Chapter Text

Description - Ten years after high school, childhood friends find themselves reunited as neighbors in the heart of Hillwood City. Helga Pataki, now a fierce housing rights attorney, shares an apartment with fashion-conscious Rhonda Lloyd and eternally optimistic Lila Sawyer. Just a floor up, Arnold Shortman and Gerald Johanssen navigate their own adult challenges while brilliant Phoebe Heyerdahl lives close enough to drop by the girls at a moment's notice. As these former classmates balance careers, relationships, and the occasional childhood grudge, they discover that growing up doesn't necessarily mean growing apart. Through late-night talks, impromptu gatherings, and the occasional crisis, this unlikely urban family proves that some bonds only strengthen with time—even if Helga would never admit it out loud.

Helga - Housing Rights Attorney

Lila - Helga's Assistant/Paralegal

Rhonda - Fashion Consultant/Stylist

Phoebe - Medical Technologist

Gerald - Investigative Journalist

Arnold - Architect/Property Manager

Episode 1 The New Boarding House Family

Steam billowed from the shower as Helga Pataki stepped out, wrapping a towel around herself with a scowl. It was 6:30 AM, the only time she could guarantee bathroom access in this madhouse of an apartment. The mirror had fogged completely, which was just as well. She didn't need to see the dark circles under her eyes after staying up until 2 AM preparing for today's case.

"Criminy," she muttered, wiping a small circle in the condensation. "Another day fighting the good fight while these yahoos sleep in."

As if on cue, a rapid knock rattled the bathroom door.

"Helga? Wrap it up! I have investors at 8, and this face requires forty-five minutes of preparation!" Rhonda Lloyd's voice carried through the door with its familiar blend of entitlement and panic.

Helga rolled her eyes. "Keep your designer panties on, Princess. I'm almost done."

She could practically hear Rhonda bristling on the other side of the door. After 1 year of living together, they still bickered like fourth graders.

"You know I hate that nickname," Rhonda said. "And I have every right to be concerned. If you must use my immaculately designed power shower instead of the perfectly functional second bathroom." Rhonda huffed. "there is a schedule you must abide by."

"Yeah, yeah, I know what the schedule says." Helga yanked open the door, still in her towel, hair dripping. "All yours, Your Highness."

Rhonda, in pristine silk pajamas and a satin scarf, looked magazine-ready despite her family's financial cut-off, a consequence of choosing fashion design over the family business.". Her expression of irritation melted into concern as she took in Helga's exhausted appearance.

"Another late night with the Hillwood Heights case?" she asked, voice softening.

Helga's shoulders slumped slightly. "Those developers are trying to bulldoze half the neighborhood, and they're playing dirty. I've got a feeling this case is going to get ugly."

Rhonda nodded, genuine respect flickering across her features before she caught herself. "Well... do try to adhere to the bathroom schedule tomorrow. Some of us have appearances to maintain and dates to go on."

"Some of us have the world to save," Helga retorted, but there was no real heat to it.

As Rhonda slipped into the bathroom, Helga padded down the hallway toward the kitchen, passing Lila Sawyer's bedroom door, which was decorated with pressed flowers and inspirational quotes. She was Helga's assistant of six months, hired reluctantly but proving invaluable, and despite her sickeningly sweet attitude, she was flawlessly efficient. When her father moved back to the countryside last year, Helga surprised herself by suggesting Lila take the empty room.

A faint sound of gentle snoring could be heard. Eventually, Lila would soon awaken and make her organic smoothies both unrequested and secretly enjoyed.

The kitchen was mercifully empty. Helga flipped on the expensive coffee maker Rhonda had insisted on buying when they first moved in ("If I must economize in some areas, I simply refuse to compromise on proper espresso") and leaned against the counter while it gurgled to life.

A soft knock at the apartment door drew a groan from her lips. Who on earth would be here at this hour? She cinched her towel tighter and stomped over.

"Whatever you're selling, we're not..." The words died in her throat as she swung the door open.

Arnold Shortman, the building's property manager, stood holding a paper bag that smelled suspiciously like fresh bagels. His oddly shaped head hadn't changed since childhood, though he'd grown into it somewhat. He wore simple jeans and a plaid button-down with the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms tanned from his recent humanitarian trip completing architectural projects.

Arnold swallowed the gum he was chewing as his eyes involuntarily dropped to her towel-clad silhouette.

"Morning, Helga," he said, that same half-lidded gaze taking in how her damp hair clung to her skin and quickly suppressed a smile. "Bad time?"

"Football Head," she managed, clutching her towel tighter. Despite being nearly thirty, despite a law degree and a growing reputation as one of the fiercest housing advocates in the city, despite *everything*, her heart still did that stupid little flip whenever he appeared unexpectedly. "What are you doing here at the crack of dawn?"

"Two reasons. First, "I need to check the water pressure in your kitchen - there have been complaints from other tenants. And as property manager and someone who grew up in these very walls, I want to get ahead of any major issues."

"Riveting tale." She mumbled sarcastically.

"But more importantly." He held up the bag. "Gerald mentioned you had a big case today. Thought you could use breakfast."

"Gerald mentioned...?" Her eyes narrowed. "You mean Phoebe told Gerald, who told you."

Arnold shrugged that infuriating smile playing at his lips. "The friendship information pipeline works in mysterious ways."

"Hmph." She stepped aside to let him in, trying to ignore the familiar scent of his soap as he passed. An old crack in the building's foundation, barely visible, seemed to widen slightly as Arnold walked past as if the building itself sighed at his return. "You could have texted."

"And miss seeing you at your morning best?" he teased, setting the bag on the counter and beginning to unpack it. "Besides, you never check your phone before 9 AM."

"I check it," she protested weakly, knowing he was right. She grabbed one of Rhonda's silk robes and slinked into it while Arnold was looking away.

From down the hall came the sound of the bathroom door opening, followed by Rhonda's voice calling out, "Helga, darling, is that my international coffee I smell? Be a dear and pour me a..." She stopped short upon entering the kitchen. "Arnold! You're back. What a fabulous surprise." She propped one hand on her hip. "Actually, since you're here, the water pressure in my shower is absolutely abysmal. I've been meaning to file a formal complaint. Your temporary replacement and assistants are the worst! How am I supposed to properly condition my hair when the water barely trickles out?"

"Hey Rhonda," Arnold nodded with the patient smile of someone well-used to her complaints. "I'll take a look at it after your meeting. Bagels?"

"Oh, I couldn't possibly. Carbs before noon?" Rhonda waved a dismissive hand, even as her eyes stalked on the bag. After a moment's hesitation, she added, "Though perhaps just half. My meeting isn't until eight, after all. And Arnold, do try to fix it today. My evening skincare routine requires adequate water pressure."

Arnold gave her a half-serious salute. "I'm on the job."

Helga snorted at Rhonda, grabbing a knife and aiming towards the bagels. "Yeah, and I'm sure your 'potential investors' will be impressed by your bagel breath."

"Some of us can eat without becoming a human garbage disposal, Helga," Rhonda sniffed, accepting half a bagel with what she clearly believed was tremendous restraint.

Another soft knock at the door made them all turn.

"I'll get it," Rhonda said, already moving toward the door, bagel in hand.

It was Phoebe Heyerdahl, small and precise as ever in her hospital scrubs, glasses perched on her nose. "Good morning! I thought I might catch Helga before..." Oh!" Her eyes widened at the sight of Arnold in their kitchen. "Arnold, what a pleasant surprise."

"Phoebe. Visiting from the apartment that should've been mine," Rhonda said with her usual snooty dryness.

"I suppose." Phoebe nodded patiently at Rhonda's usual covetousness.

"Phoebe!" Rhonda exclaimed with a sudden mood shift. "Just the person I wanted to see," She declared, steering the whiplashed lady into the apartment. "You simply must tell me about that under-eye cream you mentioned. These early mornings are absolute murder on my complexion."

As Rhonda whisked Phoebe away toward the couch, Helga found herself alone with Arnold in the kitchen. He spread cream cheese on a bagel with architectural precision.

"So," he said without looking up, "nervous about the case?"

"Me? Nervous? Please." Helga scoffed, accepting the bagel he handed her. "Those developers don't stand a chance. I've got precedent, community support, and righteous anger on my side.

"And if those developers win, dozens of families - some who've lived there for generations - will be out on the street. I won't let that happen."

"The Helga Pataki triple threat," Arnold nodded, a hint of pride in his voice that made her stomach do that stupid fluttering thing again.

He moved to the kitchen sink, turned on the faucet, and watched the water flow while checking the pressure with his hand. As Arnold checked the sink, Helga glanced around, still impressed by how he'd transformed the old boarding house. The worn-down Victorian had maintained its character—the original crown molding restored rather than replaced, the antique doorknobs polished to a shine—while being completely modernized inside. He'd converted the labyrinth of small boarding rooms into four spacious apartments, keeping his grandparents' old suite for himself and Gerald. The green-tinted stained glass window that used to illuminate the stairwell now served as a partition in their entryway, casting emerald patterns across the floor in the morning light. Somehow, despite all the changes, the building still felt like Sunset Arms—a sanctuary for misfits finding their way together, just as it had always been.

Helga watched him, taking in the familiar way he approached even simple tasks with careful consideration—the same way he'd tackled school projects, neighborhood problems, and apparently now building management. "Why are you really here, Arnold?" she asked quietly.

"Because I know how much this case means to you," he answered, still focused on the task until Helga came to the sink to fill up the Brita.

Their proximity in the small kitchen suddenly felt electric. Arnold felt how close they were; their hips nearly touched. The morning sunlight streaming through the window caught in Helga's damp hair, creating a golden halo effect that momentarily distracted him. Without thinking, he stepped back a few steps, clearing his throat. "Because I remember how trying it was when I almost lost this place, but instead of that happening, with support, I successfully renovated it. It was a major project, but turning this old building into affordable apartments was something I was very passionate about. And it was my way of preserving their legacy while creating something new." He smiled a little and turned off the water to meet her gaze, then, green eyes serious. "Because sometimes even Helga G. Pataki needs someone in her corner."

For a moment, she felt that old vulnerability, that urge to snap and push him away. But they weren't kids anymore, and somewhere along the way, she'd learned that letting people care about you wasn't always a weakness.

"Well," she said finally, taking a bite of bagel to hide the smile threatening to break through, but instead, she smirked. "I suppose if someone's going to be in my corner, it might as well be you, Football Head."

At her near compliment, he glanced at her with a hint of a grin on his face. His gaze lingered—not just because of what she said, but because, for the first time in a long time, he really looked at her. Noticed the way her hair fell over her shoulders instead of being pulled into its usual work bun. Noticed how—for all her gruffness—there was a softness to her in this moment.

He blinked, willing the thought away before it could settle, but a nagging feeling told him that after a year of living in this building together, their dynamic was shifting, and he wasn't sure he was ready for the consequences.

From the living room and kitchen, they could hear Lila's bedroom door opening, followed by her cheerful voice. "Oh my, is that Arnold I hear? How ever so lovely to see you back in the building this morning!"

Helga rolled her eyes, but this time, she didn't try to hide her beaming as she walked out of the kitchen. Unbeknownst to her, her friend and property manager struggled to keep his eyes up with the way that red robe clung.

This strange little found family of hers, annoying and intrusive as they could be, somehow made facing the day's battles a little easier.

Even if she'd never admit it out loud.

Lila entered the living room; her red hair was messy and perfect at the same time. Before she could speak to Arnold, her phone buzzed in her hand. "Helga, I think we need to get into the office ASAP. The suits didn't provide details, but I think there's been some changes."

Helga started shuffling to her bedroom, past Rhonda and Phoebe, who were still talking skincare on the couch. "Sorry, Phoebe, chat later!" She called back.

Phoebe stood up, smoothing out her hospital scrubs. "I understand, Helga. Duty calls!"

"Good luck today," Arnold said softly before she completely exited the living room.

Helga entered her room but called out before closing her door. "Thanks, but I don't need luck. I'm full of rage and cheap bagels. They don't have a chance."

Arnold grinned and shook his head at the same before he turned with the buzzing of his own phone. Now, having multiple texts. His property manager duties for the day have only just begun.

Chapter Text

Episode 2: Rhonda's Romance

"And then he said his yacht is being detailed, so we'll have to make do with his friend's catamaran this weekend." Rhonda Lloyd sighed dramatically, examining her freshly manicured nails as she perched on the edge of Helga's office desk. "The sacrifices one makes for love."

Helga didn't look up from the brief she was reviewing, her red pen making aggressive marks in the margins. Her hair sleeked into a side low bun, "Tragic. Someone alert the Nobel Peace Prize committee."

"You could at least pretend to be interested, Helga," Rhonda huffed, sliding a glossy photo across the desk. "Look. That's Xavier at the charity gala last month. The one I told you about?"

Helga glanced up briefly. "Congratulations. You've found a man who looks exactly like every other trust fund baby from here to the Upper East Side. Does this one have a personality or just a platinum card?"

Before Rhonda could retort, Lila appeared in the doorway, balancing three salads and a stack of manila folders. Her floral dress swished as she navigated into the small office.

"Oh my, is that a photo of the ever-so-wonderful Xavier I've been hearing about?" Lila set the salads down carefully, her eyes bright with interest. "He seems absolutely charming, Rhonda!"

"Thank you, Lila," Rhonda said pointedly, shooting Helga a look. "Some people understand the significance of dating one of Hillwood's most eligible bachelors."

Lila handed Helga the salad and whispered, "I put extra croutons in yours," before turning back to Rhonda. "Will you be seeing him again soon?"

"Tonight, actually," Rhonda preened, tucking the photo back into her designer handbag. "He's taking me to Château Noir. He knows the owner, of course."

"Of course he does," Helga muttered, stabbing a crouton with unnecessary force.

"I'm so happy for you!" Lila clasped her hands together. "It's just wonderful to see romance blooming."

Helga snorted. "It's not romance; it's resource allocation. Rich guy plus Rhonda equals match made in tax haven heaven."

"Some of us have standards, Helga," Rhonda sniffed, standing and straightening her impeccable blazer. "Not everyone wants to spend their evenings arguing about zoning laws and eating takeout."

"I like takeout," Lila offered mildly.

"You're not helping, Lila," Helga and Rhonda said simultaneously, then glared at each other.

Rhonda's expression showed vulnerability for a second as she wondered if she would ruin this connection before it took off somehow. But before Helga or Lila could check it, her superior demeanor came back.

"I should go," Rhonda checked her watch. "I have a client at two, and then I need to prepare for tonight. Lila, darling, any chance you can be at the apartment at six? I'm torn between the Dior and the Chanel."

"I'd be ever so delighted to help!" Lila beamed. "I just need to drop these documents at the Henderson Building first."

"Perfect. Helga, try not to crush all of society's dreams before dinnertime." With a flip of her hair, Rhonda swept out of the office, leaving behind the faint scent of expensive perfume.

Helga rolled her eyes. "How long do you give this one before she discovers he's either married, broke, or both?"

"Oh, Helga," Lila scolded gently. "You shouldn't be so pessimistic. Love can happen in the most unexpected places!"

"Yeah, well, so can financial fraud." Helga turned back to her brief. "Just make sure you're back quickly after. We have that tenant short meeting prep to finish."

"Of course! I'll just deliver these to Mr. Henderson's office and then help Rhonda before coming back." Lila gathered the folders, her perpetual good mood undimmed by Helga's cynicism.

---

The Henderson Building lobby gleamed with marble and money. Lila smiled politely at the security guard as she signed in, clutching the documents for Xavier Montgomery's office. Rhonda had mentioned he worked here, but Lila hadn't realized she'd be delivering papers to his actual office today. What a lovely coincidence!

The elevator whisked her to the fourteenth floor. Following the receptionist's directions, she made her way down a corridor of identical glass doors until she found the one labeled "Montgomery Investments."

She knocked lightly before entering a plush waiting area.

"Hi! I have some documents from Pataki Legal Services," she announced to the receptionist, a sleek woman whose expression suggested smiling might crack her face.

"Mr. Montgomery is on a call. You can leave them with me."

"Oh, but I'm supposed to get his signature," Lila fibbed slightly. Helga hadn't actually requested a signature, but Lila thought it might be nice to meet Rhonda's new beau and maybe mention what a wonderful person Rhonda was.

The receptionist sighed. "Fine. Have a seat."

Lila settled into a leather chair and glanced around the waiting area. A large framed photo on the wall caught her eye – Xavier in a tuxedo, arm around a beautiful blonde woman in a wedding dress.

Her heart sank. Perhaps it was old? A sister's wedding?

Before she could ponder further, a door opened, and a harried-looking assistant emerged. "He's ready for the Henderson documents."

Lila followed the assistant into a corner office where a man she recognized from Rhonda's photo, Xavier Montgomery, glanced up mid-call, waving her in without pausing his tirade, "...tell Caroline I'll be home late again. The Hillwood Heights deal is falling apart." He paused, listening. "Yes, I know it's her birthday. I'll make it up to her. Tell her and the kids I love them."

Lila froze, documents clutched to her chest, as Xavier hung up and turned to her with a practiced smile.

"The Henderson papers? Finally." He reached for them, then paused, noticing her expression. "Is something wrong?"

"I... no, nothing at all," Lila managed, handing over the documents. "I'm ever so sorry to intrude."

Lila had seen how happy Rhonda was—how could she let her stay happy in a lie? She then looked at the wedding photo again and then back to the office door.

As she fled the office, her mind raced. Kids? Caroline? Rhonda had said nothing about Xavier having children, or a Caroline in his life who would care about him being late.

Once safely in the elevator, Lila leaned against the wall, her usually sunny disposition clouded. What should she do? Rhonda was so excited about Xavier. But if he was married with children...

She pulled out her phone and texted Phoebe: *Emergency friend meeting tonight. Rhonda situation. Can you come over?*

The reply came quickly: *Of course. Everything ok?*

Lila sighed. *Not really. Will explain later.*

---

"Married? Are you certain?" Phoebe adjusted her glasses, perched on the edge of the couch in Helga, Rhonda, and Lila's apartment.

"He mentioned 'Caroline and the kids' on the phone, and there was a wedding photo on the wall," Lila explained, wringing her hands. "I feel ever so terrible. Should we tell her?"

"Of course we should tell her," Helga snapped, pacing the living room still in her work outfit. "What kind of friends would we be if we let her keep dating some lying, cheating—"

"We should proceed with caution," Phoebe interrupted. "While the evidence is compelling, it's not conclusive. The photo could be old, and Caroline could be a sister."

"With kids that call him for their birthday?" Helga raised an eyebrow.

"Nieces and nephews, potentially," Phoebe suggested, though her tone lacked conviction.

"I just hate to break her heart," Lila said softly. "She seems so happy."

"That's likely to happen," Phoebe cleared her throat. "Heartbreak...if we tell her." Her eyes peered down at her shoes.

Helga stopped pacing. "Look, Rhonda may be a shallow, status-obsessed fashionista, but she's our shallow, status-obsessed fashionista. We can't let some Wall Street sleazeball use her as his side piece." Her expression softened slightly. "Besides, it'll hurt more the longer it goes on."

The door burst open, and Rhonda swept in, glowing with excitement. "Ladies! You won't believe the evening I've had!" She paused, taking in their serious expressions. "What's wrong? Did someone cancel the electricity again? I told you we should pay that bill on time."

"Rhonda," Phoebe began gently, "we need to discuss something about Xavier."

Rhonda's eyes narrowed. "What about him? If this is more of Helga's anti-wealthy propaganda—"

"He's married," Helga cut in bluntly. "With kids."

Rhonda laughed, tossing her purse onto a chair. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I saw a wedding photo in his office," Lila said quietly, her eyes not meeting anyone. "And I overheard him on the phone, talking to someone about telling Caroline and the kids he'd be home late."

"That's..." Rhonda faltered momentarily, then rallied. "That's clearly a misunderstanding. Caroline is probably his sister. The wedding photo could be anyone."

"Rhonda, have you been to his office?" Phoebe asked softly, and Rhonda crossed her arms, looking down. Phoebe nodded before continuing. "What are the chances of all these coincidences?"

There was a moment of stillness, like everyone was thinking the same answer collectively but no one spoke those words aloud.

"You're just jealous," Rhonda's voice rose slightly. "All of you. You can't stand that I've found someone successful and sophisticated while you're all alone or dating... whatever it is you date." She looked at Helga. "When was the last time you even went on a good date, Helga? You're hardly qualified to give relationship advice."

Helga raised her hands. "Hey, I'm just the messenger of truth here. Don't kill me because your boy toy has a wife."

"He doesn't have a wife!" Rhonda grabbed her purse again. "And I'm going to prove it. We have reservations at Château Noir in an hour. I'll simply ask him."

"Rhonda, perhaps a more subtle approach—" Phoebe began, but Rhonda was already heading for the door.

"I don't need subtlety. I need friends who support me instead of trying to sabotage my happiness." The door slammed behind her.

The three women stared at each other in silence.

"That went well," Helga said finally. "Anyone up for following her to the restaurant to witness the inevitable meltdown?"

"Helga!" Lila looked shocked.

"What? You know that's exactly where this is heading."

Phoebe sighed. "Perhaps we should give her space to handle this privately."

"Fine," Helga conceded. "But someone keep the ice cream ready. And maybe hide the good wine glasses. You know how she gets when she's angry."

---

Three hours later, the apartment door opened quietly. Helga, Lila, and Phoebe—who had decided to stay for moral support—looked up from the television show they'd been pretending to watch.

Rhonda stood in the doorway, her makeup slightly smudged, shoulders uncharacteristically slumped.

"Oh, Rhonda," Lila rushed over, wrapping an arm around her.

"You were right," Rhonda said flatly. "All of you. He's married. Five years. Two children." She let Lila guide her to the couch. "He told me he was separated when I confronted him. But then his wife called while we were at dinner."

"What a coincidence," Helga muttered, earning a sharp look from Phoebe.

"He answered it at the table," Rhonda continued, kicking off her heels. "Called her 'honey.' Right in front of me." She laughed bitterly. "I threw my wine in his face and walked out."

"Good for you," Helga said with genuine approval.

"The maître d' looked scandalized," Rhonda added, a hint of her usual self peeking through. "I told him to put the entire bill on Xavier's card. Including a very generous tip."

"That's the Rhonda we know and tolerate," Helga said, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder.

Phoebe appeared with a glass of wine. "While I don't normally advocate alcohol as a coping mechanism, perhaps just one glass would be appropriate under the circumstances."

"Thanks." Rhonda accepted the wine, taking a substantial sip. "I should have listened to you all. I just wanted so badly to believe..."

"That someone with money and status would whisk you away to a life of luxury?" Helga supplied.

"Yes," Rhonda admitted, surprising them with her candor. "Is that so terrible? To want the life I grew up expecting to have?"

"No," Lila said gently. "It's not terrible. But maybe it's not everything?"

"Tonight, it feels like everything," Rhonda sighed. "Do you know what my father said when they cut me off? He said, 'Now you'll see the world as it really is.' I hate that he might be right."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Finally, Helga spoke up.

"Look, the world is full of jerks. Rich jerks, poor jerks, middle-class jerks. Xavier being a lying scumbag has nothing to do with you deserving nice things."

"Helga's right," Phoebe added. "His deception reflects his character, not your worth."

"And you're ever so talented, Rhonda," Lila chimed in. "Your fashion consulting business is growing every month!"

"I suppose," Rhonda sighed, then straightened slightly. "Though I have gained three new clients this week."

"See? You don't need some married money-bags to have the life you want," Helga said. "Build it yourself. Make your dad eat his words."

A small smile tugged at Rhonda's lips. "You know, sometimes your aggressive pep talks actually help, Helga."

"Don't spread it around. I have a reputation to maintain."

Rhonda raised her wine glass. "To building my own empire, then. And to friends who tell you the truth even when it hurts."

"And to throwing wine on cheaters at expensive restaurants," Helga added, clinking her glass against Rhonda's.

"I'm ever so glad you're feeling better," Lila said, giving Rhonda another hug.

"Don't get too comfortable," Rhonda warned, though there was no real heat to her words. "Tomorrow, I'll be back to being fabulous and demanding."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Princess," Helga said.

As they settled in to finish their wine and dissect every detail of the disastrous date, a knock sounded at the door.

"If that's Xavier, I have several choice words prepared," Rhonda declared.

Helga stood to answer it. "Get in line."

She swung the door open to find Arnold and Gerald Johanssen standing there.

"I was doing a maintenance check in 4B earlier and heard the commotion," Arnold explained. "Everything okay with the apartment?" He asked, hiding something behind his back.

"Put your handy mits away. It's man drama," Helga explained simply. "Rhonda's new guy turned out to be married."

Gerald winced. "Ouch."

"We kinda guessed that... brought ice cream," Arnold presented a bag. "Figured someone might need it."

"How did you know?" Lila asked, surprised.

Gerald shrugged. "Phoebe texted me the situation might require emergency dessert."

"My analytical approach to emotional crises includes contingency planning," Phoebe explained after the ladies shot her slight glares at revealing their business to the guys. She nervously adjusted her glasses with a small smile.

"Well, don't just stand there like poorly dressed mannequins," Rhonda called from the couch. "If you're offering ice cream and sympathy, I'm accepting both." She then proceeded to recap her night to the guys who were still just standing at the entrance. "And to make this night complete, the hot water was barely working when I tried to wash his cologne off me," Rhonda complained. "Arnold, when are you going to fix that water pressure problem in my bathroom? You said you were on the job!"

"I am," He shrugged, unfazed by Rhonda's whining. "I ordered the parts. They should be in by Friday."

"Must be nice to be Helga. At least your maintenance requests get handled within the decade." Rhonda mumbled just loud enough to be heard.

Arnold and Helga glanced at each other; his face twinged red, and her face filled with a slight smugness that made him look away first.

"Well," Rhonda sighed with dramatics. "since you're here with sweets and being supportive, I suppose I can extend the deadline on my formal complaint about the lobby lighting until next week."

Arnold smirked at her retreating figure heading to the kitchen. "Very generous of you, Rhonda. I'll make a note in the official property management files."

As Arnold and Gerald joined them to pig out, Helga caught Arnold's eye. "Your annoying do-gooders-ness actually pays off sometimes, Football Head."

He smiled that half-lidded smile that still did ridiculous things to her insides. "We look out for each other, right? That's what this whole strange family does."

"Yeah," Helga agreed quietly, watching as Gerald teased a small laugh out of Rhonda while Lila fetched bowls and Phoebe explained the optimal ice cream-to-wine ratio for emotional recovery. "I guess we do. "

Arnold watched Helga laughing with Rhonda and Lila; her walls dropped just enough to show something soft underneath. He then wondered how their friendship had changed since she moved here. Was he part of this... or just the guy who fixed pipes?”

She’d bite her tongue, but in moments like these, Helga was grateful for this mismatched group of people who, despite all odds, had become the most stable thing in her adult life. Even if one of them was a fashion-obsessed drama queen currently plotting revenge on the Hillwood bachelor community—glass of wine in hand, crown firmly back in place.

After all, that’s what family was for.

Chapter Text

Episode 3: Operation: Blind Date

"It was ever so romantic," Lila sighed, hugging a heather grey throw pillow to her chest as she sat cross-legged on the living room floor. "The way he looked into her eyes when he said 'You had me at hello'... It's just beautiful every time I watch it."

Rhonda sprawled across the couch with a green mud mask coating her face and lifted her head slightly. "That movie is ancient, Lila. Couldn't you at least obsess over something from this century?"

"Classic romance never goes out of style," Lila replied serenely, reaching for another chocolate from the box beside her.

Helga emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn. "If I have to watch one more scene of Tom Cruise's teeth, I'm throwing myself out the window." She flopped into the armchair, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. "Two weeks, Rhonda. That's your longest stretch without dating a terrible man since college. Should we alert Guinness World Records?"

A knock at the door was followed immediately by the sound of a key in the lock. Arnold stepped in, toolbox in hand and wearing a slightly apologetic expression.

"Sorry to interrupt, ladies. Those bathroom fixtures finally came in. I promise I'll be quick."

"It's about time," Rhonda declared, careful not to move her mud-masked face too much. "It's been what, two weeks?"

"Supply chain issues," Arnold explained, already heading toward the bathroom. "And I'm not listening to whatever you're talking about; just here to do the job."

"Sure, Football Head," Helga called after him. "Like you're not dying for girly gossip to finally have something interesting to tell Geraldo."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he called back, the bathroom door closing behind him.

"Liar," she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Rhonda to catch it—and roll her eyes.

Rhonda glared without cracking her mask. "I'm being selective. Taking your advice, if you must know."

"My advice was to stop dating men solely because they own boats, not to join a convent."

"Ladies, please," Phoebe intervened from her perch on the window seat. "Can we finish the movie without antagonizing each other?"

Lila pressed pause on the remote. "Actually, I've been thinking... it's been ever so long since I've been on a date myself."

The room fell silent as all three women turned to stare at her.

"How long is 'ever so long'?" Helga asked eyebrow raised.

Lila tilted her head thoughtfully. "Well, let's see... I had coffee with that nice professor.."

"That was a job interview, Lila," Helga interjected. "For that paralegal certificate program."

"Oh, right. Then I suppose it would be... goodness, has it really been since I went to dinner with my neighbor's cousin?"

"That's almost five months!" Rhonda sat up straight, her eyes wide above her green mask. "Lila, this is a crisis!"

"It's hardly a crisis," Phoebe noted. "Many people go extended periods without dating by choice."

"But unlike you, Lila's our resident romantic," Rhonda insisted. "If she's not dating, it's a travesty. A crime against nature."

Lila shrugged. "I suppose I've been busy with work and my community garden. And the shelter volunteering. And my pottery class..."

"Exactly!" Rhonda pointed accusingly. "You're filling your life with hobbies instead of men. It's unnatural."

"Says the woman who just swore off dating," Helga muttered.

"I've sworn off dating the wrong men," Rhonda corrected primly. "Lila needs to start dating the right ones."

"And what exactly constitutes the 'right' man in your expert opinion?" Helga asked. "Someone with a platinum card and no wedding ring this time?"

Rhonda's eyes narrowed. "Lila needs someone sophisticated. Cultured. A man who appreciates arts and fine dining. Someone who can match her refinement."

"Oh please," Helga rolled her eyes. "What Lila needs is someone genuine. Down-to-earth. A guy who won't try to change her or take advantage of her niceness. Someone straightforward."

"I'm sitting right here," Lila reminded them mildly.

"You'd have her dating some flannel-wearing, beard-having lumberjack," Rhonda scoffed.

"Better than another Patrick Bateman Wall Street wonder who'll leave her for his secretary," Helga shot back.

"That's quite enough," Phoebe interrupted firmly. "Perhaps we should ask Lila what she wants?"

Three pairs of eyes turned to Lila, who blinked in surprise.

"Well... I suppose I'd like someone kind. And honest. Someone who sees the good in people, like I try to do."

"Boring," Rhonda declared. "You need excitement and passion!"

"You need stability and respect," Helga countered, her gaze lingering on a spot just past Lila, where the bathroom door was slightly ajar.

Arnold emerged from the bathroom, toolbox in hand. His smiling eyes briefly landed on Helga, and a spark of something passed between them before he looked at the group at large. "The situation..." He paused with a mink grin. "has been stabilized, ladies." As he exited the apartment, he sent a little wink to Helga with a smirk that suggested he knew what he was doing. Helga's breath hitched slightly, and she quickly looked away, a faint blush warming her cheeks. Phoebe and Lila both giggled at the newly flustered blonde.

"Finally! I need a good shower," announced Rhonda, standing up. "This mask is starting to itch. But this conversation isn't over, Lila. Your love life needs an intervention."

As Rhonda swept toward the bathroom, Helga turned to Lila, her voice slightly sharper than intended. "Don't let Princess Love Doctor pressure you into anything. Some people actually enjoy being single."

"Oh, I don't mind dating," Lila said cheerfully, her eyes twinkling as she noticed Helga's flustered state. "It's ever so nice to meet new people. I just haven't found anyone special lately."

"Maybe because you keep looking for the fairytale," Helga suggested, more gently than before, her eyes darting back towards the bathroom door where Arnold had been. "Real relationships are messier."

"Like your relationship with Arnold?" Lila asked innocently without meeting a beat, a playful smile on her lips.

Helga choked on her popcorn. "I don't have a relationship with Arnold!"

"Of course not," Phoebe murmured, exchanging a knowing look with Lila, a trim smirk as she noticed Helga's reaction.

"I'm going to get more popcorn," Helga declared, stomping toward the kitchen, her cheeks still slightly flushed. "And when I come back, we're watching Die Hard."

The next evening, Rhonda burst into the apartment, designer shopping bags dangling from both arms. "Lila! I've had the most brilliant idea!"

Lila looked up from the legal brief she was proofreading at the dining table. "What is it, Rhonda?"

"I've found you the perfect man!" Rhonda announced triumphantly, dropping her bags on the couch.

"Oh?" Lila set down her pen. "That's so thoughtful, but—"

"His name is Anthony. He works at that little bookshop on Vine Street – you know, the one with the adorable café inside?" Rhonda pulled off her sunglasses. "I went on a date with him last night."

"You went on a date?" Helga emerged from her bedroom, hair twisted in a towel. "That was fast. What happened to 'being selective'?"

"I am being selective," Rhonda insisted. "I'm selecting different kinds of men. Anthony has been asking me out for months whenever I go to that bookshop. He's cute in that intellectual way, always recommending poetry and literary fiction."

"Let me guess," Helga smirked. "He's broke."

"Not broke," Rhonda sniffed. "Just... financially modest. But he's nice. Very nice. Too nice for me, actually. We had absolutely nothing in common."

"Except your mutual love of books?" Lila suggested.

"Please," Rhonda waved dismissively. "I go there for the fashion magazines and coffee, not Dostoyevsky. But!" She pointed dramatically at Lila. "He would be a perfect match for you. He's kind, reads constantly, and volunteers teaching adult literacy classes. He's practically you in male form."

"That's ever so flattering, but I don't know..."

"I've already arranged it," Rhonda declared. "You're meeting him for dinner tomorrow at Chez Paris."

"Chez Paris?" Helga raised an eyebrow. "On a bookstore salary?"

"I may have suggested a more suitable venue," Rhonda admitted. "And I may have implied I'd help with the bill. Consider it my investment in Lila's happiness."

"That's actually... not terrible of you," Helga conceded.

"I have my moments," Rhonda preened. "So, Lila? What do you say? One dinner, my treat. If you hate him, you never have to see him again."

Lila hesitated, then smiled. "Well, I suppose it would be ever so rude to refuse such a thoughtful gesture. Thank you, Rhonda."

"Excellent!" Rhonda clapped her hands. "Now, we need to plan your outfit. Something demure but not matronly, feminine but not desperate..."

"I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself," Lila protested gently.

"Of course you are, doll. But humor me?"

As Rhonda dragged Lila toward her bedroom, Helga shook her head. "This won't end well," she muttered to herself.

"I can't see anything," Helga complained, adjusting her large sunglasses and slouching lower in the booth. "Remind me why we're doing this again?"

"To provide moral support and ensure compatibility," Phoebe replied, peeking over her menu at the table where Lila sat across from a slim young man with dark-rimmed glasses and a nervous smile.

"They call that stalking in most jurisdictions," Helga pointed out.

"It's not stalking, it's supervising," Rhonda insisted, wearing an enormous hat and scarf despite being indoors. "And Helga, what happened to the girl that once helped me sneak into Professor Wynter's office to swap one of my papers?"

"She took an oath."

"Anyway." Rhonda tried to whisper. "We need to make sure Anthony doesn't bore her to tears with his thoughts on... whatever people like him think about."

"Literature?" Phoebe suggested.

"Exactly," Rhonda nodded. "Lila needs someone who listens to her, not someone who lectures."

"Says the woman who spent forty minutes this morning telling us about the 'correct' way to fold sweaters," Helga muttered.

"Shh!" Rhonda hissed. "They're talking. I can't hear what they're saying!"

"Perhaps because we're three tables away, as is appropriate for people who aren't eavesdropping," Phoebe noted dryly.

"This is ridiculous," Helga declared, starting to stand. "We should—"

"Get down!" Rhonda yanked her back into the seat as Lila glanced in their direction. They all ducked behind their menus.

"This is absurd," Helga whispered. "Lila's a grown woman. She doesn't need us spying on her date."

"Look, she's laughing," Phoebe observed. "That's a positive sign."

"But is it real laughter or polite laughter?" Rhonda squinted through her sunglasses. "We need to get closer."

"We are not—Rhonda!" Helga watched in horror as Rhonda slipped out of the booth and moved to an empty table nearer to Lila's.

"Should we join her or pretend we don't know her?" Phoebe asked.

"Both excellent options," Helga sighed. "But if Princess Matchmaker causes a scene, Lila will never forgive us for not stopping her."

They reluctantly moved to Rhonda's new table, keeping their heads down.

"—and that's when I realized Victorian literature speaks so much to our modern condition," Anthony was saying, gesturing animatedly. "The alienation, the social critique beneath the romance..."

"That's ever so interesting," Lila nodded, looking genuinely engaged. "I've always loved Jane Austen for similar reasons."

"Austen is transcendent," Anthony agreed enthusiastically. "Though some argue she lacks Dickens' social consciousness."

Lila smiled at Anthony's words, but in her mind, she wondered if there was a deeper connection or just a friendly one.

"Oh, I don't know," Lila replied. "I think her critique of social norms and gender expectations was quite revolutionary for her time."

Rhonda made a gagging motion. Helga kicked her under the table.

"She's actually holding her own," Phoebe whispered approvingly. "They appear intellectually compatible."

"Boring," Rhonda declared, perhaps too loudly. Several diners turned to look at them.

Lila glanced over, her eyes widening slightly before she quickly returned her attention to Anthony, who remained oblivious to their audience.

"We've been made," Helga muttered. "Let's go before—"

"I see we're not the only ones with this idea," a familiar voice interrupted. They looked up to see Arnold standing by their table, Gerald beside him, both wearing baseball caps pulled low.

"Arnold! Gerald!" Rhonda exclaimed, then lowered her voice. "What are you doing here?"

"We just came to grab a bite," Arnold answered, shifting his weight to one side and then the other.

Helga rolled her eyes. "Wait, so you two goofs came to a fancy restaurant without two skirts accompanying you for just a bite?" The guys both nodded with their eyes giving them away. "Right, and I'm Princess Primpernelle of the Magical Kingdom; now tell me why you're really here?"

"Same as you, apparently," Gerald admitted with a sheepish grin. "Phoebe might have mentioned Lila's big date."

"You're spying too?" Helga's eyebrows shot up. "You've lost the right to ever judge us."

"We prefer to call it 'protective observation; we've never really seen her date, at least not since high school," Arnold replied, barely suppressing a smile. "Lila's our friend too."

"Unbelievable," Helga muttered. "Mr. Moral High Ground stooping to our level."

"Hey, we brought better disguises," Gerald defended, adjusting his cap. "Those sunglasses aren't fooling anyone."

"It's a fashion statement," Rhonda insisted.

"Right," Gerald nodded slowly. "So you won't mind if we join you for this 'girls' night'?"

"Actually—" Rhonda began.

"Please do," Phoebe cut in, sliding over to make room.

Gerald settled beside her with a grin while Arnold took the remaining chair next to Helga.

"So, what's the verdict?" Gerald asked quietly. "Does the poor guy know he's being evaluated by the committee?"

"We are not a committee," Helga hissed. "We're just... concerned friends."

"Stalkers," Arnold corrected mildly, leaning closer to Helga than necessary, giving him a whiff of her light perfume. "The word you're looking for is stalkers."

"Like you've never followed someone around," Helga shot back.

"Not since fourth grade," Arnold replied, that infuriating half-smile on his face.

"Shh!" Rhonda interrupted. "Something's happening!"

They all turned to see the waiter placing a bottle of wine on Lila's table. Anthony seemed to be protesting something, his expression flustered.

"I may have arranged a little surprise," Rhonda admitted. "A very nice bottle of Bordeaux. I called ahead."

"Rhonda!" Phoebe looked scandalized. "You can't interfere with their date!"

"It's not interfering, it's enhancing," Rhonda insisted. "Anthony's wallet would never stretch to decent wine."

"I don't think Lila cares about expensive wine," Arnold pointed out.

"Everyone cares about expensive wine," Rhonda countered. "They just don't all know it yet."

They watched as Lila placed a gentle hand on Anthony's arm, apparently reassuring him. The waiter opened the wine and poured two glasses.

"See? Crisis averted," Rhonda said smugly.

"The only crisis here is our complete lack of boundaries," Helga muttered.

"Oh please," Rhonda scoffed. "Like you're not dying to know if they hit it off."

"I admit to a certain anthropological interest," Phoebe conceded.

"I'm just here for the food," Gerald declared, grabbing a menu.

"You all realize that Lila can see us, right?" Arnold said quietly. "She's been glancing over here every few minutes."

"Impossible," Rhonda disagreed. "My disguise is impenetrable."

As if on cue, Lila raised her glass in their direction with a small, knowing smile before turning back to Anthony.

"Cold Busted," Gerald laughed.

"Well, this is mortifying," Phoebe sighed, removing her glasses.

"Should we leave?" Helga asked.

"And miss the rest of the date?" Rhonda looked horrified at the suggestion. "Absolutely not. We're already exposed. We might as well stay and get dinner."

"You're unbelievable," Helga shook her head but didn't move to leave.

"Fine," Arnold conceded. "But we're going to act like normal people having dinner, not special agents on a mission."

"Speak for yourself, man," Gerald grinned, adjusting an imaginary earpiece. "Agent Johanssen is on the case."

Phoebe giggled, and even Helga couldn't suppress a smile.

Two hours and several shared appetizers later, they watched as Anthony helped Lila with her coat. The pair headed toward the exit, stopping briefly at their table.

"Thank you ever so much for the wine, Rhonda," Lila said sweetly. "Anthony and I had a lovely evening. It was so nice knowing you were all here supporting us."

Anthony looked confused. "I'm sorry. Do you all know each other?"

"These are my roommates," Lila explained. "And our neighbors from upstairs. Everyone, this is Anthony."

"Pleasure," Anthony nodded, clearly bewildered by the size of their group. "Lila mentioned she had roommates, but not that you'd all be... here."

"We're a close-knit bunch," Rhonda said airily.

"Suffocatingly so," Helga added under her breath, and when Arnold's hand accidentally brushed against hers, her pinkish cheeks contradicted her words.

"Well, we should go," Lila said. "Anthony's walking me home."

"We'll be along shortly," Rhonda assured her. "No need to wait up."

After they'd left, the table fell silent.

"That was awkward," Gerald finally said.

"It could have been worse," Arnold offered. "At least Lila wasn't upset."

"Lila doesn't get upset," Helga pointed out. "It's her superpower."

"So," Rhonda leaned forward eagerly. "What do we think? Is he worthy?"

"He seemed intelligent and respectful," Phoebe observed. "And they appeared to have genuine conversational chemistry."

"He's a bit dull," Rhonda frowned. "All that talk about books and social issues."

"Heaven forbid someone cares about the world," Helga rolled her eyes.

"I think what matters is that Lila seemed to enjoy herself," Arnold said diplomatically.

"Agreed," Gerald nodded. "And he was definitely into her. Couldn't take his eyes off her."

"So the mission was a success," Rhonda declared happily.

"The mission was an invasion of privacy," Helga corrected. "But... they did seem to get along."

"I believe we've meddled sufficiently for one evening," Phoebe suggested, checking her watch. "Shall we head home?"

"Fine," Rhonda sighed, signaling for the check. "But I want full details from Lila in the morning."

The group stayed for a little bit longer, trying to give Lila some space in case she brought Anthony back to the apartment. Gerald nudged Phoebe and began mimicking an overly picky patron nearby. Arnold glanced over to see Helga laughing in a way that made her eyes crinkle, the sight made something in his stomach flutter in a way he wasn't expecting. He turned to the rest of the table with a slightly furrowed brow, figuring he just liked seeing her so happy.

As they headed out, the night wind nearly blew Arnold's cap off; he noticed Helga rubbing her arms and, without asking, placed his jacket on her shoulders. She looked like she was going to protest but then offered an appreciative smile, gripping the jacket tighter.

When they arrived back at the apartment, the living room was dark except for a single lamp. Lila sat on the couch, reading.

"Where's Anthony?" Rhonda asked immediately.

"He went home," Lila replied, setting down her book. "It's rather late."

"And?" Rhonda pressed, sitting beside her. "Details, please!"

"It was ever so nice," Lila said simply.

"Nice? That's all we get?" Rhonda looked disappointed. "After all our help?"

"Your help?" Lila raised an eyebrow, a rare hint of mischief in her expression. "You mean your surveillance operation?"

"We were concerned," Helga offered lamely, dropping into an armchair.

"It was Rhonda's idea," Phoebe added quickly.

"Thanks for the loyalty," Rhonda muttered.

"It's alright," Lila assured them. "It was actually quite comforting knowing you were all there. Though I'm not sure Anthony fully understood the situation."

"Will you see him again?" Rhonda asked eagerly.

Lila hesitated. "He was ever so sweet and interesting. But..."

"But what?" they all leaned forward.

"But I don't think there was a spark," Lila admitted. "He'd make a wonderful friend, but I didn't feel... whatever it is you're supposed to feel."

"Butterflies," Rhonda supplied.

"Chemistry," Phoebe added.

"Irrational emotional response," Helga muttered.

"Yes, all of that," Lila nodded. "He's perfectly nice, but—"

"Nice isn't enough," Arnold finished for her, surprising them all. He'd been so quiet they'd almost forgotten he and Gerald were still there.

"Exactly," Lila smiled at him gratefully.

"But he was perfect on paper," Rhonda protested. "Kind, intelligent, shares your interests!"

"That's the problem with 'on paper,'" Gerald observed. "You can check all the boxes and still miss that something special."

"Chemistry is not quantifiable," Phoebe agreed. "It's an ineffable quality of interpersonal connection."

"Well, I think it's a waste," Rhonda declared. "He was the nicest man I've dated in years."

"Then why didn't you date him?" Helga asked pointedly.

"Because we had nothing in common," Rhonda replied. "Plus, he wore corduroy."

"The horror," Gerald deadpanned.

"I appreciate the effort, I truly do," Lila told Rhonda. "But maybe next time, let me find my own dates?"

"Fine," Rhonda sighed dramatically. "But my offer stands if you change your mind. I know lots of men."

"Primarily married ones," Helga couldn't resist adding.

"Says the woman who hasn't had a date since the Obama administration," Rhonda shot back.

"Ladies," Arnold intervened before Helga could retaliate. "It's late. Maybe we should call it a night?"

"Good idea," Gerald agreed, stretching. "I've got an early meeting tomorrow anyway."

As they all said their goodnights, Arnold hung back for a moment, catching Helga alone in the kitchen where she'd gone for a glass of water.

"So," he said casually, leaning against the counter, his jacket still draped over her shoulders. "What was that about not dating since the Obama administration?"

"You're listening to Rhonda?" She snorted humorously then her eyes flicked to him. "Besides, it's none of your business, Football Head," Helga replied, but there was no harshness to it.

"Just curious," he shrugged. "Someone as... passionate as you, I'd think you'd have people lining up."

Helga narrowed her eyes. "Was that a compliment or an insult?"

"Definitely a compliment," he smiled. "You know, if you ever wanted to grab coffee or something..."

"And what is that supposed to be a petty meet-up?" Despite her words, Helga's heart did that stupid flip-flop thing again.

"Two old friends catching up?" Arnold clarified though something in his eyes suggested more. "We hadn't really hung out one-on-one since you moved in, and before that... " Arnold smirked, probably thinking about their high school days. "We didn't exactly see eye to eye." He shifted a bit before adding. "No pressure."

"I'll think about it," Helga said, trying to sound nonchalant while Arnold moved closer to take his jacket off her and slipped it on himself.

"Do that," Arnold pushed off from the counter. "Goodnight, Helga."

"Night, Football Head," she replied, watching him go with a mixture of confusion and something that felt dangerously like hope.

From the hallway, she heard Lila's voice drifting softly: "It's ever oh interesting, isn't it? How sometimes the right person is right in front of you all along."

Helga wasn't sure if Lila was talking about herself or someone else entirely, but for once, she didn't have a sarcastic comeback ready.

Helga stood there a moment longer, staring at the empty hallway.

"Right in front of you," she echoed under her breath, unsure if Lila had meant just herself or someone else—but feeling the weight of the words anyway.

Maybe Little Miss Perfect had a point after all, Helga thought as she began rinsing the dishes in the sink.

From her spot in front of the cabinet of mismatched coffee mugs, she could hear Rhonda and Lila's voices drifting in from the hallway. Rhonda's, naturally, was the louder of the two.

"Thank God it's almost Friday. This week's been a war zone for my skin," she huffed, followed by a beat of Lila's usual gentle murmur. Then Rhonda again:

"If I have to sit through one more Friday night of couch-potato bonding over bad wine and reruns, I'm staging an intervention."

Helga snorted. Tonight might've been unpredictable, but some complaints—like Rhonda's—recycled themselves week after week.

Chapter Text

Episode 4: Girl's Night Out...ish

After a brutal workweek, their traditional Friday movie night was in full swing...

"I can't believe I'm watching a movie called 'Vampire Cheerleaders vs. Zombie Football Players,'" Helga groaned, slouching deeper into the couch. "And I can't believe it's somehow worse than the title suggests."

"It has an 82% audience score," Phoebe noted, though she, too, looked pained as an obvious rubber zombie head rolled across the screen.

"On what? A scale of 1 to 1,000?" Helga reached for the popcorn bowl only to find it empty.

Lila sighed, setting down her phone. "I suppose it is oh so predictable."

Even Rhonda, who had been scrolling through her socials for the past twenty minutes, looked up. "I'm sorry, did Lila just criticize something? The apocalypse must truly be upon us."

"I didn't mean to be critical," Lila backpedaled. "It's just that we do tend to do the same thing every Friday night. Movies at home, takeout, occasionally ice cream..."

"We? Speak for yourselves; I'm only here because my...uh thing got canceled." Rhonda stammered a bit through her protesting while ignoring a snort from Helga. She tossed her phone aside dramatically. "You all are in a rut. Young, attractive women like us should be out experiencing life, not watching..." she gestured at the screen where a cheerleader was ineffectively stabbing a zombie with her pom-poms, "whatever this cinematic atrocity is."

"What would you suggest?" Phoebe asked. "Our usual options are—"

"If you say Bigal's Café or the bowling alley, I will scream," Rhonda interrupted. "You need something exciting. Something exclusive."

The apartment door opened, revealing Arnold and Gerald carrying grocery bags.

"We come bearing snacks for movie night," Arnold presented. "Though, based on your expressions, we might be too late to save it."

"Rhonda's staging a revolution against our bland Friday nights," Helga clarified, gratefully accepting a bag of chips from Arnold. Their fingers brushed briefly, and she ignored her pulse picking up.

"Count us in," Gerald said, dropping onto the couch next to Phoebe. "No offense to 'Vampire Cheerleaders,' but I've seen better acting in Arnold's grandma's home videos."

"I have news that will change everything," Rhonda professed with her phone in hand, standing for maximum dramatic effect. "I have secured access to the most exclusive nightclub in Hillwood."

"Let me guess – your newest favor of the week owns it?" Helga smirked.

"No," Rhonda sniffed. "Ugh, in all the madness of the week, I almost forgot. But I did a styling consultation for the owner's wife last week, and she was so impressed she put me and any guest of my choice on the VIP list for The Vault."

"The Vault?" Gerald sat up straighter. "For real? That place has a three-month waiting list just to get on the regular list!"

"I'm ever so excited!" Lila clapped her hands. "I've never been to a fancy nightclub before."

"I'm not going," Helga declared flatly. "Clubs are just sweaty rooms full of overpriced drinks and men who think 'Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?' is an original opening line. Pheebs will tell ya'll; I always get hit on by the same pretentious jerk."

Phoebe nodded. "While this is true, I believe there is a lower chance of that happening this time." She said in a less than confident tone but almost sounded like she was pleading for Helga to join.

Rhonda tilted her head. "Helga, darling, if you don't go with, you'll end up in your room writing like a mad woman or shuffling through your tedious files."

"Come on, Helga," Arnold nudged her shoulder before she could react to Rhonda. "It could be fun. When's the last time you went dancing?"

"Bold of you to assume I dance, Football Head."

"Everyone dances," he suggested with that infuriating half-smile. "Some just need the right motivation."

Gerald grinned and began talking with his hands. "Man, you should see Arnold when he gets going. The ladies can't resist."

Arnold's cheeks reddened slightly. "Gerald exaggerates."

