A/N: HEY CATS. Before you begin reading chapter three, I'd just like to express my thanks to the comments everyone's left so far! Quite a few of you guys have expressed how you believe these moments have great TJM potential, but I'd like to give you fair warning: PROBS NOT IN THIS CHAPTER. I like to think that yes, there would be several moments, but none lasting as long as this and on this level. Much less applicable to the movie, but hey, I wanted it to happen so IT'LL HAPPEN IN MY FIC. ALSO: Just a reminder, these guys are apparently ten? PROBS NOT IN THIS CHAPTER.

Disclaimer: Guys, honestly, if anything, Hey Arnold! owns me.

"Don't… touch… me," she hiccupped warningly.

"Helga, it's just me," he soothed, reaching out towards her.

She leaned away from him. "No… I'll cry harder," she cautioned. Her face began to scrunch up just looking at his outstretched hand, diligently suspended above her shoulder. She automatically summoned the vision of them holding hands on the plane, thinking of how at that moment she thought it would be the only time he would ever purposely touch her, and now his face held so much worry, his green eyes showering her with concern, flashing back and forth between her own wet ones. "Just… wait," she croaked.

His brow knitted together. "Wait?" he echoed softly.

Her breath caught as she hiccupped again, sighing at his stupidity. How the hell was she supposed to make him understand? If he would touch her, that would make it ten times worse. She couldn't stand feeling sorry for herself anymore, and his warm touch would break her even further. "I'm not ready yet," she spoke, rolling her eyes at the sound of her own nasally voice. She hated crying, much less in front of people, much less in front of Arnold.

He continued to stare at her concernedly for a moment before he leaned back and dropped his hand with a slow uneasiness. "Okay," he whispered. He remained with a firm alertness about him, not looking away with his hand resting between them as they sat on the jungle floor. Helga brought her knees back up to her chest and wrapped her thin arms around them, resting her head on the tree behind her. Shying away from Arnold's steady gaze, she glanced up at the stars through the tall canopy. They shone brighter than in the city, and her warm breath swirled around in the cool air above her as she tried to steady her breathing. She could feel her wet eyes still shining, so she hastily wiped at her cheeks with her hand, dragging the inside of her wrist up to meet the corner of her eye. She rubbed the salty liquid from her lashes, licked it from her lips, and pressed the back of her hands against her warm cheeks, leaving them there until her face cooled off. Satisfied, she sniffed and wiped the wetness on her knees.

She wished she could brush away the embarrassment that was still left of Arnold finding her like this – sobbing alone under a tree. Pathetic, she thought to herself. They had all been setting up for the night, Helga and Phoebe laying out their sleeping bags while Arnold and Gerald put out the fire, when she felt an overwhelming lump form in the back of her throat. She delivered a quick lame excuse to Phoebe, and she darted out and around the tent, looking for a sanctuary as she stumbled in her sudden, unexpected sobs. Finding a halo of large trees rooting out of the ground, she collapsed inside of them and began to empty herself of her tears. And then he showed up.

She peeked at him again. His eyes were still fixed on her, so she dropped them again and began to trace a line in the dirt with her finger. He shifted closer to her.

"Better?" he asked.

She pushed the tip of her finger in the dirt until she felt it fill her fingernail. "I think so," she muttered.

"Good," he said, scooting closer still. "Can…" he hesitated. "Can I touch you now?"

Taken aback, Helga looked up at him again and frowned. "No," she said defensively. "Don't think that just because you found me… crying means you can get all mushy with me."

He sighed as he leaned back against the tree next to her, still not looking away, he fixed her with a look of frustration, brow furrowed as his eyes underneath searched her face. Helga tried to look away, after all, his face was much too close at the moment, but she saw something there that caught her fixation. The slight downturn of his mouth, the way his knit brow relaxed and he turned his gaze downward, it could only be called disappointment.

Without any second thought, Helga was running her fingers up the inside of his wrist and into his hand where she laced their fingers. Arnold stared at their hands, unmoving. She was about to mentally berate herself for her sudden impulse when she felt him squeeze her hand comfortably, wiggling his fingers so that their palms were touching. He smiled out of the corner of his mouth as a slight blush rose to meet his face, and as he looked up, she looked away at the same time.

So there they were - holding hands on the forest floor, Helga staring off uncomfortably ahead of her, and Arnold gazing contentedly at her profile. She let out an uneasy breath as he began stroking her with his thumb – gentle yet confident swipes of his warm skin across hers.

"Tell me why you were crying," he said in a low voice.

"No," she responded promptly.

He didn't say anything but stopped his ministrations with his thumb. She took a breath. "I don't know why."

She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye. "Scared?" he whispered softly. She didn't say anything but squeezed his hand slightly, prompting him to caress her hand once more. "Me too," he sighed, and that was where they silently agreed to leave the conversation. After a few minutes Arnold stood and pulled Helga up with him. He led the way back to the tent, tightening his grip on Helga's hand as she tried to let go. "Hey, who said you could keep holding my hand, bucko?" she jostled.

"I guess I did," he smiled.

"Well, I didn't, so let go," she said, wiggling her fingers incessantly.

"No dice, Pataki," he said as he pulled them under a tree branch. "I don't want you pulling another disappearing act on me."

"Disappearing act?" she asked as they emerged on the other side. "Oh – look, I'm not going to go anywhere, so –"

"Hey, neither am I, okay?" Helga almost ran into him as he suddenly paused in his tracks to look behind at her. He squeezed her hand again. "So get used to it."

