A/N: This was long overdue.

Disclaimer: I own dis shizfizzle in the nit of hiz and wow, is it 3 AM already?

Like His Father

Arnold stared anxiously down at his resume, nibbling on the eraser end of his pencil as he thought. Humming, he checked off a couple boxes and added a few more credentials and people who could recommend him, just to be safe. He'd worked a long time to get this job, and now that he was just a scant two weeks away from finally landing the position he wanted, he wasn't going to cut any corners. Failure wasn't an option at this point.

He let out a soundless sigh as he flipped through the rest of the papers he still needed to fill out, and hooked a finger on his collar to loosen it a bit. His dark, cornflower blond hair fell in thick strands over his forehead, an unfortunate result of the summer heat he'd been out working in earlier. Stopping on the last page, he stared for a while, thinking, before letting all the papers fall back on the table as he leaned pensively back in his chair.

Becoming an elementary school teacher wasn't something he'd dreamed about as a child. He'd always had more fantastical ideas in mind for his future—an explorer, pilot, doctor, ambassador, anything and everything that would get him away, far away, and into a world of his own—but once he was out of High School he found that all he really wanted to do was settle down and focus on his family. That had always been the most important factor in his life, as far as he was concerned, and he knew that as long as he was able to protect it, he would be happy. He didn't want to run away and forget. He had no reason to anymore.

Being close to his parents, grandparents, the boarders, his wife—those were the things that truly mattered now, and he wasn't going to let anything get in the way of that. He'd already lost his parents once, Helga twice, and even had a few scares with his grandparents in his short twenty-three years. There would always be time for adventure, later in life, when he was certain nothing would go wrong that would prevent their being together.

Currently, they were living in the boarding house, which Arnold had taken command of after Phil and Gertie retired to Florida. He couldn't very well let the boarders become homeless, after all—or, he supposed, they wouldn't really be homeless, per se. Lola had been trying to persuade Ernie to move into her apartment for years, but he'd always said it felt wrong to leave behind "the family," as he'd long come to think of them as. Mr. Hyunh, as well, could always move in with his daughter and her family, which Arnold knew they would be more than happy to do, but remained for more or less the same reasons.

Suzie and Oskar stayed mainly because they couldn't really afford to live anywhere else. They could, he supposed, find a rundown little apartment somewhere if they absolutely had to, but Arnold didn't have the heart to turn them out…

Of course, all of this was complete poppycock, and the real reason Arnold refused to let the boarding house get sold was because he thought of them all as family as well and couldn't stand to see them part ways. Phil had seemed more than okay with selling and kicking them all out, but Arnold couldn't allow him to do that. The boarding house, though it had only come into the family through a game of cards, had a history to it that made selling it feel wrong. Phil had not seemed particularly put out by the idea of keeping the boarding house in the family, so much as he was by continuing to have the crazy lot that occupied it around any longer than had been necessary to pay the bills. Arnold had made his feelings more than clear on the matter, and in the end Phil had complied, albeit begrudgingly.

The house would only remain in his care until his parents got back from their traveling, however. The house was the rightful inheritance of Miles Shortman, not him. Arnold was just fine with this, as the house was already very full, only had two bathrooms (one of which was hidden in a very dark, drafty, and frankly dirty part of the house—there had, at one time, been one other private bathroom, in Mr. Smith's room, but after he moved out he took the toilet with him, and they had yet been able to afford a new one), and was rather worn down. He had not the money, nor the time, to dedicate to the repairs that would be required to make it a suitable enough living for what he wanted for the new members of the family, namely his wife and son. No, this was not ideal, but they would make it work for as long as they must. He hoped very much this would not be their only child, and had hinted as much, but Helga had yet to respond with anything but amusement and eye rolling.

In the meantime, he made it his mission to get a decent job so he could start contributing to their house fund. At the influence of Helga's midnight whisperings in his ear, he'd come to dream very largely of making a nice home with her, of 2.5 kids, a white picket fence, and the whole nine yards. With every day – and every time they were interrupted from any sort of intimacy by someone barging in, screaming, or complaining – his want for it grew, and he began to understand, at least to a small extent, his grandpa's exasperation and consequent need for departure.

That wasn't to say he didn't love them, but with all he had going on, he just didn't have the mind for it currently. His correspondence with his father had become more and more urgent as a result, much to Mile's both concern and mild amusement. Miles was of a more like mind with his son than Phil was, as he'd grown up in the boarding house with the boarders as well and had grown a certain amount of attachment himself, but nothing like Arnold had. He stated more than once that if he ever changed his mind, that if it proved to be too much for him, he had his full permission to sell, but Arnold always replied the same, sympathetically, that it was simply not within his capability to do so. Miles had been silent for a time on one phone call when the subject had come up, before promising to return home as soon as he could, if that was his wish. Everyone was happy to keep the boarding house, they just worried about Arnold's motivation.

It had never been anyone's intention for Arnold to become as attached as he had to the boarders, and Arnold could well understand his grandpa's slight bitterness and his parents apprehension on the topic. The plan had always been that Miles and Stella would take care of him, raise him, with Phil and Gertie there to assist—the boarders, though long-time friends, were never considered family. Miles and Stella had been saving up to get a house of their own to raise him in before they got lost—he would have grown up in relative normalcy and surrounded by domestic bliss, but instead his parents had – everyone thought – died in what was supposed to be a quick mission, his grandma went senile from the grief of it, and Phil was left with a grandson who was so desperate for some kind of familial security that he turned to the boarders. Arnold couldn't very well help it, though. What had happened had happened, and he loved the boarders like family, and that was just the way it was. Perhaps it was not ideal, and not what Phil or his parents had wanted for him, but it was all he'd had for a very long time. He didn't regret loving them, and he was thankful for Helga being there to back him up on it, as she had apparently always longed to call them family as well. Now that she had them, a pain in the butt or no, she was adamantly against losing them.

"They're absolutely crazy, dysfunctional and too pig-headed for their own good," she'd explained to him one night, with a rueful look in her eye. "I fit right in."

They were still boarders, however, this was still a boarding house, so there was a considerable amount of business that had to be attended to. Things had to be fixed, maintained, meals cooked, rooms cleaned, complaints attended to, bills paid, and rent collected. It was hard work, and Arnold was but a young adult fresh out of college trying to build a life for himself. He had bigger things to worry about. He wasn't eager to move out or anything, but he couldn't deny he'd be relieved to have his parents back to take the load off his shoulders a little. Maybe then he'd be able to focus less on trying to hold onto his old life, and more on the one he wanted so badly to create.

Absentmindedly, he felt his eyes drift across the room to where his very big, very pregnant wife was lounging on the bed, half-dozing with a bowl of peach oatmeal slathered in mustard at her side, cradled in the slouch of her arm. He was sitting by the window at a table they'd hauled in as a makeshift desk, so he could stay as close to her as possible and keep an eye on her 'condition.' Everyone was hyper-aware that her due date was getting closer and closer, and they were all on edge because of it. It'd be any day, now.

