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 fanfiction based on them, speaks volumes of my reverence for the man.

Acknowledgement: This story takes place in a universe conceived by The J.A.M. a.k.a. Numbuh i. The writer remains indebted for the latitude granted to him in his interpretation of the established universe.

ICYMI: Moments of rapture, but what of the aftermath?

Well, what are you waiting for? Get cracking!

14. Grateful

Slausen's Ice Cream Parlour had over many decades carved a legacy for itself within Hillwood, entrenching itself within the city psyche. It was a humble establishment, devoid of Michelin-Star delusions. It wasn't a product of any anodyne corporate organogram or carefully curated marketing studies that considered the area's demographics and net disposable income to determine feasibility. In fact, the sum total of the original proprietor's market research could be captured in one sentence: "People want ice cream!"

If one were to be brutally honest, the quality of Slausen's menu was only one standard deviation or two above average. It hadn't received any awards outside of the Cheese Festival and it carried no endorsements from any rockstar celebrity chef. As such, it wasn't a destination venue, nor did it ever pretend to be. The establishment's lack of pretense was reflected everywhere within, from the happily worn, though properly maintained décor to the cutlery and crockery which according to conflicting lore either entered the country as part of the Mayflower's cargo, or washed ashore as flotsam from the Titanic.

Throughout its tenure spanning many generations, Slausen's had always been by Hillwood, for Hillwood. Countless sundaes helped make those special occasions extra special. Equally many ice cream cones would reward good report cards or otherwise cap off significant milestones and achievements for both young and old. To say nothing of the broken hearts that only something cold and sweet could soothe, of which the establishment had seen more than its share. Sometimes, though, a sweet treat was needed for no better reason than to make a conversation more palatable.

This was the case after school back on Tuesday. Phoebe, while nursing a knickerbocker glory, had still been reeling from Helga's announcement the previous day in the auditorium. Hearing about Helga's acceptance of Olga's plans had left her flattened. Helga was seated opposite her in the booth, similarly attending to a salted caramel and chocolate brownie delight.

"So Arnold endorses your decision to move to Alaska?" Phoebe asked, delaying her next spoonful.

She was reacting to Helga's revelation of her and Arnold's meeting with Olga the previous day. The blonde girl had given a more or less exact account of that event. They were now at the part where the minute one would probe for extra insight, as evidenced by her question.

"Yeah, not that it should surprise anyone," Helga replied. "This is Arnold, need I remind you?"

"I see," Phoebe spoke after a deliberately lingering swallow of her spoonful. "And you?"

"Me? What about me?" a slightly befuddled Helga asked back in a tone that didn't seem to sit well with Phoebe.

"Helga," Phoebe sighed, "you seem a mite too casual over your situation. It's…rather concerning."

"Phoebe," Helga began in an unusually calm voice to her best friend. "This isn't one of those situations that will have a 100% happy ending. Arnold seemed to realize that before I did. You think it's that cut and dried? This isn't your standard happy ending where everything works out for everyone. It's give-and-take. I get a chance to bond with my mother, but wouldn't you know it? Karma comes to kick my ass and make me pay for sticking her in the middle of Alaska."

"A long way from Arnold," Phoebe reminded her friend after another spoonful. Her words caused a prolonged pause in Helga who seemed lost for words.

Not for long as: "Are you trying to get a rise out of me?"

Helga's tone was still even-keeled, though it also carried some disappointment that Phoebe would stoop to such a tactic, if that was indeed her goal. Thankfully, it wasn't.

"Not at all, Helga," Phoebe responded earnestly. "I was merely attempting to steer our conversation to a particular talking point."

After a swallow of salted caramel and chocolatey goodness: "OK, I'll take the bait. What talking point exactly?"

"About an apparent subversion," explained Phoebe. The half-pint continued with: "About how you're the one gaining a parent and he seems fated not to know either of his."

"Yeah?" Helga hesitated.

"Contrary to the events from the previous worlds you inhabited, wouldn't you say?"

At that, Helga paused as the lightbulb lit up and the penny dropped for her. She now knew where her best friend was headed. "Look, it's not as if I haven't considered that point," she averred.

Phoebe's follow-up question sounded a bit more pointed than she intended. "But what's stopping you?"

"The uncertainty, that's what!" an emphatic Helga retorted. "I mean, in one world his folks are missing in San Lorenzo. In the other, they never left, and San Lorenzo doesn't even exist!"

Phoebe kept pressing. "But it does in this universe, right?"

