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: How's everybody doing?
They taped over your mouth,
Scribbled out the truth with their lies.
Sid couldn't even recall the trip to Tacoma. His mind had been in such burning focus that everything after Benson's phone call was mush. Autopilot. A breathing robot. Next thing he knew he was marching through the neighboring precinct's doors with a natural authority not often in his possession. This was kind of his case though, and he wanted to lay eyes on the monster terrorizing his city before anybody else. He wanted to finally flesh out the specter that had been taunting him. The elusive ghost haunting the corners of his mind as much as he had the city of Hillwood, "Larry Bedford, please," He told the night clerk, "Tell him Sid Moretti is here."
The clerk spared no questions, probably already keen to the developing story brewing within the precinct walls as she picked up her desk phone and punched a single button, "Detective Bedford...Detective Moretti is here to see you." With a nod she cradled the phone and motioned for Sid to follow her to a locked door that she badge scanned open, "He'll meet you down the hallway."
Sid nodded, whisking past young woman without a word more, continuing his determined march down a long straight hallway. He didn't get too far before Bedford emerged from an office and waved to him, "Sid, good to see you again," Larry said, giving the younger man a firm handshake.
"You too," Sid replied before fixing his fellow detective with a serious look, "So what's going on?"
Larry gestured for him to follow, choosing to walk and talk, "Guy just walked in and said he was responsible for all twelve murders plus the kidnapping and imprisonment of Mrs. Davenport." He led Sid down an adjacent hallway before leading him to stop in front of the two-way glass of one of their interrogation rooms. Sid didn't immediately follow up with any of the questions he'd had dangling on the tip of his tongue since before he arrived. His eyes cut hard to the glass, to finally take in the man that had been the bane of his existence, the object of his complete and utter frustration.
He was smaller than he imagined he'd be. Sturdily built though, ashy brown hair with a patchy, scraggly thatch of facial hair wrapping around his face and taking root down his neck. "What's his name?" He finally asked, his eyes remaining firmly possessed by the guy.
"James Decker," Larry filled in, "Thirty-three. Divorcee, and frequenter of the red light district according to his arrest record. He likes to slap them around."
Sid followed up with, "You guys get his DNA yet?"
"Yep. We should get something back within seven days."
"Let me talk to him," Sid finally pried his gaze away from Decker long enough seek approval from Larry.
"It's why I called you," The older detective admitted, "You all over in Hillwood have been the playing ground for this creep," He explained further before going over and badge scanning the interrogation room door open.
"Thanks Larry," Sid replied as he stepped into the florescent lit room, devoid of anything but a table and two chairs. James didn't appear all that interested in the presence of anybody else, he seemed even bored perhaps. The young detective reached for the vacant chair, spinning it around so that he could straddle it while folding his arms across the top. "James, right?" He asked.
James slide lazy blue eyes onto his new guest, "Right."
Sid took note of how lifeless and dead they looked, "My name's Sid, and I'm from Hillwood PD. What's going on with you tonight, man?"
The ashen haired man stared at him for a moment before inhaling, "Killing a bunch of whores," He casually said, as if talking about the weather, before popping his eyebrows once, "Figured since you let Shortman out, it was only a matter of time before you tracked me down. Would have been the needle for me if I let you find me first right?" A gravely chuckle rumbled from his throat, and Sid could tell he was a most likely smoker.
"What made you pick Shortman anyway?"
James frowned, giving the questions little to no thought before shrugging, "Saw him at the hospital. Him and the nurse I kidnapped."
A simple enough explanation, but one that blew away all of the cautious optimism that Sid had dared to let feel him with hope on the drive over. He bothered not with wasting anymore words on this guy, instead, abruptly standing and walking out of the room, locking eyes with a stunned Larry before the door even clicked behind him.
"You oka—"
"He didn't do it."
Larry looked thoroughly taken aback, if a little pissed even, "You said two words to the guy, how do you know?"
At that, Sid sighed, perching his hands on his hips before looking back through the glass, "He claims he picked Shortman from the hospital but that's impossible. He would have been stalking him at the time Shortman's ex-girlfriend was murdered six years prior," He looked back at Larry, sporting a disappointed look, "He's an attention seeking creep."
Larry sighed, cursing under his breath, "You're sure?"
"As soon as Jeremy gets here, we'll grill him, and compare it to our hold back information but, yeah I'm pretty sure," Sid told him, growing more and more frustrated, if not for that chuckle-fuck ruining the evening with his wife, but for him wasting precious county resources to purposefully purger himself, "The DNA wont match."
The elder detective let forth another dejected sigh, dragging a hand over his shaved head in frustration, "Okay. We'll wait for Jeremy and I'll let you two feel him out further." The two detectives began walking back down the hallway, Sid assumed back down to Larry's office to wait, and as the rounded they corner, they saw Jeremy pushing through the security door, dressed nicely in a sport coat, dress shirt and jeans. He looked flustered, rushed, if not a little irritated, and both detective could very well empathize.
"Hey, what's going on?" Jeremy asked as he approached the pair, hands coming to rest on his hips, appearing a little winded.
"Had a guy walk in tonight saying he was responsible for everything. Your partner says its not him though," Larry shook his head, crossing his arms.
Jeremy's chocolate brown eyes darted from Larry to Sid, curiosity shifting into confusion, "You...already talked to him?" The question was exploratory in nature, but Sid wasn't blind to the subtle air of hurt coloring his tone.
And it did make him feel a little bad about letting his excitement get the best of him. They were a team after all. He sighed, casting his partner a wordless apology before nodding, "I talked to him for maybe three minutes. I didn't grill him. I was waiting for. you."
"How do you now he didn't do it?"
"He claims he first saw Arnold at the hospital," Sid inhaled and made to cross his arms.
Jeremy drew back, looking off for a second before it seemed as the same thought occurred to him too, "Not possible. There's Taylor."
"Exactly," Sid popped his eyebrows once, still feeling as annoyed as ever, "Do you want to grill him still?"
"We have DNA, why does anybody have to talk to him at all?" His partner asked, as if it were the most obvious thing ever before following up with, "If you want to man, but I trust you saying he's not."
With that being said, Sid shifted his attention back to Benson who, despite having the two most knowledgeable fellow detectives for this case before him, still had seniority of that precinct. He threw his hands up, brown eyes flickering between the two young men, "Do what you need to do. I trust you boys."
"Where's he at?" Jeremy asked, crossing his arms.
"You mind if I walk him down there?" Sid asked Larry, thumbing off down the hallway.
