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 for the man.

ICYMI: It's all systems go with Arnold's parents, much to Helga's regret when her grandparents celebrate the milestone—also a reconciliation and a promise to be cashed in.

And so...onward to the next chapter.


19. Favor

Early into a balmy Thursday evening, the communal telephone at The Sunset Arms rang three times before being answered by Gertie Shortman. The caller identified herself as Eleanor Roosevelt and informed the de facto majordomo that she and the President were planning to visit Camp David. She was assured in no uncertain terms that arrangements would be immediately made, and that discretion would be the top priority. Those assurances were made reality twenty-four hours later when Helga Pataki gained ingress to Arnold Shortman's room as she usually did: via the skylight.

She wasn't surprised to find it neat and tidy, almost as if he's expecting company. The room had been prepped for a visit, right down to the condom placed on the bed together with two large, thick towels. And since this was a presidential visit, the host had also left a service for two.

Chocolate milk. Oat cookies. Brownies.

Makes sense, she reckoned. We're a wee bit young for champagne and oysters.

And yes, the boarding house was once again eerily silent. Not a peep from anyone, from anywhere. Whatever Grandma Gertie did, it worked. Whether she moved the boarders to a different place or even a different plane of existence, the result was the same. The Sunset Arms had been made completely available to her and her beau.

Just as she promised, Helga reflected. Bless her! Bless her kind, supportive heart!

She was thus free to snap up the prophylactic and the towels and make haste toward the sauna. Before exiting the room, she took a few seconds to glance into the mirror. Liking what she saw, she did not doubt that Arnold would react the same way.

She arrived at the sauna to find Arnold standing expectantly, waiting for her.

She'd made a little extra effort for the occasion. Over and above her usual bathing ritual, she'd also washed her hair with a shampoo that promised "increased body" and "silky texture", whatever those meant. The perfume, too, courtesy of Miriam's bureau. The pickings were admittedly slim, but she found a scent agreeable enough for her to purloin a spritz or two. Even her dress boasted a new design. It was the same light shade of pink, though it sported two stripes at the bottom, one a darker shade of pink set atop a second, red one. The color scheme wasn't the dress's only new feature; so too was its cut. The fit was more relaxed, more at ease with her burgeoning bodily development.

Arnold's appearance suggested that he had – intentionally or otherwise – returned the favor. He was still wearing his usual ensemble, only differently. He seemed to have grown taller. How did that happen? His plaid shirt still hung loosely, but now it barely seemed to cover his hips. She could have sworn that not even two days ago, he was still wearing it like a kilt. This new look was less bohemian, more dapper. The overall effect was enhanced by the dark teal jacket he was sporting.

Helga would have gone weak at the knees at this new Arnold, but for the fact that Gerald was standing beside him, dressed in a slightly oversized white terry cotton bathrobe. He was holding a plastic bag which she presumed contained his usual clothing ensemble (It did).

"Oh hello, Helga," Arnold greeted, delighted to see her.

"Sup, Pataki?" followed Gerald. He was trying to play it cool, though both his friends could tell there was much nervousness beneath the veneer.

"I'm surprised is what I am! No, scratch that! I'm impressed!" Helga addressed Gerald first. "I was thinking you'd chicken out after being all talk in the auditorium."

"Oh Helga," scolded Phoebe as she emerged from the sauna. She was wearing a matching terry cloth bathrobe to Gerald's. She'd just changed into it inside the structure. Like Gerald, she was also holding a plastic bag packed with her usual clothing. "You really ought to stop underestimating Gerald like that."

Phoebe spoke confidently, which, as with Gerald, made her appear to be overcompensating for butterflies fluttering in her stomach (She was; they were).

"Oooh!" Helga sassed back at her best friend. "Do you know something about him that Arnold and I don't?" She focused on Gerald next with, "Looks like the pressure's on for you to perform, eh Geraldo?"

Phoebe and Gerald's reddening at that statement was instantaneous. So too was Arnold's beratement. "Helga!" the footballhead scolded. "You're not doing them any favors!"

