Title: Caught Off Guard, Floored By Love

Author: Reiko K.

Fandom: Hey Arnold!

Pairing: Arnold/Helga

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Language, Helga-esque crushing (i.e. stalkerish tendencies), mature themes

Summary: Helga was a mystery and Arnold wanted to solve her.

Disclaimer: This is unprofitable fan work. I don't own these characters—I'm just borrowing them. No copyright infringement intended. Really. Also, title from the Maria Mena song.

Author's Note:

I'm jumping on the Hey Arnold! bandwagon. Whee. I don't remember anything about the end of the series so let's ignore it (and the movie) just in case. I've seen a few episodes on TV recently and hopefully that (and the HA! Wikia) will be enough to keep everyone in character, though keep in mind that they're older so they won't be exactly the same. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little experiment of mine. If everything goes according to plan the story will be roughly 25 chapters overall so prepare yourselves for a long, bumpy, and what I hope to be an entertaining ride. Happy reading and don't be afraid to leave feedback.

Story Notes:

[1] If you're looking for a fast romance then you need to look elsewhere. This fic is going to focus on Arnold's developing feelings for Helga and their relationship as they make the transition from being barely acquaintances to something so much more, and I have every intention of making it seem as natural and plausible as possible. There won't be any quick fixes or shortcuts here, folks, and when I say slow build I mean slow build. Also, this is an Arnold-centric story and I will not be alternating POVs.

[2] The creator of the show never specified exactly where HA! was located so I'm setting everything in New York City. "Hillwood", the fictional city the characters reside in, will be a neighborhood in Brooklyn. Don't worry, I won't get too technical with it. The story takes place in the fall of 2001, following the idea that Arnold started 4th grade in 1995. He's currently in 10th grade and recently turned 16.

CHAPTER ONE

Arnold wasn't sure when he started doing it. Noticing things about her, that is. Not that she'd been particularly invisible to him all those years—well, okay, so maybe she had been, but that wasn't the point. The point was that he'd noticed himself noticing her… which was all kinds of weird.

The first time he realized it was nearly a month ago when she'd smiled at him. An accident, probably, since she'd scowled immediately after and nearly shoved him into the wall when she'd stomped past him, but for half a second there had been a genuine smile. And… it had been kind of nice.

He'd been watching her ever since. Actively watching her. Looking for what, though, he wasn't quite sure. Whenever she was within view he found his gaze fixated on her, riveted. He took in all the little things she did—like pursing her lips while she thought and tugging her hair behind her ear when she was nervous—that he'd never noticed about her before.

As the weeks flew by Arnold realized that there were a lot of things he didn't know about Helga G. Pataki, the most bizarre of them being that she seemed to watch him just as much. Which was. Well. Best not to think too much about that. It wasn't as if he could come up with a plausible reason for it anyway, and assuming something that insane might be potentially deadly. It was Helga, after all. Best not get too carried away when it came to her.

So he watched her. Watched her watch him when she thought he wasn't looking. Watched her blush and scowl when she realized that he'd caught on.

It was fascinating. Which was why he was so reluctant to, well, stop. It had nothing to do with the way her cheeks flushed when their eyes met, or the way her mouth pouted when she was confused, or the way a dimple appeared on her right cheek when she allowed herself to smile (rarity that was). Nothing at all. Helga was just an interesting person, and Arnold assured himself that was all there was to it.

And that was the truth.

Really.

He knew she was there the moment she stepped into the classroom. OK, so maybe it was kind of obvious from the way Jimmy Wentsworth squeaked and ran across the room like the hounds of hell were at his heels (which he only ever did when Helga turned up, and dammit if he wasn't curious to know why), but sometimes he liked to think he would be able to tell whenever she was near him. And then he'd think about it for a moment and realize how insane that sounded and would hastily cross the thought from his mind. For the time being. The human subconscious was fickle that way.

He lowered his head and furtively watched from the corner of his eye as she treaded down the aisle and slipped into the desk beside his. She tossed her open bag onto the table and began rummaging through it, her eyes narrowing as she searched for whatever it was she couldn't find. A whole minute passed before she scowled and withdrew her hands—and Arnold distractedly noticed that her fingernails were painted peach—and snapped her head in his direction.

Arnold, who'd been too preoccupied with being nosy, didn't even bother trying to pretend he hadn't just been unabashedly staring. This was America, a free country. He wasn't doing anything wrong by looking. It was practically constitutional!

