Hello there! I'm xXWisegirliamnotXx (please, Wisegirl or Kara for short). I joined the Hey Arnold fandom about a year ago, and I've completely fallen in love with it!

There was something in the Married episode that bothered me to no end! Despite the fact that we can blame animation for this, my subconscious wouldn't let me forget that Gerald was still snoozing on the school steps when Arnold went after Rhonda. RESULTS!

Plus a little bit of headcanon-turned-to-confession~

I don't own Hey Arnold! It belongs to Craig Bartlett and Nickelodeon. Any quotes from the episode also don't belong to me. Thank you for your consideration!

(Oh, and this story takes place before HA! The Movie, because I really can't see Arnold acting the way he does in this episode after Helga's confession.)

"One more time!" the boy pleaded.

The girl looked annoyed. "No Arnold, you've done the test a hundred and ten times! And it always comes out the same! You and Helga are going to get married when you grow up."

Arnold looked unbelievably distressed. He couldn't consider that Rhonda could even believe she was right! Him and Helga, married?! It was a bad joke.

"There's gotta be some mistake," he begged, following after her as she stomped away. "Come on, one more time! Just one more time!"

"No! You're marrying Helga Pataki! That's final! Live with it!"

At Rhonda's shout, Gerald jolted awake, blinking blurrily. "Are we done?" he muttered, half under his breath. He rubbed his eyes.

"But Rhonda!"

Gerald groaned quietly. Apparently not. He closed his eyes again, wondering if he could get another hour's sleep waiting for Arnold to finally give up.

There was a longing sigh to his right. "Arnold and I are going to be married! It's true!" Gerald's eyes shot open. What? He turned to gap at Helga G. Pataki, who, too utterly lovesick to see him, continued to monologue. "He took the test a hundred and ten times, and, despite the fact that the result revolted him, it always came out the same! Me, and Arnold…married!"

Two things met Gerald's brain as he watched this. One, Helga was utterly coocoo for Arnold—duh, and, two, Arnold really did not want to marry Helga. Honestly, a hundred and ten?

"Oh its fate," Helga sighed. "This is wonderful!" She leaned back against the trash can, her eyes closed in absolute bliss. "Oh Arnold, my love!"

Slowly, Gerald made his way to the swooning girl. Like one might approach a sleeping bear with a stick, he tapped her on the shoulder

…

And was promptly punched in the nose.

"Seriously Brainy," she grumbled, not turning around. "Now? Shouldn't you've gone home like, two hours ago with the rest of P.S. 118?"

"Geez Helga, ow!"

Helga went stalk-still. Her breathing became shallow and she started to shake. Gerald could half-hear her mumbling, as she began to go into convulsions.

"…Helga ol' girl…Tall Hairboy didn't hear you…going to be fine! Your secret's still safe…"

Gerald decided to put in his two cents. "Ah Helga? I, uh, kinda heard everything." He didn't know whether to laugh—and risk his nose getting a worse beating—or run away screaming. "Now, uh, if I'm understanding what going on right…you dig my main man…like seriously."

"Oh crimeny," Helga groaned, clapping a hand to her face. "Why me? Why him?! Him of all people!" She raised her head back up and shot Gerald a deathly glare. "Look, let's agree to never ever mention this again, and I won't pound you flat." She put up a fist threateningly.

And before he could say anything else, she'd shot off like a rocket, stopping only to shout some final words back to him. "Oh, and if you tell Arnold anything, I'll end you! Catch you in the funny papers Geraldo!"

And then she'd turned a corner and was gone, leaving Gerald to stare blankly at where she'd been. He might've stood there the rest of the night, had Arnold not come up behind him with a not-so-cheerful, "Ready to go?"

Gerald could only nod, resolved to put all things Helga-in-love related to the back of his mind until the next day.

~oOo~

Lunch: the time before recess; before playing and laughter. A time when great truths—whether they be about the mystery meat, or not—come to light.

Helga stood next to Arnold at the end of the line, which was unbearably long. She was hungry, so hungry, since, as could be expected, Miriam hadn't fixed her any breakfast. She hoped Arnold couldn't hear her stomach growling.