Against Arnold, Helga defended her words with: "Oh, come on, Arnoldo! What's the big deal? We're dealing with consenting parties here, right?"

Then to the other couple: "Seriously, you two, think of it as spinning the bottle. Pheebs, you landed on Geraldo, and now it's time to enter the closet…"

She trailed off to point at the sauna. "And trust me," she assured, "it's much sturdier than it looks!"

Phoebe had the choice to be mortified once more. She chose instead to remain stoic despite her crimson cheeks. "Helga," she spoke through clenched teeth, "don't you and Arnold have somewhere else you'd rather be?"

Arnold knew that Helga's answer would be some playful variation of "Not really", which is why his was the next voice to be heard. "Good point, Phoebe!" he hurriedly cut in. Then to Helga with a guiding hand on her shoulder: "Come on, Helga. We should get going if we want to make it to the movie. Give them the stuff you got upstairs."

Helga huffed at her party-pooper partner. Then in an arch display of servitude – replete with a stiff, exaggerated British accent – she handed the towels to Gerald with, "Your towels, Master Johanssen."

Now those around her weren't sure whether to be annoyed or amused, which suited Helga just fine. "Oh, and lest we forget," the hoyden continued in her overblown accent, "a sheath for your mighty weapon."

With that, she proffered the procured prophylactic. The red on Gerald's cheeks was vivid enough to be debilitating, leaving an equally red-faced Phoebe with the task of snatching the device from Helga's hand.

"Give me that!" the diminutive one snapped as she grabbed the device. Arnold could hardly contain his laughter, but he had to be the peace negotiator once more. "Come, Helga," he repeated as he placed a hand again on her shoulder. "We need to leave now," he stressed, trying to sound reasonable when he just as badly wanted to rib his friends. Helga relented this time, and the blonde couple were out of the yard and on their merry way.

Gerald and Phoebe were alone at last, and neither had a clue on how to proceed. Both of them knew what they wanted, but what was the proper decorum in getting there? Who would make the first move? For that matter, what was the first move?

Gerald wasn't sure, which was how he appeared to Phoebe when he looked at her and asked: "So…how do we go about from here?"

At least…he would have said it had Phoebe not cut him off after the "So…" by crashing into him, grasping him by his collar, and kissing him energetically and persistently. Her lips felt glued to his, and it took all his effort to halt her ministrations and suggest they take matters inside.

As Phoebe led him into the structure, he could only think to himself: Well, that's one hell of a start.


But how did this arrangement come to be?

Well, it traces back to a fateful discussion between Gerald and Arnold on Sunday. Number 33 would tell of how it could be getting real with Phoebe if only he could find a suitable location. Problem was, he couldn't. He thus needed the services of Hillwood's resident problem solver, to whom he had arguably the easiest access.

The trouble arose when Arnold himself couldn't think of any viable options. His suggestions also each had at least one deal-breaking flaw, including Elk Island ("Sheena's uncle might narc on us, man!").

Then on Wednesday, a solution presented itself at The Sunset Arms in the wake of a solemn promise.

"…the President and First Lady will have their every whim catered for here at Camp David!"

Arnold and Helga took those words to heart, but differently. While Helga was gleefully expecting some more carnal bliss with her beloved, Arnold had a different idea. This became apparent the following day at P.S. 118 when Arnold Philip Shortman sought out Helga Geraldine Pataki and asked her out on a movie date on Friday.

He was prepared for her response – two minutes of cursing and questioning his mental faculties – and patiently let the diatribe run its course before explaining his reasoning. He explained the situation with Gerald and Phoebe as he understood it.

And he had a plan. She had thought it would involve some more sexy time, so…

"Look, I get it. But that can't be all there is to us being together!"

"What? What gives? Are you saying you're bored with me already?"

"That's a crock and you know it! I love you!"

"So why—"

"Because I love being with you! I love talking to you just as much! There's more to you than just your body! You're smart, you can be crazy at times, and I'll do anything to keep you on my side while I still can!"

