Disclaimer: The Hey Arnold characters belong to Craig Bartlett, and 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.

ICYMI: When Helga speaks, those around her listen...

And with that, a new chapter in 5...4...3...2...1...

11. Olga Unbound

It was the night before at the Pataki residence, and Helga was agasp at the revelation.

"And there it is!" proclaimed Olga.

"Wow, so you were telling the truth," Helga replied, before quickly backtracking. "I mean, not that I stopped believing you or anything!"

They were in Helga's room. The daughter was seated on the bed, more engrossed by what she was seeing than she meant to be. In front of her stood her erstwhile sister with her blouse slightly raised to her navel and her skirt and panties slightly lowered. What these actions revealed was a scar on Olga's abdomen, just below her bikini line. It wasn't prominent, having faded over the years, but it was still visible and Olga appeared to be displaying it like a badge of honor.

"Believe it, Helga," the mother declared. "That's where they cut me so I could give birth to you, my daughter!"

"Yeah…" Helga cut in. "Your daughter. That's going to take a while to sink in."

To Olga's surprise, Helga's voice projected no anger, but neither was it hinting at any acceptance of her new normal. Instead, she sounded emotionally numb. Totally unlike her usual fiery self who'd be spoiling for a confrontation. The young Pataki girl allowed herself to fall back on her bed.

"Everything in due time, Helga," Olga reassured as she straightened her clothing. "Room for one more?" she asked as she observed her now recumbent daughter.

"It's a free country," Helga replied noncommittally.

Olga obliged and lay beside the girl, much to the creaking protest of the bedsprings. So they lay in silence, mother and daughter side by side, for time unmarked and unrecorded. Staring at the ceiling with only their slow breathing passing for meaningful conversation.

"So I suppose this means I gotta start calling you 'Mom' now," Helga was first to speak.

"Will that be a problem?" asked Olga. "Years of calling your grandparents by their names…I mean, why should I be any different?"

Despite herself, Helga was unable to suppress a light chuckle at Olga's utterance. Encouragement for the mother to continue the conversation. "I suppose I'll have to earn your love then."

Helga remained silent, choosing instead to roll over on her side, turning her back to Olga. Olga sensed that their relationship was too tender a topic to pursue just yet and sought to jump to another one.

"So…Arnold then," she carefully ventured. "How long have you liked him?"

Olga watched her daughter's shoulders tense up in response. It was risky, but she felt she could continue along this line. "There's no point denying it. We already know how far it's gone. He must be very special to you."

Helga remained unresponsive.

"Hey, I'm not judging. I'm the last person who can judge you."

Olga then turned toward Helga and placed what she hoped to be a condoling hand on the young girl's shoulder. She found it encouraging when her advance wasn't rebuffed.

"Look," she braved further, "I might be speaking out of turn, but even back in my student teacher days…well, I caught more than a few glances of you staring at Arnold at school. I saw the longing in your eyes. Were you in love with him back then already?"

A long moment passed and Olga feared that she had overreached. "I was three…" Helga spoke softly. "It was raining at Pre-K…"

"She knows now," Helga explained. "I told her about our first meeting at Little Tots. Everything. The rain and the umbrella. The family that ignored me and the first person ever who treated me like I was worth a damn!"

Arnold was stunned. He was fully aware of that moment in the rain, but hearing about the profound impact that simple action would have on Helga left him floored. "But Helga," he protested, "all I did was hold an umbrella up for you!"

"Oh, my dear, sweet footballhead!" Helga countered. "It wasn't just an umbrella! It was a message, a sign! That I wasn't alone, that I mattered to someone!"

"Damn, Pataki!" Gerald interjected. "Arnold holds an umbrella for you and suddenly you've uncovered the meaning of life?"

"What can I say, Geraldo?" Helga answered wearily. "I'm a girl of simple needs."

"Yes, be that as it may," – it was Phoebe this time – "this disclosure between you and Olga. Was it so profound as to change your opinion about her?"

"As if a single heart-to-heart can undo all those years of being ignored," Helga mildly scoffed. "Actually, we were just getting started."

