Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold or anything else I might mention.

Summary: It certainly wasn't how Helga Shortman had planned to spend her day. Trapped in a 5x7 space with her estranged husband. 1 elevator, 2 people, 6 hours. Will they kill each other or rekindle their love?

A/N: Well, this is my newest little diddly. As much as I love my little comedy I couldn't stay away from the drama. To be fair, this isn't going to be very long. 5 chapters or so. This is sort of a moment in time sort of thing with some slight eleventh hour type tension. Just Helga and Arnold, trying to figure out their marital issues. I'm obsessed with exploring common people problems. It's a disorder, really.

Love Don't Live Here

"What I'm asking includes the equipment, our state accounts, two developments on stage one, and this warehouse. The lot is under lease, with an option to buy in 5 years or re-negotiate another 5-year lease." 34 year old Helga Shortman said as she strolled through her business head quarters, brushing her hand softly over a piece of heavy machinery, feeling the dust and...the memories-the hopes and dreams-smear into the ridges if her finger prints. Now, now it was just particles of filth, the ultimate betrayal of cleanliness, the remains of a once bright future, for in death everything returns to dust.

Wasn't she being ever the poet.

She turned, wiping her hand off and faced the couple that she'd momentarily forgotten were trailing along behind her. The man stood cross armed, looking every which away. The woman looked clueless. In fact they both looked a little clueless and it gave the pit of her stomach an obnoxious feeling. "Any questions?" she chirped.

"So, uh, what'd you say your reason for selling this was?" the man inquired.

Helga all but forced a tight smile, "Divorce," she said sharply.

"Oh..." The pair suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"My husband grew a pair of wings. Which is why this is an 'as-is' business. No training other than presenting you with our finacials for the past 2 years will be provided."

The man shifted with uncertainty, reaching up and dragging his hand across the back of his neck, "Oh, uh...see we were under the impression that there would be some kind of training. I just don't think we're prepared to pay what you want without some guidance to get it started."

"Have you ever owned a construction business before?"

"No. This would be our very first business ever."

Helga sighed and rubbed her newly throbbing temple, "Of course it is." she dropped her hand at her side, "And you obviously didn't read the ad, either so, nice meeting you, the door is that way, have a nice life."

"Hey, you don't have to be so rude, lady."

"Listen bucko, I left work early to come down here for you to rummage through my business, after answering an ad you clearly didn't read, because if you had, you wouldn't be standing here whining about some training, wasting my time."

"Seriously, I don't know why it's so hard for people to read. Just read," Helga complained into the phone later that night. She stood at the kitchen pushing the contents of stir fry around in a sauté pan. "I mean, I have got to get out from under this thing soon. I don't know what I'm going to do if I can't...well yeah but...realistically what am I going to do? Filing for bankruptcy won't prevent me from losing our house. Like I've said, I'm not joking when I say he took off with every cent that we had. Hold on a sec Pheebs..." Helga requested, hearing a beep. When she saw it was Brainy trying to phone in, she clicked over, and told him she'd call him back.

"Sorry, that was Brian," She apologized to Phoebe, "Oh don't even…don't even start. There's nothing going on between us...besides, even if there was..." She looked over to the table at her 7 year old son and 5 year old daughter, "My you-know-what will be final tomorrow whether you-know-who shows up or not. I know, I know. Well let me go, I've got mouths to feed. Alright, I will. Tell Gerald I said hello...bye."

Helga tossed her phone onto the counter and hauled the pan of stir fry over to the kitchen table, "Alright my darlings, eat up." She spooned a couple healthy portions onto the plates and sat down. Her son Phillip began digging in immediately, that kid never had to be told twice to eat, but Natalie, her youngest (and pickiest) began suspiciously rooting through the medley with her fork.

"I picked out all of the shrimp," Helga told her.

"What's that?" The young girl pointed to her food.

"It's a baby corn. Eat it its good."

"Daddy never put them in it when he made it."

Helga had to fight the tinge of annoyance that crept through her at any reference to her soon to be ex-husband. "Daddy picked them out. Just scoot it to the edge of your plate if you don't want them."

Phil quickly stabbed a piece with his fork. "I'll take them."