"I do not," Gerald objected. "Remember that salsa club in San Lorenzo? Three women gave you their numbers, and you didn't even ask!"

"Ancient history," Arnold mumbled, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Well, I'll definitely be there," Gerald continued, smoothing his hair. "The Johanssen charm is always in high demand."

Helga caught Phoebe's little frown at Gerald's boasting and filed it away for later analysis.

"Fine," Helga sighed. "I'll go, but only to witness Arnold and Gerald get drinks thrown in their faces when their 'charm' inevitably fails."

"Your support is touching," Arnold dryly remarked.

"Fabulous!" Rhonda clapped her hands. "Ladies, be ready at 9. I'll be overseeing your fashion choices."

"Excuse me?" Helga's eyes narrowed.

"Helga, dear, The Vault has standards. No flannel, no war boots, no shirts with sarcastic sayings."

Helga stood up with her hands on her hips. "So I should just go naked since you've eliminated my entire wardrobe?"

"Don't be dramatic. I have options for all of you." Rhonda's smile turned calculating. "Trust me."

Arnold and Gerald stood to leave. "We'll meet you there at 10," Gerald said. "Gotta make sure we're looking fresh."

After the door closed behind them, Rhonda turned to the women with a gleam in her eye that made Helga distinctly nervous.

The brunette rubbed her palms together. "Let the transformations begin."

Three hours later, Helga stood in front of Rhonda's full-length mirror, barely recognizing herself.

"I look ridiculous," she grumbled, tugging at the hem of the black dress Rhonda had somehow convinced her to wear. It wasn't overly revealing – Rhonda knew better than to push that far – but it was fitted in a way that accentuated curves Helga usually kept hidden under loose clothing.

"You look ravishing," Rhonda corrected, adjusting the thin silver belt at Helga's waist. "Your little tat is covered. But the combat boots were a necessary compromise, but they actually work with the edgy aesthetic."

"I feel like I'm in costume."

"That's the point of going out," Rhonda explained patiently. "We all get to be slightly elevated versions of ourselves."

Phoebe materialized from the bathroom, and even Helga had to admit Rhonda had worked magic. The royal blue dress complemented Phoebe's petite frame perfectly, making her look both refined and approachable.

"Phoebe, you look amazing," Helga said honestly.

"Thank you," Phoebe adjusted her glasses nervously. "It's certainly a departure from my everyday garments."

"And finally..." Rhonda gestured toward the bedroom door where Lila appeared in a simple but elegant emerald dress that brought out the auburn tones in her hair.

"Oh my," Helga blinked. "If you don't get hit on at least fifteen times tonight, Lila, the men of Hillwood are officially blind."

"You're too kind," Lila blushed. "Though I'm just hoping to dance and have fun with friends."

"We are going to own that club." Just then, the lights flickered. "Not again," Rhonda groaned, pulling out her phone. "I'm texting Arnold. This is the third time this week."

….

The Vault lived up to its name, with a heavy metal door guarded by two imposing bouncers checking names against a tablet. The line stretched around the block, but Rhonda strode confidently to the front.

"Rhonda Lloyd and guests," she said with cool authority, with her phone dangling in one hand daintily. "Oh, and I'm expecting two more. Arnold Shortman and Gerald Johannseen."

The bouncer checked his tablet, expression unchanging. "I see." He sighed. "ID?"

After examining their IDs and giving them each a critical once-over, he unhooked the velvet rope. "Welcome to The Vault."

"Thanks, love," Rhonda winked at the stoic man, who surprisingly returned the gesture.

Inside, the club pulsed with blue and purple lights. The dance floor was already crowded, bodies moving in rhythm to music loud enough to feel in your chest. Private booths lined the walls, while a long bar staffed by bartenders in matching black outfits dominated one side of the room.

"This is ever so exciting!" Lila called over the music, her sea-green eyes wide as she took in the scene.

Rhonda glided ahead of the ladies and whipped around into a modelesque pose. "Let's take a picture to seize the moment."

Lila pranced over, beckoning for Phoebe and Helga to join. Helga slouched over but shockingly straightened her spine to get into a graceful posture right beside Rhonda. Lila and Phoebe got on the outside of them.

A guy at medium height walked close enough. "Hey. handsome." Rhonda purred. "Mind snapping a picture of us?"

He lowered his shades to the tip of his nose and grinned. "Sure." He took hold of the phone and glanced at the ladies. "You girls look hot..." The guy complimented, but it didn't seem sleazy. "okay. Say 'money'."

"Money!" They shouted all at once, and the camera light flashed.

"Whoo..." Rhonda exclaimed, grabbing her phone. "Thanks, sweetie." Her chestnut eyes circled through the pictures. "We do look hot; I'm posting these, FYI... #girls night out, she mumbled as she typed." Then, quickly, her phone was tucked away, and she began scoping out the place. "Let's get drinks," Rhonda offered, already scanning the room for important people to impress.

They made their way to the bar, Helga keeping close to Phoebe who looked slightly overwhelmed by the sensory assault.

The bass of the music vibrated through the floor, and the flashing lights made it hard to focus, but slowly, Phoebe found herself drawn to the energy of the room.

"So," Helga leaned in to be heard. "Are you hoping to see Gerald tonight?"

"I'm curious about the social dynamics in this environment," Phoebe slightly fibbed, adjusting her glasses in that way she did when dodging a direct answer.

"Uh-huh. Very scientific approach to watching him hit on other women."

Phoebe avoided meeting Helga's gaze. "Gerald is free to interact with whomever he wishes."

"Of course. And you're free to look like a knockout in that dress and make him regret every flirtatious phrase to anyone else."

Before Phoebe could say more, Rhonda strutted over with colorful drinks. "First round on me, ladies!"

Helga accepted the glass cautiously, bringing it to her nose. "What is this?"

"Something with vodka and possibility," Rhonda informed airily. "Now, I see someone I simply must speak with. Don't wait up!" She disappeared into the crowd, cocktail held aloft.

"And then there were three," Helga murmured, taking a sip. The drink was surprisingly good and fruity without being too sweet.

"Oh my," Lila chirped suddenly, her eyes fixed on something across the room, just in time to catch two tall women who looked like twins. One of them, almost seductively, whispered something to Gerald, and then they walked away. "Is that Arnold and Gerald?"

Helga spun to look and nearly choked on her drink. Arnold and Gerald were making their way through the crowd, both looking impossibly different from their usual selves. Gerald had traded his casual clothes for a sleek button-down and dark jeans that emphasized his athletic build. But it was Arnold who caught Helga's attention – his usual plaid replaced by a fitted navy shirt that made his green eyes seem even more intense, his hair slightly tousled in a way that looked effortless but probably took twenty minutes to achieve.

"They clean up well," Phoebe observed mildly, though her eyes remained on Gerald.

Lila waved enthusiastically, acquiring their attention. As they approached, Helga took another large sip of her drink for courage.

"Ladies," Gerald greeted them with an appreciative whistle. "You all look amazing."

"Thanks," Helga plainly conveyed gratitude. "Rhonda held us at mascara point until we complied."

But Gerald's attention had already fixed on Phoebe. "Especially you, Phoebe. That color is..."

"Complementary to my undertones?" Phoebe supplied.

"I was going to say captivating, but yeah, that too." Gerald's smile was different when directed at Phoebe – less practiced charm, more genuine warmth. Phoebe knew Gerald was flirting, and against her better judgment, she was enjoying it.

Arnold, meanwhile, seemed to be having trouble finding words as he took in Helga's transformation. "You look..." he started, then paused. "Different. Good different."

"Gee, Football Head, with compliments like that, it's hard to believe you don't have women falling at your feet," Helga quipped, but it was more playful.

"You know what I mean," he recovered somewhat. "You look beautiful, Helga."

The unexpected sincerity caught her off guard, and she felt heat rising to her cheeks. Thankfully, Lila intervened, moving her arms like she was at a 90's rave. "Would anyone like to dance? The music is oh so energetic!"

A young man in a designer shirt appeared at Lila's elbow almost immediately. "I'd be happy to join you," he invited her with charming written all over his face.

"Oh! Well, that's ever so kind," Lila beamed, allowing him to lead her toward the dance floor after a quick "See you later!" to the group.

"That was fast," Helga remarked.

"Lila's got that whole sweet-and-innocent vibe that some guys go crazy for," Gerald straightened his collar as he gave his take. "And looks like Rhonda's already found someone, too."

Helga glimpsed where Gerald was pointing to see Rhonda engaged in animated conversation with a well-dressed man near one of the VIP booths.

"So much for girls' night," she muttered.

Just then, a tall man with slicked-back hair approached, eyes fixed on Helga. "Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, completely ignoring the others.

Her eyes went from his shiny shoes to his handsome but punchable mug, knowing right away he wasn't her speed.

"Thanks, but I already have one," Helga phrased with disinterest, holding up her glass.

"Then how about a dance?" He moved closer, invading her personal space.

"Sorry. I'm not interested," This time, Helga nearly gritted her teeth but was holding back.

He didn't budge; instead inched closer to Helga. "You make my heart stop with your blonde beauty."

Helga blinked slowly, then looked to Phoebe with a deadpan face that said, told you so. She rolled her eyes before facing him again. "Then do us both a favor and flatline."

Instead of taking the hint, the man cheesed like she'd issued a challenge. "Playing hard to get? I like that."

"I'm not playing anything," Helga snapped. "I'm not interested."

"You haven't even given me a chance," he persisted, holding out his hand. "I'm Dirk."

Her blue eyes, full of annoyance, stared at his hand dangling in the air until he drew it back. "Congratulations on having a name. Now, please go away."

Gerald coughed to suppress a laugh. Phoebe's brows knit a bit as she glanced at Helga, her hand pausing mid-sip. She shifted forward just a little as if debating whether to intervene, then stared at the man with quiet disapproval. Arnold's lips tightened, something flickering behind his eyes—concern, irritation, maybe something he hadn't quite named yet.

Dirk, apparently unused to rejection, tried again. "One dance. If you don't enjoy it, I'll leave you alone."

"Hmm, intriguing proposal..." Her fingers brushed against her chin with a squint. "But how about you leave me alone now, and we skip the unnecessary steps?" Helga presented sweetly.

"Come on, beautiful. Don't be like that." Dirk reached for her arm.

Before he could make contact, Arnold smoothly stepped between them. "I think the lady was clear," he stated, his voice calm but strong.

"Who are you supposed to be?" Dirk asked, scrutinizing Arnold dismissively. "And how did you even get in this club?" He chortled with arrogance.

"Her dance partner," Arnold answered, ignoring his second question without missing a beat. "And the guy who fixes her heating when it breaks at 2 AM, so I suggest you move along." He turned to Helga. "Ready?"

Helga blinked in surprise but recovered quickly. "Absolutely, Arnold."

As Arnold led her away, she peeked back to see Dirk scowling and Gerald seizing the opportunity to ask Phoebe to dance.

"You didn't have to do that," Helga let him know once they reached the dance floor. "I can handle jerks like him."

"I know you can," Arnold reassured her, that half-smile appearing again. "Consider it me saving him from the verbal evisceration you were about to deliver."

"Very charitable of you."

The music shifted to something with a slower, more insistent beat. Around them, couples pulled closer together.

"So," Arnold began, interrupting the awkward pause. "Do you actually want to dance, or was that just an escape plan?"

Helga considered for a moment. "Might as well, since we're here. Unless you're worried about stepping on my feet with your clumsy moves."

"I'll try to restrain myself," he promised dryly, but there was amusement in his eyes.

To Helga's surprise, Arnold could actually dance. He moved with an easy confidence, keeping a respectful distance while still making it feel like they were dancing together rather than near each other. The combination of the music, the lights, and the slight buzz from her drink made Helga relax more than she'd expected.

"So Gerald wasn't lying about your dancing skills," she commented. "Where'd you learn?"

"Living with grandparents who spontaneously broke into tango in the kitchen has its benefits," he responded. "Plus, I spent a lot of time in different countries. You pick things up."

"Show-off," Helga teased.

The corner of his mouth twitched up. "What about you? You're not exactly stomping on my toes here."

Helga shrugged. "Olga insisted I take ballet as a kid. I hated it, but some of it stuck."

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Dirk appeared again, this time with a friend in tow.

"This is your boyfriend?" he challenged Helga, gesturing at Arnold with obvious contempt.

"None of your business," Helga reacted coolly.

He crossed his arms, leaning back some. "Didn't look like it from the bar," Dirk continued. "Seemed like you were just friends."

"Is there a point to this interruption?" Arnold's usual patience was clearly wearing thin.

"Just wondering why a girl like her would leave with a guy like you when there are better options available." Dirk stepped closer, invading their space.

Helga felt Arnold tense beside her and placed a warning hand on his arm. "Not worth it, Football Head."

"Football Head?" Dirk snickered. "That's what she calls you? Man, you are deep in the friend zone."

Before either could reply, Gerald appeared with Phoebe. "Everything okay here?" he questioned, reading the situation instantly.

"Just fine," Arnold did not take his eyes off Dirk. "These gentlemen were just leaving."

"I don't think we were," Dirk's much shorter friend uttered, walking to stand beside him.

Helga had enough, her signature scowl now on full display. "Listen, Dirk – can I call you Dirk? Oh wait, I don't care – here's the situation. I'm not interested. Not in dancing with you, not in talking to you, not in breathing the same air as you if I can avoid it. Your cologne smells like you bathed in a vat of desperation, and your pickup technique has all the subtlety of a freight train. So why don't you and your similarly clueless friend go find someone else to annoy?"

Dirk's face darkened. "Girls like you act tough until a real man comes along."

"It's not an act," Helga blurted without hesitation.

For a moment, it seemed like the situation might escalate. Then, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

"Is there a problem here?" Rhonda materialized, the well-dressed man from earlier at her side. "Because Noel here is the owner's brother, and I'm sure he'd be fascinated to hear about it."

Dirk and his friend exchanged glances, clearly reassessing the situation.

"No problem," Dirk muttered, a touch of humility finally entering his tone.

"We were just leaving."

As they slunk away, Noel cleared his throat. "If you ever want a quieter corner, our booth has plenty of room—and far fewer creeps."

Rhonda shifted to the others triumphantly. "And that, my friends, is why connections matter."

Helga, half under her breath with a smirk, mumbled, "At least not every guy here's a Dirk."

Noel caught it and gave a soft laugh. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"From her, you should," Arnold added dryly. "And thanks, Rhonda," he sounded more sincere.

"Please," she waved dismissively. "I couldn't have those troglodytes ruining our evening." She placed her manicured hands on Noel's shoulders. "Now, Noel has invited us to his VIP booth. Lila's already there with her new admirer."

As they followed Rhonda across the club, Gerald tilted to whisper to Phoebe, making her laugh softly. Ahead of them, Rhonda walked arm-in-arm with Noel, clearly in her element.

"You okay?" Arnold fell into step beside Helga and found himself wondering.

"Of course," she answered automatically, then reconsidered. "Actually, thanks. Not for the white knight routine – I can handle myself – but for the dance. It was... not terrible."

Arnold chuckled. "High praise from Helga G. Pataki. I'll take it."

He leaned slightly closer as they slowed to a stop.

"You know, you surprise me sometimes."

Helga raised a brow. "Just sometimes?"

He showed her that warm, unreadable curl of his mouth again. "Only when I'm paying attention."

She didn't have a comeback. Not one she'd be proud of, at least. And Arnold noticed.

"VIP section's waiting," he added, brushing past her gently.

Helga lingered behind for a second, wondering if maybe he felt it too.

They reached the VIP section, where Lila sat chatting animatedly with a handsome man who looked at her like she'd hung the moon. The booth was luxurious, with plush seating and a dedicated server bringing bottles of champagne.

As the night progressed, Helga found herself actually enjoying the evening. The VIP treatment kept away further unwanted attention, and the easy camaraderie of their group – now expanded to include Noel and Lila's new associate, Michael – felt comfortable despite the exclusive surroundings.

At one point, Helga excused herself to the restroom. When she returned, she paused at the edge of the VIP section, taking in the scene. Rhonda was holding court, clearly in her element among the wealthy and connected. Lila and Michael were deep in conversation, her genuine interest bringing out his best qualities. Phoebe and Gerald had moved to a corner of the booth, sitting closer than strictly necessary, his arm casually draped behind her as she explained something that had him completely captivated.

And there was Arnold, looking up at that exact moment as if sensing her presence, his green eyes finding hers across the crowded club. He smiled – not the half-smile he gave everyone, but something warmer, more personal. Something that made her heart do that stupid little flip it had been doing since grade school.

Helga slowly resumed her steps, watching Arnold as he interacted with Rhonda and Noel; for the first time, she saw him in a new light. Not just the kid she's known all her life and may have obsessed over at one point, and not just her neighbor and property manager. But a fully developed man. It's strange how simply going to a club has that effect. She quickly brushed it off—probably the drinks. Or possibly it was just the music. Or maybe… it wasn't.

Arnold chuckled as his joke landed with Gerald, Rhonda, and Noel. But his eyes involuntarily moved to the booth just as Helga was moving some hair behind her ear. Her expression was nonchalant as usual as she surveyed the crowd, but he caught a softness in her eyes—something thoughtful that didn't quite match her usual irony. He found himself suddenly curious about her inner monologue and how she saw things. Then found himself wondering if he'd ever really seen her before—not like this. But his introspections were cut off by Phoebe and Lila joining their circle.

Helga snorted a little too loudly when she saw Phoebe all but batting her eyelashes at Gerald before he turned to talk to Arnold.

Then Lila clutched Phoebe's arm and tugged her towards their seats.

Suddenly, Lila, Phoebe, and—surprisingly—Rhonda flanked Helga, the latter lifting a glass with a gleam in her eye.

"Cheers to..." Rhonda began, eyes flicking around, oddly unsure.

"To positivity!" Lila finished brightly.

"To self-care," Phoebe added, raising her glass.

Helga shrugged when they all stared at her. "To telling off pinheads."

The glasses clinked.

Helga sipped her drink, pretending she wasn't enjoying the attention. Or the music. Or the way Arnold had looked at her like she wasn't just one of the guys anymore. Not that she'd ever acknowledge it under torture.

And despite herself, Helga smiled, feeling there was the tiniest of chances club night wasn't the worst outing in the world.

And it was at that instant that she locked eyes with Rhonda, who held a certain knowing in her expression. Like she knew Helga was enjoying herself more than her deadpanning let on. With a smirk, she sipped more of her drink without verbally admitting any of that to the loveably conceited Rhonda Wellington Lloyd.

Chapter Text

Episode 5A: "They Always Come Back"

"You've rerun this panel three times, Vanessa," Phoebe observed, her voice gentle but firm. "Is everything alright?"

Vanessa Garcia, one of the lab technicians the glasses-wearing technologist supervised at Hillwood General, started slightly as if pulled from a daydream. "Sorry, Ms. Heyerdahl. I guess I'm a little distracted today."

Phoebe glimpsed around the lab. No one else was within earshot. "Would you like to discuss it? I'm only taking into account the recent decline in your work efficiency, and a quick check-in might help."

Vanessa blinked. "Are you... asking if I want to talk about my problems?"

"Yes," Phoebe pushed her glasses up. "That's what I said."

With a sigh, Vanessa set down her clipboard. She pushed some strands of her black hair out of her face. "Tyler and I broke up last weekend."

"I see," Phoebe nodded thoughtfully. "The boyfriend of three years?"

"Three years, two months, and eleven days," Vanessa confirmed miserably. "He said we'd 'grown in different directions.' Whatever that means."

"A common euphemism for 'I wish to terminate this relationship but lack the courage to state my exact reasons,'" Phoebe remarked.

Despite her mood, Vanessa cracked a small smile. "Has anyone ever told you that you have an interesting way of talking about emotions?"

"Constantly," Phoebe shook her head a little. "My friends find it simultaneously frustrating and endearing."

"Must be nice," Vanessa murmured. "Having friends who understand you. All my friends were Tyler's friends first, so..." She trailed off with a helpless shrug.

Phoebe considered the young woman before her. Vanessa was usually efficient and precise in her work – qualities Phoebe valued highly. The recent performance issues were clearly temporary and situation-specific.

"Some of my friends are gathering at my apartment tonight," Phoebe heard herself saying. "You'd be welcome to join us. A diverse social support network is beneficial during periods of emotional distress."

Vanessa's brows raised with genuine surprise. "Really? You'd want me to hang out with you and your friends?"

"They're quite accepting of new people," Phoebe assured her, thinking of their ever-expanding circle. "And between us, they're entertaining to observe in a social context."

"I... yeah, okay," Vanessa agreed slowly. "That sounds nice. Thank you, Ms. Heyerdahl."

"Phoebe is acceptable in non-professional contexts."

- - -

"Thank God we live so close. Phoebe's the only one that actually has a worthy view of the city," Lila declared, admiring the skyline from the window.

Rhonda skimmed Phoebe's tastefully minimal apartment with a tight smile. "I see your plants are still thriving. Must be nice to have a whole place to yourself—with no one leaving dishes in the sink." Her narrowed eyes landed on Helga, who just sneered.

"It's peaceful," Phoebe articulated simply.

"I bet," Rhonda breathed into her wine.

"Though it does get lonely at times," Phoebe admitted. "It would be nice to have a roommate or two."

Rhonda leaned closer to her. "Say the word, and we'll trade."

Helga rasped. "Princess, you'd lose your marbles without me and Lila around to keep your wine-drinking antics in check. And!" She cut Rhonda off with a finger in the air. "If you lived here, you wouldn't have a do-gooder of a property manager rushing over every time your light flickers or your sink drips."

Lila sat primly on the couch, flashing her pearly whites but also keeping her voice low. "And let's not forget your monetary restrictions with all the debt you've-."

"Oh God, shut up with your legal and practical talk. Can't a girl fantasize?" The momentarily flustered lady flipped her shoulder-length hair. "Besides, we're here to support Vanessa, remember?"

Vanessa, as if someone had clinked on an inner switch, began venting about her love life.

"...And then he had the nerve to text me at 2 AM saying he 'misses talking to me,'"

Rhonda rolled her eyes, taking a generous sip of wine. "As if talking was what he was interested in."

"Men are garbage," her subordinate, visiting, blurted out, raising her glass. "Present company's significant others excepted, of course."

"Bold of you to assume any of us have significant others," Helga chortled from her position on the floor, back against the couch.

Lila, perched on the arm of the sofa, smiled gently. "I'm very certain that not all men are garbage. Many are quite lovely."

"That's because you still believe in fairy tales, Lila," Rhonda told her, though not unkindly. "The rest of us live in reality, where men either cheat, lie, or bore you to death."

"Yeah, because women never do any of those things," came a voice from the doorway.

Heads turned to see Arnold slanting against the door frame, arms crossed but expression amused.

"What are you doing here, Football Head?" Helga inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"I was checking the wiring for the annex unit next door—we've been getting a short across a couple of buildings," Arnold revealed, stepping inside. "Your door was open, and I heard the unmistakable sound of wine and laughter. Figured I'd say hi." He spotted Vanessa and gave a friendly nod. "Mind if I join? My place is dead quiet, and this looked like the more entertaining option."

"Where is tall-hair boy tonight?" with her query, Helga couldn't help noticing Phoebe's sudden interest in her wine glass.

"Date night," Arnold shrugged. "Some marketing exec he met at a work event."

Phoebe's hands tightened almost imperceptibly around her glass. Helga caught the gesture and tucked it away to discuss in private.

"So you're here to crash girls' night because you're lonely?" Rhonda judged him cheekily, though she was already pouring him a glass of wine.

"I prefer to think of it as expanding my social horizons," Arnold retorted good-naturedly, accepting the wine. His gaze fell on the deep brunette with blonde highlights, Vanessa, whom he didn't recognize. "Hi, I'm Arnold."

"Vanessa," she flashed a friendly smile. "I work with Phoebe at the Hillwood Health."

"Vanessa recently terminated a long-term romantic relationship and requires social support," Phoebe explained matter-of-factly.

"Phoebe!" She looked mortified at the reveal.

"Sorry. Was that inappropriate to share?" Phoebe examined, genuinely uncertain.

"It's fine," Arnold responded easily, sitting on the floor near Helga. "Welcome to the support group. We've all been there."

"Some more recently than others," Rhonda added, refilling her glass. "My last three dates have been an exercise in diminishing returns. The married man, the corduroy-wearing bore, and most recently, the club promoter who forgot his wallet. Three times."

Vanessa's eyes shut with her laugh, visibly relaxing. "My ex told me he needed space to find himself. Then I found out he'd been finding himself in my roommate's bed."

"Ouch," Arnold winced sympathetically.

"What about you?" Vanessa pried. "Any dating horror stories to share?"

Arnold rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing that dramatic. My last relationship ended about six months ago. We wanted different things—she got a job in Seattle, and long-distance just wasn't working."

"Oh right, wasn't her name Beck-something?" Rhonda fished for information casually, casting a quick glance at Helga before circling back to Arnold.

He bobbed his head. "Yeah. Becca."

"That breakup was very mature," Rhonda kept her tone lightly sarcastic. "Boring, but mature."

"What can I say? I prefer clean breaks to messy drama," Arnold shifted a bit in his seating.

"Speaking of drama," Lila interjected, her face brightening, "has anyone heard from Michael since club night? He was ever so attentive."

Helga quirked a brow, catching Lila's real motives. "No, Lila, next time..." She paused, perhaps considering her words. "get his number instead of just giving out yours. That way, you have more control."

Lila bit one side of her lip, her eyes showing some uncertainty. "Oh, right."

As the conversation shifted, Helga noticed Vanessa studying Arnold with obvious interest. She wasn't being subtle about it – her body angled toward him, her laugh a touch too loud at his mild jokes. For his part, Arnold was being typically friendly, though Helga thought she detected a hint of reciprocal interest in the way he maintained eye contact.

An unfamiliar twinge of... something... prickled at Helga's chest. She pushed it down with practiced ease.

"I need another drink," she announced, standing abruptly and heading to the kitchen.

To her surprise, Phoebe followed a moment later. "Helga, may I ask you something?"

"Shoot, Pheebs."

"Do you think Gerald is serious about this marketing executive?"

Ah. So that was it. Helga measured her words carefully. "Gerald talks big, but I wouldn't read too much into one date. Why? Finally ready to accept that you've got feelings for the guy?"

Phoebe altered her glasses, her mind briefly drifting to that night at The Vault - how Gerald had held her gaze longer than usual as they danced, how his arm had settled comfortably around her shoulders in the VIP section, how different his smile had been with her compared to the flirtatious grin he offered other women. For a moment that night, she'd allowed herself to believe there might be something more than friendship between them.

"I'm merely interested in the social dynamics of our friend group. Gerald's romantic entanglements could impact the cohesion of—"

"Save it, Phoebe," The blonde cut her off gently. "You've had a thing for him since we were rugrats. It's okay to admit it."

Before Phoebe could respond, the kitchen door swung open, and Arnold entered with Vanessa.

"—just showing Vanessa where the bathroom is,"

"Down the hall, second door on the left," Helga gestured in the right direction.

"Thanks," Vanessa beamed. "Hey, Arnold, could I get your number? Maybe we could grab coffee sometime?"

Helga hurried to pour another drink, pointedly not looking at either of them.

"Sure," Arnold emitted after the briefest hesitation. "Let me grab my phone."

As Vanessa excused herself to the bathroom, Phoebe fixed her male friend with an unusually direct stare. "Arnold, I feel compelled to inform you that Vanessa is in a vulnerable emotional state. Her relationship ended quite recently after a significant time investment."

"What Phoebe's trying to say," Helga translated, "is that Rebound Girl is looking for a human emotional support animal, and you're wearing a pet me sign."

Arnold frowned slightly. "I think you're both jumping to conclusions. Vanessa seems nice, and it's just coffee."

"It starts with coffee," The fierce attorney warned, "then moves to 'listening to her problems' and ends with you being the emotional Band-Aid she rips off when she's finally healed."

"Your metaphors are getting mixed, Helga," Arnold pointed out. "And I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions about who to have coffee with." He said with a hint of bitterness.

"Fine," Helga shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. "Don't say we didn't warn you when she's crying on your shoulder about Tyler at 3 AM."

Arnold's eyebrows rose. "How do you know his name was Tyler?"

"Phoebe mentioned it," Her words rushed out. Not because she'd been paying extra close attention when Vanessa was talking. Definitely not that.

"Right," Arnold muttered under their breath, clearly unconvinced. "Well, thanks for the concern, but I'll be fine."

As he left the kitchen, Phoebe turned to her best friend with a knowing look.

"Don't start," Helga warned.

"I said nothing," Yet the petite one was clearly mentally evaluating.

"You were thinking it loudly."

Phoebe leaned on the counter, caving. "I was merely observing that your concern for Arnold's emotional well-being seems particularly pronounced."

"He's a friend," the taller woman phrased firmly. "Friends look out for each other."

"Of course," Phoebe agreed, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Friends."

The doorbell rang, interrupting their conversation. From the living room, they heard Lila's cheerful "I'll get it!" followed by a surprised "Oh!"

Curious, Helga strode out of the kitchen, Phoebe following close behind. In the doorway stood a tall man with dark hair and a confident smile that turned megawatt when his eyes landed on Helga.

"James?" there was genuine shock evident in her voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello, Helga," he greeted, his voice clear and practiced. "I just so happened to be in the neighborhood, and... well, you didn't answer your door, so I figured you were here and thought I'd stop by. Hope that's okay."

James Chen, her wide eyes scrolled him. It was like time froze for him. He looked exactly as she remembered – impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent, with dark hair artfully styled and handsome features arranged in an expression of casual charm. They'd dated for nearly a year after meeting at a housing rights conference until he'd accepted a corporate law position in Chicago eight months ago.

Her eyes twitched, remembering all the furious notes she used to scribble when she realized how much she liked him. No one else had ever gotten under her skin like that — except for you-know-who.

Helga was suddenly unable to speak, so Rhonda did for her. "James... Chen?" She recited, eyes widening. "Didn't you two date during your 'respectable lawyer boyfriend' phase?"

Helga rolled her eyes, snapping out of her trance. "That wasn't a phase."

"Sweetie," Rhonda addressed her with a wise look. "Every guy you dated after securing your first job out of college wore a watch worth more than your rent and drove a hybrid just to impress your dad."

"He liked them," Helga muttered, almost looking vulnerable.

"But did you?" Phoebe explored.

Helga rubbed her temples, putting her back glaze on the unfazed man still in the doorway. "Cut the kismet bull. In the neighborhood?" She repeated distrustfully. "You moved to Chicago."

"I'm back," he verbalized simply. "For good. Can we talk? Privately?"

Helga was aware of everyone's eyes on her – Phoebe's concerned, Rhonda's intrigued, Lila's hopeful, and Arnold's... unreadable.

"Fine," she gave in finally. "Five minutes. Outside."

As she grabbed her jacket and followed James into the hallway, she caught Arnold watching them, his expression still carefully neutral but with something like tension in the set of his shoulders.

"You look good, Helga," James complimented once they were alone in the outside. "Really good."

"Quit the small talk, Chen," Helga quipped, crossing her arms. "What are you doing here?"

"I missed you," he disclosed, stepping closer. "I've been doing a lot of thinking since Chicago, and I realized I made a mistake. We were good together."

"We were okay together," Helga corrected. "Until you decided your career was more important than our relationship."

James closed his eyes for a second. "I deserved that. But I've changed, Helga. I realized what matters in life, and it's not corner offices or corporate clients."

Helga rubbed her arm. "So what, you quit the big firm?" She challenged skeptically.

"Not exactly," he revealed. "But I transferred back to the Hillwood office. Took a slight demotion to make it happen. I want to make this work, Helga. I want us to try again."

Helga studied him closely. The James she remembered was ambitious to a fault, always chasing the next big opportunity. It had been what attracted her initially – his drive matched her own. But it had also been what drove them apart when that ambition took precedence over everything else, including her.

Helga's eyes traced the slightly clipped paint on the building in front of her. "I don't know, James," she stopped as a loud siren sounded. "A lot has changed in eight months."

"At least think about it?" he requested, reaching for her hand. "Let me take you to dinner tomorrow. For old times' sake, if nothing else."

Helga hesitated, biting her bottom lip, then reluctantly nodded. "Fine. Dinner. But no promises beyond that."

His smile was triumphant. "That's all I'm asking for. I'll pick you up at seven."

As he walked away, Helga went back inside but then propped against the wall, suddenly exhausted. What was she thinking, agreeing to dinner with James? Yet a small, insecure part of her was flattered that he'd come back, that he claimed to have changed for her.

When she returned to the apartment, the conversation hushed momentarily before resuming with forced casualness. Vanessa was sitting noticeably closer to Arnold now, showing him something on her phone that had his full attention.

"Everything okay?" Phoebe studied her quietly as Helga reclaimed her spot on the floor.

"Fine," She covered up her unease but still reached for her wine. "Just an old friend."

"An old friend who looks at you like you're the last slice of pizza after a famine," Rhonda observed dryly. "Oh please, everyone here except maybe..." Her eyes moved to Lila, but she bit her tongue. "We know he's an ex, so just fill us in. Like, what does he want?"

Helga moaned, knowing they wouldn't drop it. "Well, as you know, James and I dated nine months ago, but then he moved back to Chicago. And-"

"Now he's back," Lila surmised, a romantic gleam in her eye. "How ever so lovely!"

"It's not lovely, it's suspicious," Helga murmured. "People don't change that much in nine months."

"So you're not getting back together?" Phoebe explored carefully.

Helga was acutely aware of Arnold listening, though he pretended to be engrossed in whatever Vanessa was showing him.

"We're having dinner tomorrow," she divulged. "Just to talk."

"Just to talk," Rhonda repeated, unconvinced. "Sure."

"It's just dinner," Helga insisted. "Unlike some people, I don't jump into things without thinking them through."

Her eyes flicked briefly to Arnold and Vanessa. If he noticed the barb, he didn't show it.

"Well, I think second chances are ever so important," their resident romantic voiced supportively. "If he's truly changed, maybe it could work out wonderfully!"

"Or maybe leopards don't change their spots," Helga disputed. "We'll see."

Rhonda raised an eyebrow. "I see a pattern. I see a woman who exclusively dates guys with law degrees and luxury watches. Face it, Pataki—you're no better than me."

Helga didn't miss a beat. "Please. I date guys in my field for a good time. You're out here shopping for a sponsor."

"And yet, somehow, I'm the shallow one," The fashionista scoffed, swirling her wine. "At least I know what I'm doing."

"And I know what I'm not doing," Helga shot back. "Like pretending to fall in love with someone just because they pick a fancy wine."

Lila let out a tiny oh dear, and Phoebe wisely changed the subject.

As the conversation moved on, Helga couldn't help catching that Arnold was quieter than usual, his easy smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Three days later, Helga stood in the courthouse hallway, reviewing case notes with Lila, when a familiar voice called her name. She looked up to see her ex approaching, a takeout bag in hand.

"Thought you might want lunch," he verified, holding up the bag. "From that Thai place you like."

"That's ever so thoughtful," Lila beamed at him.

"Thanks," Helga sounded genuinely surprised by the gesture. "We were just about to take a break anyway."

As Lila excused herself to give them privacy, James set out the food on a nearby bench. "How's the Rodriguez case going?"

"Still fighting," Helga accepted the container he offered. "The developers brought in another team of lawyers, but we've got precedent on our side."

"You'll win," James encouraged confidently. "You always do when you believe in something."

Their dinner two nights ago had been... nice. James had been attentive, asking about her cases and remembering details about her friends. He'd seemed genuinely interested in her life, not just making perfunctory conversation before steering the subject back to himself as he sometimes had in the past.

"So," James initiated, breaking into her thoughts. "I was thinking. There's a charity gala at the Hillwood Arts Center this weekend. Would you want to go? As my date?"

Helga wavered. A part of her was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the old James to resurface. But so far, he'd been nothing but thoughtful and present.

"I'll think about it,"

"That's not a no," James winked. "I'll take it."

As they finished lunch, Helga found herself relaxing, falling into the easy rhythm they'd once had. Maybe people could change.

Meanwhile, across town, Arnold sat across from Vanessa at a café near the hospital, listening as she described her latest run-in with Tyler.

"...and then he had the nerve to ask if I could water his plants while he's away this weekend," she concluded, shaking her head in disbelief.

"That's... pretty inconsiderate," Arnold agreed, trying to maintain his sympathetic expression. This was their third coffee date in four days, and each one featured detailed accounts of Tyler's many failings.

"You're such a good listener, Arnold," Vanessa praised, reaching across the table to touch his hand. Their eyes both dropped to their hands, seemingly both feeling the lack of electricity. "Most guys would have tuned out by now."

Arnold grinned weakly, Helga's warning about being an "emotional Band-Aid" echoing in his mind. But Vanessa was nice and clearly going through a tough time. What kind of person would he be if he abandoned her just because she needed someone to talk to?

"I'm happy to help,"

"You know what would really help?" Vanessa's tone shifted slightly, her hand still on his. "Taking my mind off all this. There's a new jazz club opening this weekend. We should go."

"Oh, I don't know," Arnold's brows connected. "I've got a lot of work to catch up on, and—"

"Please?" The young woman with the glowy skin's eyes widened pleadingly. "I need a night to forget about Tyler and just have fun. And you're so easy to have fun with."

Arnold felt himself hesitating. It wouldn't be the end of the world to go out one night, right? "Okay," he conceded. "Saturday?"

"Perfect," Vanessa beamed at him. "It's a date."

As she excused herself to the restroom, Arnold sighed, wondering why her use of the word "date" made him feel vaguely uncomfortable.

His phone buzzed with a message from Gerald: *Still on for basketball with the guys tonight?*

Arnold produced a text quickly: *Wouldn't miss it. See you at 7.*

At least basketball would be straightforward. No complicated feelings, no analyzing every word and gesture. Just friends and a ball and clear rules.

As Arnold settled the bill, he tried not to think about why the prospect of Helga going to dinner with her ex had been occupying so much space in his mind lately.

"You've been unusually quiet tonight," Gerald observed as he and Arnold walked back to their apartment after basketball. "Everything okay?"

Arnold shrugged. "Just tired, I guess."

"Uh-huh," Gerald nodded skeptically. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain blonde neighbor of ours and her ex-boyfriend, would it?"

Arnold nearly missed a step. "What? No. Why would you think that?"

"Because you've had that same brooding look since she mentioned having dinner with him," Gerald replied matter-of-factly. "And you've mentioned it exactly zero times, which means you're thinking about it a lot."

"I'm not brooding," Arnold protested. "And I'm not thinking about Helga and James."

"I never mentioned his name," Gerald pointed out with a sly grin.

Arnold sighed in defeat. "Fine. I might be a little concerned. The guy left her for a job once already. Who's to say he won't do it again?"

"And this concern is purely friendly, right?" Gerald queried, his tone making it clear he didn't believe that for a second.

"Of course it is," Arnold insisted. "Helga's a friend. I don't want to see her get hurt." Gerald just blinked, and Arnold huffed. "Just like when you and I went to spy on Lila and her date... concern."

"I don't know, man; you don't look at Lila or any of our other female friends the way you look at Helga." He noted with a raised brow.

Arnold's mouth opened but closed with some stubbornness as he relented with a groan. "I mean... she's hot. What do you expect me to do?" He shook his head. "But she's still my friend." He followed up, his expression revealing some level of perplexity at his own statement

"Mmmhmm," Gerald hummed noncommittally. "And what about hospital girl? Vanessa, right? How's that going?"

Arnold frowned slightly. "It's... going, I guess. We're getting coffee a lot. She talks about her ex. A lot."

"Ah," Gerald lifted his chin knowingly. "The classic rebound situation."

"She's not rebounding," He stated automatically, then paused. "Okay, maybe she is. But she's going through a tough time, and I'm just being kinda like a buddy."

"A buddy who's taking her on dates," Gerald clarified.

"They're not dates," Arnold opposed. "They're... friendly meetings for coffee or bunch."

"And the jazz club this weekend? That's not a date either?"

Arnold looked at him in surprise. "How did you know about that?"

"Phoebe mentioned it," Gerald revealed. "Vanessa told her."

"Are you and Phoebe talking about me behind my back?" Arnold sounded somewhat indignant.

"Man, Phoebe and I talk about everything," He shrugged. "That's what friends do."

"Just friends?" Arnold couldn't resist.

Gerald's expression shifted slightly. "Percisingly... Speaking of which, you might want to figure out why you care so much about Helga's dinner with her ex before you go on not-dates with Vanessa."

Arnold opened his mouth to protest again, then closed it. Gerald had a point, but it was a point Arnold wasn't quite ready to examine too closely.

Saturday evening, the women gathered in Rhonda's bedroom, which had the best lighting, helping Helga prepare for the charity gala with James.

"Hold still," Rhonda commanded, applying the finishing touches to Helga's makeup. "If you smudge this eyeliner, I'll never forgive you."

"Remind me why I agreed to this again?" Helga grumbled, though she obediently kept still.

"Because you look stunning in that dress, and making ex-boyfriends regret their life choices is a fundamental female right," Rhonda replied.

The dress in question – borrowed from Rhonda's collection – was a deep burgundy that complemented Helga's fair coloring perfectly. It was more elegant than anything Helga would have chosen for herself, but she had to admit it looked good.

"James already regrets leaving," Lila pointed out from her perch on the bed. "That's why he came back."

"So he claims," Phoebe noted. "Though I admit his behavioral changes do seem sincere, if potentially temporary."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Pheebs," Helga deadpanned.

"I merely suggest cautious optimism," Phoebe clarified. "People can change, but rarely do they transform completely."

"Well, I think it's ever so romantic," Lila soughed. "He realized what he lost and came back for a second chance."

"Or he hit a ceiling in Chicago and is using Helga as a consolation prize," Rhonda indicated bluntly, capping the eyeliner. "There, perfect. Don't touch your face."

Helga examined her reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back was polished and elegant, a far cry from her usual no-nonsense appearance. It was... different. Not bad, different, just different.

"What do you think Arnold will say when he sees you?" Lila questioned innocently.

Helga stiffened slightly. "Why would I care what Football Head thinks?"

"No reason," Lila whispered with an angelic smile that didn't fool anyone.

"Arnold is busy with Vanessa," Phoebe filled in, her tone carefully neutral. "They're attending the new jazz club opening tonight."

"Good for them," Helga said, a bit too forcefully. "Maybe now he can stop giving me those concerned looks every time James is mentioned."

"He's protective of you," Lila regarded. "It's ever so sweet."

Helga huffed with a mild eye roll. "Bro, thinks he’s every girl's papa or something. It's annoying," She corrected. "I'm a grown woman who can make her own decisions."

"Absolutely," Rhonda agreed. "And tonight, you've decided to look fabulous and make James regret every second he spent away from you. Speaking of which, your chariot awaits."

On cue, there was a knock at the apartment door. Lila hurried to answer it, returning a moment later.

"Helga, James is here," she informed. "And he's brought flowers!"

With a final glance in the mirror, Helga steeled herself and went to meet her date.

James stood in the living room, a bouquet of lilies in hand, looking as polished as ever in a tailored tuxedo. His face when he saw her was gratifyingly stunned.

"Helga," he said, recovering quickly. "You look incredible."

"Thanks," she replied, reaching out to accept the flowers. "You clean up okay yourself."

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Arnold entering the room, freezing momentarily at the scene before him. He stopped short at the sight of Helga and James. His gaze flicked — first to the bouquet in Helga's hands, then to James's perfectly tailored suit, then back to Helga's flushed face.

For a moment, something unsteady passed through his eyes — a flash of doubt, maybe even inadequacy — before he covered it with a polite smile.

"Evening," he said, voice a little rougher than usual. "Sorry to interrupt. I just needed to grab my wallet. Forgot it earlier."

Helga was suddenly irrationally self-conscious about her appearance. "Hot date?" she aimed for casual disinterest.

"Just meeting Vanessa at that new jazz club," Arnold responded, his eyes still taking in her transformed appearance. "You look nice. Both of you."

"Thanks," James smoothly placed a hand on Helga's lower back. "We should get going. The car's waiting."

Arnold appeared impartial, but his hand tightened slightly around the wallet he'd just retrieved. "Have fun."

As they left, Helga resisted the urge to look back at Arnold. She didn't need his approval or his concern. Tonight was about giving James a second chance – or maybe giving herself a second chance at something that had once seemed promising.

So why did a small part of her wish she was going to a jazz club instead?

Episode 5B: "They Always Come Back"

The charity gala was exactly as Helga expected – opulent, filled with Hillwood's elite, and aggressively focused on appearances. In another life, she'd have been miserable here. But with James beside her, smoothly navigating the social currents, it was almost bearable.

"Councilwoman, this is Helga Pataki," James was speaking to an elegantly dressed older woman. "She's the attorney who won the Eastside tenant rights case last year."

"Ms. Pataki," the councilwoman nodded approvingly, her pearl earrings catching the light. "Your work has been noticed. We need more advocates like you in this city."

"Thank you," Helga was genuinely surprised by the recognition. "That means a lot coming from you."

As the conversation continued, Helga realized James was deftly connecting her with people who could support her cases – city officials, influential community leaders, and potential donors for the legal aid foundation she often worked with. He remembered her work in detail, speaking about her cases with genuine respect.

"You didn't have to do all that," she expressed quietly as they made their way to the bar later.

"Do what?" James questioned.

"Connect me with all those people. Talk me up."

James cheesed, a hint of his old confidence showing through. "I know how important your work is to you, Helga. And those connections could help you help more people."

It was... thoughtful. More thoughtful than the old James would have been. Maybe he really had changed.

As the evening progressed, Helga found herself relaxing, even enjoying the event. James was attentive without being clingy, and for the first time since his return, she began to consider that maybe – just maybe – a second chance was worth exploring.

Until she overheard a conversation in the ladies' room that changed everything.

"That's James Chen with Helga Pataki," one woman was saying to another as Helga entered a stall. Neither noticed her presence. "Didn't he just transfer back from Chicago?"

"Yes, and you'll never believe why," the second woman gossiped, voice lowered conspiratorially. "My husband works at the firm. Apparently, Chen was passed over for partner because of how he handled the Westlake development case."

Helga froze her hand on the stall door. Westlake was one of the development companies she was currently fighting in court.

"The word is," the woman persisted, "he's trying to get insider information on the opposition through his ex-girlfriend – who just happens to be the attorney representing the tenants. Convenient, right?"

"That's cold," the first woman commented. "Using a relationship like that."

"It's business," the second woman shrugged. "And apparently, he's desperate to make partner after the Chicago setback."

One, while drying her hands, raised her voice over the sound of water running and high heels clinking. "Well, I guess sleeping with the enemy is one way to get a promotion."

The women moved out of the restroom, their voices fading, unaware of the bombshell they'd just dropped.

Helga stood perfectly still, pieces falling into place. James hadn't returned because he missed her. He'd returned because his career had hit a roadblock, and she was his ticket to getting back on track. The thoughtful questions about her cases, the connections with city officials – it wasn't to support her, it was to gather intelligence.

Cold fury replaced her shock. Composing herself, Helga exited the restroom and scanned the ballroom for James. She found him in conversation with a group of men she recognized as attorneys from his firm.

"James," she began, her voice deceptively calm. "Can I speak with you for a moment? Privately."

Noting her expression, James excused himself and followed her to a quiet corner. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"How's the Westlake account treating you?" Helga asked directly.

James's momentary flinch told her everything. "I don't know what you're—"

"Save it," Helga cut him off. "I know why you really came back. It wasn't for me. It was for insider information on my cases."

"Helga, that's not—"

"Did you get passed over for partner in Chicago because of Westlake?" she pressed. "Is that why you suddenly remembered I existed?"

James's expression hardened, the charming facade dropping away. "It's not that simple."

"Actually, it is," Helga commented coldly. "You're using me. Again. First you left me for your career, and now you're back because you think I can help your career."

"I care about you, Helga," James pressed, lowering his voice. "Yes, the Westlake situation is a factor, but—"

"But nothing," Helga interrupted. "We're done. For good this time."

"Don't be dramatic," James attempted to smooth over, glancing around at the other guests. "Let's discuss this reasonably."

"There's nothing to discuss," Helga articulated firmly. "I'm leaving. Don't call me again."

As she turned to go, James caught her arm. "Helga, wait. You're overreacting."

"Let go of me," she demanded evenly, steel in her voice.

Something in her expression must have convinced him because he released her arm. "Fine. Leave. But don't pretend you're perfect, Helga. Your career has always come first for you, too."

"The difference," Helga replied, "is that I never lied about it. And I never used someone I claimed to care about."

With that, she walked away, head high, ignoring the curious glances from nearby guests. Outside, she took a deep breath of night air, the adrenaline of confrontation slowly fading to leave a hollow feeling in its wake.

She considered calling a car, but the night was clear, and the walk would do her good. As she made her way through Hillwood's streets, heels in hand after the first few blocks, Helga reflected on how unsurprised she really was. Deep down, she'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop. People didn't change – or at least, not as completely as James had seemed to.

Her steps took her automatically toward home, but as she approached the apartment building, Helga found herself reluctant to face the questions from Rhonda, Lila, and Phoebe. Not tonight. She needed space to process.

Without a conscious decision, she made her way to the rarely-used roof access instead. The building's rooftop had once been set up as a shared space for tenants, with a few weather-beaten chairs and planters, but few people used it. It was Helga's secret retreat on nights when the apartment felt too crowded with other people's concerns.

The cool night air caressed her face as she emerged onto the roof. She kicked off her shoes entirely, padding across the rough surface to her favorite spot near the edge, where the city lights spread out below like fallen stars.

"Well, Helga, old girl," she murmured to herself, "at least your judgment in men is consistent."

She wasn't heartbroken – not really. Disappointed, angry, but not devastated. Maybe that was telling in itself. Whatever she and James had once had, it wasn't enough to shatter her when it ended. Again.

The sound of the door opening behind her made Helga tense - so much for solitude. She didn't turn, hoping whoever it was would see she wanted privacy and leave.

"Helga?" came Arnold's surprised voice. "What are you doing up here?"

Of course, it would be him. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.

"Solving world hunger," she snarked. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting some air."

Arnold approached cautiously as if giving her the opportunity to send him away. When she didn't, he settled onto the bench beside her, a respectful distance between them.

"I thought you'd be at the gala," he said after a moment.

"I thought you'd be at the jazz club," she countered.

"I was," Arnold admitted. "It didn't go well."

Helga couldn't help the tiny flicker of satisfaction at that news, which she immediately felt guilty about. "What happened?" she requested, aiming for casual disinterest.

Arnold sighed, leaning back and looking up at the stars. "Turns out you and Phoebe were right. Vanessa spent the whole night texting her ex; then when he showed up at the club, she kissed me because I guess I reminded her of her Tyler at that moment." Helga fidgeted uncomfortably. "She used me to make him jealous. When it worked, and he wanted to talk to her, she... well, she left with him."

"Ouch," Helga winced sympathetically. "Sorry, Football Head. That's rough."

"I'm not heartbroken or anything," Arnold clarified. "Just feeling pretty stupid for not seeing what was happening. You tried to warn me." He paused, then added, "You know, I kept thinking about that night at The Vault. Dancing with you was... different. There wasn't any agenda - just two friends enjoying the moment."

Helga tried to hide her surprise at his admission. "Well, I wasn't trying to make anyone jealous, if that's what you mean."

"I know," Arnold's mouth curled up. "That's what made it better."

Helga shrugged, yet still reflecting. "Some lessons you have to learn the hard way."

"Speaking of which," Arnold spoke carefully. "You're back early and alone. I'm guessing things with James..."

"Crashed and burned spectacularly?" Helga forthcame. "Yeah. Turns out he wasn't back for my charming personality after all."

Arnold angled to face her more fully. "What happened?"

Helga hesitated, then found herself telling Arnold everything – the overheard conversation, the confrontation, James's admission. It was easier somehow, talking to the night sky with Arnold's solid presence beside her, than it would have been facing her roommates' mix of sympathy and "I told you so."

"That's low," Arnold had real anger in his voice. "Using you like that."

"Yeah, well, I should have known better," Helga aimed for nonchalance despite the sting of betrayal still fresh. "People don't change that much."

"Some do," Arnold contrasted gently. "But not usually for the reasons they claim."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the distant sounds of the city creating a soothing backdrop.

"So I guess we both struck out tonight," Helga observed finally.

"I guess so," Arnold agreed. "Though in retrospect, I'm not sure what I was thinking anyway. Vanessa was clearly hung up on her ex the whole time."

"And I was a means to an end for James," Helga added. "Not exactly romance novel material, either of us."

Arnold chuckled softly. "I don't know. The Rebound and the Revenge Case could be a bestseller."