"Do what you need to do," Larry instructed, "I've got to go make a few phone calls. If you decide you want to talk to him some more, let me know and I'll badge you in." He told him before walking around them back to his office. Sid led the short distance back to the interrogation glass for Jeremy to inspect that wonderful piece of work chained to the metal desk.
Jeremy said nothing for a couple of moments, choosing to just stare through the glass at the individual who'd also ruined his evening. In the expanse of silence Sid wondered how pissed he was that he'd gotten ahead of himself and flown solo, yet he couldn't help but note how put together his friend looked. His normally carefree wavy black hair, styled and looking put together, along with his get up. "Are you mad?"
His friend finally sighed, lips pulling into a flat purse, "Not with you."
Sid nodded, feeling like he and Jeremy were on the same page about things, "Yeah..." He ran his hand over the back of his neck, staring through the glass, "Rhonda is flying out tomorrow morning for a week and instead of spending the evening with her, I'm here entertaining this POS," He rolled his eyes, tone oozing with raw annoyance as his eyes shifted from James, back onto his partner, "What had you so dressed up tonight?"
Jeremy's hard focused stare softened as a tinge of what looked to be bashfulness flamed his cheeks as he glanced over to Sid, "I was on a date," He admitted, trying not to smile.
But a smirk certainly broke out across Sid's face as he turned his body more to face him, crossing his arms, "Nice man. Is she legit?"
A question made Jeremy snort, but also become a little more antsy, "It's Haley."
Sid nodded, before the name registered and he stopped, narrowing his eyes at his partner with new curiosity, "Haley from work Haley?"
"Yeah," Jeremy shyly smiled, "That one."
"Damn dude, how'd this happen?" There had literally been zero change between them. She still gave them hell every time she had to bring them something, and he still dished it back.
"We hooked up at the work Christmas party," He shrugged, pulling a toothpick from his pocket to stick in his mouth, "We've started going on some dates with each other since. It's nice." He nodded, before turning his eyes back to the patron behind the glass, "That's what I was doing before this guy ruined my night."
"Jackass," Sid agreed.
"What's his name?"
"James Decker."
Jeremy snorted, rolling his toothpick with his tongue, "I'd like to go in there and deck him."
"Seriously," Sid chortled, before sighing and shaking his head, "I'll never understand these types."
"False confessors?" Jeremy side-eyed him.
"Yep."
Following lunch, Saturday had slowly glided gently into a fairly lazy night that found Helga and Arnold vegging out on the couch together. Hunter had fallen asleep on Helga's chest some time ago, neither being able to will themselves to go put her in her bassinet for the night. The tiny baby snores and snuggles were entirely too addicting to pass up. A bag of popcorn had been made, a movie put on as they settled into an easy silence, Helga leaning against the couch arm with her feet in Arnold's lap while he gently massaged them. An old, abet familiar routine for them, but one that was doing all of the things for Helga that night.
Mainly bringing into focus just how achingly long it had been since he'd touched her in an intimate way. Barring that intense kiss on Wednesday, something she'd also been devoting entirely too much brain power into thinking about.
Between that and the serenity of that baby soap smell and the tiny puffs of sleep from the baby on her chest, she was barely aware of the movie she was staring at. So much so that she barely noticed her phone vibrate a text message alert where it lay on her legs. She reached down and grabbed it, angling it so that she could read it, her mouth pulling down into a confused frown, "Somebody just confessed to everything."
Her blonde headed beau, whom had been just as engrossed in his own thoughts, snapped his head to her, seeing her eyebrows high up her forehead, pushed by a pair of widened eyes, "The murders?" He clarified, though he couldn't imagine what else she could have been referring to.
"So, a guy just walked into Tacoma PD and confessed, but Sid thinks he's bullshitting. Will let you know what DNA says," Helga read the message aloud to him.
Arnold frowned, disappointment arriving as quickly as the excitement had fled, "Who was that from? Lance?"
"Jeremy," She tossed the phone back to the couch cushions, before withdrawing her feet from his lap and turning to sit up.
"Oh," He replied, hoping that the sourness in his voice wasn't as noticeable as it sounded to his ears.
She seemed not to notice, and if she did, she didn't say anything, "God, I do hope Sid is wrong."
"Would be nice," Arnold agreed, but his gut told him that his long ago friend probably wasn't mistaken. After all, if it hadn't been for him, Arnold knew he'd probably still be sitting in jail, being railroaded by a department desperate to put the worst crime spree in Hillwood history to rest, Monica and integrity be damned. If there was any other person with a more vested interest in seeing the right individual strung up for this—besides Helga and he—it was Sid. He could tell by how dismissive of the information that she was, that she too was in agreement with him. That it was a big nothing. "Why do you think people falsely confess like that?" He found himself wondering aloud.
"Mental illness probably," Helga shrugged indifferently, not really giving it much more thought, "I'm going to go put her to bed," She followed up with as she stood up and began striding to the stairs. As much as she was loving the baby snuggles, she did want a least a little bit of alone time with Arnold before he left for the night. Admittedly that kiss had been on her mind since...well since it happened, and she wasn't about to lie and say she wasn't hunting for a little more of it that night either. Arnold responded with a bit of a distracted nod, finding the remote to pause their movie before pulling himself up and following her to their bedroom. She was quick, already having Hunter on the bed, swaddling her up with her magical touch and gently placed down in the nearby bassinet. "Please stay asleep..." Came the almost inaudible pleading whisper from Helga's lips as she watched her for any reaction to the change.
Thankfully, she seemed content on continuing her slumber, to which both parents quietly sighed in relief. Arnold walked up beside Helga, placing his hand on the small of her back, peering with her down at their sleeping child, something neither of them ever seemed to get tired of doing. After along moment she said in a quiet voice, "You know what's crazy?" Sliding her eyes to him, "She's only been here fifteen weeks but...I can't even remember life without her."
"It's like we were always her parents somehow," He mused in agreement, rubbing his thumb in circles on her back.
"Weird right?"
"Best team project ever," He quietly proclaimed, side eyeing her with a snarky little smirk.
One that made Helga exhale through her nose, her blue eyes rolling once, tugging the corner of her mouth into a reciprocating smirk as she bumped his hip with the side of hers. "Let's go. Before you wake her," She spun on her heel, making to grab the baby monitor off of her bed side table, flipping it on and shoving it into her side legging pocket.
"Me?" Arnold feigned offense, once again following her out of the room.
"Who else?" She tossed a teasing rebuttal over her shoulder as she glided down the hallway.
"The boys," He smartly countered.
"Touche' football head."
"I'm actually kind of shocked you gave her up so early. You're all about those baby snuggles," He chuckled as they made it down to the stair landing.
