A/N So I've started every chapter of this story since the second with thanks to those who've reviewed, but the feedback for the last chapter REALLY blew me away. What can I say, except another HUGE thank you! I can't promise every chapter will be quite as dramatic as the last (I'm coming up with this as I go) but I hope you continue to enjoy all the same. You are all awesome!

SILENCING NATURE

Chapter 6 - Face the Day

There's a reason it's called a 'rainforest'.

When Arnold and Helga finally, reluctantly, parted for the night and headed to their respective huts, it had been extremely late. Or extremely early, depending on your point of view. Helga had practically floated her way to bed, joyfully cocooning herself in the Green-Eyes' vibrant sheets. The stone slab might as well have been a cloud. It was lucky for her that Gerald and Eduardo slept so deeply that night, or they might have asked why the girl had spent the following hours sighing and giggling blissfully while she dreamed. Arnold, on the other hand, faced the awkward task of gently manoeuvring his way back into his original position, tightly squeezed between his parents. The action left him feeling like an infant who had woken from a terrible (or in this case wonderful) dream and needed to feel his parents' presence, much to his embarrassment. But their warmth and closeness was a far more appealing prospect than the other cold, vacant slabs that occupied the room. Besides, he hated the idea of the two of them waking up to find him missing, even if he was only a few feet away. He hated the idea that they might think he didn't need them. In any case, his sleep came quickly, his dreams deep and peaceful. But while the children slept, the clouds that had lurked behind the mountains chose their moment to break cover, drifting and spreading across the sky until the entire jungle was covered in a bleak, grey ceiling. And then the rain began to fall.

It rained in Hillwood, quite often in fact. Sometimes it even rained so hard that the drains overflowed and the streets flooded. But the rain that falls in a jungle is different. Every single drop is fat and bloated, each making its own heavy, splashing impact as it hits its target, and the drops are never-ending. The torrent makes you feel as though you could swim through the air, or be swept away by it, every breath a fresh mouthful of water. In Hillwood, one might dash from doorway to doorway, hiding under awnings and becoming only slightly wet during those brief moments of exposure. This rain would soak you to the bone in those short seconds. But it's not all bad; the air can become so thick and muggy during such storms that the drenching comes as sweet relief, making the air more breathable as it breaks the humidity. That was the kind of morning that greeted the children when they finally woke. As Helga's eyes slowly drifted open, blinking blearily in the light, she was immediately struck by the sounds that surrounded her. Water, beating the roof of the hut and flowing from the nearby falls with fresh intensity. This explained why she and Arnold's delightful cruise down the French Riviera had suddenly become a white-water rafting trip before the dream ended.

Arnold.

'HE LOVES ME!'

It wasn't new for the football-headed boy to be her first coherent thought of her morning; generally it was a toss-up between thinking of him with adoration, or thinking of her parents with unadulterated spite. It depended on whether she was allowed to finish her dreams in peace, or had them shattered by Bob or Miriam shouting her awake. But today, for once, she was able to wake up, think of him, and grin almost insanely without a hint of wistfulness or regret. Actually, she very nearly squealed aloud. For once in her life, Helga was happier to be awake than dreaming. He loved her! He'd taken her hands, soothed her fears and told her, with his own, completely real, not-a-dream lips, that he loved her. Actually, he had said it three times! After she and Arnold had parted the night before, Helga had replayed their talk over and over, making certain that every word, detail and sensation was cemented in her brain as deeply and securely as possible (oh, of all the times not to have that stupid camcorder), and her reward was that the memories were ready at the forefront of her mind on waking. Or at least, she was 90% certain they were memories, and not wonderful dreams themselves. Maybe 85%. It wouldn't be the mind of Helga G. Pataki if it didn't tinge every happy event with a shade of doubt that it could ever possibly have been real, multiple pinches aside. Good things didn't happen to her. Arnold kissing her and confessing his love for her in the moonlight certainly didn't happen to her. Maybe 75%... She needed to check, now. Eagerness and growing fear spurred her in equal measure to greet the day – not that the hard stone particularly screamed 'comfy lie-in' – and she quickly rose and began to stretch.