It annoyed Helga to no end at first, having everyone staring at her so intensely and insisting on helping her with every little thing. Even at this stage in the game she was on the defense on the matter, insisting she could manage fine by herself, but she was finally starting to relent a little since it wouldn't be long before it was all over with. Arnold was grateful for that, because he was sure he'd go completely out of his mind if she didn't stop pushing him away every time he offered to assist her down the stairs, or open a door, or get her the remote that was four inches away. He needed to feel useful. He couldn't stand just sitting by while she suffered.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he stared at her stomach, a habit he'd acquired over the last several months, and one he probably still wouldn't be able to break after the baby was finally out (he could already imagine how weird it would be to look at her stomach, flat and empty, with their son on the outside). He watched for a long time in silence, enjoying the soft rise and fall that assured him of her well breathing, and smiled when he saw her nose twitch every once in a while. Occasionally, there'd be a small jerk, and Helga would wince before chuckling lowly and drowsily patting her stomach. He could never control the grin that spread across his face when that happened.

Finally, he gave up on trying to get anymore work done and placed his pencil down, pushing his chair back from the table. He kept his hands on the edge of it, his chair out, but made no move to stand. Instead he turned his eyes to the ceiling fan, trying to catch one of the blades with his eyes, as a show of nonchalance. When he spoke, he spoke idly, quietly, as if he hadn't just spent the better part of ten minutes staring at her stomach. "So…"

There was the short shuffling sound of sheets and mattress springs giving under weight, and he knew without looking that she'd turned on her side to look at him. Her voice came back as a sarcastic, almost-hum, "So…"

Arnold's eyebrows worked gradually up the length of his forehead. "Thought…" He cleared his throat. "Have you thought of any names?"

There was a pause. "Bob would make Dad happy."

Arnold snapped his eyes onto her in alarm, but they fell half-lidded the second he registered the mirth twinkling in her eyes. He resisted the urge to roll his own. "Very funny, Helga."

She chuckled softly. "I thought so."

"Seriously." He stood up from his chair and picked it up at the base, moving across the room so he could set it beside their bed. As soon as it was in place, he sunk down into it, his fingers lacing together under his chin and thumbs pressed to his bottom lip. Twiddling them a moment nervously, he quickly unlaced his fingers and sat back, averting his eyes. Helga's amusement only doubled at the display. "I know we've played around with ideas enough, but it's getting to the time when we're going to have to… to come to a decision."

Helga snorted, shutting her eyes. "Let's just name him George and be done with it, huh? I'm a little too tired for this discussion right now, honey."

"Helga…" he dragged lowly, giving her a look. He knew this game well enough by now to know she was just trying to avoid the subject.

"Football Head…" she whined back sarcastically.

"We have to talk about this sooner or later."

Helga sighed heavily, and rolled over onto her back again, forgetting about the bowl that was just starting to tip. Arnold hastily flew forward and grabbed it before it could dump and placed it on the bedside table. Helga didn't even notice. "I know, I know, Arnold. It's just a really big decision. I mean, this is what he's going to be called for his entire life. I don't want it to be something dumb, like, Albert or Floppy Joe—"

"Helga, come on—"

She sent him a sharp look, continuing her speech with an added force behind her words, "Arnold, Helga, Olga—I mean, honestly, what were our parents thinking?"

"Well, I know Bob was thinking Russian names make for strong women, which at this point I can't exactly argue against." Helga's face softened slightly. Arnold smiled as he went on, "And I was named after the grandfather I never got to meet."

Helga scoffed, her head rolling on the pillow as her eyelids fluttered. "Poindexter." Peeking out of the corner of her eye, she saw his eyes narrow slightly and smirked. "Yeah, Big Bob's got issues if you ask me, but my point is I just don't want him to feel like an idiot like I always did and," she snorted, "I'm sure you did at some point, Geek-Bait." He pursed his lips. She suppressed a laugh against her fist, flicking her eyes up to focus on a spot on the ceiling. "I just want a… unique, strong name, but not too unique or out there. Something with an edge, and… history. Something he could be proud of, you know?" She laced her fingers against her stomach and closed her eyes, a contented smile washing over her pale lips.

Arnold hummed at this, his eyes drifting down in thought. After a few moments of silent contemplation, he looked back to her and asked, "Well did you have anything in mind?"

A harsh breath was expelled from her mouth as she turned over so her back was to him, her arms wrapping instinctively around her belly. "I don't know, Arnold, you pick something. Clearly you've been thinking about it. What do you want to name him?"

Arnold's eyebrows went up in surprise, having not expected her to hand the reigns over so easily. They'd had an unspoken agreement between them that she'd get to name their first born—or, he'd thought they had, at least. Evidently, she didn't care as much as he thought.

Or, more likely, she really was tired and just cowering away from having to make a decision. Well, fine. He'd humor her. Sucking in a slow breath through his nose, he looked down at his lap, as looking her in the eye wasn't an option anymore, and thoughtfully muttered, "Well… Joshua's a—"

Helga groaned and rolled over suddenly, sitting up slightly just so she could glare at him more effectively. "Seriously, Arnold, what's with you and Bible names exactly?"

Arnold raised an eyebrow, defensive. "Hey, it's not like I'm suggesting Jehoshaphat or anything. Joshua is a perfectly reasonable name."

"Ha, yeah, if you want him to be a complete nerd." She wrinkled her nose. "Besides, it's so common. So, so…"

"Normal?"

"Yeah."

"I thought that's what you wanted?"

She gave a defeated sigh and flopped back onto the bed. "Well, yeah, but no too… I want him to have a name that doesn't condemn him to a life of name-calling and dorkdom, I didn't say I wanted him to have the most commonplace name around. If we were going to do that, we might as well just name him John."

"Helga, nowadays no matter what name we choose, there are going to be a million other people out there with the same name. And if we go through a long list of names and choose one from there, it's unlikely it won't spike in popularity eventually and soon even it won't be unique anymore. We shouldn't worry so much about singularity and focus more on what we want to call him. What we like, whether it's normal or not."

She stared at him for a long time, before she turned her face away. "Stop making sense, you're confusing me."

Arnold looked at her hopefully, a smile turning his lips as he leaned forward in his seat. "Does that make anything come to mind?"

Helga stared up at the ceiling, her eyes spinning in tune with the fan as it circled continually around. The fan seemed to mirror her thoughts at the moment, and finally she had to just close her eyes against the dizzying sensation it was causing her and sigh, her hands groping for the blanket. "I don't know, Arnold. Gimme some time to sleep on it."

Before her hands could even make contact with the blanket, she felt it being pulled up to her shoulders, and opened her eyes just in time to find her husband's kindly face hovering over hers. Her lips parted slightly as she stared at him, entranced with how much sincerity and compassion he could put into one look as he tucked her in.

"Of course, Helga." His lips pressed against her hairline and her breath caught, before he pulled back just enough to bestow her with one last loving smile. "Don't stress too hard on it. We'll think of something."

And just like that he was gone, back across the room to work on his resume, and Helga was left with her head even more disorganized than before.

Bereft, she turned her eyes down to stare at her stomach, where she knew her and Arnold's child lay sleeping. Leaning her head closer and tucking herself up a little tight on her side, she whispered, "What's your name, my darling? Hm?"

There came no reply.

Helga humphed, and aggressively snuggled deeper into her pillow. "Some help you are."

A hard kick came a second later, and Helga grimaced, sucking in a sharp breath as she shot a glare at her stomach. "Little jackass." He kicked her again for that and she cursed.

She could feel Arnold's concern before he even said anything. "Everything all right, Helga?"

Helga coughed out a quiet chuckle and looked at him over her shoulder, her expression wry as a smirk stretched out across her lips. "Your son's gonna be a real scrapper, Arnold. He's already getting a head start with his mama."

She had to admit, the kicking was almost worth seeing Arnold try to force a strained smile onto an already half-cringing expression.

He looked congested. She smirked and turned to go to sleep.