And once more, Helga Pataki's blushing proved she wasn't completely immune to honest, heartfelt compliments. Even so, it took Arnold Shortman another five minutes of bargaining and explaining to get her fully aboard. They would take Grandma Gertie up on her veiled promise and use it as a subterfuge to get their friends into the sauna. Phoebe and Gerald would have to establish plausible alibis and pretenses against their respective households. They'd most likely go under the old reliable cover of 'visiting their friends', which was as acceptable a reason as any other.

"The rest is up to them…" quoth a devilish Helga.

And a parting barb because (a) she was Helga Pataki and (b) a wincing Arnold was oh-so-cute and innocent.

"Hey, maybe your folks should consider charging by the hour for the sauna!"


Dear lord, this felt good!

They entered the sauna joined at the lips, with barely the collective presence of mind to latch the door. When that small but significant task was accomplished, back to each other they went. The kissing intensified as he probed her mouth with his tongue, which she accepted without hesitation. It was Sunday at Mighty Pete all over again as she returned his lingual gesture with equal intensity. They savored each other's taste and they realized they'd been longing for ever since Sunday.

Ever since Sunday.

Sunday.

Sunday: the day they experienced each other – enjoyed each other – like never before. A day they'd since spoken of only through shy, knowing glances accompanied by mutual blushing. A day that awakened a sense of longing between them that would yield to no amount of denial.

The longing spurred them on to chase after more sensations.

Touch and taste.

Hands exploring without restraint. His hands slipping under her gown for that skin-on-skin contact. Her hands reciprocating, all but tearing off his gown like the wrapping of a present she'd been waiting for all her life. Her mouth joining her hands in their exploration. Kisses for his neck, his shoulders. Kisses for his entire surface area.

She paused to examine her handiwork. How much is he enjoying this?

Her thought was answered when Gerald resumed kissing her on her mouth. His hands went back under her gown, this time to loosen it from within, enough for it to reveal her neck, her shoulders, and her chest. Then he paused to drink in this sight. This version of Phoebe that he had never before seen, and she had never before shown.

As his admiration lingered, Gerald wondered if Phoebe wasn't becoming uncomfortable under his gaze. He needn't have bothered. After more seconds passed than he had intended, he saw her quirk an eyebrow as she took on a look that was equal parts quizzical and chagrined. Her question matched her expression: "Well? Are you just going to stare, or can we continue now?"

Her answer came when Gerald breezed over to her and deftly scooped her up in his arms, much to her surprise and giggling. After another moment to admire her, he proclaimed: "My lady has spoken…"

He then gently placed her on a bench where she lay on her back as he positioned himself on his side beside her. She responded by spooning tightly against him. "Gerald," she said in a suddenly subdued voice, "as eager as I am, would it be fine if I let you take the lead?"

"I'll do my best, Babe," answered Gerald as best he could. "Remember, I'm new to this too."

Phoebe retorted with a smirk in her voice: "Maybe so, but I've no doubt you've consulted plenty of reference material in preparation..."

"Uh…reference material…?"

"Oh, don't even think of feigning ignorance, Gerald Johannsen!" teased Phoebe. "Would it truly be unreasonable to assume that you've exposed yourself to some salacious media as inspiration for this moment?"

There was a delay as Gerald mulled over his girlfriend's assertion before rendering an answer. "Oh, Babe," he began with a kiss on her cheek and a nibble on her ear, "do you have any idea…"

Kissing her neck.

"…how cute…"

Pausing to sniff her skin and hair. Taking in the intoxicating aroma.

"…and how sexy you sound…"

Moving down her nape to her clavicle with some light nibbling.

"…when you use all those big words of yours?"

Phoebe had no words – big or otherwise – because while Gerald spoke, he also placed his hand around her and had it return under her gown. As he was answering, the hand kept shifting downwards all the way to between her legs. When her opportunity to respond arrived, words eluded her, replaced suddenly by gasping from Gerald stroking her down there.

"Gerald!" she voiced in breathless shock. "What are you…! What's…happening…? Oh…! Oh…! Oh my…!"

