Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold, or anything else that I've mentioned.
Summary: Helga, never imagined that one rash decision at a party, would turn her life completely on its head six years later, and leave her in a twisted web of secrets, lies and skeletons are coming out. For Hillwood, it's the crime of the century. A love/crime/triangle drama! R!
A/N: Told you I was back.
Tell me we're alright,
tell me we're okay.
Her date full out laughed at that, sitting back and the booth, cross armed and having a good belly roll. God, he'd forgotten how funny she could be, when she wanted to be. "Fair enough," He conceded, his bottle green eyes resting happily on her before he leaned back forward onto the table, "You could always give her to me a few nights a week, you know. Unfortunately I'm not always staring at the back of my eyelids at 2:00am right now."
Helga smirked, "Why, so you can give her ideas?"
Arnold snorted, "You got me. But seriously though," He fixed her with a more sincere look, "Think about it."
She didn't say anything right away, choosing to just stare back with her own considering look, "Alright. I will," She finally agreed, and feeling that she did actually mean it, even if the idea of Hunter not being under her roof for a night was already leaving her feeling kind of sick. She had to continue to remind herself that he was trying and that she was over protective. "You can always get her during the day if you like," She suggested, and she would be lying if she said it wasn't some attempt at negotiating the nights still, even if she'd agreed to give it thought.
Something Arnold seemed keen to, but chose to act coy with her anyway, "You mean Miriam would part with her for that long?" He jested. His mother-in-law might as well have worshiped the ground Hunter laid on. Something that wasn't lost on Helga either, who was markedly amazed with her mother's glow up—from drunk, to sober, to doting grandmother—on the regular. She'd never in her wildest dreams imagined actually trusting her mother with any child of hers.
"For you?" Helga chuckled, "Always." She then pulled her eyes away, choosing to busy her attention with the menu, figuring the waitress would be back before long. As ill prepared as she hated being too.
Arnold seemed to take the cue and mimicked her actions himself, refreshing his brain on the lunch specials, as it had been a little while since they had frequented the pub. "When's the last time we were here?"
Helga scowled, truly having to think about that and completely drawing a blank, "Maybe around...Halloween a couple years ago?" She took a stab, but truthfully had no idea.
"Sounds about right," Arnold agreed with a nod. He knew it had been awhile, but it didn't look like much, if anything had changed on the menu. "I think I'm going to do the Reuben. Can't go wrong with that here."
"No...you really can't. I might get that too." Nothing else was really striking her that day. Arnold snapped his menu closed and set it off to the edge of the table, refocusing his attention on her, watching her internally debate a few options before finally closing her own and setting it on top of his.
"What'd you end up deciding?"
"The Reuben."
"Copy cat."
"Oh shut up."
Arnold laughed, but quickly found himself not really knowing what to follow up with, which was the weirdest part of their new relationship. If their old relationship had anything it at all it was conversation. Instead, he let his eyes wander around the pub, taking note of the saint Patrick's decoration that were already starting to appear around in preparation for the namesake festivities. It didn't surprise him, as it was part of the 'st. patty's pub crawl' on the university circuit, but it did remind him of the one time that he and Helga and partook in the event. Looking back at her, she finally noticed how he'd started smiling like a goofball, "What?" She asked, fighting and failing to stop the infectious smirk he'd brought to her face.
"Remember when we did the pub crawl here?" It was literally that one time he'd ever seen her drunk.
She chortled, already feeling herself start to tinge pink in spite of her attempts to will it away, "I don't remember tons of it, no."
"I still don't know how you drank that much green Guinness. I get so full after one of them."
"And I've never done it again," She pointed out through her chuckling as she propped her elbow onto the table, not particularly wanting to relive blacking out and throwing up all over the inside of his SUV, but he seemed insistent. Embarrassing.
"For the better I suppose. I thought I would never get all that green puke out of my car," Arnold jested her, still smirking, but watching her roll her eyes and her cheeks continuing to flush harder the more he dug in. Helga Pataki always did loathe a compromising position.
"Okay okay," She finally quipped, attempting to silence anymore of his unflattering retelling of her, though her voice wasn't as stern as she would have liked, so she doubt it would do much, "It wasn't my finest moment. We get it."
"Oh don't act so embarrassed. We had a good time. That's all that matters," He assured her pointless fretting. Frankly, besides all the throw up in his SUV, he had nothing but fond memories of that night. Though he got it. Between the blacking out, the throwing up and then laying in their bed for two days straight recovering, he supposed it wasn't all that fond a night for her.
To which Helga snorted, "Yeah, total good time," She rolled her eyes, smiling through it, "It was only like...the second time in my life I thought I was dying," It had been the worst hangover she'd ever had, and one of the few times she'd questioned how Miriam had done that to herself on a regular basis for so many years. Fucking insane.
"Wow, there was a first time, huh?" Arnold playfully asked as he took a sip of water, completely joking but also curious of what other event she could have been talking about. He couldn't think of anything off the top of his head. Of course, maybe she was just being funny.
With a ghost of a smirk still in place, she shrugged, "I took a hit off a joint in high school. It gave me the shakes. Had a panic attack. Thought I was dying. I think Brian spent an hour trying to convince me that I was fine," She finished casually before taking a sip from her water.
Arnold's mouth pulled downward into a slight, abet fleeting scowl, having never heard that story before, though he supposed he wouldn't have. It was was long before them, "I don't think you've ever told me that."
"Yeah well," She inhaled, planting her blue orbs onto his candy greens more than ready to move one from that memory too, "Not a fine moment either, but safe to say I've never smoked weed or drank Guinness again," She chortled.
"You guys ready to order?" That bustling waitress had finally run back over to their table.
"Yep," Arnold gathered both their menu's together and handed them off to her, "Two Rubens. I would like french fries with mine, and..." He wordlessly gave the conversation over to Helga to finish.
"Wing chips with mine. Crispy. Thanks."
"You got it," She cast them a rushed smile before slipping off into the crowd.
"God I'm going to be useless the rest of the day," Helga remarked as they stepped back out into the chilly overcast afternoon, having finished their lunch date, and already starting to feel the afternoon lull wanting to drag her eyelids shut. The sandwich and chips had settled hard to put it mildly. Even if she'd only managed to finish half of it.
Her date laughed, rubbing his paws across his busting midsection, "It was so good though."
The short blonde stopped, casting him one of her famous looks before shaking her head, "I'd say. Considering you ate the other half of mine too," She went to step off the sidewalk into the parking lot before turning back and pointing her index finger up at him for good measure, "And no, I don't feel bad for you," She snickered, heading off the 'I'm too full' complaints she knew were right around the corner, "You will be getting no sympathy from me."
"Fine." He playfully huffed, deciding to humor her, "I did it to myself," He admitted while trailing along behind her as she walked to her SUV. She stopped short of getting in, turning around and leaning against the door to give him an inspecting look while inwardly trying to figure out the 'goodbye' situation. A look that he returned, placing his palm on the edge of the door frame and window to lean in on her, honestly in an effort to try to be charming, and maybe not look like he was going to soon be struggling to thwart a food coma, "So...where are you headed now?" And she assumed he was trying to be flirty as well, which she would admit was kind of a breath of fresh air to be on the receiving end of considering how things were a mere two weeks prior.
Still, his actions made her snort, and toss her blue eyes around once as she said, "To work."
An answer that of course brought a roll to his own eyes, "Duh. I know that. Where at?"