The observation made Helga finally turn and peer up at him with a playful little smirk still teasing at her lips, "Well..." She frowned, eyebrows popping high once as her crystal blue orbs fell to his front while her hand wandered to toy with the edge of his henley. "I was hoping...to spend some time with you."
"Oh," She heard Arnold breathe out, hearing the surprise tinting his tone, and a quick glance to his face let her know that she had his un-divided attention.
"Unless you don't want to..." Her turn to feign disinterest, flirty as it was.
"No, no," She watched him lick his lips, adjusting his posture to a more casual stance, "I want to spend some time with you too," He reached both of his hands out to rest on her hips, his eye lids drooping lower into his alluring look. The one that would have her out of her clothes and getting thoroughly taken to task against—or on—whatever surface was nearest him if she let him. She was familiar.
A shiver ran down her core, fanning out into the apex of her thighs. God, was she ever familiar.
And everything would go right back to hell because they both were more than capable of sweeping—shoving really—all of their problems back under the rug in favor of the band-aid called 'sex'. She knew that, and she was pretty sure he knew that too, but still, the flesh yearned, that much she was beginning to become annoyingly aware of. Yet, part of her did wonder if he thought that if he could get them sleeping together again, he could avoid having to actually fix things. A provoking thought indeed, maybe even a touch paranoid for her taste, but one that held no merit. He'd been the perfect gentleman, and not once had she suspected he'd been trying to manipulate the situation in his favor.
He was simply reacting to a suggestive, if not lusty sounding request from her. To her defense though, she hadn't meant to lead him on either. But it had been nearly a year since they'd last had sex and she knew her body had a habit of commandeering her tongue in ways that left her brain scrambling to fix.
Her smirk spread into a knowing little grin as she brought one of her hands up to his chest, preventing him from drawing her any closer, "Not that type of time," She gently stepped him down, and it seemed to shake him from his haze fairly quickly because a smile brushed his face, though he did begin looking rather apologetic for his knee jerk reaction. "Call me crazy, but I think...us not being super quick to hop back into bed might do wonders for things." It was an odd want perhaps, all things considering, but she did like the idea of making him chase her. At least for a little while. Just to see what it would have been like.
"I know," He assured, suddenly having flashbacks of Gerald telling him the exact same things, "And you're right." He wasn't just agreeing to agree either. He knew it to be true too.
"Do you?" Helga chuckled quietly, letting herself finally get pulled into him, allowing his arms to wrap around her, "You were doing your little look, you know."
"Got excited," He apologized with his own chuckle, suddenly achingly aware of how long it had been, and just how close he had pulled her, but taking solace in the fact that she was obviously feeling the same way too, "Still got it?"
"Still got it," She exhaled, grin pulling back into a smirk before she pushed up on her toes to capture his lips, his mouth kissing her back with the same thirsty fervor while she knotted the fabric on his shirt into her palm.
"Want to snuggle on the couch, maybe make out and not pay attention to this movie?" He finally asked between them, his eyes still sizzling with lust but cooling into content hopefulness and a splash of resolve.
Helga smiled, "Definitely."
And they did. They spent the next couple hours sharing conversation in between bouts of kissing and a touch of tv gazing, until Arnold—reluctantly—wandered home for the night.
Precinct
A week had strolled by without Sid hearing a peep from Larry about the DNA results. He was—admittedly—surprised it was taking that long, however chronic lab backlogs were an all too common problem in the entire state, and urgency didn't seem to take precedent, much to his amazement and chagrin. His fingers were itchy with want to just pick up the phone and call to find out, but he didn't want to be a pest, and he also knew that Larry would call him first when they did come in.
He wasn't sure why he wanted to know so badly either. He knew that guy wasn't their guy. He knew it wouldn't be a match. Yet, part of him hoped that he was dead wrong and this was the end of their year long hunt through hell, and his life could resume some normalcy.
But finally, that call did come through, and Sid didn't even bother masking the eagerness in his voice, or feel badly about cutting Jeremy off mid sentence in their unimportant conversation. He snatched up the phone, "Hey, Larry...what's up? Yeah, I knew it," Sid's eyebrows popped high once in non-surprise, leaning back in his office chair as his eyes wandered back to Jeremy impatiently mouthing questions at him, "Oh. Go figure. I have not...I highly doubt it man. Yeah, keep me in the loop. Thanks...bye."
"What'd he say?" Jeremy was already asking before Sid had barely ended the call.
"Not a match, as we assumed, but..." He leaned forward, dropping his phone back on his desk, "Guys DNA matches some other open sexual assaults and an unsolved murder from last August though."
He watched as his partner's faced scrunch into one of bewilderment and disgust, and honestly he shared the same thoughts at that point, "What a lunatic."
"Yep," Sid nodded, but still feeling more disappointment than he had any right to be, or even wanted to be. He knew this would be the conclusion, yet it didn't stop the weight of everything—that for a brief second had been lifted with the inkling of hope that this guys was the one—from sagging back down atop his breaking shoulders, "Larry asked if I thought they might be working together or something."
"Who?" Jeremy drew back, looking almost offended by the notion of such, "Our guy and this crazy?" He rhetorically asked before barking a single guffaw of laughter, "No."
Sid agreed, but he looked at him for a long moment before blinking and offering a shrug, "That's what I told him."
With as much going on as had been, he had completely forgotten to follow up with Monica about the hospital. Something that he suddenly felt really bad about considering he'd told her he would, but his impromptu role of stay-at-home-dad had consumed most of his attention, leaving him with serious forgetfulness. And of course, it didn't hit him until he was walking into his space, sweaty and grimy from taking a treadmill jog and lifting weights before calling it a night. Deciding to take care of it before losing himself in his shower and nightly routine, he sat down on his bed, and thumbed her contact on his phone and made the call.
"Hey, Arnold," She picked up after three rings, sounding a little out of breath, and he hoped he hadn't interrupted anything.
"Hey," He greeted back, suddenly feeling awkward about it, "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, fine. Just stepping off the treadmill."
Arnold lightly chuckled, feeling the awkwardness fade away into a weird since of camaraderie, eyebrows popping once, "Ah, I'm guessing you too are using excessive exercise to cope?"
"It seems to help," She agreed, "So, what's up?"
"Oh, nothing I just...told you I would call you back the other day and sort of forgot."
"Oh," He could hear her surprise. She'd obviously forgotten about it too, "I haven't thought a thing about it. I figured you'd been busy."
"A little bit," Arnold admitted, "I fell into the role of stay-at-home-dad as of recent."
Monica chuckled, "I can see that with you."
His grin widened into a full on smile, "You know...as wild as this may sound it's probably been the happiest I've been ever. Even in the midst of all this personal hell."
