A/N: A big thank you to all the readers that took the time to offer their frank and candid feedback on chapter nine. While I can totally see where the style and execution was jarring and maybe even an unwelcome departure from my typical prose, ultimately last chapter has some of the best prose I've ever written and I stand by it. A close fan turned me onto the literary concept of "The Dark Night of the Soul," and without meaning to that is precisely what I wrote into the story. After the false climax of chapter six and the dramatic turn of chapter seven, the dramatic and challenging and uncomfortable poetic form of chapter nine ultimately accomplished what I needed and wanted: to get you in Helga's head. It's a dramatic place to be, as some of you pointed out. :)

Chapter 10 is a grab-bag of POVs, intended to give you more back story and clarify some things.

Please R/R and follow if you like the story! This will likely be the only story I ever write at before I start something I intend to publish. Your criticism and critique gives me valuable experience in editing my work and creating believable plots. And your dedication and commitment to interest in my work gives me the confidence to keep going!

Keeping Arnold, Chapter 10: Gun-Toting Urchins

"For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first." - Suzanne Collins

Rhonda held her hand over her mouth, too shocked to offer one of her typically snappy retorts or witty rebuttals to Lila's world-changing revelation, delivered moments ago by that very same girl in tearful, emotive confession: she was engaged to Arnold.

Needless to say, this changed matters considerably.

Rhonda wasn't one to pay too much stock in most relationships. She'd had her hand in ruining several, in fact, and was quite proud of the fact that she had the skill and subtlety necessary to squeeze a couple's weaknesses until their bonds shattered. In her inestimably lofty opinion, any pairing that couldn't withstand her simple ministrations was doomed to part eventually anyway. It helped keep her conscience clear that she'd only ever broken up teenage romances, and young love is cheap; I mean, it's everywhere. It can't be worth much.

But an adult betrothment, between two beautiful people with kind, nurturing souls and, as far as she knew, totally clean rap sheets? That was a rare jewel, expensive as it was needful, and she was not some emotionless harpy that could so easily and effortlessly discard the significance in the binding of a gold ring studded with diamonds. The sheer ceremony alone in a man, taking bended knee before his beloved, and offering up whatever lowly sum of his life he could to the girl standing before him was enough to give Rhonda significant romantic pause.

She had a soft spot for weddings, and engagements, largely because she couldn't possibly imagine herself ever accepting a proposal to anyone (nobody would ever be worthy), and that made it a covetous, enviable item indeed.

"You and Arnold were engaged?" All she could manage was a shocked reiteration of the very statement Lila just pronounced, offered in disbelief as a question she required additional confirmation to accept.

"Yes, I'm ever so sorry to say that we were engaged to be married. We'd even set a date, oh-so romantically on Christmas Day. My Arnold sure knows how to woo a lady." Lila's heartbreak was audible in her recounting the story.

"D-d-details. Give me details, please, Lila, please darling, explain what you mean. I can't, this is just, I mean can you explain what you mean?" Rhonda struggled with herself. Sid stared at her from across the room, sitting shirtless against the backboard of the hotel bed. His look was quizzical. He'd heard Rhonda. The confusion was just as clear on his face as well.

"Well, I'm ever so sure I mean exactly what I said, Rhonda. Arnold asked me to marry him not so long ago, and I was just oh so happy and deliriously head-over-heels for the sweet boy that I said yes. And then tonight, he broke the engagement off, leaving me awfully confused and heartbroken."

"He did what?" Rhonda felt herself grow immeasurably angry. Arnold, that dog. He broke off his engagement to sweet Lila Sawyer so that he could play around with nasty, impossible Helga. On what planet did that make sense? By what authority did he ruin a life so that he could ruin his own with Pataki, of all people? She felt sickened that she had helped the couple come together tonight, even getting up on stage to shake her moneymaker for God's sake.

"Yes, I'm afraid he broke off the engagement just a few hours ago. Right before he left for some party."

"Yes, the party. I was there, with him. Do you know about Helga?"

"Helga?" Lila sounded a little surprised. "Well...I know that she had never written him back any letters, and we've talked many many times at great length about his ever so unresolved issues of abandonment with Helga. I suspect it was a simple transference of his feelings of abandonment from his parents, once he found them. Arnold never agreed. I assumed he would probably attempt to get the closure he needed from Helga as part of his visit to Hillwood...but that's all I know about Helga. Why? What do you know? What happened?"

Rhonda listened with increasing fury and impatience. Arnold didn't even tell his fiancée that he was off cherry picking back home with Pataki. She honestly couldn't believe how out of character it was for Arnold. She'd even kissed him, the snake.