"Oh man. Uh, what do the Green Eyes have in the way of restrooms?" The words had come from Gerald, her movement leading him to stir. Like Helga, he had woken to the sound of pouring rain, and was now apparently facing a predictable issue. Sitting up, his face was slightly pained, and his feet twitched impatiently. His eyes were darting back and forth, as if hoping to spot a previously unnoticed en suite adjoined to their small hut. Helga quickly donned her first scowl of the day; if anything was going to pull her from her thoughts, she would rather it wasn't that.

"Oh real nice Geraldo. What's your problem? You're a guy – just go outside and pick a wall." Helga hoped he would do just that; it really wasn't a subject she wanted to dwell on. Or think about. Ever. Unfortunately, her comment just seemed to exasperate Gerald further.

"I don't know what's sacred in this crazy place! And half the walls have my best friend's face painted on them! I do not need Arnold staring at me while I'm-"

To Helga's immense relief, Gerald was interrupted by the curtain door being opened, an extremely wet Eduardo entering the hut. Water flowed from the brim of his hat and dripped from his saturated clothing, a puddle quickly forming at his feet. He quietly regarded the children for a moment, taking in Gerald's desperate expression (apparently the new source of dripping was only making things worse). Finally, he jerked his head towards the doorway.

"The baño is three huts to the left. Well... it is just a hole in the floor but you get the idea." Gerald's eyes lit up as the man spoke, and he released a sigh of relief and gratitude. Dashing to the door, he paused to hastily bundle his precious hair into his hood, muttering his annoyance at the downpour, before darting in the instructed direction. With a small chuckle, Eduardo returned to sit on his own 'bed', painstakingly wringing the water from sleeves. It was an uncomfortable silence, at least for Helga, as the two sat alone. Only the sounds of flowing, trickling rain filled the hut. He was a complete stranger to her, albeit a stranger to whom she owed her life. The idea of owing ANYBODY her life was jarring for an eleven-year-old; this trip really got out of hand...

"You are a very brave girl. You fought well yesterday." He suddenly spoke, a kind smile on his face. All the same, Helga wasn't much for small talk.

"Huh? Oh, thanks, I guess. It was no big deal; I probably could've taken that bozo down myself if those other two knuckleheads hadn't got in my way." She paused, before an uncomfortable memory suddenly came back to her. "My bad about the whole 'fake moustache' thing."

Eduardo chuckled again, gently stroking the facial hair that Helga had nearly ripped from his face. "It is no problem. Stella used to do the same thing when I made her angry; it was still preferable to her punches! I was starting to think I would never see her or Miles again. I am very grateful for what the three of you did." He had removed his sodden hat, his dark eyes filled with gratitude. Once again, Helga felt uncomfortable; everyone in this city seemed to feel obligated to shower her with thanks, and the attention was, frankly, creeping her out. She felt she did her best work in the shadows. Plus, Eduardo had just compared her to Arnold's mom, and she really didn't feel like analysing that one just then.

"Yeah, well, we got you your friends back, you saved us from plummeting to our doom at the bottom of a ravine. Let's just call it even, ok?" She hoped that would make him drop the topic. Heck, by this point she even hoped Gerald would come back from his short trip. Anything to avoid more 'touchy-feely' conversation. Between Tiukwí and Arnold the night before, her limited tolerance for emotional talks had been burned out.

"You looked at El Corazón, didn't you?" Helga's brow shot up. Her arms, which had been defensively crossed, fell limply to her sides. She certainly hadn't been expecting that question. She hadn't even thought much about the Corazón, apart from the fact that they had lost it. "While I was speaking to Arnold, before Lasombra attacked again. You saw it?"

"Y-yeah. So?" As her shock passed, Helga was able to re-establish her defiant pout. But her mind was filled with the memory of the strange, golden heart. It had seemed so alive.