3 AM. She could hear the TV still playing faintly at the back of her consciousness, could feel her husband's warm presence passed out on the couch not three feet away from where she sat, but she did not look. She was still a little angry he was even there to begin with. She didn't need a baby sister. Or, rather, a woman-pregnant-with-the-baby sitter. Or—yeah. Never mind. It was 3 AM.

He was just so determined to stick close by her these days. No matter where she went, he followed behind her, like a dog that couldn't resist sniffing it's master every five seconds to make sure she still smelled the same. It would be sweet, really, if it wasn't so pathetic. He had obviously been exhausted; she didn't understand why he didn't just go to bed. She was pregnant, not an invalid. She could take care of herself just fine.

She didn't have the presence of mind to really worry about this right now, though. She was sitting awkwardly in a small nest of pillows with her back supported against the front of the couch, staring dumbly at the laptop placed in front of her on the coffee table. The light was almost obnoxiously bright in the darkness of the family room, but it was the only thing keeping her from forgetting what her purpose was and having her eyes drift to the Abdicator's hot, shirtless body as he blew entire buildings up on the television.

She'd told Arnold she was just doing some research for her book, but the truth was she was scrolling through a ridiculously long list of names on Nameyourkid dot dum. So far, by her count, she'd looked at approximately 37,000 names with only about 73 possibilities written down in her notebook. Every one of which she'd discarded by now. Her eyes burned.

Whining slightly at the back of her throat, she played around with the idea of getting something from the fridge and going to bed, but then discarded that idea as well. There was no way she was moving from her spot. She'd been stubborn enough to insist on sitting here, so here she would stay—she'd made her fucking bed so now she had to sleep in it. Never mind that she wasn't sure she could get up without breaking something. It was just how it had to be. In the name of… honor.

She was much too tired to try to go to sleep, anyway. Which made no sense, but it was how she felt. One more hour, to give old numbnuts some time to rest, couldn't hurt anything.

Boredly, she flipped to a random Clickipedia page and decided to actually try to get a little research done for her novel. It was the first in a long series of books she wanted very badly to write, provided the first one made a decent profit, so it was important that she get this done. Or whatever. She couldn't bring herself to care about her dreams right now.

As her eyes drifted over the names of all the past presidents, she began randomly clicking on the ones that actually somewhat interested her, or something close to interested her anyway. American History was always either brain-meltingly exasperating or endlessly fascinating to Helga, depending on her mood—there really wasn't any in between. Currently, she was tired, frustrated, in that horrible foggy-brained state where she couldn't seem to focus on any one thing, and vaguely had to pee. So of course History held little appeal to her at the moment. Still, she felt a little guilty about lying to Arnold, so this was to help clear her conscience a little. She just didn't want him to know she really was bugging out about the whole name situation, 'cause then she knew he'd start worrying which would only make her worry more, which would make him worry to the point of becoming a serious annoyance, which would make her all the more agitated and, well, there was no desirable ending to that scenario. They couldn't even have make-up sex.

Her face twisting, she stared at James K. Polk's page blankly for she-didn't-know-how-long, before rolling her eyes and switching to the next president.

Zachary Taylor. She snickered slightly at the expression on his face in his picture. He looked old. There was no other way to describe him. Floofy-haired, unkempt, and old.

Attempting to sniff away an itch, she grunted and reached a hand up to rub the bottom of her nose with her wrist, all the while her eyes skimming over Mr. Taylor's information. 40-year military career, War of 1812, Black Hawk War, Second Seminole War, The Mexican-American War, nicknamed "Old Rough and Ready"…

"Criminy," she mumbled, leaning closer to the screen with a tiny smirk. "Enjoyed kicking ass, did we, Zachary?"

A series of sporadic kicks came unexpectedly in her side and she cringed, snapping her laptop shut with a reflexive jerk. "Okay, okay, don't get your diaper in a wad. You're uncomfortable, I got it. Sheesh." Huffing, she pushed her laptop away and leaned forward, attempting to get a grip on the edge of the sofa so she could push herself up. "I don't get why you didn't say anything earlier if you were so unhappy. Speak up once in a while, huh?" She glared at her stomach.

As she was struggling to push her fat ass up from the floor, she heard a mumbling come from beside her, followed by the shifting of fabric.

Arnold's confused, sleep-hazed voice came only a few seconds later, "Helga?"

Helga sighed and rolled her eyes, succumbing to her fate. "Before you ask, yes, I'm having trouble, and yes, I could use your help."

Arnold's eyes widened in surprise, and he blinked, before all but jumping out of his seat to assist her. She couldn't help but smile at his eagerness, and held her arms out for him. With one arm gripping firmly to her arm and the other around the small of her back, he managed to heave her up off of the floor and into a somewhat standing position. She stumbled back from him once she was up, before grabbing him abruptly by the shoulder to stop herself from swaying backwards. Her back aching and ankles protesting, she allowed her eyes to roll into the back of her head for a moment as she muttered, "Oh, hell, I feel like Moby Dick's mom."

Arnold chuckled a little and put his hands on her shoulders to help steady her. "If it helps at all, you don't look anything like her."

Helga shot him a sharp look, loaded down with sarcasm. "Oh, golly, thanks, dear. I don't know how I would've slept tonight without you confirming I don't look like 3,300 pounds of ivory blubber. You've spared me so many nights of staring up at the ceiling and thinking, 'Gee, I wonder if I look like the world's largest marine mammal.'"

Arnold rolled his eyes. "I'm still half-asleep and I was just trying to make you feel better, no need to have a cow, Helga."

"A cow? I think you mean a whale, Arnold—"

"Enough," he sighed, turning her gently around so he could direct her to the doorway. "Let's get you into bed."

"Wow, Arnold, I had no idea you had a fish fetish. I don't know what to think—"

He just shook his head at her and continued to steer her the rest of the way to their bedroom, deflecting any further quips from his exhausted wife.

"Holy shit, Pheebs!"

"What?" Phoebe shrieked, rushing in a panicked frenzy to her best friend's side. As soon as she was beside her, she swept her eyes over her with lightning speed, searching for any signs of injury. "What is it, Helga? Is everything okay?"

"What?" Helga mumbled without looking at her, before waving her off distractedly. "Oh, yeah, it's just these prices! They're practically giving these toasters away!"

Phoebe let out the breath she was holding, her entire body drooping forward in relief. "Oh, Helga."

"No, seriously, Phoebe!" She snatched one of the boxes up off of the shelf and turned to her, holding it out for her to see. "These are high quality toasters, and they're not even going for a third of their original price! If we buy enough of these and resell them, we could make a killing!" She sucked in a giddy breath and bit her lip, hugging the box to her chest as her eyes flew heavenward. "Private beach house getaway, here I come!"

Phoebe stared at her, bemused. "Helga, are you sure you're okay? You've seemed a little… anxious, since we left the Sunset Arms."

"Oh, that." Helga sighed, sweeping the entire shelf of toasters into their cart. "I'm just excited. This is the first time in months I've been able to slip off the ball and chain." She theatrically rolled her eyes. "Arnold's been so overbearing lately, I swear. I feel like a teenager again, slipping around behind his back like this, and just to buy groceries, of all things." She turned her eyes uncomfortably away, eying a couple boxes of cereal some lazy shopper left there at some point. "I had to practically shove him out the door and deadbolt it shut to get the message across that I would be o-kay while he's at his job interview. I'm sure he was five minutes away from trying to postpone it, which is ludicrous."