Arnold, cheerful as he ever was, observed as they came close enough to read the menu for the day. He grinned. "Hey! Good lunch today!" He pointed at the sign. "Pastrami on rye!" He turned to smile up at Helga. He'd been making an effort to be a bit nicer than usual to Helga—after all, he might end up married to her someday. "Do you like pastrami on rye Helga?" he wondered casually.

A bit of a blush crept up her cheeks. She did nothing but grit her teeth.

Arnold cocked an eyebrow. "Hey Helga, what's wrong?" Faster than she could blink, the boy had reached up his hand and pressed it against her forehead! She gulped back a whimper and thrust his arm away from her, finally exploding.

"Don't touch me!"

She couldn't take it. His eyes filled with innocent concern…Like he cared about her…

"Sorry Helga," he said, sincerely, remaining calm, his face still clouded with worry for her. "I…only wanted to know if you liked pastrami on ry—"

She clamped a hand over his mouth, the blush rushing to fill her entire face, and covering her ears. "Don't…just don't…ask…"

"But Helga," he mumbled around her hand. "I don't understand, what's wrong with saying pastrami on—"

Helga squeaked, pressing her other hand tightly to his mouth. "Please! Don't!"

He looked ready to say something again, so, moving so as to attract no attention (Hey, years of sneaking around did pay off!), Helga dragged the confused boy out of line, out of the room, and into the hall.

"Helga, what's going on?!" Arnold demanded, finally losing patience. "I don't understand you! What's the problem with—"

He cut himself off as Helga shot him a deathly glare. "I dare you to say those words again."

He frowned at her. "I will if you don't tell me what's going on!"

She was silent. His scowl deepened. "Pastrami on Rye."

"Fine! Fine!" she said loudly, flustered beyond belief. "I'll tell you! Just…shut up about the sandwich! Before I give you one with a knuckle for a filling!"

That threat would be moot point in about twenty seconds, she thought, gulping. Unless she came up with an escape plan…and so far, she was drawing a blank.

He crossed his arms, his eyes narrow. Not showing if he was bothered by the threat. "So…?"

She gulped again. "Well…"

He raised his eye brows.

"I…"

"You…?"

Suddenly, just as she was about to open her mouth to—say something, anything—the walky-talky she was keeping in her pocket buzzed.

"…Helga?"

It was Phoebe, and Helga couldn't believe her amazing timing. "Pheebs?"

"Helga where are you?!" The poor girl sounded rather frantic.

"Pheebs, I'm—"

"Helga is this about that dream you had last night about—"

"Hey Pheebs," she interrupted hysterically. "Ixnay on the eamdray!"

"…wha—Helga?"

Helga sighed. "Code: a la mode…"

"O-oh!" Now Phoebe sounded frightened. "You mean—?"

"Yup."

"O-oh dear," she sighed. "Well, I apologize for interrupting—things; however…Gerald has been…heckling me about what he saw yesterday…I understand now that you are currently tied up…"

"Crimeny," Helga groaned. "So much for that agreement to never mention that again…"

She shot a quick look at Arnold, who still looked highly annoyed. "Look, I'll be over there as soon as—as I finish up here…"

Without letting Phoebe say anything, she turned off the walky-talky and stuck it back in her pocket. She sighed and slid to the floor. Arnold sat next to her. "Well?" he said again, firmer this time. He seemed determined to know what was going on with her.

But, actually, she…had an idea. Helga hid a grin. So the Queen of Schemes hasn't lost her touch after all, she thought a bit smugly.

But she had to act like this was extremely hard to give up, and, in truth, it was a little bit. But, it was better than the alternative.

"Look," she sighed. "You know how Rhonda was doing that la-ti-da fluff, marriage predictor thing yesterday?"

He went a bit pink, but nodded.

"Well…I may have…well…I—and this was completely on accident—I kind of overheard Rhonda's prediction…of you…"

Arnold's eyes went wide. "You did?!"

She rolled her eyes, pulling a bit of a scowl. "Yeah, when I left you were on number twenty-five." That was a complete lie of course, she'd stayed for all hundred-ten, but he couldn't know that. "I didn't realize it was so completely horrible to be married to me even in some stupid cootie-catcher's faulty prediction!"