Momentarily shocked, Helga stared at him speechless as he drank in her stunned expression. Satisfied, he turned and continued to lead the way through the brush. Regaining a bit of her composure, she stuttered, "That doesn't… what – what d'you… I'm not… you – you're a… football head," she finished lamely.

"New material," he commented. She growled angrily and he began laughing. With the tent now in sight, they became quiet. Taking advantage Arnold's relaxed hold, Helga swiftly withdrew her hand from his. "No more mushy stuff," she snapped, extending her arm away from him. She sped off ahead from him, approaching the tent with a frown. She heard him mutter something but was concentrating too hard on getting away from him to hear it. All she wanted to do was curl up in a sleeping bag, cover her head with a pillow, and ponder the conundrum of Arnold Shortman.

She reached for the zipper and pulled it down slowly. She ducked, put one leg into the tent and froze.

"What's the matter?" Arnold whispered behind her. He peered over her shoulder, getting a view of the tent's two occupants, fast asleep in their sleeping bags, their arms outstretched between them as they held hands.

"Gee, it's sure nice to know that we could've been eaten by a cougar while our best friends slept by soundly," remarked Helga.

"Shhh," he laughed. "I'm sure they've been asleep a long time." He placed his hands on her back and nudged her slightly to crawl inside.

"Hey, don't get pushy," she hissed, but then he suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her halfway out of the tent again.

"Do you really think there are cougars here?" he whispered, eyes wide and hand tight. They stared silently at each other for a moment, and with impeccable timing, a twig snapped in the distance, sending the two blondes tumbling into the darkness of the tent. They both scrambled for the zipper and pulled it up quickly. Becoming instantly still, they strained their ears past the silence of the crickets and their own breathing. With no new noises after a few minutes, Helga redirected her attention towards the boy in front of her. Eyes adjusted, she was only able to make out his dark silhouette. He reached out towards her, finding her shoulders, and guided her past the sleeping forms of Gerald and Phoebe. They bent to their hands and knees, silently feeling for their sleeping bags. Helga spent a few moments grasping at the material of the tent's floor before she remembered.

Sitting back, she pressed her palms over her eyes, silently cursing. Her mind raced hundreds of paths to possible solutions, all meeting dead ends. Meanwhile she heard Arnold rustling with his bag and the zipper close. As silence settled again, Helga's heart hammered loudly in her chest. It's okay, she told herself. He doesn't even know. Just be perfectly still and he won't –

She saw him sit up and half roll/crawl towards her. Screaming silently in her head, she covered her face again with her hands. Think of something, think of something! He reached her, his hand feeling along her arm up to the hands that covered her face. A recently common occurrence, Helga's heart was suddenly beating in her throat as he pressed his cheek against hers.

"What," he whispered next to her ear, sending her hairs to stand on end, and she involuntarily freed the breath she had been holding. At this closeness she was out of control, out of her element, no longer responsible for her words or actions. Her façade broken, she marveled at how easy the truth spilled out of her.

"G-gave it to her," she breathed.

"…What?" he repeated.

"My bag," she replied, her eyes drifting shut at the feeling of his breath on her cheek. "Phoebe." She heard his mouth open, and for a minute he sat still. Her eyes slowly drifted open again, wondering at the loss of his breath.

And then he was hugging her, his arms tight around her waist, the breath of his comprehension exhaled against her ear. She nearly whimpered as his lips grazed her. "Oh Helga," he cooed, and for the second time he was kissing her cheek. Once, twice, three times, squeezing her, holding her, pressing her, breathing her, soothing her, hypnotizing her, blinding her, and what was her name again?

"Helga," he smiled. "Here," and then his arms were gone from around her, his lips gone from against her, and her eyes rolled back into focus. Submerging from the depths of whatever spell Arnold had put her under, she breathed again.

He was shifting around, unzipping his bag, reaching for her again, but she pressed her arms against his chest as he tried to envelop her. "C'mere," he prompted, pulling on her arms. She almost fell into him again.

"Huh?" she whimpered dumbly.

One word, so faint yet so bold, "Share?" he whispered, and then she did fall into him.

"No," her voice trembled against his shirt. Out of the darkness, sense came to her. "No, you're Arnold. You're supposed to offer it to me."

He chuckled softly, reaching over her to zip up the bag. She took advantage of this and rolled the other way so she wouldn't have to face him. "You wouldn't have taken it," he said.

"I… I would have," she stressed. He lay down then, pushing some of her hair out of the way. "No touching," she murmured.

And then it was silent. As tired as Helga should have been, she felt wired lying next to Arnold. She could feel the heat coming off of his body along her back. She heard his breathing, slowing with every minute, but the thing that got her the most was his scent, not only from the boy's yellow hair right next to her, but the sleeping bag itself, positively saturated with the fragrance of his shampoo. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her heart. A sigh echoed from him, too. She wondered which way he was laying. She wanted to know.

"So…" she began. "Do you know your wingspan?"

Silence.

"What?"

"Of your freakishly weird-shaped hair?"

"…Helga, is that supposed to be new material?"

"…Yes."

He leaned over her then, smiling against her cheek as he gave her the last kiss of the night.

"Well," he sighed against her, "I suppose the wingspan of our hair styles would match, so… do you know yours?"

"Shut up."

A/N: HALVSIES. AS IN, WOW THIS CHAPTER MARKS HALVSIES OF THE STORY. Who wants to play a game? What did Arnold say that Helga didn't hear upon entering the tent? Winner gets… PRIDE.