A long-suffering sigh tumbled out of her mouth as she took a couple steps around the cart so Phoebe could see her full-view. Extending her arms out at her sides, she looked at her skeptically. "Phoebe, I don't really look that pathetic, do I? Tell me the truth."

Phoebe blinked, and warily took in her best friend's appearance. She was wearing dirty, beat up old sneakers with two pairs of extra soft white socks, and a large pink dress that fell to her knees and bulged out over her massive stomach and boobs. Her greasy blond hair was thrown into a messy ponytail that did nothing to keep her bangs from falling into her eyes, the ends wild and split and in desperate need of a trim. Just looking at her was painful.

For a long moment she just stared, before the twirling of Helga's hand reminded her she was expecting a response, and she managed a highly intelligent, "Um…"

Helga let out a moan of anguish and turned away. "Oh, forget it. Let's just get what we came here for and split before this stupid conscience Arnold cursed me with acts up anymore."

As Helga positioned herself in front of the cart and started pushing it speedily down the aisle, Phoebe had to sprint to catch up and managed to fall into pace beside her long-legged friend. She eyed the dozen or so toasters piled in the cart as they walked. "You're really going to get all those?"

"Heck yeah, I am. It's only good business. You should get some too."

"I don't know if Gerald would approve of me endeavoring on such an enterprise without consulting him first." Phoebe smiled.

Helga snorted. "You kidding? This is right up Geraldo's alley. Besides, you could use the extra money for diapers." She stopped suddenly as a thought struck her, and hesitated. Phoebe skidded to a stop once she realized her friend was no longer at her side, and turned back to look at her patiently, waiting for her to speak. Looking down at her stomach, Helga reached up to sweep her bangs out of her eyes and tried to figure out how to word her question. Finally, she looked up into Phoebe's attentive, immaculately made up face, and asked quietly, "Did Gerald… I mean, does he act half as crazy as Arnold?"

Phoebe blinked and unconsciously glided her hands down over her stomach, and the small bulge that was growing there. Already, her and Gerald had one son, who was only about eight months old now, while she was four months pregnant. Gerald didn't waste any time.

Pursing her lips a moment, Phoebe answered with a cautious tone, "Well, he was definitely excited, and very attentive, as he is now."

Helga hung her head. "But not Arnold attentive, right? I'm right, aren't I? Arnold's nuts."

Phoebe smiled sympathetically. "He just wants to protect you, Helga."

"Since when do I need protecting?" Helga threw her head back and groaned, before she started walking again with the cart. Phoebe fell easily in pace with her this time. "I'm Helga G. Pataki, for Pete's sake. Pregnancy does not change that—in fact, it should only serve as further reminder. I am large and in charge and—Oh my gosh, peaches are on sale?" She grabbed as many as she could and loaded them into the cart, all the while looking ready to dissolve into tears of joy any second.

Phoebe looked on in concern. In the end, she decided it was best to try to change the subject. "Helga—that is—about the baby…"

Helga snapped her head around to look at her, her eyes wild. "What about him?"

"Gerald and I were thinking about names, and we both decided we really like your middle name…"

Helga looked at her blankly. "You want to name my son Geraldine?"

Phoebe's eyes went comically wide for just a moment before she giggled a little uneasily and shook her head. "No, no, Helga, I mean Gerald and I's baby. If it happens to be a girl, we'd really like to name her…" she looked at her apprehensively, beginning to wonder if it was such a good idea to bring this up after all, "after you."

Helga stared at her.

Phoebe stared back.

Finally, Helga blinked. "Okay, let me get this straight… You and Gerald, Gerald and you, both of you crazy kids—want to name your daughter Geraldine, my middle name, my middle name that I hate with every fiber of my being and have taken considerable pains to conceal from the entire world?"

Phoebe blinked twice, quickly. "Well, I believe Gerald mainly agreed with me on it because it has Gerald in it."

Helga stared at her expressionlessly for a long moment, and then… "Well, fuck." She shook her head violently and shuddered, before beginning briskly down the aisle leading to the condiments section. Phoebe followed after her anxiously.

"Please, Helga," Phoebe tried to explain. "I've always thought it was a lovely name, and as you will be her godmother, it only seems appropriate."

"Well, hey," she began evasively, her eyes looking anywhere but at Phoebe's pleading face, "Arnold's gonna be the godfather, why don't you name her Arnoldine instead—"

"Helga," Phoebe sighed.

"Fine!" Helga exploded, abruptly coming to a stop just so she could wave her arms around for emphasis. "Name her Geraldodine if you want to so badly, but don't come crying to me when she complains nonstop!" Letting out a breath forceful enough that she fell over the top of her cart, her forehead resting on her arms, she muttered helplessly, "Just…" She paused, before she stood back up and looked at Phoebe with a loaded expression, heavy with meaning, and Phoebe instinctively straightened her back. "Make it a middle name, okay? At least then she can hide it if she wants."

Phoebe smiled, understanding and gratefulness softening her features. "Okay. We can do that."

Helga nodded, and then, suddenly feeling a bit awkward arguing with a short pregnant Asian woman in the midst of a bunch of baked beans in the supermarket, began walking again, hoping to appear more normal. The couple customers that had been staring out of the corner of their eyes quickly averted their eyes. Phoebe followed after her, subdued.

The two friends shopped quietly for a while, exchanging words on prices and food and little else, until finally Helga found the mustard and oatmeal and hugged them both to her chest along with a couple peaches, letting out a shuddering sigh of profound satisfaction. She felt an excited rumble in her stomach and nodded her agreement, happily nuzzling at the food in her arms. "Yes, I know, little guy, I finally have it. At long last." She gazed upon the ingredients in her arms almost lustfully, giddy with the knowledge the awful craving she'd been having all day would soon be fulfilled. Meanwhile, Phoebe looked respectfully away, feeling like she was intruding on a private moment.

After several long moments of Helga whispering sweet nothings to the food, Phoebe decided it was time to bring her back to reality, and asked gently, "Helga, I was hoping to pick up some ice cream before we go."

Helga jolted slightly, as if shocked out of a dream, and looked placidly at her over her shoulder. "Oh. Yes. Of course. Let's go." Depositing her items carefully back into the cart, she grabbed hold of the handle and gestured for Phoebe to proceed.

As they walked towards the frozen section, which was way in the back of the store, Phoebe observed Helga muttering things under her breath more than once. After a while, she heard a mutter of, "Just calm it down, we'll be home soon…" and had to ask.

"Helga, have you thought of what you're going to name him yet?"

The only observable reaction to her query was a small twitch at the side of her mouth. They walked for a short time. Just as Phoebe was beginning to wonder if she was going to ignore her altogether, Helga muttered sarcastically, "Arnoldo Jr."

At the look she received from Phoebe, she chuckled lowly and switched it up, "Or Geraldine, like you said—that's got a real ring, doesn't it? Geraldine Shortman. All the boys'll be jealous. Or, oh," she grinned, just a tad viciously, "maybe we can name him after Arnold's pet pig. Wouldn't that be lovely? Ah, who am I kidding, they're all too good to pick just one! Why don't we combine them all together? Arnoldo Geraldine Abner Shortman." She snapped her fingers and chirped, "Perfect!"

Phoebe shook her head. "Helga, I know you've been suffering with this decision, but I feel you're taking this a bit too seriously. Is there any particular reason this is such a difficult task for you?"

