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Finding your Feet	By : DancingBear Category: +G through L > Hey, Arnold! Views: 13192 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold, nor any of the characters. I do not, and will not make any money from this story. (Original creator: Craig Bartlett)

Chapter List
- 1-Finding your Feet
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-5
- 5-6
- 6-7
- 7-8
- 8-9
- 9-10
- 10-11
- 11-12
- 12-13
- 13-14
- 14-15
- 15-16
- 16-17
- 17-18
- 18-18
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Her face slowly spread into a grin as she raked her eyes up and down him.

"I can't fucking believe it." She gasped. "Arnold fucking Shortman."

He smiled, despite himself. The look on her face was classic. Weirdly, he was a little less nervous. It's just Helga. No use trying to impress a girl he'd known since he was a kid.

"Hey Pataki."

She glanced around the room. "I gotta keep doing the rounds for another ten. Are you guys hanging around?"

"I know I am." Gerald started talking before Arnold could even formulate an answer. "Pretty sure Arnold's free to stay too, aren't ya?"

Arnold just gulped. What the fuck was Gerald trying to do? "Uh… yeah… I mean…" He forced himself to look up at where Helga was smiling expectantly down at him. "I can stay a bit longer, if you wanna catch up?"

She grinned. "I'll be back." Before she moved back into the main part of the bar.

Arnold turned to Gerald. "What are you playing at?"

Gerald shook his head, tutting. "Didn't you see how she looked at you man? I was here last week, she didn't want to get all cosy withme!"

Arnold frowned. "Who says I wanna get cosy with her? That's Helga fucking Pataki."

"She grew up nice, huh?" Gerald grinned, leaning back in his chair. He sighed when Arnold just glared at him. "Look man, I've seen her more recently than you. I saw her quite a bit after she moved to Florida, because of Phoebe and everything. She isn't the same nasty bitch she was when she left."

"It's not just that." Arnold slumped his shoulders. "It's… I mean… my leg and everything…" He stammered. How could he tell Gerald how he was feeling, when he could barely figure out himself?

"What about it?" Gerald raised an eyebrow at him.

"I… I can't… I mean… She can't see…" Arnold was tongue-tied. Why was Gerald doing this to him?

"Ah-ha! I knew it!" Gerald crowed. "You do like the look of her!" His grin was wide. "I thought you might. I'm gonna let you in on a secret, Shortman… that leg don't mean shit compared to your self-conscious bullshit."

Ouch. That stung, but Gerald kept going.

"I've been reading up on this, and I know that it's the psychological shit that'll end up screwing your life up, not the leg itself. Fuck man, I'm worried about you." Gerald took a breath before continuing, in a softer voice. "I'm not asking you to fuck her or anything. I just want you to talk to a girl, so you can finally fucking realise that just because you lost a leg, it doesn't mean the death of your, uh, romantic life."

Arnold didn't know what to think. "Uh, thanks? I think?" He took a long gulp of his beer. Gerald was setting him up… with Helga of all people. Although, his friend did have a point, she seemed totally different to the bossy cow she used to be. "That was quite a, uh, speech."

"Been practising." Gerald grinned, tapping Arnold's beer bottle with his own. "It's just Pataki, there's no need to stress."

Arnold sighed. "How… um, how do you think I should tell her? Or, should I just want, till she sees the cane or something?"

Gerald shrugged "If it comes up in conversation, then go with it. Don't force it… and for fucks sake, stop thinking about it like it's your defining feature. So you're missing a leg, who gives a fuck? It's not as massive as you think it is."

"Not to you." Arnold moped.

"No, not to me, and not to anyone else. Stop focussing on it. Seriously. Focus instead on the cute little redhead that wants to hang outwith you." He winked.

"I suppose she is a redhead now, huh?" He twisted in his seat to look at her, bending over a table of guys, most of them wearing sunglasses… in a bar… at night… I might be a cripple, but at least I'm not a douchebag.

Ten minutes later she came back up to the table. "Phew, all done." She grinned. "I hate that mix n mingle shit. Can I get you guys a drink?" She held up her glass, empty but for a few ice cubes.

"You sit down, it's my round." Gerald stood up, "What can I get ya?"

She sat down gracefully in his seat, smiling still. Arnold couldn't remember her smiling this much ever. "Um, a GnT would be great, thanks."

"So, Arnold…" She beamed "This is so surreal! It's been what, ten years since I saw you last?" She leaned forward in her chair, putting her elbow on the table. His eyes followed the sweep of her collarbone, the line of her neck.

He thought for a second. "Something like that. You left in 8th grade, yeah?"

She nodded, her eyes searching his face. He shifted a little under her gaze.

"So, what have you been doing over the past decade?" He leaned back in his chair, stretched his good leg out.

She shrugged. "Miriam and I moved in with her aunt in Florida, but you probably already know that. I finished school, got a full scholarship to Berkeley, graduated top of my class, worked my ass off, and now I work as a freelance writer, proof-reader, editor, critic, what-have-you…" She shrugged. "I'm living just a few blocks from here, with Olga."

"Wow Helga… you've… you've really changed."

She just laughed. "What about yourself, Mister Shortman? Saving the world yet?"

"Not even in the slightest." He took a swig of his near-empty beer. "Graduated from Hillwood, got my degree in Fine Arts at Yale, a Masters at Rhode Island… now I'm a starving artist, eking out a living on commissions and call centre work."

"I heard about your grandparents… I'm sorry." Helga nudged his good leg with her toe. "What's happened to the boarding house?"

"It's still going. I couldn't bring myself to sell it… even though I could really do with the money. There's a couple managing it for me. I've been thinking about moving back."