"I'm coming to realize that's kind of the secret to life and...healing. You have to choose happiness. Every single day."
"Very true," He agreed with a content sigh before clearing his throat and figuring he'd get back on topic, "So, I was actually calling to see if you were going back to the hospital."
He listened to shuffling and what sounded like a wood door shutting, "I told them I would think about it, but I don't think I am at this point. Actually, I know I'm not."
Arnold nodded to himself, not entirely surprised to hear that, but admittedly a little disappointed at the same time, "I was hoping that wasn't going to be the case, but...I kind of figured you wouldn't be."
She could be heard quietly sighing, not in annoyance but in reflection, "I just don't have it in me to deal with them anymore. It wasn't my favorite job ever. Now I'm just...exhausted you know?"
Weirdly, he kind of thought that would be her reason, and he couldn't entirely blame her. Hospitals were dramatic, and their floor was no exception. Maybe even the worst, if he were being honest. Arnold often compared it to a hen house, wrought with fighting, hierarchies, clicks, and seemingly every over sexed hen vying for a Rooster, even if they had to steal one. It was—as she put it—exhausting. He being a young spur, he was a constant target for their un-welcomed advances. And Monica...she refused to engage in the lunacy entirely. They had been kindred spirits in that regard. Both just wanting to do their damn jobs and go home. He found himself chuckling, partially in reflection, partially in sadness, "You're leaving me to do battle with the harpies alone," He joked.
She also gave an airy chuckle, "I don't know. They might actually leave you alone now. Afraid of getting kidnapped by a lunatic and all."
Arnold couldn't stop the resulting snort that escaped his nostrils from her dark joke. Black as it was, there was a kernel of truth to it, "Yeah, maybe so. Here's hoping anyway," He trailed off into silence for a moment before continuing with, "So, what do you think you'll do now?"
"Honestly, I'm probably going to move down to Sacramento. My brother is a PA at UC Davis. He's kind of convinced me move down there and...I don't know, I feel like getting out of here would probably do me well."
End of march
It was one of their early morning 'bird house' meetings as their old lieutenant like to call them. Sid didn't know why, or even understand the reference other than it having something to do with the old 'early bird gets the worm' saying. Never-the-less, the vibe was very subdued that morning, almost like the other few detectives there had gotten wind some something big and neglected to let him in on it. He couldn't think of what. There wasn't any major news, however he had been continuously amazed at the departments ability to rug sweep their mistakenly imprisoning an innocent man—not necessarily their fault—but then trying not to rectify the situation.
Sid wouldn't lie and say that he didn't grow a touch more disillusioned with the authority at Hillwood PD every day, and solely because it had come to feel like everything was about public image. But those were thoughts for another day, and ones he tried not to seriously entertain regardless. He was stressed, frustrated, constantly feeling like somebody had gotten the better of him and not feeling like he was getting all of the support he needed to make things happen. What things he didn't even know, considering he had zero viable leads that wouldn't result and unsubstantiated finger pointing and—more than likely—immediate termination.
He had no more time to dwell upon it, as their well seasoned lieutenant shuffled in, dropping his binder and his mug off coffee onto the podium before beginning the meeting, "Good morning all, glad everybody could make it." As if they had a choice, "We' haven't done one of these in awhile and I thought it would be good to re-coordinate, re-calibrate and re-access the goals of the department." Sid side-eyed his partner, inwardly rolling his eyes, not looking forward to having to sit through this humdrum, "Among our top concerns right now is clearing the backlog of cold cases that has exploded in the last two years. That's why going forward, we are discontinuing all active investigation into the Chameleon killer," The lieutenants eyes rolled at yet another media name, "Until which time new information arises."
Sid's mouth dropped open, but the sheer perplexity of such a decision left him feeling more emboldened to ask, "So, we're suppose to just up an abandon Hillwood's most notorious murder?"
The lieutenant shot him a bored look over the square black glasses residing on the tip of his nose, "Abandon, no. No case is ever abandoned. It's expected that you devote your efforts into relieving the backlog of solvable unsolved cases in an effort to assure the public that they are in good hands."
"So you want good PR, that's what this is."
The older man didn't say anything back for a long moment, but Sid could see him rotating his jaw in irritation, "I want to close out solvable crimes, Detective Moretti. The public has lost faith in our ability to run ca—"
"—because Claire bungled the handling of Shortman's imprisonment so badly," Sid had no idea where all of this boundary pushing, questioning of authority was coming from, it was like listening to someone else talk. He was a rule follower through and through, and he had to assume it was from the chronic deep feelings of frustration finally reaching a boiling point, "If we take the heat off of this, more women will die, you know that right? Maybe not right away, but it will happen," He finished with a stark warning.
"It's my understanding that Tacoma is investigating a viable suspect—"
"—The DNA doesn't match," Sid retorted in exasperation, fully realizing he needed to cool his jets before he got fired, and then was never able to solve the damn thing.
However the Lieutenant didn't care, not with his impassioned plea or seemingly with doing the right thing period. All he was concerned about was optics, no doubt being spearheaded by a prosecutor who'd gotten egg on her face, "Be that as it may, they can handle it for the foreseeable future. You and Detective Kirk are being re-assigned to cold cases, I don't want to see anymore active investigation into this unless new information arises."
"We've got...mini drumsticks or mini ice creams," Arnold turned his head around from the freezer to look towards living room area where Helga was.
"Eh, just grab me a mini drumstick. I kind of want something crunchy," She called back. She kind of wished she hadn't been so quick to answer, maybe spending a little time debating her choice in order to keep in him there for a bit longer. Oh, and not for anything at all being wrong with him, quite the opposite. Their little 'After-Hunter-goes-to-bed' routine of 'spending time' with each other had gotten a little heated that night and the only thing she could think of was dessert. Though she had wanted something sweet since dinner but like...literally just a bite. Not even several. Arnold was her sweet tooth soul mate in that regard, in that they skipped happily into the sunset with their mini desserts, neither ever being able to commit to a full serving of any confection.
She knew he wouldn't linger in there, and she figured she would take the opportunity to flip open her work laptop and maybe pretend she had some pressing business that she suddenly remembered that needed to be taken care of asap. Of course she didn't, but he probably would believe her.
Or maybe he wouldn't. He knew her too well.
Her beau chuckled, whipping his head back around and grabbing out two little wafer cones with chocolate dipped caps on top. He trotted back to the living room, where he saw in his very brief absence, her laptop had sneaked its way open on the coffee table, "My lady," He handed one of them over to her awaiting hand. She smirked before taking a bite off the top of it, relishing in the cold, sweet mixture of chocolate, vanilla and cone. Arnold, less patient in his ability to savor his treats, ate it in a single bite. He wanted to get back to business, and he was shamefully unapologetic about it too.