"You think I didn't consider that point as well? How would I break that news to him?"

"You mean you haven't told him about his parents in this or the other universes?" a now indignant Phoebe asked.

But Helga was up to the indignation. "Tell him what, exactly? Hey, Footballhead. You know about your parents? They were alive and well in my previous two worlds, while in this one it's 50/50 because I – honestly, I might add – don't know a damn thing about them!"

"See, Helga? This is what I meant when I told you to be careful about Arnold," Phoebe recalled. "After all your efforts stemming from your lubricious intent, you finally hold a special place in his heart. And now he'll be forced to part ways with you for who knows how long?"

"Phoebe, allow me to reiterate," Helga began explaining, more testily but still clinging to some measure of civility. "Arnold, through no prompting or any other influence from me, said this to me and my mother. That while I might want him, it is my mother that I need."

Phoebe pricked up at that bit of clarification, and would for a long time yet hold on to what Helga next said, which was: "I love you enough to want you to be happy in your life, with or without me. His words, not mine! His exact words!"

Regardless that Helga's last statement was to be remembered for some time, Phoebe still had a stake in the conversation. "So you're getting the better deal out of the decision," she summed up the situation. "And Arnold? Don't you think he should benefit similarly from this?"

"How exactly?" Helga voiced her borderline exasperation. "If I could help him, I'd do so in a heartbeat! But how, Phoebe? How?"

"By giving him back his parents," Phoebe answered, too plainly for comfort. Helga was mounting a counterargument that was not to be, for Phoebe continued in that same tone. "Maybe the circumstances will be different, but there is bound to be enough overlap between what happened in your previous world and this one to at least offer a starting point for another retrieval effort."

"But what if they're not alive?" protested Helga.

At that, Phoebe's expression changed to one hardened by cold, calculating logic with no use for such fanciful punctilios as empathy and consideration. "Dead or alive, it's ultimately irrelevant."

Helga gulped at that statement, floored by the apparent heartlessness of Phoebe's words and too petrified to challenge her friend. She knew a follow-up was upcoming, and she was dreading it. "It's irrelevant in that he benefits either way. If they are alive, he too will have a life worth rebuilding."

Well yes! That much was obvious to Helga. But what about—

"Otherwise…" continued Phoebe. "…he'll at least have closure and no longer have to worry about their fates. You must admit: even that scenario would be a more desirable outcome than never knowing."

"So I just tell him everything I know and hope that some of it sticks?" Helga asked while wondering to herself if this Phoebe was on her way to becoming Hillwood's next untouchable crime boss.

"Exactly!" Phoebe affirmed. "Though I'd advise you confine yourself to just the rescue effort. No distractions. No mention of any…um…extracurricular activity of an intimate, personal, or licentious nature."

"Oh, you mean like the activity you and Gerald are still considering, maybe?" teased Helga.

Phoebe went from nursing her dessert to attacking it behind freshly rubricated cheeks in a bid to escape the turn which the conversation had suddenly taken. Helga found her actions quite amusing, and obligingly changed the subject. "But no way do I want to tell him the full story. How's that gonna look? Hey Footballhead! Funny thing, this. I came to this world just so that we could start having sex. By the way too, about your parents…yeah, I've been sitting on that info for the longest time…"

Phoebe looked back up from her epicurean treat, her cheeks having returned to their usual flesh tone. "Well, you've always been much better at writing than at verbal communication."

She left it there for Helga's consideration, then watched as the gears started turning inside the tall blonde girl's head. She watched as a smile gradually crept onto Helga's face. "Say Pheebs," she announced, "You don't suppose I can borrow your library cards?"

"Which ones?"

"All of them if you can spare them," Helga answered.

"Sparing!"

That was that. Helga's plan was well underway. She'd scour all the libraries and archives for whatever information she could find about San Lorenzo. She'd combine that data and her recollections and convey the results as best she could to her beloved. With any luck, she'd have it all done by Friday. The sooner, the better.

With that, the matter was settled, and back to their confections the young ladies went. For the first time since their conversation commenced, their priority shifted to degusting their rich and decadent treats. Helga took advantage of the lull and mischievously ventured forth with: "So…you and Gerald then…"

"Arnold My Love…

I must apologize that you have to read what you are about to read, instead of hearing it from me. Despite what we've shared and how close we've become, I can't bring myself to tell you any of this. The truth is, I don't have a choice. If I tried explaining this myself, I'd end up just as confused as you. At least if I write it down, I could edit and rewrite it and ultimately make better sense.

