matched the intense blue of the ocean and the sky and Arnold shook his head in shock. "But . . . it can't be. You're . . ."

*~*~*

Arnold awoke with a start, the faint sound of music jerking him from his dream. As he sat up, he tried to remember what it had been about, but . . . try as he might, it alluded him. He remembered the very last moment had been something important, and it was so frustrating that he couldn't recall what had happened.

Voices from the hall reached him and he frowned. Was that . . . Grandma? He slipped out from underneath both blankets and wondered why on earth a poetry book was sitting beside his bed. He liked poetry, but he certainly didn't own any books . . . well, that is if he didn't count that little pink one, but that wasn't even a real published work. It was just a collection from some crazy girl.

He heard the front door click shut as he crept down the stairs from his room. Who was here? Or maybe someone had left? As he descended the second flight to the first floor, he heard someone fiddling with the record player. Before he entered the living room, he had to stop and rest, his hands gripping the banister tightly. Why . . . why was he so tired? Was he . . . was he sick?

"When the rumba rhythm starts to play, dance with me, make me sway."

A slow, sultry voice sang and he heard someone humming along with the melody. As he summoned strength to finish the flight, he could hear the floorboards creaking slightly as someone moved across them. Was Grandma dancing again? He probably should expect to see her in that brilliantly loud tango outfit, with the red rose in her mouth.

"Like a flower bending in the breeze, sway with me, stay with me."

"Grandma?" Arnold called as he moved to stand in the doorway to the hallway. However, the person dancing in the living room certainly wasn't his grandmother. At first he'd thought she'd just gotten younger, much, much younger, but then his stunned mind realized who it was.

"Helga?" He nearly shouted at her. She'd frozen in place the moment he'd shown himself, and as he watched her happy expression fade, he realized something. She . . . she was . . .

"Arnoldo, what're you doing down here?" She snapped angrily, her hands on her hips. "You should be upstairs resting! Did you forget that you're still sick?" As she walked towards him, she clicked off the record player, but Arnold didn't move. She was wearing a white shirt with her jeans, and her long, golden hair was down, curling on the ends slightly.

"You . . . you're . . ." He said, his thoroughly shocked mind fumbling for words. As she walked towards him, he finally remembered the last part of his dream, where he'd realized the true identity of the mystery girl from his many dreams. In every single one, she'd been Helga.

"Don't tell me your fever came back . . ." She said with a groan and Arnold did the only thing he could do in a situation like the one he was in now. He felt his eyes roll back up into his head and . . .

He fainted.

*~*~*

Helga sat beside Arnold's bed for the second time that day, watching him sleep peacefully. She could barely believe her luck after he'd fainted; his fever hadn't come back. Sure, his temperature was a little on the high side, but it wasn't at one hundred and one any longer. So, she'd done the best she could to lug him back upstairs and had put him to bed. Now that she had a moment, she could wonder what had made him collapse like that in the first place.

A sharp crack of lightning over head brought her abruptly out of her thoughts and made her focus on the present. She looked up through the sky light of a ceiling and grimaced. Angry black storm clouds had completely covered the sky, blocking out the setting sun and pretty much any natural light. As a boom of thunder followed the crack, Helga shivered in spite herself. She wasn't about to tell anyone, but she had forgotten how much she hated storms like this one.

"Ugh . . . Hel . . . Helga?" She looked down from the dark sky to Arnold, who was slowly opening his eyes. He blinked up at her a little as the faint tapping sound of water droplets hitting the glass echoed through the room.

"Good of you to wake up, football head." She said as she tried to stop shaking. Maybe she could pass it off as being cold if he asked . . . "Why the heck did you collapse like that? Are you still sick or something? Your fever is almost gone, so I hope you're actually feeling better." She just talked, random words and thoughts pouring out of her mouth. She wanted to kick herself, but that's how she got when she was scared.

"Actually, I am." He said as he sat up, giving her an odd look. "I still feel shaky and weak, but I'm not cold or anything." She watched him frown as he noticed she was rubbing her arms. "Are you cold?"