And for the first time in a long time, Helga wanted to weep. Even from behind, Olga could sense as much, and cooed to her: "There, there, Helga, it's OK. Why so sad all of a sudden? Despite everything, I still think you and Arnold make a sweet young couple."

"I'm not sad because of Arnold," Helga protested. "It's just that this is the first time I ever told this story to someone other than a shrink."

Olga expressed surprise at that disclosure. "Really? But why? Being in love with someone who loves you back is such a wonderful feeling!"

"Doi! You think I don't know that?" Helga shot back in a mixture of sadness and frustration. "But take a look around this house! Do you see anyone else who I could tell about it? Miriam might be coming around, but Bob couldn't care less!"

"That's not fair, Helga!" Olga heard herself defending her father. "Your grandfather has taken such good care of you! Think about it. You're so much better off than so many others! You're not under any pressure to perform. You have a roof over your head, a bed to sleep on, food to eat—"

"That's not enough!" Helga shot back, turning over to face Olga. "Where are the people in this house that I can talk to with my problems? Where are the people who would give a damn if something was bothering me instead of telling me to suck it up? I mean, Bob only signed off on me seeing a shrink when he found out he wouldn't have to go with me!"

Emotion was gradually manifesting in Helga's voice the more she spoke.

"But Helga," Olga attempted to explain, "that's just how he is."

"Oh, will you stop making excuses for him?"

"But I'm not—"

"Yes, you are!" Helga rebutted. "But then why wouldn't you when he always heaps praise on you?"

"Helga!" Olga sounded stricter than usual. "Did you forget my story back at the boarding house? That it's only good for me for as long as I make him proud, even now?"

Helga remained unconvinced: "No pressure to perform? Hah! Day after day, I get compared to you! 'Why can't you be more like your sister Olga?' 'Olga was so much better!' Every day another reminder of how I'll never measure up to you!"

Still, Helga wasn't done. She was opening her mouth to continue eviscerating her mother's latest argument, but the elder woman was having none of it. "Ah ah ah!" she cut the girl off in a stern yet strangely maternal voice. "You've had a whole series of rants up to this point, now let me have this one."

To the surprise of both parties, Helga was taken aback into unexpected silence. Olga too was briefly silenced by Helga's inexplicable deference, before rushing to press her advantage.

"Now where was I?" she resumed, no less sweetly and maternal. "Remember all those years back when I told you I'm like a windup doll performing for your grandparents? That hasn't changed. Even after all the trophies and all the certificates, it still isn't enough. At least for your grandfather. Your grandmother, she's mellowed out over time. He, on the other hand…"

She paused as she reached to embrace Helga tightly. Once more she'd be surprised by her daughter's…well, it wasn't quite an acceptance, more a lack of resistance. Regardless, Olga had her chance to continue, which she did by first sighing heavily before speaking.

"He still expects the best from me…in whatever I do. I mean, I'm a full-time teacher, but he expects me to make it to school superintendent before I'm thirty." – she then switched to a gruffer version of her voice meant to ape her father's – "Because Patakis only know how to win!"

"Gee, it must be so life-affirming to know that you're performing exactly to his expectations," Helga quipped, though her tone suggested the words weren't intended as a putdown. Olga read as much into them as she resumed.

"But it's not what I want, Helga! Not anymore!"

"You reap what you sow, mother dearest!" Helga responded, and this time Olga was convinced that her daughter's voice was far more conversational than deriding. Bolstered by this new observation, the elder Pataki ventured forth with: "Stop right there! If you're even hinting that I think of you as a punishment, then you've got it wrong! I've never hated you and so help me, I never will!"

"Except when it comes to Lila," Helga reminded Olga.

"Excuse me?" gasped Olga.

"You know," Helga answered. "The Perfect Little Sis. I overheard you calling her that." – she had to steady herself and her emotions before her upcoming admission – "And I'll be honest, it hurt more than I thought it would."

Credit to Helga: while not spoiling for a fight, she was willing to tackle some difficult topics. Olga respected her for that. So much so that she planted a kiss on Helga's forehead and answered in a melancholy voice: "Seems I have some more explaining to do…"

Phoebe was first to comment.

