Note: There are so many themes and flavors out there for our favorite characters in the HA! fandom so I apologize in advance if anything seems similar to anyone else's work. Maybe it speaks to the fact that I have too much free-time, but I have read hundreds if not thousands of fics over the past 13 (already?!) years. Perhaps I'm paranoid, but all this time I've been active in the world, I've noticed that there are little bursts of intense writing and trends that pop up (well, doi). For example, sometimes people latch on to the Helga-is-a-secret-ballerina and then the dancing theme takes its turn to proliferate because we all inspire each other to write cool stuff about it. Or the theme of Arnold's grandparents dying, or the theme of Helga's parents getting a divorce or family therapy, or Arnold-confesses-to-Helga-no-take-backsies-first-and-she-panics, etc., etc. So with all that swirling around, I'm doing my absolute darndest to let a unique and believable story happen, at least consciously. When I write I don't really think about what I've read in the past, but because I do read others' work, I think that I subconsciously imbibe those feelings into the overall universe that I have in my head. So when I go back and critically read my drafts, I am puzzled at ideas that already seem familiar, and then I think, "Oh! This is because I read so-and-so's amazing story about blah and the tone and expressions and the way the characters interact take on a similar pattern. How do I fix it so that it does something new and interesting and believable?" [The believable part is because I like to aim for canon.] And then I revise and revise until I can revise no more. Does that make sense? Anyway, just wanted to say that to you guys. Thank you so much for your kind feedback and thoughts! And if I've accidentally borrowed a flavor or theme to put my own spin on it, please believe it is out of sincerest respect and consider it my tribute to your fabulousness. :]
Her feet sprinted down two, three, four blocks. No idea where to turn next, and unable to go on, she stopped near a grimy alleyway, panting and gripping her knees. Wisps of breath puffed into the air and disappeared again and again.
"Helga, wait!" she heard someone shouting faintly behind her. Footsteps thudded on the pavement, getting closer.
When they stopped, Helga flinched, immobile. "What do you want?"
"Are you okay?"
Always the voice of concern, she thought bitterly. "Just peachy." Her voice sounded alien, far away.
"Helga…" A tentative hand landed on her shoulder.
"I'm fine. Just getting some air."
"Nobody who's fine runs out of a building for no reason."
This was not the time for him to get uppity with her. "What did you have to go and do that for?"
"Do what?" He sounded slightly amused.
"Back there…" Did he think this was funny?
"Oh, you mean bare my soul to you?" Now this was just blatantly sarcastic. Where did he get the nerve?
Helga rose to her full height and turned, incredulous, towards the boy standing behind her.
"Excuse me?"
Her tone startled him abruptly into sheepishness. "I… I wrote that. For you. Well… Phoebe helped." He started to smile.
She blinked. Phoebe helped. She was transported back to the original Coco Hut days when Phoebe helped her create an absolute farce of a comedy show. Her skin prickled.
He continued hesitantly, "It's what I hear when I… see you. Or think about you. Which is… a lot of the time."
Helga stood in the stark moonlight, eyes wide with disbelief. Remnants of old leaves and city debris rustled in the gutter.
Arnold blundered on, "You said you thought it was nice so I wanted to… finish it."
The brick wall behind him was swimming in and out of focus. She inhaled sharply.
"Did you like it?" The look he was giving her was unsettling.
Helga continued to stare silently at him.
"You… didn't like it?" His face fell.
All her work, all her toil, the madness and pain of secrecy—all by herself. Her hands clenched. And then, in one violent motion, she flung them towards the ground. "It's not fair!" she shouted.
"Huh?" Arnold stepped backwards, clearly not prepared for this conversation to unravel so rapidly.
Floundering for words, she stalled for time. "You—you can't just spring that on me like this!"
Arnold's eyebrows shot into his messy hair line. "Really?" He made a desperate attempt at a laugh. "Of all the people to say something like that—"
Anger—or hurt, he wasn't sure—crept into her eyes. "Don't you dare finish that sentence!" Helga took a step towards him and pointed a finger at his nose.
"And why can't I? It's not like you'd ever bring it up again!" Arnold was getting impatient. He lowered his voice, trying to steady the boat. "Somebody needs to say it."
Helga glared at the wall. "Nobody needs to say anything!" The wind howled around the corner of the alley. A cloud brushed by the moon, throwing them in and out of darkness.
"Well, I tried without words, didn't I? Now I see where it got me." Arnold's face was a mask of disappointment.
"Did you think that I would stand and applaud or something? Throw you a bouquet of roses? Run up on stage and—and—" She couldn't even say it now! Arnold couldn't fathom the layers of denial the woman was capable of.
"No! No, I thought… I just thought you'd understand…." He ran a hand through his hair, terribly frustrated.
"Did you think they wouldn't notice?" Helga tossed a hand into the air. "And Phoebe—" She grabbed her hair in her fists and groaned.
"I didn't know how to tell you, Helga! See?" Arnold was pleading, "Just now, you won't even talk to me. All Phoebe did was help me write some music, okay?"
"Oh, I'm sure that's all it was."
Arnold felt like he'd been slapped. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't tell me you didn't have fun during your little get-togethers, talking about how hard it is to see beneath my tough exterior and get to the real Helga deep down." Her fingers were making ludicrous quotation marks and he was troublingly reminded of Mr. Simmons.
"I didn't—we didn't—"
But Helga was still going, pacing two steps to the left, two to the right—was this a cross-examination? "And I bet you thought it'd be a barrel of chuckles to humiliate me in front of—"
"Humiliate you?" Something changed in the air between them. Perhaps he was finally noticing the cold. "Humiliate you…" Arnold could feel his face burning. "I laid it all out there for you, Helga. Don't you think that was hard for me?"
"You said it yourself, you didn't even write the whole thing!" Helga was determinedly not looking at him or else she'd have seen how much she'd hurt him.
Arnold stuttered, obviously crushed.
"Save it," she held a hand up to his face, her eyes closed tightly. "I don't want to hear it."
"But Helga! I don't know what else to do! I don't get why you're being like this!"
"There's nothing to get."
He was at a complete loss. "I guess I'll leave you alone then..." His words were tiny and hollow.
There was nothing else to say. He stood there dejectedly, not wanting to go back to the Coco Hut and face the mob of curious onlookers but dying to be anywhere but here, getting his heart stomped into a pulp on the sidewalk. After one of the most painful seconds of his short life, Helga, breathing hard, finally turned and continued to run away into the night.