Unfortunately that didn't lessen his embarrassment at being caught any, so when Helga said "Hey, football head—", his response had been less than admirable.

"Huh?" he answered dumbly.

Helga rolled her eyes. "Jeez, football head, could you get any more dense? Give me a damn pencil before I knock your teeth in already."

Arnold blinked at her twice, her words slowly registering, before sighing and reaching into the cubby of his desk to retrieve one. He clumsily handed it over and very nearly jumped when their fingers brushed at the exchange. He noticed Helga go rigid, then go red, before she snatched her hand back with a strained "thanks" and trained her attention to the front.

Arnold glanced at her desk and noticed that the hand holding his pencil was tightly clenched, the knuckles white.

Fascinating.

He bit his lip and bent over to retrieve a spare—because Helga never, ever returned the things she borrowed—and unconsciously slid his gaze towards her as he clasped the bag shut and sat up.

She was staring at him.

Her face reddened at being caught and she hastily turned her head, chin falling into her palm as she hunched over and stared at the wall beside her.

Arnold observed the blush that brightened her ears, and the way her cheeks twitched, no doubt from biting her lip (an agitated habit of hers he'd discovered a week ago, which gave support to the slight overbite of her front teeth he'd been unreasonably curious about). When she tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear, Arnold grinned knowingly. She was nervous, and how many other people were capable of understanding what the indecipherable Helga G. Pataki was feeling at almost any given time?

Not many, he was sure.

The door to the classroom promptly opened and their history teacher, Mrs. Fizz, sauntered in with a smile. Arnold reluctantly tore his gaze away from Helga—a good thing, since he really didn't want anyone else catching on to this new…game of his—and directed his attention to the front.

Mrs. Fizz finished writing the day's 'aim' on the board and had started on the 'do now', so Arnold quickly flipped his notebook open and began to copy everything down.

By the end of the class he'd only managed to get half of his work done. He stared at the cluttered pages of his notebook, littered with clumsy sketches of curled hair behind slightly pointed ears and blazing, colorless eyes among his sloppy class notes. He took a minute to scratch out all the Helga's that had somehow ended up everywhere and didn't bother wasting brain cells trying to figure out why he'd felt inclined to write her name in his notebook, consciously or not.

He'd been wondering about her, hence the unintentional, distracted scrawling of her name everywhere. That was plausible. Accurate. No further pondering of the bizarre situation was necessary.

In the end it was less time consuming to just rip out the pages, tear them up, and scrunch them into a ball which he stuffed firmly into his pocket. He hitched the strap of his bag onto his shoulder and stood, nearly bumping into Helga who'd taken a step sideways to ease out of the aisle.

"Watch it, football head," she snapped at him, brushing past him and storming out of the class. Jimmy, who saw her coming, gasped and hightailed it out of the door, the belongings on his desk all but forgotten.

Arnold shook his head, and a new resolve to talk to Jimmy and figure out just what the heck had happened between him and Helga that caused him to treat her like the Antichrist took form. He waited for everyone in his aisle to leave before easing out, waving absentmindedly at Mrs. Fizz as he left.

As he walked into the hall—hectic and raucous, the way only a public school hallway could be— he mentally sorted his priorities.

1) Get the notes from someone in class. Probably Ernest—his handwriting was legible.

2) Learn what Jimmy's issue with Helga was.

3) Find out what shampoo Helga used for her hair.

The last note was a bit…odd, but Arnold was curious. When she'd brushed past him he'd caught a whiff of strawberries and something else he couldn't quite define. He didn't care what shampoo Helga used, he really didn't, but the unrecognizable scent was nagging at him to put a name to it. It was hardly his fault that he was so curious. When he got a scent of a mystery, any mystery—even ones that revolved around fruity substances in shampoos—he was wholly incapable of letting it go. Hence his need to find out what Helga did to Jimmy. Hence his captivation with finding out what made Helga tick.

Helga was a mystery, and Arnold wanted to solve her.

There was nothing more to it.

Really.

"What's got you so distracted in class, anyway?" Gerald asked, arms folded under his head as he watched Arnold write.

"I'm not," Arnold denied.

Gerald snorted. "Arnold, this is the third time you've had to ask Ernest for history notes. Not to mention Pete for English, and Diane for psych., and—"

"Alright, alright, I get it!" Arnold snapped, turning his head to glare at his best friend. "Geez, Gerald, you're keeping tabs on me or something?"