"Oh, what?" She dropped the act, her hands tightening on the handle of the cart. "So maybe I'm afraid I'll pick something totally horrible and he'll hate me for the rest of his life. What's your point?" She sighed, keeping her eyes stoically ahead of herself as they walked. She knew there was no point in trying to evade the subject. None of her jokes, threats or clever diversions worked on Phoebe. Plus, there was something about Phoebe that made her feel like eighty-five pounds of heaping crazy nine-year-old all over again, and one look into her inquisitive, knowing little face made it impossible not to confess all. She'd make a great mother once her kids were old enough to get into trouble, she knew. Helga sincerely wished the little bastards luck.

Phoebe looked at her sympathetically. "I don't think he'll ever be able to hate you, Helga."

Helga shot her an incredulous look. "Have you ever seen a teenager, Phoebe? He's already a rowdy little bugger, I don't even want to think about what he'll be like in his teens."

Phoebe giggled and turned her eyes ahead, reaching a hand up to straighten her hair. "Perhaps I may make a suggestion?"

"Shoot."

"Perhaps you're focusing a little too much on yourself." Helga shot her a sharp look for that, but she continued unhindered, "You're worrying too much he'll be ashamed, like you are of your middle name. It's merely a matter of perception, though. Both Arnold, Gerald and I all think you have a lovely name, for example. Likewise, whatever name you give him, there will always be someone who doesn't like it—"

"But I don't want it to be him, Pheebs," she pressed, gritting her teeth slightly.

Phoebe smiled at her, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Then ask him."

Helga rolled her eyes. "Already tried that. Sorry. No dice. He refuses to help."

"There's a belief," Phoebe said, folding her arms to help shelter herself a bit from the cold, "that whatever name you choose for your child will affect the person they turn out to be. Maybe you could use that as a guide? What do you want him to be like?"

The wheel of their cart jumped and skittered as they passed by the frozen peas and corn, causing an unpleasant rattling sound that everyone ignored. At length, after a short pause for thought, Helga replied, "Strong. I want him to be strong, and brave, like his father." Phoebe nodded at her, encouraging her to keep going. "I don't want him to take any crap, or let anyone walk all over him, though. I want him to be… smart about things."

Phoebe smiled warmly. "Anything else?"

Helga took a few moments to think, before an almost dreamy look drifted over her profile as a smile gently curved the sides of her mouth. Her voice came out in a near-whisper, like this was a secret she didn't want anyone else to overhear, "Kind. I want him to be kind, like Arnold. Kind and considerate, and thoughtful. With a… good, generous nature." Biting her lip to hold back a sudden swell of emotion, she shook her head, bangs swinging, and rushed out in a strained voice, "I don't want him to be anything like me, Phoebe. I don't want him to ever feel like he has to hide himself, or run away from things. I don't want him to be afraid, ever, of anyone or anything."

Sucking in a sharp breath, she stopped suddenly and looked tearfully down at her stomach, gripping the cart tight enough to make her knuckles go white. She whispered fiercely, "You hear that, little guy? I'm not going to let anyone ever hurt you. Never, ever. It doesn't matter what we name you, you're perfect." She froze suddenly as it dawned on her. She was unable to move for a long second, stricken as she was, before a glow began in her eyes as she murmured, "Perfect… You're perfect. No matter what your name is." She sniffled, smiling with a look of pure joy.

Phoebe bit her lip to keep from crying herself and hastily dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, careful not to smudge her make up.

"Oh… God." She looked up excitedly, grinning at Phoebe, her blue eyes positively luminous beneath bright, scraggly blonde bangs. "I've got to tell Arnold."

And just like that she gasped in pain, and fell back against a large display of cheeses, knocking half of them off the table. Phoebe looked at her in alarm, her eyes bulged, too shocked to speak.

Harold decided this would be a good time to show up out of nowhere and grin at them both. "Hey, guys! Funny running into you here, I—" His eyes came to rest on the deep cringe on Helga's face, and then down to the puddle that had just appeared out of nowhere, and was quickly spreading out across the linoleum floors. "Oh… Oh, oh, I did not need to see that—"

Phoebe finally managed to make a sound, but it was but a squeak. Then at last, she blurted out, "Helga, your water broke!"

Just then a contraction hit, and Helga's face contorted just a split-second before she threw her head back and unleashed an ear-shattering scream.

Meanwhile, all the way across town…

"Well, your resume is very impressive, sir. I can't seem to read your last name here, however…"

"It's Shortman," Arnold supplied, smiling at him kindly. "Arnold Shortman."

Principal Bartlett smiled widely at him. "Well, Mr. Shortman, I can't go solely off of paperwork. Tell me about yourself. Why do you want to be a teacher here at old P.S. 118?"

"I came here as a kid," Arnold explained, the fond twinkle in his eye already recommending him greatly to the principal. "I've always loved the school, and have always been passionate about helping people. For a long time I didn't know what to do with that passion, but one day when I was passing by the old lot where the fourth graders play, it just clicked. Children are our future, and what happens to them when they're young really affects the person they grow up to be. I want to head off negativity at the source, and educate our children not only on the subjects that will help them through adulthood, but also the correct way to behave and treat each other."

Principal Bartlett blinked at him, taken aback, before the wide smile from before came back full force. "Well, that's quite the speech. How can I say no to that?"

Arnold looked at him hopefully. "So I've got the job?"

Principal Bartlett beamed. "I'd say—"

Just then a piercing ring split Arnold's eardrums in two and made every muscle in his body tense up and violently jolt. It felt like his soul had just been set on fire. The next thing Arnold knew he was out of his chair and on the floor, holding his head in his hands in pure agony, groaning. Going by appearance only, it looked as if he'd just suffered a seizure.

Principal Bartlett stood up in alarm and leaned forward over his desk to look at him, shocked. "Mr. Shortman, are you okay? Do I need to call you a doctor?"

Arnold's eyes popped open at that and he sprung up, his jaw dropping. His eyes watered and he coughed a little, feeling sick to his stomach, and yet he looked up at what he hoped to be his future boss with the most jubilant, ecstatic expression the man had ever seen. "I'm going to have a baby."

He looked down at him with his eyebrows knit and mouth in a straight line, blinking. "Are you trying to tell me you're going to give birth, sir?"

Arnold didn't appear to have heard what he'd said, or to even see him, really. He just pushed himself up off of the floor and grabbed him by the hand with his eyes glassy with tears, and a grin that spread full across his wide football shaped head. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Bartlett, but we're going to have to pick this up later. I'm going to be a dad!" He burst into a watery laugh and then all but ran from the room, not bothering to shut the door on his way out.

Principal Bartlett stared at the door for a long moment, confounded, before falling gracelessly back into his chair. He scratched his head. "Of all the strange things I've seen…" After staring ahead of himself a few moments, he shrugged and reached for his approval stamp. "I've seen crazier. He's got the job."

"Principal Bartlett," a deep voice came from the doorway, distracting Mr. Bartlett from his purpose. He looked up, and came to see a very skinny, tall orange-haired man in the doorway, with dark green eyes and a crisp black business suit.

Mr. Bartlett leaned back in his chair and offered a welcoming smile, gesturing for him to sit. "Hello, how may I help you?"

The man came across the room and sat down, calmly. He didn't even blink. "I'm here for the fourth grade teaching position."

The principal blinked in surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry. I already gave the position—"

The man held his hand up. "No. Protocol says you must interview me as well before you make any decisions. I called ahead. I was sent in. I'm here." He reached into his coat and pulled out a thick stack of papers all stapled together, and placed them down on the desk before him. He sat back in his seat then and folded his hands in his lap, smiling only faintly, as if the effort gave him pain. "Interview me."