"Did you even taste it?" She chuckled after swallowing, eyeballing him one good time before finishing the remaining bite of cone she had.
"Everybody is a critic," He smilingly joked, dropping to the couch, reaching out and hastily closing her laptop before his arms wrapped around her body, leaving her little time for protest, not that she even would, but she did manage another laugh through her chewing as he began nuzzling and kissing her cheek, finally pushing her sideways and back onto the couch cushion, coming over top of her.
"Can I finish eating or do you want an ice cream kiss?" She asked, trying to swallow. Arnold smiled against her cheek as she brought her trapped hands up from between them to drape around his neck.
"I'm impatient," He admitted.
She finally swallowed, tilting her head back enough to look at him with a placated smirk resting on her face, "Obviously."
"Are you finished?"
"I am," Barely left her lips before his head swooped down, his mouth coming crashing down onto hers with a desperation that nearly took her breath away. Sure they had spent several evenings by then, snuggling and making out, but that night felt more unrestrained on his part, as if he were starving all of a sudden. Needy even. And she got it. She did. She was struggling too. It seemed the more she responded to his actions, the more he seemed bound and determined to take back every last inch that she'd given him, in-spite of their agreement to take it easy.
That aside, her mind had the flutter of a thought to ask him if it was more than just...want and frustration. Of course it was hard to focus intently on that when those ethereally soft lips of his were so avid against hers, hungry as they were while his tongue had set to work massaging hers in such an artful manner. One of her hands had made it into his hair, her thin fingers winding around his blonde tresses, while her other had slid across his broad shoulders, coming down to cling to his bare arm. His lips departed hers, leaving her feeling a vacant chill before brushing her ear, and continuing their slow caresses just below, as one of his idly misbehaven hands came up to her chest and gave her breast a gentle squeeze. The goosebumps spirited her skin, and she felt herself arch into his indulgence, a low hum caught in her throat, as her body began to ache with arousal. Her own unruly hand had sneaked to the button and zipper of his jeans, feeling his fortifying want for her so pressed and strained against them. He pushed into her palm with a low, gravely groan, wordlessly pleading for her to free him from the denim constraints. A plead that her deft fingers had been eager to oblige, both of their physical presences seemingly in cahoots in their mutiny against their owners. Their traitorous bodies might have succeeded, had he not bit her neck, hard enough that she was sure she'd have a mark to cover, but also enough to snap her into her senses, if just barely.
Somewhat in control of her facilities, but fighting every pulsing nerve in her body screaming for his touch, she withdrew her hand, bringing it up to rest over his own laid atop her chest. Finally inhaling she asked, "Are you okay?" sounding every bit as breathy and flustered as she was feeling.
Arnold paused his menstruation, pulling back enough that she could see the questioning crease pulling and crumpling the skin between his eyebrows as he puzzled out over such a seemingly out of place question. "Yeah, why?" His voice sounded distracted and coarse with interrupted desire.
Her own eyebrows popped high once on her flushed face, momentarily feeling stupid for stopping things, though she knew that was her body desperately trying to wrangle control back from her brain, "No, it's just that you seem...like you're trying to distract from something." That might be the best way she could put it.
Her blonde headed beau sat a little further back, pawing one of his hands over his already disheveled mop of hair atop his head, seemingly suddenly realizing his faux pas of sorts, but also looking mildly enlightened by the whole thing, "I'm sorry. I know we said we—yeah, I actually am stressing," He admitted, still looking surprised and maybe even a little embarrassed. .
"No, don't be sorry," She assured, waving off his newly dispatched self-consciousness, "What's going on?"
Arnold sighed, dropping his hand from his hair, his eyes raking up and down her length one more time before he made to scoot to lay down beside her on the couch instead, "Work..." He admitted, coming to rest his elbow on the pillow and his head on his inclined palm as Helga herself turned to lay facing him.
His cryptic one word reply dragged her mouth down into a small frown, "You haven't even started," She let her palm come to rest against his chest, "And you were dying to return."
"I know," He sighed again, his breath marked with dread and anxiety, "I just worry about...people I guess. I mean, I know some will avoid me like the plague no matter what but, I don't know. That and what if I have a hard time getting back into the routine of things, you know?"
Helga cast him a soft smile, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek reassuringly, "You'll be fine. You worked hard to get there. It will be like riding a bicycle for you," She smoothed her thumb over the corner of his mouth, "People are going to be people though. There isn't a thing in the world you can do about that though except worry about you," She said, offering him a bit of tough advice.
And while she was right, Arnold knew that she was completely unaware of how much of a hostile environment hospitals could be behind the scenes, and mostly because he never talked about it. She dealt with difficult personalities in her own line of work, but the way things worked for her, she didn't necessarily have to see those people every single day, "You're right. There isn't," but it didn't stop another regretful breath from tumbling past his lips, "Some of me wishes they hadn't called me so soon. Be careful what you wish for right?"
A couple of weeks ago he was having a complex over his self-worth at having been disjointed from his career, and now he was wishing for else. It might have left others to ponder his thinking on such a whip lash of wants, but she thought that maybe she understood where he was coming from. He'd thrown himself into the stay-at-home-dad role. Taken ownership of it in fact. And when Arnold Shortman took ownership of something, he rarely wanted to hand it back over. And to Arnold's defense, he didn't understand his mental one-eighty either. Still, she couldn't resist jesting him a bit, if for nothing else than just to lighten his brooding, "Ah, you grew to like being a kept man I see?"
Thankfully it did bring out that lopsided smirk of his, and with it a rosy flush to his cheeks, "Hey now..."
She chuckled at his non-response, choosing to lean in and kiss him once for reassurance, "I know what you mean though. You've gotten into a routine with Hunter and it's going to be tough to hand her back over to my mom now," She summarized for him.
"Yeah, though I am amazed at how much I've enjoyed just...taking care of everything so that all you had to worry about was doing your thing," He admitted with a lingering smirk, pulling her back for another few pecks on the lips.
"I have enjoyed not having to even think about what to make for dinner every night," She continued teasing between kisses.
"I bet."
"You know, when I said we'd figure something else out for you if the hospital didn't work out, I never imagined that it would be that," She chuckled, lifting a brow in surprise and for dramatics.
"I'm going back tomorrow," He replied, quelling any concerns, though he didn't think she really was, "I'm just having jitters after a long absence."
"You'll be great," She leaned her forehead against his, her voice very sure of her words, "But if you aren't, I guess stay-at-home-dad and personal chef it is for you then," She teased one last time for good measure, and all he could do was lovingly roll his eyes.