"Over to the west side," She replied, absently reaching out and playing with the open helm of his pea coat, for what reason she didn't know, other than the compulsion to flirt back she supposed. He smelled good. Like pine and...something else. She'd never been able to put her finger on just what the something else was, but she found herself suddenly very nostalgic over how that smell would cloud their bathroom every time he took a shower.
Or the way his cologne smelled. Delicious really. Their bed always seemed to smell subtly of it. Something she'd always taken comfort in on the weeks that their schedules had made them two passing ships.
He wasn't blind to her sudden distraction either, peering down at her as he watched her slender fingers running over the inner stitching of his coat. Reaching out, he smoothly took her hand, intertwining her soft fingers with his. Predictably, she tilted her head up at him, and watched as he brought their hands up and gave her fingers a gentle kiss, "Can I call you later?"
The touch of his pillowy lips sent a marching trail of goosebumps straight to her brain, "Depends." She finally managed to breathe out in the midst of her mild short circuiting. Oh, how'd she'd forgotten just how soft they were. There was a part of her that hated how she still responded to him that way, despite everything. Not that long ago she would have happily bought him a one way ticket out of her life for good. She'd gone as far as screaming it at him. And he'd gone as far as screaming that he couldn't even be around her. Now he acted desperate for her and she was finding herself getting back into him again a little quicker than she thought she would too. It wasn't as if either were stranger to a fucked up situation. Truly.
Those pillowy lips of his pulled into a little smirk, "On?"
"My roommate is very needy at night."
He chuckled in a low register, "Is she?"
"Mmhm."
He'd since abandoned her hand, leaving it to rest on his shoulder as he leaned in towards her, his face coming very unnervingly close to hers, "Just tell her that, that cool guy named 'daddy' really wants to talk to you," He suggested in that same breathy low voice. Everything about that had her feeling some kind of way. Hot, tingly, distracted and still mildly aggravated with his ability to be so charming and her ability to be so receptive to it. Frankly, she was sure that he knew it too by the way that he smirked and then pulled away, leaving her with a wanton desire, "Tell Miriam to take the rest of the week off. I'll be there tomorrow morning."
Evening
Sid pulled into the space, shifting his truck into park and turning it off before reaching over into his passenger's seat to grab his range ear muffs. Jeremy had suggested possibly hitting up the shoot range after work to blow off some case steam. He'd agreed, thinking that squeezing off a few dozen rounds into a paper bad guy might take some of the pressure off. He saw his friend's red truck already parked some spots away and he headed inside.
"Hey man," He waved to the counter guy, as he walked through the door, making to head back into the pit area to their normal spot, knowing Jeremy would already be there. Walking up beside his friend he greeted, "Howdy, howdy..." Trailing off as his eyes caught sight of Jeremy's issued Glock sitting on the bench next to a gun he'd never seen before.
"Hey man," The dark haired man greeted in a cheery tone.
"What have you got here?" Sid asked, smirking as he sat his ear muffs and box of ammunition down on the bench, "Looks like an antique," He reckoned with a teasing tone. Worn brown handle, black top, bits of patina with an odd circular knob on the side. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything like it, but he wasn't a gun connoisseur either so he reserved judgment. But it looked old.
He intently watched as Jay reached out and took possession of the oddity and held it up, looking at it proudly, "It's a nineteen forty's German Luger," He said, a bit of revere in his voice.
Sid took it from him, moving it around in his hand, giving it a good once over just to see what all the fuss was about, "You just buy it or what?" He wasn't into guns, and he'd never known Jeremy to be very into them either, but hey, everybody's hobbies changed as they aged. His wife was the poster child for that.
"Nah," Jeremy shook his head, "My grandpa gave it to me when I graduated high school. It's just been in storage for a long time. Pulled it out while organizing my junk room this weekend."
"That's neat man. I've never seen anything like it," Sid nodded, again not having any deep insight to add about it, but it was definitely an interesting artifact, "Where'd he get it?"
"World war two. I guess it was pretty common for American soldiers to take them off of Nazi soldiers as souvenirs," He shrugged, reciting what had been told to him by his Grandfather as he took it back from his buddy's hand.
"You ever shot it before? Does it even work?" Sid chuckled, beginning to idly wonder if he wanted to be present for the firing of a seventy something year old weapon to begin with.
"Oh yeah," Jeremy confidently nodded with a lopsided grin, "Me and him went shooting right after he gave it to me."
"Ah, so a decade or so then," Sid teased, but was still very much concerned that it was a potential hand grenade, and he had no plans for an emergency room visit that night.
But Jeremy only rolled his eyes, finding his friend's concerns utterly ridiculous to say the least, "It's not going to blow up. I'm very sure."
"If you say so man," He shot him a funny look and began inching towards the other shooting booth, much to the continued eye rolling of his friend, "You know that things probably got bad ju ju though right?"
"You and your superstitious ass."
Sid peaked out from behind the other booth's divider wall, feeling the need to defend himself and replied with, "I'm not. I just don't want to know, and don't want to test it. Big difference." And for the most part, he considered it an excellent way to approach the...unknown about life. Don't want to know, don't need to know. Thank you. Have a nice day.
"Whatever bro," Jeremy waved off his laughing form while sitting his prized trinket back down on the shooting bench, proceeding to look around at all the stuff he'd brought in with him and..."I'll be right back. I forgot to grab my other box of ammo," He thumbed off towards the exit.
Sid scowled, stretching his ear muffs around his neck, "I brought three boxes in with me, just take one of mine," He gestured to his stash.
"No, I've got plenty of nine. I forgot my box of thirty Luger for my bad ju ju machine," He said with a snicker, as if it should have been common sense, turned and jogged off.
Night. Home.
Surprisingly Hunter had gone down without any fight that night. And earlier than expected after appearing to have had a tiresome day of not being able to stop smiling, tummy time, playing with toys and, whatever grandma adventures Miriam got up to with her during the day. Though now Helga had a time void on her hands, and some marked disappointment over losing some of her Hunter time that night. Something that she had to remind herself not to feel too too guilty about. Any extra time to herself should be treasured, savored even, because it would only get busier.
Which led her to running herself a bath that night, versus getting ahead on some of her reports after having realized it had been a few weeks since she'd relaxed into the velvet froth of a bath bomb. She grabbed her book from her bedside. Having not even picked it up in a few weeks she figured she'd have to re-skim a few chapters to jog her memory.
Good lord, was the bath a good call too. How'd she'd almost forgotten just how Euphoric it felt to melt into that blanket of soothing liquid. Though a quick thumbing through her book re-jogged her of why she hadn't been eager to get back to it. Even if her child hadn't occupied her evenings to the fullest, it was a dry read.
One that she hadn't the mental fortitude to push through to see if it got any better. Not that night anyway. Regrettably and with a sigh she snapped it shut, tossing it to the floor beside the tub before letting her head fall back against the tile, eyes staring at the other wall. She let her mind run adrift, finding a bit of peace in letting it fade away to nothing at all for a while. A rarity for her, having been blessed—or cursed—with a mind that always seemed to be running a mile a minute.
She wasn't entirely surprised when it finally wandered to Arnold, and what he may have been doing at that very moment. He had therapy that night, she remembered him mentioning that to her at lunch, but then he'd wanted to call her too, so she really didn't know. Now that she thought about it, she wasn't even sure if he were being serious about calling her to begin with. They'd never been huge phone talkers, and probably because they'd never spent any meaningful time apart over their entire relationship—excluding prison. Still, he did seem to be taking the whole dating thing seriously, judging by how he had already ratcheted up the charm on her by a second lunch date. Something she wished she hated, but didn't.
