(AN: This is about where I kind of lost interest in writing this story, so I apologize for the suckiness of these last few chapters. Especially this one. I mean, yeah, I wanted to show Arnold and Helga's relationship progressing, and I'm a firm believer that all relationships need communication to work, but the chapter that is basically "Arnold and Helga talk about stuff" isn't going to be a gripping one no matter what you do with it. So I'm sorry for how terrible this chapter is.

Also, if you'll allow me to pimp out some awesome fanart silverwizardmon did for this story:

silverwizardmon .deviantart. com/art/Salted-nut-rolls-fanart-3-145349751 (remove the spaces)

Go check it out!

Sorry for yet another author's note. And I'm also sorry that all I ever do in my author's notes is apologize. Oh crap! There I go again…)

…………

Helga was writing poetry again.

Not the purposely vague stuff about anger and death and hopelessness and creaky floorboards like she had taken to writing during the past few years. She was back to writing love poems. She couldn't stop writing them.

At first she had thought that she'd need to get another notebook for them, having to scrounge up spare scraps of paper for her poems for the time being. But soon, she realized that she didn't need a notebook—these poems weren't going to just sit in her closet like her old poems had. They were written for Arnold, and Arnold was going to read them. Every day before school, she'd slip a poem or two through the vents of his locker. Since they had no classes together, this was about the extent of their interaction during the school day… but every other evening or so they'd go to movies or museums or wrestling matches or cheese-tasting festivals or whatever struck their fancy that night.

But every single night, Helga prayed. She had never been particularly religious, but sheer dread compelled her. Oh, no, there was nothing wrong with her relationship with Arnold—it was perfect, all—well, almost all—she had ever hoped for. And that was the problem. She had never gotten what she wanted. Happiness eluded her. Why was it so prevalent in her life now? Her happiness never lasted… and that was what terrified her.

"God, or Allah, or Buddha, or Zeus or whoever's up there if anyone, I don't care who, just… please don't take him away from me," she'd pray every night. "Now that I finally have him, I don't think I could survive if anything snatched him away… and I swear, if you take him away from me I will fucking explode."

Not that she expected this to last anyway. Eventually Arnold would grow tired of her and move on to someone else. She accepted this. But it had to be a gradual thing if she was ever going to even somewhat bounce back from it. If something happened to him… if he died… she wouldn't be able to handle it.

She tried not to think of it, though. Especially when she was with him. Given how rarely she was this happy, she wanted to completely enjoy the moments with him without any worrying whatsoever.

"Arnold, this is one of your weirdest date ideas yet."

Arnold smirked at Helga. "Hey, last week I let you take me to that monster truck rally. It's my turn to pick this week."

"Your rooftop." Helga looked around, the autumn night fully set in but the lights from the street below giving more than enough illumination to clearly see. "Well, it is inexpensive, which is a plus. But what exactly are we going to do up here?" Her eyes suddenly grew wide.

"I thought we'd—oh, jeez, Helga," Arnold suddenly said, blushing, realizing exactly what Helga had been thinking of. "Your mind is completely in the gutter, do you know that?"

"My mind's in the gutter?!" Helga repeated. "I'm not the one who brought my significant other up on top of a building under the starlight where nobody can see us!"

"I brought us up here to look at the stars, Helga. I do that a lot by myself, and it's very peaceful and relaxing, and I thought you'd like it too. That's all!"

"Yeah. Relaxing." Helga felt her face flushing, her sentences becoming uncharacteristically short and choppy. "Under the stars. You and me. Alone. Um…" She rubbed her arm and looked back at him. "Are you sure you're not going anywhere else with this, darling?"

"Helga—"

"Because if you are, I'd, uh—"

"Helga!"

"Oh, criminy, you're right," Helga quickly said, turning away. "We're too young, and you… I mean, you probably don't actually want… and besides," she added hurriedly, "I couldn't, because I think it would kill me, so—"

"Kill you?" Arnold repeated in shock.