"Arnold and Helga left the party together." No use in hiding the truth from her. Lila deserved better.

A long pause of silence. Lila didn't seem to be on the line, until Rhonda was about to check if the line had disconnected and Lila finally spoke.

"It was bound to happen eventually, I suppose." The saddened resignation in her voice killed Rhonda.

Rhonda liked Lila. Loved her, even. Lila and Rhonda had been very good friends in the past, and before all the ugliness with Fuzzy Slippers, practically bosom buddies. Sisters from another mister. Rhonda kicked herself for not keeping in touch with Sawyer after she left; the busy demands of ruling a High School had simply taken her attentions elsewhere. The fact that she hadn't even kept Lila's phone number was unforgivably sloppy of her.

"But Lila, you reached out to me specifically with a request for help. You said only I could do it. What is it?"

"Ah, well, it seems you already helped me. I was hoping you could keep an eye on Arnold for me...make sure he didn't get into any trouble before I get to Hillwood."

"You're coming here?" Rhonda couldn't imagine Lila now, much older than her teenage self and so much more mature. It would be a sight.

"As soon as I am able to make arrangements with a hotel with wheelchair access."

"Wheelchair access? What in the blazes are you talking about, Lila?"

A sad tale indeed unfolded, a tale of Lila following Arnold bravely into the jungles, of risking her life and paying the price of her healthy legs to save him from a deadly fall. Rhonda couldn't believe her ears. It sounded like an exceptionally complex teenage drama, not very much like real life.

"Once I was injured, Arnold became very sullen and, well, distant. I assumed it was because he was ever so nervous to ask me to marry him, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was because being with me just reminded him of how much he wanted to be with Helga instead."

"He doesn't deserve your kindness, Lila. Not if any of this is true."

"I am afraid all of it is," she added. "Every ugly word."

Rhonda glanced at Sid; he looked back at her, only hearing half of the conversation but visibly shaken nonetheless. He shook his shoulders, pantomiming that he had no idea what to do.

Rhonda knew what to do, however.

"I can help you, Lila." Rhonda's voice had a determined cast.

"How? I'm ever so certain what's done has been done."

"Maybe, maybe not. I'll find out, and fast. If there's anyone that can help you in Hillwood, it's me. I'm just going to verify some things first, but then I will be your eyes and ears in Hillwood. I can't believe Arnold, and Helga is no better."

"Well, maybe there's one teensy thing you can do for me." A pregnant pause filled the spaces between Rhonda's guesses as to what she might mean. "Just find out how things went after they left the party."

"That's already on my to-do list, Lila. Don't worry. You're in good hands."

The two girls parted ways and Rhonda sat pensively at the little dark wood desk opposite the hotel bed, mind racing.

Lila leaves Hillwood after the Fuzzy Slippers incident. Years later, her parents pass. Arnold leaves San Lorenzo to spend time with her. They both go back to San Lorenzo. Arnold falls down a mountain or something, and then Lila gets put in a wheelchair saving him. They come back to her farm, where Arnold proposes to her. Arnold comes back to Hillwood. Phoebe and Gerald organize this big party with Helga as the main focus. Arnold breaks up with Lila, and hooks up with Helga. That's about it, I think.

She pressed her fingers into her eyes.

"What's up, baby? Everything okay?" Sid's genuine concern would have touched her heart were she not busy.

"No, not in the slightest. Arnold's not the perfect Angel we all remember, and I aim to test this little fling of his with Helga."

"This all sounds pretty uncool of him. I bet it's all a misunderstanding. It doesn't seem like Arnold."

"No, it certainly doesn't. I need eyes on the street, Sid." She turned around to face him. "Get the word out to your peons. Anyone sees Pataki, I want pictures of her. Maybe we'll get lucky and get her mid walk of shame."

"Sure, baby. But why?" Sid was obediently cutting a fresh line for her. She adored his anticipation of her needs usually. Now she just found it slightly irksome.

"We're going to resurrect the ghost of Fuzzy Slippers, and see if we can't scare up some trouble. I want to sow a little chaos in Arnold and Helga's world right now, and see what pops up."

"Fuzzy Slippers? That guy the fucked with everybody's lives? Are you sure you wanna make people think he's back?"

"Just a little bogeyman to keep everyone honest and nervous. I get the feeling that Phoebe and Gerald knew a lot more about this whole situation than they let on, and I aim to get answers."

Rhonda drummed her fingers on the wood table impatiently.

Now we just hope the real Fuzzy Slippers doesn't notice, or this is going to get ugly.

Lila set the phone down, a soft smile on her lips. It was done. The pieces were put into place.