"So Olga's enrolment into the Big Sis/Little Sis program was more about providing an outlet for her long-repressed maternal needs than it was an overt act of philanthropy."

"Yep," nodded Helga, thus confirming to her friends that they had heard her correctly.

The group was still in the auditorium, thoroughly engrossed by Helga's story. So much so that they regularly paused her for more details and clarity which Helga was all too willing to provide.

"And she said she was hoping to make you jealous into spending time with her?" Gerald weighed in. "Damn, Pataki! That sounds like something you would do, not Olga!"

"Well, I had to get my selfish DNA from someone, Tall Hair Boy," replied Helga. "Like mother, like daughter. Always looking out for number one."

"Indeed," observed Phoebe, "for all her positive quiddities, she seems just as capable of being self-serving."

"Heh, like I said, I had to get it from someone," repeated Helga.

"Sucks that it backfired, right?" it was Gerald again. "You not taking the bait, and she having to show Lila the love she wanted to show you."

"Well, she wouldn't be Olga if she did a half-assed job," Helga answered with half a smile.

"And she confessed all of this to you?" Arnold took his turn.

"Yeah, Arnoldo. For reasons I still can't fathom, we turned our us time into something of a confessional."

"That's great, Helga!" Arnold reassured. "You're opening up to each other! It's a good start! I mean, you even let her hold you without trying to fight her off! Not like at the boarding house."

Phoebe caught on to that last bit of information and followed up with: "Yes, that does seem rather curious. Given your initial overt animus toward her as your sister, how did you start accepting her advances as your mother?"

Helga took a while to ponder over the question. Those around her could see how she was trying to best describe an unfamiliar situation, so they let her have the time. Finally, she stopped pondering and looked at Arnold.

"Hey, Footballhead," She began, "wanna help me answer Phoebe's question?"

Arnold looked uncertain of where she was headed, but nonetheless: "Sure, I guess. How can I help?"

No sooner had he delivered his answer when Helga had seated herself on his lap, to the gulps and reddening of both Phoebe and Gerald. Gerald in particular had the sentence "Get a room, you two!" fighting to escape his mouth. It was only the prospect of angering Phoebe that made him forever hold his peace.

"Pataki, what the hell are you up to?" Gerald demanded instead.

"And how is sitting on Arnold's lap germane to answering my question?" Phoebe added.

Helga ignored them, choosing instead to issue more instructions to Arnold. "OK, now hold me tight."

Arnold was hesitant. "Are you sure, Helga?"

Helga had a chance to inject some levity into the serious atmosphere, which she accomplished by smirking at him and sweetly murmuring: "Oh come now, Footballhead! Don't pretend you don't want to!"

She was right. He wanted to. He did. He wrapped his arms around her for a tight embrace that he soon started enjoying, onlookers be damned.

"Told you," said Helga before focusing back on Gerald and Phoebe. "So tell me, you two. What do you reckon I'm feeling right now?"

The panel didn't answer immediately; they were still dumbfounded by what they were seeing until Gerald broke the silence.

"Well, the one thing you're not is furious."

"Oh, indubitably," Phoebe concurred. "One could even say his embrace is making you feel loved and appreciated."

"And that's why you're the resident brainiac, Pheebs!" Helga lit up as she congratulated her best friend. Immediately thereafter, her mood became more serious. "Now with Olga, it felt different. Similar, but different."

Similar, but different.

She left those words hanging in the air for her audience's consideration.

Similar, but different.

Quite the paradox, as they were finding it.

"Helga, what do you mean?" Arnold eventually asked.

"Don't worry, Arnold," Helga motioned toward her paramour. "No reason to be jealous..."

"Pataki, will you just get on with it!" Gerald grumbled. "We don't have all recess!"

"Fine! OK!" Helga moaned. "Well, as you all know, I couldn't stand that woman. All the time she was all over me, 'Baby Sister' this and 'Baby Sister' that! Ugh, it felt so phony like she was putting on an act just to score points with Bob and Miriam. Like she was fronting for the fact that she really hated me."

Then she became somewhat less animated.

"But then last night…she grabbed me when I flew off the handle and it felt…real."