Principal Bartlett stared at the large stack on his desk, and leaned forward to see the words "Resume" in large, intimidating print on the very first, front page. Blinking, he shifted his eyes up to look at the man. He tried for a smile, but it came out small and hesitant. "All right… May I ask your name?"

Once again, he did not blink. "Nicholas. Nicholas L. O. Deon." His smile twitched. "But please, call me Nick."

"Oh, sweet Heavenly creation, I am going to die!"

"Helga, you're doing fine—"

"No, I'm not, you don't understand! I'm going to keel over right here, this is the end and—Oh holy shit, you little bastard, to think I was speaking so lovingly of you not four hours ago—"

"Helga, I promise you, it'll all be over soon, you just have to keep pushing."

"Don't you tell me what to do, you football headed pipsqueak! I oughta pound you into the ground and never let you touch me again for all the good you've done me! Some sweet, gentle little love god you've turned out to be! And you," she turned her feral eyes down onto the doctor who was trembling between her legs, "what kind a doctor are you? Where'd you get your degree? Crackhead University?"

The doctor burst into tears. "Yes! Yes, it's true! I'm a terrible doctor! I only became one because my parents pressured me into it!" He openly sobbed, shaking his head rapidly to try to clear his eyes of the tears so he could see what he was doing.

Arnold hid a grimace. "That's… Okay. Look, Helga." He turned his head back to her and grabbed her hand in both of his, stroking it as soothingly as he could and pressing a kiss to her fingers. "Everything is going to be fine. We're going to have a beautiful baby boy and all of this will just be nothing but a memory. This is only the beginning—"

"Only the beginning?" Helga screeched in horrified indignation, causing the doctor and all the nurses to wince.

Arnold leaned closer and shushed her, leaning his forehead against the side of her head. "Shhh, shh, I didn't mean it like that. I mean we are going to have a beautiful family, and a white fence and grass and birds and anything else you want. We're going to be a family, you, me, and our son. You just have to keep pushing. Push for our future, Helga. You've never been one to give under pressure, you're too strong for that, and that's why I love you. That's what you need to do, Helga. Be the woman I love. Push."

Tears streamed down Helga's cheeks as she stared at him with a strained, wide-eyed expression. "You… You… Damn it, shut the fuck up! You infuriating man, stop being perfect and let me hate you!" She screamed out the last part as she gave another hard push, putting all of her heart and soul into it, and the next thing either one knew, there was a sharp cry echoing across the walls.

The doctor hastily handed the baby over to the nurse and yanked his gloves off so he could wipe the tears of relief from his eyes, still struggling to quell his loud sobs.

Helga, in her exhausted, heavily-breathing state, managed one final offense. Plucking a bobby pin out from her hair that Phoebe had put in on the way here to keep her bangs out of her face, she threw it at him and managed to get it lodged into his nostril. The doctor yelped and burst into an entirely new round of tears, before running from the room to scream his resignation through the halls.

She fell back against the pillows as soon as he'd left and threw her head back, already half passed out. Arnold stared at her in awe for a couple seconds that felt more like centuries, before he slowly turned his head, feeling like it was suddenly made of taffy, and looked at the startled nurse holding his son in her arms.

Finally, she snapped out of whatever stupor she'd been put under by the last four hours and smiled nervously at Arnold, holding the newborn closer. "Um, I'll just go clean him up and be right back." She turned to walk out the door.

Helga managed to peek through the led that had become her eyelids and lift a weak hand in the woman's direction, her voice hoarse as she mumbled, "After her… Follow that heartless bitch."

Arnold could do nothing but obey.

When Arnold walked through the doors of the delivery room and into the hall, he was in a haze. Everything appeared dream-like and surreal, and he could hardly seem to catch his breath. So naturally having Gerald, Phoebe and Harold all jump on him with questions left and right startled him a bit.

"How is she? Is everything okay?"

"Hey, man, how did you survive all that shouting? We could hear her screams all the way from the outside!"

"A doctor came running out crying and holding his nose, what the heck was that about—"

"Guys, guys," Arnold said tiredly, gesturing his hands out for them to calm down. "Calm down. Helga's fine, she did great. I was deaf the entire time I was in there, so I couldn't hear anything, and as for the doctor—No comment. Gerald," he looked at him purposely, making Gerald's eyes widen, "did a nurse pass by here? And can you follow her? She has our son and Helga wanted me to go after her, but I can't leave her, not after all that. Keep an eye, make sure everything's okay?" He looked at him anxiously.

Gerald chuckled at the grievous look on his face and nodded, patting him swiftly on the back before beginning down the hall. He spoke over his shoulder, "No prob, I'll go catch up with her and make sure she doesn't pull any funny business. You attend to your wife." He shot a finger off his forehead and turned to sprint down the hall, chuckling all the while. "Ah, first timers."

Still a bit out of it, Arnold turned his head to look at Harold. His face twisted into a look of vague confusion, his eyes hazed. "Not that you're not welcome, Harold, but why exactly are you here again?"

He looked even more lost than he was, on top of deeply disturbed. "I have no idea."

She didn't know how much time had passed. Neither did Arnold.

Every second felt like an hour, and the harder they stared at the door, willing it to open, the less likely it seemed it ever would.

So the two new parents held onto each other instead, and breathed silently against each other, trying to forget time existed.

After a while, Helga heard his breathing spike and managed to whisper, trying to distract him, "You don't have to worry about me anymore."

He opened his eyes just enough to look at her questioningly.

She smiled, small though it was. "You know, you've been staring at me with those big green puppy dog eyes of yours for months now—now that it's all over, you can relax."

He stared at her, before he lightly shook his head. "I'll always worry about you, Helga. I just don't want anything to happen to you. Or our son."

She flicked her eyes away, frowning. "I don't need protecting, Arnold. I'm fine. Really. Save it for the baby."

In a completely opposite reaction to her speech than she intended, his brow only seemed to wrinkle all the more, and she winced at his unhappy response, "Helga, we're family now, you're my wife. I know you're used to being independent, but you're not alone anymore." He tightened his hold around her shoulders. "You need to let me care about you."

She swallowed a little, her mouth suddenly feeling a little dry. "I know, it's just… You seem so stressed lately, I don't want to be another burden on you, and if you could just let up a little…" She bit her lip.

He paused. And then his shoulders drooped, his entire body resting limply against her. She didn't mind. "I'm sorry. I guess I've just been a little afraid." He made a small imperceptible shake of his head. "You could never be a burden to me, Helga. Please know that."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining in the light overhead. "What are you afraid of?"

He met her gaze bashfully, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, as if he were embarrassed to admit this. "It seems a little too good to be true, I guess. I just wanted to make sure nothing went wrong. I still want that. I want you to always be safe."

Her eyes shone, before she looked hastily away and blinked her eyes furiously. "Okay. Husband or not, if you make me cry before the baby does, I will punch you." He laughed.

At long last, the door was heard opening, and they both snapped their heads around in time to see the nurse walking cautiously towards them, a small blue bundle in her arms.

Immediately Helga gave a small cry and held her arms out. The nurse flinched, but at seeing the pleading, desperate look on the woman's face, she softened and stepped forward.