Though he looked a bit apologetic, he also still looked impatient. "What's the point Helga?"

She waved him off. "I'm getting there. Anyway…when I got home, I got to thinking…And well, I do not want to get married…ever." Another lie. "But…to tell you the truth, Football Head," she said, throwing in the demeaning nick name for good measure. "If I had to get married, I thought, you wouldn't be the worst person in the world…"

He went a bit pink. "Really?" But to Helga's chagrin, he frowned. "But I still don't get what that has to do with the pa—sandwich."

Helga sighed. He was really making her go all out, wasn't he? "You think you're the only one who had dreams about their supposed 'future significant other' Arnoldo?"

He laughed a bit nervously. "You uh—you heard that, did you?"

"Yup." Helga nodded. "And, once again, I didn't realize being married to me would be so utterly disgusting!"

He glared at her. "And your dream was much better?!"

She gave a haughty sniff. "Yes!" She wasn't going to tell him any of the details. No way, no how! She was especially not going to tell him how she rescued him. Oh crimeny, what had she been thinking? Telling him any of this stuff! She should have just told him that she had an unnatural obsession with pastrami on rye! He would have believed that! Stupid!

She noticed he was looking at her, a look of annoyed anticipation on his face.

"What?" she muttered.

His arms, which had become uncrossed when she'd told him what she'd overheard, wove tightly in front of his chest. "You got to hear my dream, so shouldn't I get the same benefit?"

She laughed. "Oh no way Football Head, but thanks for playing!"

"Helga! I still don't know how this connects to pastrami on rye!" he said, his eyes narrow and sparking. "If you don't tell me, I'll—I'll keep saying it forever!"

She gulped.

"Pastrami on rye, pastrami on rye, pastrami on rye—"

"OH CRIMENY FINE!" she shouted, rising to her feet.

In the back of her mind, some part of her was thankful that no teachers had classrooms near here, or she'd be toast.

She sat back down, motioning for him to follow. "I am a girl," she stated. "Even if the guys don't think so, it's true."

He looked at her, suddenly earnest. "I know that!"

She waved him off. "Yeah, well, you're Arnold." She sighed. "And since I'm a girl, I have—girly dreams sometimes—loath am I to admit it…"

He stared at her. "So you had a girly dream—about us being married?"

She scoffed. "No, I had a girly dream about yesterday's math assignment—of course it was about…that, doi."

She rubbed at her shoulders nervously. She really didn't like this…

"A-and so…There was—well, that is—" She scowled, angry at her twisted tongue. "Look, at one point in the dream, we shared a pastrami on rye sandwich, and, upon waking up, I thought it was completely stupid. That's what this whole thing is about! Happy?!"

Well, that was the extremely G version of things anyway. But it was the most she could say. Don't want to break his fragile little innocence after all, she thought a bit fondly.

"So," he said slowly. "That's it?"

She glowered at him. "Is what it?"

"That's what your dream was about? Us sharing a sandwich?"

He sounded a bit incredulous. She glared at him venomously.

"No then that's not 'it'! I'm not so starved that I find food by itself roman—dream worthy." She had to correct herself at the last moment. He didn't seem to notice. He looked at her, his eyes making her want to continue. "Cripes, if you must know—"

She was interrupted by the sound of running feet. Gerald came running down the hall, a terrified looking Phoebe close at his heels.

"Did you tell him then?" Gerald asked loudly. Helga shot him daggers with her eyes, trying to convey that he needed to shut up! He didn't get the message.

"You told Gerald?" Arnold asked, confusion etched all over his adorable—crimeny, now is not the time to be fawning over his love-godliness—face.

"No, ah, it was more like—I, uh, got firsthand view of the situation…"

Helga's hand met her face again. Why do I even bother with these people?

Arnold looked confused and alarmed. "What does that mean?!"