She paused again to gauge her audience's response. She still had their attention, despite Gerald's complaint about the time remaining. But the next utterance wouldn't be hers.

"Helga," Arnold spoke from behind, still holding her firmly yet tenderly, "I don't think it ever was an act. Back in her student-teacher days…well yes, she did embarrass you, but it never felt intentional. Maybe she was trying to bond with you even back then, mother and daughter."

Helga could only sigh at Arnold's assessment. "Way to spoil the climax, Arnoldo! I was just getting to that!"

She had to get back on track fast for fear of Arnold ruining any more disclosures with his shattering insights. A deep breath then, and: "Yes, that's what I felt last night when she held me. At the boarding house when I tried to shake her off and she wouldn't let go. And believe me, I tried! But as she held on…I sensed through her touch that maybe, just maybe, she was on my side, not Miriam's."

"And that's why you stopped resisting and just let her keep holding you?" Arnold interjected.

"Oh goodness, aren't we on a roll?" commended Helga with a brief, sardonic smile. "Anyway, then later in my room when she hugged me for the second time, it felt…it felt…motherly."

"Pardon my language, Pataki, but no shit! It should have, given that she's your mom and all," Gerald commented. Maybe he should have thought more carefully before uttering those words, for they earned him disapproving glares from Arnold and Phoebe.

Fortunately for him, Helga had no more capacity for such distractions. She simply brushed off the comment and continued unabated. "No, you don't get it! The second time, it felt like I was her world. It felt…warm and loving…different from being held by Arnold. I mean, the love was still there, only…deeper. Like she'd be willing to make any sacrifice for me even after all the crap I gave her over the years."

She focused again on Gerald and Phoebe, who nodded in apparent understanding. Phoebe's words convinced her that the message had gotten through: "Yes, I think I understand. You experienced a genuine, loving familial embrace as you had never experienced before. Plus, I'd also hazard a guess that you found it most agreeable."

Helga's answer wasn't verbal, she simply nodded. "And guess what," she added, "we were just getting started."

To the surprise of both participants, their initial conversation had evolved into a heart-to-heart that carried well into the early morning. Among the confessions was Helga admitting to wrecking Olga's wedding to Doug LeSham, with the mitigation of him being a low-life, two-faced sack of monkey shit. A serial fellator of skunks, for whom not even castration with a blunt spoon would be punishment enough. A noble and loyal act, quoth Olga, but also a little bit sad for the young woman who reminisced over how "simply spectacular" the sex with Doug was.

"Hey," she would explain to a suddenly dumbstruck daughter, "if you're old enough to have sex, you're old enough to compare notes with your mother!"

Helga was nowhere near as proud to confess that getting Olga to move to Alaska was a total ploy to get the elder Pataki out of her hair, hopefully for good. "But I know that deep down you regretted your decision," Olga reassured. And when asked how she came to that conclusion, she cited the 'Love Helga' from Helga's first letter. Apparently, those two words were enough for Olga to believe that reconciling with her daughter was possible. OK, not exactly what Helga intended back then: she'd merely added it as a hollow placation. Still, she couldn't bring herself to share that little fact.

Other disclosures and confessions followed. Nothing was off limits. Well, almost nothing. There was the matter of Helga's multidimensional misadventures. The young girl reckoned that for all the openness on display, any mention of such an incomprehensible sequence of events would at best set back any hard-won progress, at worst relegate her to the funny farm.

And with that, the biggest surprise: she cared enough about the progress made between her and Olga not to want to jeopardize it.

"Helga, what you did last night displayed a maturity well beyond your years!" Phoebe praised her best friend. Gerald too appeared impressed by what he had heard, but he chose to hold his tongue lest his words come across as disparaging.

Arnold, who was holding Helga as tightly as ever, construed the pause as his cue to follow up with: "So you finally chose to accept her as your mother?"

"Nah," she replied. "Nice words and pretty promises are good and all, but they only go so far."

Her words threatened to deflate the congregation but for the fact that her story wasn't finished. She aimed her next comment at Arnold. "You know better than most, Footballhead, about how the thought and the deed go hand in hand. Turns out, she had one last surprise left for me."

After many hours of conversation, Olga posed the question: "So tell me, Helga. How do you feel now about having me as your mother?"