Arnold stepped out of the way so she could come to stand beside Helga's bed and place the newborn into her arms. The small woman spoke gently to Helga as she handed him over, "You need to support the head and—there. Just like that. You're a natural." Carefully, she extracted her arms and smiled at her, happy to see the terrifying woman had such a soft side. She had been afraid she would make a horrible mother, but it seemed she was being proved wrong very fast, and was relieved for it.

Indeed, Helga was staring in awe of the tiny creature supported in her arms. He was looking up at her with the biggest, bluest eyes she had ever seen, with pale skin and an unruly patch of sunshine hair on his head. He looked so innocent and pure in her arms like that, cocooned in a soft blue blanket, and she couldn't fathom how such a perfect little angel was the evil creature that had been kicking her in the stomach all these months.

She spoke softly, her vision blurring from the tears gathering in her eyes, "Why, you're not a bastard at all." She giggled, feeling more out of her mind than she had in all her twenty-three years, and utterly incandescently happy about it. She exhaled unsteadily and gently shook her head, unable to take her eyes off of him. "Oh, criminy, I can't believe those were the first words I ever spoke to you. I'm a real basket case." Her son tilted his head at her and blinked. He looked just as in awe of her as she was of him, and the thought of that made it impossible not to choke on a sob.

Arnold stepped forward again after the nurse walked away. As soon as he leaned over the bed to look at him, his son shifted his eyes on him, and Arnold forgot to breathe. The first moment of eye contact between father and son is a very telling thing, and the moment Arnold looked into his little boy's eyes, he knew that he was lost.

Arnold gulped and finally managed to inhale a large gust of air, just in time for tears to prick his eyes. "Oh, Helga, he's perfect."

Helga giggled again, and wondered for a brief moment if she'd ever be able to do anything but giggle ever again. "I know. Oh, criminy, Arnold, I know." She leaned forward slightly and nuzzled his small puff of hair with her nose, feeling like her face was going to break if she smiled even a millimeter more. She whimpered, "Just like his father. He's perfect." The baby turned his head up to try to look at her, his mouth in a small 'o.'

Arnold gave a short laugh that came out as nothing but sputtering puffs of breath. "Just like his father? Helga, he looks just like you."

She shook her head, refusing to move her head from it's spot. She'd swear to it for years to come—he smelled like Arnold. He smelled just like him. She breathed softly. "It's too soon to tell. He's got your hair, though… Your ridiculous hair." She laughed quietly. "That's already apparent."

Arnold gulped again and leaned even closer than before, his spread hands supporting him on the bed as he looked on, emotion heavy in his expression. "Can… Can I hold him?"

Helga's eyes popped open in horror at the idea of letting him go, but one look up into Arnold's wide-eyed, vulnerable face made her realize this was just as important to him as it was to her. Taking quick breaths in and out, like she'd learned in class, she mentally whipped herself and held her arms out for him to take him.

Arnold stared down at him in shock for a moment, as if he hadn't expected her to comply, before he shot her a grateful look and carefully took the baby from her arms. Once again, he found himself holding his breath as he adjusted the babe in his arms, all the while staring into his wide, mystified blue eyes. Helga reached up to tuck the blanket a little tighter as he did, and he swallowed, not even realizing he was grinning. Task complete, Helga sat back in the bed and watched them, her two men, and felt an enchanted look drift across her face. They looked so happy together, like they belonged, and they were all hers. She felt tears run silently down her cheeks as she looked on, unable and unwilling to tear her eyes away.

Arnold felt himself swaying a little subconsciously as he stared, just stared, not knowing what else to do. His son was looking at him so intently, and he found himself wondering what was going through his mind—what he was feeling—if babies could even think. But most of all, he wondered if he had any idea how much he loved him already, before he'd even gotten to know him.

He decided he should know, so, quietly, he whispered, "You don't need to silence nature to make your birth a miracle. You're perfect just as you are." He kissed his forehead, and was struck by how soft and undamaged the skin there was. He smiled a little, trembling. "My little boy… I won't let anything ever happen to you. I'll never leave you. I will always be here, rain or shine. Always." He managed to adjust it so he could reach a hand up and stroke his hair back, marveling at how his eyelids fluttered. "I promise." His son yawned and leaned against him, his eyes fluttering shut. Arnold could only stare, enraptured, a sudden lump in his throat that he couldn't speak over.

After a while, when he felt he could look away, or breathe, or remember that there was a world outside of pale blue blankets and tiny faces, he looked up at his wife and was both endeared and disappointed to find she was fast asleep. There was a smile on her face that gratified him, though, and he took his time with dragging a chair over so he could sit at her side and hold their son while they both slept off the harrowing experience that was child birth, and then…

He lost track of time.

Helga drifted in and out of a dead sleep, never once opening her eyes, though a couple times she was aware that she was conscious for a half second before she fell back into the abyss.

Finally, consciousness actually lasted long enough for her to have time to think, and the memory of wide blue eyes pierced through her mind and made her eyes fly open.

In a sudden panic, she snapped her head around to look for her husband and baby, but calmed down when she made eye contact with her husband. He was sitting beside her, his eyes wide and face unusually pale in the dim light. Lowering her gaze a little, she saw her son likewise staring at her, his little jaw slack and face even chubbier and more precious than she remembered. A tremulous smile lit up her features.

Arnold seemed to relax after seeing her smile, and even managed to offer one of his more stable ones back. He seemed reluctant, but after a couple moments asked, "Do you want to hold him again, Mrs. Shortman?"

Helga snorted and held her arms out eagerly. "Doi."

He chuckled warmly and stood from his chair so he could lean over and carefully place the small bundle into her arms. It was the second time she'd gotten to hold her son, but it felt like the first time all over again, and she found all she could do for a long time was stare dumbly into his smiling, happy little face.

Blinking, she asked, "What did you do to make him smile like that?"

Arnold settled back into his chair and scooted closer to the bed, before relaxing back into it and smiling one of those quiet, secretive little smiles he had. You know the ones, the ones that made Helga want to simultaneously punch his lights out and kiss him senseless. "I just told him a story."

Somehow, she didn't know how, she managed to tear her eyes away from her son's face long enough to look at her husband inquiringly. "A story about what?"

He smirked slightly. "Just what an incredible woman his mother is."

Helga tried to glare at him for having such a cheeky look on his face while he said that, but it was weak at best and she knew it. She didn't care. She smiled. "You made sure to inform him that she is utterly void of flaws and absolutely amazing in every way, I'm sure?"

Arnold bobbed his head once. "Naturally."

"And that she takes lip from no one so he shouldn't ever try to go against her?"

"Of course."

"Very good then." Helga smirked. "I'm pleased with your work, soldier. You shall live another day."

He nodded his head solemnly. "I thank you."

A small giggle rang out suddenly that came from neither parent, and they both snapped their eyes down to see their son giggling at them, his eyes scrunched and twinkling. Both parents melted.

"His first laugh," Arnold mumbled.

Helga made a small nod. "And it was at our expense… That's not a good sign at all, is it?"

"I think it means he's got a little Helga in him." He smirked, shifting forward in his chair so he could lean over on the bed and get a better look at him. His look was dreamy and warm as he asked, unthinking, "What are we gonna call him?"

Helga's eyes widened, and then lit up, and she looked over at him with a blithe, joy-filled expression. "Oh, Arnold… Don't you see?" He blinked at her, and she took it as a sign of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, she excitedly declared, "The name doesn't matter! All that matters is that we love him." She beamed.