What was happening was as profound to Phoebe as it was unprecedented. Gerald's ministrations had her bristling with an electric bliss emanating from where he was stroking. The euphoria was quickly spreading across the rest of her body. Against this new sensation, she was helpless, barely capable of coherence.

She had no words, only muted wisps of quickening breath.

She couldn't stop, nor did she want to. Not when the sultry environment kept muddling her senses, pushing her ever onward toward some vague goal that she was certain involved her ultimate rapture. Gerald wasn't aiding her predicament – such as it was a predicament – with his relentless handiwork. His stroking became faster and harder, and she could swear his digits were coming perilously close to entering her.

So when they did, she paused in wide-eyed surprise at the intrusion. Her initial awkwardness at being touched this way quickly gave way to frissons of delight. And when Gerald's stroking resumed – this time accompanied by plunging and tweaking – she continued her breathless rhythmic reaction. For he wasn't hurting her; in fact, he was elevating her existing bliss, stoking it toward critical mass. Fueled by his continued studies of the Latvian (not Swedish) videos, Gerald relentlessly plumbed Phoebe. Her moans were becoming harder to muffle, even with both her hands covering her mouth. Her moment arrived eventually when her body tensed from top to toe and she proclaimed both Gerald's efficacy and her delight thereof in high-pitched squeaks muffled by her hands and her gritted teeth.

Gerald waited for Phoebe's body to relax again after the spasmodic reaction had run its course before gently retracting his fingers. Wow, he thought to himself upon seeing how well coated in Phoebe's lust and enjoyment they were.

He then watched as his girlfriend sat up straight with her back toward him and reapplied the gown. A lengthy, pensive silence was to follow before she drew a deep breath through her nose.

"Gerald…" she eventually began in a spookily composed voice.

Gerald Martin Johanssen wondered whether it was good or bad that was to follow.


Only you, Helga.

Arnold was once again in two minds over his girlfriend and lover. They were well into their movie date, though Helga was clearly enjoying the feature way more than he was. Lovesick, accommodating fool that he was, he'd agreed to let her choose the movie. He should have seen it coming, but he didn't. He held out hope that her choice would be a sensible one. A PG-13 action adventure, maybe. A date-friendly romcom? Hell, even the by-the-numbers superhero movie du jour would have gone down well.

But no, not for Helga. She was in no mood for "that soft shit".

That is why she settled on "Rip Out Their Entrails VII" much to his dismay. The movie poster cited many reviews proclaiming it to be "a blood-spattered masterpiece", "a welcome return to bloodthirsty form", and "the best entry in the series since the second". True, the practical effects were frighteningly realistic, while the grotesque CGI wasn't as intrusive as could be feared with such a low-budget production. He had to make those concessions, even if he didn't agree with the graphic content.

Meanwhile, Helga was lapping it all up. Arnold couldn't think of anyone else who could be this gleeful over the sight of a hapless victim being flung left and right by his freshly liberated small intestine. Still, if she was happy…


Gerald Johanssen wasn't optimistic about what Phoebe would have to say after their initial session. All evidence pointed to her finding his digital stimulation too intense. Too much, too soon. In which case he'd understand if she wanted to cut the session short. He was so sure that was the reason that he interrupted Phoebe before she'd spoken her first word.

"Look, Babe! I'm sorry for going too rough on you!"

His plea for mercy was met with a look of confusion by his (hopefully still) girlfriend. "Gerald, whatever are you talking about?" she asked in a tone to match her expression.

Gerald wasted no time in explaining himself. "It's just…you look like you regret what just happened. And that you might hate me for pressuring you into doing this stuff. Well…if you're not yet ready for this, then let's stop now and—"

"Gerald, shut up!"

Phoebe's command halted what no doubt would have been a long, rambling apology. Then, in a softer tone: "Do you believe I'm in my current state because I'm mad at you?"

"Well…yeah!" he wavered. "Usually when you give me the silent treatment, it's because I messed up royally!"

"And you consider this an instance of messing up?" Phoebe asked.