I wish to share with you the sum total of my observations across two universes on this fundamental and very personal matter of yours: your parents. Now I cannot guarantee the accuracy of what you're about to read. I mean, in the one world they were lost and we found them alive and well, while in the other they were never missing and San Lorenzo didn't even exist.

But still, it doesn't seem fair that I'm gaining a parent while you're sitting around wondering if you'll ever see yours again. I wish I could, but once again, I can't guarantee anything. The least I can wish for is to give your hopes a fighting chance.

So here we go…"

xxXXXxx

Wow!

He may have been tired and groggy after his time with Helga, but what she had written was fascinating enough to invigorate him to attention. Helga's missive was a detailed and eloquent account of events spanning different universes.

The first arc played out in a world wherein his parents had never been to San Lorenzo chiefly because San Lorenzo didn't exist. Here she waxed lyrical about his parents, culminating in the following conclusion:

"It's a shame, my dearest, that you couldn't have been there. Even from this world, I must confess to some jealousy. They were kind and loving and empathetic in ways that I never experienced from my parents in any universe. I think back to Miles and Stella Shortman and realize how unfair any given universe must be where you who most deserve to mean the world to such wonderful people, are being denied it."

Arnold felt his eyes mist up upon reading that passage. He felt many repressed emotions suddenly unearthed from within him. The hopelessness and helplessness he'd long been staving off. The deluge was as sudden as it was impactful, shattering the mask of normality he'd so painstakingly crafted for all to see.

Thus, when Arnold Philip Shortman felt the first of the tears trickle down his cheeks, he was surprised to feel no earthly compunction to stop them. Because his tears were the product of an inescapable truth: he missed his parents. He longed for them. He longed to be held again by them, to be comforted again by them.

To be told over and over that everything would be fine now that they were back.

But they weren't. Helga's words meant him no ill will; they had merely driven that harsh point back home.

And yet…

And yet he had not one unkind word for her. How could he? It was he, not she, who chose to put the biggest goddamn lid over his emotions and lie to the world that everything was hunky-fucking-dory. The world could have his goofy grin and his busybody nature; the hurt underneath was off-limits.

As for Helga? Her life was shitty and she had no problems letting the world know. Neither was she afraid to live her life on her terms as the ultimate "fuck you, world".

Two kids. Two kids with bad lots in life. One chooses to hide his, the other chooses to broadcast hers. Two flawed kids whose feelings now transcended entire universes. Each one needing the other in ways that he was only now becoming aware of.

His weeping continued silently. Firstly over the loss of his parents and the ensuing uncertainty, then over Helga and her offer of comfort and understanding.

It would be a while yet before the tears subsided, during which he realized that he was still naked after his time with Helga. He quickly put on his sleep ensemble. While doing so, he became aware of something else. The Sunset Arms was alive again with sound and activity. The TV downstairs was on, blaring out a baseball game that elicited many loud contradictory remarks – as well as the occasional personal insult – from Messrs Potts, Kokoshka, and Hyunh.

"Pipe down, you bums!" Arnold's grandfather was heard bellowing from his room. "Some of us are trying to sleep here, ferchrissakes!"

Meanwhile, there was a sweet, familiar scent that could only originate from the kitchen. His grandmother was baking cookies.

For all the screaming and squabbling though, not one mention or reference was made of Arnold or his presence. Oh well, maybe nobody was aware of what had happened in Arnold's room.

As if on cue, he heard from his grandmother: "AVAST, YE SCURVY SEADOGS! 'TIS NOT THE TIME TO BE WAKING THE YOUNG CAPTAIN WITH YE SALTY PIFFLE! 'TIS A VERY ROUGH DAY THE BOY'S HAD AND YE'D BE WISE TO REMEMBER THAT DISTURBING HIS REST WILL BE GROUNDS FOR KEELHAULIN'!"

Grandma's message became clear to Arnold. Behind the playfulness of her request, she wasn't merely ordering the other occupants to keep the noise down. She had just invoked a policy of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Don't Even Fucking Think About It!" and was willing to enforce it under the threat of "they'll never find your body".

In the midst of the resulting quiet, it became clear to the boy that the subtext of her message had been received and understood. Arnold was thus protected against questioning, badgering, teasing, harassment, or any other form of heckling over his relationship with Helga.

Thanks, Grandma.