No sooner had that very thought floated through her brain than her attention was beckoned by her phone vibrating atop the granite vanity.
Upper West.
Plugging a few holes in his paper ghost had been fun and stress relieving. Jeremy's bad ju-ju machine had thankfully not exploded, and Sid would go as far as saying he was impressed with how markedly well it preformed considering just how old it was. Never-the-less, he still couldn't bring himself to fire it—one hundred percent out of fear, he'd admit that—though he did snap a few pictures of it and had texted them to his dad—a military history enthusiast—figuring he might appreciate it. Something he'd completely forgotten he'd done until he heard his phone chime as he hopped into his truck to head home. He pawed into his leather jacket pocket, retrieving the thin black device to read a, 'Nice find. 9mm or 7mm?' text back from his dad.
Sid tapped out a, '.30 Luger?' before mashing his ignition button.
'7mm then. Very rare. Worth a good bit too.'
His eyes scrawled over the white text in the electric blue bubble once, not thinking much of it before re-pocketing the phone, figuring the conversation was done. But by the time he pulled into his parking garage, his brain felt itchy. Feeling the pathways of his mind were reaching around, searching around to find the root of the irritation. It was an all too familiar feeling, his own internal way of trying to connect two dots that he couldn't quite see yet. Almost always work related too.
Never a break. Even when that was all he was trying to do.
The answer never magically sprouted forth either, always needing some further digging, and he had a strong guess of where he could begin to look to find it. Walking through his front door, he gave Rhonda a quick, 'hey' before he was off to his office, flopping down in his desk chair to begin an aimless wandering through the copies of the case files he'd brought home with him. Intuition told him to start with the Snohmish girls files. Particularly he found that he was after the coroners findings, his nimble fingers seemingly acting on their on accord, snatching it from the manila envelope sandwiched between the rest.
Grey eyes finally trickled down the blocks upon block of black lexicon, skimming, skimming until...bingo. Bullet fragments.
Seven millimeter.
As if it had suddenly burned him, his hands released the file to fall to his heavy oak desk with the lightest of thud. That familiar pang of confusion began courting his gut, though he tried to steadily remind himself that he needed to dig further before he let himself spiral any further down what was practically a conspiracy rabbit hole at that point.
There was one thing he knew, and that was he certainly couldn't afford to jump to anymore conclusions. He knew where he could start though, again digging into his jacket pocket to retrieve his phone, he shot his dad a quick, 'How rare are 7mm in general?'
Then he sat the phone on his desk and waited, and was thankful that Ray must have still had his phone nearby, 'Very common in hunting rifles, extremely rare in handguns.'
While his mind was all but preparing to fling itself into the abyss of wild conspiracy, he took a deep calming breath, filling his lungs with deep rationale, and instead chose to zero in on the tid-bit of advice that Don had bestowed on him, it could be something, or it could be nothing at all. But worth looking further into with the ballistics department he thought.
Apartment.
Arnold walked into his little apartment, having had another taxing session with his therapist. One that had left him feeling bristly and emotionally drained on an otherwise good day for him. As painful as it was, he knew this was going to be his life for awhile, but even just three sessions in he was surprised at how much better he was already starting to feel about things. Something Mason had warned him not to get too confident about. Trauma and addiction had a unique way of convincing it's host that they were cured before healing could even truly root them out. He believed him. And with his family on the line, he'd sit his ass in therapy twice a week for the rest of his life if he had to. Speaking of family, he thought Helga suggesting that he start getting Hunter during the day some was an excellent way to keep his depressive moods curbed to manageable levels too.
He collapsed down onto his bed with a thud, feeling a little aggravated by his over eating at lunch earlier. He still wasn't hungry, which meant he'd be ravenous at some odd hour in the morning, and definitely the hour he would be actually able to sleep. Such was life. Scarfing down a sandwich was always a possibility, though he couldn't bring himself to go do it. Jogging for awhile on the treadmill was an option, but he just wasn't feeling it right then either. The stone silence was already on his nerves. He flipped the TV on for his usual background hum and then dug his phone out of his front pocket, seeing the time and wondering what Helga were up to.
Yearned to know, really.
One thing he was beginning to notice was that the anticipation of when he'd get to see her next or talk to her next was doing wonders at dissipating the resentful feelings he'd manifested towards her. Amazing what a little distance, perspective and reflection could do.
True, he had been half playing with her about calling, having wanted to stir up those same butterflies he used to get when she would leave his dorm and he would ask if she would text him, or call him or whatever. She never did. With good reason, and he knew it was a situation he had no business in even trying to feel nostalgic about. Yet, it was all they had and nothing that could change it. He would take it up in therapy at some point, but for the time being he relished the early memories of them.
His mind was also very aware of the fact that, they had nobody to hide from like before and if he wanted to call her, he could. That was normal dating. Just the idea of clicking on her name to start the call was giving him the warm and fuzzies all ready. Something that he didn't want to stop, and he threw caution to the wind and made that call.
With his heart beating a little louder with each ring, the anticipation built, until finally..."Hey." He heard her say.
"Hey," He meekly repeated back, feeling a little stupid at being suddenly tongue tied over the most basic of response. Admittedly he was a little astonished she'd picked up, something he quickly recovered from, "I'm guessing your roommate was feeling generous tonight, huh?"
Helga quietly laughed, "Out like a light. Didn't even have to tell her that I had an important phone call with the cool guy named 'Daddy'," She joked, reciting back his earlier description of himself.
"Probably a good thing," Arnold also chuckled, feeling himself starting to beam like an idiot, "She probably would have been jealous and tried to sabotage you."
"Hm, yeah probably so," She laughed again and Arnold thought he could hear what sounded like water moving in the background.
"So...what are you up to?" He prodded, thinking he might know, but also desiring to make conversation too.
"Uh...soaking in a bath."
"Damn..." Arnold suddenly felt himself tingle more than a little bit over that little nugget of information, kind of surprised she didn't just make something up, "I called at the right time," He teased, but not entirely, because his brain had taken no time to stitch together a mental image that—if the sudden onslaught of tightness in his jeans didn't give away—was an absolute treat for his minds eye.
God, his imagination could be impressive at times, though he knew it wasn't doing her justice though.
He heard her snort, and he could also imagine she was probably blushing just a bit, or a lot, though one would never be able to tell because of how hot she liked to make those baths, "Use your imagination I guess."
He wanted to tell her he already was, while also telling her what it was doing to his nether region, but clearly that was still a little too forward for where they were. Yet it suddenly made him briefly wonder why she even mentioned being in the tub at all. She could have lied. He'd probably have been none-the-wiser anyway. Though he figured it may have just been muscle memory of sorts. Oh, how often he'd called her on night shift to chat about the day, to say goodnight before he knew she'd be sound to sleep, and often times, she'd be in the tub, decompressing with a book, "To what? Imagine you as a prune?" He finally decided to tease.
"Are you saying you no longer find prunes sexy?" She flirted back in a voice of faux offense.
"I find you as a prune incredibly sexy."
"You certainly have a type," She agreed, before feeling it was time to put the conversation back on him, "So, what are you doing?"
"Laying in the bath tub," He lied, trying to hold back the laughter coiling in his gut as he could almost hear her eyes practically spinning out of their sockets she was rolling them so hard.