One of the things she loved the most about taking the mantle of Fuzzy Slippers was how effortless the role was. She was so well liked, respected, and trusted by the kids of PS118 that there was virtually no secret kept safe from her ears. People came to her as a natural course when they had something dreadful to hide.

It was what made it a natural fit when she took the job from the previous owner. She had appreciated the subtle, hands-off approach he had taken before her, spreading fun rumors and tall tales to excite his friends in secret.

She had other uses for the role.

At first, it was just something to keep her busy when Arnold left. She found that she missed the constant attention and friendship from the sweet boy more than she had anticipated or expected. A vacuum of kindness made itself present in her heart, and over many months this vacancy became a bitterness she could not articulate. It troubled Lila when she would feel angry with the people of PS118 for moving along as if their lives weren't noticeably worse without him around. It was a disturbing realization that she felt jealous of the time they had with him before he left and had suddenly seemed to take for granted. It felt vulgar to her preteen heart that such a wonderful boy could vanish from their lives and nobody seemed to notice.

This wasn't the full truth, however. She knew that now, as an adult. Regrets piled in her uselessly, and Lila never had time for old discarded dirty laundry. Her past was imperfect. She was cruel, when things began to overwhelm her. She shocked herself with her ability to attack. The pieces of herself that floated in a sea of frustration had coalesced by the time she was fourteen into a secretly vicious huntress. Weaknesses and fault in her friends were punished immediately with exposure. Guilt for what she was doing was outweighed by the outrage that they tried to escape the costs of their behaviors.

Everything changed when she "lost" her little book. Truthfully, it was just one of two redundant copies she kept in secret ciphers, two books catalogued and carefully maintained with every secret and ugly mistake of everyone she knew. If Arnold wasn't around to keep people in check with his kindness, Lila would use her kindness as a weapon to humiliate them into obedient deference to the best qualities within them her Arnold continuously had sought to draw out.

It was not a difficult transformation for her. Before her arrival at Hillwood, the cheery and sunny girl they all knew as Lila barely existed as anything except an idea. A notion that she could-should-start fresh with a less antagonistic existence in her new home. The farm community she left behind lost itself a gossiping, teasing, sometimes simply too-honest girl with a wide grin and knowing eyes; Hillwood earned itself the kind, patient, ever positive sun-dappled young lady with simply folded hands and a demure smile. It was a necessary change, and Arnold's unwelcome initial attentions the only wrinkle in her otherwise well executed, and indeed sincerely meant, transmutation into the Lila Sawyer PS118 knew.

Her slow reversal back to that unhappy child, an only child lonely on a large farm, too smart, too clever, too hungry for more outside the boundaries her upbringing gave her was so insidiously gradual that by the time she was running from Phoebe and Gerald it was too late. She had to stay a step ahead of them, at any cost, let everything fall apart. The only remorse inside her for the ugly things she revealed as Fuzzy Slippers to get in their way was that they had been clever enough to get close to the real answer.

"Losing" one of the copies of her book of secrets was a way out.

Once Gerald and Phoebe believed they had inflicted a mortal psychological wound on Fuzzy Slippers by getting the book, their pursuit ended so long as she kept her temptation to attack in check.

The decision to move back to her farm was posited by her father once their family finances had been finally put back in order. She had no hesitation in her saddened heart when she agreed. Hillwood was a skeleton of something to her by then. A pitiable reminder of her at her most powerful, savage and beautiful and secretly moving everything, but also of the absent feeling in her heart when she observed the friends she had come to resent together, enjoying each other's company.

Arnold was the only one she had never found fault with, and who defied even her careful scrutiny for something to disappoint her silent judgements. In his letters he waned between the admiration of the romance of adventure, to profound political declarations and sincere vows to change whatever he could with his young and not yet matured powers. He spoke to her frankly, confessing more than once his latent feelings for her, and for Helga, the confusion he felt when he wrote to her on the topic, and his hopeless hurt that Helga never saw fit to write him back. She genuinely fell in love with him, despite herself, wooed by words more wonderful than every clumsy romantic gesture he had ever attempted as children, made less hateful of herself and the memories she stacked in the attic of her heart.

She genuinely treasured him, every moment with him, and the fact she was now nearly blind drunk because he hurt her, wheeling herself to bed because of an injury she sustained on his behalf invigorated in her wounded spirit that long abandoned weaponized bitterness she incubated as a teen.

Helga had been a miscalculation. Lila had an embarrassingly large blind spot in regards to Arnold; the fact that she had wagered her shared history with Arnold, and indeed the honesty of her love, the only honest thing she had left in her, and lost the bet soured whatever genuine kindness she had gleaned from her tender affections for her former fiancée.