The question was no surprise to Helga, who knew it was coming from the moment she began the exchange with Olga. She had to free herself from Olga's grasp first – which she accomplished with very little resistance – then get off the bed so that she could stand while facing her mother. Only then did she present her answer, plainly but not combatively.

"Look, I get it. You gave birth to me; you're my mother. Biologically at least."

"But...?" asked Olga, sensing the girl's equivocacy.

"But…and I don't want to sound mean about it, I truly don't…how do I know you're serious about being more than just the woman who gave birth to me?"

Olga's eyebrows quirked as soon as she heard that question. As cutting as it was, as stumped as she was by its suddenness, she had to praise her daughter silently for not mincing her words. She still had to respond.

"What do you mean, Helga? Didn't I make it clear that I want to be a bigger part of your life?"

Helga – to her credit – didn't become annoyed by Olga's response. She was able to keep herself in check as she elaborated: "Look, forget about me for a second. What about Bob? Will you still be his little wind-up doll – your words, not mine – performing desperately to stay in his good graces? Knowing that no matter how much you succeed, it will never be enough."

Olga's eyes widened at the power of Helga's questions., but the crux of it all was still to come.

"Because if you're unable to take charge of your own life, then honestly you'll be no better for me than Miriam was!" Helga concluded in a firm, but still not combative, voice.

Olga, who by now was seated on the edge of Helga's bed, needed a good few seconds to ruminate over her daughter's words. When she was done ruminating, she looked up at Helga with newfound resolve in her eyes.

"Helga, I need a minute. I'll meet you downstairs."

It turned out that Olga needed more than a minute, but she eventually joined Helga downstairs in the lounge. And it immediately became clear to Helga why Olga needed the time. She had detoured via Bob's workshop and had a crowbar in her hands to show for it.

Helga couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu at that sight. Not to mention a little fear: how the hell was she planning on using the tool? The girl may have even been assuming the worst, given Olga's expression. It wasn't somber, it wasn't serious; instead, she seemed to be smiling faintly.

"This way, Helga," Olga motioned toward the adjacent trophy room, Bob's shrine to all things Olga and her excellence. Helga felt compelled to follow. After all, Olga was bigger than her, and she'd proven herself capable of withstanding the worst of her daughter's flailing tirades. Most importantly, she was the one holding the crowbar this time.

As they entered the trophy room, Olga flicked on the lights. The room became bathed in pure white light to reveal all of Olga's past achievements as if they were prized works of art.

"You were right, you know," Olga began explaining in an eerily calm, even tone. "In some ways, I'm glad I found you and Arnold in your compromising position."

She paused to scan the contents of the room with equal parts nostalgia and disgust.

"How else would we have our little round table?" she asked while pacing through the room to examine its displays. Its Pyrrhic displays giving testament to a girl who'd won the world while losing her soul. "How else would I have seen for myself the depth with which he cares about you? How else would I have been made aware of the beautiful, strong-minded girl that you've become?"

With that, the first swing of the crowbar. She struck a collection of miniature trophies from their shelf, sending them flying clean across the room.

"How else would I come to realize that I played no part in your development?" she asked more loudly as she swung at a larger specimen, knocking it off its plinth. And she had only gotten started.

"What good is any of this?" she loudly ranted as she rammed the chisel end into a framed certificate of a long-forgotten achievement. The shattered frame dropped to the floor, but Olga was far from done.

"All because I got too good at playing a role!"

This time she toppled over yet another large trophy and clubbed it into a mangled mess of gold-colored plastic. Helga had to admit: she'd never seen this side of Olga before. And to be honest, the older woman was frightening her just a little bit.

"Just trophy after meaningless fucking trophy!" Olga wailed as tears started flowing down her cheeks. Another wild swing: more trinkets sent flying to their demises.

"All because I chose my security over my responsibility!"

Her rampage continued. Cups and bowls. Plaques and citations. Gold and brass. None were spared her wrath now that she was firing on all cylinders.

"And for what?" she continued her tear-streaked confession. "Because I was a fucking idiot, that's why!"

CRASH! WHACK!

More demolition!