"Liar."
Arnold finally let go of his chuckle, "No, I'm just laying in my bed...thinking about you in that tub," His mouth had drawn up into that smirk he just didn't posses the muscle or will power to push away. Part of him liked messing with her, solely for the reaction—and hey, playing was better than fighting—but he wouldn't deny that the other half—the yearning half—really wanted her to know that she still got him hot and bothered. As if that were her most pressing concern about him or something. It was stupid, he knew it.
"I'd be mad but, I did just tell you to use your imagination," She reckoned and thankfully he could hear the laughter in her words, "You know, I almost thought you were kidding earlier," There was a smirk in her voice as she coolly changed the topic, "When you asked to call me."
"Got to keep you on your toes somehow," He supposed with a chuckle, "Honestly, I got kind of...taken back to when I used to walk you to your car from my dorm. I always got the biggest butterflies thinking about seeing you again," He fondly recalled, starting to feel said butterflies flutter about again, and what an awesome feeling it was.
"You'd always beg me to text you when I got home," Helga chuckled lowly, following up with, "And I'd go home and...not," A notable air of sadness coating her voice, "I always wanted to though."
"Me too," Arnold hummed back, "I never wanted to you to ever leave really."
"I suppose eventually I didn't," She noted in return, as if it were a first time realization. A thought that quickly devolved into, "Jesus, from running into you, to living with you in the span of..."
"Eight weeks?" He finished her musing.
"Fucking ridiculous when you think about it," She admitted, sounding very astonished.
"Love at first sight."
"You think it was that?"
Arnold shrugged to nobody but himself, "It feels better than anything else." Helga had a hard time arguing with that logic. She too had used some impressive mental gymnastics to not make her own actions feel so terrible in the aftermath of that fall out. And if her recent conversations with Jeremy about it were any indicator, she was still doing it.
"I guess it does," She sighed, finding herself already fatigued by the topic, as brief as it was, and wishing to move on to less heavy things, "So...I guess since you actually called I can assume you will be here in the morning then, hm?"
That made Arnold smile into the phone, his mind suddenly moving on and being rapidly consumed by the thoughts of spending the entire day with Hunter, "Bright and early."
"You sure? I know you're struggling with sleep and all."
"You know I actually do enjoy taking care of my kid right? She's good for my soul," He chuckled again before sighing sadly, thinking about his last depressive point he felt compelled to verbally make, "Besides, I'm not doing much else with my days other than just being a bum. Might as well useful."
"You aren't a bum. You're putting your life back together."
"Eh, I'm unemployed, living in a friend's garage and living off the mother of my child. Isn't that the definition?" He sardonically laughed. Yeah, it was meant to be kind of a joke, but he didn't totally feel like it really was, even if she had a valid point. It bothered him, it did, and it was something he'd become very painfully aware of at their Saturday hangout.
"So...it bothers you that you need me?"
He could hear the surprise in her voice, and he found himself anxiously picking at the fabric of his jeans, feeling the most self-conscious about it he had as of yet, "Not in the way that...I think you're assuming," He quietly but reluctantly admitted. He imagined her mind was in the realm of emasculation and male pride—something she had no patience for—and true, that would have been the big driver for many men in his position, but for him, that wasn't the case at all, "It bothers me that...you're even having to help me."
"Why?"
"Well...I guess it just doesn't feel right considering how wrong I've done you. I can't imagine why you'd want to either."
"I'm not completely heartless for starters."
"You're not," He agreed.
"I also left you to rot in prison. Maybe it's my atonement."
The comment left Arnold to only sigh, trying not to let her last statement darken the mood, but also suspecting that such a remark was an effort on her part not to get into her true reasons, whatever they may be, "It's still not a great feeling for me. This is the first time in my adult life that I feel like a dead weight. I mean, I am going to reach back out to admin soon to see if I can restart my residency but, I don't even know what I'm going to do if I can't." He literally didn't even want to even think about what he would do if becoming a physician was off the table. He could already feel that gut punch ball rolling all over any remaining butterflies he'd been clinging to. He'd literally given zero thought to it never being an option for him, and now he was suddenly terrified.
"We'll cross that bridge when it gets there," He heard her take a breath, and the water move as if she were re-adjusting. Part of him hated how seemingly unbothered and casual her suggestion was. Un-phased, really. It wasn't her life he supposed, so why would she care all that much if his dreams worked out or not. But he recognized his own fear casting that line of resentment, hoping to hook something that wasn't there in the first place. It was completely squashed when she continued with, "Look...if we'd kept going down that path we were on the night that I told you to leave, then...yeah, you were going to be left to your own resources and the charity of Gerald quickly. But, I don't know...I actually do believe that you're trying to fix yourself."
She believed him? Actually believed him? Arnold felt himself perk up, shrugging off the repugnant anxiety at hearing her admit that, "Trust me, I am," He steadfastly assured.
"Right. And because of that it doesn't bother me to...continue to support you." He heard her sigh heavily and could tell she was becoming more than a little annoyed, and he knew it was because she was continuing to have to reassure his insecurities of her generosity. She was just like Bob in that regard. Take the favor and move on. Don't dwell in it.
However he couldn't help himself, "You really mean that?" He was in a time in his life where all he wanted was reassurance, in particularly from her. He was needy and it wasn't a great feeling.
"Arnold, if you aren't ready to go back to the hospital yet, that's fine. If you cant...then we'll figure something else out for you. I'd rather our daughter have a father in a good place mentally versus one continuing to deteriorate because of...pressure," She could be heard exhaling again, "It wouldn't do anything for us either," She finished in a much more delicate tone.
We'll figure something else out for you. It wouldn't do anything for us. His mind got hung up on her choice of words, or more specifically, the implied togetherness. It sparked the smallest flicker of hopefulness inside him, though he kept reminding himself not to read too deeply into everything, "Is...is that something you want? For there to be an us again." For all of her recent receptiveness to him, it had been a turbulent time of incredibly mixed signals from both of them, and while he thought he knew were her plans were, he'd yet to have fully come out and actually asked what she truly wanted moving forward.
Hell, he wasn't even sure if she'd ever even forgive him for all of his indiscretions.
Helga ran her free hand over the top of her head and over the pile of hair she had coiled up atop it. She knew he would ask the second she mentioned it, and inwardly it had been at the back of her mind since Saturday, even if she hadn't had much to say about it then. Time would tell on whether he could repair himself, but he was trying and she didn't think in her heart of hearts that she wanted to be done with him until that day arrived—if it ever did. Nor did she particularly believe that she had the capability to just be a co-parent with him, despite her insistence that she did. Deep down she knew she'd always want something more, and maybe that was her own inner deficiency taking the wheel. In her own sick little way though, she couldn't stand the idea of him spending his life with anybody else but her. Her inner possessiveness had taken ownership of him and all the baggage he came with, even if her brain had advised differently. No doubt, he was a very flawed man, but he was her very flawed man.
Love was a strangest emotion of all.
She thought so anyway. Past the breakdown they'd gone through, past all the hate, all the anger, all the betrayal, and all the sadness they'd repeatedly and violently knifed one another with, past the charred ruins of the relationship they'd set fire to...love remained in the blood and ash. Somehow. It was tattered. It would need a lot of work to fix, but they both knew it was still breathing. She might have hated it on darker days, but she felt it. As she had the many times she'd mused over how every inch of her existence could love him the way she had. She knew it to still be true. "I do," She replied in an earnest tone.