Jesus. Would this take some explaining. "I mean, the emotions would kill me. My emotions. Sometimes I feel like I've died when I just look at you. Can you imagine what would happen to me if we were to actually fuck? Wait, that's such a harsh word—if we were to actually make love? Oh God, but that's so cliché…"

"I get the picture either way," said Arnold quickly.

"Besides," added Helga, flipping her hair back, "I know that's not what you want. You're right, my mind is in the gutter. So let's forget this whole thing ever happened, okay? It's not what you want, and I'm okay with that."

"Who says it's not what I want?" Arnold murmured.

Helga stared back at Arnold.

"What?" Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

"I mean—" Arnold quickly shook his head. "No, you're right, we shouldn't. I don't want to, uh, kill you. Besides, like you said, we're pretty young…"

"Not that young," Helga murmured, taking a step closer to Arnold.

"It would still feel…" Arnold took a step closer to Helga. "It wouldn't feel right to me." He held her hands in his.

"Darling angel… if my first time isn't with you, then I don't want to have a first time."

"I… it still wouldn't feel right to me, Helga."

"Of course." Helga slid her hands out from his and turned away. Stupid horny loser she was, getting her hopes up again only to have them shattered, along with any remaining dignity she had—now he probably thought that all she wanted was sex, that she was some hormone-charged freak—of course, not that she didn't want sex, but he meant so much more to her than that!

"Although, maybe…" Arnold's gentle, perfect voice melted Helga's inner berating. "Maybe we could… I mean… I could touch you. I mean, I could touch your…" He cupped his hands out over his chest, showing what he was talking about. "You know."

Helga laughed before she could stop herself. "Arnold, my love, you are simply adorable when you try to be polite and flirty at the same time! They're called boobs. Here." Her smile softened but didn't fade as she reached to unbutton her shirt. She had known there was a reason why she was so set on wearing one of Miriam's old button-down shirts today!

"You're really going to—I mean—uh—" Arnold turned his head away, but kept stealing glances at Helga anyway. She felt her heart dance.

"It's okay, Arnold," she said gently, slowly and deliberately pulling apart each button one by one. "I want this. I've wanted this for a long time. And you're the only person I've ever wanted to show them to. You always have been. And… why are you looking at me like that?" she demanded.

For Arnold's incredulous stare had turned into almost amusement when Helga had finished opening her shirt, an expression that would have been more suitable if she had just told a joke. "It's white," he said, a hint of laughter beginning to grow in his voice. "Your bra is white. I was expecting it to be striped and polka-dotted or something."

Understanding Arnold's reason for his somewhat inappropriate response, Helga let herself laugh a bit too. "Sorry to disappoint you. I'll make sure to wear leopard-print next time."

"I'm just not used to your clothes matching."

"Stripes and polka-dots would match. Boring white doesn't. So it shocked you, and thus it did its job."

"I was surprised because it was completely normal. It's strange to see you wearing something normal."

"Well, if it bothers you so much…" Helga reached back and up underneath her shirt and grabbed the hooks of her bra. Arnold gulped and rocked forward a little bit.

"It doesn't bother me… but…"

"But take it off anyway, right?" smiled Helga.

Arnold gulped again and nodded. Pinch me, I must be dreaming, he wants to see my boobs, Helga thought to herself.

Her hands stayed frozen on her bra hooks. "Marcus always pressured me for just a peek… but I never let him see even this much," she admitted softly.

"Why… why not?" Arnold asked, leaning in closer.

"Because it would have felt really slutty to do this for someone I wasn't in love with," she answered.

Arnold leaned in even closer, holding one hand at the level of Helga's breasts. "You're not a slut," he murmured.

"You're not a slut either."

He placed his hand on her breast, and even though there was still fabric separating her from his touch, Helga still let out a moan of pleasure. Time to stop fooling around and get his hands on her, touching, caressing, rubbing, squeezing, everything!

Her hands grasped her bra hooks firmly.

"Hey, Shortman, ya up there?"

"Shit!" Arnold and Helga both hissed at the same time, Arnold immediately backing away from Helga and Helga quickly buttoning up her shirt.

In no time at all, Phil peeked up from the skylight. "Yep, there you are! Oh, hey there, Helga!"