As she set her head, which spun with the wild and dizzying intoxication of a truly heroic amount of Bourbon for her, down on her pillow, hoisting herself up into her bed by her guidance rails, Lila swore that she would either find Arnold back in her heart and keep him there, or else destroy everything she could in Hillwood, brick by brick.

As darkness took her swirling consciousness, a lone troubling thought attempted to find purchase against the blackness of a drunken stupor. Her eyes struggled to flutter open as the idea struck her, fearfully, but Orpheus sang her sad heart to sleep before it could weave itself in the over worked tapestry of her memory.

I can't lose as long as Brainy stays out of it, she thought, and immediately forgot as she fell asleep.

Arnold was awake long before Phoebe and Gerald arrived at the boardinghouse. Sleep was elusive for him, coming in short bursts punctuated by the all-too-real dreams that felt more like memories of Helga, close to him, entwined, in his bed, in his mouth and heart. Arnold dressed himself in a simple peach colored tank top and jeans, walking barefoot in the cool pre-dawn quiet of the kitchen. Since it was a Saturday, most of the boarders would sleep in until they smelled some sort of breakfast cooking.

A pot of coffee, cheap and strong, was gurgling itself to life on the counter while Arnold considered his day.

He'd have to call Lila. He'd made a promise to talk to her after the party, and he kept his word. He wasn't looking forward to the conversation, imagining the soft disappointment in her voice when he recounted the explosive events of the night before.

Realistically, Arnold did not really believe he deserved either of the girls in his life. To Lila, he owed a lifetime of apologies for offering himself up to her when he didn't sincerely have himself to give away. To Helga, he owed a lifetime of apologies for letting his heart tarry too far and only recently come home, despite that always her heart was married deep to his own.

He felt too large in the kitchen, having to stoop under hanging pots and pans and bumping into the space which seemed far smaller than he remembered.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and drank it quietly until his friends arrived.

He found them too energetic and excitable for the circumstances. He knew they meant well, and he loved them dearly for their devotion in helping him settle the situation, but he also found their involvement slightly invasive. He'd lived virtually alone, relying only on himself and his parents, for over half his life now, and even though he grew up leaning on his friends and glowing in their company, the subtle differences of a multitude of isolations grew a love for solitude inside him. And so, even though he was grateful for their presence, and gladdened to be with them again, he privately, silently chafed under the over-abundant attentions so well intended.

Phoebe, always sensitive and observant, noticed the distance in his voice and the hesitance in his gaze, and quickly wrapped up their planning and discussion. Arnold would join Phoebe and Gerald and Helga at the beach house in four days, a Wednesday, and they would stay there until the following Monday. Helga's summer classes ended Tuesday, giving them the perfect window of opportunity to go have some fun together. Gerald was all smiles and suggestions about romantic interludes alone with Helga, and Phoebe, for her part, suggested that Arnold simply try to have a good time. He appreciated both sentiments, but wondered if anything other than an awkward weekend would ever come of this plan.

His friends left him to spend time alone not long after. Perhaps called by the earthy smell of coffee, Phil stalked long-legged and stiff into the kitchen not long after.

"Morning, Shortman." He moved automatically to the coffee pot, pouring himself a large cup. "Thanks for the pot, Arnold. I know this stuff's garbage, but it keeps you regular! The trains run on the schedule this stuff sets, heh."

Phil's eyes landed on Arnold's swollen, bruised cheek.

"Quite the shiner you got there. A gift from your little friend with the eyebrows?"

Arnold looked up at Phil. "How did you know?"

Phil grinned over the cup of coffee he brought to his lips, sipping it loudly. "The whole boarding house heard you two making quite the ruckus. I'd be surprised if the neighborhood watch didn't notice. Quite a mouth on that Pataki girl."

Arnold blushed at the memory of exactly what her mouth was capable of. He felt apart from his body, awkward and larger in himself than his spacial awareness told him he should occupy.

"Sorry about that, I know Helga can be a little...expressive."

"You got that right," Phil chuckled, swinging into a seat opposite his grandson. "So, why'd she sock ya? Lover's quarrel?"

"Basically. I messed up pretty bad, grandpa. Bad enough that I have two women mad at me."

Phil's eyes widened, then creased at the crows feet in a knowing smile. "Well well well, my grandson, the casanova. What a lady killer! Two women, eh?"

"Yeah, I mean, you remember Lila."

"The sweet cripple girl with freckles."

"Right, Lila, well, she and I sort of got engaged not long after the accident. And well," Arnold trailed off, hearing the absurdity of his situation as he spoke it. Phil rubbed at his dimpled, scruffy chin, fingers caressing the cleft thoughtfully.