And now Gerald was about to begin a contrite explanation on why it indeed was a case of him messing up. Phoebe anticipated as much and cut him off once more. "Don't talk, just listen for now!"

He deferred to her sudden display of authority.

"I have just experienced a euphoric high unlike any I've ever experienced. My every sense was overloaded, and thus I felt completely overwhelmed. It was simply unprecedented! I needed a moment to process everything."

"I see…" Gerald tentatively added.

Next, he felt.

Next he knew, Phoebe was straddling him on his lap and looking him in the eye. Her expression was one of intense mischief and intent. As were her words.

"And so, Gerald Martin Johanssen…no, you did not mess up royally. Therefore, your suggestion to halt events makes no sense. Why would you want to deprive yourself of a chance to experience the bliss you just afforded me?"

Gerald perked up at Phoebe's question, "You mean…?"

"I mean…" Phoebe began answering, before grabbing her boyfriend's gown firmly and tightly then rolling back. When Gerald realized what she was doing, he was lying on his back on the floor. Phoebe had judo-flipped him there, using her knee to guide him over her. Plus, she used his momentum to roll with him and end up on top of him in a full mount.

Tall Hair Boy was 90% sure of what was to follow. Still, it couldn't hurt to ask.

Once more, Phoebe was ahead of him.

"That's right, Babe!" she smirked. "We came here with a clear goal in mind, and our friends went out of their way to accommodate us."

Gerald nodded back with: "Yeah, I get it."

"Truer words were not spoken," affirmed Phoebe. Gerald felt her shift lower down his body. He felt her hands shift under his gown and cleek his shaft. "You do, indeed, 'get it'!"

"Whoa!" he yelped as he felt himself stiffen in acknowledgement and in anticipation. For good reason too: Phoebe was stroking him into action. It didn't take long for him to be fully fit for purpose, but then she paused.

"Hey, what gives?" he wanted to know.

"I do," answered Phoebe. "After this…" – she recalled Helga's words from earlier down to the accent – "…a sheathe for your mighty weapon!"

With that, she let go of his saddle horn to produce the condom. Her expression seemed all over the place. There was a longing in her eyes hinting that whatever was to happen, couldn't commence soon enough. At the same time, there was also a strictness stating that the issue of protection was non-negotiable.

"Right, right," Gerald responded. "Will you get off so I can quickly put that thing on?"

Phoebe remained put, however. So did her expression.

"Hey, I ain't kidding!" Gerald exclaimed quite urgently. "I need to be able to move to make that happen!"

Finally, Phoebe spoke. "Perhaps. But wouldn't you find it more pleasurable if I put it on you?"

Not that he wouldn't, not that he wasn't chomping at the bit for it, but: "Er, do you know how to use that thing?"

Phoebe's expression veered toward playfulness as she answered: "Let's just say, Gerald Johanssen, that you did your research…and I did mine…"

A minor faff and kerfuffle followed as Gerald got protected. Next was the matter of insertion: acquiring the target amid much squirming and fidgeting and shifting. Success brought its rewards, though.

Hot, almost burning, pressure acting on sensitive nerves in intimate areas. Senses overpowered by a deluge of stimuli that the boy and girl should have had no right to experience. But they were. And by the teachings of Shinto, they were not sorry! It was simply too enjoyable!

Then Gerald started moving…


Arnold was relieved when the end credits rolled, and he could decompress while they ran. He and Helga then left for the sanctuary of the now-empty lobby. His relief did not go unnoticed by Helga, who was merciless in her ribbing.

"What's the matter, Arnoldo? You're looking a bit green in the gills there."

Truth be told, he was still reeling after having witnessed too many scenes that he'd sell his soul to unsee. Unfortunately for him, Helga was taking no prisoners.

"Oh, the things we do for the ones we love! Amirite, Footballhead?"

She received no response, and so assumed the worst. Maybe Arnold's appetite for blood and gore wasn't as insatiable as hers, and he was feeling shell-shocked after many sanguine displays of viscera and human offal. Helga halted to look his way and found him stopped some distance behind her, staring intently at a display heralding a coming attraction.