"Sure am." She said, her teeth chattering slightly. "Heh, heh . . . I forgot to put on my sweater, that's all." She stood up just as another crack of lightning illuminated the sky. Before she could stop herself, Helga fell back to the floor, her hands clamped over her ears. The rumble of thunder followed almost instantly and she winced, the rain suddenly pounding on the glass roof.

"Helga . . ." Arnold began as she pried her hands from her ears and looked up at him. He was wearing a concerned frown. "Are you . . . are you okay?"

"Heh, heh . . . what makes you think that I wouldn't be, football head?" She said as she hugged herself, trying to force herself to stop shivering. "Of course I'm all right. There's absolutely nothing . . ." Lightning struck again, cutting her off and making her cry out slightly in alarm. Her hands were once again glued to her ears and her eyes were squeezed shut tight as the thunder followed.

"You don't like thunder storms, do you." Arnold said as the rain could be heard again, and the wind howled around the house. She glared up at him, her shivers returning in full force.

"What was your first clue, hair boy?" She snapped angrily. Br . . . how she hated this. "The fact that I can't stop shaking? The fact that I shriek every time lightning strikes? Or the way I cower in fear?" She said with a glare and earned an eye roll from him. Lightning crashed yet again and Helga grimaced. Why . . . why did it have to be a thunderstorm?

"Well, why don't we go downstairs and do something? That way your mind won't have to focus on the storm." She opened her eyes to see him slide his legs over the side of the bed and slip his feet into his slippers. There was another lightning strike just as he wrapped the spare blanket around himself and suddenly there was a strange hum.

"Uh . . . what was that?" Helga asked, her gut sinking in fear. She saw Arnold blink slightly, and then they were plunged into darkness.

"Oh, just perfect!" She muttered and heard Arnold begin rummaging around in the drawers beside his bed. She shivered and began rubbing her arms again as her eyes started adjusting to the dark. "This is just what we need, a power outage."

"Calm down, okay? I found my flashlight." He clicked it on and Helga winced at the second change of light. "All we need to do now is head downstairs; there are some candles and matches in the kitchen." From the glow of the flashlight, she watched Arnold scoot off his bed and wrap the blanket around him more tightly.

"You sure you're up to that, football head? You could make yourself sick again." She said, looking at him. He turned to face her and shrugged.

"Do I have a choice? I didn't think you'd want to go alone." She bristled angrily at his comment and stood.

"I had to brave your dark and creepy house once before, Arnoldo, but that time I didn't have a flashlight." She said testily and took a step towards him. "If you think for one second that I can't handle a little darkness, you're very wrong." She glowered down at him.

"It's not the dark that I'm worried about." He said and there was another crash of lightning, making Helga fall to her knees in sudden fear. "It's the storm." He knelt before her, offering his free hand to her. "For once can we do something without an argument? Things will go quicker if we work together."

"I know, I know, cooperation." Helga said with a small sneer, but the thunder boomed loudly and she hunched over slightly, her hands flying to her ears in response. "Why? Why did it have to be thunder and lightning . . .? Snow I can handle. Rain I can handle. But not thunder, and not lightning . . ." She muttered and felt a hand touch her shoulder.

"Come on, Helga." She gulped as she looked up at him, and the familiar look of determination in his green eyes gave her strength. She nodded slowly and slipped her cold hand into his, and the two of them started downstairs.

It didn't take them long to find everything they needed to have the kitchen lit up brilliantly, due to the excessive amounts of candles Arnold's grandmother had stockpiled. Arnold also found a couple of kerosene lanterns, and after several failed attempts, they had them fired up and shining brightly. Rummaging around in the cupboards as Arnold went to find some more camping equipment, Helga managed to find some dry snacks that they could eat, should they need to.

"I found Grandpa's old Coleman camping stove, if we decide to cook something tonight." Helga looked up as Arnold returned. "Any luck finding more batteries? This flashlight takes the C types, I think."

