It was the next morning, around eight o'clock, he couldn't be sure. A clean long sleeved shirt, gym shorts, his feet hitting in a steady pace against the side walk. He lost track of how long he's been running. His chest is burning a bit, lungs feeling over expanded. He reaches the park and slows, breathing a bit hard and reaching up to wipe the sweat from his mouth.

He left Helga in his apartment. She was just getting into the shower when he left to go running. He asked if she wanted him to stay, but she just gave a nervous smile, a wave of her hand and told him not to worry about her. He starts stretching his muscles out, pulling his foot back, feeling his mind start to slip. He lifts his other leg up, staring off into space, wide eyed.

Roy's probably been arrested by now, and she's safe. That's all that matters. She's safe. He'd be lying if he told himself that things turned out how he wanted. Coming to her rescue, saving her from an abusive boyfriend being the thing that makes her fall in love with him all over again and they can be happy together.

But that's not what happened. Things are probably worse between them now. She's being distant, she's scared of him, pulling back, looking him in the eyes as if he's a complete stranger. He might as well be. Most times he's surprised at the face he sees in the mirror. He's tried to get used to it, but the more he tries, the harder he fails.

She's been through hell. So, how can she overcome so easily? Is she just stronger than he is? He scoffs and shakes his head, half in envy and in pride, because of course she is. She's the strongest person he's ever had the privilege of knowing. He takes a few more deep breaths, breaking himself out of his own mind, and starts running back toward his apartment.

Yes, he would have killed him if he had taken another step, wouldn't have even given it a second thought, probably not even a regret either. That's what soldiers do, after all. They don't question orders. It wouldn't have been murder, it never has been. He's a soldier. Was. Escalation of force, one of the first things they taught him. Never lift your gun unless you're going to shoot. Something he wants to yell at the cops for. After being in the military, he has a firm belief that any cop should have a background in military service for that particular reason.

But still, the first time he killed someone, he tossed his lunch when it was over. He doesn't know anyone who was the same after their first time pulling the trigger on someone. Anyone who was shouldn't be in the military, maybe even the general population. Of course he's ran it through his head, thousands of times. If he hadn't killed that one guy that was running toward him, he'd be dead. He knows that. But still, seeing that man's blood shoot up into the air as he put a bullet through his skull haunts him. He was called a man, but seeing his face, covered in dust and blood, he wasn't any older than seventeen.

But after the third time, it numbed. He just didn't think about it anymore. They were orders, and he carried them out. But he's a civilian now. They aren't orders anymore. People will always tell him that he was fighting for something, his country, freedom, democracy, whatever. They will tell him that what he did was selfless, brave, heroic. They will thank him for his service, shake his hand, maybe even salute him. But they don't know what it's like. None of them do.

It's still numb, though.

He thought he saw the worst of it after his second tour in Iraq when he was caught in that ambush, captured. Those two days were where he got most of the scar tissue. Then he was brought into Operation Huntsman. The things he saw there, none of them, not even the Brass was prepared for. Human trafficking, sax slave rings, child sex slave rings, torture chambers. Seeing what people are truly capable of, what depths their depravity and wickedness can reach. Some might say he lost his faith in humanity. But those people had no humanity to begin with. They weren't human. Never were.

That last mission, those damn Ethiopian rebels, throwing such a beautiful person, perfect in every way, a person that did nothing but help people, in a windowless, dank utility closet in the middle of the Congo. He's glad they didn't surrender.

He slows to a stop outside his apartment building and heads up to his floor. He walks in, quick to catch his breath, and finds her on the couch with the TV on. She's leaning forward, focused intently on the screen. He looks toward the TV and starts listening.

"We have no new details, but as it remains, it seems that local law enforcement, including the FBI, was tipped off about Sunset Banks president, Roy Connell's money laundering business anonymously. Connell is now in police custody, charged with multiple counts of fraud, and possibly conspiracy to commit murder. We will bring you more on this story as it develops. In other news, the local..."

He closes the door and she looks over. "Arnold, Roy, he-"

"I know." He says lowly. Her brow pushes together and her head shakes a bit. "Helga..." He starts and moves toward her. He sits down next to her, taking a deep breath before reaching for her hands. He's honestly surprised when she gives them to him. "I'm sorry."

She looks up from their enjoined hands to him. "What do you mean?"

He's sorry for going behind her back and having her boyfriend investigated, purely out of envy. "You deserve better than him." She nods and looks away.

He wants to tell her. Everything. That he went to Rhonda and had her investigate Roy, that he warned Roy to stay away from her, that it was his connection to Eddy, and Eddy's connection to his ex-wife at the FBI field office that got Roy arrested. That it was him and his team from Operation Huntsman that saved her. But he can't tell her any of it. Especially about Op Huntsman. That's why he was chosen. No family, no real personal connections left, impressive service record. He always heard about the black budget military projects, virtually unlimited funds, classified top-secret, plausible deniability. Never thought he'd be a part of any of it though.

Helga sighs and leans back into the couch. "What do I do now?" She asks in a low, monotone voice.

He chuckles under his breath and shakes his head. "Not the person to ask, Beautiful."

She offers a chuckle in response and the first real smile he's seen from her in what feels like a long time. It's soft, but it lifts her face and lights up her big, blue, fresh water eyes. "Are you hungry? I could make you something." He says and stands up, heading toward his kitchenette.