"I want it too."
"I know."
Thursday.
Sid had managed to keep himself and that suspicious brain of his from going too crazy. So much so that he almost thought he'd broken himself. Or maybe he was finally becoming so jaded he was slowly phasing into what the other guys on the force always said he would eventually become...dead inside. He highly doubted it. If anything it was his dad unknowingly giving him a plausible option to look into, and with the way things had been going, he was sure it was the most likely option.
The nothing at all option.
He hadn't seen Jeremy long enough even get a word in, his partner choosing to continue to chase down the dorm employee leads, which had turned into more of a hassle than they'd imagined and all for nothing, as they were finding out too.
Unsurprisingly.
When he did get a moment he made his way down the elevator, into the basement area and into the ballistics department, hugging his manila folder to his side, hoping their resident expert was available, "Hey Jared," He wrapped his knuckles on the black metal door frame, poking his head in.
A balding guy, whose beard more than made up for his disappearing head hair, spun around on his stool to shoot Sid a surprised glance, "How's it going?"
"Another day in paradise."
Jared barked a single laugh, saying, "Ain't it," In his casual southern drawl, "What brings you all the way down here?"
"Your beautiful Georgian accent," Sid teased as he strolled in, grabbing a nearby chair and dragging it over beside the portly man, "I was wondering if you could look at something for me," Flipping open the folder, he pulled out the enlarged coroner's photo of the bullet fragments, and handed it over. "Is there any possible way for you to tell if that came from a rifle or a handgun?"
Jared's large hands took custody of the photo, holding it up to give it a seasoned gaze, "Seven mil?" He asked, to the nod of Sid, "Man, I'd want to look at it in person before I wrote it up or anything but...cursory glance, that ain't no rifle."
So it was...something. The detective swallowed, feeling his mouth begin to dry out a little, though once again he found himself internally trying to put the brakes on his own tendency to spiral, "So this narrows the pool considerably then?" Ray had said handguns were rare, but he wondered what Jared's opinion was.
Jared handed the photo back to his colleague, taking note of how visibility distracted he suddenly looked, and guessing it was because this was fairly important. He'd even go as far as describing him as ashen. "Yeah, I mean..." He trailed off as he gathered an answer that wouldn't bog down a normie in bore tolerances and weapons manufacturing trends. Leaning back in his chair he casually laced his hands atop his head, "Off the top of my head I think there may be a few foreign still suing that caliber. Regardless...your probably looking for something...Russian, German, Yugoslavian, Romanian, Polish...maybe Japanese and...I don't know," Biting his lip his brown eyes cut upwards in thought, "I think FN may have made something weird like that too." Though he was completely unaware that that man standing beside him had started mentally checking out the minute the word German left his mouth, "Anyway, if you can bring it down to me I could probably narrow it down further since there are several variation of that."
Sid finally blinked, coming up for air out of his whirling intensity of thought long enough to say, "Uh, yeah. Thanks."
Fuck.
Afternoon.
The day was done, and Helga was excited to get home and see Hunter, as she was everyday, but especially that day. Probably because Arnold had sent her pictures off and on throughout the day of them doing different things. And her baby smiles. Tons of smiling. Those little face muscles had to be the strongest ones on her entire little body. Definitely an Arnold gene, seeing as nobody had every accused her of being a ray of sunshine. Then there was the video he sent of them strolling the property, him wearing her on his chest in her little wrap, which made Helga absolutely freaking melt. Or as Phoebe would say, 'make your ovaries ache'. Of course it also amazed her that he was seemingly unbothered by taking a trek though their back woods with their boys, which she steadfastly ignored at all cost.
As if the northwestern pines were the ones at fault.
Regardless, it looked as if everybody had had a good day. Helga walked in through the garage door, thumbing through the mail as she did almost every afternoon. The smell of steak caught her attention, as did the excited daily greetings of Jack and Roy. "Hey," Arnold called from where he stood at the range top, flipping over two New York strips in the cast iron.
Helga dropped the stack of spam letters on the kitchen island and gave him a funny look, unable to curb the resting smirk that had materialized on her face, nor did she feel like trying, "You cooked dinner."
"I did," He turned, flipping a hand towel over his shoulder, sporting one of those thousand watt lopsided smiles he was so skilled at. The ones that had always made her insides feel bubbly, "Are you surprised?"
And that night was no different.
Helga strolled around the island, trailing her hand along the top of the granite as she did, "A little," She admitted, coming to stand beside him, peering at the contents in the pan, "Mmm, steak and peppers." Glancing around him she saw Hunter on the floor in her little bouncer over near the sink, her tiny blue orbs alert in observation of the happenings by the stove.
"And eggs," He added, "When's the last time you went grocery shopping? The fridge was pitiful," He teased as she breezed around him and over to their daughter.
"I am not playing gourmet chef right now," She lamely shrugged in reply as she squatted down in front of the bouncer, "Hey baby," She sweetly cooed to her happy-eyed child while unbuckling and scooping her up, cuddling her to her chest, "I saw you had a fun day today."
Her blonde counter-part looked over, still smirking as he pulled the steaks from the pan to rest on a cutting board. "We did all the things today." Including a trip to the grocery store to restock everything.
Helga pulled Hunter back and and held her up in front of her, a playful smile dancing on her face, "Did you go on all the adventures?" She rhetorically asked in her honey smooth mom voice that Arnold had found himself completely enamored by from the moment he'd first heard it. Oh the many layers of Helga he'd had the pleasure of peeling back over the years, he thought this one might be his favorite. He marveled at the two of them, drinking in the beauty of such a simple moment and feeling a calming wave slowly pour over him. She pulled Hunter back to her chest, kissing her soft little blonde head, while casting Arnold a small, content smile, blue pools shimmering as she did so.
A smile he quietly returned, soaking in a moment more of her gorgeous face before turning and cracking a few eggs in his pan, "Sunny side up or over easy tonight?" He asked.
"Sunny."
"You got it."
It wasn't but a mere ten minutes later that he had the steak sliced and plated up with the peppers and eggs and placed down at their dinning room table, figuring they could have a proper dinner that night. Helga slipped Hunter back into her bouncer, putting her in eye shot before slipping into the heavy wooden chair to accompany Arnold. "I'm actually pretty hungry," She said, eyes raking over the droll worthy meal in front of her, "I worked right through lunch."
"I don't know how you do that," He responded with a shake of his head, making to grab his utensils to dig in.
Popping her eyebrows once she suggested, "So busy I forgot," Before dunking a sliver of steak and pepper into her runny eggs, "This is really good," She told him after swallowing. He always could make a fantastic steak.
Arnold glanced up and caught her appreciative smile with his own, "Thank you." With a nod, they both fell silent, choosing to dig in and enjoy the food while it was piping hot, versus trying to chit chat. It wasn't until he was mostly finished that he remarked, "Hey, did you know there is a whole little meadow and utility access road in the woods?"
Helga looked up at him, shaking her head as she finished chewing, "I knew about the access road for the power line in the middle," She took a sip of water, "It was on the land plat."
Her companion nodded, "It's like a whole little clearing attached to it."
"You must have really done some walking back there today," She observed, fixing her eyes on him for a moment more before looking back at her plate and the last bit of steak her fork was playing with. The whole thing skived her out, though she supposed if she planned to stay there—indefinitely—she needed to move past it at some point, "What made you do that?"
