A/N: Arnold and Helga are both 14 in this fic.
Cry
Arnold stood on the familiar bridge from his childhood, the freezing rain numbing his bare fingers and flattening the unruly hair he'd never bothered to tame. He'd come there with that strange sort of masochism that brings you to a place of such painful memories you can hardly stand to think. He'd come for the memories that might help him to cry, just a little, just enough to ease the terrible weight that had lodged itself in his chest after Gerald's death.
But nothing came. So he stood there in the freezing rain with his memories, willing the feeble catches in his breath to strengthen, willing his eyes to fill. It was safe. No one was there. No one at all, but wasn't that part of the problem, that on one was left who cared? Grandma, Grandpa, and now Gerald were all gone…he racked his brains, but who else had there ever been?
He wished passionately that someone would come for him, come to take him home, but then felt greedy for thinking it.
Is this what it's come to? he thought. Am I so deep in that suddenly it's greedy to need a friend?
Then, without any precedent, his thoughts turned to the churning water below him, its tossing strength, its cold embrace that would freeze your heart on the instant…
He searched frantically for a different thought, terrified that he'd gone too far, but his mind kept tugging him back to the water. He could feel himself leaning over, blessing the oblivion to come, and just a little more, and—
"Arnold?"
He stiffened, and, without turning around, said: "Go away, Helga. I'm not in the mood."
"What are you doing here?" The familiar, derisive quality had dropped from her voice and been replaced by a hesitant gentleness.
"I'm trying to decide how cold that water is."
A quick intake of breath, muttered words he didn't catch. Then, the calm voice: "Don't do that, Arnold."
The steady footsteps behind him reached the bridge with the dull thud of plastic on metal.
"Like you care what I do or don't do." Even he could hear the hopelessness in his voice, and wondered if he'd done it on purpose. Then he wondered why he would have done it on purpose for her. Was he so desperate now that he needed Helga's sympathy?
"I care more than you think."
Thud. Thud. Thud.
He didn't know how to respond to that, so he remained silent and stoic. The footsteps stopped next to him.
"I heard about Gerald."
"Mmm." He tried to keep his face neutral, willing her to see through to the raw emotions underneath.
"I'm sorry."
He took a deep breath.
"Yeah." His voice shook, and a tear wobbled loose from each eye to be lost in the rain. He looked away.
"Arnold?"
He didn't trust his voice to keep steady.
"Was he the last straw?" He turned at the tremor in her voice to see her eyes glistening. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"You'll be OK."
He stared at the rushing river, remembering the boat races with Gerald, Grandpa's "last day on earth", the walks and talks of younger days on this same grey bridge.
"Is there anybody left who cares?"
The words came out unbidden, quick and irretrievable. The tears threatened to fall, brimming dangerously in his widened eyes.
Helga didn't answer, and he bowed his head over his hands, rested on the cold parapet.
Then, in a gesture filled with uncertainty and promise, a warm-gloved hand cupped itself over his own and held tight.
The world disappeared. Helga, his childhood enemy, had given him the friend he so longed for.
Finally, with a great shuddering sigh of relief, Arnold cried.
A/N: If you want more info (a follow-up, or an explanation of what happened to Grandma, Grandpa, and Gerald), you just have to do one thing: review! If I get ten reviews on this story (less than five words doesn't count; neither does "I like this fic" written over and over and over), I will write a follow-up to it, or an explanation, or both, depending on what people seemed to want more. So go ahead. Press the little button. You know you want to.