Despite herself, Helga giggled. "Sounds more like a bad Lifetime movie."

"I'd watch it," Arnold beamed.

Another comfortable silence settled between them. Helga was surprised by how easy it felt, being here with Arnold, both of them licking their romantic wounds. No pretense, no deflection, just honest conversation.

"Why'd you come up here?" she interrogated him suddenly. "To the roof, I mean."

"I noticed the door to the roof was ajar during my evening maintenance check. Got worried someone might have broken in. Finding you here was a relief... though you probably shouldn't be up here after hours." Helga shot him an unconvinced look, so Arnold seemed to consider the question carefully. "And also... Same as you, I think. Needed some space to think. Didn't want to explain to Gerald yet why I was back so early."

Helga nodded in understanding. Sometimes well-meaning friends could be exhausting when all you wanted was to process your own thoughts.

"It's peaceful up here," Arnold continued, his voice softening. "Reminds me of when I was a kid. I used to come up here all the time when I needed to think."

"I know," Helga made that comment without thinking, then caught herself. "I mean, I remember you mentioning that. Back in school."

If Arnold thought her quick correction was odd, he didn't show it. "Some things don't change, I guess. I still head to high places when I need perspective."

"Hmm," Helga hummed noncommittally, not trusting herself to speak. She'd spent more time watching Arnold on his rooftop as a child than she'd ever confess to anyone.

"You know what I've been thinking lately?" Arnold's voice came out thoughtful. "About how some people come into your life for a reason, but not necessarily to stay."

"Pretty philosophical for a Saturday night, Football Head," Helga stated, but it sounded softer than intended.

"Maybe," he acknowledged with a small smile. "But think about it. Vanessa needed someone to help her get through a rough patch until she was ready to face her ex again. And James..."

"Needed me for information," Helga finished flatly.

"No," Arnold shook his head. "James needed someone to remind him that some people can't be manipulated. That integrity matters."

Helga snorted. "Not sure he learned that lesson."

"Maybe not," Arnold recognized. "But you reinforced who you are – someone who stands up for what's right, even when it's hard."

The simple statement, delivered with such certainty, caught Helga off guard. Arnold had always had this ability to see the best in her, even when she was at her worst.

"And what about us?" she found herself asking, immediately wishing she could take back the potentially revealing question.

"Us?" Arnold repeated in a higher pitch.

"I mean, people like us," Helga clarified hastily. "In this building. This... friend group. What's the reason we're in each other's lives?"

Arnold seemed to give the question serious thought. "I think some people come into your life for a season, and others are there for the long haul." Arnold's eyes lowered some. "Like how my parents decided to stay in San Lorenzo permanently after we found them." Helga angled towards him more. "They come back to visit once a year, but their research and community work there is their life's purpose. I understood from that - some people belong in certain places. The trick is figuring out which is which."

"Very fortune cookie," Helga mocked, but she was smiling.

"Hey, I never claimed to be profound," Arnold laughed, and Helga hummed a laugh. "I just know that I'm glad we're all in each other's lives right now. However, it happened."

"Even when we're warning you about rebound girls, and you don't listen?" Helga couldn't resist asking.

"Especially then," Arnold reacted with a rueful look. "Though next time, I promise to pay more attention."

"Next time," Helga echoed, oddly comforted by the idea that they'd still be in each other's lives for the "next times" to come.

They fell silent again, watching the city lights shimmer below. Helga was acutely aware of Arnold beside her – not too close, but close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him in the cool night air. Despite the disastrous evening with James, despite the fancy dress and uncomfortable shoes discarded beside her, despite everything, Helga felt strangely at peace.

"Cold?" Arnold noticed her shiver in her formal dress.

"I'm fine," she started to say, but another shiver betrayed her.

"Here," Arnold spoke simply, moving closer and hesitantly putting his arm around her shoulders. "Body heat. More efficient than a jacket."

There was a moment of tension where Helga seemed ready to pull away, but then she relaxed slightly against him, accepting the gesture.

"Thanks," she said, surprising herself with how much she meant it.

She didn't move away. Neither did he.

"Anytime," he whispered, and Helga could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. "I've been meaning to fix the heating vents up here but haven't gotten around to it yet. Sorry, it's so cold."

As they stood snuggled up on the rooftop, neither feeling the need to fill the silence with words, Helga thought perhaps Arnold was right. Some people came into your life for a reason – and some, against all odds, stayed.

Helga closed her eyes and leaned into him slightly, letting the steady beat of his heart anchor her against the city's endless noise.

After a long moment, Arnold shifted, like he wanted to say something. His voice was quieter than usual, almost shy.

"Helga, I..." he started, then paused. She tilted her head up, noticing the uncertain glint in his eyes. "I'm just... glad you're okay," he finished, the corners of his mouth tugging into a soft, almost regretful smile.

Helga blinked, feeling something tighten low in her chest — a flicker of understanding she wasn't ready to name. It sounded like there was more he wasn't saying. Maybe someday, he would.

"Yeah," she murmured, tucking herself a little closer under his arm. "Me too."

For now, above them, the stars stretched endless and quiet, like the rest of the night was holding its breath — waiting.

Chapter Text

Episode 6: The Player

"And as you can see from these renderings, the community center would include not only recreational facilities but also classroom spaces for after-school programs, job training, and health services." Arnold clicked to the next slide in his presentation, trying not to notice the glazed expressions of the city council members before him.

Councilman Wilson checked his watch for the third time in five minutes. Councilwoman Rodriguez was openly scrolling through her phone. Only the elderly Councilman Peterson seemed truly engaged, leaning forward with his hearing aid turned up to maximum volume.

"The multi-use design maximizes the limited space while serving the greatest number of community needs," Arnold continued, his optimism wavering but not defeated. "And most importantly, we've designed it to be built in phases, so even with limited initial funding, we can—"

"Thank you, Mr. Shortman," the council chair interrupted, clearly eager to move on. "We appreciate your... enthusiasm. The council will take your proposal under advisement."

"But I haven't addressed the sustainability features yet," Arnold protested. "Or the community input process."

"Submit the rest in writing," the chair suggested, already shuffling papers for the next agenda item. "We're running behind schedule today."

Arnold swallowed his frustration and nodded politely. "Thank you for your time."

As he gathered his materials, he overheard Councilwoman Rodriguez whispering to her colleague, "Another idealistic architect with big plans and no concept of budgetary constraints."

Arnold turned slightly, fixing Councilwoman Rodriguez with a calm, unblinking stare. He didn’t say anything — but she looked away first.

Fighting the urge to defend his thoroughly researched proposal, Arnold packed up his presentation materials and left the chambers. Outside in the hallway, he allowed himself a heavy sigh. Five months of work, dozens of community meetings, countless late nights perfecting the designs – all dismissed in less than fifteen minutes.

His phone buzzed with a text from Gerald: How'd it go?

Arnold typed back: About as well as trying to sell umbrellas in the desert .

Gerald's response came quickly: Their loss. Celebratory commiseration drinks at Bigal's tonight?

Before Arnold could reply, another text came through: Unless you've got a hot date I don't know about 😏

Arnold chuckled despite his disappointment. Very funny. See you at 7.

Tucking his phone away, Arnold took one last look at the council chamber door before heading down the ornate city hall steps. The rejection stung, but it wasn't his first and certainly wouldn't be his last. Besides, there were other avenues to pursue – community foundations, private donors, maybe even that grant program Councilman Peterson had mentioned last month.

As Arnold descended the city hall steps, he spotted a familiar figure in oversized sunglasses waving from across the street. "Arnold! Yoo-hoo!" Rhonda called, crossing toward him with two small shopping bags dangling from both arms. "I heard through the grapevine that the council meeting was a bust. Their loss."

"Word travels fast," Arnold tilted his head, kind of surprised but also not surprised by her awareness of his project.

Rhonda flipped her hair dramatically. "Please. My daddy golfs with half the council. They wouldn't know a good investment if it came with a guaranteed return." She examined him for a moment. "You know, you're approaching this all wrong."

"How so?"

"These grumpy old men don't care about community needs—they care about legacy and looking good," Rhonda explained, shifting her bags.

"What you need is private funding from people with both money and social consciousness." She tapped a manicured finger against her chin. "I might know some people who'd be interested. My charity committee is always looking for photo-worthy causes."

Arnold gawked at her, taken aback by the unexpected offer. "That's... actually really helpful," his tone sounded a little surprised. "Thanks, Rhonda."

"Don't sound so surprised," she grunted, though her coffee-brown eyes sparkled with amusement. "I contain multitudes, darling. Send me your proposal. The pretty version, not the boring technical one. I'll see what I can do." As she strutted away, Arnold found himself smiling. Sometimes, help came from the most unexpected places.

---

Arnold wiped the sweat from his brow as he scrubbed at a particularly stubborn stain on their floor. The rhythmic motion was oddly therapeutic after the disappointment of the city council meeting. Cleaning might not fix his community center setback, but at least it gave him a sense of accomplishment.

The front door slammed open with enough force to rattle the pictures on the wall.

"Seriously, man? Again, with the cleaning?" Gerald stood wide-legged in the doorway, briefcase in one hand, tie already loosened, looking at the spotless countertops and gleaming surfaces with exasperation. "We talked about this. Normal people don't mop on weeknights."

Arnold sat back on his heels, quirking an eyebrow. "Hello to you too. Bad day?"

"Why would you think that?" Gerald dropped his briefcase with a thud, stepping carefully around the wet section of floor to reach the refrigerator. "Just because my editor rejected my pitch, or because my sister called to remind me I'm the only one not bringing a date to my cousin's wedding next month, or because I just watched you on your hands and knees scrubbing a floor that was already clean?"

"The floor wasn't clean," Arnold defended mildly. "Mrs. Kokoshka's cat got in here somehow and knocked over my plant."

Gerald pulled out a soda, gesturing with it as he spoke. "Normal roommates would just wipe it up. You're doing the full spring cleaning ritual. Again." He took a swig directly from the bottle. "It's like living with a very tall, football-headed housewife from the 1950s."

"When I'm stressed, I clean," Arnold shrugged, wringing out his rag. "Some people stress-eat. Some people stress-shop. I stress-clean."

"And some people just accept that life is messy and move on," Gerald countered, though there was more weariness than bite in his tone. He sank into a kitchen chair, loosening his tie further.

Arnold studied his friend. " Want to talk about the real issue, or should we keep using my cleaning habits as a proxy?"

Gerald's attempt at indignation crumbled quickly. "Cherice is trying to set me up again. For the wedding."

"Ah," Arnold nodded, understanding dawning. "Let me guess – another friend of a friend who's 'perfect for you'?"

"Worse," Gerald groaned. "My ex. Melissa."

"Yikes," Arnold frowned sympathetically. "Doesn't she know how that ended?"

"Apparently, Melissa told everyone we parted as friends," Gerald explained, rubbing his temples. "Which is technically true if by friends you mean 'people who blocked each other on all social media platforms.'"

Arnold abandoned his supplies, rising to join Gerald at the table. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Gerald confessed. "Show up alone and deal with the pitying looks? Find a date in the next three weeks? Fake an emergency appendectomy?"

"Or you could just ask someone you actually enjoy spending time with," Arnold suggested carefully.

Gerald shot him a warning look. "If you say Phoebe—"

"I didn't say anything," Arnold held up his hands innocently. "But isn't your friend Phoebe also invited to this wedding? You could always just coordinate and go together. As friends."

Gerald's expression cycled rapidly through irritation, consideration, and something that looked suspiciously like hope before settling on forced nonchalance. "Maybe," he said, sounding deliberately casual. "If she doesn't already have plans."

"Worth asking," Arnold gave a one-shoulder shrug, returning to his task with a small glint in his eyes.

"Stop looking so smug," Gerald grumbled. "And stop scrubbing already. Let's go get a drink. After the day I've had, I need one, and after your council meeting, you probably do too."

"Let me just finish this section," Arnold insisted.

Gerald sighed dramatically. "This is why you never get dates, you know. Normal people don't find cleaning this satisfying."

"Says the man who alphabetizes his record collection and color-coordinates his closet," Arnold fired back without looking up.

"Oh, that's different," Gerald protested. "That's aesthetic organization, not... whatever this obsessive-compulsive floor polishing is."

"Fifteen more minutes," He promised. "Then we can go drown our respective sorrows at Bigal's."

"Fine," Gerald relented, standing to change out of his work clothes. At the doorway, he halted. "And... thanks. For listening."

"That's what friends are for," Arnold flashed all his teeth with a chuckle. "Even friends who clean too much."

"Way too much," Gerald had to say, but there was affection in his voice as he disappeared down the hallway.

Arnold returned to his routine, wondering how long it would take Gerald to realize what had been obvious to everyone else for years. Some messes, after all, couldn't be washed away – they had to be faced head-on.

---

"...and then she says, 'I have strong opinions about proper bread selection. Anyone who chooses sourdough clearly has commitment issues.'" Gerald set down his beer, struggling to keep a straight face. "My sandwich order apparently revealed deep-seated psychological problems."

Arnold let out a closed mouth laugh, his earlier disappointment fading in the usual comfort of Bigal's Café and Gerald's animated storytelling. "So that was the end of Date Number One?"

"Man, I couldn't get out of there fast enough," Gerald vented. "Who knew a deli counter could be so revealing?"

"Only you could find someone who psychoanalyzes sandwich choices," Arnold bounced his head, amused. "What about the second date? The yoga instructor?"

Gerald squeezed his eyes shut. "Brittany. Turns out her passion for yoga was actually more like a religion. She spent two hours explaining how my spiritual energy was catastrophically misaligned and offered to fix me through her special private sessions at the low cost of eighty dollars an hour."

"So she was trying to recruit you as a client," Arnold surmised.

"I'm all for entrepreneurship, but maybe wait until the second date to start the sales pitch?" Gerald politely waved to the waitress for another round. "But Date Number Three – that was the real disaster."

"Worse than Bread Psychologist and Yoga Recruiter?" Arnold lifted a brow skeptically.

"Rebecca," Gerald began solemnly, "was perfect on paper . Smart , successful, beautiful, great sense of humor. We liked the same music, the same movies. Conversation flowed easily."

"Sounds terrible," Arnold deadpanned.

"The problem was..." Gerald paused theatrically, "absolutely no chemistry. None. Zero. It was like going on a date with a really cool coworker. By dessert, we were showing each other dating app profiles and giving advice."

"The dreaded immediate friend zone," Arnold bobbed his head in understanding. "Sometimes chemistry just isn't there."

"Three strikes in one week," Gerald moaned, accepting the fresh beer the waitress delivered. "Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something."

"Like what? 'Stop letting your cousin Cherice set you up with her random acquaintances'?"

"Hey, Cherice has good taste," Gerald shrugged with his hands. "She just doesn't understand my specific... requirements."

Arnold's phone droned with a notification. When he checked it, he saw a message from Lila in their building group chat. Rhonda had added him after his involvement in girls' night with Phoebe's colleague Vanessa.

Lila: Guess who finally texted me? Michael from the club! It’s been two weeks, but he wants to meet up!

Rhonda: Two weeks? Girl, please...

Rhonda: This is classic player behavior. I’ve been collecting data on men longer than Phoebe’s been collecting data on molecules.

Arnold gaped at the screen a second longer. Not surprised — but uneasy all the same.

He tucked the phone back into his pocket and looked over at Gerald. “Speaking of dating… looks like Lila finally heard from that guy she met at The Vault.”

"The one with the perfect hair and the fancy watch?" Gerald asked. "Took him long enough."

"Yeah, Rhonda seems to think it's a red flag."

Gerald jerked his neck back. "Rhonda Wellington Lloyd giving dating advice. That's rich."

"And what exactly are your requirements?" Arnold steered the conversation back. "Because from what I've seen, your dating pattern is more 'throw everything at the wall and see what sticks.'"

Gerald looked affronted. "I have standards, my friend. Very specific standards."

"Name one," Arnold pushed.

"She has to be... intelligent," Gerald offered.

"Like Phoebe?" Arnold suggested, stroking his jawline.

Gerald nearly choked on his beer. "Why would you bring up Phoebe?"

"No reason," Arnold covered his mouth with his palm, hiding his enjoyment. "Just an example of someone intelligent we know."

"Well, yeah, Phoebe's smart. Genius-level smart. But a lot of women are smart."

"Mmhmm," Arnold hummed noncommittally. "What else are you looking for?"

"Someone with ambition. Drive. A woman who knows what she wants and goes after it."

"Like Phoebe," Arnold tossed out, mouth twitching at the corners.

Gerald narrowed his eyes. "Are you doing this on purpose?"

"Doing what?" Arnold was the picture of innocence. "I'm just helping you define your very specific standards ."

Before Gerald could respond, his phone lit up with a notification. He glanced down, then broke into a grin. "Well, well, well. The universe works in mysterious ways, my friend."

"What is it?" Arnold asked.

"Tiffany Morgan just slid into my DMs," Gerald announced triumphantly. "The Tiffany Morgan."

"Should I know who that is?"

"Only the most popular event coordinator in Hillwood," Gerald gushed. "She runs all the high-end parties, knows everyone who matters. I interviewed her last month for that piece on the charity gala circuit."

"And now she's... what? Asking you out?" Arnold guessed.

"Not explicitly," Gerald admitted, studying his phone. "But she's 'following up on our conversation' and suggests 'continuing it over drinks soon.' That's definitely date code."

"If you say so," Arnold appeared unconvinced. "What about the three-strikes rule?"

"This is different," Gerald insisted. "Tiffany's not a random setup. We had a genuine connection during the interview. She laughed at my jokes. Made eye contact."

"Groundbreaking," Arnold blanked.

"Mock all you want, but Tiffany Morgan is exactly the kind of woman I should be dating. Connected, ambitious, beautiful..."

"Not Phoebe," Arnold added quietly.

Gerald's expression shifted momentarily, a flash of something like uncertainty before his confident smile returned. "Look, Phoebe and I are friends. Good friends. It's not like that between us."

"Right," Arnold squinted, clearly believing him. "So when are you and Tiffany continuing your 'conversation'?"

"I'm thinking Friday," Gerald was already typing a response. "Play it cool, not too eager. "

"Right..." Arnold mumbled with a hint of judgment.

And, of course, his long-term best friend picked up on it. "And speaking of dropping everything for someone, I notice you always seem to answer Helga's maintenance calls within minutes, while Ms. Peterson in 2B had to wait three days for you to fix her sink," Gerald said, turning the tables with a knowing smirk.

"That's different," Arnold raised his hands. "Ms. Peterson's sink was just a minor drip. Helga had a legitimate emergency with her radiator."

"Uh-huh," Gerald shook his head suspiciously. "And the three other emergencies this month alone?"

"We should head back," Arnold pivoted, checking his watch and clearly eager to change the subject. "I've got an early meeting with that community foundation tomorrow."

"Still fighting for the community center?" Gerald signaled for the check.

"Always," Arnold confirmed. "The city council was just one avenue. There are other ways to make it happen."

"That's what I've always admired about you, man," Gerald stated, his tone shifting to something more sincere. "You never give up on the things that matter."

"Some things are worth fighting for," Arnold responded simply.

As they left Bigal's, Gerald resumed describing Tiffany's many exceptional qualities. Still, Arnold noticed his friend's eye caught on a text notification from Phoebe that briefly appeared on his phone screen. Gerald quickly dismissed it, continuing his monologue about Tiffany without missing a beat.

Arnold just grinned to himself. Some things were indeed worth fighting for – and some things were just a matter of time.

---

"I'm telling you, it's a load-bearing wall. You can't just knock it down because it 'disrupts the energy flow' of your apartment." Arnold pinched the bridge of his nose, phone pressed to his ear as he unlocked the door to his and Gerald's apartment. "No, sage burning won't fix the structural integrity issues... Yes, I understand feng shui is important to you, but so is not having your ceiling collapse."

He entered to find their apartment in disarray – Gerald's normally meticulously organized living space was littered with discarded shirts, pants, and shoes.

"I'll email you the revised plans tomorrow," Arnold continued into the phone. "With the partial wall removal that won't compromise the building's structural integrity... Yes, that will have to be enough. Goodbye, Mrs. Winters."

He hung up with a sigh. "Gerald?" he called out. "Are you having some kind of clothing crisis?"

Gerald emerged from his bedroom, holding two nearly identical button-down shirts. "Blue or navy? And before you say they're the same, the blue brings out my eyes while the navy conveys authority and confidence."

"Date night?" Arnold guessed, setting down his bag and navigating around the clothing obstacle course.

His phone hummed again with more messages in the group chat. Arnold glanced down to see the conversation continuing:

Phoebe: While I hesitate to conclude with limited data, a two-week delay in communication does correlate with diminished interest in 78% of dating scenarios I've observed.

Lila: Well, maybe he was traveling... or nervous! Sometimes, people need a little extra time to gather their courage.

Helga: Hate to say it, but I'm with Rhonda on this one. Players gonna play, Sawyer.

Lila:   He invited me to show him my pottery class! That sounds ever so genuine to me.

Arnold set his phone aside, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "Tiffany Morgan," Gerald informed. "We're meeting at Chez Pierre in an hour."

"Fancy," Arnold noted, moving a pile of rejected sweaters so he could sit on the couch. "I thought you were playing it cool?"

"This is cool," Gerald urged. "Sophisticated cool. Refined cool."

"Trying-too-hard cool," Arnold corrected gently. "Didn't you just meet this woman?"

"It's not about how long you've known someone," Gerald explained, as if to a child. "It's about recognizing potential when you see it. Tiffany could be the one."

"The one?" Arnold repeated suspiciously. "Like Melissa was 'the one' last month? Or Stephanie before that?"

Gerald paused his fashion deliberation to give Arnold a wounded look. "Low blow, man."

"I'm just saying, maybe slow down a little?" Arnold suggested. "You always do this – meet someone new and immediately go all in, then crash hard when it inevitably doesn't work out."

"That's not true," Gerald protested, then reconsidered. "Okay, it might be slightly true. But Tiffany is different."

"That's what you always say," Arnold pointed out. "And then two weeks later, I'm watching you mope around the apartment eating ice cream straight from the container while watching breakup playlists on YouTube."

"Your point?" Gerald asked defensively.

Arnold sighed. "My point is... maybe the problem isn't finding the right person. Maybe it's your approach to relationships."

Gerald's expression sobered slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You either go all in too quickly or keep things so casual they never develop," Arnold explained. "There's no middle ground with you."

"That's rich coming from the guy who ran out of the shower half-naked last week because Helga texted about rats in her closet that turned out to be a squeaky floorboard."

Arnold huffed, rolling his eyes. "Bad example, she's terrified of rats. Most people would be."

"Not everyone can be Mr. Perfect Relationship like you," Gerald retorted, a hint of real irritation in his voice. "Some of us are still figuring it out."

"I'm far from perfect," Arnold stated quietly. "Maybe it just looks perfect because I’m not pretending. That’s the part you always skip.” Gerald huffed at that, but Arnold didn't let that slide. "But at least I'm honest with myself about what I want."'

"Sure about that?" Gerald fired back.

A tense silence fell between them, rare in their long friendship. Gerald turned back to his wardrobe choices, his shoulders slightly tense.

Arnold sighed. "The navy one," he offered as a peace gesture. "It looks good with those gray pants."

Gerald's posture relaxed slightly. "Thanks," he said, the single word carrying an apology of its own.

"For what it's worth," Arnold added, "I hope it goes well tonight. Tiffany seems like she could be interesting."

"Yeah," Gerald bobbed his head, though something in his expression suggested his enthusiasm had dimmed. "Should be good."

As Gerald disappeared back into his bedroom to finish getting ready, Arnold's phone buzzed with a text from Helga: Heard the city council shut down your proposal. Their loss. Need anything?

The simple message, so characteristically Helga in its blunt support, brought a smile to his face. Just the reassurance that not everyone in this city is shortsighted. Thanks.

Her response came quickly: They're idiots. Your ideas are always annoyingly good . Their failure to see that is their problem.

Arnold chuckled. Only Helga could make "annoyingly good" sound like high praise.

How's your week going? He texted back, surprising himself with how much he wanted to continue the conversation.

Same old. Fighting greedy developers, dealing with Rhonda's latest fashion crisis, watching Lila accidentally charm every human with a pulse. You know, Tuesday.

Arnold was still smiling at his phone when Gerald emerged, now fully dressed and looking sharp in the navy shirt and gray pants.

"Texting Vanessa again?" Gerald asked, adjusting his cuffs.

"What? No," Arnold reacted, slightly defensive. "That ended, you know that."

"Then who's got you grinning at your phone like a teenager?" Gerald pressed, trying to peek at the screen.

"No one," Arnold said, perhaps too quickly. "Just a funny meme."

Gerald raised an eyebrow questioningly but didn't push further. "I should get going. Don't want to be late."

"Good luck," Arnold encouraged. "Remember – sophisticated cool, not trying-too-hard cool."

"I got this," Gerald assured him with his trademark confidence, though Arnold thought he detected a hint of uncertainty beneath the bravado. "Don't wait up!"

After Gerald left, Arnold looked back at his phone, considering whether to continue the conversation with Helga. Before he could decide, another text came through: Football Head, you still there, or did my scintillating conversational skills overwhelm you?

He smiled, thumbs hovering. Still here. Gerald just left for a date with his latest "the one.

Another one? That's like the third this month. Dude moves fast.

Arnold hesitated, then typed: Too fast sometimes. He never gives the right ones a chance.

There was a longer pause before Helga's reply: Sometimes, the right ones are harder to see when they're right in front of you.

Arnold stared at the message. It wasn’t flirty. It wasn’t cold. But it wavered in the middle like something just shy of a confession.

He hovered over the keyboard, then slowly locked the phone and slid it face-down on the table.

Some feelings weren’t for late-night texts.

Something told him this wasn’t a moment to reply. Not yet.

Before he could sit with it too long, his phone buzzed again — a call from the community foundation director.

He answered, voice steady, but as he listened, he made a quiet mental note: Return to that conversation. Don’t let it slip.

---

The apartment was dark and quiet when Arnold woke to the sound of the front door opening around 2 AM. He'd fallen asleep on the couch while reviewing grant applications, papers still scattered across his chest.

Gerald's silhouette appeared in the doorway, illuminated by the dim light from the hallway.

"How was the date?" Arnold wondered groggily, sitting up and causing papers to slide to the floor.

Gerald flipped on a lamp, revealing an expression that was hard to read – not quite disappointed, but definitely conflicted. "It was... fine."

" Fine doesn't usually bring people home at 2 AM," Arnold observed, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"We went to a club after dinner," Gerald explained, loosening his tie and collapsing into the armchair across from Arnold. "Tiffany knows everyone. And I mean everyone. We didn't pay for a single drink all night."

"Sounds great," Arnold said cautiously, sensing there was more to the story.

"It was," Gerald affirmed. "She's beautiful, connected, ambitious – exactly the type of woman I should be with."

"But?" Arnold prompted.

Gerald sighed deeply. "But the whole night felt like a networking event. Every conversation was about who knows who, which events are exclusive, whose social media has the most influence." He ran a hand over his face. "I'm not even sure she remembered what I do for a living by the end of the night."

"Ouch," Arnold winced sympathetically.

"The weird thing is," Gerald continued, "I should have been into it. This is my world – media, connections, being in the know. But all I could think was..."

"What?" Arnold questioned when Gerald trailed off.

Gerald seemed to wrestle with himself before admitting, "All I could think was how much more I enjoy talking to Phoebe. Even about the most random, obscure topics I barely understand."

There it was. Arnold tried to keep his expression neutral despite the satisfaction of having his suspicions confirmed. "Phoebe is a good conversationalist."

"It's not just that," Gerald said, frustration evident in his voice. "With Tiffany – with most women I date – I'm always performing. Being Gerald Johanssen, smooth-talking media guy with all the right moves. With Phoebe, I'm just... me. And somehow, that's enough for her."

"So what are you going to do about it?" Arnold voiced quietly.

"Nothing," Gerald replied quickly – too quickly. "Phoebe and I are friends. Have been since we were kids. You don't mess with that kind of history."

"But if there could be something more?" Arnold pressed gently.

Gerald stood abruptly, pacing the small living room. "Even if I wanted that – and I'm not saying I do – it wouldn't work. I'm not... I don't have the best track record with relationships, in case you haven't noticed."

"Maybe that's because you haven't been in one with the right person yet," Arnold suggested.

"Or maybe I'm just not built for the long term," Gerald countered. "Not everyone gets the happily-ever-after, Arnold. Some of us are better off keeping things casual."

"Is that really what you want?" Arnold challenged, tracking his quick movements. "More Tiffanys? More connections without real connection?"

Gerald stopped pacing, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. "What if I mess it up? What if I hurt her? Besides, I don’t even know if she’d ever see me that way."

And there it was – the real fear beneath Gerald's perpetual dating carousel.

"Those are all risks you have to take with any relationship," Arnold said gently. "But don't you think Phoebe deserves to make that choice for herself?"

Gerald didn't respond immediately, sinking back into the armchair and staring thoughtfully at nothing in particular. "Maybe," he conceded finally. "But it's complicated."

"Most worthwhile things are," Arnold answered with a small smile.

"Speaking of complicated," Gerald said, clearly ready to shift the focus away from himself, "what's going on with you and Helga?"

"Nothing's going on," Arnold insisted, perhaps too quickly. "We're friends."

"Mmhmm," Gerald hummed skeptically. "Friends who text late at night and make each other smile at their phones?"

"It was a normal conversation," Arnold defended. "About the community center."

"Right," Gerald squinted one eye. "Just like Phoebe and I are just friends who talk about quantum physics for fun."

"That's different," Arnold's brows went up.

"Is it?" Gerald challenged. "You've been different around Helga ever since she and company moved into the building a year ago. Especially after you and Becca broke up." Gerald shut his eyes for a second and mouthed a Thank God . "And it's only escalated over the last few months. You’ve just been... noticing her more. Like, really noticing."

Arnold wanted to deny it, but he couldn't quite bring himself to lie to his best friend. "It's not... we're not..."

"Look, I'm not judging," Gerald held up his hands. "Just making an observation. You're always telling me to be honest with myself about what I want. Maybe take your own advice?"

The tables effectively turned, Arnold found himself without a good response. Were his feelings for Helga changing? Or had they always been there, just buried beneath years of friendship and other relationships?

"It's late," he said finally, gathering the scattered papers from the floor. "We should get some sleep."

Gerald accepted the subject change with a knowing smile. "Sure thing. But this conversation isn't over."

"Neither is yours," Arnold countered.

As they headed to their respective bedrooms, Gerald paused in his doorway. "For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I think you two might actually make sense in a weird, opposites-attract kind of way."

Before Arnold could say more, Gerald's door closed, leaving him alone in the hallway with thoughts he wasn't quite ready to examine.

His phone lit up with a text, but this time, it wasn't from Helga. It was from Lila in the group chat:

Lila: Well, you were all right about Michael. I'm ever so disappointed.

Concerned, Arnold typed out: What happened?

Lila: Nothing terrible. He came to my pottery class but spent the whole time flirting with my instructor and two other students. When I mentioned it, he said, "I'm just being friendly!" It was so uncomfortable.

Arnold squeezed his eyes in sympathy. Lila had always been quick to see the best in people, sometimes to her own detriment.

Phoebe: I have nothing statistical to offer in this case. I'm sorry this happened to you, Lila.

Rhonda: Tell me you ended it immediately.

Rhonda: And please tell me you were wearing that green top I lent you. At least look fabulous while dumping the trash.

Lila: I told him I think I was hoping for someone who meant what they said, not someone who says the same thing to everyone. He seemed confused.

Gerald sat up in bed, rereading the message.

“He seemed confused.”

The words lodged in his chest like a weight. He stared at them, then at his own reflection in the dark mirror across the room — a faint silhouette looking back.

With a slow, quiet breath, he lowered his head. Then, without another word, he locked his phone and lay back down.

A few minutes later, the chat updated with one final message:

Helga: FYI, I wanted to believe him, too. But believing in something doesn't make it real. Proud of you, Lila.

Something in Helga’s message tugged at Arnold’s chest — not just for Lila, but for Helga too. That kind of quiet solidarity wasn’t something she gave lightly. He typed a quick message of support before setting his phone aside. As different as Gerald and Lila were, they both seemed to be learning similar lessons about dating - sometimes, the people who seemed perfect on paper were all wrong in reality.

As Arnold was preparing to go to sleep, his phone lit up with one final text from Helga: Whatever happens with the community center, don't give up. The world needs more annoyingly persistent do-gooders like you, Football Head.

As he climbed into bed, Arnold reread the message, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. His fingers hovered over the call button — not sure why he wanted to hear her voice, only that he did. But after a moment, he let his hand fall away.

Gerald might’ve been right. There was something there worth exploring.

But for now, Arnold simply let the feeling settle as he closed his eyes — not rushing it, just content with where things stood … for now .

---

Gerald exits the elevator just as Rhonda and Lila are stepping into the hallway, chatting and laughing with takeaway boxes in hand.

Rhonda spotted Gerald first. “Well, look who it is, Lila, Mr Serial dater himself.”

Gerald smirked. “Better than ending up alone with cats and a room full of designer shoes, Lloyd.”

Lila tittered beside Rhonda. “That actually sounds kind of nice.”

Rhonda flicked her hair. “ Anyway , you just missed Phoebe we just saw her off. She looked very cute tonight. If I do say so myself."

He stiffened some. “Yeah? Where was she headed??”

The tall brunette leaned back with folded arms. "On a real date. With someone normal , for once. A med student I met at that fundraiser last week. Great teeth, strong handshake, financially solvent — the full package." Her eyes smiled as they studied his demeanor.

Yet Lila was still the picture of neutrally friendly. "He also volunteers at a hospice on weekends. Isn’t that sweet?"

Gerald tried to hide his surprise — and something more complicated flickering behind his eyes. "Cool. Good for her."

Rhonda suspiciously eyed him. "Mm-hmm. She said she wants something 'refreshingly drama-free.' Not that you’d know anything about that, right?”

Lila shot her friend a quick frown but recovered once looking back at Gerald. "She just said she was open to meeting someone different. Nothing serious yet."

"But who knows?" Rhonda's pitch was higher. "Maybe it will be serious. Stranger things have happened." She took out her phone, typing. "I'm adding you to our group chat," Looking up at him briefly with a hint of mischief in her eyes. "We always update it after a date, so look forward to some spicy tea."

With that, Rhonda and Lila head towards their apartment. Gerald remained in the hallway for a beat, staring after them, lips pursed.

He didn't say anything.

But he suddenly seemed a lot less sure about everything.

---

The following evening found Arnold and Gerald at the supermarket, pushing a cart down the cereal aisle while debating the merits of various breakfast options.

"All I'm saying is, at a certain age, a man should graduate from cereals with cartoon mascots," Gerald chuckled, reaching for a box of oat clusters.

"Age is just a number," Arnold countered, defiantly adding a box of Cocoa Pebbles to their cart. "And Fred Flintstone is a classic character, not just a mascot."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Gerald shook his head in mock disappointment. "Just keep that sugary abomination on your side of the pantry."

As they rounded the corner to the dairy section, Gerald's phone chimed with a notification. He peeked down, then immediately stiffened.

"What's wrong?" Arnold asked, noticing the change.

"Nothing," Gerald said unconvincingly. "Just Tiffany asking if I want to join her at some gallery opening tonight."

They spotted Lila at the end of the aisle, meticulously selecting organic apples. She brightened when she saw them. "Arnold! Gerald! What a lovely surprise," she called, approaching with her small basket. "Grocery shopping on Sunday evening too?"

"Hey, Lila," Arnold greeted her. "Yeah, trying to stock up for the week. How are you doing after... you know, the pottery class thing?"

"Oh, I'm doing ever so much better, thank you," she said with a genuine smile. "It was disappointing, but I'd rather know sooner than later. Phoebe just invited me to volunteer with her at the children's hospital next weekend. No dating for a while - just focusing on things that make me happy."

Gerald nodded approvingly. "Smart move. Sometimes, you need to step back from the dating scene."

"Says the man who's been on multiple dates in two weeks," Arnold shot back with dryness.

"Hey, I'm evolving," Gerald defended himself gently. "In fact, I just turned down a second date with Tiffany."

"That's wonderful," Lila clasped her hands together. "Not the turning down part, but the knowing what you want part." Her mouth turned into a circle suddenly. "Oh! I see they have organic blueberries on sale. I should get some for Helga - she'd never buy them for herself." With a cheerful wave, she continued down the aisle.

"See?" Arnold said to Gerald. "Even Lila's figuring out what she wants. Maybe it's your turn, too."

After a few minutes, they heard a nothing known voice. "Arnold! Gerald! What a pleasant surprise!"

They looked up to see Phoebe approaching, pushing a small cart containing what appeared to be perfectly organized groceries, each item flawlessly aligned.

"Hey, Phoebe," Arnold greeted her warmly. "Grocery day?"

"Indeed," she confirmed. "I find that Sunday evenings are optimal for shopping – 43% fewer customers than Saturday mornings and fresher produce deliveries than later in the week."

"You've researched the best time to grocery shop?" Gerald requested, a fond smile playing on his lips.

"Efficiency is important," Phoebe replied matter-of-factly, though her cheeks colored slightly under Gerald's gaze. "I see you're opting for the sugar-laden breakfast option again, Arnold."

"Don't judge me," Arnold laughed. "We can't all have your self-discipline."

"Speaking of discipline," Phoebe turned to Gerald. "How was your date with Tiffany Morgan? I understand she's quite well-connected in social circles."

Gerald looked momentarily caught off guard. "It was... fine. Not really my type, though."

"I see," Phoebe nodded, her expression carefully neutral. "That's unfortunate. Statistical probability suggests that repeated dating attempts will eventually yield compatible results."

"Maybe I'm looking in the wrong places," Gerald replied, holding her gaze a beat longer than strictly necessary.

An awkward silence fell, with Arnold glimpsing between his two friends with barely concealed amusement.

"Well," Phoebe said finally, adjusting her glasses. "I should continue my shopping. I have a very specific time allocation for each section of the store."

"Of course you do," Gerald said, but his tone was affectionate rather than teasing.

"Perhaps I'll see you both later this week?" Phoebe suggested. "Helga mentioned something about a movie night."

"We'll be there," Gerald established quickly.

"Oh, Arnold, Helga asked me to remind you about the loose tile in the bathroom. She said it's not urgent, but she knew you'd want to know right away."

Gerald quickly gave Arnold a knowing look but put his eyes back on Phoebe as she walked away, her cartwheels squeaking slightly on the linoleum; Gerald watched her go with an expression that could only be described as longing.

"Not your type, huh?" Arnold commented dryly.

"Shut up," Gerald muttered, but there was no heat in it.

"Speaking of types. Whatever happened to that eccentric girl from college you were so hung up on? Denise, right?"

Arnold froze for a second; he hadn't heard that name in years. The last time he saw her, they had shared a kiss, but then nothing happened.

"No clue," Arnold shrugged, but his mind began to fill with memories. "Ancient history."

They continued shopping in companionable silence until they reached the checkout. As they loaded their items onto the conveyor belt, Gerald spoke abruptly.

"How do you know when it's worth the risk?" he asked, his voice unusually serious. "With relationships, I mean."

Arnold considered the question carefully. "I think... when the thought of not trying becomes more painful than the fear of failure."

Gerald took his time digesting this. "And what if you're not the relationship type? What if you're setting yourself up to hurt someone you really care about?"

"Everyone's the relationship type with the right person," Arnold gave his take. "And maybe part of caring about someone is trusting them to make their own choices – including the choice to take a chance on you."

Gerald opened his mouth but then his phone chimed again – another message from Tiffany, this one even more insistent than the last.

"Persistent, isn't she?" Arnold observed.

"Yeah," Gerald sighed, putting his phone away without responding. "But maybe persistence isn't what I'm looking for anymore."

As they finished checking out and headed toward the exit, a women's magazine rack caught Gerald's eye. He paused, looking at a cover featuring a smiling couple with the headline "How To Know When It's Real."

"You want me to get that for you?" Arnold teased. "For research purposes?"

"Very funny," Gerald rolled his eyes but continued staring at the magazine thoughtfully. "You really think I should talk to Phoebe?"

"I think," Arnold caressed his chin, "that you already know what you want to do. You're just looking for permission to do it."

Gerald considered this, then broke into a slow smile. "When did you get so wise, man?"

"I've always been wise," Arnold stated with exaggerated dignity. "You've just been too busy dating the wrong people to notice."

They finished loading the last of the bags, Gerald climbing into the driver's seat while Arnold rounded the back of the car — just in time to see a familiar figure exiting the grocery store.

Helga.

She carried a single plastic bag — donuts, he noted — her car keys dangling from her fingers. Their eyes caught across the parking lot: a brief, unmistakable moment of recognition. He was momentarily caught off guard by the sight of her — hair a little tousled from the breeze, hoodie half-zipped over a faded Hillwood High T-shirt, looking effortless in a way that somehow hit him harder than the burgundy dress from the gala ever had.

Helga saw him looking caught off guard and snickered. "Relax, Romeo. Pheebs sent me an emergency text about a sale on my favorite donuts. That’s just going to undermine all the hard work I put in at the gym." she rolled her eyes. "But I'm not stalking you." Her eyes drifted to the plastic bags in his trunk, and one brow lifted. "Cocoa Pebbles, Shortman? Seriously? Still clinging to your childhood, I see."

He grinned, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the mild evening air. "Classic never goes out of style."

"Yeah, yeah," she waved him off, but there was a softness to it, an unspoken I'm glad you're still you beneath the sarcasm.

For a second, it felt like they might linger — like one of them might say something else, something that hinted at the rooftop, at the unfinished conversation hanging between them.

Gerald rose from inside the car, smirking. "Good to see you out in the wild, Pataki, but some of us." He glanced at Arnold and then back to Helga. "have frozen goods melting. See you back in the building."

Helga stepped back, giving them a two-fingered salute. "Don't let that cereal rot your brain, Football Head."

Arnold watched her retreat toward her car for a beat longer than necessary, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.

"You're staring," Gerald commented as he sank back into the driver's seat.

"I'm appreciating," Arnold corrected lightly. But inside, something quieter and steadier than amusement was building — something that felt suspiciously like wanting more than just late-night texts and friendly teasing.

He wasn’t sure what it meant yet — only that the way she carried herself, even in a hoodie, hit him harder than any gala dress ever could. It sometimes made him wonder if someone like Helga would ever take him seriously — a guy who still ate Cocoa Pebbles and managed a boarding house instead of conquering courtrooms.

Still, there was something in the way she'd looked at him just now - that flash of warmth beneath the teasing - that stayed with him even after she'd walked away.

As they drove home, Gerald seemed lost in thought, occasionally grinning to himself. Arnold watched his friend with quiet satisfaction. Sometimes people needed time to recognize what was right in front of them all along.

Once back in the apartment, Arnold was shelving groceries when his phone buzzed with a text from Helga, asking if he'd made any progress with alternative funding for the community center. He texted back, Thinking maybe I should send Rhonda the "pretty" version of the proposal before the foundation meeting.

Helga: Normally, I would make a crack at Princess, but if anyone can convince a room full of stiffs to shovel out funds, it's that girl.

Arnold brightened at the screen, wondering — not for the first time — how someone who pretended to care so little always seemed to know exactly when he needed the reminder most.

As he typed a response, Arnold thought if he, too, might be on the verge of recognizing something that had been right in front of him all along.

---

The group chat was updated with a message from Phoebe this time:

Saturday’s date was pleasant, though he referred to himself in third person four times. It is unclear if it was a joke or a real personality trait.

Helga: Sounds like a real winner. Rhonda, where do you find these men, narcs r us?

Rhonda: Like you have a better set of men lined up, Helga.

Lila: Well, it was still ever so nice that you went out on a pleasant date, even if it wasn't a happy ending story.

Gerald finished reading the chat, jaw tightening slightly as he scrolled. Before he could overthink it — or let that sinking feeling settle — he clicked out and messaged Phoebe directly.

Gerald: Read about your date. Want a palate cleanser? Coffee on me this week?

He felt his confidence sinking, so he followed up with Platonic, of course.

Phoebe: I’d like that. Even if you also start referring to yourself in the third person.

Arnold ventured out into the living in time to catch Gerald glued to his phone. He just wordlessly picked up a magazine and sat in the corner chair.

I forgot to mention – I have an extra ticket to the planetarium's new exhibit on Tuesday. Perhaps you'd be interested?

Arnold, concerned that his talkative friend was so still and quiet, glanced over to see him staring at the message for a long moment, a mixture of emotions playing across his face.

"Something wrong?" Arnold questioned though he had a good guess what the message contained.

"No," Gerald said slowly, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Something might actually be right for once."

He quickly typed a response, then put his phone away with newfound determination. "The planetarium," he explained. "Phoebe invited me to go with her on Tuesday."

Arnold slowly began to light up, putting down the magazine. "Sounds like a good place to see things clearly. Just as friends?" He couldn't resist asking.

"Maybe," Gerald acknowledged. "Or maybe... a beginning."

Arnold smiled faintly, watching as Gerald leaned back with his phone in hand — not swiping, not scrolling, just sitting with the moment.

Chapter Text

Episode 7: "Uninvited Guests"

The night air was brisk as Rhonda made her way from the subway station, stilettos clicking sharply against the cracked sidewalk. With one hand, she cradled her phone to her ear, the other swinging a designer purse like a pendulum.

"I swear, Nadine, if one more guy spends an entire date talking about his CrossFit achievements, I am officially retiring from dating forever."

Rhonda huffed, her voice echoing slightly down the empty street.

Nadine's voice crackled through the line from halfway across the world, unfazed. "At least you got a free meal out of it. My last date made me split the check—"

Rhonda scoffed. "Please. I paid for my own truffle fries just to preserve my dignity." She sucked in a breath. "I won't admit this to her, but I should have listened to Helga about driving myself there; my feet are killing me."

"Next time, call an Uber," Nadine recommended. "Or one of your roommates."

"Uh, no, the last Uber driver was a complete creep, think Curly 10.0. And Lila doesn't have a car. Only Helga and that girl's driving is scarier than the darkest alley."

She barely noticed the figure slipping out of the shadows until it was too late.

A hand grabbed for her purse.

"Hey!" Rhonda shrieked, reflexively tightening her grip.

Her phone clattered to the pavement, still connected to Nadine, shouting, "Rhonda? What's happening?!"

Without thinking, Rhonda yanked off her high heel and swung it like a weapon, clocking the mugger across the shoulder with a satisfying whack! The man stumbled but yanked the purse free from her grasp, bolting into the night with her possessions.

"You better RUN, you coward!" Rhonda screamed after him, brandishing her shoe triumphantly — though she was trembling from head to toe.

"Rhonda?!" Her eyes shot over to her phone, nearly buried in the grass. "Please answer me?!" Nadine cried out, her usual calmness broken by her feelings of terror.

"Yeah..." She stammered. "I'm here."

"What happened?" Nadine breathed heavily into the speaker. "Where are you?"

Rhonda could still hear the heavy footsteps echoing down the other side of the dark streets. "I'm a block away from home. Someone just stole my purse."

Oh no, I'm sorry, Rhonda," She paused. "But at least you are okay... You are okay, right?"

"I think so."

Nadine sighed in relief. "Okay, stay on with me until you get home." To Rhonda's surprise, her best friend started laughing.

"What could possibly be funny?"

"I was just picturing you clocking the loser in the back head with your stiletto."

Rhonda's laugh came out shaky as she carried one shoe in her hand and limped towards the building. "I definitely aimed for that dome of his."

Rhonda's entrance was usually accompanied by the sharp staccato of heels on tile and some colorful declaration of her fabulousness. But tonight, just the shuffle of one bare foot.

The elevator doors creaked open, revealing Rhonda—missing a shoe, hair out of place, gripping her phone with one hand and a stiletto in the other like a weapon.

"Nadine, if I drop dead right now, bury me in Valentino." She awkwardly giggled into the phone. "I'm kidding, Nad; I'm in the building now... yes, I'll report this... okay, bye." She clicked off the call and felt eyes on her.

Gerald was headed to the girls' apartment, where Arnold was already waiting. He was dressed in his typical hang-out clothes: sweats and sneakers.

He stopped in his tracks with a small breath hitch at Rhonda. "What, no grand entrance tonight?"

Her energy was low, but she still managed to say, "Sorry. I didn't realize I was supposed to narrate my fabulosity for your evening entertainment."

Gerald's eyes dropped to her missing shoe, then back to her face, his expression tightening slightly. No comeback this time.

"Rhonda. What happened?"

She didn't respond right away. She just stood there, eyes flicking toward the floor as if saying it aloud had made it real.

"I was attacked." She clutched her imaginary pearls.

Gerald's entire expression changed. His teasing dropped completely, and he stepped closer. "What? By who? Where?"

"By some... degenerate," she muttered, tone wobbling. Then, quickly—"I'm fine." She sniffed and lifted her chin. "It was just a couple of blocks away. I hit him with my shoe." She held up her one shoe lift as proof. "Don't worry—I made it dramatic."

He only eyed her, not buying her brush off. "Come on. Let's get you inside. You shouldn't be walking around like this alone."

Gerald gently placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her to her door.

Rhonda let him guide her down the hall. As they reached the apartment, she hesitated and, for once, didn't make a grand entrance.

Instead, she simply pushed the door open.

"Wow," Helga sounded from her spot on the floor, not looking up from her magazine. "Did you lose a fight with the subway rats again, Lloyd?"

Gerald stepped in front of Rhonda. "Unload the gun, Pataki; Rhonda was mugged." He peeked back at his traumatized neighbor and back at Helga. "At least wait a few hours before resuming the customary roasting."

The room went silent. Lila's hand flew to her mouth, Phoebe straightened abruptly, and Arnold glanced at Gerald in shock.

"Oh my goodness, are you hurt?" Lila was immediately on her feet, guiding Rhonda to the couch.

Phoebe's mind had already shifted to crisis management. "Do you require medical attention? I can call emergency services." Her phone was already in her hand.

"Wait," Helga's voice cut through the chaos, suddenly sharp with realization. "He has your purse? Your wallet? Your ID?" Rhonda collapsed onto the arm of the sofa, yanking off her remaining shoe with a huff.

"Don't worry, of course, my ID picture is immaculate."

"No, that's not the point. Our address was on there," Helga pointed out, rolling her eyes but unable to hide the tension in her shoulders. The implications settled over the room. Lila visibly paled. Gerald froze with that realization.

"You know," Gerald started, with intentions to lighten the mood, "I heard about this guy who got mugged, and then the dude broke into his place later that same week—" He trailed off at the looks he was receiving—"which is... not a helpful thing to say right now."

"I clocked him with my Louboutin, okay?" Rhonda informed them defensively, holding up the remaining shoe like a trophy. "I fought back! I was just... overpowered." The last part came out smaller, less certain than her usual imperious tone.

Helga folded her arms, skeptical but clearly masking concern. "Sure. You scared him so bad he ran off with your $800 purse."

"It was $950, thank you," Rhonda snapped, "and it was a limited edition!"

Arnold, who had been quietly assessing the situation, spoke up with his characteristic calm. "Okay. First things first—you're safe, and that's what matters. Second, we need to call the police, file a report, and maybe start a neighborhood watch."

Helga raised a cynical eyebrow. "Oh great, because the watch on this block is so reliable. I've seen the old lady from 2A ignore a literal car theft."

"Still better than nothing," Gerald shrugged, his usual confidence dimmed but still present.

Phoebe looked up from her phone, glasses reflecting the screen's glow. "I can compile data on neighborhood crime rates and create a patrol schedule based on peak hours of vulnerability."

"Maybe we should stay together for a while," Lila suggested, wringing her hands. "You know... just until we feel... safer?"

"Yeah," Helga agreed, her voice gruff but softer than usual. "No one's staying alone tonight. We'll figure it out." Across the room, Arnold caught Helga's eye – a moment of silent understanding passing between them that felt more significant than either would admit.

In the girl's living room, Gerald was stacking Monopoly money with methodical precision, his fingers moving with the practiced ease of someone who'd been handling the colorful bills since childhood.

Across from him, Lila had carefully arranged her properties in perfect rainbow order, the colors forming a neat gradient that pleased her meticulous sensibilities.

Helga slapped her token down on "Park Place" like it owed her money, the metallic thud punctuating her triumphant grin.

"You really need to start every game by announcing your title like some courtroom wrestler?" Gerald asked, squinting at her with equal parts amusement and exasperation.

Helga's grin only widened, smug satisfaction radiating from her as she straightened her back. "Yes, because I'm Helga G. Pataki, housing attorney at law. If you hear me yell, I'm dropping the law."