"I don't know," He shrugged, not really knowing what drew him back there initially, other than curiosity and a want to confront his irrational fears head on, "I wanted to prove to myself that it's still our beautiful woods and not...a wicked nightmare, I guess."
Helga's brows lifted high as she nodded in understanding. She struggled with the same dilemma. "Our original plan was to one day cut little trails back there," Not terribly long ago they'd imagined their children running about the pines with Jack and Rory, building forts and such, "Kind of thinking of putting a fence now up, honestly," She lamented in a defeated tone, finally forking that final bite of steak into her mouth.
Arnold tilted his head to stare out the windows at the darkening tree line while he too chewed, "Do you want to stay here?" He asked after finishing his bite, returning his attention to her. He hadn't a clue on what her plans were with the place.
The blue eyed blonde thumbed her fork down, sufficiently full while shrugging, "I'm kind of stuck here for the time being," She explained, already feeling the deja-vu from having a nearly identical conversation with Jeremy not all that long ago. "I don't know though," She too turned to ponder out the window, "Part of me wants to get away from all of this but, part of me can't stand the thought of having to leave my home because of somebody else. That and I get irrationally angry at the idea of some nut buying it and turning it into some sort of...landmark for all of that true crime bullshit," She rolled her eyes and turned back to face him.
The smirk was notable on his face, as was the low rumble of laughter, "I don't know which is worse. The true crime nuts or the ghost hunter nuts."
"Jesus..." She shook her head, rolling her eyes for good measure and as unreasonably irritated as she wanted to be about those people too, her mind was already onto a more pressing question, mainly what his opinions about it were, "Do you want to stay here?"
Arnold surprised himself at how little deliberation he had to give the question before he began nodding, "I think so. You have to think...whoever did this was going to do it no matter where we lived."
"True." It was an excellent point, and yet another reason she needed to stop agonizing over the property being cursed or some ridiculousness like that. She wasn't even a superstitious person, so the idea that the woods could somehow be the harbinger of other wordly evil needed to go back into it's rightful category. That of ridiculous notions, and overzealous horror plots.
Before he could follow up, Arnold felt his phone vibrate in his front pocket, reaching down and worming it out, and seeing a text from Gerald, "Ah...crap."
"What?"
"I forgot that I told Gerald we'd lift some weights tonight."
Helga snorted, standing up and collecting her plate and cup, "Hair boy trying to get in shape?"
"He's feeling motivated since I've taken up using his garage gym," Arnold chuckled, re-pocketing the phone before gathering up his own dishes, "Always wise to have a spotter though." He followed her to the kitchen and watched her deposit her dishes into the dishwasher, mouthing bobbing a few times as he attempted to figure out what to say next.
She could feel the unsure question in his gaze, tapping into her back like a finger, even if he wouldn't say it aloud, "No, I don't care if you get out of here to go do that." She then turned and smirked at him.
"You sure?" He handed her his dishes before reaching up and hesitantly scratching the back of his neck, feeling crappy about dinning and dashing on her, "I can tell him no. It's not a big deal."
But she shook her head, unbothered, "I'm sure."
Arnold nodded, figuring it wise not to continue to insist upon how sure she actually was, knowing it would only succeed in irritating her. Instead, he skipped back over to where Hunter was—and fast asleep no-less. "She's out. You want me to put her to bed before I go?"
"I'll get her," Helga assured, walking up behind him, "I'll probably snuggle with her for awhile before I take her up," She warmly smiled.
He nodded, returning her smile with his own before striding off down the foyer for his coat. Helga followed him, watching him shrug into it before he made to unlock and pull open the front door, stopping short of walking out in favor of turning letting his eyes drink her in for a few moments more before he departed.
And in trying to prevent a spat of awkward silence, and a too quick of goodbye, Arnold quickly said, "Today was great. I enjoyed dinner with you," In a quiet, genuine voice. Helga could hear the relief in his breath, if not even a touch of hopefulness, and she couldn't say she entirely disagreed with the vibe. They'd made it through a third meal without it devolving into any snide episodes that had plagued and frosted all recent interactions they had, and dare she say, they actually had yet another decent time with one another.
It shouldn't have been so surprising though, considering they had both agreed that they wanted to put in the work to be together again. Maybe they both were more gun shy than they wanted to admit, after all, they'd both seen a very ugly side of each other.
And whether it was his relaxed demeanor, or the general feeling in the air, it brought its own smile of agreement to her face as she peered up at him in the amber glow of the foyer light. "Yeah, I did too. Thank you for cooking."
Arnold felt the resting grin beginning to inch larger across his face, "You're welcome. I'll be back in the morning. If that works," He was eager, feeling optimistic, but trying not to be too pushy at the same time.
Why he thought it wouldn't work for her, she was unsure of, but she was beginning to understand his need for reassurance versus assumptions at that point in time, and she knew she need to make a point to be patient with it for the time being, "Of course," She assured.
She could tell just how happy such a simple response made him, "I'll be here then," He tried to sound cool, but she could tell he was elated.
"Do I get dinner again too?" She teased with her ever growing smirk.
Arnold nodded, smile all but plastered to his face by then, "What do you want me to make?"
"Surprise me."
"I will."
"It's a date," She said before even realizing it, still smirking at him, still watching him gaze contently at her, neither really knowing what to say to one another right away.
Although Arnold was the first to with, "Can I ask you something?"
"Do you want to call me again?" She speculated, finding her wandering hand once again reaching out to fiddle with his open jacket helm.
"Depends," He chortled in that low breathy voice that tended to cause her normally sharp mind to short circuit.
"On?"
"Do you plan to be in the tub later?" His smirked, kidding but being betrayed by the flicker of hunger that danced in his misty eyes.
Her own electric blues thinned at him, no malice to be seen in their shimmering pools, "I might," She coyly suggested, though it oozed more desire than she meant it to, and wanted to admit to him.
"Then yes," He replied in that same gravely tone.
By then, between his own persistence and the want rolling off of her, he'd more than worked up the courage to ask what he'd originally intended to, "Can I kiss you goodnight?" He'd never asked something like that before, because they'd never courted one another in the traditional fashion. The worst she could say was no, and he doubted the request would sour her mood given the signals she was pushing at him.
It was Helga's turn to be a little surprised, both by his boldness and her seemingly okay feelings with the the request. She continued to watch his face, radiating with genuine desire, "Sure," She breathed in agreement, half expecting it to just be a polite peck on the cheek or the forehead, since that had been the way things were going. Arnold had else in mind though, leaning in, in a measured swoop, his hand finding the nape of her neck as his lips found hers with relative ease. As unexpected as it was, her mouth fell right into his, the curse—blessing—of a muscle memory forged from many years of practice. As she kissed him back, her hand found its way up the lapel of his London pea coat, grasping it's edge to pull herself a little closer. Her normally buzzing mind everywhere, and nowhere at all, until she felt his other hand wrap around her hip, squeezing it roughly as he pulled her even further into him.
He still tasted like everything she wanted, and everything she liked. Just like she knew he would. Her body, her core suddenly ached in turn, as if for a moment she should could feel every single second of time they were apart.
Arnold pulled away first, and a little too soon if she had anything to say about it, leaving her feeling a little dazed, if not shook. His body was screaming, but through it he managed a very warm smile, whispering, "See you in the morning." In that low voice that was dripping with unfinished want.