"Dios mio... What did it look like?" To her surprise, Eduardo's usual look of calm detachment was gone. He was leaning forward, his voice hushed with an awe that showed in the eager tension of his body. His hat was practically being wrung in his hands. At least, unlike Lasombra's avaricious, hungry expression, Eduardo's eyes were filled with earnest reverence. Regardless, Helga was taken aback by the sudden enthusiasm, and she fought to maintain her composure.

"It was a heart, doi. Like a heart shape, but with actual veins and stuff. Kind of like someone tried to make a Valentine's card halfway accurate." She paused, remembering the object's beautiful aura. "And it was gold – like pure gold – and it was glowing." Her voice had become soft as the memory of gazing at the Corazón filled her. The shine had seemed to flow into her, like it was always meant to be there. It had felt as though the heart was actually beating, but somehow in her own chest, just below her locket. The locket she had carried for years, it's dimensions virtually identical to the Corazón's own, apparently every bit as pure as the ancient heart where it counted. Yet another weird coincidence... In that moment, the Corazón may as well have been her very own heart; she hadn't known where one ended and the other began.

"I see." Eduardo's eyes had gently closed as he tried to picture the relic from Helga's crude description. She couldn't do it justice, they both knew, and his tone was tinged with quiet regret. Suddenly, though, he shrugged and sighed, his expression becoming resigned. "Even if we had recovered it, I could not have looked upon it. Neither could Miles and Stella when they first took it back from that villain. El Corazón is too sacred." This caused Helga more than a little concern.

"Whoa, no-one told me! Did I break some kind of 'jungle law' or something?" Her mind was suddenly amok with images of Tiukwí and other enraged Green-Eyed People demanding her eyes as payment for daring to gaze upon their sacred treasure. This would have been a downright unsettling thought on any day, but as of her talk with Arnold, Helga had designated her eyes as her most valuable feature. Fortunately, Eduardo shook his head, his eyes opening once more. Oddly, he seemed to be studying her, his gaze piercing.

"No. From what Tiukwí told us, you and Arnold are the only ones who could ever have looked directly upon the heart. Superstition perhaps, but Lasombra did die for his attempt." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully; if he was joking, it was misplaced. Helga had already been grimacing at the reminder that Eduardo and Arnold's parents knew at least some of what Tiukwí had told them. Now she was also faced with the mental image of a raving, green, red-eyed river pirate, murderous and filled with poison. Another topic for Dr Bliss; Helga would need to make a list beforehand.

"Heh, yeah, that Tiukwí sure comes up with some funny stories." She nervously decided to broach the subject, increasingly desperate to find out just how much the adults knew. She figured things might go smoother with her future in-laws if they didn't think they were already her in-laws. The way Eduardo's eyes observed her, like he was waiting for her to sprout wings and start glowing, had her fearing the worst. "So, just out of curiosity, how much did the old guy happen to tell you?" She braced herself, ready do some serious dodging, denying, or both. Eduardo opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by a commotion from the doorway, and the scrambling of feet. Gerald suddenly came bursting back into the room, fighting his way past the entangling curtain and looking soaked to the skin. His hoody was utterly sodden, clinging tightly to his body, and he tore the thick, uncomfortable fabric off before shaking himself like a dog. When he finally finished, his hair now frizzy and drooping forward with the weight of the water, he turned to Helga and Eduardo with wild eyes.

"I'm calling it – I hate the jungle. Hate it." He began to wring out his clothing, much as Eduardo had done. The boy was seething. "I could deal with the heat, the dirt, the booby-traps and even the pirates, but this tears it. I feel like my hair soaked up the entire community pool!"