"Actually, I think I better head back to my dorm." She says and stands up. He stops and turns back to face her questioning her silently with his brow. "I still have some assignments to catch up on. And I... just could use some time to work through things on my own."

He smiles, disheartened. "Yeah, I understand. Do you want me to drive you back, it's like a ten mile walk."

They both agree and head downstairs out onto the street where he parked his car. He doesn't bother to change out of his grimy work out clothes, knowing he probably reeks of dried sweat, whereas she smells freshly showered, and her usual scent of apples. He loves it when she smells like that. It reminds him of when he'd hug her from behind in high school and smell her hair. It always smelled like apples.

He pulls into the parking lot of her dorm and gets out with her, escorting her to the outside door of her dorm room. "Listen, Arnold..." She starts, stopping and facing him. "I don't think I ever really thanked you for what you did. Coming to get me and everything. And then when Robert came by this morning, it..." She trails off. "I just wanted to thank you for being there for me." She crosses her arms.

"Well, you're important to me, Helga." He says nonchalantly with a shrug. She smiles that same soft smile as before, and their eyes lock. And before he realizes he can't stop them... "Let me take you out."

"Arnold..." She dismisses with a look toward the ground and a small shake of her head.

"It doesn't have to mean anything. It can just be two friends going out for dinner. And in all honestly, I could use a night out with someone that's uninterrupted by..." Abusive boyfriends. "anyone." She meets his eyes again, looking at him, gauging what he really means. "I know a little Italian place. I can pull a few strings and get the place all to ourselves."

That earns him a raised eye brow, pleasantly. "You can pull strings now?"

"I can when I pulls the owners nephew's ass out of more fire fights than we can both count." She laughs, a bright smile sneaking out onto her face for just an instant before another pause envelops them. "So what do you say?"

"I do like Italian." She says with a satisfied nod. "Can you give me until next Friday? I just need some time, is all."

He smiles, content with waiting another week. "Friday it is."

She curls her legs tighter into her chest, looking away. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

"Are you still having trouble sleeping?"

She nods, ashamed. She should be over this by now.

"And the dreams? Are you still having them?"

"Yeah. I keep making excuses to my room mate about it. It's gotten to the point where I stay up on purpose so I don't have nightmares. I've tried listening to music, leaving a TV on, nothing works. I still have them. But..."

"But?" He prods.

She sighs and cradles her arms into the cove between her chest and her knees. "I spent the night at Arnold's last night. It was the first real nights sleep I've gotten since."

"Why do you think that is?"

She shrugs limply. "I always felt safer with him around, ever since we were kids. He just had this way about him. He made you feel calm, like there was nothing wrong. He had this way of looking at you, like the rest of the universe just fell away and it was just us."

"You're speaking in the past tense, Helga." He says, making notes in his clipboard. "He isn't like that anymore?"

She doesn't want to answer. She stays silent, unwilling to dignify his tough question with a response.

"Do you think you can be with this new version of him you've described?"

"Right now it feels like we're just too different."

"And you didn't feel that way in high school?"

"At first. But then, there were times when it was just us that we just clicked, in every way. We just hit it off so well."

"And now?"

"I want that back."

"Are you talking about you or him?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you talking about wanting his old self back, or your old self back?" She doesn't answer. He sighs and sets his papers down. "Helga, you've made great progress over these past few months. When we first started meeting, you could barely function. That's some amazing progress in such a short period of time considering what you went through, Helga. But you've never openly admitted what's haunting you the most. You've never said it out loud, which tells me that you don't want to believe it really happened. I think that's why it's manifesting itself in your dreams. And you know as well as I do that you can't move on until you do."

She cracks with a sob, wraps her arms around her legs and squeezes, hiding herself. She breaths in a shaky breath and forces the words out as the horrible memory flashes in her mind. "They raped me the first day."

Her voice feels so small, weak. She feels small and weak.

"They all did. It didn't stop until they put me in that room. Didn't want to damage their merchandise, I guess." She says bitterly. "After I was saved, I couldn't let anyone touch me. That's why Roy grabbed me. He wouldn't take another one of my excuses."

"Why didn't you tell Arnold?"

"I'm afraid that he'll see me as broken. I can see that look in his eyes when he looks at me, and if I tell him what really happened to me, I don't know if it will be there."

"Helga, you went through probably the most traumatic experience anyone can go through." He says and leans forward. "And your progress thus far is a testament to just your strong you truly are. But trying to shut this out and pretend it didn't happen is not healthy. You are only broken if you believe that you're beyond repair, and you're not, Helga. It's a long, grueling process, I know. And you may have a relapse, you may not."

"I can't keep putting on a smile for everyone and pretend like everything's fine."

"Then don't. You said that writing sometimes helps?" She nods. "Then write, about anything."

"What should I do about Arnold?"

"Well," He starts with a sigh and leans back, "I think you should tell him."

"What if he doesn't understand?" She asks, looking out the shaded window.

"If what you told me is true, I think he will."

A/N: I know in the last version I wrote it strictly from Arnold's perspective, but I decided to pull this one in a new direction. And this last scene was kind of vital. Needed to make future chapters more believable, I guess. Can always argue with me in a review.

A/N2: Thanks again to the reviewer who pointed out that I switched around the names of Robert and Roy. I didn't bother to completely reread what I wrote so far since I knew where I was going with it already. I got mixed up because I think I named Helga's boyfriend Robert in the last version. Sorry for anyone who rereads this, or to anyone who points out any that I didn't catch and didn't fix.