5:40am
He'd been vying for this, truly he had, remembering the hostile dread that had filled every ounce of his core at the thought of never being able to return. But now that he was, he was all nerves and anxiety and it was almost overwhelming. He suddenly wondered if he'd be able to snap back into it, or if he'd truly, in his beating soul, even wanted to. It had been tying him in knots. His mind drifted to if things would be hostile, if things would be friendly. If it really would be like riding a bicycle for him as Helga had suggested. He sat in his SUV, parked in the spot that had been his before his forced departure before. His eyes zoned out, staring through the windshield as he just sat, so embroiled in his own swirling thoughts that he barely felt his phone vibrating in his scrub pocket. Finally blinking him from his stupor, he quickly dug it out, seeing a text from Helga that read, 'Good luck today. Tell me about it later.' So simple, yet thoughtful. It brought a smile to his nervous lips.
He thumbed back, 'Thank you. I will.' Before taking a deep breath to calm his flopping heart. With that he exited his vehicle, throwing his backpack over his shoulder and made the quick trek through the early morning chill and into the lobby of the north tower. A quick ride up to the seventh floor on the elevator and he was on his ward. He saw a few night nurses at the main station, a couple he knew, the others he didn't. They cast him polite smiles and he returned them as he brushed by on his way to the small conference room where they would typically have their shift change meetings. He stopped at the door, hand lingering on the handle as he took one last deep breath, squaring his shoulders before walking in.
Inside, he was greeted by the sight of many of his past colleagues, and mentors. And all eyes were on him, as if he were back from the dead. He was, in a way. "Ah, Arnold," Doctor Blackwood, the head cardiac surgeon turned from whatever he'd been saying to one of the other doctors. He was all smiles, chipper as always, "Welcome back." He walked up to him, offering his friendly hand.
"Thank you," Arnold replied, taking the older gentleman's gesture in a firm shake, "I'm glad to be back."
"I hope you are ready to get back into the saddle," Blackwood winked while sporting that Clint Eastwood smirk of his, "Because we've got some catching up to do."
April
He had no business going in there and getting himself worked up on a Friday night, and even less business letting his body indulge in even an ounce of alcohol while doing so. His computer was open, a million papers on his desk, along with the countless other things he'd pinned to the cork boards he plastered to the walls some time ago. The visual ramblings of a man being driven slowly insane by an even madder man. He wasn't drunk, knowing better than to mix hard libations with off hours investigative work, but he was uppity. Feeling hot and as if he'd had a cup of coffee. His internal agitation had yanked him from his office chair not that long ago and lead him to pacing around, sloshing the bourbon in his glass as he simultaneously admired his cork board presentation, while scoffing at how it wasn't enough.
He hadn't taken reassignment well.
"It's all bullshit..." He found himself muttering. It wasn't enough. If it were enough, he'd have caught the bastard by then. But he hadn't, because his mad man was a ghost. A spirit. A specter. A fleeting, haunting abstract. But he wasn't. Not really. He was alive and well, and very much flesh and blood if the surveillance footage was anything to go on. Yet, Sid still wasn't smart enough to catch him. He knew he wasn't. More women were going to die because he couldn't figure out all of the pieces to the puzzle fast enough to satisfy the timeline of a brown nosing lieutenant.
Many theorized that the Chameleon Killer—since Doctor Death no longer applied—would go dormant now that they were on to his scheme, but Sid wasn't convinced of that notion. The guy liked killing first and foremost, and maybe framing others was a secondary high he got from the ordeal. Or maybe there was no high at all, just a clever way of concealing himself, like a parasite hiding in an unwilling host. No, Sid believed more women would die, and he laid awake on many a night feeling dread and...guilt. It always led him to pulling Rhonda close. As close as he could get her, darkly wondering if even she were safe from such an elusive and cunning being. Of course he knew that those were just the irrational fears of a tired, paranoid man. She wasn't in the wheel house of victimology type, his ghost choosing easier—wouldn't be missed quickly—prey. Unless of course, Sid himself became an unknowing target.
Unlikely, but in his rolodex of fears none-the-less.
His pacing intensified as he took a healthy sip from his glass, the bourbon burning down his throat, his chest, dropping into his gut like a hot blob of lava. Exhaling he felt the heat burn through his breath, eyes scanning back and fourth between his cork boards, and his mountains of haphazardly piled papers.
A rare gun caliber. DNA. A victim type. Video footage. A survivor, why were the Snohomish girls shot? Who was he hunting and why did it seem like he abandoned it. And the biggest question of all...why Mike and why Arnold?
Sid felt a frustrated growl come exploding out of his body and in a rare show of anger he tossed his head from side to side before loudly shouting, "Where the fuck are you!?" at his research. "You...you just clever enough son of a bitch!" He spat before sardonically laughing, stopping his pacing to down the last of his glass.
He wasn't sure how long she might have been standing there, but he turned when he heard Rhonda call his name. She stood in the doorway, dressed in her usual short silk nightgown, her face being rearranged by the concerned crumpling of her brow and her wider eyes, "What's wrong?"
Her husband was all ginned up, huffing while running his free hand over his head as he walked to his liquor cart and poured himself a healthy two fingers more of bourbon, against his better judgement. "Look at all of this," He took a scorching sip, "It's maddening! It's like seeing something in your peripheral but I just cant. Ever. Focus. on it." He dejectedly stabbed his index finger at all of his work, before looking back at her.
She had crept further into the room, "Sid..."
"Where does it end?!" He loudly asked, turning and holding his arms out wide, "When he gets you too?!" He barked an acidic laugh that was anything but funny.
At that, Rhonda closed the short distance between them, bringing her hands to splay across his chest and his arm, fully recognizing she needed to bring him down a few notches before he got too carried away, "Baby, stop." She tried in a firm, but soft voice.
Normally that would have been enough to snap him out of his rantings, but he was feeling especially wound tight that night, maybe more wound up than she'd ever seen, and instead of letting her cooler head prevail, he pulled away from her grasp, "I have to figure this out." He walked away to his desk, taking another sip of his bourbon.
"Sid, please," She turned, trying again.
"No!" He boomed, slamming is glass onto his wood desk, bourbon sloshing out as she jumped, "I have got to figure this out," He insisted, "Or more women are going to die. And you know why? Because I've got a department that is so fucking gun shy after imprisoning an innocent man that they barely want to touch this anymore."
"Honey, I understand that. I do," She inched closer to him, holding his gaze, "But standing in here, getting drunk and driving yourself mad…this is not how you're going to solve it."