So, appropriately clad and sufficiently dry-eyed, he returned to his bed for further reading.

xxXXXxx

The second part played out in a world that sounded simply boring. This world as described was devoid of character and imagination, certainly not a world in which any of Arnold's most cherished (mis)adventures could ever have occurred. If Helga was to be believed, Hillwood wasn't even in the state of Washington: what was up with that? What about Lockjaw and Elk Island and Wheezing Ed? Worse still, her descriptions of him were not what could be considered flattering.

"Criminy, Footballhead. You had some serious issues in that world, and that's coming from me! If anything, I got to see the real you lurking behind the warm smile and the good nature [and something that had been scratched out, something about…"tight"?..."buns"?]. And I don't mean that in the best possible way. Try glum and cranky. Prone to the occasional violent outburst. Pedantic bordering on antisocial when you wanted to be. You were some piece of work. Actually, no, scratch that. You were quite the asshat. Again, that's coming from me! But fear not, my love, you did eventually become the lover capable of [another scratched-out section…something something…"brains out and…"?] capturing my heart.

And here's how it began…"

And what a story it was!

Helga had only ever mentioned that universe as the one in which she and he became lovers for the first time. Now though, she was all about a trip to San Lorenzo. The pages crackled with Helga's enthusiasm over the subject matter as her story held Arnold's attention unyieldingly. The events may have played out on a different plane of existence, yet her vivid prose put him in the thick of the action.

The less than opulent chartered flight. San Lorenzo complete with its heat and the sticky, pervasive subtropical humidity. The arduous trek through the jungle and up a mountain. The chilling discovery of the plane wreck. The all-time rapture of eventually finding his parents.

My parents!

The absolute, heartrending low of discovering they had amnesia ("retrograde", quoth the scribe). The breathless, gnawing desperation as he tried to get through to them and make them recognize him. The knee-buckling relief of finally succeeding, of being recognized by them. Of a loving parental embrace many years in the making and just as long overdue. Being loved by them all over again and being able to love them back.

OMIGAWD, MY PARENTS!

Her story didn't end there. The following pages provided folded maps and pictures of a prominent mountain peak. Each addendum had a set of annotations. The maps – a road map and a topographical map – had dots and circles and whatnot highlighting roughly the area in which the described events could have played out according to Helga's recollection. One picture had a note: "I'm not 100% sure, but I think we could have found your parents somewhere on this mountain."

She's so good at writing, he heard himself think out loud in awe of Helga's talents. What also captivated him was how thorough her research appeared to be. The maps and pictures looked like they'd been photocopied from quality sources. This was specialized material, well beyond the resources of the school library. How many of the city's libraries did she have to scour just for this, her best approximation of an itinerary one universe removed? Those thoughts were placed on the back burner as he read through Helga's equally moving afterword.

"Arnold, you may have read all of what I have to tell you instead of hearing it from me, but believe me when I say that telling you at all was not an easy decision. Would I shelter you by not telling you, or risk giving you false hope that could ultimately shatter your heart and make you hate me?

If you've made it this far, you should know which option I chose. Again, I'm not saying that any of this will hold up in this world the same way it did back then, or even at all. But maybe, just maybe, the least it might do is provide a starting point if you wish to search for them.

Because, my love, if even the slimmest sliver of hope exists for you to be reunited with your family, I want you to have it. All of it.

Deepest Love

Helga"

Arnold was smiling as he resumed his weeping. Not about his missing parents. This time his tears were flowing for Helga. Helga and her selflessness. How was it possible? How did she go from openly hating him in public to tolerating him to…well…this, whatever "this" was. And how was it possible that he would welcome the transition, welcome her into an ever-increasing part of his heart? Dammit, he'd even admitted that he loved her (in front of her mother, no less)!

Was this love too?

Was this what it meant?

The girl had just made him cry profoundly, yet never had he felt more grateful for having her in his life. Someone who dug up his deepest, darkest vulnerabilities and he felt that he couldn't thank her enough. Because he knew he'd do the exact same things for her if it meant ensuring her happiness.

She'd offered hope in a part of him where he had run out. And for that, he had to thank her. In person. Tomorrow. Because right now, on this late Friday evening, having spent a good amount of time with Helga and just as good an amount reading her treatise, he was knackered and drained. He needed his sleep.

Saturday arrived a disappointment. Arnold's eagerness to meet Helga as soon as possible was immediately stymied by the reality of his chores and duties at The Sunset Arms. Between tidying his room and laundry duty, combined with cleaning the sauna (a job done very quickly and very thoroughly) and helping his grandfather with some minor routine maintenance, his entire morning was eventually spoken for.