Gerald looked puzzled. "I mean, after you ran after Rhonda yesterday, I saw Helga swooning and giggling like some sort of girly-girl, sayin' that—"

Phoebe placed a hand over his mouth. "Gerald, it's not your secret to tell." She looked at Helga apologetically. "I'm sorry Helga, I tried to stop him." She looked from Helga to the impossibly confused boy beside her. "I'll—leave you two to finish up."

Shooting her friend one last concerned look, she tugged Gerald back down the hallway.

"No more games Helga. What's going on?"

She didn't look at him. She couldn't. How was she going to get out of this mess? No crazy scheme was going to help her here…

…She'd have to tell him the truth.

But, no oh no, he was not getting it out of her without a fight.

"I was in the midst of a rant about how I love pastrami," she managed to say, keeping her face straight and, hopefully, serious looking.

Arnold wasn't going to fall for that, she saw that immediately.

"Oh come on," he scoffed. "I'm not going to fall for that."

Her laugh was a bit nervous. "It's true, I saw that they were going to have it today, and I just couldn't help myself!"

"Helga." His voice was firm. He was clearly done with her antics.

"Okay fine."

She gave up. There was no use even pretending anymore. "Why did you have to choose now to stop being completely dense?" she half-mumbled. "It has to be one of those times where I'm a crazy loon. Not one of the times I would've been half okay with you figuring it out, like Christmas, or the school play…but no…it's now…"

He'd listened to her talk with a bit of mild confusion. He was probably wondering what she was going on about.

She heaved a great big heavy sigh and looked at him. "Look, what Geraldo witnessed yesterday…was…well…" She fought futilely against the blush rising to her face. "Well…I was a bit…happy…that…um—oh crimeny, I've had a crush on you forever and so I was happy at what it predicted, and if you tell anyone or use this against me, I swear I don't care how freakin' adorable I find you—I will pound that football head of yours flat."

She took a moment to catch her breath, not looking at him.

"….What."

She looked at him. His face—completely and utterly red, probably just like hers—showed nothing but shock; no revulsion (like she'd expected), or utter joy (like she'd hoped). Just shock.

"…Crush?"

"Yes!" she shouted, rising to her feet and thrusting her arms in the air. "How simple do I have to put it?! I'm crazy about ya! Every time I see you it's hard to breath and I hear choirs singing and life is wonderful—even though it sucks! I can't stand it! You make me go utterly nutty! I worship the ground you walk on! When I think about you I spout sappy poetry, and listen to love songs—crimeny, I act like freakin' Olga! Get it through your thick head—I'm in love with you, you idiot!"

She wished she had it in her to show him just how serious she was. She wanted to kiss him so badly. But from the look on his face—which had long since surpassed shock and gone onto full-blown astonishment—he probably wouldn't take that too well…

"You—you l-love…me?!" he finally asked, his voice squeaky and high.

Helga groaned. "I swear, if I have to repeat myself, someone is going to get it," she muttered. "And it's probably going to be Geraldo. Stupid Tall-hair boy just couldn't keep his big mouth shut."

Her companion looked a bit dizzy, holding his head against his hand. "I—I can honestly say, I didn't expect that."

"You should've just taken the excuse I gave you," Helga grumbled, annoyed by the incredulous expression on his face.

He stopped looking shocked for a moment to shoot her an amused look. "An obsession with pastrami on rye?"

Helga ignored the red that crept back up her face. It was still embarrassing to hear him say—those word, with the knowledge of her dream still at the forefront of her mind. "That's a perfectly good reason!"

"Whatever you say, Helga."

"That's right, Hair boy, whatever I say!"

Inwardly she grimaced, as silence fell over them awkwardly. This was what she'd worried about. Confessions made everything uncomfortable. She rubbed the back of her neck, not looking at him.

"Arnold…you know…I think it might be best if you just forgot what I told you…tell Tall Hair boy that what he heard was a fluke…and all that. Just forget it, okay?"

It was obviously too much for him to handle at the moment. Helga sighed sullenly. "See ya when I see ya Arnoldo."

And faster than the boy could blink, she was gone.

And that's the end of that. I'm new to writing Hey Arnold fanfiction, so there's still a long ways to go before I'm, you know, good. But hopefully, you found this mildly entertaining at the very least. Please tell me what you thought!

-Wisegirl