"You don't understand though, darling," He sneered, honestly not even knowing why he was being so mean. This was his fight, his obsession and he had no business letting it spill out and taint their life. Frankly he should have been appreciating her patience with him more in general, but specifically right then. Yet the frustration over this case and his perceived inadequacies surrounding it maneuvered his tongue in the nastiest of way, "Your life is a fever dream. One giant freaking vacation, while me and the rest of...of everybody else live in the real world. You have no idea what its like to feel this type of pressure and responsibility, and you never will."
Rhonda quietly sighed, running both of her hands over and through her raven hair before giving him one last look, and despite his uppity rant, he wasn't oblivious to the hurt dragging down her beautiful face, "I'm going to bed," She said in a low voice before making for the door, turning and giving him one final stare. If she had done any growing in any area of her life more as an adult, it was learning to walk away from things, especially things that weren't worth continuing to devote energy too. A stark contrast to her teen years, but she were better for it. But she also wasn't going to stand for being insulted either, "You can stay in the guest room tonight if this is how you want to be."
Sid's string of frustration, having been pulled so taught moments before suddenly slackened, thrusting him out of his frustrated haze enough for him to realize how much of an absolute dick he'd just been to her. And only the second time in their life she'd ever told him to sleep elsewhere, so he knew he'd struck a nerve. He abandoned his drink on the desk, striding quickly after her, grabbing for her arm before she could fully exit the door. Pulling her smaller frame into his larger one, wrapping his arms around her, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," He whispered into the top of her hair, "I didn't mean that. You know I don't mean that." After a moment he pulled back to intently look at her.
Her hands rested loosely onto his chest as she peered up at him, her eyes not possessing any signs of true anger, to his relief, though the disappointment flickering in them was probably worse. He'd always promised he'd never let work get the better of him, but it was starting to. Rapidly and with brutal, unrelenting force. They weren't a very argumentative couple, and he didn't want to become one either, "I know you don't," She assured in that same soft tone.
"I love you," He leaned in and kissed her, his mouth hot and oozing with want, as if he suddenly felt like he had to pour all of his usual feelings for her into it to make up for the fallacies of his unchecked tongue, "I love you just the way you are," As if words weren't going to be nearly enough to convince her, though he knew that wasn't the case.
Rhonda caught his wordless apology, tasting like liquor and shame, still she accepted it, her mouth moving avidly against his, "It's okay. Really," She breathlessly replied in between, bringing her arms up to wrap around his neck never-the-less.
Her husband's lips broke from hers, a warm loving smile pulling at his lips as his eyes twinkled down at her, "You know you're my little piece of sanity, right?"
"Sometimes I wonder if I'm all of your sanity," Rhonda remarked, a sly smile gracing her lips.
A look that made her husband chuckle in agreement, "Probably true," He trailed off, his eyes falling to her body, and to her little night gown bunched up enough between their bodies enough that he could see down her chest, "And anyway, what are you thinking, coming in here, looking this sexy," He playfully teased in a husky tone, kissing her long and hard before his mouth hopped across her cheek, her jaw, going to work on that expanse of flesh just below.
Rhonda airily smirked, granting he better access with the tilt of her head as he went back to nipping at her neck in that way that was just so decadent, "Hoping you'd ravage me, darling," She taunted as she pulled his mouth back onto hers, "What else?" Their tongues dancing in a rhythm that only they knew. In the sudden fog of arousal that had settled between them, she hadn't realized she'd gotten slowly backed the few feet into the wall behind her. It wasn't into she felt the wall hit her backside that she realized, she'd even been slowly moving.
Next thing she knew Sid grabbed for her ass and hiked her up said wall, letting her legs wrap around his waist as he did. Her nimble fingers wound through his hair, as their lips sought each others in frantic, starving need. He really was sorry, and he knew that she knew he truly didn't have a mean bone in his body, but he was also aware enough to know that if he was left to his own devices for the rest of that night, he would wander right back to his spiraling. She was his favorite distraction, and he was more than content with letting the primal part of his brain take hop in the drivers seat. "It worked," He breathed, letting his hands wander up her thighs and under the silk as he started rubbing the inflating bulge in his sweatpants against her apex.
"I knew it would," She gasped, open mouthed, something Sid took full advantage of, kissing her, caressing her tongue with his own. Her hips rolled against his aching want, physically pleading for more.
"Fuck, baby..." Sid groaned, his voice like gravel, his wife's hands seemed to be everywhere on him, in his hair, across his shoulders, his neck; her mouth almost as omnipresent, biting at his bottom lip. He pulled her from the wall, briskly walking them to his desk, setting her down on it. They came up for air long enough for him to lean forward and swipe everything sitting atop it to the floor. Laptop, papers, folders, bourbon all spilled out onto the hardwood in a nasty, disorganized clatter. It was dramatic, uncalled for, but there was something oddly symbolic about the action, and it seemed to kick Rhonda's desire for him even higher.
Arnold had eased back into his residency far easier than he'd imagined. Everybody seemed to keep to themselves, and thankfully, any nosy questions to themselves. Perhaps they knew better, or perhaps administration had told everybody to leave it alone. Neither would surprise him. Either way, he was thankful to be able to get back at it, as much as he found himself missing—longing really—spending his days with Hunter. He reminded himself that that was life, and most parents did have to go back to work. He was tired, he'd admit that. The twelve hour shifts were something to get used to again, and he was already dreading the nights which he were sure were coming, though they didn't appear on his immediate scheduling, thankfully.
Still, it did suck not having a friend to shoot the shit with during work down time, and it made him think about the fact that Monica was moving away sooner than later and he kind of wanted to meet up with her before she left, seeing as he still felt awful—and responsible—for what had happened to her. It was a thought that found itself tumbling out of his mouth that night at dinner as he was cutting through his chicken piccata, "What would you think if I invited Monica to dinner one night soon?"
Predictably, he watched as Helga's blue orbs cut from where she'd been staring out the bay window beside their dinning table, pausing mid-chew to give him a cautious look, her guard already being thrown up, "Why?" She finally asked after swallowing. She knew that she had no practical reason to be so frosty about the woman, and she truly did feel terrible for the atrocities that had happened, yet there was a residual irk for her that she supposed was cultivated from months of believing the two of them had been having an affair.
It made no rational sense to her.
She watched as Arnold shrugged rather casually, looking back to his plate to fork up his piece of meat, "She's moving soon."
"Oh," Her mouth down turned into an agitated frown, "I'm guessing she's back at the hospital too?" She hated how her tone sounded more chilly than she wanted it to.
Arnold noticed, but didn't feel the need to comment. Wasn't his place to tell her how to feel, "No, she didn't go back. But I have talked to her a couple times on phone," He admitted, forking another piece of chicken into his mouth, chewing and swallowing, "She called to see how I was fairing an all."