"And so you two-timed her with the eyebrow girl? Arnold, that doesn't sound like you."

"No, it's not, and I didn't. I broke it off with Lila, because I knew things were complicated with Helga, and I didn't know what would happen while I was here. I couldn't be dishonest with either of them."

"And by 'couldn't be dishonest' means you told Pataki about being prematurely engaged and whatnot, and she clocked you a good one."

"Right." Arnold was relieved to be talking to his grandfather about this one. He might be 91, but Steely Phil was still the wisest, most clever person Arnold knew.

"Sounds like you deserved it!" Arnold's eyes widened in surprise. Phil smiled adoringly at his grandson, putting his cup of coffee down and slowly standing up, leaning heavily against his cane. "Some life lessons can only be learned the hard way, Shortman. The lesson you learned is that you can't have your cake and eat it too! Whatever you dumped pretty little miss Sawyer for, and whatever compelled you to pick up with that hellion Pataki, you were being honest with yourself. What got you into this mess was the opposite. So just stick to your guns, Arnold. You got a good heart, and it generally won't steer you wrong."

"Yeah, but, Grandpa, listening to my heart is what got me into this mess to begin with."

"Well you also gotta know when to shut it up! Don't always only listen to your heart, Arnold, your heart is stupid! You're liable to elope with Pataki if you do that."

"Grandpa, you're not making any sense. How am I supposed to stick to my guns but not listen to my heart?"

Phil shrugged his shoulders, walking out of the kitchen with a bit of hustle. "You got me, kiddo, but that's what you gotta do. Now excuse me, general arabica's upset the natives and there's an uprising brewing below the equator."

Arnold smiled despite himself at his grandpa's creative euphemisms, and chewed on what his grandfather advised him. Somehow he needed to make up his mistakes to both Helga and Lila, while still staying true to his values and not letting his heart override his instincts. He wasn't sure what sort of gesture he could make that could accomplish that.

He decided to leave the building for a little while, before the rest of the tenants arrived and really made his day interesting. A walk through the neighborhood would do him good, he reasoned, and get his mind moving forward. Slipping on some shoes, he left the boarding house into the muggy late summer morning, walking briskly towards nothing in particular.

The neighborhood had changed, of course. Almost all the landmarks of his childhood were gone. He moved randomly through the streets, crossing when he felt like it, and turning down alleys when the shade looked inviting. Somehow this brownian course took him through there required turns to bring him to Gerald field.

It was still a field, he was surprised to see, although now it was a proper field made up to hold an actual baseball game. He approached the chainlink fence encircling it, leaning against the rough aluminum and steel and remembering all the hassle he and his friends went through to clear this little section of space out. All the games they played here, all the adventures and tribulations he and his friends shared. Nostalgia, huge and sticky on his mind, overwhelmed his heart, and made him miss his friends with a sudden sweet melancholy.

His eyes fell on home plate, and he recalled the ghostly image of Helga in her pink dress, squatting behind it to call his pitches. She was an amazing catcher, always able to pull out his best pitch every throw. They were natural partners on the field. It just felt right to throw his fastball into her mitt back then. Now he knew why, of course, but back then it was a puzzling, confusing feeling that made him giddy and excited to play a game of baseball with her, but made him feel awkward and strange afterwards.

How long had he been in love with Helga, without realizing it?

Arnold looked at home plate again, getting an idea. Maybe there wasn't a way he could verbally apologize to Helga. Maybe the only way he could communicate his capitulence and regret was through action. Maybe what Helga needed to see was his own version of her band's performance, a dramatic and visually and emotionally arresting confession of the soul.

While Arnold didn't have the musical talent to put on a show for her, and he was no poet, he did know one way he could wordlessly communicate with her. Smiling to himself, he turned to briskly walk back home. He was immensely grateful that he had opted to bring his gear with him for his visit. It wasn't a foolproof plan, but it was the best idea he'd had yet.

Arnold Shortman set out to right the wrongs he had committed, more sure of himself than he had been in years.

Standing on the stoop of Helga and Brainy's apartment building, Phoebe inventoried the braveries she had found in herself over the years as Helga's best friend, girding herself with this emotional steel to prepare against Helga. Both experience and tangible evidence showed her that the events transpired in the past 24 hours were less than ideal, and had exacted a significant pain toll on her dear friend. What riddled chaos she unleashed in knee-jerk defense against this awful life, Phoebe had no way of knowing, but all her time at Helga's side told her that there would be collateral damage.

She was buzzed in by someone after she used the intercom to announce herself, stepping into the building tentatively. The stairs to their second floor apartment never seemed to intimidatingly long and tall as they did now. Phoebe was no coward, but there was painful uncertainty ahead, and someone raw and hurt that she loved very much, and the fear that quivered in her belly was a natural consequence she accepted. Her acceptance was bravery, at least that was what she told herself.