"Um . . ." Helga said before opening a few drawers and finally finding the batteries he needed. She reached over to hand them to him, but a loud boom of thunder made her freeze and she dropped them. They landed on the linoleum with a small clunk and began to roll away.

"Helga? Why do you hate thunderstorms so much?" She heard him ask as he picked up the runaway batteries. "I personally think they're neat."

"Well you're crazy." She said as she took a seat at the table and clasped her shaking hands together. "I've always hated them, for as long as I can remember. They're not fun when you're little and you get stuck in one by yourself." Rain pounded at the kitchen windows and Helga listened for a moment to the howling wind. "When your grandmother said a bad storm was coming, yeesh, she meant it. I'll never doubt her bones again."

"Grandma was here? When?" Arnold asked as he took a seat across the table, the candles casting interesting shadows on his face. She looked up at him and shrugged a little.

"She came by this afternoon to get some different clothes. She and your grandpa will be back on Tuesday." She said, repeating what Gertie had told her. "You know, she's one crazy old woman, but . . ." Arnold rolled his eyes and rested his chin in his hands.

"You don't have to tell me. I live with her, remember? She's constantly running around in these crazy getups." Arnold said, his tone a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. "One day she'll be a knight, the next she's a cheerleader, and sometimes she's even in a kimono. That's usually when she serves me and Grandpa watermelon sushi." He said with another eye roll. "And she's always calling me by with weirdest names. Sometimes I'm Tex, if she's in a cowgirl costume, and sometimes I'm Kimba. Don't ask me what Kimba means, I have no idea."

"I think he's a jungle warrior." Helga said and Arnold goggled at her. "Your grandmother plays word games, I think. She kept calling me Eleanor, or something, as in Eleanor Roosevelt, which I thought was rather odd. Sure, I may be head strong like her, but . . ." She noticed Arnold had titled his head to one side in a questioning manner and she trailed off.

"So you think the names she calls people by have a deeper meaning?" Helga nodded slowly. "Huh . . . that's kind of cool." She watched in confusion as he bit his lip. "Do you know who a Lady Godiva was? And if you do, what do you think that means if Grandma called someone that?" Helga thought for a moment, trying to remember whom that woman was. Then it clicked.

"Lady Godiva is a woman who went insane and rode a horse around her village while completely naked." Helga almost laughed at the expression on Arnold's face; his eyes looked about ready to bug out of his head. "As for what it means . . . well, she was apparently very beautiful, so I guess if your grandma called someone that, it means what's on the outside doesn't necessarily fit what's on the inside. You should be wary of that person, because it's very likely that her beautiful outside hides something not so nice on the inside."

"You . . . you really think so?" Arnold coughed, sounding as though she'd dealt him quite a blow.

"Or it could just be that your grandmother thinks this person is insane for the things she does. What she could be saying is that the girl doesn't act like a normal human being, despite her beauty." Helga said after a moment of thought. "Anyway, what I was about to say before you interrupted me, football head, was that I think your grandmother is neat."

"You think . . . that she's . . . she's neat?" She looked up at him and frowned; he seemed confused by this fact.

"So? She's a whole lot more interesting than my so-called guardians are. I mean, you actually have people who take an active interest in your life. My parents are either obsessed about money or my sister, or they're completely gone on smoothies." She said, not trying to conceal the bitterness and jealousy she felt. "So yeah, I think your grandma is neat. It makes me wish I had someone like her to talk to."

"You're probably the only person who thinks so." Arnold said, awe in his voice. Helga gave him a look.

"Well? What about you? Don't you think she's neat?"

"I love her a lot and all, but . . ." He trailed off and met her gaze. "I think she's just plain crazy." There was another crack of lightning overhead, illuminating the kitchen with a brilliant flash. Helga winced, her shivers returning as thunder followed shortly. "Um, do you remember how we got on this topic?"

"You were asking if your grandmother had been here, and I was saying yes, and things went from there. Crimeny, football head, you've got a memory as bad as Miriam's." She said as she rubbed her arms. "So you've got to stick it out with me until Tuesday. Hope you don't mind, because I'm staying as long as I can. Otherwise Olga's story will be blown."