"Because I believed one day it would all be enough!" – CRASH! – "One day I wouldn't have to prove myself anymore!"

By now, her repressed emotions had fully caught up with her in all their overwhelming glory.

"Even if it meant turning my back on my beautiful daughter! Even if—"

"That's enough!"

To Helga's utmost shock, it was she who uttered those words. More shockingly, it was she who flung herself at Olga. Holding her, hugging her, trying to get her to calm down.

"Olga!" she called out. "Olga!"

No luck. Olga craved destruction and woe betide they who would try to stop her!

"MOM!"

Helga's last-ditch attempt to reach her.

Mom. Only one word, but its mention did what volumes of appeasements would never accomplish. It put Olga on pause. It was a chance for Bob and Miriam Pataki's daughter to take in the destruction she had visited upon her father's holy of holies.

She didn't take that opportunity, for a more important matter needed to be addressed. Precious seconds passed during which she processed that single word spoken, as well as the person who had spoken it. Down she looked at the girl holding her. The girl was looking back at her in widemouthed disbelief as if she too couldn't believe that she'd uttered that word. Olga felt suddenly weakened by that realization, enough to lose her grip on the crowbar. She probably didn't notice it slip out of her hand and hit the floor with a muffled thunk. That didn't matter anyway. What truly mattered was…

"Did…" she havered. "..did you just call me…"

Helga could only smile a tired smile and interrupt during the pause: "Well, you did give birth to me after all."

And so the stage was set for more bonding between the two. Alas, it wasn't to be.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" Bob's stentorian voice boomed as he stormed into the room and before his jaw collapsed at the sight that greeted him.

"THE TROPHIES!" he exclaimed before turning to the room's other occupants. "Helga, you did this, didn't you?"

Olga was opening her mouth to begin defending Helga, but her daughter was faster.

"Sorry, Bob. Not my wrecking ball."

"Don't you go lying now, Missy!" Bob warned. "Who else but you would be jealous enough to want to destroy these trophies?"

"That would be me, Daddy," Olga replied, a raised hand calling attention to herself.

"Olga, don't you go lying too!" Bob chided his daughter. "What are you protecting that girl for? I swear she is getting to be such a bad influence on you!"

"That girl…is Olga's daughter!" Miriam announced angrily as she too marched into the room. Bob turned to look at his wife, to see instead a driven and determined woman who would suffer no lip from him. "She's our granddaughter," she continued tearing into her husband, "and it would be best if both of us remember that!"

Bob's attention was diverted to Miriam and her bombshell words which only added to his disbelief. Very shortly after that, his disbelief boiled over, and developed a voice.

"You mean she knows?" he asked Miriam in bluster and confusion.

Helga was next to speak, which she did knowing that Bob's response would be one to relish. "Well, Bob. Looks like there are some details you need to be filled in on."

They were all mouth agape by the end of her story, which she capped off with: "So you see, it's not just that I've started respecting Olga. I…I…" – this was the most difficult admission she'd ever have to make – "…I'm not sure why, but I think I can actually start loving her as my mother."

"I suppose congratulations and felicitations are in order," was the only response Phoebe could muster.

"Yeah," Gerald agreed. "That was intense. I mean…wow, who knew she had a hidden 'red mist' mode in her?"

"Hey, I had to get my violent temper somewhere," Helga half-joked.

"So what happened after your grandparents got involved, Helga?" asked Arnold, who was still holding on to the nymph seated on his lap. Their friends were just as eager to know that answer; they were leaning toward her in anticipation.

Unfortunately for them…"Sorry, you guys, but that's a story for another time."

"But why?" Phoebe and Gerald asked in unison, Gerald continuing with: "It was getting even more interesting!"

"Sorry," Helga repeated, "but I'd like to run that part by Arnold first."

She felt through a brief change in Arnold's hold his surprise at her decision. She saw too that her friends were reacting no less appropriately. Their subsequent looks of disappointment and confusion prompted her to add: "But I promise you, you'll be the first to hear about it after the footballhead."

A pause, a joint sigh in resignation, then from Phoebe: "Very well, Helga. We'll respect your wishes."