"Oh lord, she's doing the tagline again," Rhonda rolled her eyes dramatically, not looking up from her perfectly manicured nails.

"Correction — branding. Gotta keep the legend alive," Helga shot back, leaning back in her chair with the confidence of someone who already knew they'd win.

Lila looked between them, confused but smiling nonetheless, always trying to find joy in their familiar bickering. "Did she just call herself the… what was it, game night? The Landlord Slayer?"

Helga tipped an invisible hat, bowing slightly in her seat. "Tonight, I'm The Barrister of Bedlam."

"Great," Gerald muttered, his face deliberately expressionless. "That means someone's getting sued and flipped over a table."

Phoebe, without looking up from the rulebook:

"Technically, Helga's declaration violates Section 4.3 of the Fair Play Clause—but I suppose precedent has been established unwritten, of course."

From his spot at the edge of the table, Arnold watched the exchange with quiet amusement, his half-lidded eyes betraying the fondness he still carried for their childhood antics. "Remind me never to land on Boardwalk," he spoke softly, his gentle voice somehow cutting through Helga's bombastic declarations.

Their familiar rhythm continued as dice rolled across the board and fortunes changed hands. For a few hours at least, the troubles outside their apartment walls seemed distant and unimportant, lost in the warm glow of friendship that had somehow survived all these years.

Later that night, Phoebe and Gerald were still gone after going with Rhonda to report the incident to the police. Rhonda was finally asleep after a lengthy inventory of everything in her stolen purse, with Lila sleeping in the bed with her. Arnold found Helga in the kitchen, methodically checking the window locks.

"You know," his voice was almost husky, "there's a simple move you can use if someone tries to grab you."

"I don't need a hero, Football Head," she replied automatically, but there was less bite in it than usual. "I've been taking care of myself in this city since before you installed your first light fixture."

Arnold flashed that patient half-smile. "Humor me?"

Something in his tone made her turn to face him. "Fine. Show me this magical mugger defense, then."

He demonstrated a simple wrist break, his movements precise but gentle. "It's all about using their momentum against them."

Helga scoffed, but to his surprise, she mirrored the movement, her form nearly perfect on the first try. "Like this?"

Arnold winced a little when Helga twisted his wrists a bit too hard. "Exactly like that," he said, genuine admiration in his voice. Arnold shook his wrists. "Maybe a bit too accurate," She smirked at that. For a moment, they stood in the quiet kitchen, something undefined shifting in the air between them.

Helga cleared her throat. "Well, not bad advice for once, Shortman," she admitted, turning back to the window. "Though I still think a good right hook works just as well."

"I have no doubt," Arnold raised his hands in a playful gesture. "But don't practice on me."

Helga huffed in a jokey way. "Next thing you know, you'll be giving me flower arranging lessons, too."

Despite the tension from earlier events, Arnold flashed a wide grin. "Only if you promise not to throw the vase at me," He let out a soft laugh, reaching past her to test the lock himself. His arm brushed hers, and neither pulled away as quickly as they might have before.

Outside, the city continued its nighttime hum, oblivious to the small but significant changes happening inside apartment 3A.

The following night, the trio was still a little on edge. Rhonda stayed vigilant (but still complained about the purse and her slightly chipped heel), Lila kept checking the locks nervously, and Helga pretended not to care but kept glancing at the windows.

But since previous nights with the men over had been relatively peaceful, only the occasional siren booming by, the ladies went to their respective rooms to sleep without their male neighbors.

Suddenly, Helga heard a loud crack coming from another part of the apartment. She sat up right away, her eyes spotting the time—3 AM. Helga grabbed the bat she always had by the side of her bed. After hearing another crash coming from the kitchen, she tiptoed into the hallway, letting out a gasp when she bumped into Rhonda and Lila.

"Someone's in here," Lila squeaked too loudly.

"No shit Sherlock."

"What a perfect time for you two's alarm-setting incompetence..." Rhonda whispered.

"Ours?" Helga couldn't help but say.

Despite the bickering, Rhonda, holding a huge dictionary, immediately shot Helga a confident eye squint.

As they drifted into the living room, Lila tried to pick up the heaviest item she could and nearly toppled over, making a loud thud that the invaders could probably hear.

Helga got into a warrior stance, and Rhonda crept behind her with her thick glossary in hand.

When the uninvited guests ran and broke the glass in the window to escape, Lila screeched. "Oh no! I'm getting out of here!" The redhead sprinted out the door, hollering so loud that it caused some other tenants to come out into the hallway. Rhonda and Helga trailed behind her, their respective weapons still in hand.

Helga jumped ahead of Lila and banged on the door. "This is an emergency; get your pants on, Gerald!

Arnold came to the door with a shirt, hair a mess, and eyes sleepy but wide.

He wordlessly stepped aside to let them in.

The brown skin man emerged from his bedroom, rubbing his eyes. "What's all the commotion?" He blinked at the bat in Helga's hand. "Oh...damn."

"What happened?" Arnold asked, grabbing a shirt to bring over his head. Helga's eyes took the brief moment to admire his bare chest. She caught herself and looked away quickly.

"We want to hit up Gerald Field for old time's sake..." Helga deadpanned. "We were just robbed. What do you think?"

Gerald picked up his phone. "I'm calling the police."

Arnold frowned and patted Lila on the back, who clutched onto him for dear life. He gestured towards the couch. "Come, have a seat."

Helga set the bat down by the door and, with folded arms, dropped down onto the cushion, with Lila following suit.

Rhonda's wrists were lightly limp as her eyes judged the place. It had been a while since she'd set foot in here—on purpose.

"They said they're sending someone soon," Gerald announced to the gang, then eyed the raven-haired woman. "Rhonda, we don't have cooties." His tone was dry, familiar.

She smirked faintly, refusing to meet his gaze directly. "I would give my critique on the outdated decor, but…" She bit her bottom lip and grabbed one of their pillows, clinging to it dramatically. "I could have died. This incident could have been the end of me."

Helga huffed. "They clearly wanted our worldly possessions, not your precious life, Princess," but her voice had a different edge to it than normally. She skimmed around at everyone present. "Great, the one person who can build us a taser out of a toaster is still counting sheep as we speak."

Gerald cleared his throat. "Actually, Phoebe's usually up at this time. She has a whole early bird routine to prepare for her shift and her days off." Eight pairs of eyes gawked at him for a second. He sheepishly grinned and shrugged, recovering with his usual cool demeanor. "Anyway, someone should call her."

Helga hopped to her feet and pulled open their window all the way as it faced Phoebe's bedroom. "PHOEBE!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.

"You know, I didn't mean it that way, Pataki." Gerald chuckled.

Rhonda still had her ears covered. "Ugh, Helga, must you yell out the window like low-class swine?" Helga, with a smirk, motioned towards the window where they could see Phoebe's demure figure opening her curtains and waving.

"Well, I suppose that was ever so efficient," Lila mumbled, still recovering from the break-in.

Rhonda was still rubbing her ears. "Next time, just send a carrier pigeon. It'll be less traumatic."

Arnold opened the door and walked in, Phoebe with a homemade flashlight/taser in hand. She naturally moved to the spot next to Gerald, their shoulders slightly brushing before he made room for her.

Helga smirked proudly, shaking her head. "See, my Pheebs is always prepared."

"She sure is..." Gerald blurted out and covered his mouth. Phoebe peeked up at him behind her glasses, her olive skin now a little pinkest.

Hours went by, and the gang had long gone back to the girl's apartment; they were all almost dozing off when a loud knock came on the door.

Helga marched over to the door with her fists at her sides. She checked the peephole and then flung open the door. "It's about damn time."

"Right, what took you officers so long?" Rhonda came by Helga's side, demanding.

"We had a nearby homicide we had to get to first." The lady cop pointed out flatly.

"Well," Lila stood up, straightening her skirt. "We're happy you're here now. It was such a frightening experience."

The slightly stocky cop went over to Gerald and Arnold, who looked perplexed and stared at his notepad. "So tell us what happened."

Helga dramatically cleared her throat. "Excuse me? Those guys don't live here. It's the three of us who were in here fighting for our lives."

The cop turned to Helga and nodded respectfully. "Well, then go ahead and give me the details." Helga, Rhonda, and Lila each gave their take.

"Can you describe the criminals physically, like what they were wearing?" the woman officer requested, her eyes fixed on her pad.

Rhonda stroked her chin. "I can't be specific about their outfits, but they were hideous."

Helga rolled her eyes. "You want a description? Just imagine my sixth-grade science projects... but with bony legs."

Lila straightened her posture. "They had... um... dark hoodies, I think?"

Phoebe took off her specs to clean them and put them back on. "I wasn't on the premises, but I would estimate that Lila's description is the most accurate, as most burglars, data-driven research-wise, do tend to wear dark clothing."

"Well, try to compile a list of all the items stolen, and will file a report."

"File a report?" Rhonda placed her hands on her hips. "That's it? You should be on the hunt to detain those misfits."

The female officer, writing on her notepad, said, " Given the information, that's all we can do for now."

The male cop gestured in agreement. "Make sure you keep your doors and windows locked at all times. These criminals usually return for the things they didn't get."

"Have a good day, everyone," his partner monotonously expressed, ending the interaction.

The officers had barely closed the door behind them when Helga's frustration finally boiled over. She began slow clapping with exaggerated movements.

"Everyone give a round of applause to Hillwood's finest law enforcement." She rubbed her temples once the door was closed behind them. "Unbelievable."

"Did you hear what they said?" Rhonda unexpectedly grabbed Lila's arm, who returned the gesture. "They might return to get more of our stuff."

"Fantastic. Maybe next time, they'll steal the rest of your shoe collection, Princess." Helga paced the living room floor, her agitation growing with each step. She suddenly stopped, turning to face the group with a determined expression. "So... I've been thinking. Maybe we should get a gun."

The room went silent. Everyone froze, exchanging uneasy glances.

Gerald was the first to recover, tilting his head with skepticism. "Okay. I didn't realize we were jumping straight to Die Hard 3 tonight."

"I'm serious," Helga insisted, eyes narrowed. "You saw what happened. What if next time, the dudes don't run? What if it's more than useless furniture?"

Lila wrung her hands nervously. "I don't mean to sound like a pacifist cliché, but wouldn't something non-lethal be safer? Like... a Taser or one of those panic alarms?" She looked around the room with concern in her eyes. "I just don't want anyone getting hurt. Including us."

Rhonda, still clutching her pillow defensively, suddenly sat straighter. "I don't trust half of Hillwood with sharp objects, let alone a firearm. But if anyone's getting one, it should be me. I have excellent aim. Gold medals in archery." She paused dramatically. "Summer camp. 2010."

Phoebe adjusted her glasses, her mind already calculating the risks. "Statistically speaking, having a firearm in the home increases the risk of accidental injury or escalation during a crisis, especially in high-stress environments. Not to mention, you'd have to meet very specific storage and licensing requirements under city ordinance."

Helga sighed heavily, crossing her arms. "So what? We just rely on a baseball bat and hope whoever breaks in next time is allergic to adrenaline?"

Arnold, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up, his voice calm but firm. "No one's saying don't protect yourselves. But introducing a gun into this apartment, especially when tensions are already high, that's not protection. That's pressure. You think it'll make you feel safer, but it's more complicated than that."

Helga stared at him for a long beat, something shifting in her expression. "You think I can't handle complicated?"

Arnold met her gaze, his tone gentler now, his voice softened, though his resolve remained unwavering. "I think you've been handling everything alone for a long time. But we're not twelve anymore, Helga. You've got people around you now. And there are other ways."

Lila nodded eagerly, relief washing over her features. "We could start a self-defense class. Or a rotating check-in system for everyone in the building. I mean, we live in a community, right?"

Gerald leaned back in his seat, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Can I just say I'm glad y'all are this intense after being robbed? Makes me wonder what you'd be like during an actual zombie apocalypse."

"Speak for yourself," Rhonda sniffed, examining her nails. "I've been this intense since 2001."

"Fine. No gun," Helga finally muttered, slumping onto the arm of the sofa. "But if anyone even looks at me wrong on the street, I'm cracking skulls."

A faint smile tugged at Arnold's lips. "That... I believe."

Gerald's eyes moved swiftly back and forth between them, catching the undercurrent. "Cracking skulls," he mocked. "Who are you now—Vernon from The Breakfast Club?"

Phoebe smirked behind her glasses, and though Helga scoffed, there was a hint of amusement breaking through her frustration.

Moving forward, Arnold went to work installing an extra lock on both doors and an upgraded alarm system. Once he was done, he turned to the girls, who were quietly sitting in the living room. "I think this should help. But I'm still organizing the neighborhood watch."

The fumes from the nail polish Rhonda was carefully applying filled the room. "That sounds like a plan. Sign me up."

Arnold looked shocked but also impressed. Helga snorted. "Those chemicals in that polish must be attacking your brain cells. Because you getting involved in something bigger than yourself."

"Oh, shut up, Helga, you don't know what it is like to have your life flash before your eyes."

"It would be ever so helpful if you and Gerald stayed here with us, " Lila politely requested before Helga could retort.

Gerald sighed from his position on the couch. "Ladies, we've been here for a few nights already—"

"—except the night we were burglarized." Lila uncharacteristically cut in.

"And we have to think of our place, too," Gerald persisted without hesitancy. "I mean, someone can be breaking into our apartment right now." He tilted his head at Arnold and opened the door to step out into the hallway. Despite his attitude, he was secretly thrilled when Rhonda finally added him to the group chat.

Arnold picked up his toolbox and followed behind Gerald, but paused at the entry. "Any of you ladies want to walk us back upstairs?" They all lightly grimaced, and Arnold grinned. "No worries; we should be fine, " he said, closing up behind him.

Lila ran to the door, closed up, and the system beeped as she set it.

"Wait," Phoebe said, standing up. "I'm exiting, too."

To everyone's surprise, Lila let out a heavy, impatient groan but covered that with a tight smile as she repeated the task of letting her friend out.

Phoebe's parting words before she vacated were, "Call or text me if you need anything."

Lila rushed to seal everything again and then turned to her roommates. "Can we all sleep in the living room?"

"No," Helga voiced too aggressively and then softened her tone. "We are not letting these losers change our lives."

"Too late, they already have..." Rhonda motioned with her hands toward the deadbolt.

Much later, after the others had finally drifted into a fitful sleep, Lila heard a faint noise. She tiptoed into Helga's room, shaking her awake.

"I think someone's in the apartment again," she whispered.

Helga wordlessly snatched up her bat.

"Not again," Lila breathed down Helga's neck, wringing her hands.

"Shhh..." Helga hushed, stalking into the hallway, bat at the ready, silent and poised. "To protect the sheep, you must become a wolf" — a line she'd shamelessly borrowed and remixed from one of their recent movie nights of Training Day.

Through the shadowy kitchen, they spotted a figure moving — more silhouette than shape, lit only by the city's faint glow through the blinds.

A loud bang — the clatter of pots and pans — shattered the stillness.

Lila shrieked and fled, setting off the alarm as she dashed out the door.

At the same moment, Rhonda burst from the kitchen, wailing, "Someone's in our house!"

Helga swung her bat up defensively. "Who's in the kitchen?!"

"I was!" Rhonda yelled, wielding two pots like weapons.

Gerald and Arnold charged in, with Lila close behind.

"Everything okay?" Arnold scanned the room like a soldier on high alert.

Helga puffed out her cheeks and dropped the bat onto the sofa. "False alarm. Little Bo-peep set off the alarm when she bolted." She yawned at the end.

Lila peeked out from behind Arnold. "There was somebody in here."

Helga crossed her arms. "It was just Rhonda stuffing her face."

Rhonda twirled the ends of her hair defensively. "Well, all these treacherous events made my appetite spike. I was going to cook something for everyone."

Helga shot her a withering look. "Sure you were."

Without missing a beat, Rhonda clutched her pots and marched back into the kitchen — a warrior headed for a buffet.

Gerald ran a hand down his face, exhausted. "Man... I'm too tired for all this drama."

Arnold let out a faint laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "At least this time, it was just Rhonda and not an actual burglar."

"Yeah," Gerald muttered. "Unless Rhonda's planning to steal all the snacks we stocked up. In which case, we are under attack."

"Very funny," She snapped, pulling open cabinets with more force than necessary.

Lila squeezed her hands and looked at Helga. "Maybe we really should... sleep out here. Just in case."

Helga rolled her eyes but dragged a pillow from the couch anyway. "Fine. But if one of you drools, you're getting evicted."

"Then start packing, Pataki." Rhonda blasted back, closing the cabinets loudly.

Arnold smiled mildly, watching them settle awkwardly around the living room. "You sure you all will be okay?" He hovered by the door.

Helga shrugged. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Gerald sucked his teeth. "You really wanna ask that tonight?"

Arnold gave a short, sleepy laugh. "Lock the door behind us."

"We will," Helga promised, grabbing the bat and setting it beside her like a security blanket.

"Update the group chat if you need us." He said to all of them, and then his mouth curled up more with his gaze on the spotless floor. "And Helga, if anything happens, use that technique I taught you."

Then Arnold's right eye twitched at her, and Helga shifted with a frown.

Wait — did he just wink at her? It wouldn't be the first time... but she couldn't tell if he did or if he was having a sleep-deprived eye problem.

But now wasn't the time to dive into that rabbit hole.

With a small knock on their door, he was gone, and following that, Helga jogged over to shut them in and set the alarm.

After that, all three huddled under a thin throw blanket, pots, books, and a bat, all close at hand.

The apartment creaked again, but this time, they didn't run.

They just stared at the door.

Wide-eyed.

Waiting.

But with a text in the group chat, they collectively exhaled — it was just Phoebe, heading over after hearing the sirens outside.

Helga grunted, sliding her phone across the couch. "At least someone outside of this building got our backs."

Lila sprang up to let her in, already halfway to the door. Phoebe arrived in sleepwear and slippers, flashlight still tucked under one arm. The freckle-faced girl pulled the analytical one into a quick, grateful hug, and Helga smiled — the genuine kind.

One corner of Rhonda's glossy lips curled upward. Without a word, she lifted the blanket in invitation.

Phoebe slipped underneath, and somehow, the room felt a little safer.

A little warmer.

And closer.

Chapter Text

Episode 8A: "The Decision "

"...and the way she explained the cosmic microwave background radiation—it was like poetry, man." Gerald gestured animatedly, eyes bright with enthusiasm as he and Arnold jogged through Hillwood Park. "Did you know we're basically seeing the universe as it was billions of years ago? Like, actual baby pictures of existence?"

Arnold, struggling to keep pace with his friend's suddenly energetic stride, managed a breathless reply. "That's... great... Gerald. Maybe... slow down... a bit?"

Gerald, finally noticing Arnold's reddened face, slowed to a more reasonable pace. "Sorry. Got carried away."

"I noticed," Arnold commented dryly, gratefully adjusting to the more manageable speed. "So the planetarium was good?"

"Good? It was incredible," Gerald enthused. "Phoebe knows everyone who works there. We got a behind-the-scenes tour of the research facilities. They let me touch an actual meteorite!"

"Sounds like a date," Arnold observed casually.

Gerald's expression shifted immediately. "It wasn't... It was just two friends enjoying some educational recreation together."

"Educational recreation," Arnold repeated skeptically. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"Very funny," Gerald retorted. "Seriously, it wasn't like that. We had a good time, learned some things, grabbed coffee after. Totally casual."

"And now you can't stop talking about it three days later," Arnold pointed out. "Very casual."

Gerald opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again, his pace slowing further as they rounded the duck pond. "Okay, so maybe I enjoyed her company. That doesn't ... uh... mean anything."

"Of course not," Arnold agreed, not even attempting to hide his smile. "Just like you texting her about that astronomy documentary you found doesn't mean anything. Or you suddenly having opinions about theoretical physics."

"I'm expanding my intellectual horizons," Gerald defended.

"Uh-huh," Arnold nodded. "And the fact that you turned down that date with what's-her-name from the network..."

"Melissa," Gerald supplied. "And that was because I'm busy with the Hillwood Heights story. Big investigative piece."

"Right," Arnold pretended to accept this explanation. "Nothing to do with a certain someone who wears blue-rimmed glasses and uses words like 'quantum entanglement' in casual conversation."

Gerald abruptly stopped running, forcing Arnold to halt beside him. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

Arnold considered his friend carefully. Gerald's defensiveness spoke volumes. "I'm suggesting that maybe—just maybe—you're developing real feelings for Phoebe. And maybe that scares you."

"I'm not scared," Gerald scoffed, though his expression suggested otherwise.

"Gerald," Arnold said gently, "you've been my best friend since we were four years old. I know you. And I know that any time you get close to something real with someone, you find a reason to bail."

"That's not—" Gerald started, then sighed, dropping onto a nearby bench. "Okay, fine. Maybe I'm a little... concerned."

Arnold sat beside him, waiting patiently for him to continue.

"Phoebe's different," Gerald eventually owned up to. "She's not just some random woman I met at a bar or through work. She's... Phoebe. She's been in our lives forever. She matters."

"Which is exactly why it could be something special," Arnold pointed out.

"Or exactly why it could be a disaster," Gerald countered. "What if we date and it goes badly? What if I screw it up like I always do? We couldn't just walk away and never see each other again. It would affect everything—our friend group, our living situation, you and Helga's weird whatever-it-is you've got going on."

"First of all, Helga and I don't have a 'whatever-it-is' going on," Arnold protested, though his reddening face betrayed him. "And second, yes, there's risk involved. But isn't she worth that risk? Remember how I always said I should have told Denise how I felt before she transferred? Don't make the same mistake I did."

Gerald stared out at the pond, uncharacteristically serious. "That's what scares me the most," he revealed quietly. "I think she might be."

---

The Hillwood Chronicle newsroom buzzed with activity—reporters hunched over keyboards, editors shouting across cubicles, the police scanner crackling in the background. In the midst of it all, Gerald sat at his desk, staring at a half-written article about city council budget allocations, his mind decidedly elsewhere.

"Johanssen!" His editor's voice cut through his thoughts. "Where's that piece on the Heights development? Deadline's tomorrow."

"Working on it, chief," Gerald called back automatically, quickly switching screens to the investigation he was supposed to be focused on.

The Hillwood Heights development controversy had been brewing for months—a massive luxury apartment complex planned for a historically diverse neighborhood threatened to displace hundreds of long-time residents. It was exactly the kind of story Gerald had become known for: issues that affected real people, especially in communities that often went overlooked by the mainstream press.

Normally, he'd be all in, working his contacts, digging through public records, piecing together the connections between developers and city officials. Today, however, he kept finding himself distracted by thoughts of dark eyes behind glasses and conversations about stars.

His phone lit up with a text—not from Phoebe, but from Arnold: Don't forget, dinner at the girls' place tonight—7 p.m.

Gerald had completely forgotten . Movie night. Everyone would be there, including Phoebe. His stomach did a strange little flip at the thought.

Thanks for the reminder. Working late, but I'll be there, he replied.

Forcing his attention back to the Heights story, Gerald pulled up his notes from yesterday's community meeting. Helga had been there too, he remembered, representing some of the tenants facing eviction. She'd been in rare form, tearing into the developers' attorney with precision and barely contained fury. Gerald smiled at the memory. For all her sharp edges, Helga Pataki was a force for good when she set her mind to something.

His phone rang—a local number he didn't recognize.

"Gerald Johanssen," he projected professionally.

"Mr. Johanssen, this is Meredith Blake from BNN National News," came a crisp, authoritative voice.

Gerald sat up straighter, putting on his business-like voice. BNN was the biggest news network in the country. "Yes, Ms. Blake. What can I do for you?"

"I've been following your coverage of the Hillwood Heights development," she said. "It's impressive work. Very thorough."

"Thank you," Gerald responded, genuinely surprised. His pieces in the Chronicle hardly seemed likely to catch the attention of a national news executive.

"We're expanding our investigative unit," Blake continued, "looking for journalists with both sharp reporting skills and on-camera presence. Your name came up through a mutual connection."

Gerald's mind raced. "I'm flattered, but—"

"We'd like you to come to New York next week for an interview," Blake interrupted. "If things go well, we'd be looking at a correspondent position with our investigative team. National coverage, significant resources, and, of course, a substantial increase in compensation."

Gerald's breath caught. This was the kind of opportunity journalists dreamed about—the big leagues, national stories, real impact.

"I... that sounds amazing," he managed. "I'd be very interested in learning more."

"Excellent," Blake offered, sounding pleased. "I'll have my assistant email you the details. Plan for a three-day trip—we'd like to have you meet the team and do a screen test in our studio."

"Of course," Gerald agreed. "Thank you for the opportunity."

"Your work speaks for itself, Mr. Johanssen. We'll see you next week."

As the call ended, Gerald sat stunned, staring at his phone. BNN National News. A correspondent position. New York.

New York. Far from Hillwood. Far from his friends. Far from Phoebe.

The thought cut through his excitement like a knife. What timing—just as he was beginning to consider the possibility of something real with Phoebe, an opportunity that would take him across the country lands in his lap.

It was the story of his life, really. Always at a crossroads, always choosing between different versions of his future.

His editor's voice jolted him from his thoughts again. "Earth to Johanssen! Conference room, five minutes. The mayor's office called about your public records request."

"Right," Gerald lifted his chin, pushing thoughts of BNN and Phoebe aside. "I'll be right there."

He had a job to do. The rest would have to wait.

---

"I'm just saying that a robot vacuum that only works on Thursday afternoons between 2 and 4 PM defeats the entire purpose of automated cleaning," Helga explained as Arnold and Gerald entered the girls' apartment that evening. If I have to schedule my life around a machine, it might as well be a regular vacuum that doesn't try to eat my socks."

"But it's ever so cute when it beeps and returns to its charging station," Lila lightly proposed her opinion. "Like a little pet that cleans."

"A pet that costs three hundred dollars and does a worse job than a broom," Helga retorted.

Rhonda sprawled elegantly across the couch and looked up from her phone. "You two have been arguing about this vacuum for twenty minutes. Can we please move on to more important topics? Like whether Ryan Reynolds is aging backwards?"

"The vampire theory does have statistical merit," Phoebe reported from her position at the kitchen counter, where she was arranging snacks with geometric precision. She glanced up as the door closed behind Arnold and Gerald, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. "Oh! You're here."

"Sorry we're late," Arnold apologized. "Someone spent forty-five minutes deciding what to wear for movie night." He nudged Gerald pointedly.

"Fashion is a form of self-expression," Gerald defended, straightening his carefully selected casual-but-not-too-casual button-down. His eyes met Phoebe's briefly before both looked away.

"Finally!" Rhonda exclaimed. "But at least one of you is fashionable late." Arnold narrowed his eyes at her. "Now, we can start the movie before I die of old age."

Gerald finally noticed the new lock on their door. "Nice Fort Knox impression you've got going here," he commented.

Helga stretched her arms up at her position in her chair. "After uninvited guests decide to pay a midnight visit, you get serious about security," Helga replied dryly.

Gerald chuckled. "Yeah, Arnold is turning into a madman trying to upgrade all the locks in the building."

His oldest friend smirked while getting settled onto the floor near Helga's armchair, and she gave him a quick brow raise. "Not planning any surprise wrist-breaking demonstrations tonight, are you, Football Head?"

"Only if someone tries to steal the remote,'" Arnold replied with a ghost of a smile, a private joke that left Gerald wondering what he'd missed. "What are we watching?"

"'Pride and Prejudice,'" Lila answered happily. "The six-hour BBC version."

"The what now?" Gerald's eyes widened in alarm.

"Relax, Geraldo," Helga drummed her finger on the armrest. "We compromised on the 2005 version. A mere two hours of your life sacrificed to British literature."

"I still voted for 'Die Hard,'" Rhonda muttered.

"You'll survive the culture exposure," Helga assured her, then turned to Gerald. "Grab a seat, tall-haired boy. The Jane Austen Express is leaving the station."

Rhonda huffed and scrolled through her phone, occasionally glancing toward the window at every distant sound. For all her casual posturing, Gerald noticed she'd positioned herself with a clear view of both exits.

He faltered, his gaze darting between the empty spot on the couch beside Rhonda and the kitchen where Phoebe was still arranging snacks.

"I'll, uh, help Phoebe with the food," he decided, moving toward the kitchen.

"Need a hand?" he offered, stepping beside her.

"Oh! Thank you, but I have a system," Phoebe replied, gesturing to the meticulously organized snack platters. "Sweet items on the left, savory on the right, in ascending order of sodium content."

Gerald's eyes glowed fondly. "Of course you do."

"How was work today?" Phoebe asked, carefully placing the last honey-roasted peanut in its designated position.

Gerald bit his lip, wavering. The BNN offer wasn't something he was ready to discuss yet, not before he'd processed it himself. "Busy," he spoke instead. "Working on the Heights development story."

"Ah yes, the investigation Helga is also involved with," Phoebe nodded. "She mentioned your coverage has been quite thorough and factually accurate, which from Helga constitutes high praise indeed."

"I'm honored," Gerald laughed. "And how about you? Any interesting findings in the lab that might save lives?"

"My current research is more focused on preventing future illnesses than addressing immediate conditions," Phoebe clarified, "but I did successfully identify a promising biomarker for early detection of—" She stopped herself, adjusting her glasses self-consciously. "I'm boring you with medical jargon."

"Not at all," Gerald assured her sincerely. "I like hearing you talk about your work. You get this spark in your eyes when you're explaining something you're passionate about."

Phoebe's cheeks colored slightly. "Oh. Well, that's... that's very kind of you to say."

An awkward silence fell between them, filled with unspoken words and uncertain glances.

"Hey, Brain Trust and Tall Hair Boy!" Helga called from the living room. "The movie's starting and Rhonda's threatening to give away the ending if we don't hurry up!"

"We should join the others," Phoebe blurted out, picking up one of the trays.

"Right," He decided, grabbing the second tray and following her to the living room.

The seating had rearranged in their absence. Arnold now occupied the couch between Rhonda and Lila, leaving the loveseat conspicuously empty. Gerald shot Arnold a look that clearly communicated, "I know what you're doing," but his friend merely smiled innocently.

With no other option that wouldn't seem obviously avoidant, Gerald settled onto the loveseat, leaving a respectful distance for Phoebe to join him. She did so with mindful precision, balancing her snack plate on her lap and sitting perfectly upright.

As the movie began, Gerald found himself acutely aware of Phoebe beside him—the faint scent of her cedarwood shampoo, the way she leaned forward slightly during dialogue-heavy scenes and the small smile that appeared when Mr. Darcy first entered the frame.

Between them, on the narrow space of cushion separating their bodies, lay Gerald's phone—and with it, the email from BNN confirming his interview in New York next week. A future of national reporting, bigger stories, wider impact... and distance from whatever might be developing between him and Phoebe.

On-screen, Elizabeth Bennet misjudged Mr. Darcy based on first impressions and assumptions. Gerald wondered if he, too, was at risk of misjudging something important based on fear and preconceptions.

Across the room, he caught Arnold watching him with a glint in his eyes, glimpsing meaningfully between Gerald and Phoebe. Gerald resisted the urge to throw a pillow at his best friend's irritatingly perceptive face.

Instead, he allowed himself to relax a bit, his arm extending along the back of the loveseat—not quite around Phoebe's shoulders, but close enough that she might lean back against it if she chose to. It was a small step, but one that left the possibility open.

To his surprise, halfway through the movie, she did just that.

---

"Admit it, you enjoyed it," Helga challenged Gerald as the credits rolled.

"It wasn't terrible," Gerald relented. "Though I maintain there was room for at least one explosion."

"The emotional explosions were metaphorical yet powerful," Lila suggested earnestly.

"See? Lila gets it," Helga gestured appreciatively toward her roommate.

During the film, the group gradually shifted positions. Rhonda now stretched across the armchair, scrolling through her phone while occasionally glancing at the screen. Lila had moved to the floor, sitting cross-legged near Arnold, both of them fully invested in the story. Helga had maintained her air of detached amusement, though Gerald had caught her looking suspiciously misty-eyed during the final proposal scene.

Most significantly, Phoebe had remained leaning against Gerald's arm, gradually relaxing until her head occasionally brushed his shoulder. Neither had acknowledged this development, but neither had moved away either.

"Anyone want tea?" Lila offered, standing and straightening her shoulders. "I'm putting the kettle on."

"I should actually get my beauty sleep," Rhonda announced, checking her watch. "Early client meeting tomorrow. Very high-profile. Can't say who, but their last name may or may not be on a building."

"How mysterious," Helga deadpanned. "I'm sure we'll never crack that elaborate code."

As Rhonda gathered her things and retreated to her bedroom, Lila disappeared into the kitchen with Arnold following to help with the tea. Helga became engrossed in her phone, leaving Gerald and Phoebe in a moment of relative privacy on the loveseat.

"Did you really enjoy the movie?" Phoebe questioned softly.

"Yeah, I did," Gerald sounded genuine. "The guy had game, I'll give him that. That rain scene? Classic move."

Phoebe laughed with gentleness. "I don't think Mr. Darcy's confession of love in the rain was a calculated 'move,' as you put it."

"That's what made it work," Gerald pointed out. "It was genuine. Unplanned. Just two people finally being honest with each other."

Something in his tone caused Phoebe to look at him more closely. "That is the narrative turning point," she agreed. "When pretense falls away, and authentic communication occurs."

Their eyes met, and Gerald felt a familiar flutter in his chest—the same sensation he'd experienced at the planetarium when Phoebe had excitedly explained the life cycle of stars, her eyes bright with passion for knowledge.

"Phoebe," he began reluctantly. “I... I think I’m falling for—”

"Tea's ready!" Lila asserted cheerfully, returning with a tray of steaming mugs. Arnold followed with a plate of cookies, giving Gerald an apologetic look for the interruption.

The moment broken, Phoebe shifted somewhat away from Gerald, accepting a mug from Lila with a polite smile. "Thank you. Green tea with honey is perfect."

"Gerald, I made you the chamomile," Lila explained, handing him a mug. "It's ever so relaxing before bedtime."

"Thanks," Gerald replied, trying not to show his frustration at the timing.

As the conversation shifted to weekend plans, Gerald found himself only half-listening, his mind replaying the interrupted moment with Phoebe. What had he been about to say? Even he wasn't entirely sure—only that something was building between them, something that demanded acknowledgment.

But there was also BNN. New York. A career opportunity that could change everything.

His phone vibrated with a new email—more details about the trip from Blake's assistant. Three days in New York, meetings with the executive team, a tour of the studios—it was really happening.

"Gerald?" Arnold's voice broke through his thoughts. "You okay, man? You zoned out there."

"Yeah, just work stuff," Gerald informed, pocketing his phone. "Sorry, what were we talking about?"

"The community picnic this weekend," Lila explained. "The one raising money for the new playground equipment?"

"Right," Gerald nodded. "Yeah, sounds great."

"You'll be covering it for the Chronicle, correct?" Phoebe inquired.

"Actually, I might be out of town," Gerald revealed before he could stop himself. "Potentially. Not sure yet."

This caught everyone's attention. "Out of town, where?" Helga wanted to interrogate more, eyebrow raised.

Gerald froze, feeling abruptly on the spot. "Uh, New York. Possibly. For a... work thing."

"A work thing," Arnold repeated slowly, clearly sensing there was more to the story.

"It's nothing definite yet," Gerald informed them quickly. "Just an interview. No big deal."

"An interview in New York sounds like kind of a big deal," Helga observed.

Phoebe was watching him with an unreadable demeanor. "What position are you interviewing for?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

Gerald sighed, knowing there was no avoiding it now. "BNN National News. They're interested in me for their investigative team. As a correspondent."

There was a collective intake of breath from the group.

"BNN? That's incredible, Gerald!" Lila exclaimed.

"Major leagues, Geraldo," Helga looked genuinely impressed. "Not bad."

"Thanks," Gerald replied, unable to fully enjoy their reactions, with Phoebe's unexpectedly still face fixed in his peripheral vision.

"When would you start?" Arnold posed the question Gerald had been avoiding.

He scratched behind his ear, considering how much he wanted to tell. "If I got the position—and that's a big if—they'd want me to relocate within a month."

"Relocate," Phoebe repeated softly. "To New York."

"It's just an interview," Gerald emphasized, not sure who he was trying to reassure more—Phoebe or himself. "Nothing's decided."

"Well, I think it's ever so exciting," Lila declared optimistically. "Though we'd all miss you terribly, of course."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Gerald said. "Like I said, it's just an interview."

But the mood had changed. Something tentative and newborn that had been growing between him and Phoebe seemed to have retreated behind a veil of uncertainty.

The conversation moved on to other topics, but the ease of earlier had disappeared. Phoebe was quieter, her responses more measured. Gerald felt a growing hollowness in his chest, a sense that something important was slipping away before it had even fully formed.

When it came time to leave, Arnold tactfully engaged Helga and Lila in conversation about the community center plans, creating another brief moment of privacy as Gerald and Phoebe stood by the door.

"Phoebe," he began, vacillating. "About the BNN thing—"

"It's a remarkable opportunity," she interjected, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "You should be very proud."

"I haven't decided anything," he assured her. "It's just an interview."

"Decisions should be based on a comprehensive evaluation of potential outcomes and alignment with long-term objectives," Phoebe replied, slipping into her more formal speech pattern that Gerald recognized as a defense mechanism. "Your career advancement is a logical priority."

"It's not just about career," Gerald said carefully. "There are other... considerations."

Phoebe adjusted her glasses, a gesture Gerald had come to recognize as her gathering her thoughts. "Whatever you decide, I hope it brings you fulfillment and success."

It was a perfectly composed response, polite and supportive. And entirely unsatisfying.

"Phoebe, what I'm trying to say is—"

"Gerald, we should get going," Arnold called, reluctantly breaking the moment. "It's getting late, and you mentioned that early interview tomorrow."

"Right," Gerald nodded, frustration evident in his voice. "We should go."

As they said their goodbyes, Phoebe's handshake was formal, a stark contrast to the comfortable closeness they'd shared on the loveseat earlier. The distance stung more than Gerald expected.

Walking back to their apartment in the cool night air, Arnold waited until they were a block away before speaking. "BNN, huh? That's big, Gerald."

"Yeah," Gerald whispered, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Could be a game-changer."

"And the timing is..." Arnold trailed off meaningfully.

"Complicated," Gerald finished. "I know."

"So what are you going to do?"

Gerald sighed heavily. "I don't know, man. It's BNN. National platform, serious resources, real impact. The kind of opportunity journalists dream about."

"But?" Arnold prompted, knowing his friend well enough to hear the unspoken reservation.

"But I can't stop thinking about Phoebe," Gerald acknowledged. "About what might be starting between us. About what I'd be walking away from before it even begins."

"You could always try long distance," Arnold suggested, though his tone indicated he understood the challenges.

"From opposite coasts? With both our crazy schedules?" Gerald shook his head. "That's not fair to either of us. Especially not at the beginning of something."

They walked in silence for a moment, the streetlights casting long shadows ahead of them.

"You know," Arnold spoke ultimately, "when my parents had the opportunity to continue their work in San Lorenzo permanently, they turned it down."

"That was different," Gerald argued. "They had you to think about."

"True," Arnold accepted. "But my dad told me once that it wasn't just about me. He said that success doesn't mean much if you don't have the right people to share it with."

Gerald mulled this over. "So you think I should turn down BNN if they offer it?"

"I think," Arnold articulated carefully, "that you should figure out what success really looks like for you. And who you want beside you when you achieve it."

As they reached their building, Gerald paused, looking up at the night sky. In the city, only the brightest stars were visible, nothing like the vast cosmic display Phoebe had shown him at the planetarium. Yet even these few distant points of light carried new meaning for him now, viewed through the lens of her passion and knowledge.

"The interview is next week," he said finally. "I should at least go, hear them out."

"Absolutely," Arnold agreed. "You've earned that opportunity."

"But before I go," Gerald continued a new resolve forming, "I need to talk to Phoebe. Really talk to her. No interruptions, no hiding behind work talk."

"Good idea," Arnold nodded approvingly. "Better to be honest about where things stand before you leave."

Gerald took a deep breath. The decision was made: "Tomorrow. I'll talk to her tomorrow."

The universe, it seemed, had other plans.

Gerald's attempt to see Phoebe the next day was thwarted by an emergency at the hospital that kept her working a double shift. His text suggesting coffee when she finished went unanswered until late that night when she apologetically explained she was heading straight home to sleep.

The day after brought its own complications—an unexpected press conference about the Heights development that Gerald couldn't miss, followed by a last-minute assignment to cover a breaking story across town. By the time he was free, Phoebe was already in a research meeting that would run late into the evening.

Each near-miss increased Gerald's frustration and deepened his sense that perhaps the universe was sending him a message. Maybe the timing was wrong. Maybe this was confirmation that his focus should be on the BNN opportunity.

Or maybe, as Arnold suggested when Gerald voiced this theory, the universe wasn't sending messages at all—just creating circumstances that required a little more effort to overcome.

"Since when do you give up this easily?" Arnold challenged as they ate breakfast on the third morning after movie night. "The Gerald Johanssen I know doesn't let a few scheduling conflicts stop him."

"I'm not giving up," Gerald defended. "I'm being realistic. I leave for New York tomorrow. The interview is important. Maybe I should be focusing on that instead of..." he trailed off, waving his hand vaguely.

"Instead of figuring out if you have real feelings for Phoebe?" Arnold finished bluntly.

Gerald sighed, pushing his cereal bowl away. "I know I have feelings for Phoebe. That's not the issue."

"Then what is?"

"Timing. Distance. Career. Take your pick," Gerald replied. "What am I supposed to do? Ask her to start something serious right before I potentially move across the country. Or turn down the career opportunity of a lifetime for a relationship that hasn't even begun yet?"

"Those aren't your only options," Arnold pointed out. "You could be honest with her about how you feel and where things stand. Let her be part of the conversation about what happens next."

"And say what, exactly?" Gerald challenged. "'Hey Phoebe, I think I might be falling for you, but also I might be moving to New York in a month, so... thoughts?'"

"That's actually not a bad start," Arnold mused. "Maybe with a little less sarcasm."

Gerald groaned, sinking back in his chair. "This is exactly why I avoid serious relationships. They're complicated and messy and never have clean, simple solutions."

"Most worthwhile things don't," Arnold replied, echoing their conversation from days earlier. "But that doesn't mean they're not worth pursuing."

Before Gerald could respond, his phone rang—his editor at the Chronicle. "Johanssen," he answered.

"Gerald, how fast can you get to City Hall?" his editor demanded without preamble.

"Fifteen minutes, maybe? Why?"

"The mayor's about to announce an emergency review of the Heights development permit after those documents you uncovered. It's happening right now. I need you there."

"On my way," Gerald replied, already standing and grabbing his jacket. "Text me the details."

As he hung up, he turned to Arnold. "Gotta go. Big break in the Heights story."

"Go," Arnold nodded in understanding. "We'll finish this conversation later."

"Yeah," Gerald agreed, halfway out the door. "Later."

But as he rushed toward City Hall, Gerald wondered if "later" would ever come or if the pattern of near-misses and competing priorities was simply the universe's way of answering his question for him .

---

The press conference was exactly the kind of moment journalists lived for—a direct result of investigative work making a real impact. The documents Gerald had uncovered through public records requests had revealed concerning connections between the development company and several city officials who had fast-tracked the permit process.

Now, with public pressure mounting, the mayor had ordered a complete review and temporarily halted construction. It was a win for the community and a professional triumph for Gerald. As he recorded his standup for the evening news outside City Hall, he felt the unique thrill that came with knowing his work had made a difference.

"Gerald Johanssen, Hillwood Chronicle," he concluded, maintaining his professional composure until the cameraman signaled they'd stopped recording.

"Nice work, Johanssen," his colleague Marcus commented, packing up the camera. "This could be an award-winner if it plays out right."

"The important thing is the construction halt," Gerald replied, though the thought of recognition did cross his mind. Recognition that might boost his chances with BNN.

As the crowd of reporters dispersed, Gerald noticed a familiar figure across the plaza—Helga, surrounded by a group of Heights residents, many of whom were embracing her or shaking her hand enthusiastically. The normally gruff attorney looked almost uncomfortable with the display of gratitude, though she was clearly pleased with the outcome.

Gerald made his way over, catching the tail end of her comments to the group.

"...just a temporary halt, so don't celebrate too much yet," she was cautioning. "But it gives us time to build our case stronger. I'll be in touch with the next steps."

As the residents dispersed, Helga turned and spotted Gerald. "Well, if it isn't the fourth estate's rising star," she remarked. "Nice work with those permits, Geraldo. Your snooping actually paid off for once."

Coming from Helga, this was high praise indeed. "Thanks. Your legal pressure didn't hurt either."

"Dream team," Helga smirked. "The bulldog attorney and the nosy reporter. We should get business cards."

Gerald laughed, then hesitated before asking, "Is Phoebe with you?"

Helga's facial features shifted, becoming more assessing. "No. She's at the hospital until seven. Why?"

"Just wondering," Gerald shrugged, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

"Uh-huh," Helga hummed skeptically. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you're leaving for New York tomorrow and still haven't talked to her about whatever is going on between you two?"

Gerald stared at her in surprise. "How did you—"

"Please," Helga rolled her eyes. "I've known both of you since we were toddlers. You think I can't tell when there's unresolved romantic tension? I'm the queen of unresolved romantic tension."

"There's nothing unresolved," Gerald protested weakly. "We're friends."

"Save it for someone who hasn't watched you two make heart eyes at each other for the past month," Helga retorted. "Look, I'm not one for meddling in other people's love lives—"

Gerald snorted in disbelief.

"—but," Helga continued, ignoring him, "Phoebe is my best friend. And while she'd never say it, this whole BNN thing has her twisted up inside. So whatever you're planning to do, do it soon. She deserves that much."

The blunt assessment hit Gerald like a bucket of cold water. "I've been trying to talk to her," he defended. "Timing hasn't worked out."

"Make the timing work," Helga demanded sharply. "That's what adults do when something matters."

Gerald was about to give his response, but his phone rang—his editor again, no doubt wanting an update on the press conference. "I have to take this," he said apologetically.

"Of course you do," Helga nodded, unsurprised. "Good luck in New York, Geraldo. I mean that."

As Helga walked away, Gerald answered the call, but his mind was still processing her words. Make the timing work. That's what adults do when something matters.

The question was: what mattered most?

Episode: 8B "The Decision"

That question echoed in Gerald's mind for the rest of the day, even as the hours blurred with deadlines and packing.

By the time Gerald finished filing his story, answering his editor's questions, and packing for New York, evening had fallen. His flight was scheduled for 10 AM the next morning, leaving precious little time to resolve anything with Phoebe.

Sitting on his bed, he stared at his phone, thumb hovering over her contact information. What would he even say? How could he start a conversation this important via text?

A knock at his bedroom door interrupted his thoughts. "Come in," he called.

Arnold entered, holding two bottles of root beer—their traditional drink for important conversations since childhood. "Thought you might need this," he said, offering one to Gerald.

"Thanks, man," Gerald accepted the bottle gratefully, taking a long swig. "Pretty obvious I'm overthinking in here, huh?"

"Just a little," Arnold smiled, pulling out Gerald's desk chair and sitting down. "How's the packing going?"

"Done," Gerald gestured to his small suitcase. "Just professional stuff. Three days, in and out."

"And the Phoebe situation?"

Gerald sighed. "Still unresolved. Helga cornered me after the press conference and told me to make the timing work ."

"Sounds like Helga," Arnold chuckled. "Blunt, but usually right."

"Yeah, well, easier said than done," Gerald muttered. "I leave tomorrow morning. She's working late. It's not exactly ideal timing for a heart-to-heart."

"So make a grand gesture," Arnold suggested. "Show up at the hospital. Take her to a late dinner."

"You've been watching too many romantic comedies," Gerald replied, though the idea held appeal. "Besides, we're talking about Phoebe here. She appreciates clear communication and logical planning, not dramatic interruptions to her work schedule."

Arnold considered this. "You're right. Phoebe's not the grand gesture type. But she does value sincerity and directness."

Gerald's phone chimed with a notification. He glanced down to see a text from Phoebe: Finished earlier than expected. Having tea at Bigal's if you're free to talk before your trip.

He stared at the message, heart suddenly racing. " She wants to meet. Now. At Bigal's."

Arnold smiled. "Looks like the universe is giving you that opportunity after all."

"What do I even say to her?" Gerald had a note of panic in his voice.

"The truth," Arnold replied simply. "About how you feel, about New York, about all of it. Phoebe deserves that much."

Gerald nodded slowly, standing and grabbing his jacket. "The truth. Right. I can do that."

"Good luck, man," Arnold offered, clapping him on the shoulder. Whatever happens, at least you won't be wondering 'what if.'" Arnold stroked his chin for a second. "Oh, uh, make sure to update the group chat when you get back." Arnold did a slight shoulder shrug. "After Lila's panic attack the other night when Phoebe was late, we're all a bit more cautious about checking in."

"Got ya,"

---

Bigal's Café was quiet on a weeknight, with just a few patrons scattered among the tables. Gerald paused, looking at his phone, buzzing with yet another notification from the apartment group chat—between Rhonda’s fashion emergencies and Helga’s security updates, it had been pinging nonstop since they’d finally added him after the break-in.

Rhonda: Walking home from the subway... this time in flats and with my pepper spray. But soon, that won't be the case. 😉 I'll keep you ladies and gents posted.

After reading that last one, he silenced his phone just as he spotted Phoebe sitting by the window, a steaming mug of tea in front of her and a medical journal open in her lap.

For a moment, he simply watched her—the way she absently pushed her glasses up when they slipped down her nose, the slight furrow in her brow as she concentrated, the delicate way her fingers turned the pages. How had it taken him so long to recognize what had been in front of him all these years?

Drawing a deep breath, Gerald approached her table. "Is this seat taken?" he asked, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

Phoebe looked up, her expression brightening. "Gerald! No, please join me."

As he sat across from her, an awkward silence fell between them. Both were clearly aware of the unspoken topics hovering in the air.

"How did the press conference go?" Phoebe broke through the quiet. "Helga mentioned there was a significant development."

"The mayor halted construction pending review," Gerald confirmed. "It's a win, at least temporarily."

"That's wonderful," Phoebe smiled genuinely. "Your investigative work made a tangible difference in people's lives."

"Thanks," Gerald beamed, warmed by her praise. "It's why I got into journalism in the first place—to make a difference."

Another silence fell, heavier this time.

"Phoebe—" Gerald began.

"I understand you're leaving for New York tomorrow," Phoebe said simultaneously.

They both stopped, then gave tight-lipped smiles.

"You first," Gerald offered.

Phoebe straightened her eyewear, a gesture Gerald now recognized as her gathering courage. "I merely wanted to wish you good fortune with your interview. BNN would be fortunate to have a journalist of your caliber."

"Thank you," Gerald reacted appreciatively. "That means a lot, coming from you."

"You've worked diligently to develop your craft," Phoebe continued. "Recognition from a national network is well-deserved."

Her words were supportive, but Gerald detected something beneath them—a restraint, a careful distance. This wasn't how he wanted this conversation to go—polite pleasantries and professional encouragement.

"Phoebe," he said suddenly, "I need to talk to you about something important."

She looked at him expectantly, her dark eyes unreadable behind her glasses. "I'm listening."

Gerald took a deep breath. This was it—the moment of truth, quite literally. "These past few weeks, spending time with you—the planetarium, movie night, even just texting about random science stuff I barely understand—it's been great. Really great."

"I've enjoyed our time together as well," Phoebe worded carefully.

"The thing is," Gerald continued, forcing himself to maintain eye contact, "I think there's something happening between us. Something more than just friendship. And I need to know if you feel it too or if I'm just imagining things."

Phoebe's composure wavered just a little, her fingers tightening around her mug. "Your perception isn't inaccurate," she said after a moment, her voice soft but steady. "I've also sensed a shift in our interpersonal dynamic."

Gerald felt a surge of hope, quickly tempered by reality. "But the timing is terrible," he acknowledged. "I'm potentially moving across the country, and you're established here with your research. It's complicated."

"Life frequently is," Phoebe observed a hint of wry humor in her tone.

"The thing is," Gerald pressed on, "I don't want to leave without telling you how I feel. Without exploring what this could be. But I also don't want to start something neither of us can fully commit to."

Phoebe was quiet for a long moment, her analytical mind clearly processing his words. "What are you proposing, precisely?" she finally asked.

It was a fair question—one Gerald had been asking himself repeatedly. "I don't know," he admitted honestly. "I just know that I care about you, Phoebe. As more than a friend. And the thought of moving to New York without ever having told you that feels wrong."

"I appreciate your candor," Phoebe said. "Emotional transparency is invaluable in complex situations."