He was still a little on edge that any of the boarders might blurt out allusions to any knowledge of his and Helga's activity the previous day. All for naught, really. If they knew anything, they uttered not even a syllable to that effect. The closest anyone came was his grandmother who served him a heartier breakfast than usual. The explanation offered was that "You've had a hard week taming some wild ponies, Tex" and that "You must eat to recover your strength".

Eventually though, his responsibilities to The Sunset Arms ended and he had the rest of the Saturday to himself. No time to waste; he had to find Helga. He had to thank her for her efforts. He had to share with her how he planned to use the information she had provided.

He had to thank her, in person!

He wasn't quite sure if she was still at home, but it seemed the best place to start. If she wasn't home, his strategy was to scour any of the usual hangouts tirelessly until he found her. His strategy was rendered moot when he knocked on the Patakis' front door and Helga opened up.

At that very instant, two actions occurred simultaneously. Firstly, Helga's expression twisted into a look of disbelief as she prepared to ask him just what the hell he was doing there. That was as far as she got as, secondly, she found herself in Arnold's tight and thankful embrace punctuated by the repeated utterance of "thank you".

"Um, Footballhead?" Helga tried to talk above his grateful – but incessant – clamoring.

Not to be, as he held on for dear life and sang her eternal praises against her physical protests.

"Footballhead…!" she tried with greater urgency.

"You're wonderful, Helga!"

"Arnoldo, just listen to—"

"That was so kind of you!"

"Arnold!"

"I don't know how I'll ever—"

"ARNOLD!" she shouted as she shook herself free from his grasp and put some distance between them. Naturally, he was concerned that he had overdone it with the gratefulness. He tried to explain himself – "Helga, I'm sorry! It's just…" – only for Helga to hold up a stern right hand to shush him. She then lowered the hand to her chest and promptly pointed the index finger to her left.

Arnold tentatively followed the direction of the digit…until he saw Miriam in the kitchen. Miriam Pataki: rooted on the spot, mouth agape, barely holding on to the dish she'd just taken out of the oven. Enough to make Arnold realize that maybe he hadn't thought this plan adequately through.

"Helga? Helga, what's happening in there?"

Nope, he definitely didn't think this plan through at all. He was mentally chastising himself as Bob stormed into the lounge, far away from the beeper store where Arnold thought The Beeper King was guaranteed to be.

"Helga!" Bob continued his inquisition. "What the hell? Is this boy causing you trouble?"

Helga remained silent, choosing instead to savor Arnold's regret over his spur-of-the-moment decision. The look on her face may have reflected light-hearted schadenfreude, but buried within it was also a reassuring look of "Don't worry, I've got this".

Thus, she was to be as surprised as Arnold when her grandmother spoke next: "Oh hello, Arnold. What a pleasant surprise. I don't suppose you'll join us for lunch?"

And that's it for this chapter, dear readers. This is how our favorite couple will see off 2022 in this tale. Since this will be my final publication for 2022, allow me to convey my thanks for your continued support of this title throughout the year. Your support, your views, your reviews, your engagement. All motivation for me to deliver my best possible efforts to you, for you deserve nothing less.

And to the nice people who left reviews...

Guesty: I am profoundly heartened that you are reading as much into my story as you are. Same with the extrapolating and the second-guessing; it all speaks of high-level investment in the story. I promise I'll do my best to make subsequent chapters at least as gripping for you and not betray your trust in me. And also to provide more vocabulary words.

Kay Deutsch: Dankie soos altyd vir u ondersteuning. Dankie ook dat u so diep in die storie belê is. Dit word altyd besonders gewaardeer. Hou aan om te lees om te sien hoe 'n langafstand Shortaki-verhouding sal uitwerk, of dit inderdaad sál kan uitwerk.

While I'm here, a special shout-out to The J.A.M. who's been engaging me outside of FFN for some most insightful and introspective (his favorite word) exchanges on all things Hey Arnold, pop culture, and life in general. So yeah...thanks, mi amigo, for always keeping me honest.

As for the rest of you, how are you finding the story so far? I'd love to read your thoughts and so far.

With that, though, time for this chapter's Tidal List:

Hold On My Heart – Genesis

Waiting – Norah Jones

The Song We Were Singing – Paul McCartney

Since I Left You – The Avalanches

Is This Love – Whitesnake

And that's it for this chapter. Thank you ever so much for staying on the ride. Take care and take nothing for granted. Peace out.