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Helga knows what day it is.
Of course she does, how could she not? She doesn’t keep it written down anywhere, not in her journals, not in her shrines, but she knows. The way he slowly becomes more withdrawn at the end of September, the way he constantly fiddles with his hat. Everyone else can sense it, and they know something’s up, but the only person who’s actually supposed to know is Gerald, who pops by every so often, puts a hand on Arnold’s shoulder, and sometimes they play some music together. She’s not supposed to know, but she does, and she keeps that secret with all her willpower.
October 5th, the day the hole in her beloved’s heart began to grow. The day he lost a piece of himself that he could never get back. The day his parents disappeared into the jungle and never returned. Oh, how her heart ached for him. Arnold’s parents had always been a touchy subject. She recalls him being frustrated at having to bring his grandparents to Parents Day, the look of shock and grief on his face when her ogre of a father called him an orphan. She wanted nothing more than anything to save him from his sorrow, but what could she do? She wasn’t even supposed to know, and even with…whatever they were after the entire Scheck fiasco, she was still Helga, and emotional honesty was absolutely not her strong suit.
O her golden-haired hero, how she longed to be there for him, how she wanted to balm his aching heart, and maybe, just maybe make a little space for herself in there while she was at it. She knows she could never replace his parents, but maybe this could be a chance for her. A chance to be vulnerable, a chance to be more than just the bully everyone thought she was. But that goal was ancillary compared to just wanting to help him.
So she followed him, watching him as his mood settled like a storm cloud. Her heart ached as she realized just how much it was affecting him, and how little he let the pain show. All the way until the evening of the 4th, Arnold was still his same helpful self. He still helped Sid and Stinky with their homework, still got Eugene out of the pothole his new rollerblades had gotten him into. But he was still just a little distant, not as involved. No one noticed except herself…and Gerald of course, but who was counting him?
No one arrived at his home the next day, likely due to Gerald pushing them away, wanting to give his best friend space. Good, more wiggle room for her. She climbed his fire escape, as quiet as usual, stepping onto his roof and slowly stepping forward to look through his windows. There he was, her beloved, sitting on his bed, staring at an old polaroid picture. She grabbed a pair of binoculars from her bag and peered through them. It hadn’t been easy to find the perfect angle to watch him like this, through both the sun and the glass, but she was an old hand at it at this point. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the picture, two people, one blonde with his arm in a cast, and the other with brunette hair, standing close together in the sun. It hadn’t been hard to guess who they were, and a part of Helga allowed herself a brief moment to indulge in a minor fantasy, one where she could introduce herself to them, to get to know them and be close to them as Arnold’s girlfriend. But she knew that that fantasy could never compare to what he was feeling. She had her sucky family, but she could never imagine the pain of knowing your parents were wonderful people and never having the privilege of knowing them. She can see how he finally allows himself to hunch over, let his shoulders shake, and let his head bow, and Helga’s heart breaks a little more. Despite all they’d been through, she’d never seen Arnold cry. He’d always been one to put the weight of the world on his shoulders, a trait she’d always admired in him, but now she’s seeing just how much that weight can crush him.
“Oh, Arnold, my beloved, I can only imagine what you’re feeling. You can let out all your sorrows for me, my dear. You can fall apart as much as you need, I would love comforting you, my football-headed darling. I can never replace your parents, but oh how I long to help you, to let you be Arnold the human and not Arnold the problem solver, Arnold the savior. If only I could ever work up the courage to actually approach you in your hour of need, and–WHOA!” Unfortunately, in her monologue, Helga had leaned a bit forward, and barely had time to fling her binoculars away before she fell through Arnold’s skylight and landed roughly on his bed, making Arnold jump from his place on the couch.
“Helga?” The boy asked incredulously, eyes wide, and Helga just had to curse her luck.
“H-Hey Arnold…!” Helga replied with a nervous chuckle and a shy wave.
Arnold sighed, tucking the photo away. “What are you doing here Helga? Y’know…on my roof?” He sounded so tired, even as he spoke like this was all routine to him, a back and forth that never got boring, but he wasn’t in the mood for. Wasn’t this the opportunity she was looking for? C’mon Helga, commit!
“Who, me? I was just…going for a walk…! Y’know…up on the roof…like I always do…!” Dammit. Smooth moves, Pataki.
Arnold shot her a flat look, clearly not buying it. “Look, Helga, I’m really not in the mood today, so, can you please just…go?” He asked, and Helga’s chest twisted in sympathy for him as he turned away.
Instead of doing so, Helga swallowed down the lump in her throat and summoned all of her courage, instead sitting next to him, hands in her lap, avoiding his eyes. They hadn’t been the same for nearly an entire year. Ever since the FTI debacle things had been…weird between them. But never let it be said that Helga G. Pataki didn’t try. “...Do you want to…talk about it?” She asked quietly.
Arnold shook his head. “Not…not really, Helga.” and Helga feels her composure crack. Arnold was always so dependable, the kind of guy who’d give you the shirt off his back if it helped you for a moment. Seeing him so forlorn, that beautiful inner light so dim felt wrong.