Helga hastily fastened her last button. "Hey, Phil, how's it going?" she said quickly.

Phil looked at Helga—or more specifically, her shirt—then at Arnold, then back at Helga. "Well," he said knowingly, "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Was there something you wanted to tell me, Grandpa?" Arnold asked.

"Just wanted to know where you were," said Phil, a smile forming on his lips. "I'll leave you two alone now… underneath the stars, a romantic evening…"

Arnold and Helga laughed nervously.

"Ya know, Shortman, I like her a lot better than your previous girlfriends, so I'm all for you going for the gold!" With one last chuckle, Phil disappeared from sight, climbing back down into Arnold's room.

Arnold flumped down on the ground with a sigh—whether it was a sigh of relief or disappointment was hard to tell. "Oh God…"

"That was the first time I've ever heard you swear," said Helga. "I mean, when you said 'shit'."

"I was caught off-guard, it happens…" Arnold shrugged, still looking completely taken aback. "Listen, Helga… none of that just happened, right?"

"None of what?" said Helga, sitting down next to him. "We were just stargazing, right?"

"Right."

They both laid down and looked up at the night sky, neither saying anything for a few minutes.

Finally Helga broke the silence. "You find this relaxing? You mean boring, right?"

"I mean relaxing," smiled Arnold. "I like to look for constellations, or make up my own."

"You can hardly see any stars at all in the middle of the city, football head," muttered Helga.

"That's not true. See, there's a few up there that we can see. In fact, I think that might be Orion."

"Impossible. It's too early for Orion. That's a winter constellation."

"But I do see it. The three stars there that are his belt, see? Right up there?" Arnold made a motion towards the sky.

"I think you're seeing things."

"I'm seeing lots of things."

"Like what?" Helga asked, turning her head to the side to see what he was looking at… and was surprised to see that he was looking at her.

"I'm seeing your blonde roots, for one thing. And your black hair dye coming out. What color are you going to dye it next?"

"I don't know if I am going to dye it."

Arnold's eyes widened in surprise.

Helga smiled at him. "I've been wanting something different, and, well, blonde's different. I haven't been blonde for over two years now. Then I might go red and green for Christmas, though. Big Bob would totally flip. You know, maybe I should dye my hair now. Just to annoy him."

"Why would you want do to that?"

"Arnold, Arnold, Arnold. I've been cooperating with him for weeks now regarding the whole 'taking over the family business' thing. I think he's getting worried about me. I need to show at least some of my usual difficult self to him, otherwise he'll think I'm sick or something."

"Well, you could keep your hair blonde, but… get a different hairstyle. Like, a mohawk or something."

"Arnold, darling, that's brilliant!" said Helga enthusiastically. "He's always going off about how my hair shouldn't look like a cotton candy stand and I should just stick with my own, naturally given color—and I will be! He won't be able to fault me for that anymore! I'll have to see which he'll like better—weird colors, or a mohawk."

"Look," sighed Arnold, "you can do whatever you want with your hair, but all I ask is that if you get in trouble for this, don't blame me."

"Blame you? I'll be thanking you! I want to get in trouble!"

"Then…" Arnold smiled slyly. "Then why did you button up your shirt so fast?"

"Do you want me to unbutton it again?" Helga asked levelly.

Arnold shook his head. "No, that's okay. I just want to stargaze tonight."

"Oh, me too," said Helga seriously, but still keeping her gaze fixated on Arnold rather than the sky and stars above.

"Then maybe you should look up," said Arnold softly.

"Your eyes, my love, shine brighter than the most brilliant star, with the light and depth of your beautiful soul. They shame the celestial bodies, which cannot hope to compare. And how lucky I am to bask in them, how lucky I am to have you focus them entirely on me."

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"That. That whole… poetry thing. You can just rattle it off without even thinking. I couldn't come up with something like that even if I spent a week trying. How do you do it?"

Helga shrugged. "I don't know. I just look at you or think about you and it comes out."

"It's amazing."

"You're amazing. I mean, really, how does that huge heart of yours fit in your small frame?"