At the door, she calmed herself with a silent little prayer. Her dainty hand lifted, rapping the wooden frame with gentle urgency.

Brainy swung the door open, his mouth swollen, looking tired. He leaned against the door frame in the thresholds, peering at her from over his glasses.

"Good morning, Brian. I hope I'm not interrupting anything urgent, but I was hoping I could see and speak with Helga. I'm sure you've heard what happened. I thought she might want some support."

Brian nodded once, but was unmoved from his position guarding the entry.

"If you like, I can come back later?" Phoebe was unsure why Brainy was acting so protective, but the change in his usual quiet, flexible demeanor gave her pause. "If this is an inconvenient time to approach her, that is. She's not answering my calls, so I am assuming she is still asleep, but…" she paused, peering at the wreck and devastation behind Brainy. "Maybe I can help clean up a little while you lay down?"

Brian stepped aside, and Phoebe hopped in quickly, worried he would change his mind. She looked around the room quickly, not making a big production of the movement. She did not want to make it seem like she was over concerned about the mess, even if it was distressing.

All the pots and pans in the kitchen were scattered across the living room floor, which was half buried under the tall, overturned shelves that had held their collective record collection, that same precious burden cascaded out in a dramatic parabola over everything. The couch was upended, flipped and leaning against the wall on its narrow side, all the cushions tipped out of it awkwardly. Circling the shattered glass porch door, the two small end tables that had sat on either side of the couch, tipped over and under a hole in the opposite wall that had most likely been punched by one of the said tables in flight. Such devastation scattered itself through the entire visible area of the apartment, and everything smelled like bleach and blood. An alarming splatter and smear of blood caught her eye, and she followed fat drops in the dirty carpet down the hall to Helga's room.

Phoebe looked up at Brainy, who stood looking at the apartment with her quietly. When he noticed her look in his direction, he sighed and walked towards the porch with a broom he picked up from its spot leaning on the wall. She wordlessly watched him sweep up glass, unsure what to say or do, grasping for some verse or verbs of comfort she might offer in this catastrophic wake.

Instead, she just got to work in the kitchen, picking up plates and dishes that were unbroken and stacking them neatly.

It might be worse than we thought, she fearfully pondered, full of dread. That bloodstain worried her. It didn't appear as vexingly large as would necessitate her immediate medical concern, and she was doubtless that Brian would immediately inform her if some unspeakable harm had come to Helga. And yet, seeing the private violence her friend inflicted instilled nothing but doubts into Phoebe.

Maybe it is best to reconsider our current course. A reconciliation could very well be an impossibility at this juncture. Phoebe was realistic, and forced to confront the sobering reality of this situation hands on.

A door opened down the hall and Helga, hair pure silvery white in a shocking change, staggered bleary-eyed into the living room. She didn't seem to notice Phoebe crouched in the kitchen, and walked directly to Brainy.

"Brian, look, I just wanted to apologize again," she started, and Brian held up a finger to her lips to try to shush her. "No, let me finish. I'm really, really sorry, I don't know what came over me, well, actually, I do, and it's this terrible side of me that I just can't really seem to control and I am working on getting it under control with Dr. Bliss but I'm still making mistakes and I really hurt you, and I'm sorry. I didn't want to get you involved in this mess, and I really crossed the line. I'm sorry I...I'm sorry I bit you."

Phoebe's eyes went a little wide. She bit him? Where? Phoebe tried to recollect her visual inspection of Brian the moment the door was opened, and the only thing out of place was a swollen mouth. No external bruising or marks. Inside his mouth? His tongue? She bit his tongue? She crouched, motionless, trying to comprehend this, when she saw Helga's bare feet step into vision inches away from her. She slowly looked up at an angry, trembling Helga, fists clenched in angry white balls at her hips.

"Hello, Phoebe." Her voice carried the promise of a threat.

"H-Hello, Helga, I was just helping Brian clean up a little, I didn't mean to listen in to your conversation," she hastily rattled off, standing nervously and setting the plates she had collected on the kitchen counter. "I'll just go, you sound like you have to talk-"

Helga's hand slapped onto the wall, blocking Phoebe's exit through the kitchen.

"Oh no, I don't think that'll be necessary, Pheebs. Stay a bit. Let's chew the fat, old chum."

Phoebe felt very small, and very threatened. "H-Helga, I think it's imperative that you stay calm."

"Oh, I'm perfectly calm, Phoebe. This is me being perfectly calm. Last night? All of this? That was me, not being calm. Do you know why I wasn't calm last night? Care to venture a guess?"