"Your sister was here?"

"How else would I have gotten my stuff? I couldn't have left you alone with that fever. Who knows what might've happened." Helga frowned slightly at the expression on his face. He looked like he was both stunned and amazed at the same time. "What? What's wrong, Arnoldo?"

"Uh, how long have I had a fever?"

"I've been here since Thursday, so two days, I guess." She said while counting on her fingers. Her frown deepened as his eyes widened slowly. "What is it now? Why do you look so surprised?"

"You . . . you actually took care of me for two days straight?" He asked, his mouth hanging open slightly. She couldn't help the glare that was forming, but this line of questioning was beginning to get annoying.

"Well, duh, hair boy. Don't you remember anything that has happened?" He shook his head slowly.

"The last clear memory I have is when I felt like I'd been put in a washing machine. You know, when I ran into you on the street and started acting dizzy? And from there it's really fuzzy." Helga stared at him and it was his turn to shift uncomfortably.

"You can't be serious." She asked, her mouth falling open slightly. "You don't remember waking up and coming downstairs twice? Both times you wound up asleep, but that's another story entirely."

"I'm afraid so." He said as he reached for a bag of half-eaten pretzels. "So do you mind filling me in? I'd sort of like to know why you actually stayed to help me get well. I always thought you hated me." Helga gave him a look as he started munching on the pretzels.

"You think I'd let you stay here, on your own, and die from a fever? I had to keep giving you medicine to take down your temperature, and I'm sure if I hadn't, you wouldn't be with us right now." He dropped the pretzel he was holding in surprise. "Come on, football head, I don't hate you enough to actually kill you. Besides, you took care of me for a while, didn't you? I was paying you back."

"You always could've taken me to a hospital." He said and she folded her arms over her chest.

"Isn't your grandpa already in the hospital? I doubt you could actually afford the hospital bills for two people." She said as she reached across the table for the pretzels. "Besides, Dr. Smith said your condition wasn't too dangerous, so long as someone was there to watch over you." She bit into a slightly stale pretzel before looking at Arnold. "And what's your point with this? Why does it matter so much to you?" He was silent for a moment, looking her directly in the eye.

"You know, the more I try to understand you, the harder it gets."

"So quit trying. We already discussed this, Arnoldo, and I told you. I don't try and make sense to people; things are easier that way." She tossed the rest of the pretzel into her mouth before reaching for another. "So do you want to know what has happened since your collapse on Thursday, or not?"

"Helga . . ." He said with a sigh and she looked up at him with a small glare.

"What? Hey!" He'd snatched the pretzel bag from her, his expression a serious sort of glare. There was a slightly drawn out silence that made Helga a little uneasy. "Hair boy, I already told you my reasons for staying here and making sure you lived to see today. What more do you want from me?"

"An honest answer! It seems that no matter how hard I try, all that I get from you are some mixed up responses that don't even make sense! You just spent the last two days by my side, making sure that I didn't die from a fever, and yes, I find that incredible. And you know why? Because it doesn't make sense!" He said, his voice raised with emotion, and lightning struck outside.

"Helga, you're someone who isn't ever nice to anyone, and most of the time you lead me to believe that you don't care about anything but yourself. So why?" Only the roll of thunder and the howling winds interrupted the silence that fell between them. "Why . . . why would you do so much for someone whom you care about so very little?" He asked, the note of desperation in his voice making Helga look down at her hands. She couldn't meet that demanding gaze of his; she just couldn't.

"Arnold . . ." She began, trying to think of something to say. "You already know why. What else can I possibly say?" She looked up at him in time to catch him sigh and lean back against his chair.

"Helga, I think . . ." He met her gaze, his expression as determined as ever. "I think we really need to talk."

*~*~*

Well, that's a good enough place to stop for now. What do you think is going to happen next? So is Helga going to have to tell him all over again? And what are they going to talk about? You're just going to have to wait, and don't forget to answer those questions! I'll try really really hard to write and get the next chapter up soon!

Love forever and ever: pottergal