Eduardo simply laughed gamely at the boy's fury. "Don't worry mi amigo, it's not so bad when you're under the canopy. And my boat is not too far away. Speaking of which, we should get moving; rain like this can make journeys tricky." Unable to argue, Gerald was left to dejectedly pull the wet hoody on once again, grimacing at the damp, chilly feeling and muttering his displeasure. Helga, meanwhile, poked her head out the door, the fine curtain acting as a feeble umbrella against the rain while she peered over to the hut Arnold had shared with his parents. Were they awake? She hoped they were awake. The need to see Arnold wasn't new to her mornings either, or to her afternoons and evenings, but the night's events had magnified that feeling more than she thought possible. She needed to banish the lingering worries that their whole exchange had been a cruel (albeit spectacular) trick of her overactive imagination. And she knew that, when she did see him, it would take all her energy not to repeat her most recent 'outburst'. If last night wasn't real, that would create an extremely awkward situation, and if it had been real (oh, she prayed that it had been real), she had a promise to keep. It didn't help that the last night's reruns had come back in full force, every second of them leaving her giddy. Of the thousand tiny, mental Helga's from last night, several hundred were still dancing, weeping and formally congratulating each other on a job well done. Ironically, she found herself trying to distract her thoughts from Arnold by thinking about Arnold. Or more specifically, what her beloved was going through that morning. Waking up next to his parents for the first time in nearly a decade. Waking up for the first time knowing they were even alive. Helga had parent issues, and boy did she know it, but Arnold must surely being going through a whole different level of weird at that moment. Good weird, probably. As Eduardo and Gerald readied themselves behind her, she quickly reapplied her trademark scowl, the heavy rain a justifiable excuse. She straightened her bow; it was time to face the day.

"Ya know Ed," she spoke to Eduardo, folding her arms while nudging her head towards the grey, pouring sky, "if you were REALLY grateful, you'd let me borrow that hat."

As it happened, the occupants of the neighbouring hut were awake. Arnold had been sleeping deeply, his dream a familiar one as he wheeled and looped through the sky in a small, red aeroplane, a white pilot's scarf whipping in the wind behind him. His parents were there too, their own plane soaring alongside his, the family bound for their next great adventure. Had he been awake, Arnold's prediction of what would come next would have lacked his usual optimism. His parents would vanish, sometimes disappearing into a black, ominous cloud, sometimes speeding off into the horizon as his own plane sputtered and failed, leaving him behind. Always he would call out after them, to no avail. Sometimes he crashed. But this time, for once, their journey continued unhindered, the two planes dancing around each other with choreographed expertise around thick, white clouds. Arnold could practically feel his stomach jolt as he entered into one particularly deep nosedive.

And then he hit the floor.

With a muffled cry, Arnold had jolted awake. He found himself in a tangle of fabric and limbs, half his body lying against the hard floor, and the other half resting uncomfortably on something oddly soft and warm. He was lost in that moment of mental blindness which strikes all of us when we're unceremoniously shocked out of the deepest part of our sleep, the knowledge of where he was and how he got there buried in a confused, drowsy haze for the first few moments. Both Arnold's eyes and brain were foggy, only his ears working properly as they registered the sound of rushing water. Perhaps his plane crashed into the sea? His bewilderment only grew when he heard a low groan from the soft mass that had cushioned most of his fall. Strangely, he couldn't feel or move the arm that had draped across his chest. Actually, since when had his arm been that big?

"Ohh, my head..." The source of the groan lamented, sounding every bit as dazed and confused and Arnold felt. A new, equally-sleepy voice joined in from above them, tinged with mild annoyance.

"For pity's sake Miles, I told you if you keep falling off the bed I'll... Miles?"

Arnold's head span round, his sleepiness instantly banished, and suddenly he found himself nose-to-nose with an older face, topped with a messy head of hair the exact same blond shade as his own save for a grey streak or two. Both he and his father's eyes went wide at the same moment, the memory of the previous day flooding back to them in one great rush. Any aches or pains from their ungainly fall were quickly forgotten as each broke into wide, elated grins. Arnold's was technically a little wider, but then he had inherited his mother's head. Before the boy could even breathe, the strong arm than laid across him moved and tightened its grip, and he suddenly found himself being scooped into the air as Miles scrambled to his feet, the man releasing a joyful, laughing roar of delight. Stella, whose hopeful eyes had just begun to peek over the edge of the bed they had all shared, was forced to jolt back to avoid her enthusiastic (and notoriously accident-prone) husband, though her own laughter was quick to follow. For the first time since he was a baby, Arnold felt himself being held tightly to his father's chest, as Miles span him around before crashing backwards to sit on the stone slab. Now dizzy for entirely new reason, Arnold lapsed into giggles as he felt his mother's hand on his cheek.