Slowly, her face twisted into her trademark scowl, planting herself more securely on the bed. “Well, too bad, bucko. I’m here now, and I’m not leaving until we talk.” He looked at her incredulously, and she simply crossed her arms and glared. “Don’t get any funny ideas, buster, I just can’t stand seeing you with these puppy dog eyes.”
“...Whatever you say, Helga.” Arnold chuckled a little, retrieving the photo and slowly showing it to her. “I found their journal after last year.” He mentions. “A lot of my grandparent’s stories were fake. My dad was an anthropologist. My mom was a botanist and a physician. They were…really smart.”
Helga chuckles and smirks. “No wonder they made you then, hair boy.” Her voice had dropped an octave, allowing herself to be soft instead of sharp. “So disgustingly optimistic.”
Arnold huffed out a breath, not a laugh, but a simple exhale, and Helga can see his shoulders loosen the smallest amount. “I always wondered if…if they loved me. It was one thing hearing Grandpa’s stories about it, but…they loved me more than anything, Helga.”
Helga takes a second to gather her thoughts, her brow furrowed as she desperately prayed she wouldn’t mess this up. “So…what happened to them? Why did they leave?”
Arnold looked away, the hurt evident in his voice. “I…was born in a place called San Lorenzo. Mom went into labor as a volcano was erupting.”
“Criminy, talk about dramatic.” Helga couldn’t help but snark. Arnold shot her a look, but there was absolutely no heat to it. Instead, her rude comment actually made his lips quirk up into a tiny smile.
“Yeah…it really was. There’s a tribe of native people there, very secretive. They helped my mom when she was in labor. Mom and Dad…learned those people were in danger. They couldn’t abandon them when they’d helped so much in the past. So they went to San Lorenzo and…never came back.” He looked down, a single shaky exhale leaving his lungs.
For a second, the room felt too still and quiet, and Helga occupied herself by staring at a wall until she could find something to say. “Look, Arnold…You’re allowed to feel bad about it.” Arnold’s head snaps up and he looks at her. “I have no clue what you’re really feeling, Arnold, but…I can imagine it hurts. I know you’re used to taking care of everyone, but…” Her face slowly turned pink. She really couldn’t pretend her next sentence wasn’t selfish, but she could at least offer. “It’s okay to let yourself be cared for too.”
Arnold didn’t look at her, but his shoulders shook, and her eyes widened as she saw him take a deep inhale, as if he would break down crying right there, and Helga was in no position to deal with that. Lucky for her, he held back the tide, and kept talking. “I just…wish I could see them again. I just wish I could’ve known if they…if they were proud of me.”
Helga sighed, shifting awkwardly in her seat, and for a second, she contemplated bolting. This was all too much for her, but she stayed rooted on the couch by the thought that Arnold needed her. “Criminy, hairboy, how could they not be proud of you? You saved Mighty Pete from being bulldozed, you saved the entire neighborhood from being bulldozed for crying out loud! You got Stoop Kid off his stoop, met Mickey Kaline, got Dino Spumoni to sing again, and that’s not even counting all the many times you’ve gotten every kid in school out of hot water! You’re the nicest, kindest, most frustratingly perfect boy in the history of mankind!” She threw her hands in the air, her face growing more and more red the more she spoke. “Any…any parent would love to have you as a kid, Arnoldo. They’d be proud of you, I know it.”
She doesn’t look at him, but she can feel his gaze on hers, slowly making her face grow more and more red. She doesn’t see his eyes relax, his posture loosen, and she doesn’t see his face slowly grow into a gentle smile. “...Thanks Helga.”
That simple statement sends shivers up and down her spine. It’s too much vulnerability, so she does what she does best and shuts it down. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it, football head.” She stood and headed for the staircase to leave before things got too awkward. “I know you don’t want company, so I’ll leave you to it.”
Arnold didn’t stop her, didn’t grab her hand and pull her into a kiss like she always dreamed. Instead, he simply looked up at her as she ascended. “Y’know Helga, it’s pretty weird, but…you’re always there for me, aren’t you?”
“Huh?” Helga froze right as she reached the window, eyes wide.
“Whenever I’m down, whenever no one can help me…you’re there. You always…I dunno, you’re always there for me…even when I don’t see you, right?” He asked, and her face turned bright red at the implication, and as Arnold realized what he said, his own face began to redden too, almost daring to broach a subject that they had mutually agreed had never happened.
“S-So? What’s it to you, football head?”
“Nothing it’s just…you’re kind of like my guardian angel, you know? When you’re around…everything feels like it’ll be okay.” He says placidly. Helga goes stock still, her eyes wide as she remembered a Christmas not too long ago, of standing in the snow in nothing but her socks.
“C-Criminy you’re such a sap, Hair Boy.” She mumbled, looking away before she could confess that particular secret. “I’m leaving before you make me hock up a hairball.”
Arnold sniffed a little, wiping his face, and gave her that look he’s given her a thousand times, the one where his eyes are half-lidded and his smile is so easy and sure and lovely that it nearly sends her into a swooning fit right there. “Whatever you say Helga.”
Even long after she was gone, Arnold stayed in his room, staring at the picture. When Grandpa called him down for dinner, he set the picture down and followed him without a word.
He would find them one day. But until then, he knew they’d be proud of him. He believed her wholeheartedly.
His guardian angel.