"Hey!" Natalie barked.

"You didn't want them," Her brother taunted through a mouth full of food. "You snooze you lose!"

"Mom!"

Helga let out a tired sigh, "Either you want them or you don't Nat."

The petite girl huffed one last time and begrudgingly pushed the remainder of the offending vegetable to the rim of the plate for her sibling to have. Helga continued her meal in relative silence, exhaustion finally beginning to cast a blanket over her for the night. The days were long, and even more so since she hadn't been sleeping. Sleeping well anyway. Who was she kidding; it was a good night if she could get 5 hours of sleep. A real good night. With the stress of her job, her kids, her impending divorce, and her crumbling finances, there was a lot to lie awake and dwell upon.

It had been a very rough year and 4 months in the Shortman household. The storm was passing, but the destruction it was leaving was even worse.

She got up, she went to work, she picked up her kids, they ate dinner, they went to bed. Her life had turned into a vicious routine, and it was maddening.

And extremely disconnecting.

Anymore, she felt entirely disconnected from her kids. She didn't want to be, or mean to be, she was just so busy worrying about their well-being amidst this mess that she forgot to actually be mom.

At times, she was convinced that she'd forgotten how to be Helga too. Fun-loving, who occasionally took herself too seriously, with a spit fire temper and a heart of gold. Who was that girl again? Where was she again?

Buried beneath the layers of stress she wore around like a winter coat more than likely. She didn't want to think about it, but she constantly thought about, morning, noon and night she thought about it.

After the kids were fed, homework done, and put to bed, her only solace for the long day-what she did almost every night-was stewing in the hot tub on the back deck and having a glass or two of red wine. The water just worked wonders on those bunched muscles, pulled taut from hypertension. Lord knows her body was a giant knot by the time she slipped beneath the warm, foamy water. She could feel the tension being licked away, and it was lovely, if only temporary. Interestingly enough, she'd never used it much up until now. Arnold had bought the thing and had been its primary user. He swore that after trekking around development sites in steel toe boots all day, it was better than a massage. Perhaps he'd been right, she was certainly benefiting from its effects.

In the swirl of her relaxation, she heard a car ease up into her driveway, peeking her curiosity about who would be there at that hour. She heard the engine shut off, a door open and close and the latch to the gate jiggle open.

"Jesus, Brian, you about gave me a heart attack!" She scolded when she saw his familiar pale form in the moonlight. Then the motion lights kicked on.

"Sorry." He quickly closed the gap, "You weren't picking up your phone. Figured I check to make sure you hadn't officially had a break down," He smirked. Helga looked up at her friend, partially annoyed by the assumption yet, knowing herself that it was a plausible one to make. There had been a few days where she'd been close.

"Yeah, I left my phone in the house. It completely slipped my mind to call you back," Helga said in an apologetic voice. Brian waved it off. "Getting in or what?"

"I don't have my swim shorts with me."

Helga tossed him an amused eye-roll, "That's your excuse? I seem to recall a fourth-of-July party about three-years-ago when you stripped down to your boxers and got in. Drunk as a-"

"-Ha...ha," Brian cut her off, not wishing to relive that moment, "I'll dip my feet. Will that make you happy?" He conceded, kicking off his sneakers and rolling his pants legs up to his knees. He slid his pasty white legs into the simmering liquid. Aside from Phoebe, Brainy was arguably her other best friend, and when everything had been peachy keen, they still had a pretty solid group from the old neighborhood going.

"How'd your showing go today?"

"Waste of my freaking time," She tossed back a mouthful of wine, not eager to discuss the subject and he didn't bother with the details.

"Well, hopefully somebody will come along."

"Yeah," She spitefully snorted, "When it's too late."

Brainy couldn't think of anything to say. There wasn't much to be said. The situation was the situation. He shrugged it off and put on a smile, "Want a shoulder massage?" He twiddled his fingers at her.

"If you're offering, then yes!" His fingers where magic, no other way of describing them, and she wasted no time pouring herself a second glass of wine and sliding between his knees. His nimble digits went to work rubbing out kinks and the like.

"Nervous about tomorrow?"

Helga shrugged, "At this point, I'm just ready to be through with it all."

