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Not exactly the ugly duckling	By : DancingBear Category: +G through L > Hey, Arnold! Views: 5459 -:- 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-Not exactly the ugly duckling
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 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
- 19-19
- 20-20
- 21-21
- 22-22
- 23-23
- 24-24
- 25-25
- 26-26
- 27-27
- 28-28
- 29-29
- 30-30
- 31-31
- 32-32
- 33-Epilouge
- 28
- 29
- 30
Arnold couldn't sleep, the events on the night just kept playing through his head.

He was furious, elated, scared, tired. After everything that had happened, he thought he would be out as soon as his head hit the pillow, but instead, he was anxious, confused…

He had sat through her horrible story, rage blurring his vision as she told him how Bob had abused her. He felt a swell of territorial guilt when she told him how Dave had found her, comatose in the elevator, how Dave had visited her daily at the hospital, how she had stayed in Dave's tiny flat, and how Dave found her the apartment she was now living in.

Arnold should have been there. He should have been the one that took care of her, he should have kept her safe.

And then she had shown him the photos. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her poor, beaten face.

Her eyes blackened, glassy from the concussion. The left side of her face a bloody, swollen, bruised mess. Her beautiful lips split, a dark gap where two of her teeth were missing. Blood, dried dark and stiff in her hair, her scalp torn. Her slender, pale neck a mass of black and green bruising.

When the pictures turned to her body, showing the marks of abuse on her skinny, naked, broken ribs, Arnold placed the photos on the coffee table, face down, not wanting to see any more.

She had turned those big blue eyes on him and he thought his heart would break.

He had tried to take her in his arms, but she wasn't finished.

He couldn't be with her… she wouldn't date him. They were just going to be friends.

She was too messed up, too paranoid. She would lash out at him, hurt him, like she already had.

Arnold turned to his side, thumping his pillow. It was almost daylight, birds were chirping.

It wasn't just that, either… she loved him. Not only loved him, but had been in love with him since they were three. Two decades… He could barely wrap his head around it.

But she couldn't date him… she begged him to understand. She was too messed up to be with anyone, she would just hurt him.

So that's where they stood. Friends. Friends with no foreseeable future as lovers or partners… His heart sank. He would do it, because that's what he did… but it was going to suck.

He was going to be her friend.

He wouldn't take any drunken opportunities, or make subtle hints. He would force himself to be light-hearted around her, to refrain from letting his eyes linger on her face. He would act like the only feelings he had for her were platonic. He had to, or he would lose her totally.

He sighed, turned back onto his back, stared at the purple sky.

Leaving her had been hard, he had held her, standing in the doorway, her face pressed against his neck, her breath quietly damp on his neck as tears leaked down her face. He peeled away from her, hardening himself, knowing that he would have to get used to it… and left.

He gave up, sleep wasn't going to come, he was too wired. He swung his feet out from the covers and got out of bed.

He pulled on shorts, socks, a t shirt, a hoodie… he rummaged in his closet for his running shoes, sitting on the end of the bed to put them on. He found his MP3 player and headphones, and snuck quietly down the stairs, missing the bottom one, it always creaked.

The streets were deserted. The air was freezing. He started jogging at first, loathe to pull something. His breath puffed up in front of his face, his shoes slapped on the damp concrete.

He tried to empty his head. His feet hit the ground in time to his music, his arms swung slightly at his side. He sped up, lengthened his strides. His feet ate up the pavement, his long legs loping faster and faster. His breath started to labour, sweat dampened his T shirt.

Blocks passed beneath his feet, he unzipped his hoodie, sweat beaded on his face. He ran till it hurt, his lungs heaving, his skin hot, his legs protesting. He pushed harder, forcing himself to keep up his pace, keep the length in his tread. He crossed a road, barely checking for cars.

The sky was growing lighter, shades of purple giving way to orange. He caught snatches of birdsong over his music, felt the dawn breeze on his face. He wasn't really paying attention to where he was, when he skidded to a stop in front of Mighty Pete.

Amazing Pete was still there, really. He chuckled, surprised that over-protective mothers hadn't had the tree-hut pulled down yet.

He crossed the grass, dew soaking his sneakers. He tested the ladder, wary that it might snap on him. He climbed to the top, careful to not slip on the wet rungs, smooth from so many feet over the years, and sat heavily on the wooden floor.

He leaned against the wall, catching his breath. Dawn sun leaked in through the open wall. He closed his eyes, exhausted, and memories flew unbidden into his head.

He remembered Helga… remembered her right here, standing up to her father when Bob was going to knock the tree down… remembered her curled into a corner reading by torchlight when she didn't want to go home. Remembered her sneering at him when he invited her to come over for dinner.

He had just been a kid. He had known she was unhappy, but if he had realised… He shook his head. No wonder she had always been so easy to set off. She didn't want his pity. She didn't want him to invite her over because he felt sorry for her. She wanted him to noticeher.

He remembered stumbling across her in the park one afternoon. They must have been sixteen. It was the end of summer, one of those long, still, humid afternoons. He had just been going for a walk, confused about Lila or something, and had found her sitting cross-legged in an out-of-the-way patch of grass, writing in a notebook.

She had looked… soft… nothing like he had expected. She had just looked up at him, smiled this sad smile, and greeted him. He could almost hear it. "Oh. Hey Arnold." He had sat down, and they had just talked, for hours. She was a different person. If he hadn't been so caught up in Lila's bullshit, would he have realised what he had been seeing?

That was when Miriam died. She sat there, chatting away about a million mundane trivialities, and didn't once mention that her mother had passed away the night before. He hadn't found out until Gerald told him that evening, after he had walked Helga home, her shoulders slouching, her steps growing slower the closer they got to her building.

Things had kinda changed after that. They had been forced to hang out together a bit anyway, because of Phoebe and Gerald, but after that afternoon, the venom went out of her bite. She could actually be nice sometimes.

He wondered… what would it have been like if he had realised, really realised what Helga was actually like back then? Would they have lasted? Was it a good thing that he didn't notice her till they were a bit older? He felt like he had wasted time. If he had just realised…He could have taken her in, protected her…

He mentally shook himself. There was no use asking 'what if'. There was nothing he could do about the past. What he could do though, was help her now.

He shifted, the wood uncomfortably hard. He shifted his shoulders, wriggled. He realised he had been angry, frustrated that he had waited so long, had tried to do everything right, but it hadn't turned out how he wanted.

Selfish, he thought. He had logically seen Helga's rationale… but his heart hadn't accepted it. The fact that she needed time, that she needed to be free to try and sort through her issues, with no one hanging around in the background, no one making her feel rushed, or guilty… that fact had just swam on the top of his head… but now he got it.

He felt kind of peaceful as he descended the ladder and headed back for home. Instead of feeling like being Helga's friend was some kind of consolation prize, or a punishment for not doing everything exactly right… he felt like it was a real opportunity to help someone he cared about.

He was going to be her friend.
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Not exactly the ugly duckling