Blinking one or two times, she took a breath, and she finally got her wits about her enough to process what he was saying. She finally nodded, running her tongue across her lips, "Goodnight." Arnold dragged his hand down her shoulder, her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze before retreating out the door as Helga watched his fleeting form disappear into the shadow of the cold night air.
Friday.
Sid had been chewing on his newest line of information for a whole twenty-four hours by that point. Chewing, sitting on, withholding? He wasn't really sure what he was doing. Mull over it might be a better description. He had not brought Jeremy in on his new discovery. His partner being a whole other issue entirely. Just like he still had not clued him in on the fact that his mom had rented a home from the Harding family. He was thankful that the fellow detective had been busy being a gum shoe detective as of recent. He could at least justify his continued secrecy. He hated having to be cool around people he was keeping things from.
And Sidney Moretti was no pro poker player.
Regardless of where his mind was trending as it continued to pull the never ending threads of impossibility within the most perplexing case of his career, he still had reasonable avenues to explore. One of them being just how popular—or rather unpopular—a seven millimeter handgun was. His dad had said they were rare, and he believed him, but it didn't really answer the crux of his true question.
How rare?
Like...ten people in the entire state of Washington would have one? Or rare as in not available in many modern weapons productions—as Jared had said—but a healthy used market for them. These were distinguishing differences that made this something a something less or a something more.
Which is what lead him into the shooting range he frequented, seeing as they had a gun shop attached which he knew often sold used pieces on consignment. Seemed like a great place to start. Sid breezed through the store front and strolled up the the counter, where his usual guy was hanging out, "Hey man, how's it going?"
"Early today boss," Todd, the range master, picked.
"Nah, not here to shoot. I've got a questions for you?"
"What's that?" He said, turning on his stool and placing both arms on the counter, at full attention.
"Working a case right now that we have some seven millimeter bullet frags. Handgun, not rifle," He leaned against the counter, "My ballistics guy is telling me this type of caliber is...mostly antique stuff. You know anything about that?"
Todd's mouth pulled down into a thoughtful scowl before he inhaled and pulled back, "No, but Mort would. He's our gunsmith. Guys so old he saw Christ be born. In other words, he's seen it all," He explained, before motioning for Sid to follow him as he walked around the counter. Sid did, trailing the guy across the showroom and over into their used merchandise display area where he watched him knock on a door before peaking inside, "Mort...you got a minute? I've got a detective here." He looked back at Sid and smirked.
Said detective tightly smiled as he watched Todd retreat and a gangely old timer, crepe paper skin clinging to ancient bones, and not a sprig of hair atop his liver spotted head walked out, his hips leading the way. Three pairs of glass adorned his person, one covering his eyes, one atop his head and the other hanging in his polo shirt opening, doing battle with the unkempt grey chest hair exploding out of the unbuttoned slit. He couldn't possibly be any less than ninety something, and if he wasn't, he'd certainly looked it. "Alright, what's going on?" He asked, not attempting to hide his cantankerous spirit or his thick Boston accent in the slightest.
"Detective Moretti," Sid reached out and offered his hand to shake. Something the old man seemed to appreciate because he instantly took it, giving it a firm shake with his knobby paw.
"Mort Friedman."
Sid could tell he wasn't a man of patience...or small talk, so he just cut to the chase, "I'm working a case. Murder victim was shot with a handgun that run a seven millimeter. Ballistics says its more popular in antique weapons. I'm told you might can help me with this."
Mort put his hand on his chest and feigned surprise, his bushy grey eyebrows rising high, "A man of the law, needing help from me. What a day!" He chuckled, and once he got the laugh out of Sid he wanted he placed both of his weathered hands on the glass top display case separating them, "None of them are in high volume production anymore, but it depends on the type of seven millimeter."
"There are different types of seven millimeters?"
"Oh sure. Your thirty is going to be your most popular, but you also have a seven point five and seven point six-two. But, no matter which, you're still talking about guns that are mainly in collections or at estate sales after fossils like me kick the bucket."
She regretted going there the minute she ordered and sat down, because she knew it would be a mad house, especially with the bitterly cold rain that had blew in that morning turning all of hillwood into a soggy slush. Everybody wanted bread bowl soups, coffees an teas and while she were no different, she despised the herd mentality that people engaged in. She wanted to sit, type up her notes and enjoy her bagel and afternoon caffeine with some semblance of peace.
Fate, luck or whatever else had other ideas. She hadn't too long gotten busy knocking out her reports when she suddenly caught a figure slipping into the booth sit across from her. She glanced up, prepared to tell whoever it was to take a freaking hike when she saw it was... "Brian."
"Sorry," He held his hands out in apology, "Just waiting for my food. I guess all of Hillwood needed a french onion bread bowl today," He griped as he shrugged out of the small book bag on his shoulders for the time being.
Helga's brow lifted, trying to figure out if he intended to stay long or what, finally deducing that he probably doing exactly what he said, "Hm, you sure you aren't here to get me to re-write an English paper for you?" She jabbed, halfway in her professional tone.
At that he snicked, their inside joke from a long ago time smoothing a smirk across his otherwise stubbly face, "I'll check your chemistry homework. I'm sure it's awful."
It was Helga's turn to snort, making a show of rolling her eyes, "No worse than your writing," She poked back, "So, whats's got you out and about? Other than to barge in on my lunch." No malice in her voice as she took a sip of her coffee.
"Murder," He shrugged casually, "And obviously stalking you to Panera bread, as you're aware," He teased with a laugh.
Sometimes Arnold wondered if half of life was just putting things out into the ether for the universe to consider and then seeing what kind of answer one got back. Maybe it was the power of positive thinking, or optimism or as others might call it, the power of prayer. He didn't really know. But it did seem like the wave lengths he'd been putting out there—mainly in the form of excessive fretting, belabored hand wringing and perhaps a dash of positive thinking—had been answered.
It hadn't been too long after he'd put Hunter down for a nap, and right as he was about to sit down and enjoy an early afternoon second cup of coffee that his phone began to vibrate. He yanked it from his pocket, fully expecting it to be Helga, but was floored to see it was the human resources line from the hospital. He felt his body grow hot and his heart began to thump hard in his chest as he swiped right and brought it to his ear, "Hello? Hi...yes," He moved to sit on the couch, hoping his voice didn't sound jittery as he intently listened to the woman on the other end, "Right...oh," His eyes widened, "I...of course. That sounds...that sounds great. When? End of March. Perfect. No, thank you!"
He ended the call before jumping up to clap his hands together one hard time in celebration, "Yes!" He excitedly shouted, to the frightened concern of Jack and Rory who jumped awake in their napping chair. Before he could solo celebrate any further he felt his phone going off again, this time to see a text from Monica that read, 'Did HR call you?'
Something he quickly thumbed back a, 'Yep. You?'
'Same.'
He made a mental note to follow up with her about it later, right then he had to call Helga, and he dearly hoped she wasn't super busy at that moment because he was about to burst he was so happy. Thankfully she picked up, though her tone was more than a bit concerned, and well, it would be seeing as he never called her at work unless it was important, "No, nothings wrong! She's fine. She's napping. Happy as a clam," He face hurt he was smiling so big, "I got a call from admin a minute ago...yeah! End of March."
Saturday Afternoon.
Much like her relaxing tub soaks, Helga couldn't rightly remember the last time her and Phoebe and grabbed a bite to eat together. They both were so incredibly busy anymore. Such was life she supposed. It was what made friendships like theirs so special. It has lasted the test of time, and any length of time could pass but it was as if they'd seen each other a week ago. They talked, almost daily, but it wasn't the same as a good old fashion meet up.