"Hey Arnold," she called, "see something interesting? Our next date movie, maybe?"

She joined him and immediately understood his fixation. The display touted an erotic fantasy romance title featuring interplanar travel and a magic mirror that would show any user their true nature at that given moment. To emphasize the latter plot point, the display was housed around an oversized funhouse mirror that would twist and warp viewers into weird and wonderful forms not unlike human balloon figures.

"Wow!" commented Helga. "Looks like Hollywood's tapped into our life story."

"Minus the mirror," Arnold added, glad for some less intense subject matter.

"Still…" replied Helga, "…Don't you think we should sue them for royalties?"

"Maybe," answered Arnold. "But what would we say in court? Yes, Your Honor, my girlfriend traveled from a whole new dimension to have sex with me. Then they'd ask for our evidence and then…"

"Two worlds, Your Honor, two!" Helga corrected as she pointed past Arnold to the imaginary judge. "One in which I was part of an international rescue effort, and another in which I cracked my sister's skull with a crowbar!"

They paused to stare at each other and to consider the viability of such an action. Inevitably, they were reduced to hearty chuckles over the absurdity of it all.

"Yeah right," proclaimed Helga. "We do that and we'll be lucky just to get laughed off the face of the earth. Otherwise, it'll be 'Bailiff, get the straitjackets' and off to the funny farm we go!"

More laughter followed before a now mirthful Arnold turned to Helga with his suggestion: "Our secret then?"

"Our secret," concurred Helga. Her attention turned back to the mirror. "Wait a minute!" she announced before examining the display more closely. "You know, this mirror looks familiar!"

"How so?" Arnold asked, his curiosity piqued.

"I don't know," Helga explained, "but it could be like one of the funhouse mirrors they use at the Cheese Festival. One way to find out. If I'm right, then…"

With that, she motioned Arnold away from the mirror. Some seconds passed as she shifted her position, cycling through many squashed and stretched reflections of herself. Soon her eureka moment arrived, and she found what she was seeking. "Here we go, Footballhead," she announced. Arnold watched as she did a 180 pivot around her left foot into a come-hither pose.

"Like what you see?" she asked.

Arnold figured she was referring to the reflection in the mirror and looked that way. What he saw enamored him. The mirror showed a slender young lady with long, sleek legs and a slightly more rounded derriere. Her back was arched oh so slightly and ever so invitingly, her face more softly defined. Her coquettish smile spoke of someone equally as capable of breaking hearts as she was of capturing them.

"Is this what you see when you look at me?" the reflection asked Arnold.

Regrettably, the mirror could only reflect light, not sound. It could only show in silence how a dapper, princely, footballheaded young man entered the frame to envelop his lady love in his arms. It had no choice but to reflect how two star-crossed lovers sought to make the most of whatever time they had left by sharing a loving, lingering kiss. It was powerless against its duty to portray the sadness beneath the couple's affection, the knowledge that it was all too fleeting.


This is good!

No, scratch that: This is AWESOME!

Everything.

EVERYTHING!

The motion. Phoebe. Her grunts. Her moans. Her labored fits of breathing. Still straddling him, connected to him. Her glazed expression, frozen in the motion. Her voice. Her glorious, high-pitched voice. Calling out his name from time to time – "Gerald…! Oh Gerald…!" – with love and joy and urgency that he'd never heard her direct to anyone else before.

His hands…finding hers. Embracing. Fingers interlocking.

Two beings. Connected through thought, hand and hip: a perfect unity.

The rhythm unrelenting. Pressure building. Heat rising. Breaths quickening. Muscles tightening, spasming. Protesting: Enough, no more!

Lust overriding logic. Spurring young lovers recklessly onward to rapture or ruin.

Finally, the quietus: Gerald's release. Forestalled for as long as possible through superhuman effort and guttural moans. Not to be denied. Never to be denied as it spouted out of him and into the latex within Phoebe. Instinct kept him going. That, and Phoebe. Not for long, as she too hit those orgasmic high notes.