Her blue eyes studied him for a long moment, trying to work out if he had some sort of angle to the request other than polite hospitality. Nothing jumped out at her, and the last thing she wanted was her emotions to pick a fight over a nonexistent situation assumed by police. With that, her icy blue eyes began to thaw back, "Is she doing okay?" Her voice thankfully absent of its earlier frost.
Something Arnold seemed to pick up on immediately as he tilted his head to the side once with a lift of his shoulder, "She says she is. I don't really know though." Helga felt like that was a pretty candid response from him, and one from somebody who clearly wasn't lighting up the airwaves with this woman any chance he got. Her eyes fell back to her plate, making to push around a piece of broccoli with her fork, "Our friendship bothers you, doesn't it?" He finally up and asked.
Helga sighed, simultaneously appreciating that he'd asked but also at a loss of how to effectively explain her nonsensical feelings about it, "I don't think it does, truly." She abandoned her fork entirely as she looked back up at him, "But I did spend seven months believing you had been sleeping with her. Obviously also believing you were a serial killer too but, I don't know...I can't really explain why this in particular still feels...weird while my brain has been able to...move past the other falsehoods."
He nodded, feeling like he did understand what she was trying to say, "Maybe because that part seemed the most believable of everything," He suspected, his face beginning to cloud with sadness as he began thinking about how mentally tormented she must have felt for all of those months, "Since you know what I'm capable of and all," He finished in a much quieter tone, "We don't have to have her over. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
"It's important to you though."
His immediate reply was only a shrug, "I thought it would be a nice thing to do, I guess. I know it wasn't my fault, but it doesn't stop me from feeling responsible for what happened to her."
"I can't imagine what a mental burden that must be," She echoed, feeling a little ashamed that she had never once thought about it in that light. Arnold tended to like to take the world onto his shoulders at times, and she really shouldn't have been surprised that he was holding himself responsible for the actions of another. She resolved then and there that she wasn't going to let an opinion she'd been made to believe dictate her current actions, "You can invite her," She gave him her blessing, offering him a small but genuine smile that he returned.
Saturday.
When he got a text from her that morning asking if he wanted to take Hunter for the day, that should have been suspicious as it was, however when she followed up with the idea of him maybe even taking her for the night, well, needless to say he was concerned. See, despite her agreeing to give it some thought, she hadn't once broached the subject of their daughter spending the night anywhere but under her roof again. Of course with the way the chips had fallen, it hadn't even been necessary anyway. Yes, all of the fangs and claws he'd gone in on her with the night before his departure to Gerald's now in hindsight, seemed so stupid.
Never-the-less, he quickly rolled himself out of bed that morning at the ripe hour of 8:30am, hurriedly throwing on a set of clothes, and brushing his teeth before he was out of his apartment door to go investigate her bizarre request. When he pulled down their driveway, his eyes caught site of a few rather large and tall boxes sitting in front of the garage, clearly having just been delivered that morning, because they certainly weren't there last night. He parked, slowly stepping out of his vehicle, eyes still firmly glued to the strange items, scanning the random writings for something that told him what it was. He finally saw one marked 'shower pan' and started to get and inkling of an idea.
He left them there, briskly striding up the sidewalk, the porch and into the house where he was immediately greeted by his boys and...construction paper. It was taped to the floor, a path of it leading him up the foyer, through the living room, up the stairs and all the way down to one of their guest bedrooms, where he heard a loud bang before he entered into it. A quick peak inside he saw the brown paper trail leading straight to the attached bath, along with his daughter, sitting in her bouncer, kicking her little legs as she batted at one of the attached toys in front of her.
Rounding the threshold, he was greeted by...construction. Or demolition to be more exact. The toilet was gone, and now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure he remembered seeing it outside too, and she had just pulled the old vanity away from the wall after disconnecting the water pipes.
"Um..." He said, his eyes rather wide at that point with concern that she had lost her marbles that morning, "What are we doing?"
Helga turned around, giving him a half smirk and a shrug, "I'm tearing out the bathroom, she's..." She gestured to their baby, "Supervising."
Arnold's hands came to perch on his hips as he surveyed the damage, "Did you just get up this morning and decide to do this?"
"Kind of," She admitted, "My shower kit showed up this morning. It's been on back order for so long I kind of forgot about it. Regardless, perfect timing," She said before returning her attention to her task.
"Okay, well..." His green-eyed companion brought one of his hands up to paw through his bed hair, clearly not expecting minor renovation to be on the to-do list for that day, but it wouldn't be the first time she'd sprung something like that on him, "What do you need me to remove?"
Helga turned back to him, "No, no, just leave me to it. Take her for the day and I'll do my thing."
To say he was skeptical was an understatement, and he made such known by the impressive arch of his right eyebrow, "No, I'm not letting you do this by yourself. How do you even expect to get this stuff down the stairs?" He implored, attempting to be the voice of reason. Of course he didn't even know why she didn't want help. She'd always roped him into their other renovations without guilt.
She seemed unconvinced by his very reasonable logic, which was insane even for someone of her headstrong caliber, "I'll put it to the side and we can haul it down later. It'll be fine."
"Helga..."
"Look," She finally rolled her eyes, propping her hands on her hips. She wished he would just take no for an answer and not force her to explain herself, but in the interest in their new found agreement in actually communicating, she figured she might as well fess up, "I'm very frustrated right now, and I would like to blow off some steam by focusing on this." The more they slowly moved back into their relationship, the more of a ball of chronic arousal she became. She figured it probably wasn't all that, she imagined some of it to be post pregnancy hormones returning to normal and such.
Either way…
She watched as he frowned down at her in curiosity, "Is it something with work?"
He could always be a little dense at times, always the worse possible moments too. A mildly irritated breath escaped her lips, "No."
That frown dragging down his ever handsome, unshaven face deepened, "If not work then..." He trailed off when she gave him one of her famous 'really?' expressions, the ones that had a habit of making its recipients feel stupid, and he was certainly no exception because when it finally clicked what she was trying to tell him, he did feel a little dumb, "Oh." At that he wanted to tell her that no, in fact she was not the only one suffering, and he too might like to be distracted by demoing an innocent bathroom to occupy his idle mind…and hands. But he didn't, instead he just nodded, "I'll take her for the day and leave you to it," He agreed, casting her a small, but understanding smile.
A/N: Guess will see if Monica will accept the dinner invite and what all she has to say. Poor Sid is being driven insane I think. I know it seems like a lot of filler, but it really is the calm before the storm. Let me know your thoughts.