Disclaimer: The Hey Arnold characters belong to Craig Bartlett, and to him alone. That his characters have inspired such hubris in me that would see me attempt a fan fiction based on them, speaks volumes of my reverence of the man.
Acknowledgement: This story takes place in a universe conceived by The J.A.M. a.k.a. Numbuh i. The writer remains grateful for the latitude granted to him in his interpretation of the established universe.
ICYMI: An origin of sorts, and new discoveries between a young pair.
So yeah, a new chapter. Enjoy, please.
6. Us vs Them
"OK, Arnold. No more bullshit. What's up with you and Pataki?"
They were playing a video game in Gerald's room one particularly lazy Sunday afternoon when the question came out of nowhere. Gerald's timing was deliberate as it caused Arnold to mistime an important jump. The result: Arnold's character missed the platform and instead plunged to a fiery doom and a game over. Now Gerald had his attention.
"That's it, boy! Game over! No more hiding!"
Hearing Gerald talk, one would think he'd bagged a particularly rare and elusive hunting trophy. And he was savoring the opportunity. "Don't think I didn't notice before how she and you were getting friendlier with each other in public. Dammit, after that game against the fifth graders, now it's more a question of who didn't notice!"
"Gerald, it was nothing!" insisted Arnold. "We were caught up in the heat of the moment!" Although Gerald was speaking the truth. After their encounters at the Sunset Arms and the park bench, Arnold and Helga were repeatedly seen being on much friendlier terms out in the open. Enough to arouse suspicion, as evidenced by Gerald and his inquisition.
"Heat of the moment, you say," a skeptical Gerald reflected. "Sorry, Arnold, but no sale! You and Rhonda in the heat of the moment, that I can believe. Hell, even you and Nadine would make more sense than you and Pataki. At least you get along with those two!"
He left his grilling at that, expecting Arnold to be discomforted into a full confession. Oh, Arnold was discomforted, but he insisted on defending what his best friend considered indefensible. He didn't want to divulge the underlying circumstances: the events from the previous weekend between him and Helga and the changes it brought about in their public interactions.
"What can I say, Gerald?" he began. "We must have been in a groove or something. Something must have clicked between us on the day."
Gerald remained unconvinced. "Look, even if that is true, how could it click so well for her to pat you on the ass? And you didn't even look like you minded! Is there something happening? Behind the scenes?"
xxXXXxx
Gerald's question had merit. The previous day had seen the fifth graders score another victory in football against Wolfgang's crew. And while the winning team had all done their part, the driving force behind the victory was Arnold with his creative plays and Helga with her seemingly prophetic ability to read the game.
If any aspect of their playmaking seemed unusual, big deal. If it meant they were winning the game, so what? What did seem off to players on both sides, however, was how the two blondes seemed to be not just tolerating each other's presence, but enjoying it, thriving in it.
Suspicions finally boiled over during and after one event. Wolfgang had the ball, but he was isolated, a prime target for Helga to come in from his right with a flying shoulder charge. Arnold, meanwhile, would come in low from the left with a textbook grasscutter. Both teams watched in amazement as Wolfgang did a full revolution midair before crashing facedown on the ground, where he remained incapacitated for a good few seconds.
That wasn't the event that set everyone off. Neither was it the immediate follow-up in which a smiling Helga approached an equally smiling Arnold to help him up by his hand. It wasn't even the compliments or the laughter the two exchanged before parting company to their respective positions. No, it was the mischievous little pat that Helga placed on Arnold's buttocks as he walked away.
xxXXXxx
"They've forgotten that we won, Helga!" Phoebe scolded. "We defied the odds and the limits of probability once more to maintain our winning streak against physically superior opponents! And your one act proves so distracting that we're not even talking about the most significant aspect of the game!"
Though Phoebe wasn't as much into sports as her peers, her distaste towards Wolfgang and his ilk allowed her to glean no small sense of joy as she reveled in their defeat. Hence, her current lividity towards Helga.
"What were you thinking, patting Arnold on the derrière like that. Were you even thinking! What about the subterfuge that you've just compromised, possibly beyond any salvage?"