He stared at her. "Helga, that's a lovely sentiment, but we need something to call him."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, amazed at how adept he was at missing the point, before she chuckled and rolled her eyes. "I know that, numbskull. I just—" She huffed, still overwhelmed with amusement. "Oh, forget it. Let me think." The baby giggled again, and Helga looked at him with a surprised smile, her eyes suddenly bursting with adoration.

She stared down at their son for time she didn't bother to count, watching rapt as he looked between her and his father, that laughing, mischievous little smile still on his face. A dozen names flew through her mind in that moment as she watched him, but in the end only one really stuck in her mind, and she found herself speaking almost out of instinct, "Zachary. Zachary Taylor Shortman."

Arnold shot his eyes to her, surprised. "The president?"

She nodded, a small smile spreading across her face. "Yes. I've been doing a lot of research on him for my book, Arnold, and I've gotta say, the man was a real badass. Brave, and strong, and always ready at a moment's notice to fight for his country. I want our son to be like that, in a way—brave, like you, and willing to stand up for himself and the family." Pausing a moment, she licked her lips before reciting, "He once said, 'I shall pursue a straight forward course deviating neither to the right or left so that comes what may I hope my real friends will never have to blush for me, so far as truth, honesty & fair dealings are concerned.'" She looked at Arnold meaningfully. "That's what I want for our son." Arnold stared at her, touched.

She frowned slightly then, and looked away. "He did own slaves, though."

Arnold smiled a little sadly. "A lot of people did back then, Helga."

"I know… He was the last in office to own them, though, so I'd like to think of it more as a metaphor for the beginning of the end of a very dark time, as that is what I would like to think of our son as… I don't really want to name him Abraham Lincoln or anything anyway." She chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, and completely missing the look of thoughtfulness that passed over Arnold's features when the name was mentioned. She went on in a tone made of air, "Besides, the more I think about it, the more I like it… Zachary." She held him up slightly, looking on his flushed, happy little face with pride. "Zachary T. Shortman. It sounds good, doesn't it?"

Arnold smiled widely, gazing at their son with all the love in the world. "It really does. I like it." He paused a moment. "Zachary… Zachary Taylor." He pursed his lips, tasting the name on his tongue, before he tried, "Zach. Zach Shortman." He grinned. "I really do. I like it."

Helga beamed back at him, hugging their son to her chest. "Zachary it is then!"

Zach giggled, and both parents took it as a sign of approval.

Nine years later

"And just where do you think you're going, young man?"

Zack froze in the doorway, one foot out the door and a hand on the door handle.

Helga towered over him with her hands on her hips, casting him almost completely in shadow. She looked, lips pursed, between her son and the half-open door several times, affronted, and put a possessive hand on the door. He didn't turn to look at her. "Is there any particular reason you were trying to leave…" the severe look on her face broke suddenly, and she grinned, "without giving your mother a hug?"

Zack snapped his head around to look up at her, his big blue eyes hidden behind a thick pair of pitch black sunglasses. He brought his leg back out of the door and turned to her, his hands fumbling behind his back as he looked down at the floor. "I was just gonna go out to Gerald Field to play with the other kids. I told Dad."

Helga tilted her head down at him. "That's very good, Zack, but it doesn't explain why you thought it was okay to just leave for the entire afternoon without first hugging your poor, lonely mom." She slouched forward, frowning dramatically. "I do feel so neglected sometimes."

He just stared down at the floor. Finally, after a moment he took a step forward, and Helga dropped down to her knee and held her arms out for him. He obediently put his arms around her and lightly squeezed. She hugged him back with a little more enthusiasm, and peppered the top of his head with kisses. For a split second, she felt his hold get almost painfully tight, and his fingers dug into her back, but then it was over and he was pulling back.

Helga obligingly pulled her arms back, but grumbled under her breath while she did it, trying to make him smile at her. He pursed his lips at her instead, with those ridiculous glasses of his, and she raised an eyebrow at him in genuine curiosity, bemused. "What's the glasses for, huh, Slick? You trying to look cool?"

Zack snorted and nodded his head rapidly, putting a hand lightly on the edge of the glasses. "Oh, yeah, they're all the rage, I hear. You… You know me, always gotta keep up with the hottest fashions." He bit the inside of his cheek.

She smirked at him, her eyes half-mast. "Take them off for me, will ya? I wanna see those big beautiful eyes of yours one more time before you abandon me."

Zack paused a moment, before he nodded and took the glasses off, revealing one dark ocean blue eye… and one black eye patch. He offered her a tiny smile in response to the surprised look on her face, and muttered, abashed, "Uh… We're playing pirate ship today. It's mandatory." She blinked a couple times and opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it, "I'm gonna have to ask you not to tell me to take it off, ma'am, what you'll see underneath is not a pretty sight."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Of course. How inconsiderate of me." Shaking her head at his antics, she stood up from the floor and opened the door for him, gesturing impassively for him to go. "Well, you'd better set sail then, if you want to make it there before dawn."

Zack placed his sunglasses back on with rapid speed and saluted her, before rushing out the door. Helga stared after him for a long time, just watching his blue and blond body get smaller and smaller the farther away he ran.

Large hands slid down over her shoulders. A soothing, warm presence had appeared directly behind her, and she didn't have to turn to know who it was. She wasn't sure she could have, anyway. Arnold hugged her to his front, smiling as Zack disappeared around a corner before shutting the door. Helga allowed him to do so, but still kept her eyes locked to the same spot where, beyond all the doors and walls and brownstone, she knew he'd fled off to.

Her husband kissed the side of her head and warmly muttered, the words falling like hot molasses over her ears, as he had apparently been witness to the exchange, "He's just like you, you know. Just like his mother." He breathed in her hair.

Helga just stared at the door. "Yeah… Just like his mother."

A/N: HOLY TITANIUM HIPBONES, BATMAN, THAT'S GOTTA BE THE FLUFFIEST THING I HAVE EVER WRITTEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE *Sets keyboard ablaze*

And, just... omg. Principal Bartlett and Nicholas L. O. Deon… I am a horrible person. XD

SO anyway, I know newborns usually have their eyes, like, closed, or whatever, but I decided to go with cartoon logic here since it's more fun (Arnold came out perfectly clean and giggling, for example, LOL), and because according to my mom newborn children IRL are ugly as hell… Except for me, I was born fabulous with a purple silk-crushed sombrero and rainbow sparkles. ;D

No.

But anywho, I really felt like this was long overdue. xD I might do one for each, I really have no idea. This was written relatively quickly, but that doesn't mean it was easy. XD Nothing ever is nowadays. e_e

I have a dentist appointment today. D: Which basically translates into: I'M GOING TO BE SHEDDING TEN YEARS OFF MY LIFE TODAY. YES, YES, JOLLY GOOD. WON'T THAT BE FUN, YES, NOT EXCRUCIATING AT ALL. MEH. I basically wrote this because it's the only joy I'll probably be getting out of today. XD So if you liked even the tiniest bit of this piece of amphibian dog sh!te... won't you tell me, dear? :3

IF YOU DON'T REVIEW, I WILL BAWL LIKE A DOCTOR.

Just kidding! :'D

Or am I? D:

Other delightful quotes from Zachary Taylor: "I have no private purpose to accomplish, no party objectives to build up, no enemies to punish—nothing to serve but my country."

"It eminently becomes a government like our own, founded on the morality and intelligence of its citizens and upheld by their affections, to exhaust every resort of honorable diplomacy before appealing to arms."

"It would be judicious to act with magnanimity towards a prostrate foe."

"The ladies love the brow."

Ow.

REVIEW!