"B-Because of what Arnold told you about Lila?" Phoebe was too nervous to try to uphold any level of subterfuge. The truth came spilling out of her.

"Because of what Arnold told me about Lila. Very good, Phoebe. What a sleuth. What a Holmes. Always just so clever, Phoebe, and that's the problem."

"Problem?" Phoebe's voice was quiet, a squeak out of her throat.

"Oh yes, a big problem. See, the worst part about hearing that little thing about Lila last night was that I heard it from him. When my best friend knew this unhappy little thing the whole time, and never told me. I could have been saved a lot of undue embarrassment and psychological trauma if I'd had just a teensy heads up. Instead, I stagger blindly into a bedroom with the love of my life and stupidly sleep with him. Six times. In a row. And what happens then?"

Phoebe didn't answer her, simply too nervous to offer anything other than a slight shrug of her thin shoulders.

"I'll tell you what happened, Phoebe." Helga was smiling threateningly, her face a mask of calm despite her body's gently quaking tremulous fury.

Suddenly, Helga slammed her fist against the wall, startling Phoebe. She closed her eyes, putting her hands in front of her expecting a hit.

None came, and she opened her eyes slowly, to see Helga slumped on her knees, a pained expression on her tired face.

"EVERYTHING WAS RUINED!"

Helga's shriek punctuated the silence between the three friends. Phoebe slowly lowered herself down, crouching next to Helga, heart a tumult and desperate to offer some solace or comforting words, but unable to find the strength or significance to make the difficult effort.

"And now, now I have to find some way to face him after I hit him. Now I have to figure out what the fuck kind of apology you say for that. I hit him, Phoebe. I punched him as hard as I could, right in the face. I have no idea how I'm supposed to recover from that, and get his forgiveness, or even talk to him again. And even that might not be possible, because, hell, I'm a fucking unstable psychotic bitch, and the second I see his stupid face I'm likely to remember the fact that he was engaged to someone I hate more than almost anything, and lose my shit all over him again! I'm fucked, Phoebe! I'm fucked!"

Helga looked her friend dead in the eyes.

"And you could have helped. And you didn't."

Phoebe felt her eyes grow hot and wet, the terrible accusation a deadly force to her heart. The guilt of her ceaseless plotting, the careful manipulation, and the sneaking around had been threatening to overwhelm her ever since they started. She had her reasons, and she had even convinced herself and her friends they were good ones. But now, she was full of doubt, and re-thinking her every step.

She finally found her voice, speaking calmly and quietly. "How can I help you now?"

Helga sighed, her whole body lifting and falling with the release of the emotions inside her.

"I don't know. Stop lying to me. Don't hide things from me. How can I trust you anymore?"

"Helga, I'm deeply sorry for the grievous wounds my actions may have inflicted. I am truly, sincerely sorry, but I swear I thought I was acting in your best interests."

A fierce snarl crooked on Helga's face suddenly. "How?" She shot back.

"Well, Arnold was coming back to Hillwood to reconcile with you. You never would have let that happen if you knew. You would have closed him off, and shut that door forever. You would have done everything you could to avoid seeing him, and then Arnold would have left Hillwood forever, and got married to LIla. At least this way, you got to be with him for a little while. And he broke up with Lila right before the party. So he clearly has feelings for you still. Strong ones. Feelings strong enough to end a significant relationship to a woman he owes a life debt to. I may have been sneaky, and mislead you, and got all our friends to help, but, Helga, the plan worked. Arnold's not engaged anymore, and he spent the night with you and not Lila. The future is uncertain now, and we don't know what is going to happen. None of that would be true if I had told you he was engaged."

Helga's face was unreadable to Phoebe, a strange mask of an impassive threat.

"Helga, what I am attempting to communicate is that it was difficult, no, painful for me to keep this from you, but I had to for you to have any chance. I had to work against my own conscience as your best friend, and my own instincts as a woman, and my own values as a person. And," Phoebe dared to reveal even more to Helga, gambling that one last tidbit might be enough to smoothe out her rancor. "Lila had a hand in this, too."

Helga's eyes narrowed, and Phoebe could see her face start to redden. Divert divert divert!

"What I mean is!"

"What you mean is you and Lila were in cahoots! Is that it?!"

"No, no, I mean, well, Lila did know about the plan. But I had to tell her at least parts of the plan to insure her non-interference. I wanted a clean slate for you two to reconcile. I gambled that her good and trusting nature would compel her to consent to the plan, and I was right."

"She consented? Like hell she did. Lila Sawyer has lived her entire life with Arnold around her pretty little finger and there's no way in any kind of Hell she would give that up."