Suddenly, the hot and sweaty couple were limp and spent. Phoebe found herself no longer able to remain upright, and so simply fell forward onto Gerald's chest. Gerald accepted her with the most profound, most loving embrace he could muster.

Phoebe Heyerdahl boasted a broad and advanced vocabulary that would be sought after anywhere within academia. And yet, for all her vast knowledge of sentence structures, her post-coitus assessment comprised only a single word: "Wow".

"Yeah, Babe," concurred Gerald, equally bewildered by what they'd just done. "Wow."

Words seemed obsolete as Gerald tightly embraced Phoebe and they lay in silence. Gerald broke the calm, clearly because he was enjoying the moment. "You know what, Babe? I could hold you like this all night long."

Phoebe was still snuggling comfortably against him, eyes closed, when she replied: "I wouldn't recommend that course of action."

"Oh?" Gerald responded, more in playfulness than anything else. "And why would you say that?"

Phoebe maintained her comfortable position, closed eyes and all, as she explained. "Well, we are still in a hot and humid enclosure after having endured an intense yet enjoyable – some would say rapturous – session of physical exertion. Through constant perspiration and other bodily secretions, we're now dehydrated and lacking in essential electrolytes. We're at risk of suffering severe muscle cramps and dizziness, over and above the existing soreness in our muscles and joints."

"I see," mulled Gerald. "So what you're saying is five minutes of lying like this, tops, before we gotta get out of here."

"While using those big words which you say make me sound so sexy," Phoebe reminded him.

"And how!"

Five minutes later, and: "OK, Babe. Time to leave. I'll step out and let you get dressed."

He was up and on his way out when he felt Phoebe's hand tugging on his wrist. He turned to see Phoebe's somewhat disappointed expression.

"Something wrong, Phoebe? I'm just trying to be the gentleman."

Phoebe held on to him as she stood up. She hesitated before: "And what makes you think I need a gentleman? It could be that what I want right now is…" – another pause – "…is an admirer."

Gerald smiled at her and said: "Hey, I can do that too. No problem!"


The wrap-up was quick, efficient, and expertly timed. When Arnold and Helga returned to the sauna, their friends were fully clothed, and their gowns and towels were bagged. These were handed to Arnold who would place them in the boarding house's laundry hamper.

"Yeah, can't be too careful with the stains, now can you?" quoth Helga.

After the group said their goodbyes, Arnold retreated to his room to complete his cover. It was something of a bonus when he found the sweet treats still there and awaiting his consumption. There was still the matter of cleaning the sauna in the morning. He'd have lied if he said he was looking forward to a task in which a possibility existed of him coming into contact with issues and secretions from people who were neither him nor Helga. He made a note to wear a thicker pair of gloves.

xxXXXxx

Gerald returned home to little fanfare from his family and even less suspicion. He had, after all, been hanging out with Arnold, so there was no reasonable suspicion to be had. There was, however, one tiny complication when Timberly asked him more than once why he had a bigger-than-usual smile when he came in.

"Was your time at Arnold's place that much fun?" quoth Gerald's sometimes annoying kid sister. "Gee, I wish I could hang out with you guys more often!"

xxXXXxx

Phoebe and Helga played their part to complete everyone's cover. They accompanied each other to the tall blonde girl's home, where the diminutive one would spend the night. Phoebe's parents were aware of this engagement; they'd been informed well in advance and had given their full approval. It helped too that Phoebe – whether through the elder Pataki's acceptance or ignorance – always had an open door to their residence. The girls weren't expecting the stayover to amount to much.

Helga knew that any talk over what happened in the sauna would have to wait until Phoebe had fully recovered and the venue was discreet.

Phoebe would have welcomed that outcome even more. Right now, she was more exhausted than she realized and would kill for a chance to sleep away the stiffness, the soreness, and the chafing. Not to mention the bowlegged gait she was trying desperately to conceal in public.

They made it to the Pataki home to find Bob and Miriam waiting in the living room. Helga read the room and immediately went on the defensive.

"Oh good, you're home," proclaimed Bob, a bit too plainly for comfort. "Sit down. We have to talk." -he then glared at Phoebe – "In private."