"It wasn't a dream! Oh thank goodness!" As he spoke, Miles' grip around his son tightened further, leaving the boy barely able to breathe. But Arnold didn't care. Those several seconds had been a greater flight than his dream-plane could ever provide, and he still hadn't come down to Earth.

"M-Miles, honey, you're squishing our son..." Stella fought to speak through her own laughter, gently slapping her husband's arm with her free hand until he relented his grip. Not completely, of course, but enough for Arnold to draw a deep breath. Before his years of inactivity, Miles had been an immensely strong man. Able to swing both he and his wife across a chasm with a single arm, able to pull the weight of an entire cable car. He was out of shape, but apparently he could still give a mean bear hug! That being said, he was also smart enough to read Stella like a book; she was concerned about their son passing out from lack of air, no doubt, but he knew the truth. She wanted a turn. As he freed one arm, Stella was quick to fill the gap, her far thinner arms wrapping tightly around her boy. Just like before, when Arnold had been about to descend with Helga into the eerie depths beneath the city, the boy felt as though she were holding him like she never wanted to let him go again. It was a nice feeling.

"You're both really here! I can't believe it!" Arnold's voice was slightly muffled by his parents' bodies, not that he minded. He could think of worse ways to wake up that to a group hug, and every sound, touch and smell reminded him that everything he had been through in San Lorenzo was real; his greatest dream had actually come true.

"We're here Arnold," Stella pulled back to meet her son's eyes, her hand moving to stroke his messy hair. For the first time he registered that her own eyes were a rich, beautiful hazel, his trusty old photograph lacking the detail. "And we promise we'll never leave you again. Might make things a little awkward when you get married, but we'll worry about that later." She shot him a teasing look as she made her joke, but her words brought the memories of the end of Arnold's night rushing back in full force. He had actually done it. After a year of debating, doubting, questioning and sometimes yearning, he had come out and told Helga that he loved her. And he did love her; he was sure of that much. Or at least, if what he was feeling wasn't love, then it was the most intense, confusing, terrifying, amazing crush that he'd ever experienced by a massive margin! There was a reason he'd hidden from it for so long, after all – it took some serious getting used to! He still had more than a few details to iron out, he suspected they both did, but he got a strange, warm pleasure from the knowledge that they could work out those details together. At least they seemed to be off to a good start with kissing; love or 'like' like, he knew enough to know that one could be a deal-breaker. Their first two kisses, at the altar and under the starlight, had been magical; a distinctly un-boyish way to describe them, he suspected, but it was true. TV had told him that first kisses were supposed to be awkward, messy, often-unpleasant things, neither party having a clue what to do, but somehow their lips seemed to just fit. It was weird. Good, but weird, like they were breaking some kind of rule. Not to mention, kissing Helga made him feel an incredible rush of energy that he could never have imagined. Oddly, some part of it had felt comparable to a wave of immense relief, like something wrong had been righted, something missing returned, but he would analyse that more later, when the apprehension of Tiukwí's claims wasn't so fresh in his mind... And as for Helga's final 'outburst' (which he figured was more what people called a 'smooch'), well, he didn't quite feel equipped to handle those yet. But he'd get there. Sadly, Arnold had lost track of the seconds he spent lost in this train of thought, only snapping out of it when his father waved a hand in front of his eyes.