They both smiled gently at each other, their eyes locked, making no attempt to look up at the night sky anymore.

"I really liked the poem you gave me today," Arnold said, adjusting his position so that he was now laying on his side. He reached out and touched Helga's hand. "Especially the part about my 'idiotic kindness' being your 'foolhardy joy'."

"Foolhardy joy'?" Helga repeated. "No, I changed that to 'one and only joy'. Foolhardy was a better word, but it didn't flow as well."

"You didn't change it. The poem I got this morning definitely said foolhardy."

"I know what I wrote, football head, and while that might have been the original word, I changed it… wait a minute." Helga bit her lip. "Did I change it?"

"You didn't, and I can prove it." Arnold abruptly stood up and made his way to his skylight, climbing back down into his room.

"Where are you going?" Helga asked, climbing to her feet as well.

"I'm getting the poem you wrote!" Arnold called back.

"Stashed in your book bag someplace?" Helga said, climbing the ladder into Arnold's room as well. To her surprise, though, he wasn't looking through his book bag. Instead, he had a three-ringed notebook in his hands, open to a page with two different slips of paper taped to it.

Arnold smiled at her. "No, I tape the poems you leave me in this notebook as soon as I get them. And here's today's, and it definitely says 'foolhardy'."

"You've been keeping them all? I mean, in an organized way?" Helga asked.

"Of course," said Arnold. "I like them and I don't want to risk losing them."

Helga sighed happily, feeling her heart melt again. "Arnold, that's so ridiculous and sweet and romantic and you're too good to be true and…" Looking at another book laying on his desk, though, the praises abruptly stopped. "And what the hell is THAT doing here?!"

That being nothing more than a small, pink book.

Both Arnold and Helga lunged for it at the same time, but Helga managed to get it first. "I don't know how you got this, but burn it! Burn it like I burned all the rest of them!" Helga screeched.

"Come on, Helga, don't you remember?" Arnold said, jumping up in vain efforts to snatch the book out of Helga's hands (for Helga was holding it high above her head). "I found it the first week of fourth grade! And then you tore out the last page and made it into a spitball!"

"Oh yeah," said Helga thoughtfully. "You're right. I'd almost forgotten. Good thing I did that, too, because I actually signed the last page." Her tone immediately went back to its irritated growl from before. "But whatever. This pile of dog crap should have been burned out of its misery years ago!"

"They're not crap! There's some good poems in there!"

"Good poems? I was nine, for Pete's sake! What the fuck did I know about good poetry?"

"Look, they're not amazing, I'll give you that," Arnold quickly said. "But considering you were only nine when you wrote them, they're actually really… look, just give it back, alright?"

"No, it's mine, so I'm taking what's rightfully mine."

"Actually, Helga… they're mine. You said so yourself in the dedication."

"What?" Helga quickly flipped open the book to the first page and read the first poem. "…Oh. Well, forget what I wrote then, just pay attention to what I'm saying now!"

"I want those back! I won't let you burn them!" Arnold lunged up in the air for the book.

"Back off!" shrieked Helga.

But Arnold's sudden movement towards her caused her to lose her balance, and she fell with another shriek onto his bed, Arnold clumsily toppling right on top of her.

They both froze, staring at each other unblinking for a good five seconds, before Helga broke the silence with a deep, shaky breath, her rising chest pushing against Arnold's on top of her.

Arnold managed to get a hold of his breathing sooner than Helga. He smiled gently at her, lightly touching her lips with his finger. "May I please have the book now?"

"Fuck you," Helga murmured.

"What?"

"I said…" Helga smiled too. "You'll have to kiss me for it."

Helga wasn't so much surprised that he did it. What surprised her was how quickly he did it. The words had only just barely left her mouth when it was covered by his.

They'd been dating for about a month now. She should have been used to this.

And yet every time they kissed, it felt like the first time. Every time her heart seemed to stop. Every time she felt as though she was being shown heaven for a few moments. Every time she felt herself fall even more in love with him, as impossible as that seemed.

He pulled away. His kisses never lasted very long, yet they were always long enough to turn her into Jell-O.