Phoebe was first to arrive, as usual, ordering their drinks and appetizers. Helga slid into the booth not too long after, griping about weekend traffic and the never ending need for more parking around that city. It was utterly ridiculous, and she would know. Of all the new construction sites she was working on, a pathetically few amount of them were parking garages. "Konnichiwa," Phoebe chuckled at her friend's flustered demeanor. "How's it going?"
Helga's brows jumped as she threw her keys in her bag and set it by the booth wall, "Oh you know, another day in paradise," She said in a minor huff of a voice, and probably because she'd just had to walk entirely too far.
"Parking?" Phoebe knowingly smirked.
Her friend's eyes narrowed, "Don't get me started."
The small raven haired woman laughed, "Well in any case, I got us some appetizers ordered." If Helga was to be perfectly honest, the concept of appetizers at a tapas style restaurant was kind of ridiculous. But whatever. She was hungry. "How's everything been lately?"
"Uh, it's been pretty good," Helga said, propping her elbows on the table, "Hunter's learned to smile and now she can't be stopped," She gushed.
Phoebe grinned, "Better than scowling," She pointed out, "She sleeping better?"
Her friend shrugged, giving her head a so-so side tilt, "Depends on the night. But she's getting more consistent at least. So, that's something."
"That's good. Nico hated sleep. Still does," Phoebe remarked, shaking her head at her own kids treatment of a full eight hours of rest as a mere suggestion.
"He must have your nonstop mind."
"Definitely so," Phoebe agreed, "But even I love my sleep," She chuckled before taking a sip of her soda.
Helga chuckled, removing the paper from her straw and sliding it into her glass of water, "So, how about you? How's it been going?"
"Good," Phoebe echoed, reaching up to adjust her black rimmed glasses, "Busy start to the year at work," She said, less than enthusiastically.
"You still looking to leave there?" Right as she asked, their waiter whisked by and dropped off two dishes of appetizers, "Thank you."
"Indeed," Phoebe confirmed, reaching out and forking a bit of meat and cheese onto her plate from the newly delivered charcuterie boards, "I've got an interview with a competitor next week."
"Wow, nice," Helga had no idea what Phoebe did, probably anymore than her friend knew exactly what she did. Something with logistics and apparently she superb at it. Of course she was. She was Phoebe Johanssan, "You'll nail it," She smiled warmly.
"They reached out to me so...we'll see," Phoebe shrugged, still smiling before taking a bite of food, and deciding to move on to more burning questions, though she felt a little guilty about ambushing her friend so early in their outing, "How have things with Arnold been?" She finally asked after swallowing.
She watched Helga take a breath, and Phoebe couldn't really read whether it were good or bad, "I suppose I could ask you the same thing," She chose to make a joke and then busy her mouth with a piece of cheese.
"The model tenant, I will say," Her Asian friend jested back, but bestowing her with a more firm look, knowing her best friends usual deflective tactics. Aloofness, insults and occasionally the odd bit of humor.
A look that Helga wasn't oblivious too either. As private of a person as she liked to be, her should-be husband was living in Phoebe's backyard and said woman just happened to be her best friend, she knew an in depth update was more than in order. With another exhale of breath she replied with, "We're working on things." Yes, it was a very vague response, but she could always count on Pheebs to ask the follow ups that she really wanted anyway.
No need to volunteer.
And predictably, Phoebe was entirely intrigued with that response, because despite the fact that Arnold was currently residing in her detached garage, she knew very little about what was going on between him and Helga. If Gerald was privy to such information, he wasn't sharing with her, but she doubted he was, "So, you're getting back together with him?" She did indeed follow up, and in the most neutral tone she had available as she harbored no judgment, only curiosity. Even if she had come to know the gory details of Arnold's deceit and had on more than one occasion thought about stringing him up by his toes for being such a jackass.
"Yeah," Helga nodded, leaning back in the booth before asking, "Do you...think I shouldn't?"
Phoebe briefly drew back, a scowl dropping her mouth in wonder, "Do you think you shouldn't?"
"I mean...I love him. I can't really see myself with anybody but him, which is...kind of crazy all things considering. And...you know..." She absently ran her hand through her hair, lightly scratching the back of her head, "He's in therapy now, and seems to be really wanting to get to the bottom of his issues."
"You seem unsure," Phoebe said, fixing her friend with a more careful gaze.
But Helga shook her head, not feeling at all that way, "No, it's not that. It's just...one minute our relationship is burning to the ground in a tender of lies and our own gasoline, and the next...we're...buying bricks to rebuild."
"I know that the circumstances that led to this weren't ideal, but deducting that, it was still probably a good thing that the two of you are being forced to start again," Phoebe suggested, still giving her friend a careful stare, "Burn the foliage to richen the soil."
Saturday Night.
"Are you absolutely certain you don't want me to stay?" Rhonda slunk down into her husband's lap, her arms draping loosely around his neck, successfully interrupting his doom scrolling on his phone. He smirked, tossing the device to the couch cushion before snaking his own arms around her body.
"No, go have a good time with your friends," He insisted. She was suppose to be flying to Ireland with her girlfriends on Sunday night, and while she had seemed excited about it, she'd also become rather weary of leaving him behind for some reason, "Unless you don't want to. Is that it? You want me to give you a reason to cancel so they don't think you're a jerk?" He chuckled, leaning forward, planting his lips onto hers.
She smirked against his mouth, pulling back with a quirked brow, "Since when do I do anything I don't want to?"
"Never know," He teased again, pulling her back to him for his lips to assault hers a few more times before following up with, "So...why do you keep asking?"
Rhonda shrugged, bringing one of her well manicured hands up and brushing it through his hair, across his face, letting her thumb linger at the corner of his mouth as she stared at him in pure love...and concern, "With how work is for you as of late...I worry about you."
Her husband smirked against her hand, but she was also pretty sure she saw a touch of red flame his cheeks. He reached his larger hand up and placed over hers, dragging it over his mouth to kiss her palm, "You think I'm going to spontaneously combust or something?"
"You just might," The heiress replied, her eyes thinning playfully.
"I'm fine," He assured with a small but genuine smile, "Go have a fun week."
"Well, since you insist," She made a show of rolling her chocolate brown eyes, as if he'd had to twist her arm or something, "And seeing as I'm leaving tomorrow for a whole seven days, I'd quite like to go make love to you, darling."
Sid grinned, lids dropping low in a rising cloud of desire, "Say no more my princess," But before he could pick them up off the couch to head to their room, his phone began going off on the cushion beside him, and while he would have had no problem silencing the damned thing, especially on a weekend, seeing that it was Detective Bedford from Tacoma county immediately got his attention. "Hold on," He whispered to his wife before dragging the phone to his ear, "Hey Larry, what's going on?" And Sid listened intently, suddenly stiffing at what was being said, "Are you serious? Yeah...I'll be there asap."
By then Rhonda's eyes were the size of saucers, "What's going on?" She asked as she jumped off of him.
Sid climbed from the couch, pushing his phone in his back pocket before meeting his wife's curious expression with his own shell shocked one, almost too at a loss of words to coordinate his tongue, "A guy just walked into Tacoma county PD and confessed to everything."
A/N: So, probably should have mentioned that I blew up this chapter with crumbs, red herrings, and deliberately vague interactions. Sorry, not sorry.