Gerald shrugged. "Maybe. You have to admit, Arnold, this whole thing just isn't like you. You even manage to take notes when you're sick. I wouldn't be so damn curious if it'd only been one class or something, but three? Something's going on with you, man, so spill."

Arnold huffed and returned his attention to Pete's notes. He read over the last sentence three times before he was able to decipher it properly and begin copying. Pete was an amazing note taker, but the guy couldn't write neatly even if doing so would save the Earth from utter annihilation.

"Arnold," Gerald pressed.

Arnold ignored him. Another minute or two passed, and when it seemed like Gerald was finally going to let it go, he allowed himself to relax. He should've known better, really.

"Y'know, if I didn't know any better I'd say it was a girl."

Arnold choked. He pounded his fist into his chest and hacked, eyes tearing up at the corners. As he urged himself to take steady breaths and get his reaction under control he heard the springs on his bed groan as Gerald hopped off and stepped towards him.

When he looked up, Gerald's hands were planted on his hips and he was giving Arnold one of his I'm-onto-you looks.

Arnold regretted that his coughing had subsided; there was nothing to distract Gerald now.

"There's a girl," Gerald said flatly. It wasn't a question.

"What?" Arnold rasped, eyes wide. "N-no! Of course not!" And he wasn't lying. There really wasn't a girl—at least, not in the sense Gerald meant. So yeah, he was interested in Helga, but not in that way. Uh-uh. No way.

"You're lying."

"I'm not!"

Gerald gave him his I-see-right-through-you-and-am-unimpressed-with-your-pathetic-inability-to-lie face.

Before the night was over, Arnold was sure he was going to see a lot more of Gerald's patented faces. He had quite a few of them.

"Then give me a reason why." Gerald argued.

"I said it was nothing!" Arnold said.

Ah, and there was his you-lie-to-me-one-more-time-and-watch-what-I-do face. Arnold had seen it hundreds of times before, yet it never failed to make him quake a little. Gerald could be frightening when he wanted to be.

"Honest!" Arnold tried again. Because Gerald finding out that he was getting distracted because of Helga? Even scarier.

Gerald stared at him for a long moment, and Arnold could almost feel the sweat building on his brow.

"Fine," Gerald said, shrugging.

Arnold nearly wilted with relief. And then:

"I'll just have to find out myself."

His shoulders slumped.

Gerald turned on his heel and snatched his bag from Arnold's bed. He shot Arnold one more it-didn't-have-to-be-this-way-if-you'd-just-been-honest-with-me face before he retreated from the attic and shut the door behind him with a loud snap.

Arnold pushed his books aside and buried his head in his arms.

Okay, so he could have told Gerald what was going on, but Gerald never would have understood. He wouldn't have believed Arnold's excuse for the whole Helga-watching thing. Even Arnold was, like, 15% dubious about it (that percentage of which he very rarely ever contemplated). He'd chalk it up to Arnold liking Helga, and he didn't! That wasn't what it was about at all!

But Gerald wouldn't have seen it that way.

Arnold exhaled a drawn-out sigh. After a moment of spinning in his chair with his head tipped back he mentally readjusted his list of priorities.

1) Learn why Jimmy was so afraid of Helga.

2) Find out what shampoo Helga used.

3) Catch up in class.

4) Stop trying to figure out Helga...

Arnold blanched and did a mental strike-through.

4) Continue to solve Helga without Gerald finding out about it.

Should be easy.

…Or not.

Arnold banged his head against the desk, aware of the open door Jimmy had just run screaming out of. He'd need to try a new approach with the guy since apparently just uttering the name "Helga" in front of him was enough to make him go off the deep end.

He sighed. The entire day had been one disappointment after another. He couldn't figure out how to go about finding out what shampoo Helga used, Gerald was now watching him like a hawk—which cut down on his Helga-watching time by a lot—he'd nearly bombed a pop-quiz in psych., and now this thing with Jimmy. Arnold wondered if he should just spill the beans to Gerald, make at least one thing easier on himself. He considered it for a moment before shaking his head and slumping further into the desk. He could just imagine the renditions to the 'sitting in a tree' song Gerald would come up with. And Gerald being Gerald, half the school would know about it before the week was over. No, Arnold couldn't tell him.

He'd just have to find a way to deal with everything by himself, as they were.

Arnold sighed. He really was too young to be this stressed out.

tbc.