Helga was uncharacteristically unresponsive as she weathered Phoebe's admonishment. Her silent treatment did not go unnoticed; it seemed to anger Phoebe even more.
"Oh no you don't, Helga!" the diminutive one warned. "You're not keeping mum on this one! You've been very friendly with Arnold of late! And before that, you played matchmaker with the girls in our class! Almost as if…" – and here came Phoebe's breakthrough deduction – "…oh my god! You were diverting potential love rivals, weren't you? You've made a move on Arnold, haven't you?"
A giddy note crept into Phoebe's initially angry tone as she continued.
"Come on, Helga! Out with it! What progress have you made?"
Helga remained on mute, which did her no favors against Phoebe's superior reasoning. In any case, she had no choice but to answer. "Well, you see, Pheebs…" she began hesitantly, before stopping completely.
"Come on, Helga!" Phoebe encouraged. "We're friends, best friends, so what you tell me remains in total confidence."
"Promise?" queried Helga.
"Promise," reassured Phoebe.
"You see, Pheebs…" Helga wavered before regaining her courage, "…last week I had sex with Arnold."
Phoebe resumed her questioning about a minute and a half later after she had regained consciousness.
xxXXXxx
Meanwhile, over at the Johanssens, Gerald wasn't reacting any better to the same bombshell from Arnold. "Fuck! You fucked Helga fucking Pataki? FUCK!" the tall-haired boy sputtered incredulously. It was fortunate – miraculous, in fact – that Gerald retained the presence of mind to keep his voice reasonably down, lest he attracted any unwanted parental attention. So nobody outside the room heard the next thirty seconds when what issued forth from Gerald Martin Johanssen was a torrent of swearing and abject disbelief. It may be noted that his knowledge of foul language was a result of growing up with an elder brother who was now transitioning from teenhood to adulthood. Much to Arnold's bemusement, Gerald was putting every word he'd picked up to full use.
Eventually, some semblance of calm descended over the two occupants of Gerald's room, whereupon Gerald took thirty seconds' worth of deep breaths. He then looked his best friend square in the eye. His entire demeanor suggested that he would from that moment tolerate only the truth.
His question was simple: "So how was it?"
"How was it?" Arnold played back the question.
"Don't you dare play dumb now, Arnold! What was it like, putting your banana in her fruit salad?"
The most cringeworthy experience in the life of Arnold Philip Shortman had just begun.
xxXXXxx
"Helga, are you even aware of the dangers involved in such activities?"
Phoebe was reaming Helga at as appropriate a volume as she could manage in a household that (a) comprised thin walls and (b) included both her parents. She was incensed by the latter's disclosure of sex with Arnold, which was described in borderline nauseating detail that nearly sent the little genius back to the floor. But Phoebe held her nerve to hear Helga's story about the sauna, the hidden area, and the park bench. Phoebe Heyerdahl was unimpressed.
"Your bodies aren't yet fully developed for such activity!" she continued.
"I don't know, Pheebs," countered Helga, steadily regaining her trademark brazenness. "He seemed pretty well developed that night!"
Phoebe was having none of her best friend's sass. "Don't you dare make light of this situation! What if you pick up an STI? What if you get pregnant?"
"What, with Saint Arnold? Patron Saint of the pure-hearted?" scoffed Helga.
"Fuck it, Helga!" exclaimed an exasperated Phoebe. "I'm being serious!"
Helga, meanwhile, was too absorbed in formulating her defense to notice Phoebe's cursing, let alone acknowledge it. "Relax, Pheebs!" she attempted to placate her best friend. "I'm well aware of tween pregnancies. That's why I've snuck some of Miriam's birth control pills."
Phoebe would not be placated. "Oh sure!" she fired back. "Because the risk of STIs isn't enough! Let's add in the risk of stunted physiological development while we're at it! Helga, even by your standards, this is truly reckless behavior!"
This had now become a full-bore argument. Friend or no friend, Helga had to unleash some fighting words on Phoebe. "Look at you, Little Miss PSA! You've got some nerve talking about stunted growth with your featureless chest! The truth is you don't know shit!"