Helga nodded. "So, I'm sure I would have heard if you'd gotten hitched, but asides from that… any personal news? Come out of the closet or fathered a love child or anything?"

He couldn't help but laugh. "No, no kids as far as I know. Straight and single." He narrowed his eyes at her, she was smirking. "What about you, Pataki…"

"Single… no kids." Her mouth twitched up at the corners. "I cannot believe I am sitting here, with Arnold Shortman."

"Formally known as Football Head."

She laughed. "Yes… formally known as Football Head."

She was so different. That edge of nervous anger she had always had was gone. She asked questions and made jokes. Sure, her sense of humour definitely had a bite to it, but it was just funny, not nasty like how she used to be. He liked it…

"I hope you two don't mind, but there's someone over there I'd like to go talk to." Gerald put their drinks down in front of them.

"Blonde or brunette?" Arnold asked, nodding his thanks for the drink.

"Brunette. Tall, too. Be good, kiddies." He laughed before making his way over to the other side of the room.

Silence.

Helga had her straw between her lips, sipping on her drink, her eyes lowered. Arnold took a swig of his beer, realising that she knew what Gerald was trying to do… he felt his cheeks start to burn.

"Do you paint?" She asked finally, looking up at him through her eyelashes, a coy, shy look that made his stomach flip uncomfortably.

He swallowed. "Um, yeah. I mostly work in charcoals and pastels, but I have been known to dabble in acrylics." He wished the drinks would kick in, make him feel less nervous… but nothing seemed to be happening. Strange.

"Are you working on anything at the moment?" She crossed her legs, her foot grazing across his good calf as she moved.

He faltered. "Uh, no… not really."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? Why not?"

He shrugged. "Artists block?"

"Oh god, I know what that's like. It's the worst." She shuddered. "I was halfway through a novel, and poof, nothing. Not even another sentence." She sighed. "I've tried everything, but nothing works. It's the pits."

He struggled to find something to say. He hadn't put pencil to paper since his accident… but he couldn't tell her that. "What's the novel about?"

She laughed. "You really wanna know?" He nodded, grateful not to have to talk. "You can't laugh at me, OK?"

"Promise."

"OK. Well, do you know anything about synaesthesia?..." a half hour later, he was trying to explain to her how having she could solve a plot hole by having two inhabitable bands around a larger planet, with a thicker atmosphere and a horizontal rotational axis.

She had grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the bar, and he was sketching out how light would hit the earth, creating a habitable area on a planet that would still support her other plot devices.

"Jesus, that's clever. How do you know this shit?" She asked, sliding the piece of paper out from beneath his fingers and examining it.

He shrugged. "I find it interesting."

"Well, you're a godsend, that's for sure." She smiled at him, looking up at him again.

"I… uh…" Oh god… what do I do? Desires warred within him. He wanted to make a move, he really did. There was a big part of him that didn't care that this girl was Helga Pataki, it just acknowledged that she was cute and sweet and highly fuckable. Another part of him, however, was far to embarrassed to let him be exposed to a woman. He could barely look at himself, how could he expect anyone else to touch him?

"Can I get you another drink?" he asked finally. Instantly mentally slapping himself. Going to the bar would mean getting up, using his cane in front of her. He already needed to piss, but was putting it off, hoping she would leave or something before he really needed to go.

She shook her head. "Nah, two is plenty enough for me." She hesitated. "I, uh, I was going to head home soon… if you wanted to walk me or something?"

He just kinda gaped, completely lost for words.

She shifted. "You don't have to or anything… I… uh…" She blushed, looked away, her eyes scanning the room. Probably looking desperately for a way to get away from me.

"I want to." Arnold said softly. "I, uh, I do. But I can't. I'm sorry… I…" He trailed off.

She turned back to him. "You can't?"

"I, shit… I can't walk that far."

She just stared at him. "I don't get it."

"I… I had an accident a few months back… I hurt my leg…" He could feel his heart thumping harder. He had no idea how to put this.

"What happened?" she asked, her forehead creasing… "I mean… are you OK?" Her eyes ran down to his legs, looking at them properly. He watched her face, saw her notice that something wasn't quite right. His toe of his left 'foot' didn't sit quite naturally on the ground, his 'knee' looked strangely thin beneath his jeans. "Is… is that a cane?" she asked softly, her face full of concern.

He sighed. Well, that was nice while it lasted. "I… um… I was helping a friend move, I was between the trailer and the back of his car while I was getting a box out of the boot. Someone ran up the back of the trailer, and, um, crushed my leg." He shrugged.

She flopped back into her chair, staring at him. "Fuck." She whispered. "Are you… like… how bad?" She held her hands up, in a futile gesture.

"Bad enough." He tried to smile, but felt like throwing his bottle against the wall. FUCK THIS SHIT. "This, uh…" he tapped his left 'knee', "is a prosthetic."

She stared. "I'm so sorry Arnold… I didn't mean…" she faltered.

"It's OK." He shrugged. It wasn't OK though, he wanted to rage. It was so fucking unfair that he couldn't even walk a pretty girl home.

"So you can't really walk?" He hated the look on her face, pity… ugh.

"I can… I mean, I will… I'm just not very steady, and this thing rubs… I mean… I…"

She just nodded. "A friend of mine is in a wheelchair. Fucking thing rubs him raw, poor bastard." She sighed. "Are you still in Physical Therapy?"

He blinked. "Uh, yeah."

She smiled. "So you aren't sick or anything… you just can't hobble the four blocks to my place?"

Arnold frowned. He couldn't tell if she was taking the piss, or was just flippant. "Yeah… aside from being a cripple, I'm healthy as an ox."

She grinned, leaning back forwards. "Wanna taxi then?"
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Finding your Feet