From Gerald: "I guess it's your barbecue, your rules, Pataki. But can you answer one question, please?"

"The answer is no, I don't think Arnold would be keen on me joining you and Phoebe for a threesome!", Helga preempted Gerald's question with much mischief and to his and Phoebe's looks of bright red indignation and their synchronized sputtering. Arnold wasn't immune either; he bucked violently in response, and only his firm grip on Helga prevented her from slipping off his lap.

Gerald recovered sufficiently before resuming with: "Come on, Pataki! How messed up are you? That wasn't my question!"

"Oh? Then what was?" Helga asked, chuckling, feigning innocence.

"Just wanted to know…how come you're still on Arnold's lap?"

Enter Phoebe with: "He raises a good point, Helga. Sitting on his lap was an effective prop, but surely it has long served its purpose by now. Why then continue in that pose?"

Helga, not one wit abashed, answered as academically as possible. "Well, for one, Arnold's lap is hella more comfortable than any chair in this place. Two, he hasn't asked me to get off of him…"

At that, Arnold looked up bashfully to face his two friends. Despite the bashfulness, he otherwise showed no evidence of not enjoying having Helga this way.

And three…" – that's when her trademark playfulness crept back into her voice – "…three, it was priceless seeing you two get all hot and bothered watching us like this!"

xxXXXxx

A flustered Gerald and Phoebe departed the scene, leaving the blonde couple together alone. Many seconds of silence followed before Arnold spoke the foremost words.

"So, Helga, what was it you wanted to tell me first?"

"Sshh, Footballhead," Helga replied gently. "I'll tell you later, but first let us have this moment before recess ends."

Unspoken, communicated solely through their bodily contact, she asked him to loosen his grip, and he obliged. In a deft and elegant motion, she pivoted her hips and swung a leg over so that she was now facing her swain while straddling him. He resumed his firm grasp and she held him around his upper back.

So they remained, silently gazing at each other. Taken in by the sight, taken in by the moment. Arnold eventually leaned in and rested his head against her chest. Helga reciprocated by cradling her beloved's head, patting it, and gently mussing his hair.

So they remained, silently reveling in each other's closeness.

"You want to know what's funny, Arnold?" Helga asked, almost inaudibly, before answering her question. "We're here now because I wanted you all for myself."

And with that, dear readers, another chapter ends. My gratitude for your support knows no bounds! As for the story, Helga and Olga seem to have had their breakthrough moment, haven't they? But there is still work to be done. Plus, what is so profound that Arnold must hear it before anyone else? I believe that's what's known as "keeping the reader in suspense". While you're in suspense, please think about reviewing this chapter or any other chapter. I would love to read your thoughts on my work.

Thanks to the two reviewers (Guest and Guests guesty). Your reviews speak volumes of your investment in my story and I hope not to disappoint you. Regarding Rhonda...yeah, if she's any good at gossipmongering, then I reckon she's very effective at extracting information from others. Ergo, she must be good at reading people's body language and using it against them.

Phoebe being assertive could still be a hangover from her Safety Patrol days. But seriously, she's always been protective over Helga as she is more aware than most of her vulnerabilities. It makes sense that she'll want to protect her best friend from anything that could harm her, even if it means protecting her from herself.

And to the latter reviewer, I hope the reveal in this chapter was indeed the "doozy" you thought it would be.

Helga's familiarity with the crowbar is a callback to a scene in "Awake" by The J.A.M. in which Helga uses one in self-defense. Overkill? Maybe, but the assailant was brandishing a taser. Anyhow, through our subsequent discussions over the scene, the crowbar took on a life of its own to the point where I was determined to give it a "Special Guest Appearance" in this story.

And to answer The J.A.M.'s question (which he doesn't yet know he's asked) Bob and Miriam are heavy sleepers for the sake of this story. Hence the delayed reaction to the destruction.

And now, this chapter's Tidal List:

This Masquerade – George Benson

I'm Still Here – John Rzeznik

First You Jump – Simple Minds

Mama – Spice Girls

I Don't Wanna Fight – Tina Turner

And that will be it for this chapter, my wonderful readers! See you next chapter. And remember: take care and take nothing for granted.