"OK, you two, what gives?" Helga asked, forgoing any decorum. Phoebe, meanwhile, found herself retreating under Bob's insistence. She was stopped by Helga's hand on her wrist and an emphatic statement.

"She's not going anywhere!" Helga defied her grandparents."

"But Helga," protested Miriam. "This is a private matter. I'm not sure if—"

"Oh don't you worry, Grandma," Helga cut her off before motioning towards Phoebe. "She knows who my mother is! She knows about this living soap opera of a family!"

Helga was surprised – and, truth be told, a bit disappointed – when her grandparents didn't seem perturbed by her disclosure. Was what they had to say more about just Olga being her mother? It seemed that way when Bob spoke next.

"Hey, hey! If you're going to start a fight, Missy, at least hear us out before you go off all half-cocked!"

Phoebe was amazed by his words. Firstly, it seemed true that some measure of order had been restored in the Pataki household. Granted, Helga and her grandfather were still at each other's throats, but there were now rules of engagement involving facts and the understanding thereof. And given that Bob of all people was enforcing the condition, how could that not count as progress?

Secondly, Helga relented – albeit huffily – to hear him out. That, to Phoebe, was even more miraculous, easily on par with parting the sea and raising the dead.

"OK, Bob," Helga conceded. "What's the big news? Let me guess. Olga's done arranging my move?"

Miriam cut in with the answer: "It's not that, Helga."

"Then what?" Helga pushed back, not at all liking the suspense.

Neither did Bob as he cut in: "We got a call from those rescue people."


And that's it for the latest chapter! And as ever, my everlasting thanks for your support and patronage, you wonderful people! So the story is winding down now, but what is the endgame? I hope you'll stick with me for the last few chapters.

Kindly drop a review or two my way to let me know your thoughts. I'm all eyes and all ears.

Speaking of which...

The J.A.M. a.k.a. Numbuh I:

I take it Bob and Miriam didn't speak with Miss Sandoval? Different universe, different HFH. Besides, I didn't want to kill the pacing with unnecessary details and descriptions.

Daughter? Still keeping up appearances? Correct. Think of the Patakis as a work in progress since Bob is still clinging to his pride. No sudden, miraculous 180s on my watch!

Heh, "Shortaki". What can I say? I'm no fan of metahumor, but the urge here was too great to resist.

Heh, the sounds of celebration. One that will definitely keep Helga from sleeping. I hope that the readers were more at ease that I included a scene involving adults.

No wonder Miriam recognized the aura around Helga after that first night. Strange as it may seem, she's had more experience.

Well, Phoebe's got a point there. Gotta "seize" things. She was referring to Helga's situation before getting it turned back on her. I guess what applies to Helga, applies to her as well.

And things are finally settled with Phil and Gertie. And I'm surprised Arnold and Helga didn't take that as a "cue" to go for another round, or that they would at least sleep on the same bed that night. It was a school night.

Some notes on this chapter in case you're interested.

Although the chapter revolved around Phoebe and Gerald, I couldn't relegate Arnold to the periphery. Hence their date. You may not surprised to hear that I got the idea from "Operation Ruthless" in which Helga poses in front of the magic mirror. I was intrigued by her svelte reflection. Not enough for an entire story, but definitely enough for a weighty scene.

And I know The JAM has already asked just how Arnold and Helga could gain access to a movie with the described scenes. My answer is simple: because she's Helga freaking Pataki! And the ticket booth operator also works as the deli counterhand who sold her the submarine sandwich while she was sleepwalking in "Helga Sleepwalks".

Finally, we have the Tidal List for this chapter:

Downtown Lights – Annie Lennox

Falling In Love (Uh-Oh) – Miami Sound Machine [FYI, this song inspired the mirror scene.]

Looking Good Diving – Nick Kamen

Never As Good As The First Time – Sade

Between the Sheets – The Isley Brothers

A Million Lights – Tree63

That's it then for the extra content, folks. I hope to see you next chapter. Stay safe and take nothing for granted.