Brainy hummed, "Well, I certainly can sympathize with that. Any word on if he's coming?"

"Not a clue. I don't know where he is. I kind of wonder if his lawyer even knows where he is." She took a gulp of wine, "We'll see, I guess."

"Same outcome regardless I suppose."

"Exactly," She agreed. A minute or so crept by with the two of them just listening to the bubbling of the water in comfortable silence, Helga sipping her wine and Brian kneading a spot between her shoulder blades. Then, out of the blue, she groaned and he thought he'd hit a sore spot, "I've got a pile of manuscripts sitting on my bed that aren't going to read themselves."

Brian stopped, and even though she couldn't see him, gave her an appalled look, "You're barely sleeping as it is and you're bringing work home with you?"

Helga sighed. She moved from between his legs, over the edge where she propped her elbows up and took a sip from her glass, "I'm the senior editor, B. People didn't stop writing books just so I could have a personal crisis you know."

"I know that. Just…take it easy. You're going to kill yourself."

The Following Day

11:45 a.m. She was 15 minutes early, but she hoped that she could get in and out as quickly as possible, scrolling her John Hancock on the dotted line and wiping her hands clean of him. Of course, that would be the easiest part of the entire ordeal. Picking up the pieces and getting on with her life after over a year of turmoil, now that was a horse of an entirely different color. Then there were arrangements with the kids that needed to be settled. She'd be free of him, but it didn't even begin to solve her problems. With a deep resolved breath, she pushed through a pair of heavy glass doors, walking into a well decorated lobby bustling with lunch hungry professionals.

She skipped to the elevator, waiting less than a second for it to come available before hopping in. Her number was pressed and she began watching the brass colored doors come together, but before they met, a hand thrusted between, parting them like the red sea.

Helga's jaw dropped, "Of all the Goddamn elevators," she complained allowed, making absolutely sure he heard. Of course he had to do a double take as well, yet it didn't stop him from catching another lift. "Panama Jack lives after all."

For his part, Arnold didn't seem to react, merely tossing her his usual look while he stepped to the opposite end, "Hey Helga." It had literally been 10 months since she'd seen him in the flesh. 10 months. He looked different, yet the same. He had this knack for always looking like he hadn't shaven in three days. His hair was longer, much longer, long enough that he had it pulled back into a Gavin Rossdale man bun. His skin was especially sun dried and, at least in his face, he looked thinner. Then there were those lips that her eyes fell upon, still as soft and supple looking as ever, easily one of her favorite parts of him…aside from his eyes. The longer she looked at him the more irritated she became.

"I'm surprised you came. How's play time with the Russian been?" She harshly asked, thinning her eyes at him.

"Helga, I'm not going to argue with you. It hasn't been like that so just leave it alone."

"You want me to leave it alone? Like in the way you left me alone? With our kids and your business that I have no clue how to run?"

Arnold propped his hands on his hips and turned to shower her with a well placed glower, "Oh come on! You make it sound as if I did everything on purpose! I certainly didn't file for this divorce!"

Helga was immediately confounded, staring back at him with just as dirty of a look, "And I certainly didn't give myself a cause for divorce either!" she shot back.

Her husband held her stare, and his jaw set, "You'll get what you want Helga, but like I told you, you blew everything out of proportion. I told you that I was sorry, I can't take it back, so I don't know what more you wanted."

That was when she felt ever fiber of her collective rational snap like a dry brittle twig. Her fist balled at her side and she took a very shake, very heavy breath, "Sorry?" Her eyes blackened with her tone, "You walked out on us Arnold! And for what?! So you could go traipsing around in the jungle because of what some stranger told you?! And don't get me started on the Russian and the phone call and—"

"-I found her." Arnold blurted out. Helga snapped her mouth shut. His soft eyes fell from her face and onto the floor and he took a breath, "Two months ago."

"Your mother…" Helga breathed. She wouldn't get his answer, because no sooner had the words fluttered past her lips, the elevator began to shake violently, the sound of metal grinding, sheering through the little box in angry haste.

A/N: Alright this is the start. So what's Arnold been up to for the past year and four months? Who's the Russian, the stranger and the phone call? Stay tuned. Read, Review, all that jazz.