Phoebe's reaction was one of sudden, open-eyed surprise, which soon gave way to a rage seething through gritted teeth. Good, thought Helga. Put her on the back foot for once. Verbally, she continued with: "How could you ever know what it's like to have the boy you love inside you, stirring your insides, making you feel so fucking good like you've never felt before?"
"Helga, that's hardly the point!" insisted Phoebe.
"Ha!" Helga fired back. "So says she who hasn't been laid yet!"
"What?" asked a suddenly incredulous Phoebe, whose rage added an octave to her voice.
"You heard me!" Helga threw back. "You have no idea of the sensations I'm talking about. How they flood your mind with the most awesome feeling of bliss that overwhelms you from top to toe! How when you know you're with someone who wants it as much as you, you're so in the moment that nothing else matters!"
Helga then braced for another verbal salvo from her best friend. She was to be surprised. Just like that, Phoebe's demeanor did another 180. Her anger vanished, to be replaced not with jealousy, but a morbid curiosity that Helga didn't quite understand.
"Helga," the diminutive one asked as academically detached as she could manage, "you speak as if you've prior experience of that activity. Tell me, was what you just described an isolated incident or not?"
Helga swallowed heavily; now Phoebe had the upper hand. "Many months prior, you couldn't stand Arnold, or so you publicly professed," the little genius explained. "One baseball incident later and you're clearing the field for an unhindered run at him. Being much more overt if not in your affection, then at least in your intent."
"Yeah?" answered Helga while sporting a defiant façade. "So I wanted to tip the scales in my favor! So what?"
"So what?" repeated Phoebe. "The underlying prescience in your decision-making. As if you knew that Rhonda and Lila would otherwise become obstacles. Then there's your emphatic description of coitus with Arnold…" – she paused to steady herself from having used such a word – "…coupled with a sense of longing in your voice. As horrifying as my conclusion may sound, it's the only one that makes sense given the circumstances. That time with Arnold wasn't your first, was it?"
Helga need not have answered the question. Her breathing, her blinking, her hand positioning…her general unease gave away the game. She deflated in the wake of Phoebe's almighty inductive reasoning. What the hell, she sighed to herself. Arnold believed me; let's see how Phoebe reacts.
"OK, Pheebs, you win," Helga sighed in heavy defeat. "I confess. There's more to this than just me and Arnold. And well…I'm not who you think I am."
So she told Phoebe the same story she told Arnold of having occupied two worlds, with this one being her third. Again, she spared no detail. Every aspect of the story, no matter how insignificant, made it to the final cut. Phoebe listened quietly and intently, her concentration rapt and unwavering. When Helga was done, Phoebe remained in her intense state, betraying no iota of emotion.
"Tell it again," the dark-haired girl ordered plainly.
"Excuse me?" asked Helga, slightly annoyed.
"Tell your story again," Phoebe clarified.
Despite her annoyance, Helga complied, again under Phoebe's heavy, emotionless scrutiny. Then when she was done with the second iteration…
"Again," Phoebe repeated.
It was all Helga could do not to lash out at Phoebe and demand what the hell the half-pint was playing at. Instead, she held her tongue and retold her story as ordered. Only after the third telling did Phoebe Heyerdahl deliver any comment.
After a deep sigh – maybe to brace herself – Phoebe Heyerdahl finally spoke. "It seems I have no choice but to believe you, Helga."
"You mean you think I'm telling the truth?" asked a hopeful Helga, wanting to believe that her friend had somehow managed to override her need for quantifiable and empirical proof.
"Not necessarily," Phoebe answered, causing Helga to deflate a second time. "But through all the iterations, your story remained consistent. I discerned no deviations. Plus, your body language remained consistent as well. No hand-wringing, no restless legs, and you kept your eyes on me the entire time."
Her explanation left Helga confused. "But that should mean I'm telling the truth, right?"
