Arnold sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at his pyjama pant covered knees. His parents were sleeping in the guest bedroom. The ceiling still leaked a little from when Grandpa drilled holes in it to get back at his sister, but it was a decent room for the most part.

Letting out a sigh, Arnold ran his hand through his thinning hair. Grandpa had always told him stories about his parents. In those stories, they were brave and courageous; they were upstanding people. They always did the right thing. They cared about other people, but they also loved their son. They loved their son above anything else.

Arnold looked up into the bathroom where Helga was washing her face off. She saw Arnold looking at her in the mirror and turned around with a hand on her hip and a frown on her face.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, wringing out the washcloth before walking out of the bathroom.

Arnold felt the bed sag as Helga took a seat next to him. She put her arms around him, touching her cheek to his. Arnold wound his arms around hers, burying his face in her neck. He couldn't find the words to explain how he felt. Helga might have been able to explain herself beautifully with words, but Arnold couldn't. He just sat there, with his face against her skin, inhaling the scent of that perfume she always wore.

"Dad?" a young boy's voice startled Arnold and Helga out of their embrace. "There's a creepy guy in the kitchen!"

Arnold got up and walked over to his son, shutting the door quietly. He knelt down next to the boy, putting his hand on his shoulder.

"That's your Grandpa Miles... my father," Arnold said, doing his best to keep his voice steady. "He and your Grandma Stella are here, staying in the guest bedroom."

"But... you, you said that you had to—"

"I know, I'm very surprised too. It's late though, and we can talk about it tomorrow morning," Arnold said.

"You said that they were dead!" his son burst out.

"I know what I said!" Arnold snapped. "Go to bed, Nathaniel. Go."

Nathan bit his lip, but said goodnight and left the room. His father hardly ever raised his voice like that. He figured that his father was really upset, but why? His parents were really alive, instead of being dead! His father should be happy about that.

So Nathan decided to sneak back downstairs. He hoped Grandpa Miles was still down in the kitchen.

Nathan entered the kitchen under the pretence of getting a glass of milk. His grandpa was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. He didn't look up when Nathan entered, instead he just stared pensively into the teacup.

"So, are you a new boarder or what?" Nathan asked, grabbing a glass from the cupboard.

His grandpa started, looking around and finally resting his eyes on Nathan. Nathan watched the old man's eyes light up for a brief second before dimming again. Even though his heart was pounding, Nathan tried to act like he didn't really know or care.

But his father and his great grandfather had always told him stories about his grandparents. In those stories, his grandparents were on exotic adventures, doing great things, and helping people. His father had always shone with pride when he told those stories, but when he talked about them tonight, he just seemed tired and irritated, and not elated, like Nathan expected him to be.

"No... just staying here for a little while," Grandpa Miles said, his voice tired.

"Oh," Nathan sat across from his grandpa at the table. "You look like Dad."

The man sitting across from him blanched. Nathan watched him raise the teacup to his lips with shaking hands. The old man placed the teacup back on the scrubbed wooden table, then rested his elbows on the table, or at least attempted to. Nathan had to bite back a laugh as the old man's elbows slipped and he pitched forward a little before recovering himself.

"That's because I'm his father. I'm your grandpa, Miles," he said, cheeks flushing red.

"I know you are. Dad said you were dead. He said that a long time before I was born, he and his grandpa had buried you."

Miles didn't answer right away, but eventually he said, "Your dad wasn't wrong. If you hadn't heard from someone in thirty years, someone who was very close to you and would do everything they could to get in contact with you, what would you think?"

"That they were dead," Nathan answered slowly. "But if you weren't really dead, why didn't you let Dad know? He's really mad at you guys."

"That's something I can't really explain," Miles said.

"Yeah, right," Nathan crossed his arms and tipped the chair back so it was balancing on its back two legs. "If it's anything worth doing, it won't be easy. I bet there were a zillion ways you could have done something to let him know you were alive."

And with that, Nathan brought the chair back down to rest on four legs again. He drained his glass of milk, then got up and put the glass in the sink. Nathan left the room, leaving Miles sitting there and staring into the teacup.

–

Here is the second part. I think the next part will focus on Helga and then bring it full circle back to Arnold and we'll close this thing up as a three-shot.

I really tried to show Nathan as a mix of Arnold and Helga, with more of Helga's spitfire. And if you don't like the name Nathan, just imagine a different one in there.

House'llelujah!

C'est c'que je prie durant la nuit!

Agh. It will be in my head forever. Dangit, Stromae.