"You win," she conceded, bringing her arms (still above her head) down and handing him the book.

"Thanks." Arnold took it from her and set it down on his end table without a second thought, remaining on top of Helga but supporting his upper weight with his elbows propped on his mattress.

"They're so terrible…" Helga tried to give the book a discouraging look but kept finding that her gaze was getting pulled back to Arnold. "I can write so much better now."

"They're not terrible," said Arnold with a smile, "but even if you think so, then let them serve as your yardstick of improvement."

"Hmm, yeah, good point, my love," said Helga, leaning up and giving Arnold a quick kiss. "If I'm ever a world-famous author, my biographers will want to see where I started from." She laughed at that, a little harshly.

"Of course they will," said Arnold, a bit confused at Helga's harshness. "Why do you think they wouldn't?"

"I just said that they would, football head."

"But you didn't sound like you meant it."

"I meant that part. It's the whole 'becoming a famous author' thing I'm not so sure of."

"What are you talking about? Your poetry is amazing. You're going to be famous someday."

Helga sighed. "You're sweet, Arnold, but you're also mistaken. Even if I was talented enough to get published, nobody reads poetry anymore. I'm already washed up and I haven't even attempted to get published yet."

Arnold laid down by Helga's side, looking up again at the stars through his skylight. "You should still try, though," he said after a few moments.

"Or I could save time and just walk in there and ask them to completely belittle me," muttered Helga, also looking up at the sky. "It'd take a lot less effort and generate the exact same effect."

"But you shouldn't just give up on your dream like that."

"It's not my only dream." Her voice there was barely audible.

Arnold turned his head to the side to look at her again, but her gaze was still fixed skyward—and thankfully so, because Arnold worried that if she did see his face, she'd read the uncertainty he was sure was evident on it. No, actually, uncertainty wasn't the best word. He was absolutely certain of the important things, at least. He loved just talking with her like this. She was intelligent, she was witty, and when they conversed he felt not only that he was getting to know her better, but he was getting to know himself better. And yet, at the same time, coupled with his desire to talk with her, he had an equally strong desire to touch her boobs.

What kind of impression did he want to give her, anyway?

Okay, sure, so he was a fifteen-year-old male. But still. That didn't mean his hormones had to get so fired up whenever he was close to her. Especially considering that he considered her much more than just a pair of breasts. He had a little more class than that. And besides, pretty much every girl had breasts. What was it about hers that were so tempting? Was it just the fact that they were, well, hers?

He had enjoyed talking and spending time with other people before. And he had been distracted by boobs before. But never both at once, and never had either seemingly conflicting urge been so strong, either.

"Not… your only dream?" Arnold finally asked, making himself look back up at the sky.

"I have others. Plenty of others." Her voice faltered. "Well, maybe not plenty… but becoming the beeper queen is a pretty good alternative."

"Well, I still think you should go for your dream. You're more talented than you give yourself credit for."

"Fine, football head, I won't give up just yet," Helga muttered, although it was more of a way to keep him off the subject. Truthfully, she knew that she had a writing talent. She would have had to have been completely blind to herself to not know that. It wasn't vanity or ego speaking; Helga simply knew that writing poetry was what she did best, and, well, she had many years of practice under her belt.

What scared her was when she got close. Close enough to almost be able to reach out and touch her dream, and then at the last second have all her hopes dashed. Far better to not get her hopes up at all, right? Stupid of her for flirting with disaster. And yet that's just what she was doing. How many aspiring writers actually got published? And, like she told Arnold, poetry was not a popular genre at all. If you wanted to be a published poet, you had to be damn good. Helga knew she was good… but she wasn't that good.

Arnold was one of her other dreams. Heck, he was THE other dream. And again, he was so close. Not just physically close, but emotionally, mentally… everything-ly. It wasn't just the fact that he was laying so close to her, it was that he wanted to be next to her. It was that he had freely… well, nearly freely kissed her… sure, so she had put the idea in his head, but he could have very well said no. It was that he always gazed at her with a look from him she recognized, but one he had never directed at her before.

As much as she had hoped, prayed, dreamed that she would get this close to him… she had never really thought it would actually happen.