Phoebe shook her head and continued: "At best, it would mean an inconclusive result. It could also mean that you groomed and conditioned yourself for just such a situation. You'd most likely do so, given how aware you are of my skepticism towards such flights of fantasy. However…" – she paused as her expression softened – "…your emphatic tone suggests at least you believe your story. And your specific little details didn't hurt your cause either. And finally…"
She paused, causing Helga to lean forward in anticipation.
"…finally, despite our recent harsh words, you remain my best friend in this or any universe, which earns you the benefit of the doubt in a 50/50 situation such as this."
Helga was ecstatic over Phoebe's conclusion and wanted nothing more than to hug her best friend. Her joy was suddenly tearful and sobbing as she embraced the pint-sized girl, overjoyed that both people most important to her believed her about her plight.
"Thank you, Phoebe!" she mewled into the dark-haired girl's shoulder. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
Phoebe could only return Helga's embrace and take in the blonde girl's immense relief. Still, she had to get in a few cautionary words. "Helga," she began, "I understand your position and your motivations, I really do. You've been ripped from an ideal world and wish to recreate it in this one."
She allowed a long moment for her words to sink in.
"But please be considerate towards Arnold."
"I am, Pheebs," Helga asserted. "I am."
"I'm sure you are," replied Phoebe. "Look, I know I can't stop you two in your foolishness. But promise me you'll be careful. Remember the potential hurt Arnold in particular may face if this endeavor of yours doesn't play out the way you want it to. Remember that this matter no longer revolves around just what you want."
Helga simply nodded.
"Two more things to consider," Phoebe added, still mid-embrace. "One, there may be idiosyncrasies in this world that didn't exist in your previous worlds. Potentially earth-shattering idiosyncrasies, similar in impact to what you encountered in your previous world."
"Got it," replied Helga. "I think I'll be fine in a world where…" – she cleared her throat before switching to a stereotypical hick accent – "…Arnold ain't no damn hick living it large with Ruth McDougal."
A titter from Phoebe.
"And two?" asked Helga.
Before answering, Phoebe took the opportunity to ram her thumbs hard against Helga's floating ribs. Helga's response was a high-pitched yelp, which together with a disjointed, uncoordinated little dance-like move, would make one believe she'd been electrocuted. She reflexively broke out of her embrace and took a hurried step away from her friend and those killer thumbs.
Only then did Phoebe list her second point to a surprised-looking Helga: "Two, that I'm Phoebe fucking Heyerdahl, and flat-chested or not – indeed, laid or not – I'm only ever one step away from becoming a feared crime boss!"
At that, Helga could only chuckle. So could Phoebe.
Arnold was back in his room, sprawled on his bed as the last of the evening sunlight bathed the interior. He'd arrived after explaining to his best friend – under heavy duress – the mechanics and sensations of what had happened between him and Helga. Seriously, he was bone-tired. For every answer he gave Gerald, Gerald had two more questions "just for clarification". And Gerald's curiosity knew no bounds. It was exhausting.
Whether Arnold liked it or not, Gerald appeared more than a little proud of him, as if what had happened was to be considered a rite of passage. Even if it was with Helga. Gerald seemed grateful too that Helga was the footballhead's partner. To quote him, Arnold had "done the group a solid" by "taking one for the team, man!"
"Rough day too, Footballhead?"
Helga's voice resonated in the room out of nowhere. Arnold turned toward the voice and there was Helga in the middle of his room. He'd come to accept her uncanny knack for entering his room – indeed, the entire Sunset Arms – undetected and so didn't even bother asking how she'd gained entry this time.
"Gerald must have given you the third degree, right? Tiring, isn't it?" she commented. After a short pause, she continued with a melancholier tone. "No matter the world, you'll always be making excuses for me to your friends."
"Nothing new to me," spoke a weary Arnold. "I got used to it eventually." Weary though he was, he found it in him to smile at Helga before continuing: "Besides, how cool is it to know that a pretty girl traveled across universes just to be with me?"
Oh Arnold you lovable sap, thought Helga. Always looking on the bright side! Forever be you, you beautiful creature!
Her impromptu soliloquy steeled her into action, for she next moved to the bed and ordered Arnold to scooch over onto his side, which he did so that he was still facing her. Next anyone knew, Helga too was on the bed and the young pair were spooned up beside each other.