"But?" Gerald prompted, sensing her hesitation.

"But," she continued carefully, "initiating a romantic relationship immediately prior to geographic separation presents significant challenges. Long-distance relationships have notably high failure rates, particularly in their early stages."

"I know," Gerald acknowledged. "And I wouldn't ask you to put your life on hold for a maybe."

"What would you ask?" Phoebe's question was direct, her gaze steady.

Gerald hadn't expected the conversation to reach this point so quickly. He'd anticipated more dancing around the topic, more hypotheticals. But that wasn't Phoebe's style—direct questions, clear answers.

"I guess I'd ask..." he began, then paused, marshaling his thoughts. "I'd ask if you'd be willing to go on a real date with me. A proper date, not just hanging out as friends. When I get back from New York, before any decisions are made. One night to see what this could be, with all cards on the table."

Phoebe's expression remained unreadable for a moment, then softened slightly. "A controlled experiment to assess potential compatibility without premature commitment. Logical."

Gerald couldn't help but smile. Only Phoebe would describe a date that way. "Exactly. A controlled experiment."

"And after this experiment?" she asked. "If the results are... favorable?"

"Then we talk," Gerald stated seriously. "About New York, about distance, about what we both want. Together. No assumptions, no decisions made alone."

Phoebe considered this, her analytical mind visibly working through the proposal. "That seems reasonable," she finally declared. "A measured approach to an emotionally complex situation."

"Is that a yes?" Gerald felt his heart hammering in his chest.

A small smile curved Phoebe's lips. "Yes, Gerald. When you return from New York, I would be amenable to a formal romantic engagement to evaluate our compatibility beyond friendship."

Gerald broke into a wide grin. "I think that's the most Phoebe way possible of agreeing to a date."

"I am nothing if not consistent," she replied, a hint of mischief in her eyes.

Relief and joy flooded through Gerald. It wasn't a solution to all the complications ahead, but it was a start—an acknowledgment of what they both felt , a commitment to explore it honestly.

"I should warn you," he said, half-joking, "I've been told I'm a pretty great date. You might find yourself scientifically compelled to see me again."

"I shall approach the experience with an appropriately open mind," Phoebe replied primly, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.

As they continued talking, the earlier tension dissolved into something lighter, filled with possibility. They didn't discuss New York again or the uncertainties that lay ahead. Tonight was for acknowledging what had begun between them—tomorrow's challenges would come soon enough.

When they finally left Bigal's an hour later, Gerald walked Phoebe to her car, their steps slow as if neither wanted the evening to end.

"Safe travels tomorrow," Phoebe said as they reached her vehicle. "Though I'm confident you'll impress BNN thoroughly."

"Thanks," Gerald replied. "I'll text you when I get there."

An awkward moment followed—should he hug her? Shake hands? The uncertainty of this new territory between friendship and something more left him uncharacteristically hesitant.

Phoebe solved the dilemma by rising slightly on her toes and placing a quick, soft kiss on his cheek. "Good night, Gerald," she said quietly, a blush coloring her face.

"Good night, Phoebe," he replied, unable to keep the smile from his face.

As he watched her drive away, Gerald touched his cheek where her lips had been, feeling strangely buoyant despite the complications that remained. Whatever happened with BNN, whatever decisions lay ahead, one thing was certain: he'd taken a step forward instead of running away. For once, he'd chosen honesty over easy exits.

Arnold was right—success meant little if you didn't have the right people to share it with. And Gerald was beginning to suspect that Phoebe Heyerdahl might just be the right person after all.

The universe, it seemed, had been sending him a message all along. He just needed to be brave enough to hear it.

Chapter Text

Episode 9: Preliminary Findings

"Phoebe, you've rehearsed that presentation seventeen times. If you practice it one more time, I'm going to throw your note cards out the window," Helga professed, sprawled across the couch with a book propped on her stomach.

Phoebe nervously paced in front of the television, clutching a stack of index cards covered in her precise handwriting. "Repetition reinforces neural pathways associated with memory retrieval and reduces performance anxiety. Statistics indicate that—"

"Statistics indicate that if you don't sit down and breathe, you're going to pass out before you even get to the hospital," Helga interrupted, but her tone was gentler than her words.

"She's right, Phoebe," Lila said, entering from the kitchen with a steaming mug. "I made you chamomile tea with honey. It's oh so calming for the nerves."

"Thank you," Phoebe accepted the mug with slightly trembling hands. "I just... this demonstration on our new testing protocols is crucial for my laboratory section. If we don't secure this funding, several promising diagnostic improvements will be delayed.

"Which is precisely why you'll nail it," Rhonda voiced confidently, not looking up from filing her nails. "You're the smartest person in Hillwood, possibly the state. Those grant people would be idiots not to throw money at you."

"While I appreciate your confidence, scientific funding decisions are based on methodological rigor, potential impact, and—"

"And the fact that you're a genius who's going to blow their minds," Helga finished for her. "Seriously, Pheebs, you've been working on this research for what, three years?"

"Three years, four months, and seventeen days," Phoebe corrected automatically.

"See? You know this stuff inside out. You could illustrate it in your sleep—which, by the way, is something you should consider doing tonight instead of memorizing those cards for the eighteenth time."

Phoebe sank into an armchair, staring down at her tea. "I suppose excessive preparation can reach a point of diminishing returns."

"There she is," Helga smirked. "Our walking dictionary."

"Is Gerald back from New York yet?" Lila was the picture of innocence despite the side-eyes exchanged by Helga and Rhonda.

A faint blush colored Phoebe's cheeks. "He texted earlier. His flight landed at 4:17 PM. He mentioned the interview went well, though he hasn't received any formal offer yet."

"And...?" Rhonda prompted, finally looking up from her nails with interest.

"And nothing," Phoebe replied primly. "He has been traveling all day and is likely fatigued. We'll speak when our schedules permit."

Helga rolled her eyes. "Right. You two agree to go on an actual date after years of making googly eyes at each other, and now you're playing it cool. Very convincing."

"I'm not playing it cool, as you put it," Phoebe protested. "I'm simply respecting the natural progression of interpersonal communication following a significant mutual disclosure of romantic interest."

"Like I said," Helga replied dryly. "Playing it cool."

Lila sat on the arm of Phoebe's chair. "It's ever so exciting, though. Your first official date with Gerald! Have you thought about what you'll wear?"

"I haven't had time to consider attire options with the speech occupying my mental faculties," Phoebe admitted. Then, after a pause, "Though I did recently acquire a new indigo dress that might be suitable for a non-professional social engagement."

"The one with the subtle A-line silhouette and three-quarter sleeves?" Rhonda perked up immediately. "Excellent choice. It complements your frame while maintaining your signature understated elegance."

"Okay, fashion crisis averted," Helga cut in. "Can we please focus on helping Phoebe not hyperventilate before her career-defining moment tomorrow?"

"The presentation isn't actually career-defining," Phoebe corrected. "Though it does represent a significant milestone in my research trajectory."

Helga's face softened. "I know it's important, Pheebs. And you're going to be amazing because you always are. Those stuffed shirts on the grant committee won't know what hit them."

"Thank you, Helga," Phoebe grinned gratefully. "Your confidence in me is reassuring, albeit potentially overestimated."

"Oh! I almost forgot," Lila exclaimed suddenly. "We should do something special for Helga's birthday next week. Maybe a—"

"Shhh!" Rhonda hushed her with a finger to her lips and a meaningful glance toward Helga.

"What are you two plotting?" Helga narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Nothing at all," Rhonda said with exaggerated innocence. "Lila was clearly about to say 'maybe a... normal evening of whatever Helga wants to do because it's her special day.'"

"Right," Helga mouthed slowly, clearly unconvinced. "Just remember, I hate surprises, parties, and public displays of birthday acknowledgment."

"We know," the other three women chorused, exchanging glances that Helga pretended not to notice.

The doorbell rang, providing a welcome interruption to the increasingly suspicious conversation.

"I'll get it," Lila offered, bouncing up from her perch.

A moment later, she returned with Arnold, who carried a small toolbox. "Hello, ladies. Sorry to interrupt your evening. Mrs. Peterson in 2B reported a leak, and I need to check if it's coming from your bathroom."

"Do what you need to do, Maintenance Man," Helga waved him toward the hallway. "Just try not to flood the place."

"I'll do my best," Arnold replied, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "How's the presentation prep going, Phoebe?"

"Proceeding adequately, thank you," Phoebe answered. "Though Helga has instituted a moratorium on further practice sessions."

"For her own sanity," Helga clarified. "And ours."

"You'll be great," Arnold assured her. "Oh, and Gerald asked me to tell you he's home safe. He was going to call, but he fell asleep on the couch within five minutes of walking through the door."

"Completely understandable," Phoebe nodded, though Helga didn't miss the slight disappointment that flashed across her face. "Jet lag and interview stress can cause significant fatigue."

As Arnold disappeared into the bathroom, Helga fixed Phoebe with a knowing look. "You wanted him to call."

"I merely—"

"Nope," Helga cut her off. "No science talk. No vocabulary shield. Just admit you're disappointed."

Phoebe sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. "Perhaps I am experiencing a mild emotional response that could be characterized as disappointment."

"That's as close as we're going to get, I think," Rhonda stage-whispered to Lila, who giggled.

"Well, I think it's ever so sweet," Lila's eyes lit up with her fingers intertwined. "After all these years, you and Gerald are finally—"

"We haven't actually gone on our 'controlled experiment' yet," Phoebe interrupted. "Premature conclusions about relationship status are statistically prone to error."

"Oh my god," Helga groaned, throwing her hands up. "You two are perfect for each other. Both equally terrified of admitting you've been crazy about each other since fourth grade."

A muffled thud and curse from the bathroom interrupted the conversation.

"Everything okay in there, Football Head?" Helga called out.

"Fine!" Arnold's voice came back, followed by the sound of running water. "Just dropped a wrench. Almost done!"

"If he floods my bathroom, I'm holding you personally responsible," Rhonda informed Helga.

"Why me? I'm not the one who hired him as building manager."

"No, but you're the one who..." Rhonda trailed off, catching herself.

"The one who what?" Helga's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"The one who... lives closest to the bathroom," She finished lamely.

"Nice save," Helga muttered.

Arnold emerged from the bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel. "All fixed. The leak was coming from a loose connection under the sink. I tightened it and replaced the washer. Should be good now, but let me know if you notice any more water."

"Thanks, Arnold," Lila's face glowed up even more. "Would you like some tea before you go? We're having a little support session for Phoebe's big presentation tomorrow."

"I wish I could, but I've got two more maintenance calls to make tonight," Arnold declined with politeness. "But good luck tomorrow, Phoebe. The whole building's rooting for you."

"Is your whole building aware of my presentation?" Phoebe looked alarmed at the thought.

"Well, me and Gerald," Arnold clarified with a smile. "But that's practically the whole building, right?"

After Arnold left, the women spent another hour distracting Phoebe from her anxiety with a carefully curated selection of mindless reality television. By the time they all headed to bed, Phoebe's index cards remained untouched on the coffee table—exactly as Helga had planned.

The Hillwood General Hospital auditorium was intimidatingly large for the modest audience gathered there. In the front row sat seven members of the grant committee—laboratory directors and hospital administrators with expressions ranging from polite interest to barely concealed boredom. Behind them were scattered hospital staff, a few curious medical students, and, much to Phoebe's surprise, her three roommates.

"What are you all doing here?" she whispered backstage, where they'd come to wish her luck. "Don't you have work?"

"Took the morning off," Helga shrugged like it was nothing. "Some things are more important than depositions."

"I rescheduled my styling consultation," Rhonda explained. "Mrs. Vanderwood's color palette can wait."

"And the law firm is ever so understanding about supporting colleagues," Lila beamed.

Phoebe felt a surge of gratitude for these women who had become her family. "Your presence is... significantly comforting."

"There's the Phoebe we know and love," Helga smirked. "Turning 'I'm touched' into a scientific observation."

"Ms. Heyerdahl?" A hospital administrator poked his head around the curtain. "They're ready for you."

Phoebe's stomach clenched with sudden anxiety. "I believe I'm experiencing symptomatology consistent with acute stress response, including elevated heart rate, respiration, and—"

"You're going to kill it," Helga interrupted, giving her a gentle push toward the stage. "Go be brilliant."

With one last nervous glance at her friends, the medical technologist straightened her shoulders and walked onto the stage.

As the lights dimmed and her meticulously prepared slides appeared on the screen behind her, Phoebe found her voice steadying. This was her research—the work she'd poured herself into for years. She knew every data point, every statistical anomaly, every potential application of the findings.

"Good morning. I'm Phoebe Heyerdahl, and today I'll be presenting our laboratory's improved testing methodology for early detection of neurodegenerative markers..."

From the audience, Helga watched with pride as her best friend transformed from the nervous wreck of last night into the confident researcher commanding the room's attention. Even the previously bored-looking panel members were now leaning forward, engaged by Phoebe's clear explanations and evident passion for the subject.

"She's doing wonderfully," Lila whispered.

"Of course she is," Helga whispered back. "She's Phoebe."

As the presentation approached its conclusion, Helga noticed a latecomer slipping into the back of the auditorium. She nudged Rhonda and tilted her head slightly toward the door. Rhonda's eyebrows rose in surprise; then a knowing grin appeared on her face.

"...and with these promising preliminary results, we believe this research warrants continued funding to explore the full potential of these biomarkers in clinical applications," Phoebe concluded. "Thank you for your attention. I'm happy to answer any questions."

The question and answer session that followed demonstrated just how thoroughly Phoebe had mastered her subject. She fielded complex queries with ease, never hesitating or stumbling, offering clear explanations that somehow managed to be both scientifically rigorous and accessible.

When the session finally ended, the board chair approached Phoebe with an outstretched hand. "Impressive work, Ms. Heyerdahl. Truly impressive. We'll be in touch very soon regarding the grant decision, but I think I speak for all of us when I say we're extremely interested in seeing where this research leads."

As the audience dispersed, Phoebe made her way over to where her friends waited, a mixture of relief and euphoria on her face.

"That was phenomenal, Pheebs," Helga complimented, pulling her into a rare hug. "You had those science nerds eating out of your hand."

"I must admit, the endorphin release following a successful presentation is quite invigorating," Phoebe replied, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"It was ever so fascinating," Helga's scarlet-haired assistant added. "I didn't understand all the scientific terms, but I could tell it was important work."

"And the committee clearly thought so, too," Rhonda observed. "That silver-haired man couldn't stop nodding along with everything you said."

"Mr. Michaels is the laboratory services director," Phoebe clarified. "His approval is particularly significant for funding decisions."

"I think you've got an admirer over there, too," Helga enunciated casually, nodding toward the back of the now-emptying auditorium.

Phoebe turned to look, her eyes widening slightly as she spotted Gerald standing by the exit, hands in his pockets, watching her with an expression of unmistakable pride.

"Gerald," she said softly, as if to herself.

"Go," Helga gave her a gentle nudge. "We'll wait in the lobby."

"But the post-presentation protocol typically involves—"

"Go," all three women voiced in unison.

With a grateful smile, Phoebe made her way across the auditorium. As she approached, Gerald straightened up from where he'd been leaning against the wall.

"Hey,"

"Hello," she replied, suddenly uncertain. "I wasn't expecting you to attend."

"I caught your explanation of the new testing protocols." Gerald volunteered. "Flew in early and came straight here. You were amazing, Phoebe. I mean, I didn't understand half of what you were saying, but the way you said it? Incredible."

"Thank you," she beamed, modifying her glasses in that nervous gesture he'd come to find endearing. "How was New York?"

"New York was... interesting," Gerald said carefully. "BNN is definitely interested. They're talking about a correspondent position, starting in their investigative unit."

"That's wonderful news," Phoebe expressed, her joy not quite reaching her eyes. "You must be very pleased."

"I am," Gerald stepped an inch closer. "But there's something more important I want to talk about first. Do you have time for that coffee now? Or maybe lunch?"

"I should probably return to the lab and document the committee's initial feedback while it's fresh in my mind," Phoebe began, then, seeing his expression fall slightly, added, "But I suppose that documentation could wait an hour or two."

"Great," Gerald grinned, relief evident in his face. "There's a quiet place just around the corner from here. Not exactly fine dining, but they make a decent sandwich."

As they walked through the hospital corridors toward the exit, Phoebe found herself acutely aware of Gerald beside her—the subtle scent of his cologne, the way he unconsciously matched his pace to hers, the occasional brush of their arms that sent a small current of electricity through her.

"So, how many times did you practice that presentation?" Gerald asked, an understanding smile playing on his lips.

"Seventeen," Phoebe acknowledged. "Helga imposed restrictions before I could attempt an eighteenth run-through."

Gerald laughed. "Sounds like Helga. But seriously, you didn't need it. You were in total command up there."

"Scientific communication becomes significantly less intimidating when one thoroughly understands the material," Phoebe demurred, though she couldn't help but feel pleased by his praise.

As they passed through the hospital lobby, Phoebe spotted her roommates pretending not to watch them. Helga gave her a subtle thumbs-up while Lila made a small heart shape with her hands before Rhonda swatted them down.

Outside, the spring air was fresh and mild, a welcome change from the sterile hospital atmosphere. They walked in comfortable silence for a block before arriving at a small café tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop.

"Their coffee's not as good as Bigal's," Gerald explained as they found a table in the corner, "but it's quiet, and the sandwiches make up for it."

After they ordered—Gerald seemingly pleased that she chose the same turkey avocado sandwich he'd recommended—a moment of awkward silence fell between them.

"So," they both said simultaneously, then laughed.

"You first," Gerald offered.

Phoebe took a deep breath. "I've been contemplating our conversation at Bigal's, and while I maintain that the logistical challenges of potential geographic separation are significant, I find myself experiencing a strong preference for exploring the possibilities of a romantic connection despite those challenges."

Gerald blinked, processing her words, then broke into a wide grin. "I think that's the most Phoebe way possible of saying you like me even if I move to New York."

"Yes," she conceded, a blush coloring her cheeks. "Though I recognize the statistical improbability of—"

"Phoebe," Gerald interrupted gently, reaching across the table to take her hand. "I turned down the BNN job."

She stared at him, momentarily speechless. "But... that's a significant career opportunity. National exposure, professional advancement—"

"And three thousand miles away from everything that matters to me," Gerald finished for her. "Look, BNN is a great opportunity, but it's not the only opportunity. The Chronicle offered me a column—my own investigative series, with more resources and creative control. And there's been interest from some regional networks for part-time on-camera work."

"You made this decision because of... us?" Phoebe questioned with care.

"I made this decision because of a lot of things," Gerald replied honestly. "My career matters to me, but so do the stories I cover, the community I'm part of, the people I care about." His fingers tightened gently around hers. "The person I care about."

Phoebe's analytical mind raced through implications, possibilities, and potential outcomes. "I wouldn't want you to experience regret or resentment if—"

"Phoebe," Gerald interrupted again, his voice soft but firm. "I'm not giving up anything I really want. I'm choosing a different path—one where I can build my career and still be where I want to be. With who I want to be with."

Phoebe's cheeks colored, but her mind was still buzzing with one question. "So you don't believe you'll ever regret it?"

Gerald's eyebrows furrowed. "I think I'll regret leaving more."

She didn't have a formula for what came next. But maybe that was the point.

Their sandwiches arrived, creating a brief pause in the conversation.

When the server left, Phoebe looked at Gerald with an unusually direct gaze.

"I've maintained a structured approach to most aspects of my life," she said quietly. "Emotional variables have always been... challenging to integrate into my decision-making processes."

"I know," He agreed "That's part of what makes you, you. And I like you, Phoebe. All of you—the brilliance, the precision, the way you use big words when you're nervous, the way your eyes light up when you talk about your research."

"I find myself experiencing similar positive associations with your characteristics," The researcher disclosed, her scientific phrasing belied by the warmth in her eyes. "Your storytelling abilities, your commitment to journalistic integrity, your capacity for empathy with your subjects..."

"So," He squeezed her hand gently, "what do you say we skip the 'controlled experiment' and call this our first official date?"

A soft smile spread across her face—not her usual polite, measured expression, but something more open, more vulnerable. "I find that proposal agreeable."

"I was hoping you'd say that," the taller man grinned. "Though I should warn you, I'm already pretty confident about the results of this experiment."

"Scientifically speaking, premature conclusions without adequate data collection are—"

Gerald leaned across the table and kissed her gently, cutting off her methodological objection mid-sentence. When he pulled back, the stunned look on her face was quickly replaced by a pure delight that could only be described as radiant.

"Preliminary findings appear promising," she spoke softly.

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "I've been wanting to do that since the planetarium."

"I may have hypothesized about such a scenario as well," She confessed.

"So, Ms. Heyerdahl," His voice taking on a mock-formal tone, "would you be amenable to continuing this research project on a long-term basis?"

"I believe extensive further study is warranted," Phoebe answered, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses. "The preliminary data is most intriguing."

As they finally turned their attention to their sandwiches, a comfortable warmth settled between them—the easy connection of old friends blending seamlessly with the exciting spark of new possibilities.

"They've been in there for over an hour," Lila mumbled, peering through the café window from their not-very-subtle surveillance position across the street.

"Good sign," Helga nodded approvingly. "Pheebs usually times her meals to the minute. She must be distracted."

"They're holding hands," Rhonda commented excitedly, adjusting her oversized sunglasses. "Definitely not discussing the weather."

"Should we really be spying on them like this?" Lila asked, though she made no move to leave. "It feels ever so intrusive."

"It's not spying, it's... protective observation," Helga defended. "Besides, after all the years we've spent watching those two dance around each other, I think we've earned the right to see the finale."

"Oh!" Their resident romantic gasped suddenly. "He just kissed her!"

"About time," their resident cynic murmured, though she couldn't suppress a half-smile. "Gerald Johanssen finally grew a spine."

"And Phoebe finally let down her guard," Rhonda pointed out. "I must admit, they really are perfect for each other, aren't they?"

"The statistical probability of relationship success based on friendship longevity is significantly higher than average," Helga recited in her best Phoebe impression, making the others laugh.

"They're getting up," Lila alerted everyone. "We should go before they spot us."

As they hurried away, Helga glanced back one last time to see Gerald and Phoebe emerging from the café, fingers intertwined, talking animatedly. The sight gave her a strange feeling—happiness for her best friend, certainly, but also a wistful pang she wasn't quite ready to examine.

"Next item on the agenda," Rhonda announced once they were safely around the corner, "Helga's birthday operation. We need to finalize our plans."

"I told you, I don't want—" Helga began.

"Yes, yes, you hate birthdays and joy and all things celebratory," Rhonda waved dismissively. "We know. That's why this is going to be perfect."

"I've already reserved the cabin," Lila said, clasping her hands excitedly. "It's ever so peaceful, right by the lake."

"What cabin?" Helga demanded, looking back and forth between her two roommates. "What are you two plotting?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Rhonda expressed while enigmatic smile. "Just keep your weekend clear."

"I hate all of you," Helga grumbled with a scowl, but there was no real animosity behind it.

As they strolled back toward their apartment, the spring sun warm on their shoulders, Helga found herself reflecting on how far they'd all come from their playground days. Phoebe, finding a balance between her brilliant mind and her heart. Gerald, choosing depth over easy escape. Rhonda and Lila, each growing in their own ways while remaining essentially themselves.

And herself? Well, that was still a work in progress.

Back at the apartment, as Lila and Rhonda continued conspiring in whispers about birthday plans, Helga's phone buzzed with a text from Arnold: Roof leak in 3C fixed. How did Phoebe's presentation go?

Helga found her skin warming as she typed back: Knocked it out of the park. Currently on what appears to be a date with Geraldo. Finally.

Arnold's reply came quickly: About time. Some people take forever to see what's right in front of them.

Helga gaped at his message for a long moment, a familiar flutter in her chest that she'd long ago stopped trying to suppress entirely.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard… then slowly set her phone down, a smile playing on her lips.

Chapter Text

Episode 10: "What Fresh Hell Is This?”

"If I have to review one more predatory lease agreement, I'm going to lose my mind," Helga declared, dropping her overflowing briefcase onto the coffee table with a heavy thud. She collapsed onto the couch, kicking off her sensible work heels with more force than necessary.

Lila looked up from her laptop, where she'd been organizing case files. "Today was particularly challenging. That landlord's attorney was ever so combative during the deposition."

"Combative is putting it mildly," Helga grunted, loosening her hair from its professional bun. "The man acted like basic housing standards were communist propaganda. Thank goodness we have the building code violations documented."

"At least we're finished for the week," Lila offered brightly. "And just in time for your birthday weekend!"

Helga groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. "Don't remind me. Another year older, another year of fighting the same battles against corporate slumlords."

Rhonda emerged from her room, immaculately dressed despite the late hour. "Did I hear someone mention a birthday ? As in, the event we've been planning for weeks that a certain someone has been pretending doesn't exist?"

"My ideal birthday celebration is me, on this couch, with takeout and mindless television," Helga stated firmly. "No parties, no fuss, no obligatory socializing."

"We would never," Rhonda replied with exaggerated innocence. "Though I did happen to get a facial appointment scheduled for you tomorrow at that place you pretend to hate but secretly love."

Helga narrowed her eyes. "What are you plotting, Wellington Lloyd?"

"Nothing elaborate," Rhonda assured her with a wave of her perfectly manicured hand. "Just a small gesture between friends who appreciate your relentless crusade for tenant rights despite your prickly exterior."

"Prickly?" Helga raised an eyebrow.

"Would you prefer delightfully abrasive ?" Rhonda submitted with a smirk.

Before Helga could retort, the apartment door opened, and Phoebe entered, carrying a stack of medical journals that nearly obscured her face.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, carefully navigating around Helga's discarded shoes. "Laboratory results required additional analysis, and Dr. Chen requested my input on his methodology."

"Translation: you're the smartest person in the hospital, and they can't function without you," Helga interpreted, making room on the couch for her best friend.

"That's an exaggeration," Phoebe demurred, though a small smile played at her lips. "Though I did identify several statistical anomalies that might have compromised their findings."

"Speaking of findings," Rhonda interjected smoothly, "Phoebe, did you happen to pick up that item we discussed?"

Phoebe's eyes widened fractionally behind her glasses. "Oh! Yes, it's in my bag. For the, ah, potluck tomorrow."

"What potluck?" Helga asked, immediately suspicious. "Nobody said anything about a potluck."

"Did I say potluck?" Phoebe adjusted her glasses nervously. "I meant the... book club."

"We don't have a book club," Helga pointed out.

"Then perhaps we should start one," Phoebe suggested, her voice pitched slightly higher than normal. "Literary discussion stimulates cognitive flexibility and enhances empathetic response."

Helga looked from Phoebe to Rhonda to Lila, all of whom were wearing expressions of unconvincing innocence. "You three are worse at subterfuge than Arnold. What's going on?"

"Nothing at all," Lila assured her, a touch too sweetly. "Though speaking of Arnold, he mentioned the hot water heater in your bathroom is making strange noises again. He might need to check it tomorrow."

"Great," The birthday girl sighed. "My weekend begins with a cold shower and Football Head banging on pipes at dawn. Perfect."

"Look on the bright side," Rhonda called back, heading toward the kitchen. "I picked up that spicy Thai takeout you like. The one where the chef yells at everyone except you."

"Fine," Helga relented, her suspicion momentarily overshadowed by hunger. "But whatever birthday scheme you three are hatching, cancel it. I'm serious about the couch and TV plan."

As Rhonda busied herself with plates, she caught Phoebe's eye and mouthed silently: "Operation Birthday is still a go."

Phoebe nodded subtly while Lila suppressed a smile behind her hand.

---

"Rise and shine, birthday girl!"

Helga groaned, pulling her pillow over her head as Lila's cheerful voice penetrated her Saturday morning sleep. "Go away. It's my day, and I choose more sleep."

The chipper one flung open her curtains, letting the daylight shine in. "It's nearly ten," Lila persisted, gently tugging at the pillow. "And your coffee is getting cold. You love your caffeine piping hot."

The mention of coffee was enough to make Helga reluctantly emerge from her cocoon of blankets. She squinted at Lila, who was already dressed in casual but neat attire, holding a steaming mug as promised.

"Why are you always so perky?" Helga grumbled, accepting the mug with the reverence of a religious offering. "It's unnatural."

"Because it's a beautiful day," Lila replied brightly. "The sun is shining, the birds are singing—"

"And somewhere, landlords are illegally evicting tenants," Helga finished dryly, taking a long sip of coffee. "But sure, birds. Great."

"Rhonda says you need to be ready in an hour," Lila continued, undeterred by Helga's morning grumpiness.

"Ready for what? I told you guys, couch and TV. That was the plan."

"Just wear something comfortable," Lila advised, already heading for the door. "But not your work clothes or pajamas."

"That eliminates ninety percent of my wardrobe," Helga shouted after her.

Exactly fifty-seven minutes later, dressed in jeans and a comfortable blue top that Rhonda had mysteriously left outside her door ("It brings out your eyes, Helga, just wear it"), Helga found herself confronted by her three roommates in the living room.

"What's going on?" she demanded, noting with suspicion that Phoebe was holding a scarf. "If that's a blindfold, you can forget it."

"It's a momentary ocular obstruction to enhance the surprise experience," Phoebe explained as if that made it better.

"No," Helga stated firmly, crossing her arms.

"Five minutes," Rhonda negotiated. "Just until we get to my car."

"Car? What car?" Her blue eyes widened. "Since when do you have a car, Princess? Last I checked, you were still paying off credit card debt from your 'pre-financial reality' shopping sprees."

Rhonda looked her up and down in a judgmental manner. "Some of us have been working very hard and making strategic investments in our professional image—"

"Strategic investments? Is that what we're calling questionable financial decisions now?" Helga cut her off. "Anyway," She continued before Rhonda could defend herself, but she was definitely updating her mental list of things to investigate later. "Where are we going?"

"That's the surprise part," Lila smiled encouragingly.

"I hate surprises," Helga reminded them.

"You hate generic surprises from people who don't know you," Rhonda corrected. "This is a carefully curated surprise from the three people who know you best despite your best efforts to remain an enigma."

Helga looked from one expectant face to another, realizing she was fighting a losing battle. " Fine. Five minutes with the blindfold, and then full disclosure."

"Deal," Rhonda agreed quickly before Helga could change her mind.

As Phoebe secured the blindfold, Helga couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity beneath her feigned annoyance. These three knew her better than anyone—well, almost anyone. If they had gone to this much trouble, perhaps it wouldn't be completely terrible.

"If you're taking me to a surprise party with people from high school, I'm walking home," she warned as they guided her out of the apartment.

"No surprise party," Phoebe assured her. "Though there is a small element of social interaction involved."

"How small?" Helga pressed suspiciously.

"Microscopic," Rhonda promised. "Barely detectable with the naked eye."

Helga allowed herself to be led down the hallway, hearing the distinctive creak of the elevator doors. As they waited for it to arrive, she heard another door open nearby.

"Morning, ladies," Arnold's voice carried down the hall. "Going somewhere special?"

"Kidnapping," Helga replied flatly. "Call the authorities."

"It's a birthday excursion," Lila explained cheerfully. "Ever so carefully planned."

"Ah," Arnold said, and Helga could hear the smile in his voice. "Well, have fun. And happy birthday, Helga."

"Thanks, Football Head," she replied, surprising herself with the lack of sarcasm in her tone. Something about his voice always had that effect on her, even through a blindfold.

As the elevator doors opened and they ushered her inside, Helga heard Arnold call out to Gerald from down the hall, something about " operation apartment watch " being in effect. Before she could question it, the elevator began its descent, and Rhonda launched into a detailed explanation of the facial appointment that awaited Helga as their first stop.

---

"I still can't believe you three planned a whole road trip," Helga said, leaning back in the passenger seat of Rhonda's red luxury SUV as they cruised along the highway. The blindfold was long gone, revealing their destination: a weekend at a small lakeside cabin a few hours from the city.

"You hate crowds but love water," Phoebe pointed out from the back seat. "The cabin provides optimal privacy while still offering recreational opportunities."

"And it has excellent cell reception in case of work emergencies," Lila added, knowing Helga's anxiety about being unreachable for her clients.

"Plus a hot tub," Rhonda smirked, keeping her eyes on the road. "I have standards, even in rustic settings."

"I brought your favorite books," Phoebe said. "And Lila packed ingredients for those cinnamon pancakes you pretend not to love."

"And absolutely no birthday decorations," Rhonda promised. "Though I did bring champagne because some traditions are worth preserving."

Helga felt a strange tightness in her chest—not the constriction of stress that usually accompanied her workdays, but something warmer, almost unfamiliar. It took her a moment to recognize it as genuine affection for these women who had somehow become her family.

"This is..." she searched for a word that wouldn't expose too much of her soft underbelly, "...not awful."

The three other women exchanged understanding smiles, recognizing the high praise hidden in Helga's grudging acceptance.

"We know you've been working yourself to exhaustion on the Hillwood Heights case," Lila said gently. "Everyone needs an occasional respite, even fierce housing advocates."

"The scientific evidence for rest as a component of productivity is substantial," Phoebe added. "Cognitive function decreases by approximately twenty-seven percent after sustained periods of—"

"I get it, Pheebs," Helga interrupted, though her tone was affectionate. "My brain needs a break before it breaks. But what about the guys? I heard Arnold in the hallway talking to Gerald about 'apartment watch' or something."

"Arnold volunteered to keep an eye on things while we're away," Rhonda explained. "Though knowing those two, it's probably an excuse for an all-weekend video game tournament."

"Harold's joining them too while his building is going through some kind of repairs," Lila added. "It's sweet how they still have their little 'guys' nights' after all these years."

"Sweet isn't the word I'd use for three grown men subsisting on pizza and yelling at virtual zombies," Helga remarked, though there was no real bite to her words.

"Harold?" Rhonda's body shook in disgust. "The whole floor will need a full wash."

As they continued their drive, conversation flowing easily between reminiscences and gossip, Helga found herself relaxing more than she had in months. Maybe this birthday surprise wasn't such a terrible idea after all.

---

Back at the apartment building, Arnold was indeed engaged in what could only be described as controlled chaos. Gerald and Harold had arrived with enough snacks to survive an apocalypse.  

"Look, we're only coming in to water their plants, and I'm doing maintenance checks."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Harold dismissed, brushing past Arnold with his old school videogame console in hand, Gerald strolling in with a stack of video games. "We all know why we're here and it ain't to water Lila's fancy plants."  

Gerald shrugged, with a half smile at Arnold. "I got to agree with my man Berman on this one champ. While the cats are away..." He paused with a sheepish look. "Well, you know the rest."

Arnold unlocked the girls' apartment with his master key, and within minutes, the pristine living room was transformed into a gaming den. The coffee table disappeared beneath a mountain of chips, dip, and various processed foods of questionable nutritional value.

"Aye, it's been forever since we did this," Gerald declared, setting up the gaming console with practiced efficiency, carefully moving one of Lila's delicate orchids out of the way. "Between your maintenance emergencies and my news deadlines, we barely have time to breathe, let alone game."

"Tell me about it," Arnold agreed, nervously eyeing Harold as he plopped onto Rhonda's white designer couch with an open bag of barbecue chips. "I spent all week fixing that leak in 3C, only to have the pipe burst again yesterday."

"That's why I went into meat, not maintenance," Harold declared, already crunching loudly. A cascade of orange chip crumbs fell onto the spotless cushions. "Meat doesn't talk back. Meat doesn't leak. Meat is simple."

"Harold, careful with—" Arnold started, but was interrupted by a loud crash from somewhere in the building. "What was that?" Harold asked, pausing with a chip halfway to his mouth.

Arnold sighed, already reaching for his toolbox. "Duty calls. Probably Mrs. Kowalski's radiator again. You guys start without me—I'll be back as soon as I fix whatever catastrophe is unfolding. And Harold, please, don't touch anything valuable."

"This is why you need a new assistant, man," Gerald called after him as Arnold headed out the door. "Or at least a maintenance line that isn't your personal cell phone."

Forty-five minutes and one slightly flooded bathroom later, Arnold returned to find Gerald and Harold deeply engrossed in their game. His heart nearly stopped at the scene before him: chip bags scattered across Lila's carefully organized coffee table, Harold's soda can precariously balanced on the arm of Rhonda's designer chair, and what looked suspiciously like salsa splattered on the cream-colored throw pillow.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," Arnold muttered, surveying the damage.

"That was fast," Gerald commented, eyes still fixed on the screen, oblivious to Arnold's growing panic.

"Harold, what did you DO?" Arnold demanded, pointing at the pillow. Harold glanced over innocently.

"What? I got hungry. Gerald said there were crackers in the kitchen, so I made some nachos in the microwave."

"You used their kitchen?!" Arnold's voice cracked some.

"Relax, man," Harold waved dismissively, accidentally knocking over his soda in the process. The fizzy liquid began seeping into the white couch cushion. "It's just a little mess."

Arnold dove for the spill with paper towels, frantically dabbing at the stain. "Rhonda is going to murder us. She's going to literally murder us and hide the bodies ."

Gerald finally peeled his eyes off the screen to glance around. "Oh, yeah, Rhonda and probably Pataki are gonna kill you two... me ? I haven't touched a thing." Arnold and Harold both smirked at him. "What was that noise?"

"Turns out Mrs. Kowalski tried to improve her shower pressure with a wrench," Arnold explained distractedly while scrubbing. "Remind me again why I thought managing this building was a good idea?"

"Because your grandparents left it to you, and you're too sentimental to sell it," Gerald answered, finally noticing Arnold's cleaning frenzy. "Dude, you're making it worse."

"And because where would all you wackos live together like one big, weird family?" Harold added, cursing as his character was overwhelmed by zombies, then immediately reaching for more chips.

Arnold paused his frantic cleaning, looking around at the chaos. Despite his stress, he couldn't help but smile. "Good point. Speaking of family, I should check on Helga's birthday present before the girls get back tomorrow. I'm still waiting to hear back from that collector in Manhattan who's verifying its authenticity."

"What'd you get her that needs verification?" Harold questioned through a mouthful of chips, sending more crumbs flying.

"Harold, PLEASE stop eating over the furniture," Arnold pleaded, then answered, "A vintage fountain pen that supposedly belonged to her favorite poet. Found it when Mr. Dickerson was clearing out his apartment. I've been trying to authenticate it - even called an expert at the university."

"Man, you've got it bad," Gerald shook his head, though his tone was more amused than judgmental. "Going through all that trouble for a pen."

"It's not just any pen," Arnold defended while continuing to clean. "Helga enjoys writing, and Parker is her favorite poet. I want to make sure it's the real thing."

"Right," Gerald drawled. Pataki and I are friends too... well, kinda," he shook his hand. And guess what I got her for her birthday?" He paused for humorous drama. Nothing."

Harold laughed obnoxiously, almost knocking over a bowl of chips. "I'd put her in a headlock for her birthday for cracking on my weight."

Arnold shook his head, rubbing his temples at both Harold's obnoxious comment and the mess he kept almost making. "We aren't in junior high anymore, Harold."

"Junior High? She called me a blimp last week."

Arnold suppressed a laugh at that while he grabbed a hand vacuum to clean up the crumbs. "I guess we are just different kinds of friends towards her."

Gerald side-eyed him. "You're the same type as I am with Phoebe."

He cut off the machine for a second. "But you two are dating now," Arnold pointed out.

"Exactly," Gerald replied with a knowing grin.

"Whatever," Arnold muttered as he finally grabbed a controller. "Are we gaming or gossiping?"

The rest of the day passed in a blur of video games, impromptu maintenance calls, and ordering an obscene amount of pizza. Arnold meticulously groomed the girls' furniture and arranged things the back the way they should be with the help of Gerald and Harold. By nightfall, the three men had settled into a comfortable rhythm of competitive gaming and catching up on each other's lives in the guys' apartment.

"So, Rhonda really organized this whole girls' trip for Helga's birthday?" Harold asked during a break between games. "I'm still having trouble picturing Helga G. Pataki on a 'girls' weekend.'"

"Helga's changed a lot since elementary school," Arnold retorted defensively. "I mean, she's still Helga—sarcastic and tough—but she's also this incredible advocate for people who need help. You should see her in court sometime. She's... passionate."

Gerald and Harold exchanged a knowing look.

"What?" Arnold asked, noticing their expressions.

"Nothing, nothing," Gerald said innocently. "Just observing how eloquently you defend Helga's honor."

"I'm not—" Arnold began, then stopped, sighing in defeat. "Fine. I care about her. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Gerald said sarcastically. "Now, can we get back to killing zombies, or would you prefer to write a sonnet about Helga's passionate courtroom demeanor?"

Arnold threw a couch pillow at his best friend's head, ending the conversation but not the knowing smirks that Gerald continued to shoot his way throughout the evening.

“Still, gotta admit,” Gerald added while tossing another chip in his mouth, “She’s been holding it down for a lot of people in this city. Even if she does threaten to sue you for breathing wrong.”

---

The apartment had grown quiet as the night deepened. Harold's faint snoring drifted through the slightly ajar guest room door while the coffee table remained littered with the aftermath of guys' night – empty chip bags, scattered soda cans, and controllers from the paused game still glowing dimly.

Gerald sprawled across the couch, absently scrolling through his phone while Arnold stood motionless at the kitchen sink, gazing out the window, arms crossed pensively.

"You planning on staring out that window all night, or what?" Gerald asked without looking up from his screen.

Arnold didn't turn. "Just thinking."

"About the pen again?" Gerald set his phone down, giving his friend his full attention.

"It's not just about the pen," Arnold sighed, finally turning and leaning against the counter. "I want it to mean something, you know?"

Gerald smirked. "Oh, I know. Totally normal gift for a 'casual friend.' Definitely not something you'd call a university professor to authenticate."

"Very funny," Arnold replied dryly.

"Look, man, I'm not judging," Gerald sat up straighter. "But we both know this isn't just about some vintage writing instrument."

Arnold hesitated, arms still folded defensively across his chest. "She's... Helga. She's sharp, intense, and complicated. I don't even know if someone like her would ever go for someone like me."

"Why wouldn't she?" Gerald asked, genuinely curious.

"I don't know," Arnold admitted in a low tone. "I've just been thinking lately... Remember back in San Lorenzo? When we were kids? She didn't even like me half the time, but she helped me find my parents. Put herself in danger for that. I asked her once why she was helping, and she just rolled her eyes and said, 'Because someone's gotta keep you alive, Football Head.'" He shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But she never really answered the question. She just kept showing up. Even when she had every reason not to."

"That's basically her love language, man," Gerald pointed out. "Gritted teeth and grand gestures."

"Yeah, but she's not exactly forthcoming... I'm used to that with the opposite sex. And if she does feel something... I don't know. I doubt she'd tell me."

Gerald raised an eyebrow. "You really think she'd let you go your whole life without dropping at least one sarcastic hint?"

Arnold shook his head and shrugged. "Maybe she would — or it could be I’m just seeing what I want to see. Like I’m making more of it than there is."

"Come on, you know how Helga operates. She doesn't say it. She shows it. That pen might mean a lot, yeah—but you know what else means a lot? Her showing up. Her texting you about that community center even though she pretends not to care."

Arnold looked skeptical. "You think that means something?"

"Bro," Gerald's face screamed 'come on.' "She notices everything you do."

His voice softened. "Yeah. But noticing and wanting are two different things." Arnold exhaled, clearly conflicted. "I just... don’t want to overstep. We’ve always had this weird rhythm, and I’m not sure what I’m reading anymore."

"Remember what you said about me and Phoebe? That's the risk," Gerald shrugged. "But if you're already standing in your kitchen at midnight thinking about her this much? You're already halfway in."

Arnold fell silent, considering his friend's words.

"Want my advice?" Gerald offered.

"Do I have a choice?" Arnold asked wryly.

" Nope, " Gerald grinned. Talk to her." He looked down for a second after seeing the uncertainty on his roommate's face. "Or at least give her something to react to—a gesture, a comment, a hint. Otherwise, you're just going to keep wondering while life keeps moving."

Arnold gave a small, reluctant smile. "You really think I've got a shot?"

"She risked her life for you before she even admitted to liking you," Gerald said simply . "Imagine what she'd do now."

Arnold chuckled at that, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. "I'm still not sure if she and I could work..."

"You're all over the place. I know. Try not to overthink it," Gerald continued. "She's stubborn. But so are you. One of you has to blink first."

"Yeah," Arnold bobbed his head. "I'll think about it."

"You do that," Gerald yawned, stretching. "And while you're at it—try not to write her an entire love letter with that fountain pen before she even opens it."

Arnold threw a crumpled napkin at his best friend's head.

As they cleaned up the last of the night's debris, Arnold's mind drifted to tomorrow's return and what might come of the 'testing the waters' moment he hoped to create.

---

The lakeside cabin exceeded even Helga's deliberately low expectations. Nestled among tall pines with a private dock extending into the clear blue water, it was the perfect balance of rustic charm and modern comfort. The interior was cozy without being cramped, featuring an open living area with a stone fireplace, a well-equipped kitchen, and two bedrooms with surprisingly comfortable beds.

"Okay, I admit it," Helga declared as they settled onto the deck with glasses of Rhonda's promised champagne, watching the sunset paint the lake in shades of gold and pink. "This was a good idea."

"The statistical probability of you enjoying this weekend was approximately seventy-eight percent," Phoebe noted, adjusting her glasses with satisfaction. "Though I'd now revise that estimate upward."

"Don't push it, Pheebs," Helga warned, though her smile took the sting out of her words. "I'm still reserving the right to complain about turning another year older."

"Age is merely a chronological measurement with no inherent meaning beyond societal constructs," Phoebe offered consolingly.

"Tell that to my knees after chasing down that landlord's process server last week," Helga retorted.

"You're twenty-eight, not eighty-two," Rhonda rolled her eyes. "Save the age complaints for when we're actually old."

"Speak for yourself, Wellington Lloyd. I'm ancient in cynic years."

Lila emerged from the cabin carrying a platter of appetizers. "Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. I made your favorite pasta, Helga."

"With the spicy sauce?" Helga perked up visibly.

"Of course," Lila hoped with excitement. "It wouldn't be your birthday dinner otherwise."

As they settled onto the deck with their champagne glasses, the peaceful moment was interrupted by Helga's phone buzzing insistently on the table. She glanced down and groaned at the screen.

"Dad. FaceTime incoming," she muttered, staring at her phone like it might bite.

Rhonda glanced over with a grimace. "Oh no. Don’t answer. Bob's FaceTimes always feel like a TED Talk you didn’t ask for."

"If I don't, he'll call every hour until I pick up," Helga sighed, reluctantly reaching for the phone. "Like I'm not allowed to spend a weekend without his unsolicited investment advice and thinly veiled disappointment."

With visible reluctance, she swiped to accept the call. Bob Pataki's face appeared too close to the camera and partially off-screen, awkwardly holding up a Bluetooth earpiece he clearly didn't know how to use. Miriam was visible in the background, moving around the kitchen and microwaving something, while Olga hovered nearby, clearly waiting for her chance to jump in.

"Hey, girl! There she is—birthday girl!" Bob boomed, his voice as loud and commanding as ever despite the years that had softened his once-intimidating presence.

"Oh!" Miriam exclaimed in the background, nearly knocking over some silverware in her startled state. "Is that Helga? Happy birthday, dear!"

"Mommy, be careful," Olga whispered, gently steadying Miriam before pushing her face toward the screen with an over-the-top grin that hadn't changed since childhood. "Happy birthday, baby sis!" Olga chirped, squeezing into the frame like she was on a talk show.

Helga nodded with a tense smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Thanks. Good to see you all... on a tiny screen ...from a very safe emotional and physical distance."

"You look so cute, Helga," Miriam chimed in, leaning over Bob's shoulder. "Hope you got my gift, sweetie. There was a bit of a... delay at the post office."

Bob moved the phone away with a low grunt, refocusing on his younger daughter with an assessing gaze. "Are you still dating that fella, what was his name, Jimmy or James—real sharp guy... Hotshot lawyer, right? Ever talk to him anymore?"

Helga snorted. "Unfortunately, I ran into him last month. He’s currently representing a developer trying to bulldoze senior housing for luxury condos. So, yeah. Real catch."

An awkward silence fell as Bob clearly hadn't expected this answer and didn't know how to respond. In the background, Helga could see her mother pouring something into a mug that definitely wasn't coffee.

Rhonda, Lila, and Phoebe exchanged glances before all chiming in at once, their voices overlapping with excessive brightness.

"So sorry, Mr. Pataki—Helga's actually off the market at the moment!" Rhonda declared, leaning into the frame.

"Yes, she's been very focused on her current personal developments!" Phoebe added with an uncomfortably wide smile.

"Oh my, it's time for birthday s'mores! We'd best go!" Lila exclaimed, her cheerfulness dialed up to eleven.

Before Bob could respond, Helga quickly ended the call with a hasty "Gotta go, talk later, bye," and tossed her phone onto the cushion beside her as if it had been infected with James Chen’s LinkedIn profile.

All four women were silent for a moment before erupting into laughter—Lila's gentle giggles, Phoebe's reserved chuckles, Rhonda's elegant but genuine laugh, and Helga's more reluctant but real amusement.

"I wonder if Bob still has a shrine to Chen in his office," Helga remarked, taking a long sip of champagne. "He liked him because he was on some financial magazine cover. I wouldn't dare tell him what a scumbag the guy really is. Or that I was the one who found the loophole that's going to tank his entire development deal."

The fashion consultant hummed sort of loudly. “I wonder if he’d like Arn—” Rhonda began, her lips curling into a mischievous smile before Helga’s eye squint shut her down. "Never mind. Where are the marshmallows? I believe Lila mentioned something about s'mores, and I'm suddenly famished."

Lila scampered inside to retrieve the marshmallows, Helga allowed herself a tiny smile. For all the complications of her blood relatives, she'd somehow managed to find a different kind of family right here—one that understood her better than the Patakis ever had.

As they ate, conversation flowed easily from work anecdotes to memories of their shared childhood to Phoebe's carefully sanitized updates about her relationship with Gerald. The evening stretched pleasantly into the night, and Helga found herself more relaxed than she'd been in months, perhaps years.

Later, as Rhonda and Lila played a surprisingly competitive game of chess by the fireplace and Phoebe was engrossed in one of her medical journals, Helga slipped outside onto the deck again. The night air was cool but not cold, and the lake reflected a sky full of stars that were never visible in the city.

The door opened quietly behind her, and Phoebe joined her at the railing, offering a fresh glass of champagne.

"Hiding from your own birthday celebration?" she asked softly.

"Just taking a moment," Helga replied, accepting the glass. "It's been... a lot. In a good way," she added quickly, seeing Phoebe's concern. "I'm not used to people making this kind of effort for me."

"You deserve it," Phoebe said simply . "Though I know acceptance of positive attention remains challenging for you."

Helga snorted. "Only you could make 'you're bad at taking compliments' sound like a clinical diagnosis."

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, gazing out at the starlit water.

"Gerald texted," Phoebe said finally. " Apparently, Arnold has been running all over the building, fixing emergencies between rounds of video games."

"Sounds like him," Helga commented, trying for casual indifference and not quite succeeding. "Always playing the hero."

"And I technically shouldn't tell you this, but I know how much you hate surprises. He also mentioned that Arnold has something special for your return tomorrow," Phoebe added, watching Helga's reaction carefully .

"Probably baked me one of those weird cookies using his grandmother's recipe," Helga shrugged, though her heartbeat quickened traitorously.

"Perhaps," Phoebe responded noncommittally. "Though Gerald seemed to imply it was something more... personal."

Helga took a long sip of champagne to hide whatever her face might be revealing. "Well, Arnold's always been thoughtful. Annoyingly so."

Phoebe smiled knowingly but didn't press further. "We should rejoin the others. I believe Rhonda mentioned something about a birthday dessert that explicitly isn't a cake with candles."

"God bless Rhonda and her attention to my birthday neuroses," Helga declared, allowing herself to be led back inside.

The rest of the weekend passed in a blur of lakeside walks, board games that turned surprisingly competitive, and more genuine laughter than Helga could remember experiencing in years. By the time they packed up to return to the city late Sunday afternoon, even Helga had to admit—privately, of course—that it had been the perfect birthday celebration.

---

Back at the apartment building, the men's weekend had been considerably less peaceful. Between Arnold's constant maintenance calls, Harold accidentally setting off the smoke alarm while attempting to cook breakfast, and Gerald's editor calling with an emergency assignment, their plans for uninterrupted gaming had been thoroughly derailed.

"Maybe next time we should be the ones to go on a road trip," Gerald suggested as they cleaned up the aftermath of their weekend. "Let Rhonda and company deal with Mrs. Kowalski's plumbing experiments."