"Bravo, Stel," Miles checked a non-existent watch on his wrist, his eyebrow cocked and a smirk on his lips, "since yesterday we've been awake with our son for around five hours total, and you've already reduced him to mortified silence." His words made Arnold realise that he was more-or-less right; the boy had immediately clammed up in response to his mother's jibe. That embarrassment was probably why the boy's cheeks had quickly blushed maroon. Probably. In any case, Stella's joking talk of marriage drew Arnold's attention back to the elephant in the room (at this rate he would have to name that thing); he still had no clue just how much his parents knew about he and Helga's alleged 'connection'. Stella had said they had 'no idea', but no idea about what? That the 'imbalance' he supposedly corrected was another person? That he grew up with that person? Oh, and of course that would be the person they had caught him kissing not long before! It was enough to give him a headache, and he resolved that then wasn't the time. He was enjoying his first morning with his parents, and he wasn't about to let it go to waste. Like his mother said; they could worry about it later. Of course he still needed to find a response to his parents' joke before the silence got awkward again... Fortunately, the moment was saved by Gerald, and his own supernatural skills of interruption.

"HatetherainIhatetherainIhate-" The family turned to watch as a red streak sped past the entrance to their hut, grumbling loudly all the while as the sky continued its wet assault.

"...Guess that means the others are up." Stella spoke up, a little wide-eyed at the sudden activity. "With the way it's raining, Eduardo probably isn't going to want to hang around; the river can get dangerous if this keeps up. Besides, we don't want to keep your class waiting!" It was a little disappointing, needing to cut the morning short, but what was the alternative? Saturday morning cartoons and breakfast in bed? No, that was what waited for them back in Hillwood. The life they had left behind 'for a couple of weeks'. The life they should have got to share with their son. The stone slabs had taken far too much of their time already. Miles and Stella wanted to go home, and they wanted to go home now. Sadly, that meant ending the little 'family huddle' that the three had found themselves in, and as the seconds ticked by, it became clear that none of them wanted to move. They simply held each other, listening to the rain. Before too long, though, there came the sound of approaching feet, the curtain shortly being pulled aside. A familiar girl entered, the edges of her pigtails drooping heavily with saturation. Mostly though, her head was kept dry by a handsome Stetson.

"Hey Foo-," Helga started, before catching herself once more. 'Man, I'm gonna have to watch that!' "Hey, Arnold. You guys up?" It was only then that Helga truly took in the scene, the three Shortmans embracing on the small stone bed. Much as her heart melted to see Arnold enjoying a hard-earned tender moment with his family, she felt a rush of guilt for interrupting. She was about to issue a stammered apology before fleeing the scene, when she caught Arnold's eye. His grin became wide (and just a little goofy), and a fresh tinge rose to his cheeks. She had seen that look before, though never aimed in her direction, and she knew precisely what it meant. 'IT WAS REAL!' She was so caught up in getting her own blushing grin under control that she didn't notice the glance exchanged between Arnold's parents as they looked on. That glance was a lot of things; knowing, adoring, and just a little bit concerned.

"Morning Helga." Arnold finally spoke, breaking the trance. "Yeah, we're ready. Uh... nice hat?" His own words triggered an old reflex, his hand shooting to the top of his head to find his blue cap missing. He quickly spotted it among the sheets he and Miles had dragged with them from the bed, and hopped down to return it to its rightful place. Helga did her best not to snigger at the performance.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm practically the It Girl all over again." She gave the brim of the wide hat a sarcastic, exaggerated tip before continuing. "And yet it's Geraldo who's about to have a hair-related breakdown, so we should probably get moving." Without waiting for an answer, Helga dashed back out of the hut, the downpour preferable to dealing with her Arnold-related self-control issues while his parents sat watching. Still, she almost immediately found herself doing a happy, spinning dance, every drop of the cloudburst a distant afterthought; she couldn't feel cold right then if she tried. Meanwhile, Miles and Stella smiled as their son watched the strange girl leave, his cheeks still faintly pink.

"I like that girl." Arnold's head span round at his mother's words; once again he felt as though they had caught him in an embarrassing moment. He'd heard that was pretty standard when it came to parents, but it would still take some getting used to. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder, her other arm around his father's waist. "And she's right, I think your dad and I have been here long enough. Let's go home."

"Yeah. Home." Arnold's smile became wide and toothy once more. It was time to face the day.