"Don't get any ideas now," Helga warned in a sweet, warm voice. "I'm beat too. I'm telling you, no one can top Phoebe's inquisitions. I'd sooner face the Good Lord himself on Judgement Day than be questioned by her."
"That's fine, Helga," replied Arnold. "We can just lie here together."
So they did. For several minutes they lay in their positions. Comfortable at being so close against each other. Comfortable with the synchronicity of their slow breathing. So comfortable that Helga even welcomed Arnold when he draped an arm around her to hold her tightly from behind. Which he did for several more minutes.
And then…
"Hey Helga?" Arnold's voice broke the silence. "I'm curious. What was it like with me in the other world?"
Helga's eyes widened at that question and she paused for a few beats.
"Were you happy then like you are now?" Arnold followed up. "How was sex with him. When did you first do it with him?"
Three questions, only three. Yet they carried so much weight. She didn't want to give a direct answer. After all, different worlds, different circumstances. Different idiosyncrasies, she remembered from Phoebe. She chose instead to deflect.
"Hey now!" she replied with just the right amount of levity. "Is my hearing failing or do you sound jealous? Of yourself?"
"No!" Arnold quickly insisted. "It's just…" – he continued in a more subdued voice – "…are you happy with me like you are…were…are?...with him?"
Helga felt his uncertainty through his touch. Oh Arnold, ever the gentleman no matter the world. Damn, she had to get ahead of this. To that end, she released herself from his grasp, moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and bade him do the same. When he complied, she looked at him with deep, honest eyes.
"Look, Footballhead," she carefully ventured. "None of that matters. You're here, he isn't."
She capped off her assurance with a kiss on his mouth, which lingered longer as he kissed her back. Which lingered even longer when their tongues made contact for a divine round of lingual intertwinement. Their hands too had become eager for bodily exploration: holding, cupping, kneading, rubbing.
All instinct as Helga explored Arnold's torso and back, hips and buttocks while coming dangerously close to his pelvis. All instinct as Arnold explored Helga's burgeoning bustline and the nascent curvature of her flank and hips. He too was getting perilously near to Helga's forbidden zone.
The room had become significantly stuffier when they broke the kiss to stare breathlessly and sweatily at each other.
"You're plotting something, Helga, aren't you?" smirked Arnold. This was no guess. Helga's expression all but trumpeted her prurient intentions.
"Maybe…" teased Helga. "But first you need to take a shower!"
And that's it for this chapter. Thank you so much for your continued support and enjoyment of this little tale. You may have noticed how relatively tame this chapter was because I wanted to bring Gerald and Phoebe into the mix while further establishing the chapter as part of the Awakeverse. And to those saying "Oy! You got plot in my porn!", settle down because things will get spicier next chapter. Plus...more Miriam. Trust me, I have plans for her. Make of that what you will...
Anyway, to the reviews.
Guest Reviewers: Thank you ever so much, both of you, for appreciating my efforts in making a taboo topic that tiny bit more palatable. It encourages me to know that I'm succeeding in my goals.
Kay Deutsch: Jou bemoedigende woorde voed my siel, ongeag die taal waarin hulle gelewer word.
As for the notes...
For Gerald's rant, I was inspired by a scene in "The Boondock Saints" in which a character "illustrates the diversity" of a certain word. Incidentally, I see Gerald as the first of Arnold's friends to embrace swearing, simply because of his exposure to Jamie-O.
Another line from Gerald was inspired by the song "Sledgehammer" by Peter Gabriel which contains the following lines:
"Show me 'round your fruit cage
'Cause I will be your honey bee
Open up your fruit cage
Where the fruit can be sweet as can be"
Phoebe remains my favorite character to write. I mean, she's cute and smart and has this academic air about her. She's bottled up and very capable of coming unglued. How I love bringing out those qualities!
And finally, the Tidal list:
Dreams – Gabrielle
She's a Queen – Ray Wilson
And that's it for this chapter. See you next time, stay safe, and take nothing for granted.