"You're just saying that because you spent half the weekend rewriting that expose instead of beating my high score," Arnold teased, gathering empty pizza boxes.

"Which I still did, by the way," Gerald popped his collar. "Multitasking champion right here."

Harold checked his watch. "I should head out. The shop opens early tomorrow, and I promised Mom I'd stop by for dinner."

"Thanks for coming, Harold," Arnold said, clapping him on the shoulder. "It was good to catch up."

"Later, Berman." After Harold left, Gerald turned to Arnold with a serious expression. "So, you ready for Helga's return? Got your special birthday gesture all planned out?"

"It's nothing elaborate," Arnold shrugged, though he couldn't quite meet Gerald's eyes. "Just something I thought she might appreciate."

"Uh-huh," Gerald lifted his brows skeptically. "That's why you've been checking your phone every five minutes to see if they are back yet."

Before Arnold could defend himself, his phone buzzed with a text. "They're ten minutes out," he reported, trying and failing to sound casual.

"Go on then, Romeo," Gerald smirked. "I'll finish cleaning up here."

"It's not like that," Arnold opposed weakly.

"Sure it's not," Gerald agreed, clearly not believing a word. "Just like I didn't spend all weekend texting Phoebe when I was supposed to be killing zombies."

With a resigned sigh and a grateful smile, Arnold headed out, stopping briefly at his apartment before making his way to the building's entrance to wait for the returning travelers.

---

Arnold's phone screen lit up with an update to the group chat.

Lila: We had an ever so marvelous time, even if Helga won't completely admit it. It was oh so needed getaway.

Lila: Oh, we'll be there in 10!"

He felt himself sweating with the visual of the less-than-pristine way they left the ladies' apartment. He quickly went to do some last-minute cleaning. The first thing he noticed was the salsa stain on Rhonda's pillow and used what he had to do some hand washing. Arnold moved Lila's orchid back to where it appeared to be before and sprayed air freshener in an attempt to mask the smell of cologne and other strong cleaning scents.

"Home sweet urban jungle," Helga declared as Rhonda's new SUV pulled up to their apartment building. "Back to leaky pipes and predatory landlords."

"You make it sound ever so appealing," Lila laughed, gathering her things from the back seat.

"Admit it, Helga—you had fun," Rhonda communicated as they unloaded their bags. "I saw you smiling at least three times. I have photographic evidence."

"Delete those immediately," Helga demanded, though there was no real heat in her voice. "My reputation as a birthday-hating curmudgeon is at stake."

As they approached the building entrance, Helga was surprised to see Arnold waiting for them, fidgeting with his sleeves.

"Welcome back," he greeted them. "How was the trip?"

"Relaxing, rejuvenating, and remarkably well-planned," Phoebe reported. "A significant improvement in Helga's birthday experience compared to previous years."

"What she said," Helga nodded, eyeing Arnold curiously. "Though I hear you had quite the eventful weekend yourself. Gerald mentioned something about Mrs. Kowalski and a wrench?"

"Just another day in the glamorous life of a building manager," Arnold said with a self-deprecating smile. "Though between emergency repairs, we did manage to relive our misspent youth via video games."

"Sounds thrilling," Helga said dryly.

As the conversation threatened to stall, Rhonda let out a dramatic sigh and raised her overnight bag. "Ugh. Could you? My arms were not built for manual labor." She extended the bag toward Arnold like she was offering him a cursed object.

Arnold blinked at her, not surprised at her princess requests. "Uh, sure,"   He only took her bags to their door and then got a phone call. "I'll be right back."

The ladies entered their apartment, and all immediately sensed something was off.

"What's that aroma?" Rhonda wrinkled her nose.

"Cleaning supplies," Helga noted suspiciously. "Nobody did a deep clean, right? It's the weekend."

Lila gasped, jogging over to the table. "My orchid! It's moved six inches to the left!"

"And this cushion," Rhonda poked at the couch, "feels damp."

"Arnold's been doing maintenance again, hasn't he?" Helga said, running her finger along a suspiciously dust-free surface.

"The apartment reeks like industrial-strength Febreze," Rhonda added, still poking at the damp cushion.

"Perhaps he was being extra thorough with his building management duties?" Phoebe suggested weakly. "I wish our manager would do that for my apartment."

"Right," Helga drawled. "Football Head suddenly developed OCD and decided to deep clean our place out of the goodness of his heart."

Lila cutely shrugged. "it sounds like something he would do, especially since it's your birthday, Helga."

Helga rolled her eyes, but her cheeks also blushed especially since Arnold stepped into the doorway appearing to have something behind his back.

Phoebe moved towards the door with her hand around Rhonda's wrists. "Rhonda, I believe Gerald asked for your assistance with that spreadsheet he couldn’t open?"

Rhonda fluttered, then caught on. "Right. That thing. That urgent... digital crisis."

"I have to create spreadsheets all the time at work, maybe I can help too." Lila offered sweetly.

"Very helpful," Rhonda muttered, not resisting as Lila and Phoebe guided her toward the hallway.

"It is, now come along," Phoebe added, nudging Lila who was grinning like a lovesick puppy at her blonde friends. "It's an emergency."

"I don't—" Lila began, clearly wanting to stay and watch, but Rhonda clamped her arm through hers.

"You are now," she whispered, and the trio disappeared down the hallway in a flurry of deflection.

"Subtle," Helga commented, watching them go, realizing she was alone in her place with Arnold. "So, what really is this thing they suddenly need to help Gerald with?"

"Probably about as real as the 'printer emergency' I invented to get you out of the building before your trip," Arnold admitted with a sheepish smile.

"So you were in on the birthday kidnapping?"

"Accessory to the crime," Arnold nodded. "Though, in my defense, I did talk them out of the surprise party they initially planned."

"Thank god for small mercies," Helga muttered. "So why the ambush? Don't tell me you have another birthday surprise. I've reached my quota of birthday cheer for the year."

"Just a small one," Arnold said, producing a small wrapped package from his pocket. "Nothing elaborate, I promise."

Helga eyed the package suspiciously, then carefully unwrapped it. Inside was a vintage fountain pen, clearly old but beautifully maintained, with a delicate pattern etched along its length.

"It belonged to Dorothy Parker," Arnold explained as she examined it. "A collector in the building was moving out and left some things behind. When I saw it in the donation box, I remembered how much you admire her work, and I thought... well, your words deserve something special to be written with."

Helga looked up at him, genuinely touched and momentarily unable to hide it behind her usual sarcasm. "Arnold, this is... I don't know what to say . But how did you even know Parker is my favorite poet? I don't remember ever telling you that."

Arnold's cheeks flushed slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh... I noticed your tattoo. The Parker quote on your shoulder blade? When you were helping me move that bookcase into 3B, and your shirt slipped a little."

Helga's eyes widened, a blush creeping across her face. "You saw that? And you actually read it?"

"'What fresh hell is this?' with her signature," Arnold confirmed, looking both embarrassed and amused. "It seemed very... you ."

"I can't believe you could see it... it's so tiny," Helga expressed, a small smile playing on her lips despite her attempt to sound disapproving.

"I wasn't—I mean, I didn't mean to—" Arnold stammered, his blush deepening. "It just caught my eye."

They stood in a silence that was no longer entirely comfortable but charged with something neither was quite ready to name. Helga was still holding the pen, running her fingers along its delicate pattern, while Arnold watched her with a warmth that made her feel strangely vulnerable.

"Thank you," she said finally, the words coming out more sincere than she'd intended. "This is one of the most thoughtful gifts I've ever received."

"There's one more thing," Arnold said, stepping closer. "It's not much, but..."

He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her cheek, landing just inches from the corner of her mouth. It was a gesture that should have been innocently friendly, but something in the way he lingered, in the warmth of his breath against her skin, transformed it into something altogether different.

For a moment, they stood frozen, faces close enough that Helga could count the flecks of gold in Arnold's green eyes. Some non-verbalized feelings passed between them, a current of possibility that had always been there but never so tangible.

The spell was broken by Gerald's voice booming from the stairwell. "Arnold! Mrs. Kowalski's. She’s trying to boil water with the radiator again!

They stepped apart, the moment passing but not forgotten.

"Duty calls," Arnold said ruefully. "The glamorous life of a building manager never ends."

“Go save the day, Football Head,” she said, the nickname soft for once. "And... thanks. For everything."

Arnold glanced back as if he had forgotten something, but it wasn’t an object. It was her reaction.

Once Arnold hurried inside to deal with the latest crisis, Helga lingered on the sidewalk for a moment, her fingers drifting to the spot where his lips had brushed her cheek. The weekend had been full of surprises, but that brief moment with Arnold—an almost kiss that wasn’t quite a kiss—had been the most unexpected of all.

With a small grin, she’d deny to her grave, she headed to her bedroom, the vintage pen cradled in her palm, already imagining the words she might write with it—words she wasn’t ready to say aloud but had carried in her heart since childhood.

Helga’s phone buzzed with a text from Rhonda directly. Don’t make plans for this upcoming Friday night. Getting you out of your dry spell. There will be drinks . 💅💕

Helga stared at it and groaned because she knew Rhonda would whine until Helga agreed to whatever it was. She shook her head and shoved her phone into her pocket.

“She’s lucky I like champagne... and her,” she muttered, still glowing.

And yet, as she began unpacking, she couldn’t help but wonder—had that been a real moment or just another one of Arnold’s maddeningly kind gestures?

Dare she let herself hold on to a little more hope?

Chapter Text

Episode 11: Testing the Waters

Steam curled from the mirror as Helga dried her hands with one of the monogrammed guest towels that screamed 'Wellington Lloyd excess.' The luxury of Rhonda's second bathroom was almost offensive—heated marble floors, designer candles that probably cost more than Helga's monthly coffee budget, and those ridiculous gold-trimmed hand towels embroidered with " Guests, but make it fashion ." Her bathroom was practically a shrine to personal indulgence—like a fancy spa where you’re also reminded of your own crushing poverty.

"This week has been H-E double hockey sticks," Helga grumbled at her reflection in the mirror, trying to limit her cursing in front of her pure assistant and roommate.

"I must admit, this week has been especially grueling," Lila said and stood beside her, skillfully applying concealer with the focused precision of someone painting a masterpiece. "Oh!" Her brow furrowed slightly as she noticed the toilet. "The seat's up. That's... ever so peculiar for an apartment occupied by women."

Helga eyed it suspiciously. "Don't look at me. I never bring any dates here. If I did, Princess would throw one of her passive-aggressive tantrums, complete with sighing and meaningful glances."

"Maybe one of us lifted it and just doesn't remember?" Lila suggested with her characteristic optimism, a small smile playing on her lips. "Ooooh, maybe one of us had a little company last night."

"You know that isn't—" Helga began, hand on hip.

At that moment, the bathroom door swung open with dramatic timing. In strutted Rhonda—wrapped in a silk robe that probably cost more than Helga's entire wardrobe, her hair artfully tousled in what could only be described as expensive-looking chaos. She hummed a Beyoncé riff like she was hosting her own personal fashion week.

She paused mid-strut, registering their presence and the subject of their attention. Her perfectly arched eyebrow rose slightly, but she didn't miss a beat. "Oh. Yeah. That was probably Marcus." She waved dismissively. "Or maybe Josh? Actually, Marcus. I didn't catch his last name, but his cologne had base notes." She moved past them to the sink. "Anyway—who touched my jade roller?"

Helga and Lila exchanged looks as their uncharacteristically cheerful roomie breezed past them, completely unbothered, examining her reflection with critical satisfaction.

"And I'm the one being dragged to speed dating," Helga muttered to Lila under her breath.

Who suppressed a giggle behind her hand in response. "Maybe Rhonda already did hers—just without the speed part."

Helga snorted despite herself. "More like she's the reason the rest of us need dating intervention."

Rhonda turned, flipping her hair dramatically. "I heard that. And for your information, cultivating a healthy romantic ecosystem requires practice. You can't expect to run a marathon if you've been sitting on the couch for years, Helga."

“I’m perfectly content to watch the marathon from the couch, thanks.”

"Which is exactly why you need speed dating," Rhonda expressed with finality. "Now, both of you scoot. I need to exfoliate, and this bathroom isn't big enough for three women with varying levels of skincare commitment."

As Helga and Lila exited, Helga shook her head. "Tell me why I agreed to this speed-dating nightmare?"

"Because Rhonda threatened to redecorate your room while you were at work?" Lila supplied helpfully.

"Right," the fair-haired one sighed. "Blackmail. The cornerstone of true friendship."

-

-

-

"Remind me why I'm we're doing this?" Helga grumbled, tugging at the hem of the dress Rhonda had insisted she wear. The "Hillwood Singles Mixer" banner above the restaurant entrance seemed to mock her very existence.

"Because your social life is nonexistent, and we love you too much to let you become the crazy kitty lady of the building," Rhonda answered, applying a final touch of lipstick.

Helga rolled her eyes. "Maybe I like my social life nonexistent. It's... simpler."

"Simpler than what?" Lila asked gently. Helga hesitated, thinking of green eyes and that almost-kiss-cheek moment. "Than getting involved with the wrong kind of person."

"What's the wrong kind?"

  "You know... someone who doesn't fit. Someone Dad would..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Never mind. Let's just get this over with."

Rhonda eyed her for a second, as if she could almost relate, but then went back to her blasé attitude. "Honestly, I'm not sure why I'm here. Speed dating seems so... desperate ."

"Then why did you organize it?" Helga shot back.

"I'm not participating," Rhonda clarified, adjusting her designer purse. "I'm observing. Field research for my dating podcast."

"You don't have a dating podcast."

"Not yet," Rhonda winked. "But after my stellar track record, I feel qualified to guide others through the treacherous waters of modern romance."

Lila, standing patiently through their exchange, smiled. "I think it sounds ever so fun! Meeting new people is always an adventure."

Helga rolled her eyes. "Only you could make forced conversation with twenty strangers sound like Disneyland, Lila."

As they entered the restaurant, the event coordinator—a woman with aggressively enthusiastic hand gestures—ushered them toward a check-in table.

"Welcome to Hillwood's premier speed dating experience!" she chirped. "Ladies, you'll be stationed at tables, and the gentlemen will rotate every five minutes when you hear this!" She rang a small bell with such enthusiasm that Helga physically recoiled.

"Not too late to bail," Helga muttered to no one in particular.

"Name tags, ladies!" The coordinator thrust stickers into their hands. "And remember, you're not just looking for romance—you might find friendship or professional connections! It's all about expanding your network!"

"Or finding the emergency exit," Helga mumbled, reluctantly affixing the name tag to her dress.

Rhonda surveyed the room with the calculated gaze of a general assessing a battlefield. "Not completely hopeless," she declared. "Table nine has potential, Helga. Strong jaw, decent watch. Banker or lawyer, if I had to guess."

"I'm not here to evaluate men's net worth, Princess."

"Then why are you here?" She challenged.

Helga opened her mouth to respond but realized she didn't have a good answer. Why was she here? Because her apartment had felt suffocatingly small lately? Because watching Gerald and Phoebe's budding relationship had stirred something uncomfortable within her? Because a certain football-headed property manager had been occupying entirely too much of her mental real estate?

"Free appetizers," she finally reacted, grabbing a stuffed mushroom from a passing server's tray.

Meanwhile, in the hallway of the boarding house, Arnold was sorting through mail when his phone buzzed with a notification. Balancing the stack of envelopes in one hand, he pulled out his phone and nearly dropped everything as he read the message.

Hey stranger! In town for a conference this weekend. Drinks for old times' sake? —Denise

Arnold stared at the name, a flood of college memories washing over him. Denise Carter . Philosophy major. Bright laugh. The almost-relationship that had ended with a kiss and then nothing when she transferred schools before senior year.

"Everything okay, man? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Arnold looked up to find Gerald standing at his apartment door, keys in hand.

"No, I just..." Arnold held up his phone. "Remember Denise? From college?"

Gerald's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, that Denise. Ol' girl who got away. What about her?"

"She's in town. Wants to meet for drinks."

Gerald studied his friend's face. "And you're going to say...?"

"I don't know," Arnold admitted, shoving the phone back into his pocket. "It's been years."

"But you never got to see if there's something there..." Gerald pointed out. "You talked about her for months after she left."

Arnold shifted uncomfortably. "That was a long time ago."

Gerald leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "So why do you look like you've just seen your name on a tombstone?"

"I don't—"

"Is it because of a certain blonde who lives downstairs?"

Arnold's silence was answer enough.

"Look, man," Gerald started more gently. "If anything, maybe seeing Denise would be good. Give you some perspective. You've been dancing around whatever's happening with Helga for weeks now."

"Nothing's happening with Helga," Arnold insisted automatically.

Gerald gave him a flat look. "Right. And I'm the Queen of England. Just... think about it. Closure isn't always a bad thing."

As Gerald disappeared into his apartment, Arnold stared at his phone again. Perspective. Closure. Maybe Gerald was right. Conceivably, seeing Denise again would help clear his head.

He typed a quick response: Good to hear from you. Sure, drinks sound great. When and where?

• - -

"So then I said to my chakra alignment specialist, 'If Mercury is in retrograde, how can my energy possibly flow toward abundance?'" The man across from Helga paused, clearly expecting appreciation for this profound insight.

Helga blinked slowly. This was contestant number seven—or was it eight? They'd begun to blur together in a parade of mediocrity. So far, she'd endured a conspiracy theorist who believed pigeons were government drones, a self-declared "crypto king" who'd tried to get her to invest in something called "DogeCoin 2.0," and a man who'd spent his entire five minutes talking about his mother's lasagna recipe.

"Fascinating," she deadpanned. "Do you have any interests that don't involve the planetary alignment?"

"Well," he leaned in confidentially, "I'm also very passionate about my sourdough starter. I've been nurturing Gerald for three years now."

"You... named your sourdough starter Gerald?" Helga smirked, clearly thinking about her the one she knows well.

"Yes! We have an intense connection. Would you like to see pictures?"

Before Helga could formulate a response that wouldn't involve profanity, the blessed bell rang, signaling a rotation.

"Time to flow toward our next connection!" The coordinator trilled from across the room.

As Chakra Man reluctantly vacated his seat, Helga glanced across the restaurant to check on Lila. Surprisingly, her eternally optimistic roommate seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself, laughing with a tall man with kind eyes and a neatly trimmed beard.

Rhonda, meanwhile, had abandoned her "observer" status and was now flirting shamelessly with the bartender.

"Hi there. I'm Elliott."

Helga turned to find her next speed date settling across from her. He was... normal-looking. Late twenties. No crystals dangling from his neck, no obvious red flags. Yet.

"Helga," she gestured to her name tag. "So, Elliott, what fresh hell do you bring to the table? Cryptocurrency? Alien abduction theories? A startling devotion to fermented food products?"

Elliott blinked, then burst out laughing, forcing his long-ish curly hair to bounce around some. "None of the above, I'm afraid. Just an investment banker with a dog and an unhealthy obsession with 80's records."

Helga felt herself relax fractionally despite hearing her dad's approving voice booming in her ear. "Investment banker? What kind of financial damage do you inflict on the world?"

"Currently working on a portfolio restructure for a tech startup's Series B funding," Elliott said with a self-deprecating smile. "Last week, one client described their business model as 'Uber but for houseplants,' which is probably the most honest pitch I've heard in years."

A reluctant smile tugged at Helga's lips. "At least they're upfront about the ridiculousness."

"They usually are when they're desperate for funding." Elliott leaned forward slightly. "So what do you do when you're not enduring speed dating purgatory?"

"Housing rights attorney. I help people fight scummy landlords and predatory developers."

"That explains the warrior vibe," Elliott nodded appreciatively. "I bet you're terrifying in a courtroom."

"That's what they tell me," Helga conceded with a proud grin. For the first time that evening, she found herself continuing the conversation rather than counting the seconds until the bell.

... ... ...

The bar Denise had chosen was upscale but not pretentious—string lights, exposed brick, craft cocktails with clever names—very much her style, Arnold reflected as he scanned the room. Some things never changed.

"Arnold!"

He turned to see her approaching, and for a moment, it was like stepping back in time. Same brightness, the same confident stride. Her hair was shorter now, falling in a sleek bob around her face, and she carried herself with the assured poise that came with years of professional success.

"Denise," he smiled, accepting her brief hug. "You look great."

"So do you," she replied, sliding onto the barstool beside him. "Still rocking the plaid, I see."

Arnold laughed, glancing down at his button-up. "Some habits die hard."

"Don't change what works," she approved, signaling the bartender. "So, property manager of your grandparents' old boarding house? That's quite a turn from architecture."

"It's temporary," Arnold explained, surprised she remembered his college major. "Or it was supposed to be. Just until I figure out my next move."

"And how long ago was that?" Denise asked her tone gently teasing.

"Two years," Arnold admitted sheepishly. "But I've been doing freelance design work on the side. I'm working on a community center project right now, actually."

"Still saving the world one building at a time," Denise grinned. "That's what I always liked about you, Arnold. You genuinely want to make things better."

Their drinks arrived, and conversation flowed easily after that. Denise told him about her job in publishing, her recent move to Boston, and her passion project, starting a literary magazine. Arnold found himself laughing at her stories, falling into the familiar rhythm they'd once shared.

"I have to ask," Denise said after their second round of drinks. "Are you seeing anyone?"

Arnold hesitated. "It's... complicated." surprising himself with his own reply.

"Ooh, intrigue," Denise raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

"There's nothing official," Arnold hedged. "Just... possibilities. Maybe. I'm not sure."

"Arnold Shortman, still overthinking everything," Denise laughed. "Some things really don't change."

"What about you?" Arnold deflected.

Denise smiled, a soft, private expression crossing her face. She reached for her purse and pulled out her phone, turning it to show him a background photo of herself with a tall woman with coily hair, both laughing as they stood on a beach.

"Her name is Maya," Denise said. "We're getting married in September."

Arnold felt a moment of genuine surprise, followed immediately by warm happiness for her. "Denise, that's wonderful! Congratulations!"

"Thanks," she beamed. "I wanted to tell you in person. We're actually in town this weekend looking at potential honeymoon destinations."

"Wait—is Maya here now?"

"She's having dinner with a college friend tonight. You'll have to meet her before we head back. I think you two would get along."

Arnold absorbed this information, noticing with some surprise that he felt no pang of regret or what might have been. Just genuine pleasure for Denise's happiness.

"I'd like that," he said sincerely. "She must be pretty special."

"She is," Denise agreed, her eyes soft. "But enough about me. Tell me about this 'complicated' situation of yours."

• - -

"You're kidding!" Lila's eyes widened. "You backpacked through Europe for a year just...writing?"

The man across from her—whose name tag read "Ben"—nodded, his expression animated. "The best decision I ever made. I worked odd jobs to fund it—fruit picking in Spain and teaching English in Prague. Sent articles to travel magazines to earn extra cash."

"That sounds ever so adventurous," Lila breathed. "I've always wanted to travel more, but..."

"But life gets in the way?" Ben supplied understandingly.

"Exactly," Lila admitted. "Between work and volunteering and..."

"And being the person everyone counts on?" Ben added gently.

Lila looked at him in surprise. "How did you know?"

Ben smiled a warm expression that reached his eyes. "Just a hunch. You have that quality—the reliable one, the steady presence. Am I wrong?"

"No," Lila's shoulders raised slightly. "That's... quite accurate."

The bell rang, signaling the end of their time, but neither moved.

"I'd really like to continue this conversation," Ben said. "Maybe over dinner sometime?"

Lila's hands clasped in front of her as she felt her cheeks warm. "I'd like that ever so much."

"So that's when the judge actually said, 'Counsel, if you interrupt Ms. Pataki one more time, I'll have you removed for your own safety,'" Helga concluded, unable to suppress a smug smile at the memory.

Elliott laughed appreciatively. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"Wise decision," Helga agreed. She was surprised to realize she'd been talking easily with Elliott for what felt like—she checked her watch—nearly twenty minutes. The bell had rung several times, but somehow, they'd continued their conversation, and the event coordinator seemed too intimidated by Helga to enforce the rotation.

"I should probably keep moving before the speed dating police write me up for lingering," Elliott said, noticing her glance at the time. "But I've really enjoyed talking with you, Helga. Could I maybe get your number? I promise not to text you pictures of sourdough or lecture you about Mercury."

Helga considered him for a moment. He was... okay. Pleasant. Intelligent. Nothing about him made her want to flee immediately, which was more than she could say for most men she encountered.

But then a flash of warm eyes invaded her mind, she did her best to change that off.

"Sure," she decided. "Why not."

As she saved her number in his phone, a treacherous voice in her head whispered that this was exactly the kind of man she should be dating. Stable. Professional. The kind Bob would approve of. So why did it feel like she was betraying something?

"Duty calls," Helga told Elliott dryly. "My social director has spoken."

"I'll text you," Elliott promised, standing as she gathered her things.

Then Rhonda materialized beside their table, looking supremely pleased with herself. "Helga, darling we should go. Lila's found her soulmate, and I've secured the bartender's undying devotion. Our work here is done."

As Elliott walked away, Rhonda watched Helga's face carefully. "You know, for someone who just gave her number to an attractive, financially stable man, you look remarkably underwhelmed."  

"I'm tired," Helga deflected.

"Mmm," Rhonda hummed, unconvinced. "When I met Marcus, I couldn't stop smiling for an hour. Even though he's completely wrong for me long-term." As they left the restaurant, Rhonda linked arms with Helga. "The investment banker, huh? He seemed more than adequate."

"He was fine,"

"'Fine' is better than most of your assessments," Rhonda noted. "Usually it's 'if I never see him again, it'll be too soon' or 'I'd rather perform my own root canal.'"

Ahead of them, Lila was practically floating, her face glowing with excitement.

"Someone had a good night," Helga observed.

"His name is Ben," Lila moaned happily. "He's a writer who's traveled all over the world. And he volunteers at a literacy program for underprivileged children. Isn't that ever so wonderful?"

"Sounds nauseatingly perfect for you," Helga agreed, but her tone was affectionate.

Rhonda nodded at that. "You know what's funny?" She mused as they neared their building. "Elliott checked every box on your 'acceptable boyfriend' list, but you looked more animated arguing with that sourdough guy." Helga only rolled her eyes. "Sometimes the 'right' choice feels like wearing shoes that are the perfect size but still give you blisters," Rhonda said quietly, almost to herself.

As they approached the front door. Lila continued to rhapsodize about Ben's many virtues, while Rhonda debated the merits of dating someone who could provide free drinks versus the potential complications of dating within her favorite bar's social circle.

Helga half-listened, her mind drifting. She reflected on her experience as she shot a response to Phoebe about how things went. - Well... I didn't die. She started and went on to mention that one guy sucked slightly less than the rest.

• - -

"I can't believe you've been carrying a torch for your neighbor this whole time and haven't done anything about it," Denise shook her head, setting down her drink. "The Arnold I knew was more decisive than that."

"I'm not carrying a torch," Arnold protested weakly. "It's just... complicated."

"You've used that word four times now," Denise pointed out. "What's really holding you back?"

Arnold considered the question. "A lot of things... History. Timing. The fact that we live in the same building, and if things went badly, it would be incredibly awkward ."

"Or those are all convenient excuses," Denise suggested gently.

"You sound like Gerald."

"Smart man," Denise grinned. "Look, can I be honest?"

"Have you ever been anything else?"

She laughed. "Fair point. Here's the thing—when you were describing this woman, your whole face changed. You light up talking about her, even when you're complaining about how stubborn she is."

"I do not," Arnold protested.

"You absolutely do," Denise insisted. "It's actually adorable. And it's very different from how you ever looked talking about me or anyone else."

Arnold fell silent, absorbing her words.

"You know what I regretted about us?" Denise asked after a moment.

"The fact that I talk to plants?" Arnold joked.

"No, though that was weird," she smiled. "I regretted that we never gave it a real shot. We danced around it for years, and then I transferred, and that was that. Left things unfinished."

"The kiss," Arnold remembered.

"The kiss," Denise confirmed. "And then nothing. No follow-through. Just 'what if' hanging in the air."

"I thought about calling you," Arnold admitted. "But then it seemed too late, and..."

"And life went on," Denise finished for him. "That's my point, Arnold. Don't wait until it's too late with this one."

"Even if there was a smudge of something between she and I." He sighed. "It might already be too late anyway," Arnold sighed. "She's at a speed dating thing tonight. I overheard her and her roommates talking about it. She might meet some perfect guy who doesn't have a football head." He smirked and Denise couldn't suppress a giggle.

"So?" Denise challenged. "Is she married to him? Are they engaged? No? Then it's not too late."

Arnold grinned despite himself. "Still giving the tough love pep talks, I see."

"Someone has to," Denise shrugged. "Now, enough about our love lives. Tell me about this community center you're designing..."

---

"So, how'd it go with Denise?" Gerald asked as Arnold slid onto a barstool at Bigal's Café, where his friend was nursing a beer. Gerald seemed to study for a beat. "Judging by the fact that you're here instead of swept away in romantic nostalgia, I'm guessing she's either married, engaged, or a nun," Gerald continued before Arnold could answer.

"Engaged," Arnold confirmed. "To a woman named Maya."

Gerald's eyebrows shot up. " Plot twist ."

"Yeah," Arnold laughed. "She's really happy, though. It was good to see her."

"And how do you feel about that?" Gerald probed gently.

"Honestly? Happy for her." Arnold ordered a beer from the bartender. "It wasn't weird or awkward. Just two old friends catching up."

"No lingering feelings? No great lost love?"

Arnold shook his head. "None. Which was... illuminating."

Gerald studied his friend. "Illuminating how?"

"It made me realize I've been using Denise as an excuse. The great what if. But seeing her tonight, I knew immediately that we were never meant to be more than what we were."

"Which brings us back to a particular blonde attorney," Gerald prompted, cocking a brow at a string of texts from a certain doctor.

"Who is at speed dating tonight," Arnold sighed. "Probably meeting some artist type who quotes poetry and doesn't have a football-shaped head."

"Actually..." Gerald glanced at his phone with a knowing look but trailed off.

"What?" Arnold asked. "Did Phoebe text you something?"

Gerald tucked his phone away. "Nothing important. But is that why you're drowning your sorrows at Bigal's instead of heading home?"

"I'm not drowning my sorrows. I'm just..." Arnold trailed off.

"Avoiding the possibility of seeing Helga with her new prospect?" Gerald suggested.

"Kinda," Arnold admitted reluctantly. "It's stupid, I know."

"Extremely," Gerald agreed cheerfully. "But also human. So what ya gonna do next?"

Before Arnold could answer, the café door opened, and the women walked in—Lila practically glowing, Rhonda looking smug, and Helga... Helga looked like herself, with that mixture of annoyance and reluctant amusement that always made Arnold's heart beat a little faster.

"Well, well, well," Gerald called out. "If it isn't the speed dating squad. How'd it go, ladies? Any future husbands in the mix?"

"I met the most wonderful man," Lila gushed, sliding into their booth without invitation. "His name is Ben, and he's traveled all over the world writing for magazines, and he loves volunteering with children, and—"

"We get it, he's perfect," Helga cut in, though her tone wasn't bitter. She hesitated, then sat across from Arnold, carefully avoiding his gaze. "How was your... thing? With the college girl."

Arnold felt Gerald and Rhonda exchange a meaningful look but ignored it. "Interesting... good. She's engaged. Getting married in September."

"Oh," Helga said, something flashing briefly across her face. "That's... nice."

"It is," Arnold agreed. "She seems really happy."

An awkward silence fell over the table.

"Well!" Rhonda clapped her hands. "I'm famished after all that romantic energy. Shall we order?"

As the conversation shifted to food and Lila's continued rhapsodizing about Ben, Arnold found himself watching Helga. She seemed distracted, answering questions a beat late, her usual sharp wit muted.

"So Helga," Rhonda said during a lull, "are you going to tell everyone about the Investment Banker who monopolized your time? Elliott, wasn't it?"

Helga felt like kicking Rhonda's stiletto under the table yet answered anyway. "Not much to tell. He was fine. Ordinary."

"Ordinary is good," Lila encouraged. "Ordinary can be ever so wonderful!"

"Sure," Helga agreed without enthusiasm.

"Will you see him again?" Arnold found himself asking, then immediately wished he hadn't.

Helga finally met his gaze, something unreadable in her eyes. "Possibly. If he texts, it's not a big deal."

"Well, I think tonight was a success," Rhonda tucked some of her hair behind her ear. "Lila found her soulmate, I secured a future discount on cocktails, and Helga interacted with a man for more than five minutes without threatening bodily harm. Progress all around!"

Helga barely heard Lila gushing or Rhonda gloating. Her mind was stuck on a different kind of conversation—one that took place just days ago. Arnold, pink-cheeked, handing her a gift no one else would’ve thought to give. His voice low, his eyes soft. That kiss on the cheek. That look afterward.

Elliott had been fine. Smart. Easy. But he didn’t make her heart race. He didn’t make her feel like she was about to fall off the edge of something and fly.

Perhaps that's why she wasn't that excited about his text.

As the evening wound down, Arnold found himself lingering, nursing his beer long after he'd finished it. Helga seemed similarly reluctant to leave, finding reasons to stay at the table while the others gradually departed—Gerald to finish an article on deadline, Rhonda claiming she needed "beauty sleep," and Lila to dream about her new romantic prospect.

Finally, it was just the two of them.

"So," Helga said after a moment of silence. "Denise is engaged."

"Yeah," Arnold nodded. "To someone named Maya. They seem really happy together."

"That must have been... surprising."

Arnold considered this. "Not really. It just felt right, somehow. Like that chapter is completely closed now."

"Were you hoping it wasn't?" Helga asked, her tone carefully neutral.

"At first, I didn't know what to think," Arnold said without hesitation. "But actually meeting her tonight, I realized any feelings I had were more about the idea of her than the reality. We're different people now."

Helga nodded slowly. "Ah. Closure. That's good."

"What about you?" Arnold ventured. "Is this Elliott guy someone you'd actually want to date?"

Helga traced patterns in the condensation on her water glass. "He's friendly. Stable. Everything I should want. Everything that makes sense."

"Should want?" Arnold caught the phrasing.

"You know," she said with forced casualness, "professionally compatible. Similar backgrounds. The kind of guy who fits." She paused. "The kind my dad would actually approve of."

"And that matters to you?"

Helga's laugh was bitter. "More than I'd like to admit."

Their eyes met across the table, and for a moment, something unspoken hung in the air between them.

Helga broke the gaze first, standing abruptly. "It's late, I should jet."

"I'll walk you home," Arnold offered automatically.

"We live in the same building, Football Head. It's not exactly chivalry."

"Humor me," he said, something in his tone making her pause.

The walk home was quiet, both of them lost in their own thoughts. As they crossed the street, Arnold instinctively placed his hand at the small of Helga's back to guide her around a puddle she hadn't noticed - a brief, protective gesture that felt more intimate than he'd intended. He withdrew his hand quickly, but the momentary contact remained between them.

As they reached the building, Arnold held the door for her and placed his hand on the small of her back, getting her attention. "Helga?"

She turned, her expression questioning.

"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I hope Elliott isn't what you're looking for."

Before she could respond, he stepped past her into the building, leaving her momentarily stunned on the threshold.

Later that night, as Helga replayed that gentle touch at her back and his cryptic words, her phone buzzed with a text.

Unknown number: Hi Helga, it's Elliott from speed dating . I really enjoyed talking with you tonight. Would you like to grab coffee sometime this week?

She stared at the message for a long moment, dropped her phone into her pocket without replying. At some point in the future was soon enough to figure out what she wanted. Or rather, who.

From his apartment window, Arnold watched Helga enter the building, his expression thoughtful. He thought about what Denise had said—about not waiting until it was too late. About the way he apparently lit up when talking about Helga, even when complaining about her stubbornness.

As he turned away from the window, a small, private smile played at his lips. Could it be time to stop dancing around whatever this was between them? Maybe it was time to be a little more decisive.

Then Arnold felt the prickling feelings of uncertainty, insecurity, and even a little dread.

That would be a challenge for another time—one he was almost ready for.

---

Later that night, Helga sat at her desk, Elliott's unanswered text still glowing on her phone. She pulled out the vintage fountain pen Arnold had given her—Dorothy Parker's pen—and opened her journal. The weight of it felt perfect in her hand, substantial and real in a way Elliott's polite interest didn't.

"What fresh hell is this?" she murmured, echoing Parker's famous words, then began to write about fathers and expectations, about safe choices and dangerous possibilities, about do-gooders who saw things in her that she wasn't sure she was ready to acknowledge.

Chapter Text

Episode 12: BeeGirl Flies in

Helga stared into her coffee cup as if seeking profound wisdom in its depths. Across from her, Elliott was enthusiastically explaining the symbolism in a poem his students were studying. He was nice—thoughtful, intelligent, and passionate. By any objective measure, this should be a good date.

So why was she counting the minutes until it ended?

"...and that's why I think the housing market correction we're seeing is actually a natural response to years of artificial inflation," Elliott concluded, looking at her expectantly. "That's... one perspective," Helga managed, realizing she'd missed half his explanation. "Though I'd argue it's more about predatory lending practices and zoning manipulation than natural market forces."

Elliott lit up. "Exactly! That's what makes this fascinating. Most people view housing as just an investment vehicle, but you understand the human cost. Like how developers use 'market-driven development' to justify displacing communities when it's really about maximizing profit margins."

Helga found herself genuinely engaging for the first time. "Finally, someone who gets that 'economic development' is often just gentrification with better PR."

"Exactly!" Elliott's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "See? This is why I wanted to have coffee with you. Most people just nod along when I talk about economic policy."

"I'm not most people," Helga said automatically.

"Clearly not," Elliott agreed, his expression warm. "So, economic aside, tell me more about your housing rights work. That sounds fascinating."

As Helga reluctantly described her current cases, she realized Elliott was actually listening—asking thoughtful questions, showing genuine interest. He was attentive, and smart, shared her love of finances, and seemed immune to her occasional sarcasm.

He was perfect on paper. ]ust as Anthony had been perfect on paper for Lila.

But there was no spark. No flutter in her stomach when their hands accidentally touched reaching for the sugar. No heightened awareness of his every movement, like she had with—

Helga cut that thought off abruptly. This was exactly why she'd agreed to coffee with Elliott. To stop thinking about Arnold every five minutes. To give someone else a chance.

"Would you like to get dinner sometime?" Elliott asked as they prepared to leave. "There's a new Vietnamese place I've been wanting to try."

Helga hesitated, genuinely torn. Elliott deserved someone who would light up at that invitation, not someone who was using him as a distraction from suppressed feelings.

"Elliott, I've enjoyed this, but..." she began, surprised at her own gentleness. "I don't think we should pursue this romantically. You're great, and in another universe, this would make perfect sense, but..."

"But there's no chemistry," Elliott finished for her with his eyebrows turned up, while half smiling.

"Exactly," Helga admitted. "It's not you—"

"Please don't finish that cliché," Elliott laughed. "I get it. And I appreciate the honesty. Most people would just ghost or give vague excuses."

"That's not my style," Helga said wryly.

"I noticed," Elliott grinned. "Well, if you ever want to argue about poetry or grab a purely platonic coffee, I'm around. No pressure either way."

"I'd like that," Helga replied, surprised to find she meant it.

As they parted ways, Helga felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. Relief that she'd been honest, disappointment that she couldn't make herself feel something that wasn't there.

And buried beneath both emotions, a nagging awareness that her inability to connect with Elliott had everything to do with a certain football-headed property manager who'd been occupying her thoughts for far too long.

---

"Nadine! You look marvelous!" Rhonda exclaimed, embracing her closet friend with genuine warmth. "Paris clearly agrees with you."

Nadine laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Her once jumbo twisted blonde hair was now styled in a sleek low bun, though she kept a few small braids woven around the perimeter with colorful beads suggesting she hadn't completely abandoned her free-spirited aesthetic.

"It's so good to see you, Rhonda," she said, settling into the booth at their favorite café. "I can't believe it's been what—two years since we've been in person?"

"Two years, four months, and approximately seventeen fashion cycles," Rhonda corrected, waving for a waiter. "Which you've clearly kept up with, I'm happy to see. That jacket is très chic."

"Some of your fashion sense rubbed off on me," Nadine admitted.

"Though I still had to talk my boss out of wearing cargo pants to meet with investors last week."

"As if!" Rhonda gasped, hand dramatically pressed to her chest. "Cargo pants? In this economy?"

They dissolved into laughter, falling easily back into the rhythm of their friendship despite the years apart.

"So," Rhonda said once they'd ordered, "tell me everything. Paris, the startup, the French men..."

"The startup is going well," Nadine replied. "We just secured another round of funding to expand our sustainable agriculture tech. It's why I'm back in Hillwood, actually—we're opening an American office."

"You're moving back?" Rhonda's eyes widened with delight.

"For the foreseeable future," Nadine confirmed. "I'll be heading up our U.S. operations."

"That's fantastic!" Rhonda clapped her hands. "The gang will be thrilled. We've all ended up back here somehow—Helga, Phoebe, Arnold, Gerald. Even Lila moved here after college. We're practically having a permanent PS 118 reunion."

"I heard about Arnold's community center project," Nadine said. "It sounds incredible—all that sustainable design, community garden space. Actually, I was hoping to talk to him about it. Our company might be interested in providing some support."

"Perfect! I'm having a little soirée Friday night. Nothing fancy, just drinks and appetizers. You can reconnect with everyone then."

"That sounds great," Nadine smiled. "Now, tell me about you. Your styling business is taking off from what I see on Instagram."

Rhonda launched into an animated description of her latest clients and fashion triumphs, gesturing expressively. As she talked, she studied her old friend. There was something different about Nadine beyond the haircut and fashionable clothes—a confidence, a groundedness that hadn't been there before.

"Enough business talk," Rhonda declared finally. "What about romance? Our long-distance calls never give us time to dish. Any dashing Frenchmen sweeping you off your feet?"

Nadine's expression turned wistful. "There was someone... Jean-Paul. It was serious for a while, but the distance when I returned to the U.S. was too much. We decided to end things."

"I'm sorry," Rhonda said, squeezing her friend's hand. "Distance is brutal."

"It is what it is," Nadine shrugged philosophically. "What about you? Anyone special?"

"Please," Rhonda waved dismissively. "Rhonda Lloyd is far too busy to ever stick with just one man. Though there is a certain bartender who makes an exceptional martini and has biceps you could crack walnuts on."

Nadine laughed. "Some things never change. I've missed you, Rhonda."

"And I've missed having someone with actual taste to talk to," Rhonda replied. "Do you know Helga still wears 90’s flannel? Voluntarily? In public?"

"How is Helga? Still terrifying everyone in her path?"

"Only in the courtroom now. She's actually softened somewhat—though if you tell her I said that, I'll deny it completely."

As they continued catching up, Rhonda felt a cozy comfort settle over her. Different as they had always been, she and Nadine had maintained a friendship that somehow worked despite—or perhaps because of—their differences. Having her back in Hillwood felt right like another piece of home falling back into place.

---

"Remind me again why we're doing this?" Helga asked, tugging at the neckline of the dress Rhonda had insisted she wear. "And why it required an emergency shopping trip?"

"Because," Rhonda explained with exaggerated patience, "Nadine hasn't seen any of us in years, and I refuse to have her think we've all devolved into fashion disasters in her absence."

"I'm pretty sure Nadine is the last person who would judge someone's outfit," Phoebe pointed out reasonably. "She used to wear butterfly clips in her hair until junior year."

"People change," Rhonda insisted, adjusting a flower arrangement for the third time. "Nadine has become quite sophisticated. She works with European investors now."

"Ooh la la," Helga mocked, grabbing a cheese cube from the meticulously arranged platter. "Does that mean we have to air-kiss and pretend to like escargot now?"

Rhonda swatted her hand away from the cheese. "It means we present ourselves as the successful, stylish adults we are. And stop eating the appetizers before everyone arrives!"

The doorbell rang, and Rhonda straightened, smoothing her already perfect hair. "Places, everyone. And Helga, try to smile. Your normal expression makes you look like you're plotting a homicide."

"Bold of you to assume I'm not," Helga muttered, but she managed to arrange her features into something approximating pleasantness as Rhonda opened the door.

Nadine stood there, looking elegant in a simple green dress that somehow managed to be both fashionable and understated. "Rhonda! Your place is gorgeous!"

As the women exchanged greetings, Helga studied Nadine with curious eyes. She'd never been particularly close to Rhonda's best friend, but she remembered her as the quiet, nature-obsessed girl who had somehow balanced Rhonda's domineering personality with her own gentle steadiness.

Adulthood had clearly been good to Nadine. She carried herself with quiet confidence, her smile warm but no longer bashful as she greeted Phoebe and Lila with genuine enthusiasm.

When she turned to Helga, there was no hesitation. "Helga Pataki. Rhonda tells me you're terrorizing courtrooms now instead of playgrounds. That's a step up."

Helga found herself grinning despite herself. "Nadine. Looking suspiciously like you know what a hairbrush is these days."

The sunkissed lady didn't miss a beat. "And you're looking like you know that eyebrow tweezers do exist."

Helga placed her hands on her hips and smirked. "touche'...'

Nadine shrugged while smoothing down some flyaways on her braids. "But I had to learn eventually," She laughed. "The bugs kept getting tangled in the knots."

Just like that, any potential awkwardness dissolved. Nadine might appear different, but that straightforward, unpretentious nature remained.

The doorbell rang again, and Rhonda ushered in Arnold and Gerald, both looking more polished than usual. Helga felt a familiar flutter when Arnold entered, which she promptly attempted to squash.

"Nadine!" Arnold's face lit up with genuine pleasure. "It's been ages."

"Arnold," Nadine stepped forward to hug him. "I've been following your community center project online. The sustainable design elements are incredible."

"You've seen the plans?" Arnold asked, surprised and clearly pleased.

"I work in sustainable agriculture tech now," Nadine explained. "Your rooftop garden design caught my eye. I'd love to hear more about it."

"Absolutely," Arnold nodded enthusiastically. "We're still looking for partners for some of the green space initiatives."

Just as Arnold was about to dive into details, Helga, passing by with her drink, mocked. "Wow, Football Head, I forgot you were still moonlighting as a tree-hugging activist. Gonna trade in your blueprints for a composting manual?"

Nadine chuckled, amused, but Arnold actually took the bait, shaking his head.

"It’s called designing for the future, Helga. You know, creating things that last?"

Helga arched a brow, taking a sip of her drink. "Oh, so like the ten different career paths you’ve entertained since high school?"

Gerald, lounging nearby, let out a laugh. "Ooooh, she got you there, man."

Arnold shot Gerald a look before turning back to Helga, eyes narrowing slightly.

"You know I've been an architect for three years now."

"Which is longer than I expected, honestly," Helga quipped before walking off, leaving Arnold frowning after her.

She'd been prickly all night — even more than usual — and he couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with Nadine. The thought stirred something unfamiliar in his chest. It wasn’t satisfaction or smugness — just a quiet flicker of what if.

Is she... jealous?

The possibility unsettled him more than it thrilled him. Because if she was, that meant there was something unspoken between them — something he wasn’t sure how to name yet, let alone handle.

Nadine glanced between them, eyebrows slightly raised, but didn’t press. Instead, she turned back to Arnold, keeping her tone warm, “So, about that rooftop garden…"

"My honeybee knows everything about sustainable design," Gerald chimed in, slipping an arm around Phoebe's shoulders. "Don't you, my little science maven?"

Phoebe modified her glasses, blushing slightly. "I have a passing familiarity with the principles, sugar bear, but Nadine's practical experience would be invaluable."

Helga made a gagging noise. "If you two don't stop with the nauseating pet names. Or I'm going to need more wine."

"Ignore her," Rhonda told Nadine. "She's allergic to displays of affection. Probably because the last man who showed interest in her was that investment banker she brutally rejected."

"I didn't brutally reject him," Helga protested. "It was a mutual recognition of incompatibility."

"Elliott?" Arnold asked, his expression carefully impartial. "That didn't work out?"

Helga shrugged, uncomfortably aware of everyone's attention. "He was friendly. Just not... it."

A brief silence fell, which Lila broke with her usual perfect timing. "Nadine, has Rhonda told you about Ben? We met at that speed dating event last week, and he's ever so wonderful."

"Rhonda did mention you met someone special recently."

Lila's face glowed up even more. "We had our first proper date last night, and it was absolutely magical. He took me to this little bookshop café that has poetry readings on Thursday nights."

"That sounds perfect for you," Nadine smiled warmly.

"It was! And he actually read one of his own poems—about his travels through rural Spain. It was ever so beautiful and romantic." Lila clasped her hands together. "Then we walked along the river and talked until nearly midnight about books and dreams and... oh, I hope I'm not boring you with all this."

"Not at all," Nadine assured her. "It's wonderful to see you so happy. He sounds like quite a catch."

"He truly is," Lila sighed contentedly. "I never believed in love at first sight before, but with Ben... it feels like I've been waiting my whole life to meet him."

Rhonda rolled her eyes affectionately. "And that's our romantic optimist. One good date and she's already planning the wedding."

"Sometimes you just know," Lila said dreamily before excusing herself to help with party preparations.

As the conversation shifted from Lila's new romance, Helga caught Arnold watching her with an unreadable expression before Nadine drew him back into conversation about the community center.

Throughout the evening, Helga found herself increasingly aware of Arnold and Nadine's easy rapport. They huddled over Arnold's phone, looking at design plans and talking animatedly about sustainability initiatives, environmental impact assessments, and organic gardening techniques.

"They seem to be hitting it off," Phoebe observed quietly, appearing at Helga's elbow as she refilled her wine glass.

"Hmm? Oh, Nature Boy and Bug Girl? I guess," Helga replied with forced nonchalance. "Makes sense. They're both disgustingly sunny do-gooders."

Phoebe studied her friend with care. "Nadine has always been passionate about environmental causes. It's a natural point of connection with Arnold's architectural interests."

"Whatever," Helga shrugged. "Not like I care who Football Head geeks out with about composting or whatever."

"Of course not," Phoebe agreed, her tone neutral but her eyes knowing. "Though I should mention Nadine inquired about your work with housing rights. She seemed genuinely impressed when I explained your recent victories."

"Really?" Helga couldn't help asking.

"Indeed. She mentioned her company has been involved in affordable, sustainable housing initiatives in Europe. Perhaps you might find some common ground there as well."

Before Helga could respond, Gerald appeared, wrapping his arms around Phoebe from behind. "There's my genius girl. I missed you."

"Gerald, I was merely refilling my beverage," Phoebe replied, though she leaned back against him with a small smile. "We've been separated for approximately three minutes and fourteen seconds."

"Felt like a lifetime, my little algorithm," Gerald kissed the top of her head after that. "And I'm out," Helga declared, moving away from the love fest. "You two are worse than teenagers."

As the evening progressed, Helga found herself making a conscious effort not to watch Arnold and Nadine. It wasn't that she was jealous, she told herself firmly. It was just... irritating to see how easily they connected, how Nadine's calm, gentle demeanor seemed to complement Arnold's earnestness.

It shouldn't bother her. After all, she'd just decided not to pursue things with Elliott. She had no claim on Arnold, and even if she did harbor some complicated feelings for him, that didn't mean he reciprocated them. He'd made no definitive move, despite a few moments of... something... between them.

And yet, watching him laugh at something Nadine said, seeing how their conversation flowed without the combative edge that always characterized her own interactions with Arnold, Helga felt a familiar twisting in her gut.

"They're just talking about insects and plants," she muttered to herself. "Get a grip, Pataki."

"Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity," Rhonda commented, appearing at her side. "Though in your case, it might be an improvement over your usual communication style."

"Hilarious," Helga replied flatly. "Shouldn't you be fawning over your sophisticated European friend?"

"Nadine can handle herself," Rhonda said, following Helga's gaze to where Arnold and Nadine were still deep in conversation. "They're discussing his community center, you know. Professional interests, not romantic ones."

"I don't care either way," Helga insisted.

Rhonda gave her a knowing look. "Sure. Just like you didn't care about that English teacher who was, what did you call it? 'Nice but not right'?"

"Do you have a point, Princess, or are you just enjoying the sound of your own voice as usual?"

"My point," Rhonda said, lowering her voice, "is that Nadine mentioned her ex-boyfriend back in Paris. Jean-Paul. A relationship that only just ended because of her moving back."

"Again, not seeing how this concerns me."

"It concerns you because you're standing here glaring daggers at my oldest friend for having a professional conversation with the man you've been pining over for God knows how long."

"I have not—" Helga began hotly.

"Save it," Rhonda cut her off. "I have eyes. And contrary to popular belief, I'm not completely self-absorbed. I've seen how you look at him, Helga. And honestly, it's getting a little pathetic."