"No, Helga, she did. In fact, she made Gerald and I swear to do our best to get Arnold to stay. She had this particularly altruistic notion that if she released Arnold to his own devices, and he returned to her of his own free will, she could marry him doubt free. She gambled as well. And she lost. We won."

Helga stood up, swiping her knees clean. Phoebe looked up at her friend over her glasses, pressing on.

"Arnold could have told you when he ran into you at the coffee shop but opted to remain mum on the topic. That wasn't a mistake. He wasn't sure how he felt about returning or by seeing you again. You threw his heart into disarray, and I wanted to give you the weapons you needed to seal the deal. I'm sorry, Helga. I am deeply, sincerely apologetic for manipulating you in this abhorrent manner. But I couldn't do nothing and watch you two drift apart forever. I love you too much to watch that happen."

Helga didn't say anything at first. Phoebe watched her walk away, then come back, her face a rictus of anger, then melt away into confusion as she paced away. She turned suddenly, holding a finger up, clearly prepared for some internal rebuttal, but stopped short of saying anything and just sighed the words away into the air. Finally, Helga stepped towards her friend, and extended her hand to Phoebe.

"Come on, get off the dirty floor, Pheebs." She sounded tired. Phoebe slipped her small hand into Helga's, and Helga lifted her up onto her feet. Then, she spoke. "I get it. I do. Really, I've done much worse myself. And I'm a little proud of you, in a way. This is a real Helga Pataki kind of power play. I never expected it out of you."

Helga's face was a fond smile. Her grip tightened a little bit, and her face became serious.

"But if you ever lie to me again, it's gonna get ugly."

"Truthing." Phoebe smiled nervously at her friend, attempting to dispel the tension.

A knock at the door changed the tone in an instant. Helga, Brian, and Phoebe whipped their heads around, staring at the front door.

Brian and Phoebe locked eyes for a second, and then both stared at Helga. It had to be Arnold. Who else could it be?

Helga shook her head once, and started for the door.

"Helga wait," Phoebe tried to think of a way to delay this moment. Anything!

"Sorry, Pheebs, if it's him, my forehead's got a date with the floor. I've got some mea culpas ahead of me."

Phoebe bit her lip, nodding in agreement. All she could do was watch, now.

Helga opened the door enough that Phoebe could see Arnold's face. A wine colored bruise swelled on his left cheek, an inch below the eye. Phoebe winced at the sight of it.

"Hi, Helga."

"Hello, Arnold." Phoebe thought that Helga's voice was terribly quiet. Her heart bled for the courage of her friend.

"Can I come in?"

"I'd advise against that."

"Alright. Can you come out then?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, do you think you could find out, and meet me in Gerald Field?"

"W-why would I meet you there?"

"Bring your catcher's gear. You still have it right?" Phoebe was immediately confused. What is Arnold planning?

"Yeah, I have it here...why would I bring my gear? What's your angle, Arnold?"

"No angle. I just wanna talk. With a good bit of distance between us." Smart. Phoebe appreciated the elegance of his suggestion.

Helga looked back at Phoebe, her face worried. She seemed to search Phoebe's eyes for an answer. Phoebe nodded once. Do it. Go with him.

Helga sighed and turned back to Arnold. "Yeah okay fine. I'll go play catch with you, Football Head. Just give me some time. I haven't eaten anything yet and I gotta get dressed."

"Skip breakfast. Come in what you're wearing." Arnold seemed oddly insistent. Pushy, even. What is he angling at? Why do this when Helga is hungry and uncomfortable?

"Really, Arnold? You want me to skip breakfast, the most important meal of the day, so I can go play catch with you in Gerald Field. In my shorts and tank top."

"Yes," he nodded. "Please."

Phoebe cheered for her friend internally when Helga finally agreed. "Okay, okay, you win, Football Head. Stay there. I'll walk with you."

Helga closed the door and walked into the room, covering her eyes with a hand. "Why did I agree to do this again?"

Phoebe chimed in. "Because he's the man you love and this is your chance to apologize in private?"

"Oh yeah. Right. I hate that."

Helga sighed and disappeared into her room. She came out, a pair of dirty pink cleats on her feet and her silvery white hair in a ponytail peaking out from under the brim of a backwards baseball cap, also pink. She carried a white duffel bag, in which Phoebe imagined all her catcher's gear was stowed.

"Alright. I'm off. Wish me luck. Oh, and Phoebe?"

"Yes, Helga?"

"Don't leave until the apartment is clean." Helga shut the door behind her, disappearing from the apartment and off into her future with Arnold.

"Cleaning," Phoebe smiled to herself, and moved to help Brian with the cleaning.