And now she was too close. Every rational cell in her body screamed at her to run away from him before she got even closer, because the closer she got the harder she'd fall. And she would fall. He didn't love her, and even if he did… even if he did, how many high school romances lasted, anyway? Oh, sure, she'd always love him, but it wasn't just a high school romance on her part. She'd loved him for twelve years now; it wasn't going away. She'd tried that already, and look how successful that was.

Stop worrying. Stop worrying and just enjoy this while it lasts. But how could she enjoy what would ultimately emotionally destroy her?

Don't think about that!

"What about you?" she said, hoping that her voice didn't sound as forced to him as it did to her. "Do you have any pie-in-the-sky dreams?"

"I don't know…" Arnold's voice trailed off as he searched for something to say. "I guess I just don't know what I want to do with my life yet."

"Oh, come on. You must have some idea."

"I have a general idea… whatever it is I do, I want to be helping people. But I haven't figured out where, or how, or what I'll be doing to help them."

"Well, that answer was obvious. And yet terribly vague. Pretty much every job helps people in some way. Even if you wanted to be a poet, like me, you'd be helping people get in touch with their inner angst." They both chuckled. "But you're talking about something way bigger than your everyday, ordinary helpful job, I know. You're talking about the Peace Corps or the like."

"I've actually thought a lot about the Peace Corps," Arnold admitted. "Because that is pretty much what I want to do… except…"

"Except what?' Helga asked.

Arnold sighed. "I dunno… it sounds really selfish of me, but I just… I'm not sure I would be able to handle being away form home for so long. You know, away from friends and family. It would just be…" He sighed again. "It just sounds so selfish."

"Are you kidding? It doesn't sound selfish at all," Helga said, surprised at Arnold's guilt. "You have an amazing life here—minus my presence in it, of course. Who wouldn't want to stay? You can still do humanitarian stuff here. There's plenty of people here who need help, too. You don't have to go anywhere."

"I know, but… there's something of my parents in me, I guess, some sort of explorer gene that makes me want to go farther and farther away… I couldn't do that, though," he said quickly. "It wouldn't be fair to my family, to my friends… to you…"

"Me?" Helga turned her head and stared at him. "What the hell do I have to do with any of this? It's your future. I'm just your high school girlfriend—one of your high school girlfriends. A year from now I'll probably be another one of your ex-girlfriends."

Arnold sat up a bit in surprise. "What makes you say—"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not trivializing our relationship," Helga quickly clarified. She bit her lip. Damn, she hadn't meant to drop this worry on him. Oh well, it was probably for the best. A realistic perspective on things was good. "It's just that, come on, how many people who date in high school actually end up together for the long run? I'm not your first girlfriend; you're not my first boyfriend. And, granted, my feelings for you will never change. I love you more than life itself; you're my lighthouse in the stormiest of nights, my… well, you know. I'm not going to change, but you are. You're going to keep moving on to bigger and better things and eventually you'll move past me, too. I don't want to stand in your way, and… and criminy, this is coming out terrible."

Arnold sat up completely this time, pulling his knees close to his body and leaning his arms and head against them. "Look, Helga, let's not map out the future right now, okay? If I really am going to leave you and the entire city behind, I'd like to live in the moment right now and enjoy every second of it while I can."

Helga remained on her back on the bed, unable to do anything but gaze at Arnold, in that pose, with those words coming out of his mouth… how can you possibly be so beautiful?

He shifted his head slightly and gazed at her, too.

"I swear," Helga finally murmured, "I'd think this was all a dream, but even my dreams are never this amazing."

"It must be real, then," smiled Arnold, reaching down and stroking her cheek softly.

"Stop," breathed Helga, "you're making it worse…"

"Making what worse?"

"When I wake up from this dream… every wonderful thing you do to me will make it worse when I have to go back to reality…"

Arnold looked up at the sky. "Reality is overrated."

Helga sighed happily. "You can say that again," she said, pulling him on top of her again and kissing him.

Even if this was just a dream… well, like Arnold said, might as well enjoy it while it lasts, right?