"Excuse me?" Helga's voice rose slightly.

"You heard me," Rhonda continued, unfazed. "You push away perfectly nice men like Elliott because they're 'not right,' but you refuse to do anything about your feelings for Arnold. Meanwhile, you're practically radiating jealousy because he's talking to someone who shares his interests."

"I am not jealous," Helga hissed. "And my relationship status is none of your business."

"It is when you're making my friend uncomfortable with your death glare," Rhonda replied. "Nadine noticed, by the way. She's too polite to say anything, but she asked me if there was 'something between you and Arnold.' What was I supposed to tell her? 'Oh, Helga's been in love with him since elementary school but is too stubborn to admit it, so she just sabotages every other relationship and silently fumes whenever he talks to another woman'?"

Helga opened her mouth to deliver a scathing retort but found herself momentarily speechless. Was she really that transparent?

Seeing Helga's expression, Rhonda's tone softened slightly. "Look, I'm not saying this to be cruel. I'm saying it because sometimes you need a push. If you have feelings for him, do something about it. If not, let it go and stop glaring at my friend."

Before Helga could respond, Lila appeared, her expression concerned. "Is everything alright? You both look ever so serious."

"Just giving Helga some fashion advice," Rhonda replied smoothly. "That shade of denial she's wearing is so last season."

Helga rolled her eyes. "And on that note, I need another drink."

As she made her way to the kitchen for wine reinforcements, Helga tried to process Rhonda's words. Was she really being that obvious? And more importantly, was Rhonda right?

She poured herself another glass of wine with perhaps more force than necessary, sloshing a few drops onto the counter.

"Need some help with that?"

Helga turned to find Arnold in the doorway, watching her with that half-lidded gaze that always made her stomach flip.

"I think I can handle pouring wine, Football Head," she replied, aiming for her usual acerbic tone but falling somewhat short.

"Of course," he nodded, entering the kitchen anyway. "Rhonda sent me for more of those little pastry things. Apparently, they're going too fast."

"In the fridge," Helga gestured with her wine glass. "Second shelf."

Arnold retrieved the tray, then paused, studying her. "Are you okay? You seem..."

"What?" Helga challenged when he didn't finish.

"I don't know. Different tonight. Quieter."

Helga took a sip of wine, buying time. "Just tired. Long week at work."

"Right," Arnold nodded, though he didn't look convinced. "Nadine was just telling me about some sustainable housing initiatives her company worked on in Paris. Might be relevant to your Hillwood Heights case, actually. You should talk to her about it."

"I'm sure Bug Girl and I will have lots to discuss," Helga replied, the nickname slipping out before she could stop herself.

Arnold's eyebrows rose slightly. "Bug Girl? I thought we'd all outgrown the playground nicknames."

"Says the guy who still answers to 'Football Head,'" Helga shot back.

"Fair point," Arnold conceded with a small smile. "Though, in my case, it's less a general nickname and more your personal term of endearment."

"It is not a term of endearment," Helga protested, feeling her cheeks warm.

"If you say so," Arnold replied, his tone light but his eyes searching. "For what it's worth, I think you and Nadine would get along really well if you gave her a chance. She's smart, passionate about making a difference, doesn't take herself too seriously... reminds me of someone else I know."

Before Helga could process that comparison, Rhonda's voice called from the living room. "Arnold! Where are those pastries? We're dying of hunger out here!"

"Duty calls," Arnold shrugged. "Coming, Rhonda!"

As he left with the tray, Helga remained in the kitchen, replaying his words. Had he just compared her to Nadine? And if so, what did that mean? That he saw them as similar? That he was attracted to those qualities?

She shook her head, trying to clear it. She was overanalyzing, as usual. Arnold was just being nice, trying to encourage her to be friendly to someone who, objectively, hadn't done anything wrong beyond sharing some interests with him.

Rhonda's words echoed in her mind. If you have feelings for him, do something about it. If not, let it go.

The problem was that Helga wasn't sure she knew how to do either of those things.

"All your friends are wonderful," Nadine told Rhonda as they cleaned up after the party. Everyone had left or retreated to their respective rooms, but Nadine had stayed to help with the aftermath. "It's nice to see how you've all stayed connected."

"We're like a dysfunctional family at this point," Rhonda replied, carefully wrapping leftover cheese for storage. "Impossible to get rid of each other even if we wanted to."

"Especially now that you all live in the same building," Nadine nodded. "That must be nice."

"Usually," Rhonda agreed. "Though there are definitely moments when I question my life choices. Like when Helga decides to practice her closing arguments at 6 AM."

Nadine laughed, then hesitated. "Speaking of Helga... is everything okay with her? She seemed a bit... tense tonight."

"Tense is Helga's default setting," Rhonda said dismissively. "Don't take it personally."

"I wasn't," Nadine assured her. "I just wondered if I said something wrong. Especially when I was talking with Arnold, she kept looking over like she wanted to murder me with her mind."

Rhonda sighed. "It's complicated. Let's just say Helga has some... unresolved feelings regarding our resident property manager."

"Ah," Nadine's expression cleared. "That makes sense. They always had that weird tension, even as kids."

"Exactly. And nothing has changed, except now they're both too stubborn or scared to do anything about it. Meanwhile, we all suffer through the pining and denial."

"I'd never want to step on her toes," Nadine said. "Arnold and I were just talking about the community center. Professional interests."

"I know that," Rhonda assured her. "And deep down, Helga probably knows it too. She's just... Helga. Emotions aren't her strong suit."

"Should I talk to her? Clear the air?"

"God no," Rhonda laughed. "That would make it a thousand times worse. Just be yourself. She'll come around." She paused, then added more seriously, "Helga's rough around the edges, but she's actually one of the most loyal people I know. Once she realizes you're not a threat to whatever she's denying she feels for Arnold, she'll be fine."

Nadine nodded thoughtfully. "I hope so. I'd like us to be friends. Especially if I'm going to be back in Hillwood permanently."

"You're still planning to take that apartment in the building?" Rhonda asked, excitement creeping into her voice.

"I've submitted the application," Nadine confirmed. "It's perfect—close to where our offices will be, and now I know I'll have friends nearby."

"This is going to be fantastic," Rhonda declared, hugging her friend impulsively. "The whole old gang back together again, minus creep Thad." She made a gag face. "Plus, you can help me convince everyone that the lobby definitely needs a redesign. Arnold's been resistant to my suggestions."

"Let me guess," Nadine smiled. "Something involving crystal chandeliers and imported marble?"

"Minimalist and tasteful," Rhonda sniffed. "But yes, the marble is non-negotiable."

As they finished cleaning, Rhonda found herself genuinely happy at the prospect of having Nadine back in Hillwood permanently. Despite their differences, Nadine had always been the one person who truly understood her, who saw past the designer labels and social climbing to the person beneath.

And if Helga happened to get a little jealous in the process and finally admitted her feelings for Arnold... well, that would just be a bonus.

The guests have mostly cleared out. Empty glasses and plates scatter the space. Arnold is collecting dishes while soft jazz plays from the speaker. Rhonda walked in, heels off, wine in hand.

"Didn’t peg you for a dish-duty kind of guy."

"Didn’t peg you for someone who keeps snacks organized by color, so I guess we’re both full of surprises." Arnold tossed back.

Rhonda sniggered and watched him a beat before speaking again. She leaned against the kitchen counter by the sink. "You know... Nadine really seems interested in the community center."

Arnold dried off a plate and peeked at her. "Yeah. It kind of blew me away. I didn’t expect her to know so much about sustainable design."

"She’s always been that way—quietly brilliant. Annoying, isn’t it?"

He chuckled, and there was a pause and shift in the air with Rhonda getting a bit more serious. "Listen... I’ve been meaning to follow up with my dad about the proposal. The thing is, we don’t exactly have the kind of relationship where I can just... ask for things."

Arnold nodded and softened his voice. "He cut you off, right? You mentioned it once." He was sparing her a little; everyone knew her family cut her off, and it was a big scene.

Rhonda looked away. "Yeah. And ever since I built my brand without his name on the label, he's been... distant. Not disapproving. Just cold. Like I proved him wrong, and he doesn’t know what to do with that."

Arnold set down the plate in his hand and looked at her, listening closely.

"But seeing Nadine jump in tonight, no hesitation—it made me realize maybe it’s time I swallowed some pride. I don’t want this thing to succeed without me trying everything I can to help. Even if it means calling the man who thinks martinis count as parenting."

One corner of Arnold's mouth curled up. "That means a lot, Rhonda. You know I’d never expect that from you... but I appreciate it."

She flipped her hair, getting back to her usual demeanor. "Just don’t make me regret it, Arnold."

He smirked. "Never."

They share a brief, surprisingly warm smile before Rhonda downs the last of her wine and disappears down the hallway.

---

Helga paced in her bedroom, colored in her shades of blue and pink, unable to settle.

The party had ended hours ago, but her mind kept replaying moments from the evening—Arnold and Nadine laughing together, the easy way they'd connected, Rhonda's pointed comments.

She was being ridiculous. Arnold was allowed to have friends. He and Nadine shared professional interests. It was perfectly normal for them to talk extensively about sustainability and community gardens and whatever other save-the-world topics they'd covered.

So why couldn't she stop thinking about it?

A gentle knock at their front door interrupted her spiraling thoughts. "I'll get it!" She shouted before whoever was still up could move.

She checked the peephole, then groaned softly. Of course...

"What do you want, Football Head?" she asked, opening the door to find Arnold standing there, holding a manila folder.

"Sorry to bother you so late," he said. "But I remembered what we were talking about at Rhonda's party—about Nadine's sustainable housing work? I grabbed these documents from my office. Thought they might be useful for your Hillwood Heights case."

Helga blinked, momentarily thrown. "You... brought me documents? At midnight?"

"Is it that late?" Arnold checked his watch, looking genuinely surprised.

"Sorry. I got caught up working on some plans and lost track of time. This can wait until morning."

"No, it's fine," Helga said quickly, stepping back to let him in. "I'm still up, obviously."

Arnold entered, placing the folder on her coffee table. "It's just some information about integrating sustainable elements into affordable housing. Nadine's company has had success with similar projects in Europe. I thought it might give you some leverage against the developers."

Helga narrowed her eyes, arms crossing. "And you thought of this... when exactly? Before or after your deep and meaningful chat with green tech girl?

Arnold blinked, clearly caught off guard. “I—what does that have to do with anything?”

Helga shrugged, leaning back, studying him. “Just funny is all. You didn’t drive over to your little sustainability soulmate’s place with these files, did you?”

Arnold hesitated, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Helga…”

Helga smirked, but there was a flash of something sharp behind her eyes. “Relax, Football Head. I’m just saying, for someone so big on ‘helping the community,’ you sure have a habit of showing up at my door first.”

Arnold exhaled through his nose, his grip tightening on the folder—but he didn’t argue.

A brief silence.

"So," Arnold finally said, his tone shifting. A deflection. "It really didn't work out with that guy... Elliot?"

Helga crossed her arms, her jaw tightening. "Not that it's any of your business, but no. We weren’t compatible.

"I'm sorry," Arnold said, his voice a little too neutral. Helga gave him a look. "He sounded... nice."

Arnold nodded slowly like he understood that feeling all too well. "I get it."

Another silence fell, weighty and unspoken.

"You and Nadine seemed to hit it off," Helga said, throwing it out casually, but her fingers were curled a little too tightly around the counter’s edge.

"She's great," Arnold agreed. "Really knowledgeable about environmental design. Her company might partner with us on the community center."

"That's... great," Helga managed, hating the tightness in her chest.

Arnold studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Helga, is something bothering you? You've been acting strange all night."

"Nothing's bothering me," Helga insisted too quickly. "Why would anything be bothering me? Just because you spent the entire evening huddled with Bug-Nadine talking about saving the rainforest or whatever doesn't mean—"

She stopped abruptly, realizing what she'd revealed.

Arnold's eyes widened slightly; then, a small smile played at his lips. "Are you... jealous?"

"Of course not," Helga scoffed, feeling her face heat. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Because there's nothing to be jealous of," Arnold continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Nadine and I were talking about work. Professional interests. That's all."

"I know that," Helga snapped. "I'm not an idiot."

"I never said you were," Arnold replied, his voice gentle. "I just wanted to make sure you knew."

Helga's defenses faltered under his steady gaze. "Well. Good. Glad we cleared that up."

"Besides," Arnold added, taking a small step closer. "Nadine's not really my type."

"No?" Helga arched an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what is your type?” She hit her hand on the counter as she asked, more forceful than she meant.

Arnold's mouth opened, his eyes dropping to his shoes. "I mean... some relatively new feelings have got me a bit confused about that." He lifted his eyes back to her. "I’ve got a pretty strong guess. I’m just not sure what to do with it yet."

Helga stepped forward with her arms crossed. “Better figure it out soon, Football Head. Wouldn’t want to waste any more time, would you?” She said, smirking and a little breathless.

Arnold blinked, something flickering across his face—a realization, a question, a shift he's not ready to voice. The air between them crackled with unspoken possibility. "I should go," he said finally, his voice rougher than usual.

"Yeah," Helga agreed, though neither of them moved for a moment. "You should." As Arnold headed toward the door, Helga followed, her heart hammering.

At the threshold, he paused, turning back to face her. "Helga, I—"

"Goodnight, Football Head," she said softly, already beginning to close the door. Her eyes stayed locked on his until the very last second, the door clicking shut between them.

Arnold stood in the hallway for a long moment, her words echoing in his mind like a schoolyard dare he wasn't sure he was brave enough to answer.

Chapter Text

Episode 13: Show Up When It Matters

"Objection! Counsel is deliberately misrepresenting the facts," Helga said sharply, rising from her seat at the plaintiff's table.

Judge Rivera fixed her with a stern look. "Ms. Pataki, I've already ruled on this matter. The evidence in question has been deemed inadmissible."

"But, Your Honor, the structural assessment clearly shows that the Hillwood Heights building doesn't meet current safety codes. The residents can't possibly be expected to vacate when the developers have—"

"Ms. Pataki," the judge interrupted, her patience visibly wearing thin. "I suggest you move on to your next argument before I hold you in contempt."

Helga swallowed her frustration, acutely aware of the rows of Hillwood Heights residents watching from the gallery. Their worried faces reminded her exactly what was at stake.

"Yes, Your Honor," she managed through gritted teeth, shuffling through her notes to regroup. Lila, her near-perfect assistant, watched with concern while finishing up her notes.

Across the courtroom, the developer's attorney, Cameron Walsh, looked smug in his perfectly tailored suit. The kind of lawyer who represented corporations exclusively and probably had never met a single person whose home was at risk. Helga had gone up against his type countless times, but today, his confidence was particularly grating.

By the time  court  adjourned for lunch, Helga's shoulders were knotted with tension. The morning had been a disaster – crucial evidence excluded, objections overruled, and the judge  clearly  favoring the developer's side.

"Ms. Pataki?" A tentative voice broke through her dark thoughts. She turned to find Mrs. Ramirez, one of the Hillwood Heights tenant leaders, standing nearby with several other residents.

"We just wanted to thank you for fighting so hard for us," Mrs. Ramirez said, her weathered face creased with worry despite her words of gratitude. "We know it's not easy."

Helga's frustration softened immediately. "We're not done fighting, Mrs. Ramirez. Not by a long shot. The judge may have excluded the structural assessment, but we still have the environmental impact reports and the historical designation application."

"But if they force us out while the case is ongoing..." Mr. Cai, another resident, began.

"That's not going to happen," Helga assured him with more confidence than she felt. "The temporary injunction is still in place. No one's getting evicted while this case is in court."

After reassuring the residents as best she could, Helga told Lila she needed some solitude before  she escaped to a nearby café to regroup.  She needed to rethink her strategy completely. Without the structural assessment, she'd have to lean harder on the environmental and historical preservation angles. It wasn't ideal, but she'd faced worse odds.

"Rough morning?"

Helga looked up to find a man about her age standing beside her table, coffee in hand. He wore a rumpled but expensive-looking suit, his dark hair slightly too long for courtroom standards, his expression genuinely sympathetic rather than condescending.

"Do I know you?" she asked, more brusquely than intended.

"Not yet," he replied with an easy smile. "I'm Nathan Daniels. I was in court this morning – I'm with the State Attorney's Environmental Division. Mind if I join you?"

Helga hesitated, then gestured to the empty chair across from her. "Helga G. Pataki, housing attorney at law. If you hear yelling, I'm winning."

He gave an impressed smile and a  head  nod.

"And yes, rough morning would be putting it mildly."

"Judge Rivera's exclusion of the structural assessment was questionable at best," Nate said, settling into the chai while maintaining perfectly straight posture. "Walsh is good at procedural maneuvering, but his substantive arguments are usually weak."

"You've gone up against him before?"

"Twice," Nate nodded. "Split the difference – one win, one loss. He tends to overplay his hand in the later stages if you can hold out long enough."

Helga found herself leaning forward slightly, intrigued not just by the information but by the way he delivered it – confident without being condescending, analytical in a way that matched her  own  approach. "What's your read on Rivera?" she asked, testing him.

"Strict constructionist, but fair if you stick to precedent," Nate replied without hesitation. "She hates grandstanding but respects thorough preparation. Why she shut down your structural assessment wasn't about the evidence – it was about Walsh's procedural objection being technically correct, even if ethically questionable."

Helga blinked, impressed despite herself. "Most attorneys would have just said she's 'tough but fair.'"

"Most attorneys don't pay attention," Nate shrugged with an easy smile. "You have to understand the person behind the bench, not just the law."

There was a pause and an understanding between them before he spoke up.

“Actually—there’s a case that might be useful here,” Nate said, confident but measured. He outlined a recent environmental injunction that forced a developer to halt construction due to contamination—an angle strikingly similar to Helga’s case.

Helga listened closely, nodding as she absorbed the parallels. The precedent was solid, the strategy sound.

“You’ve clearly done your homework,” she said, almost surprised at her own appreciation.

“Like I said—been following Apex for a while.” Nate offered a small smile. “And you... you make an impression in court.”

She let that hang in the air for a second, then sipped her coffee.

“You offering assistance or auditioning for a meet-cute?”

He laughed, not rattled. “Strictly professional, I promise. Though I wouldn’t say no to more conversations like this.”

Helga gave a tight-lipped smile, already refocusing. “Then bring something useful next time. Like lab results or loopholes.”

And with that, she gathered her things—leaving Nate both impressed and slightly off balance.

As they walked back to the courthouse, Helga found her spirits somewhat lifted. A potential alliance with the State Environmental Division could be exactly the break she needed.

The afternoon session, however, quickly dashed her renewed optimism. Judge Rivera ruled against her on almost every motion, and by the time the court adjourned for the day, Helga felt like she'd been hit by a truck.

"We'll reconvene tomorrow at 9 AM," the judge announced. "Ms. Pataki, I expect you'll have your documentation in order by then."

It was a deliberate dig, and Helga forced herself to respond professionally. "Yes, Your Honor."

Outside the courtroom, she gave the Hillwood Heights residents the most encouraging update she could muster, promising to work through the night on a new strategy. Their faces—worried but trusting—stayed with her as she gathered her mountain of files and headed back to the office.

Six hours later, Helga was still at her desk, surrounded by towers of legal documents, empty coffee cups, and discarded legal pad pages filled with crossed-out strategies. Her eyes burned from staring at her computer screen, and her neck ached from hunching over case law references.

The office was silent, everyone else  having  gone home hours ago. Even Lila, who often stayed late to help Helga prepare, had finally departed around nine, gently suggesting that Helga should get some rest, too.

Rest was a luxury she couldn't afford. Not with dozens of families counting on her to save their homes.

A soft knock at the office door startled her. It was well past midnight—who would be here at this hour?

"Still burning the midnight oil, I see," Arnold said, stepping into the office with a paper bag in one hand and a drink carrier in the other.

"How did you get in here?" Helga gripped her forehead, too exhausted to muster her usual sharpness.

"Lila gave me the security code," Arnold explained, setting his offerings on the one clear spot on her desk. "She was worried about you. We all are. Gerald said he saw you in court today."

"Gerald was there?"

"Covering the case for the Chronicle," Arnold nodded. "He said it was... challenging."

"That's one word for it," Helga sighed, eyeing the bag Arnold had brought. "Please tell me that's food."

"Bigal's special," Arnold confirmed. Grilled cheese and tomato soup—comfort food for crisis times."

Despite herself, Helga felt a wave of gratitude. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. "Thanks, Arnold."

"Don't thank me yet," He replied, pulling up a chair beside her. "I come bearing food but also a proposition."

"I'm too tired for innuendos," Helga muttered, already unwrapping the grilled cheese.

Arnold's ears reddened slightly, but he continued. "Not that kind of proposition. A professional one. I've been talking with Nadine about the Hillwood Heights case."

Helga tensed automatically at the mention of Nadine, then forced herself to relax. "What about it?"

"Her company, GreenTech Solutions, has been looking for a demonstration project here in Hillwood. They specialize in retrofitting older buildings with sustainable elements that also happen to address structural integrity issues."

Helga set down her sandwich, suddenly alert. "Go on."

"What if Hillwood Heights became that demonstration project?" Arnold continued, excitement growing in his voice. "GreenTech would commit to renovating the building with their latest green technology while maintaining the historical character and keeping current residents in place. The PR value alone would be worth the investment for them."

"And the residents get to stay in upgraded apartments," Helga finished, mind racing. "But why would Apex Development agree? They want to tear it down for luxury condos."

"That's where your legal pressure comes in," Arnold explained. "Combined with some new leverage I think we can provide."

"What leverage?"

Arnold pulled out his tablet and opened a series of documents. "Nadine's team analyzed the soil samples from the Hillwood Heights property. They found contamination levels that would require extensive remediation before any new construction could begin—remediation that would cost Apex millions and delay their project by at least two years."

Helga stared at him. "Is this real? Scientifically verified?"

"Fully verified by an independent lab," Arnold confirmed. "Nadine expedited the testing as a personal favor. These results aren't public yet, but they could be—right in the middle of Apex's IPO preparations."

"Arnold Shortman," Helga said slowly, "are you suggesting we blackmail a development company?"

"Not blackmail," Arnold corrected. "Strategic negotiation. GreenTech offers to handle the remediation as part of their demonstration project, Apex avoids a PR nightmare during their IPO, and the residents get to stay in their homes. Everyone wins."

Helga felt a surge of hope for the first time all day. "This... could  actually  work. But we'd need to present a united front—legal, environmental, and community. And we'd need detailed proposals, costings..."

"Already in progress," Arnold assured her. "Nadine's group has been working on it since your case hit the news. They just needed someone to connect the dots."

"And you connected them," Helga said, studying him with new appreciation.

Arnold shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "It's what I do, I guess. Try to find solutions where everyone benefits."

"The eternal optimist," Helga remarked, but there was no mockery in her tone. "Do you  really  think this could work?"

"I do," Arnold raised his brows high. "But it would be stronger coming from a coalition. Which brings me to the other reason I'm here. There's a meeting tomorrow morning—Nadine, her people, some community advocates. They want you there."

"Tomorrow morning? Court reconvenes at nine."

"The meeting's at seven," Arnold said apologetically. "Early, I know, but it's the only time everyone could make it before Nadine flies to Chicago."

Helga glanced at the mountain of work still ahead of her, then back at Arnold's earnest face. "Seven it is," she decided. "You  really  think we can pull this off?"

"I think if anyone can make it happen, it's you," Arnold expressed  simply .

Something warm unfurled in Helga's chest at his words. Not just the compliment but the quiet confidence behind it. Arnold had always believed in her, even when they were kids.

"Well," she tried to maintain some semblance of her typical gruffness, "at least it gives me another angle besides watching Walsh smirk his way through another day of Judge Rivera shutting me down."

"You should still eat and get some sleep," Arnold suggested, gesturing toward the food he'd brought. "Even legal crusaders need rest."

"I will," Helga promised. "Just a few more documents to review."

Arnold looked skeptical but didn't press. "I'll pick you up at 6:30," he informed her, standing to leave. "The meeting's at GreenTech's temporary offices downtown."

"You don't have to chauffeur me, Football Head," Helga protested. "I'm capable of finding my  own  way."

"I know," Arnold replied, pausing at the door with a light twinkle in his eyes. "But that's what friends do, right? Show up when it matters."

After he left, Helga sat still for a moment, absorbing the whiplash turn her case had potentially just taken. From disaster to possible salvation in a single late-night visit.

She fully unwrapped the sandwich Arnold had brought, suddenly ravenous, and pulled Nadine's soil analysis reports closer. Hoping all of this preparation would lead to a way out of this mess after all.

And if it took accepting help from Arnold and Nadine to save her clients' homes, well... Helga Pataki could swallow her pride when necessary.

The fact that Arnold had shown up exactly when she needed support, with both food and strategic help, was something she'd examine later when she wasn't running on fumes and facing the fight of her legal life.

For now, she had work to do.

---

"Did you sleep at all?" Arnold asked the next morning, taking in Helga's rumpled appearance as she slid into the passenger seat of his car.

"Define 'sleep,'" Helga answered, clutching a travel mug of coffee like it contained the elixir of life. "I may have dozed off on my desk for twenty minutes around 4 AM."

Arnold shook his head but  kept  quiet, pulling away from the curb toward downtown.  The early morning streets were peaceful, the sun just beginning to peek between buildings.

"I reviewed all the documentation you and Nadine provided," Helga spoke after a few minutes of silence. "The soil contamination is our strongest lever. If we can get a temporary injunction based on environmental concerns, it gives us time to negotiate the GreenTech proposal."

"That's what I was thinking," Arnold agreed. "But the housing angle is still crucial. This isn't just about environmental remediation—it's about preserving affordable housing in a neighborhood that's rapidly gentrifying."

Helga peeked at him, somewhat surprised by his grasp of the housing politics. "When did you become so versed in urban housing policy, Football Head?"

"Around the same time, I inherited a boarding house and had to decide what to do with it," Arnold replied. "I did a lot of research when I was converting it to apartments. Wanted to make sure I wasn't contributing to the problem."

"Hence the rent control and income-based units," Helga did a head bob, remembering details she'd overheard from other tenants. "Always the philanthropist."

"Says the woman who hasn't slept because she's trying to save a building full of families from eviction," Arnold pointed out with a small smile.

Helga, side-eyeing Arnold as she sipped her coffee: Helga, side-eyeing Arnold as she sipped her coffee: “You’re awfully helpful lately, Football Head.”

Arnold raised a brow. “Aren’t I always helpful?”

Helga smirked. “Sure. But lately, it’s a little more... focused.”

Arnold stiffened slightly but kept his eyes on the road. “Your case is important.”

Helga raised an eyebrow, her tone just a touch sharper. “Yeah, she does. With help from you, right?”

Arnold’s grip on the wheel tightened. “I wouldn’t call it help. Just connecting people, like I always do.”

“Mmhm.” Helga leaned back, her voice light but edged. “Just making the world a better place—one eco-blonde at a time.”

Arnold let out a slow exhale through his nose, his grip tightening on the wheel before he forced himself to relax. He could feel Helga watching him, waiting for a reaction. Instead, he flicked on his turn signal, eyes fixed on the road. “She seems to be doing fine on her own.”

Helga’s smirk didn’t fade, but she let the moment settle.

As the traffic lights flickered between stops, Arnold kept his focus ahead, ignoring the way Helga’s words twisted something small and unspoken inside him. She was teasing, sure. But he knew her well enough to recognize when there was something sharper behind the joke.

Helga, meanwhile, found herself stealing glances at Arnold’s profile. From childhood antagonists to... whatever they were now. Friends, certainly. But sometimes, in moments like this, it felt like something more hovered just beneath the surface.

The thought was interrupted as they arrived at a sleek glass building downtown, where Nadine waited in the lobby.

"Helga! I'm so glad you could make it," she greeted them, looking fresh and sharp in a green blazer over a simple white blouse. "Everyone's already upstairs. We have about an hour before my flight, so let's make it count."

The meeting room was filled with an eclectic mix of people—GreenTech executives in business casual, community organizers in more modest  attire , and, to Helga's surprise, Nathan Daniels from the State Attorney's office.

"Ms. Pataki," Nathan nodded in greeting. "Looks like we're having that collaboration conversation sooner than expected."

"Small world," Helga replied, curious about his presence.

"I invited the State Environmental Division," Nadine explained. "Their ongoing investigation into Apex gives us additional leverage."

For the next hour, Helga found herself in the kind of strategy session she thrived on—rapid-fire ideas, legal maneuvering, community needs, and technical solutions all coming together in a cohesive plan. By the time Nadine had to leave for her flight, they had the outline of a solid approach, with Helga, Nathan, and GreenTech's legal counsel taking point on different aspects of the negotiation.

"This is going to work," Nadine sounded confident as they wrapped up. "Apex would be foolish to reject such a reasonable compromise."

"Corporations aren't known for being reasonable," Helga cautioned. "But with the right pressure points, they can be persuaded to act in their  own  self-interest. And right now, avoiding a public environmental scandal during their IPO is definitely in their interest."

"Not to mention avoiding a class action from the residents," Nathan added. "Which, I understand you were already preparing?"

"It's drafted," Helga confirmed. "Ready to file if negotiations fall through."

As the meeting dispersed, Nathan approached Helga while Arnold was speaking with one of the community organizers. "That was impressive," he said, genuine admiration in his voice. "You've got a solid grasp of both the legal and human elements."

"This isn't my first housing battle," Helga replied, though she appreciated the professional recognition.

"I can tell," Nathan smiled. "Listen, setting aside the case for a moment—would you be interested in grabbing dinner sometime? I'd love to discuss some other environmental housing cases I'm working on. Could use someone with your strategic mind."

Helga found herself  actually  considering it. Nathan was sharp,  principled , and treated her like an intellectual equal rather than trying to impress her. It was... refreshing.

"Maybe," she heard herself say. "After this case wraps up. I don't mix business and pleasure during active litigation."

"Smart policy," Nathan approved. "How about I call you next week?"

"Sure," Helga agreed, then caught sight of Arnold across the room looking their way with an unreadable expression.

"Great," Nathan said, genuine pleasure in his voice. "And in the meantime, I'll have those environmental reports ready for court this afternoon."

"Thanks," Helga said, still aware of Arnold's gaze. "I'll see you there."

As Nathan walked away, Helga felt oddly conflicted. Here was exactly the kind of man she should be interested in - brilliant, accomplished, fighting the good fight. The card was still tucked in her hand. Objectively perfect. Practically preapproved by Big Bob.

And yet... all she could think about was a certain football-headed pain in the ass who brought her grilled cheese at midnight.

As they prepared to leave for court, Arnold rejoined her with his sleeves rolled up. "Everything okay? You looked serious with Mr. Daniels."

"Counsel discussions," Helga stated vaguely. "He's going to help with the environmental angle in court today."

"That's great," Arnold replied, though something in his tone suggested he'd picked up on the subtext of Nathan's approach. "You ready for round two with Judge Rivera?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Helga moaned, gathering her files. "At least now I have some new ammunition."

"You've got this," Arnold encouraged with that unwavering conviction that always steadied her. "The whole building's rooting for you."

"Thanks for the pressure," Helga muttered, but she felt bolstered by his faith in her. "And... thanks for last night. The food. The strategy. All of it."

"Anytime," Arnold replied  simply .  "That's what—"

"—friends are for," Helga finished for him. "Yeah, I know."

If she lingered a bit on the word "friends," wondering if it fully encompassed what they were to each other, she kept that thought to herself.

Right now, she had a courtroom to conquer.

"Your Honor, in light of this new environmental evidence, we move for an immediate stay on all development activities at the Hillwood Heights property," Helga concluded, her voice steady and authoritative despite her exhaustion.

Judge Rivera looked less than pleased as she reviewed the soil testing reports Nate had presented. Across the courtroom, Cameron Walsh was engaged in furious whispered consultation with his associates.

"Mr. Walsh?" the judge prompted. "Your response to this new evidence?"

Walsh rose, his usual smugness notably diminished. "Your Honor, we request a brief recess to review these new findings, which counsel has only just now presented."

"Granted," Judge Rivera nodded. "Court will recess for thirty minutes."

As the courtroom began to empty, Helga turned to find Nate beside her, a satisfied expression on his face.

"Walsh is rattled," he observed quietly. "He's already on the phone with Apex's CEO."

"Good," Helga replied. "The more pressure they feel, the more receptive they'll be to our proposal."

"Ms. Pataki," Walsh's voice interrupted them. "A word?"

Helga exchanged a glance with Nathan before approaching her opponent. "Yes, Mr. Walsh?"

"Perhaps we could discuss a potential settlement," Walsh suggested, his tone carefully neutral. "My clients may be willing to explore alternatives that address the community's concerns."

"How fortunate," Helga replied coolly. "We happen to have a comprehensive proposal ready for review. Shall we?"

By the time court reconvened, the outline of an agreement was taking shape. Judge Rivera, sensing the shift, ordered a formal settlement conference for the following morning and adjourned for the day.

Outside the courthouse, the Hillwood Heights residents gathered around Helga, their faces anxious.

"What does this mean, Ms. Pataki?" Mrs. Ramirez asked. "Do we still have to leave our homes?"

"It means we're negotiating," Helga defined, not wanting to create false hope. "Apex is considering a partnership with GreenTech Solutions that would renovate the building instead of demolishing it. You would stay in your homes during the renovation, and afterward, your rents would remain controlled."

A murmur of cautious optimism spread through the group.

"Is it  really  possible?" Mr. Chai questioned. "After they fought so hard to evict us?"

"It's more than possible," Helga assured him. "The environmental issues we uncovered have changed the equation for Apex. Demolition is now significantly more expensive and complicated than renovation. And with the IPO coming up, they want this resolved quickly and quietly."

As she continued explaining the situation to the residents, Helga glimpsed sight of Arnold waiting patiently at the edge of the courthouse steps. He'd  apparently  come straight from work—his sleeves were rolled up, and there was a smudge of what looked like paint on his forearm. Despite having been up since before dawn to help her, he'd shown up to hear the outcome.

That warm feeling returned to her chest, stronger this time.

Once the residents dispersed, Helga approached him. "Shouldn't you be managing your building, Football Head? Fixing leaky pipes or whatever it is you do all day?"

"I delegated," Arnold shrugged. "Wanted to hear how it went. From your face, I'm guessing positive?"

"Cautiously optimistic," Helga corrected but couldn't completely suppress her smile. "Settlement conference tomorrow. Apex seems open to the GreenTech partnership."

"That's fantastic, Helga!" Arnold's genuine enthusiasm was contagious.

"You did it."

" We  did it," Helga corrected, surprising herself with the admission. "Your idea, Nadine's company, Nathan's environmental leverage. It was a team effort."

"Still," Arnold insisted, "you're the one who brought it all together in court. The residents are lucky to have you fighting for them."

Helga felt herself flush slightly at the praise. "Yes, well... I should get back to the office. Lots to prepare for tomorrow."

"Or," Arnold countered, "you could take a break, eat an actual meal that isn't desk food, and then prepare for tomorrow with a clear head."

"Are you suggesting I'm not thinking clearly, Shortman?" Helga raised an eyebrow.

"I'm suggesting that even legal warriors need sustenance," Arnold was unfazed by her tone. "Bigal's? My treat."

Helga hesitated, torn between her workaholic instincts and the genuine exhaustion weighing her down. "One hour," she conceded finally. "Then I  really  do have to prep for tomorrow."

"One hour," Arnold agreed with a smile. "I know better than to keep you from your crusades for too long."

As they headed toward Bigal's, Helga felt some of the tension from the past two days begin to ebb. The case wasn't won yet, but the tide had turned. And somehow, as always, Arnold had shown up exactly when she needed support.

It was becoming a pattern she wasn't sure how to feel about.

----

"I still can't believe you pulled it off," Rhonda declared, raising her glass in a toast. "Apex Development agreeing to preserve affordable housing? It's practically unheard of."

"They didn't have much choice," Helga answered, though she couldn't keep the satisfaction from her voice. "Between the environmental issues, the public relations nightmare, and the legal pressure, renovation became the path of least resistance."

The gang had gathered at their apartment to celebrate the settlement agreement, which had been finalized that morning after hours of negotiation. Hillwood Heights would be renovated rather than demolished, with GreenTech Solutions handling the environmental remediation and sustainable retrofitting. Most importantly, the current residents could stay in their homes with guaranteed rent control for the next decade.

"It's ever so wonderful," Lila glowed. "All those families getting to stay in their homes, and in better conditions too!"

"And GreenTech gets their demonstration project," Phoebe added. "A mutually beneficial arrangement."

"Nadine must be thrilled," Arnold commented, accepting a refill from Gerald. "Her first major U.S. project right here in Hillwood."

"Speaking of Nadine," Rhonda said, a sly smile playing at her lips, "did she tell you her other news?"

"What news?" Gerald asked.

"She's dating someone new," Rhonda dished, clearly enjoying having information the others didn't. "Someone she met at the architecture firm that's handling the GreenTech office renovation."

"Really?" Lila asked, eyes bright with romantic curiousness. "Is it serious?"

"Early days," Rhonda replied, "but she's quite taken with him. Santiago. He's from Spain originally – an ecological architecture specialist or something equally impressive."

"Good for her," Arnold said sincerely. "Nadine deserves someone great."

Helga found herself relaxing slightly at this news, then immediately felt ridiculous. She'd established that Arnold and Nadine were just friends with professional interests in common. Whether Nadine was dating someone shouldn't matter to her.

And yet, some small, petty part of her was... relieved.

"What about that environmental lawyer?" Gerald asked, turning to Helga. "Nathan, was it? He seemed pretty interested in 'professional collaboration,' if you know what I mean."

"Gerald," Phoebe admonished gently.

"What? I'm a journalist. I observe things," Gerald defended himself, wrapping an arm around Phoebe's shoulders. "Like the way he kept finding reasons to consult with our legal eagle here during the settlement conference."

"Nathan is a colleague," Helga stated firmly. "Nothing more."

"Not for lack of trying on his part," Gerald persisted with a knowing grin.

"My sources tell me he asked you to dinner."

"Your sources?" Helga's eyes narrowed. "Have you been gossiping about me, Geraldo?"

"Journalist never reveals his sources," Gerald looked unperturbed. "But seriously, he seems like a good guy. Smart, fights for the right causes, decent-looking if you're into that whole 'rumpled intellectual' vibe."

"I'm not in the market for a relationship right now," Helga said firmly, avoiding looking at Arnold. "Some of us have actual important work to do."

"Speaking of which," Phoebe interjected smoothly, clearly sensing Helga's discomfort, "your victory has generated significant positive press for the housing rights movement.  Gerald's article was picked up by several national outlets."

"Just doing my part to shine a light on the housing crisis," Gerald expressed with some modesty. "Though having an inside track on the story didn't hurt."

The conversation gradually shifted to other topics—Lila's blossoming relationship with Ben, Phoebe's research grant, and Rhonda's latest high-profile client. Throughout it all, Helga was acutely aware of Arnold sitting quietly across from her, occasionally catching her eye with a small smile that seemed reserved just for her.

Later, as the party began to wind down, Helga found herself alone in the kitchen with Arnold, both of them refilling their drinks.

"You did good, counselor," he said softly. " Really  good."

"Thanks," Helga reacted, oddly shy under his steady gaze. "Couldn't have done it without your midnight rescue mission."

"I think you would have found a way," Arnold countered. "You always do. But I'm glad I could help."

There was a moment of content silence between them, broken only by the distant sounds of their friends laughing in the living room.

"For what it's worth," Arnold said finally, his voice careful, "Nathan seems like a decent guy. If that's something you're interested in."

Helga studied him, trying to read his expression. Was he encouraging her to pursue Nathan? Or fishing to see if she was interested? Or simply being Arnold—supportive and thoughtful even when it came to her potential relationships with other men?

"He is," she agreed neutrally. "But like I said, I'm not looking for anything right now."

Arnold nodded, something like relief flickering briefly across his face.

"Well, if you change your mind, I'm sure he'd be glad to hear from you."

"Who do you think you are? Cupid," Helga smirked. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind,  Arnold ... Football head." The old-school nickname is still slipping out, but now with some hesitation.

Another silence fell, this one charged with unverbalized questions.

"I should probably head out," Arnold mumbled eventually. "Early meeting tomorrow with the community center committee."

"Right," Helga nodded. "Thanks again. For everything these past few days."

"That's what friends are for," Arnold replied, the phrase becoming something of a standard between them.

As he turned to leave, Helga felt a sudden urge to say something more—to acknowledge the way he'd shown up for her, to express what his support had meant. But the words caught in her throat, tangled up in years of complicated feelings and careful restraint.

"Arnold," she called instead, surprising herself.  When he turned back, she  simply  said, “You’re a good friend. The best , actually .”

She hadn’t planned to say it, and once it was out, she avoided his eyes. But Arnold didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he stepped closer, reaching past her to refill his glass—and his fingers brushed lightly against hers in the process.

Just enough to notice. Just enough to stay in her skin.

She didn’t pull away.

“Thanks, Helga,” he said finally, voice quieter than before. “That means more than you know.”

He turned to leave, but paused at the door. For a second, it looked like he might say something else.

Helga watched him, heart thudding in that awful, beautiful way it always did when he hovered like that—like he was halfway between staying and letting go.

But then the moment passed.

“Goodnight, Football Head,” she said softly.

He smiled again, the kind that pulled at her ribs, and walked out.

Her smile in response was warm enough to stay with her long after he'd gone, a quiet solace as she finally allowed herself to rest after the most challenging case of her career.

Whether it was friendship or something more complex between them, at that moment, it was exactly what she needed.

Chapter Text

Episode 14: Family Matters

“Arnold? There’s a letter for you.” Gerald’s voice pulled Arnold from his concentration on the community center blueprints spread across their kitchen table. “Looks official. International postmark.”

Arnold glanced up, frowning slightly as Gerald handed him a weathered envelope bearing colorful San Lorenzo stamps. The return address made his heart skip a beat: Eduardo Sanchez, the man who had once been his parents’ guide and friend in the Central American country.

“Everything okay?” Gerald asked, noting his friend’s suddenly pale complexion.

“Yeah,” Arnold nodded automatically, turning the envelope over in his hands. “Just... unexpected.”
He carefully opened the envelope, unfolding the handwritten letter inside. As his eyes scanned the neatly penned Spanish, his expression shifted from concern to surprise, then to something more complex.

“Arnold?” Gerald prompted again. “Man, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost,” Arnold replied, his voice distant. “Family. Apparently, I have cousins in San Lorenzo. My father’s side.”

“Cousins? After all this time?”

Arnold nodded, still absorbing the information. “Eduardo says they recently discovered the connection through some of my grandmother’s old letters that ended up with my parents’ belongings at their research station. There’s a whole branch of the family I never knew about.”

Gerald settled into the chair across from him. “That’s... big news. How do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know,” Arnold admitted, setting down the letter. “Happy, I guess? Confused? I spent so many years wondering about my family, and now...”

“Now they’re reaching out,” Gerald finished for him.

“Not exactly. Eduardo says they’d like to connect, but...” Arnold ran a hand through his hair. “They don’t even know I exist either. My dad apparently lost touch with that side of the family years before I was born.”

Gerald studied his friend carefully. “Are you thinking about contacting them?”

“I don’t know,” Arnold repeated, folding the letter carefully and placing it back in its envelope. “It’s a lot to process.”

“Well, whatever you decide, you know I’ve got your back,” Gerald assured him, doing their childhood thumb-wiggle handshake that had somehow persisted into adulthood.

Arnold smiled gratefully, though his mind was already miles away, in a jungle he barely remembered, but that had shaped his life in ways he was still discovering.

“I cannot believe this,” Rhonda declared, standing with hands on hips in the building’s flooded basement. “Do you know how much inventory I had stored down here? Priceless vintage pieces for my most exclusive clients!”

“Technically, if they had prices, they weren’t priceless,” Helga pointed out, earning a withering glare from Rhonda.

“Not helping, Helga,” Arnold sighed, wading through ankle-deep water as he examined the burst pipe responsible for the disaster. “This is worse than I thought. The main water line has completely ruptured.”

Gathered in the basement were most of the building’s residents, summoned by the emergency alert Arnold had sent when the flooding was discovered. Nadine, freshly returned from Chicago and newly moved into her own apartment on the third floor, stood beside Rhonda, helping to salvage what they could of the waterlogged fashion items.

“How long until it’s fixed?” Mrs. Kowalski from 2B asked anxiously.
“That’s the problem,” Arnold explained, straightening up with a grim expression. “This isn’t something I can fix myself. We need professional plumbers, and from what I’m hearing, there was a major water main break downtown. Every plumber in the city is booked solid.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” Rhonda demanded. “Live like savages without running water?”

“I’ve shut off the main valve to stop the flooding,” Arnold explained patiently. “But that means no water to the entire building until this is repaired.”
A collective groan rose from the assembled residents.

“Can’t you call in a favor or something to that crappy agency you collab with?” Helga asked, trying to keep the desperation from her voice. A building full of people without water was a hygiene disaster waiting to happen—not to mention the inconvenience of not being able to shower before court tomorrow.

Arnold rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture Helga recognized as his tell for stress. “I’ve called everyone I know. The earliest anyone can come is three days from now.”

“Three days?” Rhonda’s voice hit a pitch previously achievable only by dog whistles. “Without water? Arnold, that’s completely unacceptable!”

“I understand everyone’s frustration,” Arnold replied, maintaining his calm despite the rising tension. “I’m as unhappy about this as you are. But unless someone knows a plumber who owes them a life debt, we’re going to have to make do.”

“Perhaps we could implement a community resource-sharing protocol,” Phoebe suggested, adjusting her glasses. “My laboratory has several large water coolers we could temporarily relocate here for drinking and basic sanitation needs.”

“Good idea, Phoebe,” Arnold nodded gratefully. “They were meant for a grant presentation, but honestly, a live demo of public health logistics under pressure might make the proposal even stronger.”

“I’ll arrange for portable toilets to be delivered this afternoon,” he added.

“Portable toilets?” Rhonda looked faint. “In front of our building? Like some kind of... construction site?”

“Would you prefer the alternative?” Helga asked dryly.

"I could borrow some camping equipment from my travel writing contacts," offered Ben, Lila's boyfriend, who had been helping her move books to higher ground. "I know some outdoor gear companies from reviewing adventure destinations. Solar showers, water purification systems. Might make things a bit more comfortable."

“That would be ever so helpful, Ben,” Lila smiled appreciatively. As she leaned gently against his shoulder while reviewing a clipboard, Phoebe glanced at Helga, who raised an eyebrow.

“Still not sure if he’s real or just her emotional support hologram,” Helga muttered.

Phoebe responded softly, “Statistically speaking, compatibility does not always equate to sustainability.”

Helga nodded, more serious now. “Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about.”

Gerald returned from a call, phone still in hand. “Update for the newsletter—city crews are working round the clock on the main break. We’re one of several buildings affected. I’ll put it in the community bulletin tonight.”

“You’re still doing those updates?” Helga asked, mildly impressed.

“Yeah,” Gerald said, a little distracted. “The editor at Hillwood Voice said if I keep covering neighborhood infrastructure and response efforts, I could get an op-ed spot. The editor seems interested, but you know how these things go. Still, covering real neighborhood issues feels right.”

Arnold gave him a reassuring nod catching his drift. “You’re doing the work. Whether they print it now or not, they’ll have to take notice.”

“Hope so,” Gerald muttered.

As the residents began organizing into impromptu committees—water distribution, shower schedules, restaurant meal coordination—Helga noticed Arnold slip away, heading up the stairs with a distracted expression that seemed out of proportion to even this substantial property management crisis.

Before following, Helga caught Rhonda quietly pulling Nadine aside.
“Thank you,” Rhonda said softly, her eyes uncharacteristically glossy as she looked over a soaked garment. “Some of these were one-of-a-kind.”
Nadine nodded. “I know. We’ll save what we can.”

Rhonda hesitated. “It’s stupid to be this upset about clothes, isn’t it?”
“No,” Nadine replied simply. “You worked hard for them. That matters.”
Rhonda swallowed hard and turned back to the garment rack without another word.

Curious and admittedly concerned, Helga followed Arnold.
She found him on the roof—his thinking spot, as she’d come to understand over the years. He stood at the edge, looking out over the city, hands gripping the low wall that enclosed the rooftop.

“Little early for your brooding sunset routine, isn’t it?” she called, keeping her tone light despite her concern.

Arnold turned, not entirely surprised to see her. “Just needed some air. The basement was getting a bit...”

“Damp? Chaotic? Full of Rhonda’s dramatic wailing?” Helga suggested, moving to stand beside him.

That earned a small smile. “All of the above.”

They stood in relaxed silence for a moment, looking out at the Hillwood skyline.

“The pipe burst isn’t what’s really bothering you,” Helga finally said. It wasn’t a question.

Arnold glanced at her, then back at the horizon. “Gerald told you about the letter?”

“He might have mentioned something,” Helga admitted. “Family in San Lorenzo?”

“Cousins, apparently. On my father’s side.” Arnold’s voice was measured, giving away little of what he was feeling. “People who share my blood but have no idea I exist.”

Helga leaned against the wall, studying his profile. “And you’re torn about reaching out to them.”

“How did you—” Arnold began, then shook his head with a rueful smile.

“Never mind. You always could read me too well.”

“Like a very predictable, do-gooder book,” Helga agreed, though her tone held no mockery. “So what’s holding you back? Fear they won’t want to know you? Or fear they will?”

Arnold was quiet for so long that Helga wondered if he would answer at all. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. “What if they’re the family I’ve been looking for my whole life? What if they’re not? Either way... it changes things.”

“Changes what, exactly?” Helga pressed gently.

“Who I am,” Arnold replied, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. “My whole life, I’ve been Arnold—the kid raised by his grandparents in a boarding house full of eccentric tenants. The kid whose parents were lost are heroes. That’s been my story, my identity. If I suddenly have cousins, aunts, uncles... people who remember my father as a boy, who have family stories I’ve never heard... it rewrites everything.”

Helga considered this, understanding immediately what he meant. For someone whose identity had been shaped so profoundly by the absence of traditional family, the sudden appearance of relatives could be as disorienting as it was potentially wonderful.

“Your identity isn’t just about who your family is or isn’t,” she said finally. “It’s about who you’ve chosen to be. The bright-side kid who always saw the best in people. The teenager who kept his grandparents’ legacy alive. The man who turned an old boarding house into a home for people who needed one.”

Arnold shifted to look at her, surprise evident in his expression. “That’s... actually really insightful, Helga.”

“Try not to sound so shocked,” she replied dryly. “I have my moments.”

“You have a lot of moments,” Arnold countered. “You just don’t let many people see them.”

There was something in his gaze that made Helga suddenly self-conscious. She looked away, focusing on a distant water tower. “Yeah, well, don’t spread it around. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Arnold smiled, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Another silence fell between them, this one more comfortable.
“For what it’s worth,” Helga said eventually, “I think you should write to them. Not because they’ll magically complete some missing piece of you—you’re already whole. But because knowing where you come from might help you understand more clearly where you’re going.”

Arnold studied her with a mixture of surprise and something deeper. “When did you get so wise about family?”

“Probably around the time I realized that the ones you choose can matter more than the ones you’re born into,” Helga replied, gesturing vaguely at the building below them. “I mean, look at us. A bunch of misfits who somehow ended up back in each other’s lives, creating this weird little community. Some might even call it a family.”

“I would,” Arnold said quietly.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, something unspoken hung in the air between them—an acknowledgment of the strange, complex bond that had followed them from childhood into adulthood.

The moment was broken by Gerald’s voice calling up the stairwell. “Arnold? The portable toilet guys are here. They need to know where to set up.”

“Duty calls,” Helga smirked. “Literally.”

Arnold groaned at the pun but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Thanks, Helga. For listening. And understanding.”

“Anytime, Football Head,” she replied, meaning it more than she let on.

“Now go prevent Rhonda from having an aneurysm over bathroom placement.” She said as they could both hear her voice from their position on the roof.

As Arnold headed back downstairs, Helga remained on the roof a moment longer, reflecting on their conversation. It was becoming a pattern—these moments of genuine connection, of seeing and being seen. Each one brought them closer, dismantling the thorough distance she’d retained for years.

It was terrifying. And exhilarating. And not something she was ready to examine too closely just yet.
With a decisive nod to herself, she headed back down to join the building-wide crisis management effort. After all, a community couldn’t function without water—or without every member doing their part.

---
“Mom, Dad, I understand your concerns, but Gerald and I have only been officially dating for a short period,” Phoebe explained patiently, adjusting her laptop screen to better frame herself for the video call. “It’s premature to discuss long-term arrangements.”

Her mother’s concerned face filled half the screen, her father’s more stoic expression occupying the other half. Though they lived just across town, Phoebe’s parents had embraced video calling as their preferred method of weekly check-ins, a habit formed during Phoebe’s medical school years.

“Precisely our point, dear,” her mother replied. “If this relationship is still in its evaluation phase, perhaps moving in together is hasty.”

Phoebe blinked in confusion. “Moving in together? I never said anything about—”

“Kyo mentioned running into Gerald at the grocery store,” her father explained. “He indicated you two were discussing ‘living arrangements.’”
"Oh!" Understanding dawned on Phoebe. "That wasn't about cohabitation. Gerald was helping me strategize how to manage during his building's water crisis. We're coordinating shower schedules at his colleague's apartment across town."

“I see,” her mother replied, though her expression remained concerned. “Nevertheless, you’ve known this young man since childhood. If you’re pursuing a romantic relationship after all these years, surely you’ve considered its potential trajectory.”

Phoebe suppressed a sigh. Her parents, though loving, had always approached life with methodical precision—a trait she’d inherited but sometimes found exhausting when applied to emotional matters.
“Gerald and I are taking things one step at a time,” she explained. “We’re compatible intellectually and emotionally, we share core values despite our different approaches to life, and we make each other happy. Isn’t that a solid foundation?”

“Of course it is, sweetheart,” her father assured her. “We simply want to ensure you’re considering all variables. Your career is at a critical juncture.”

“And Gerald’s journalism often involves travel,” her mother added. “Long-distance relationships present significant challenges, as documented in several studies I recently reviewed.”

Phoebe couldn’t help but smile at her mother’s research-based approach to relationship advice. “I appreciate your concern, but Gerald and I are both adults capable of navigating these complexities.”

“We know that,” her father said gently. “We just want to make sure your heart and your head are working together on this decision.”

“They are,” Phoebe assured him. “Gerald supports my career ambitions, and I respect his passion for journalism. We’re finding our balance.”

A knock at her door provided a welcome interruption. “I should go—we’re having a building meeting about the water situation.”

After promising to visit for dinner soon, Phoebe ended the call and opened her door to find Gerald standing there, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and what looked like takeout in the other.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greeted her with a benevolent smile. “Thought you might need dinner since the kitchen’s basically out of commission.”

Phoebe felt a rush of affection at the gesture. “That’s very thoughtful. I was just speaking with my parents, actually.”

“Ah,” Gerald’s expression turned, knowing. “The weekly Heyerdahl inquisition. How’d it go?”

“They’re concerned we might be moving too quickly,” Phoebe admitted, accepting the flowers and inhaling their fragrance. “Apparently, your grocery store conversation with my father was misinterpreted.”

Gerald looked momentarily confused, and then understanding dawned. “Ah! When I mentioned shower arrangements? Man, I bet that raised some parental eyebrows.”

“Indeed,” Phoebe smiled. “Though I clarified the situation.”

Gerald followed her into the apartment, setting the takeout on the counter. “You know, your parents aren’t entirely wrong to think about these things. I mean, not that we’re moving in together or anything,” he added quickly. “But I do think about the future. Our future.”

Phoebe paused in her search for a makeshift vase, surprised by his candor. “You do?”

“Of course,” Gerald replied, his expression unusually serious. “Phoebe, I’ve cared about you since we were kids. Now that we’re finally together... I don’t take that lightly.”

“Neither do I,” Phoebe said softly. “Though I admit I’ve been approaching our relationship with perhaps excessive caution, analyzing variables rather than simply... experiencing it.”

Gerald smiled, moving closer to her. “That’s just your way. And I wouldn’t want you to be anyone but exactly who you are—my brilliant, methodical, occasionally overthinking girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend,” Phoebe repeated, testing the word. “It still feels novel to say aloud.”

“But good?” Gerald asked, a hint of vulnerability beneath his confident exterior.

“Extremely good,” Phoebe confirmed, rising on tiptoes to kiss him gently.

“And for the record, while I’m not ready to discuss cohabitation, I am very much committed to seeing where this relationship leads. Scientifically speaking, all current data points to a highly promising trajectory.”

Gerald laughed, wrapping his arms around her. “Only you could make relationship talk sound like a research paper and somehow make it sexy.”

“Sexy wasn’t my primary objective, but I’ll accept that as a positive ancillary outcome,” Phoebe replied with a small smile.

Their moment was interrupted by another knock—this one more insistent.

“Building meeting in ten minutes,” Helga’s voice called through the door.

“Arnold’s organized water rations and shower schedules. Don’t be late, or Rhonda will claim all the premium time slots.”

“We’ll be right there,” Gerald called back. Looking down at Phoebe, he smiled. “Pressing commitments... But this conversation isn’t over.”

“I should hope not,” Phoebe replied. “In fact, I look forward to continuing it at length. Perhaps over our borrowed shower time at your colleague’s apartment?”

Gerald’s eyebrows shot up. “Ms. Heyerdahl, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting efficient use of limited resources,” Phoebe replied primly, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. “The environmental benefits of shared showering are well-documented.”

“I love it when you talk environmentally conscious,” Gerald grinned, offering his arm. “Shall we go see what water crisis management plan our resident do-gooder has concocted?”

As they headed to the meeting, Phoebe reflected on her parents’ concerns. Yes, their relationship would face challenges—careers, distance, and different approaches to life. But looking at Gerald beside her, she felt a certainty that transcended her usual analytical approach. Some things simply felt right, even to her methodical mind.

The building’s lobby had been transformed into a command center of sorts. Arnold stood near a hastily assembled folding table covered with clipboards, water bottles, and what appeared to be hand-drawn maps of nearby facilities. The building’s residents gathered around, their expressions a mixture of concern, resignation, and in Rhonda’s case, barely contained horror.

“Alright, everyone,” Arnold called, bringing the murmur of conversations to a halt. “I know this isn’t ideal, but we’ve got a solid plan to get through the next three days until the plumbers can fix the main line.”

“Three days is the best-case scenario,” Mr. Sorn from 4A pointed out. “What if it takes longer?”

“Then we adjust,” Arnold replied calmly. “But for now, let’s focus on what we know. Thanks to everyone’s contributions, we’ve assembled quite a few resources.”

He gestured to the items spread across the table and stacked against the wall: water coolers from Phoebe’s lab, camping equipment from Ben’s outdoor program, battery-powered lanterns from Gerald’s emergency kit, and even a collection of fancy scented hand sanitizers that Rhonda had reluctantly donated from her “apocalypse-chic” storage.

“We’ve organized a water distribution system,” Arnold continued, holding up a clipboard. “Each apartment will receive gallons for basic needs. Portable toilets are set up in the alley—yes, Rhonda, behind the building, not visible from the street,” he added, anticipating her objection.

“Small mercies,” Rhonda muttered.

“For showers, we have three options,” Arnold continued. “Ben has set up solar shower bags on the roof—they’re basic but functional. Gerald has arranged access to his colleague Jim’s apartment six blocks away; there’s a sign-up sheet for time slots. And for those who prefer a more traditional option, the YMCA three blocks over has offered us guest passes.”

“What about cooking?” Mrs. Kowalski asked.

“The building’s gas lines are unaffected, so stoves still work,” Arnold explained. “Just remember we can’t wash dishes normally. We’ve set up washing stations in the courtyard with the water from Phoebe’s lab.”

As Arnold continued outlining the plan, Helga watched him with quiet admiration. Despite his personal turmoil over the San Lorenzo letter, he’d thrown himself into solving the building’s crisis with typical Arnold determination. It was so characteristic of him—putting others’ needs before his own, finding solutions where others saw only problems.

“Now, this only works if we all cooperate,” Arnold emphasized. “That means sticking to the water rations, following the schedule for shared resources, and looking out for each other. I know it’s inconvenient, but if we work together, we can make it through this with minimal discomfort.”

“I volunteer to coordinate the shower schedule for all residents,” Rhonda announced, stepping forward with determination. “I have extensive experience maximizing efficiency in limited time frames.”

“She means she’s used to hogging the hot water,” Helga stage-whispered to Phoebe, who suppressed a smile.

“I heard that, Helga,” Rhonda replied without turning. “And for your information, precise timing is essential to proper hair and skincare. A skill you might consider acquiring.”

“I’ll help with water distribution,” Nadine offered, stepping forward. “We used similar systems during drought conditions in some of our project sites abroad.”

“And I’ll organize a community meal schedule,” Lila suggested. “It’s ever so much more efficient if we cook together rather than separately.”

One by one, residents volunteered for different roles—Mr. Sorn offered to cook Vietnamese food for a building-wide dinner. They texted Harold, and now he’s promising to bring meat from his butcher shop; Phoebe is developing a sanitation protocol to prevent illness.

As the meeting dispersed into action groups, Helga found herself oddly moved by the scene. This disparate group of people, brought together by circumstance and a leaky pipe, working collectively to solve a problem. It was... nice. Like a community should be.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Arnold’s voice broke into her reverie. He’d approached while she was distracted, clipboard in hand.

“Just thinking that you’ve somehow turned a plumbing disaster into a bonding experience,” Helga replied. “Very on-brand for you, Shortman.”

Arnold smiled, though she noticed the shadows under his eyes. “I don’t know about that. I’m just trying to keep the building from descending into ‘Lord of the Flies’ territory.”

“Well, you’re doing a good job,” Helga said, uncharacteristically direct with her praise. “Seriously, Arnold. You’ve thought of everything.”

“Not quite everything,” he admitted. “I still haven’t figured out what to do about those boxes of documents in the basement. Some of them are pretty water-damaged.”

“What documents?”

“Old building records, mostly. Some belonged to my grandparents.” A shadow crossed his face. “Including some letters from my parents that I hadn’t gotten around to sorting yet.”

Helga’s heart sank. With everything else happening, she hadn’t considered that the basement flooding might have damaged Arnold’s personal items—especially something as irreplaceable as correspondence from his parents.

“Show me,” she said decisively.

The basement water had mostly receded, leaving behind a damp, musty smell and waterlogged belongings stacked haphazardly on tables and chairs. Arnold led Helga to a corner where several cardboard boxes sat in various states of disintegration.

“I moved them up as soon as I found the flood,” he explained, carefully opening the least damaged box. “But some were already sitting in water.”
Helga peered inside. Old ledgers, faded photographs, and bundles of letters tied with string—all bearing the marks of water damage. Some papers were stuck together, ink bleeding across the pages.

“We need to dry these out immediately,” she said, already rolling up her sleeves. “Do you have a hair dryer? Clean towels? We might be able to salvage most of it.”

Arnold looked at her in surprise. “You know how to restore water-damaged documents?”

She lightly rolled her eyes. "Look, don't make a big deal out of this, but I might know a few tricks." He just blinked, his face breaking into an optimistic smile, and she continued. "One of my first landlords was a collector,” Helga explained, already gently separating stuck papers. “Old comics, baseball cards, that kind of thing. He was obsessive about preservation techniques. Picked up a few tricks.”

For the next several hours, they worked side by side in Arnold’s apartment, carefully drying and preserving what they could. Helga showed Arnold how to use a hair dryer on the lowest setting, how to place absorbent paper between pages, and how to gently separate photographs that had adhered together.

“This one might be too far gone,” Arnold said regretfully, holding up a water-stained envelope. The return address was barely legible, but Helga could make out “San Lorenzo” in faded ink.

“Let me see,” she said, taking it carefully. “Sometimes what looks unsalvageable can be saved with the right approach.”

Using techniques she hadn’t thought about in years, Helga managed to open the sodden envelope and extract the letter inside carefully. The ink had run in places, but much of it remained readable.

“It’s from your dad,” she said softly, recognizing the signature at the bottom. “To your grandfather, I think. Dated about a year before you were born.”

Arnold looked over her shoulder, his expression a mixture of hope and trepidation. “Can you make out what it says?”

Together, they deciphered the water-blurred words—Miles Shortman writing to his father about a village he and Stella had visited in the mountains of San Lorenzo, about the people they’d helped there, about a family connection he’d discovered through an elderly villager who remembered stories of an American man who had come decades earlier.

“He’s talking about your grandfather,” Helga realized. “Your father’s father must have visited San Lorenzo long before your parents did.”

“I never knew that,” Arnold said, his voice quiet with wonder. “My grandpa never mentioned anything about his father traveling abroad.”

They continued reading, piecing together fragments of family history
from the damaged letter. Miles had written about cousins living in the mountain village, about shared family traits that transcended geography and culture, about his hope to someday introduce his father to this extended family he’d discovered.

“This must be the family Eduardo was writing to me about,” Arnold said, sitting back on his heels. “The connection was already there, even before I was born. My dad knew about them. He wanted to bring them together with Grandpa.”

“And now you have the chance to fulfill that wish,” Helga said gently.
Arnold looked at her, something shifting in his expression. “You’re right. It’s not about rewriting my story—it’s about continuing it. Adding new chapters to a book that was already being written before I came along.”

“Exactly,” Helga nodded, carefully setting the fragile letter aside to dry.
“Your identity isn’t being replaced or rewritten. It’s being enriched.”

Arnold was quiet for a moment, processing this. Then, with sudden determination, he stood and went to his desk, pulling out paper and a pen.

“What are you doing?” Helga asked.

“Writing to Eduardo,” Arnold replied simply. “And to my cousins in San Lorenzo. It’s time they knew they have family in Hillwood—a cousin who’d like to know them.”

Helga smiled, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. “I think that’s a very good idea, Football Head.”

As Arnold began to write, Helga continued her careful preservation work, handling each letter and photograph with the reverence they deserved. These weren’t just papers; they were pieces of Arnold’s history, connections to the parents he’d lost, and the family he was just beginning to discover.

It felt significant, somehow, that she was the one helping him save these fragments of his past. Like she was being trusted with something precious—not just the physical objects, but the emotions they evoked, the questions they raised, the hope they represented.

The moment felt intimate in a way that had nothing to do with physical proximity and everything to do with the sharing of something deeply personal. Arnold writing his letter at the desk, Helga carefully preserving his family history, both of them comfortable in a silence punctuated only by the gentle whir of the hair dryer and the scratch of pen on paper.

Outside, the building’s residents were adapting to life without running water-sharing resources, helping neighbors, and coming together as a community. Inside this quiet apartment, another kind of connection was being strengthened—one built on understanding, trust, and history that stretched back to childhood but continued to evolve in ways neither of them had anticipated.

Three days later, the plumbers finally arrived. The main water line was replaced, the basement cleaned and dehumidified, and life in the boarding house began returning to normal. The crisis had passed, but something in the building’s atmosphere had shifted—a new sense of camaraderie born from shared adversity and cooperative problem-solving.

To celebrate the return of running water, the residents organized an impromptu party in the courtyard. Mr. Sorn brought his famous spring rolls, Harold contributed premium cuts from his butcher shop, and Rhonda, in a surprising show of community spirit, ordered three cases of champagne (“Because we all deserve it after that barbaric experience”).

As twilight descended, string lights illuminated the courtyard, where folding tables groaned under the weight of potluck offerings. Residents who had barely spoken before the water crisis now chatted like old friends, swapping stories of shower adventures and water conservation techniques.

Helga stood slightly apart, observing the scene with a small smile. For all her cynicism, she had to admit there was something heartwarming about this makeshift community coming together.

“Quite a success, wouldn’t you say?” Phoebe commented, appearing at her side with a plate of food.

“If by success you mean we all survived three days without running water without murdering each other, then yes, very successful,” Helga replied dryly.

“I was referring to the increased social cohesion evident among the building’s residents,” Phoebe clarified. “But your metric is equally valid.”
Helga’s gaze drifted to where Arnold stood, deep in conversation with Nadine and several other residents. He looked more relaxed than he had in days, the tension that had accompanied Eduardo’s letter replaced by a quiet confidence.

“He mailed the letter yesterday,” Helga said, knowing Phoebe would follow her train of thought. “To his cousins in San Lorenzo.”

“That’s significant progress,” Phoebe noted. “I presume you had some influence on his decision?”

Helga shrugged, uncomfortable with the suggestion that she might have done something particularly meaningful. “I just listened. And helped save some water-damaged letters. He made the decision himself.”

“Nevertheless, your support clearly had an impact,” Phoebe persisted. “Arnold values your perspective, Helga. He always has, even when you were children.”

Before Helga could formulate a response to this unexpectedly direct statement, Gerald approached, slipping an arm around Phoebe’s waist.
“Ladies,” he greeted them. “Enjoying the return to civilization?”

“Immensely,” Phoebe replied for them despite living in a different building, leaning slightly into his embrace. “From what I can tell, that shower conservation strategy proved both environmentally and personally rewarding.”

Gerald’s grin widened. “Very rewarding. We should consider making it a permanent arrangement, water crisis or not.”

“And that’s my cue to find more champagne,” Helga declared, leaving the couple to their flirtatious reminiscing.

As she made her way toward the drinks table, Arnold intercepted her, two glasses already in hand. “Looking for this?” he asked, offering her one.

“Mind reader,” Helga replied, accepting the glass gratefully. “Or just getting good at predicting my escape routes from witnessing public displays of affection?”

“Maybe both,” Arnold admitted with a smile. “They drifted toward the quiet corner of the courtyard, where the string lights glowed softly.

Arnold exhaled, his voice quieter now. “I meant what I said earlier. About everything this week. I don’t think I would’ve gotten through it the same way without you.”

Helga’s stomach flipped. She forced a smirk, deflecting. “Well, I do have a way of making things more interesting.”

Arnold huffed a laugh but didn’t look away. “Yeah. You do.”
Silence stretched, charged with something they both felt but neither addressed.

“Well,” Helga finally muttered, draining her champagne. “Here’s to surviving another crisis.”

Arnold clinked his glass against hers, eyes still on her as he murmured, "And to good company." Arnold's gaze lingered on her face a moment longer than necessary, something shifting in his expression that neither of them was quite ready to name. Helga didn't look at him as she sipped. But she felt it.

“I wanted to thank you,” Arnold said after a moment. “For everything this week—helping with the water crisis, saving those letters, listening about the San Lorenzo situation. It meant a lot.”

“No big deal,” Helga shrugged, though the sincerity in his voice made her uncomfortable in a not entirely unpleasant way. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“No,” Arnold shook his head. “Not anyone. You understood what I was feeling about my family without me having to explain it. You knew exactly what to say.”

Helga stared into her champagne, unsure how to respond to such direct appreciation. “Yeah, well... I’ve had my share of family complications. Makes it easier to recognize the signs in others.”

“It’s more than that,” Arnold insisted gently. “You’ve always been able to see things others didn't, Helga. Even when we were kids, it used to drive me crazy sometimes—how you could call me out on my optimism or my tendency to fix everyone else’s problems while ignoring my own.”

“Someone had to keep you honest, Football Head,” Helga replied, falling back on the familiar nickname when emotions threatened to become too real.

Arnold smiled at the nickname, accepting it for the defense mechanism it was. “True. And I’m glad it was you.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, watching as Harold attempted to demonstrate proper meat-carving technique to an increasingly alarmed audience.

“I got a response from Eduardo this week,” Arnold said finally. “He’s already shared my letter with my cousins. They want to meet me.”

Helga turned to him in surprise. “That was fast.”

“Apparently, they’ve been curious about their American relatives for years,” Arnold explained, a hint of wonder in his voice. “They knew about my parents’ work but had no idea they’d had a son. Eduardo says they’re excited to connect.”

“How do you feel about it?” Helga asked, studying his face.

“Good,” Arnold replied after a moment’s reflection. “Nervous, but good. Like I’m filling in pieces of a puzzle I didn’t even know was incomplete.”

“And your identity crisis?”

Arnold’s smile was genuine. “Not so much a crisis anymore. More like an expansion. You were right, Helga—this doesn’t change who I am; it just adds more context to my story.”

“Careful there, Arnoldo,” Helga warned with mock seriousness. “Keep admitting I’m right about things, and I might develop an insufferable ego.”

“Too late,” Arnold teased, nudging her shoulder with his. “But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

The casual touch and the warmth in his voice sent an unexpected flutter through Helga’s chest—a sensation she immediately tried to suppress but carried with her as they ascended to rejoin the group, still giving each other meaningful glimpses and knowing smirks like only these two could.

Chapter Text

Episode 15: Good on Paper

Helga was knee-deep in case files when Nathan Daniels strolled into her office unannounced, exuding confidence in a crisp suit. The Nathan she'd met during the housing case had been sharp yet approachable. This version of him had an extra layer of polish , his posture even more self-assured, his smirk perfectly measured.

"G. Pataki," he greeted using his new name for her, leaning against the edge of her desk as though he belonged there. "Still drowning in tenant grievances and last-minute filings?"

Helga barely glanced up. "And you're still out here advocating for the corporate elite? I heard your firm managed to evict a whole block for a new boutique hotel. Big win for your conscience, huh?"

Nathan chuckled. "Come now, I merely ensure my clients follow the law. Besides, I'm here for a different reason. Word is you're prepping for the Horizon Development case."

That got her attention. She set her pen down and studied him. "What about it?"

"Judge Michaels' former clerk, Harrison Bell, is being called in as an expert witness. He's got a history of swaying rulings and not in the direction you'd prefer."

Helga frowned. "How do you know this?"

Nathan straightened his cufflinks. "We were at Harvard together. He was ambitious, but more importantly, he's predictable. I thought you'd want the heads-up."

She didn't trust him entirely, but information was information. "So you just came all this way to do me a favor?"

"And to extend a dinner invitation," he replied smoothly. "Chez Michel. Tonight. Strictly professional. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to spend another evening dining over case files and takeout."

Helga smirked while organizing her papers. "Persistent, aren't you?"

"I'm thorough," he corrected, flashing his perfect smile. "Eight o'clock?"

After a moment's hesitation, she shrugged. "Fine. But this is business."

Nathan's smirk widened. "Of course."

She peered down at herself, hearing Rhonda's voice in her head. "But if we're dining at Chez Michel, I'll have to change."

The wrench slipped from Arnold's hand, sending a splash of water from the under-sink pipe in 2A onto his shirt. He sighed, tightening his grip.

"Yikes, Football Head, you're looking more plumber and less property manager these days," Helga quipped from the doorway.

He didn't look up and just let out a low sigh. "Although the building's plumbing was fixed, I'm still waiting on the contractors to start working and it seems broken items have increased." His voice bore some exhaustion, and so did his eyes as he glanced up. "If you're here to critique my technique, could you at least grab me a towel?"

She tossed one over but lingered. "The living room ceiling fan is making this weird clicking sound. Drives me crazy when I'm trying to read briefs at night."

"I'll check it after this." He went back to work, but there was a slight pause before he added, "You got plans tonight?"

"Dinner with a colleague," she said nonchalantly. "I just came here to change."

Arnold hesitated, probably thinking about her experience with Daniels in court. "The lawyer guy? Nathan, uh...?"

"Daniels," Helga offered. "And yes. He's got useful info on a case."

Arnold paused—just for a second. He turned the wrench slightly, his knuckles briefly going white before he forced a nod. "Sounds… nice."

Helga tilted her head, catching that micro-reaction, but didn't comment.

"Anyway, no rush on the fan. Just letting you know."

As she left, Arnold tightened the pipe, his mind elsewhere.

Dinner was, objectively, pleasant. Chez Michel had impeccable service, and Nathan was as engaging as he was frustrating. He was intelligent, articulate, and surprisingly amusing.

He made all the right moves—ordering an excellent wine and smoothly transitioning conversations between legal strategy and light personal anecdotes—but there was a polished, rehearsed quality to it all. Helga appreciated the attention and even enjoyed the experience, but she wondered why her mind, from time to time during their meal, kept wandering.

As they exited the restaurant, Nathan held the door for her, his hand lightly resting on her lower back. "That wasn't so terrible, was it?"

"I'll admit, the duck confit exceeded expectations," Her tone was teasing, but she meant it.

"High praise," Nathan said with a more genuine smile. "Perhaps next time, dessert?"

She hesitated a fraction too long before answering. "Maybe."

Arnold was packing up his tools in the lobby when the front door swung open. He turned mid-motion as Helga entered—only she wasn't alone. Nathan was right behind her, his tailored presence a stark contrast to Arnold's work-worn jeans and tool belt. And his jaw dropped for a split-second seeing Helga in a 'little black dress' with her hair flowing down with soft curls.

"Arnold," Helga greeted, slowing slightly. "Still on repair duty?"

"Just finished up," he replied, keeping his tone even. "How was dinner?"

Nathan answered first. "Enlightening. Good conversation, excellent company."

Arnold's grip on his toolbox tightened.

Helga was skimming through her phone. "Lila says she doesn't hear any noises," Helga added. "Guess the fan stopped clicking on its own."

"Glad to be of service," Arnold said, glancing at Nathan. "So, business dinner, huh?"

"Pretty efficient and professional," Helga affirmed while typing something on her phone.

"Mostly," Nathan amended, leaning closer to Helga with a knowing glance.

Arnold forced a nod, getting his drift. "Well, have a good night."

As they headed toward the stairs, Arnold exhaled . But he peeked up and felt an uncomfortable heaviness in his muscles when he saw Nathan chivalrously hold the stairwell door open for her.

• - -

The community center was coming together nicely. Freshly painted walls in cheerful colors brightened the once-dingy space, and the reading corner Arnold and Gerald had constructed was already stocked with donated books. Only the activity area remained unfinished, with supplies and tools scattered across drop cloths.

Gerald stood on a ladder, installing ceiling fixtures, while Arnold measured wall space for the educational posters they'd ordered.

"So," Gerald said casually, tightening a screw. "You've been quiet today. Still thinking about Helga and that suit from the legal department?"

"His name is Nathan," Arnold replied without looking up from his measuring tape. "And no, I'm not thinking about them."

"Uh-huh. And I'm the King of Scotland."

Arnold sighed, setting down the tape measure. "Fine. I might be slightly concerned."

"Concerned?" Gerald raised an eyebrow. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Corporate lawyers aren't exactly known for their ethical standards,"

Arnold defended. "And Helga can be... trusting, sometimes."

Gerald nearly fell off the ladder laughing. "Helga Pataki? Trusting? Are we talking about the same woman who once made a potential client sign a preliminary agreement before she'd even heard his case?"

"You know what I mean," Arnold muttered, then glanced around the space. "Besides, with the permit approvals still pending, I've got enough on my mind without worrying about Helga's love life." He sighed feeling brown eyes piercing into his. "She presents this tough exterior, but underneath—"

"She's still tough," Gerald finished, descending the ladder. "Just in a different way. Look, man, I get that you're jealous—"

"I'm not jealous."

"—but Helga's a grown woman who can make her own decisions about who she dates. And from what Phoebe tells me, this Nate guy might actually be good for her. They speak the same language, you know? Law stuff. Social justice wrapped in complicated terminology."

Arnold frowned slightly. "Phoebe's been talking about them?"

"Don't sound so betrayed," Gerald laughed. "It came up when we were discussing how you've been moping around like someone stole your architectural models."

"I haven't been moping," Arnold protested.

"Man, you measured that same wall four times. Either you're suddenly terrible at basic math, or your mind is definitely not on this community center."

Before Arnold could respond, the community center director, Ms. Lopez, poked her head into the room.

"Arnold, there's a call for you at the front desk. Something about a plumbing emergency at the boarding house?"

"Thanks, Ms. Lopez. I'll be right there." As Arnold headed for the door, Gerald called after him.

"Hey, if there's anything from Helga's apartment, maybe you should take your time. Let Nathan bang her pipes at 2 am instead."

Arnold's only response was a disapproving look that made Gerald chuckle all the way back up his ladder.

---

"The problem is definitely that old wiring," Arnold explained, wiping his hands on a rag as he emerged from behind Rhonda's vintage vanity where the lights had been flickering. "I've temporarily fixed it, but the whole circuit needs replacing. I'll order the parts tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Rhonda looked aghast. "Arnold, dear, I have an extremely important client coming for a consultation on Thursday. I cannot possibly present myself as a style authority if my lighting is making me look like I belong in a horror film."

"I'll try to expedite the delivery," Arnold promised, packing up his tools. "But there's not much else I can do until the parts arrive."

Rhonda sighed dramatically. "I suppose I'll have to use Helga and Lila's vanity. Though heaven knows what Helga's lighting setup will do to my complexion assessment routine."

"Speaking of Helga," Arnold said, trying to sound casual, "is she home? She said her ceiling fan was giving her trouble. I almost forgot about that." He paused for a beat, biting his lower lip. "I should probably check it while I'm here."

Rhonda's perfectly plucked eyebrows rose with interest. "She's not here." she gestured towards Helga's locked bedroom door. "She's out with Nathan. Again. Third time this week , actually ."

"Oh." Arnold busied himself with his toolbox. "Well, I'll check it another time."

"They're at some frightfully dull-sounding documentary about housing discrimination," Rhonda continued, watching Arnold's reactions closely.

"Though Nathan did mention taking her to Chez Henri afterward. That man certainly knows how to turn a work event into a proper date."

"That's... nice," Arnold managed.

"Mmm, yes. Very nice, indeed. He's quite the catch, you know. Harvard Law, family money but not obnoxious about it, impeccable taste in restaurants." Rhonda examined her manicure thoughtfully. "Of course, he's not really Helga's usual type."

"Helga has a type?" Arnold asked before he could stop himself.

"Oh, absolutely," Rhonda nodded sagely. "She typically is drawn to the earnest do-gooder types. You know, men with a cause, saving the world one good deed at a time." She hesitated meaningfully. "You're closely acquainted with the kind, aren't you, Arnold?"

Arnold's cheeks colored slightly. "I should get going. Early start tomorrow at the community center."

"Of course," Rhonda agreed smoothly. "Though if you're interested, I expect they'll be back around ten. Nathan mentioned something about a nightcap to discuss the documentary's legal implications."

"I'm not interested," Arnold insisted, heading for the door. "But thanks for the update on the social calendar."

"Anytime, darling," Rhonda called after him. "That's what neighbors are for!"

As the door closed behind him, Rhonda smiled to herself. Sometimes, she reflected, being nosy wasn't just a hobby – it was a public service. Those two had been dancing around each other for decades. A little jealousy might be exactly what was needed to move things along.

And if it wasn't... well, Nathan Daniels did have exceptional taste in restaurants. Rhonda felt Helga could certainly do worse.

The documentary had been surprisingly compelling – a meticulously researched examination of how zoning laws and development practices had been used to maintain socioeconomic segregation in urban centers. As the lights came up in the small theater, Nathan turned to Helga with that confident smile that managed to be both irritating and oddly charming.

"So, counselor? Did that adequately support your arguments for the Horizon case, or should we demand a retrial?" He adjusted his perfectly knotted tie with practiced precision.

"It was actually useful," Helga admitted. "Especially the section about historical redlining patterns. The parallels to what Horizon is trying to do are practically gift-wrapped for judicial review."

"I thought you'd appreciate that," Nathan nodded, standing and offering his hand to help her up – a gesture Helga pointedly ignored as she rose on her own.

"So tell me, G. Pataki," he said as they exited the theater, "was my choice of documentary sufficiently impressive to warrant accompanying me to Chez Henri for a proper discussion of its legal implications?"

  "You're awfully confident about your documentary selection skills," Helga observed, though without real animosity. "What makes you think I'm not already tired of your company?"

"Because," Nathan replied smoothly, "you haven't checked your phone once in the last two hours, which I'm told is practically unprecedented for Helga G. Pataki. And I've prepared a very compelling argument for why you should have dinner with me."

"Which is?"

"You're hungry. Chez Henri has the best coq au vin in the city, and their private dining room offers the perfect acoustic environment for discussing sensitive case strategies without corporate ears overhearing." He checked his Rolex. "Also, I took the liberty of reserving a table at 8:30, which gives us exactly seventeen minutes to arrive fashionably on time."

Helga found herself torn between annoyance at his presumption and reluctant admiration for his strategic thinking. "You're incorrigible."

"I prefer 'strategically optimistic,'" Nathan corrected, hailing a passing taxi with the effortless authority of someone accustomed to immediate service. "Now, shall we continue this battle of wits over exceptional French cuisine, or would you prefer I return you to your apartment, where I believe a refrigerator full of takeout containers awaits?"

"Fine," Helga conceded, sliding into the taxi. "But this doesn't mean I'm impressed by your fancy restaurant connections."

"Of course not," Nathan agreed, his self-satisfied smile suggesting otherwise. "This is a strictly professional dinner between colleagues. The fact that you'll undoubtedly enjoy it is merely an ancillary benefit."

As the taxi pulled away from the curb, Helga found herself unexpectedly looking forward to the evening – not because of Nathan's company specifically, but because of the novel experience of being pursued so deliberately by someone who seemed to genuinely appreciate her sharp edges rather than trying to smooth them.

It was refreshing. Different. And if it occasionally made her think of another man who appreciated her for who she was – albeit in a completely different way – well, that was just an unfortunate side effect she would simply have to ignore.

Nathan pulled out Helga's chair and walked with grace back to his seat. He gave his date enough time to look over the menu and settle in before speaking.

"So... strategic litigation," Nathan said, cutting into his coq au vin with practiced precision, "I heard through Harvard connections that the Hillwood Heights renovation is moving ahead of schedule. GreenTech's apparently impressed with how smoothly the transition has gone."  

Helga nodded, swirling her wine. "The residents have been cooperative. Helps when they know they're not being displaced." She paused. "Though I'm still monitoring the situation. Corporate promises and actual follow-through don't always align."

"Ever the skeptical advocate," Nathan smiled. "It's admirable , really . Most attorneys would consider the case closed and move on to the next billable hours."

"Most attorneys didn't grow up watching slumlords exploit people," Helga replied, a hint of steel in her voice.

They made eye contact for a moment, a shared interest silently acknowledged, and ended the dinner continuing that tone.

The next morning, Rhonda twirled a spoon in her coffee while eyeing Helga. "So. Three dates in one week. I'm impressed." She watched as Helga did a quick shoulder shrug while skimming her notes. "Do I hear wedding bells?" Rhonda teased with an eyelash flutter.

Helga scoffed. "Oh, knock it off. But it is an easy outlet."

Rhonda side-eyed her. "Well, it beats spending every night watching Law and Order and pigging out on takeout."

"Whatever."

"I suggest you keep seeing him," She checked her freshly manicured nails with a straightened posture. "Especially since a certain someone isn't making any moves."

Helga finally looked up from her paperwork. "Don't you have some elaborate obnoxious skincare routine to get to?"

"I'm just trying to give some expert advice," Rhonda smirked knowingly when Helga rolled her eyes. "Just remember, when it comes to the opposite sex, easy is nice." She got up and did a hair flip before saying, "But thrilling is better."

Helga rolled her eyes again, but some of Rhonda's comments stuck with her.

As Rhonda exited the kitchen, there was a knock on the door. She opened it to find it was their resident property manager.

"OH, Arnold's here; there is a God!"

Arnold chuckled with a small half-grin. "Geez, Rhonda, I never knew you felt that way."

Rhonda scoffed at him. "Please, I have a rotation of wealthy men."

"Of course," Arnold smirked. "You requested help?"

Rhonda sighed, letting him in. "The dishwasher is making this awful grinding noise, and I simply refuse to subject myself to handwashing my delicate teacups."

"Yes, you've suffered so much already, Princess," Helga mumbled sarcastically while entering the living space.

"I'll go check on it."

"Hey, Arnold," she called out, making him stop in his tracks. "You've been MIA lately; everything okay?" Helga asked, noticing he was slower to answer requests than usual and dropped by less just to seek out their— her company.

"Just busy with the community center. Gerald and I are putting together some youth programs."

Rhonda's eyes got that gleam of excitement like she had just seen a new diamond. "Isn't it convenient that suddenly you and Gerald become so busy with your little community initiatives around the same time Nathan is dating our resident blonde?"

"Shove it, Lloyd," Helga bit back while her eyes flickered to Arnold, noticing his slight fidgeting with his toolbox.

"Rhonda raised her brows; just pointing out the facts, hun."

But Arnold didn't argue or offer any commentary on the matter. But also failed to meet Helga's gaze. "Rhonda, shall I go check the dishwasher now?"

"Please do." She responded, keeping her plotting eyes on Helga.

He sighed in relief to get out of the hot seat as he turned the corner into the kitchen.

And that—that—was when Helga knew something was off, but she wasn't going to admit it out loud, especially not to a smug Rhonda.

Helga went to let Phoebe in as Lila came into the living room stretching.

Rhonda flipped through the latest issue of Luxe Magazine with a satisfied smirk, the perfectly curated pages practically radiating luxury. She tapped a manicured nail against one of the cover stories, barely glancing up as she made her grand announcement.

“Well, ladies, it looks like my impeccable taste is finally getting the recognition it deserves.”

Phoebe, stirring a spoonful of honey into her tea, glanced up with mild curiosity. “Oh?”

Lila, ever the optimist, lit up instantly. “Oh, Rhonda, do tell!”

Rhonda took a dramatic sip of coffee before delivering the news. “The Style Director of Luxe called me personally yesterday. They want me as their traveling fashion correspondent. Paris, Milan, Tokyo—the whole international circuit.”

“Oh my gosh,” Lila gasped. “That’s ever so exciting!”

The kitchen door shut as Arnold made his exit out that way to avoid the crowd as Nadine strolled in the front, still shrugging off her field jacket from whatever early-morning nature excursion she’d been on. “Hold up. Luxe? As in, the same Luxe Magazine you’ve been name-dropping since we were in middle school?”

Rhonda preened. “The one and only.”

A beat.

Helga, leaning back in her chair, raised a brow. “Alright, what’s the catch?”

Rhonda scoffed. “What makes you think there’s a catch?”

Helga took a lazy sip of coffee. “Because when you’re actually happy, you gloat at a level that makes me want to launch myself into traffic. Right now, you’re at… mild self-satisfaction. Which means something’s up.”

Rhonda sighed, setting down her coffee cup with an exaggerated eye roll. “Fine. There’s a catch. It’s a six-month contract. Maybe longer if they love me—which, let’s be honest, they will.” She gestured vaguely around the apartment. “But it means being on the road. Indefinitely.”

The excitement in the room dimmed slightly.

“That’s a big change,” Lila said gently.

“I know,” Rhonda said quickly. “And don’t get me wrong, this is what I wanted since forever. I should be running to accept. It’s just…” She trailed off, tapping her nail against her mug. “Hillwood’s finally starting to feel like something. Like home.”

Nadine watched her carefully , then gestured to the Luxe Magazine , still sitting open on the table. “Rhonda. This has been your dream since college. Actually, since we were ten, and you wrote a letter to Vogue critiquing their spring collection.”

“That was a well-founded critique,” Rhonda muttered. “Beige was having far too much of a moment.”

“Exactly my point.” Nadine gave her a look. “This is what you’ve always wanted.”

Rhonda pursed her lips, shifting slightly in her chair. Lila, sensing hesitation, perked up.

“Wait!” Lila sat up straighter, her eyes bright. “What if you don’t have to choose between Luxe and staying connected to Hillwood?”

Rhonda side-eyed her. “Unless you’ve discovered teleportation, Lila, I fail to see how that’s possible.”

“No, listen! I’ve been thinking about branching out. Starting a blog and social media channel focused on affordable fashion and styling. You know, making high-end trends accessible for real people.”

Rhonda raised a skeptical brow but was clearly intrigued.

“What if we collaborate?” Lila continued, growing more animated. “You take the Luxe job, but instead of just covering the elite fashion circuit, we document how those trends translate to real life. A Fashion in the Heartland series. You cover the global fashion scene, and I run the local coverage from Hillwood.”

Rhonda leaned back, considering. “You’re proposing a Luxe meets reality concept? High Fashion with a practical twist?”

“Exactly!” Lila nodded enthusiastically. “Luxe gets an exclusive take; you stay connected here, and I get to explore a creative career path.”

“And I can help with the sustainability angle,” Nadine chimed in. “Fashion’s environmental impact is a huge topic right now. My conservation background could add a unique perspective.”

Rhonda tapped her fingers against the table, thinking it over.

“You know,” she said slowly, “that’s… actually brilliant.”

Helga mock-gasped. “Did you just say Lila Sawyer had a brilliant idea? Somebody write this down.”

Rhonda shot her a look but was clearly considering it.

“If Luxe bites, I could negotiate for home-based check-ins. Monthly return trips to cover Hillwood’s fashion scene.”

Lila clapped her hands together. “Yes! You’d still travel, but you wouldn’t be gone forever.”

Nadine grinned. “And if Luxe is smart, they’ll love the idea. It expands their reach beyond just high fashion snobs.”

Rhonda sat back, nodding to herself. Then, decisively—

“Alright. I’ll pitch it.”

Lila squealed in excitement while Nadine smirked.

“And just like that,” Nadine said, shaking her head, “the Rhonda Wellington Lloyd empire expands.”

Rhonda flipped her hair dramatically. “Did you really expect anything less?”

Helga, who had been suspiciously quiet for a moment, suddenly glanced up from her coffee. “This little creative venture of yours better not start interfering with your actual job.”

Lila blinked. “Oh, of course not! I can absolutely balance both.”

“Good,” Helga said, smirking slightly behind her mug. “Because I’m not about to train a new assistant.”

Rhonda’s eyes twinkled as she leaned over to Lila. “That’s her way of saying she loves you.”

Helga groaned. “It’s my way of saying I don’t have time to deal with a new incompetent lackey.”

Lila, beaming, just took a sip of tea. “Ever so noted.”

The conversation flowed easily from there, laughter filling the kitchen as the weight of Rhonda’s decision lifted. The future still stretched wide and unpredictable, but now it felt like something she could step into without letting go of what mattered.

• - -

Hours later, Helga sat across from him at a sleek, modern bar he'd chosen for its "impeccable ambiance." The lighting was warm, the drinks expertly crafted, the music just loud enough to feel lively without drowning out conversation.

Nathan, impeccably dressed as always, leaned forward with that signature confidence, recounting a courtroom victory from earlier that day. His voice carried the right mix of humor and self-assurance, and Helga knew—knew—that this was supposed to be impressive.

But she was watching his hands instead of listenin g.

The way they moved deliberately, never fidgeting. The way his sleeves were pushed up just enough to suggest effortless polish but not a fraction too far. It was all... curated.

He was in the middle of saying something clever about a recent court ruling, but Helga’s focus drifted. She reached for her wine, taking a slow sip.

This was... pleasant. Objectively enjoyable.

Nathan was smooth. Effortlessly charming. He made eye contact at all the right moments, let his laughter land just right.

Helga dangled her glass in one hand swooshing the last of her wine around, zoning out what felt like a scene from a well-rehearsed play.

"Helga?"

She blinked, realizing she'd tuned out somewhere between amicus briefs and strategic litigation.

"Sorry," she said, reaching for her drink. "Long day."

Nathan smirked. "Understandable. From what I hear, you've been waging war against bureaucracy all week. Still, I don't take you for the type to be easily distracted."

Helga shrugged, forcing a smirk. "Guess your riveting legal monologue just did me in."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, the famous Pataki charm."

She knew he was teasing, but something about the way he said it—like he was recognizing a pattern—rubbed at a spot she hadn't quite acknowledged.

The night continued, smooth as always. Their conversation was engaging. The wine was excellent. The chemistry, theoretically, should have been there.

But when they stepped out onto the sidewalk, and Nathan slipped a hand around her as they walked, she felt... nothing.

Not discomfort. Not excitement. Just nothing.

And the surprise kiss at her building's front door was nice, respectful, but kind of flat.

The next evening, Rhonda made a passing comment as she leafed through a fashion magazine on their couch.

"So, you're back from another enchanting evening.... it must not have been too enchanting since you've ended up here."

Helga curled up with a case file, barely looking up. "Says the woman slouching on the couch alone with mud on her face."

Rhonda raised her palm towards Helga. "A lady, even a highly sought-after one, has to take a few 'pamper me' days off from men. Haven't I taught you this already?" She dramatically turned a page. Helga waved her off but brought her hand to cover up a yawn. "Senor Daniels is lacking in excitement, isn't he?" she commented without looking up from her fashion magazine.

"Huh?" Helga picked up on what she meant. "No, he's...he's..."

"Only good on paper," Rhonda finished for her.

She was going to argue against it but thought about her last conversation with Phoebe. "That's what people keep saying."

Rhonda turned a page, glancing at her. "And, I don't think I've seen you actually get giddy about him or laugh about your interactions."

Helga scoffed. "Of course I have."

"Not the way you do when you're—." Rhonda stopped herself, waving a hand dismissively. "Never mind."

She thought about the effortless moments. The ones that weren't planned or polished. The ones that felt real.

Nathan wasn't the problem.

The problem was ... she was trying to make this work when the right thing never needed effort.

And for the first time, she let herself admit it.

• - -

The community center hummed with activity as neighborhood families explored the newly renovated space. Children flocked to the reading corner Arnold and Gerald had built while parents chatted with volunteers about upcoming programs. Colorful banners hung from the ceiling, and a table of refreshments * organized by Lila * offered healthy snacks that even the pickiest children seemed to enjoy.

Gerald stood at the welcome table, checking in guests and directing them to various activities. He looked up with a grin as Phoebe approached, clipboard in hand.

"Attendance is exceeding expectations by approximately 37%," she reported, adjusting her glasses. "The art station is particularly popular."

"That's because you organized it so perfectly," Gerald replied, his admiration evident. "Those color-coded supply bins were genius."

Phoebe blushed slightly. "Merely practical application of basic organizational principles. Though I should mention—the research grant committee has requested additional documentation for the next phase. It may require some extended lab hours over the coming weeks."

Gerald's smile faltered slightly. "Extended how? Like, working weekends extended, or...?"

"Potentially some evening work. Nothing unmanageable," Phoebe assured him quickly, though something flickered across her expression. "Career advancement requires strategic time investment."

In the corner of the room, Nadine was captivating a group of wide-eyed children at her nature exploration station. She held up a terrarium containing several caterpillars, explaining the life cycle of butterflies as the children pressed closer, fascinated by the tiny creatures.

"Each butterfly species has its own special host plant," she was explaining. "Monarchs need milkweed, and swallowtails love parsley and dill."

Before Phoebe could respond to Gerald, Rhonda swept in, looking triumphant.

"It's official," she announced without preamble. "Luxe loved the 'Fashion in the Heartland' concept. I start in three weeks with a modified schedule that allows me to return to Hillwood monthly for local content creation." She gestured to Lila, who was helping a small girl with a craft project. "Lila will be my local coordinator and assistant content creator."

"That's wonderful news, Rhonda," Phoebe said sincerely. "A most satisfactory compromise."

"It's more than satisfactory," Rhonda corrected. "It's brilliant. I get international fashion credibility while maintaining my local connections. Plus, Lila's folksy charm will appeal to the middle-American demographic Luxe has been trying to reach."

"I'm sure Lila will appreciate being described as 'folksy,'" Gerald commented with a smirk.

"It's a compliment," Rhonda insisted. "Now, where are Arnold and Helga? I want to share my news before the champagne I've been saving loses its perfect chill."

Gerald nodded toward the back of the center. "Last I saw, they were setting up the information booth about local resources. Though they've been avoiding each other most of the day."

"Honestly, those two," Rhonda sighed. "I'm about ready to lock them in a closet together."

"Maybe they just need time," Phoebe suggested diplomatically. "Some relationships develop at their own pace."

"At this rate, they'll both be in retirement homes before anything happens," Rhonda declared. "But enough about them. Let's focus on celebrating my triumph and Lila's new creative venture!"

Meanwhile, Lila helped a small girl with a craft project , her patient smile unwavering even as Ben hovered nearby, suggesting improvements to her technique.   "Maybe if we use this glitter instead," Ben offered enthusiastically, "it would really make the butterfly wings pop!"

"That's ever so thoughtful, Ben," Lila replied, though her hands briefly paused in their work. "Though I think Sarah here has her own vision, don't you, sweetheart?" The little girl nodded eagerly, reaching for the original supplies. Ben looked momentarily confused but continued hovering, clearly eager to help optimize every aspect of the craft activity.

Later that night, Helga found herself sitting on the fire escape, what Rhonda referred to as a terrace. She rested on the railing, watching the city lights, thinking about everything that had been happening lately, her mind jumbled between tailored suits and plaid shirts.

And then the door below opened. Arnold stepped onto the sidewalk, stretching after a long day. He let out a heavy sigh and slowly peeked up, meeting her eyes.

Arnold hesitated on the sidewalk, his gaze lingering on her. "Can't sleep?" he called out finally.

Helga smirked, but it was softer than usual. "Something like that."

Arnold nodded slowly. But he didn’t move yet.

For a second, she thought—hoped?—he might say something else. Something she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear.

Instead, he simply offered her that small, unreadable smile. “Me neither.”

Then, after a long pause, he turned and went inside.

When the door clinked locked, Helga let out a slow breath, shifting against the railing, her mind painting a picture of her date—tailored suit, crisp lines, the kind of man you’d expect to grace the cover of a style magazine.

But then, another image slipped in—sandy blond hair always a little tousled, a worn-out flannel with the sleeves rolled up, eyes that didn’t just look at her, but through her.

Nathan was everything that made sense.

But Arnold?

He was everything that didn't—and somehow, that mattered more.

Chapter Text

Episode 16: Hearts and Departures

The shrill sound of the building's ancient pipes rattled through the basement as Arnold Shortman tightened a valve with all his strength. Cold water sprayed his face, soaking his plaid shirt for the third time that morning.

"Criminy," he muttered, unconsciously channeling a certain blonde tenant. "Just stay fixed already."

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Again. Without looking, he knew it was Gerald sending another Valentine's Day meme. His best friend had been bombarding him with hearts and cupids since midnight, delighting in Arnold's deliberate avoidance of the holiday.

With one final turn of the wrench, the spray reduced to a manageable drip. Arnold wiped his face with his sleeve, which only succeeded in smearing the water around. His phone buzzed again.

Gerald: Man, even your grandpa celebrated V-Day. Remember when he gave your grandma that wheelbarrow full of bacon?

Arnold couldn't help but smile at the memory, typing back quickly: Some of us have actual work to do . Burst pipe in the basement. Building emergencies don't take holidays.

Gerald's response was immediate: Convenient timing for a guy allergic to Valentine's Day. Dinner tonight at 7. Phoebe's expecting you.

Arnold sighed, pocketing his phone without responding. The last thing he needed was to third-wheel on Gerald and Phoebe's first Valentine's as a couple. He gathered his tools and resigned himself to a day of fixing other people's problems while steadfastly ignoring the date on the calendar.

As he trudged up the basement stairs, his shirt still dripping, he heard Mrs. Vitello's voice calling from unit 2B .

"Arnold, dear! My heat is out again, and I'm hosting bridge club tonight! It's an emergency!"

Arnold closed his eyes briefly, summoning patience, then turned with a gentle smile. "I'll grab my toolbox, Mrs. Vitello."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What in holy hell is this?" Helga Pataki stood in the doorway of her bedroom, holding an enormous red envelope between two fingers as if it might bite. The early morning sun streamed through the apartment windows, illuminating the trail of rose petals leading from the front door to her room.

Lila looked up from her cup of tea, eyes widening at the sight. "Oh my! It seems Nathan has left you a Valentine's surprise. That's ever so romantic!"

"Romantic?" Helga scoffed, using her foot to sweep the nearest petals into a pile. "It looks like someone butchered a rose garden in our hallway. How did he even get in?"

"I might have let him in when I returned from my morning run," Lila admitted, looking slightly guilty. "He seemed so excited about surprising you."

Helga tore open the envelope, scanning the flowery message inside before tossing it onto the counter with an exaggerated eye roll. "Listen to this drivel: ' To my fierce lioness, whose roar captivates my heart .' Who talks like that? We've been going out for almost a month, not starring in a jungle documentary."

"I think it's sweet that he's trying," Lila offered diplomatically. "Not everyone expresses affection in the same way."

"Expressing affection is one thing," Helga countered, stepping carefully over the petals to reach the coffee maker. "Breaking into our apartment to create a fire hazard is another."

From down the hall came the sound of a door opening, followed by Rhonda's voice, still husky with sleep.

"What's all the commotion? Some of us need our beauty rest, you know."

Rhonda appeared in the hallway, wrapped in a silk robe, her hair covered in a satin scarf that somehow looked stylish rather than ridiculous.

"Nathan left Helga a Valentine's surprise," Lila explained, gesturing to the petals.

Rhonda surveyed the scene with a critical eye. "Rose petals? How predictable." She picked up Helga's discarded card, reading it with raised eyebrows. "Good lord, this is maudlin. Though I suppose it's the thought that counts."

"The thought of what? Murdering my dignity?" Helga grabbed her coffee mug with more force than necessary. "Valentine's Day is a commercialized scam designed to make single people feel inadequate and coupled people spend money on overpriced garbage."