Author's notes: Yes, it's a brand new story! Don't start screaming, now; "What Is and What Should Never Be" is still my number one priority as far as fanfics go. But as I mentioned in an e-mail I wrote the other day, I got the idea for this story earlier this week, tooled around with it, and before I knew it, I had a whole chapter written! So I hope everyone enjoys this until I get another chapter written for the other fic.
Intro: I won't go into extensive details here, but I will set up things just a bit so you all know what's going on in this story. This fic is a spin-off of Helga's dream from "Married." This story will probably have less in common with the dream than one would expect. For instance, it's more in balance with everyone's actual character rather than Helga's idealistic view, since this is written as something that actually takes place (it's not anyone's dream). And then there's the title, obviously a rehashing of the title of the movie, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. I chose that title mainly because it fits the political theme of the story; other than that, I'm not basing too much specifically off of that movie, as I haven't seen most of it (but some elements will be present, nonetheless).
I'll let the story itself fill in the rest of the details. There will be holes in the storyline as we go along, since I'm not putting all the details in right off the bat. Don't start firing plot-related questions at me, because the answers will come later on, I promise!
Disclaimer: Hey Arnold! was created by Craig Bartlett, and "Married" was written by Steve Viksten. I had nothing to do with either of them, unfortunately.
"Hey Arnold! Hey Arnold! Hey—"
Helga reached over, grabbed the potato alarm clock, and threw it against the wall, grumbling and going back to sleep as she did so. The sound of the glass face cover shattering into pieces and the brass housing clanging to the floor drew loud footsteps up the stairs, followed by the bedroom door opening in a cautious manner.
"Aw, Mom! You broke another one!"
More muttering could be heard from under the sheets. "Not now, Phil, I'm trying to sleep."
A second set of footsteps made its way into the room at that time. "Criminy, Helga, that's the third one this week!"
"Oh, pipe down, Football Head. And don't be using that word; it belongs to me."
Arnold went over and shook Helga awake as she tried to roll up into a fetal position. "Come on, Helga; it's after seven. Remember, you've got that book signing down at Slausen's this morning."
She flung the covers off to one side, her patience gone from the pestering her family kept delivering. "That's not until ten! Sheesh, can't I get five minutes of extra shuteye?"
"Whatever you say, Helga," Arnold said as he leaned in and kissed her on the forehead.
"I am so sick of hearing you say that. But why are you up so early, I thought you had the day off?"
"Phil woke up me up to watch the meteor shower this morning. I promised him I'd get up to watch it last night."
"I'll bet that was exciting."
"It wasn't exactly Sally's Comet, but it was worth it."
"You know it was, Dad!" Phil came walking in with a broom under one arm and another clock in the other. "Okay, Mom, this is the last one we've got in the box. Dad'll have to make more of them if you break this one."
Helga smirked at the sight of the ridiculous clock shaped like Arnold as a kid. He had made several of them as a young boy, but never had to replace the original for almost fifteen years, when Helga chucked it out the window the first morning after their honeymoon. Now they went through them like toilet paper. "Why do you keep making those stupid things? Can't you tell they're driving me to the point of insanity when I wake up?"
"Really? I thought you actually liked them, considering you seem to hate them as much as you 'hated' me at one time."
"Oh, you're so funny. Clean up that mess over there before someone cuts their foot." Helga snatched the broom out from under her son's arm and shoved it into Arnold's lap.
"Me? You're the one who broke it."
"You're the moron who put it there in the first place."
The two of them glared at each other for a moment, then broke into laughter. Arnold spoke between laughs, "Just like when we were back in school!"
"I know! When will we ever just grow up?"
Phil stood off to one side, watching his parents laugh themselves almost to tears. "You guys are weird," he said as he took the broom himself and went to clean up the clock pieces.
"Okay, the bus is here! See you guys later!"
"Hey Phil, don't forget I'm taking you to see the Old Timers game after school!"
"I won't, Dad! Bye, Mom!"
"Bye, Little Bucko!" came the response from within the house.
Standing on the front porch, watching the bus pull away, Arnold smirked at hearing Helga's nickname for their son. She called Phil all the names she used to call Arnold, only she'd throw a "little" in front of them for distinction (with the exception of "football head," which she reserved for Arnold alone). Phil wasn't exactly little anymore, now nearing the end of his year in fifth grade at age nine. Fifth grade was about the same time that Arnold and Helga began to "grow up," as it pertained to the two of them at least. Phil never talked about girls that much, spending most of his time absorbed in either homework or sports. Baseball was of particular interest to him, in much the same way as it was to his father. Arnold had led his team to a college world series title his last year before getting his bachelor's degree, the same year he proposed to Helga.
The two of them celebrated their thirteenth anniversary the week prior. Of course, that day had been the happiest of Helga's life, playing out just at it had in all her childhood dreams. They traveled around the world on their honeymoon (as Helga had always planned), and even had one bottle of their own personal fragrance made during a visit to France. The bottle sat on a shelf placed high in their bedroom, the words "Arnold & Helga" blazed across the front in fancy calligraphy. Naturally, it was the same fragrance that had always been left behind by Arnold's shampoo as a kid, a shampoo whose identity would go with him to the grave, despite Helga's pleas for him to reveal it.
"Hey Arnold, is the paper here yet?"
He jumped, startled by her voice. "What?"
Helga came up behind where he was still standing in front of their house. "Daydreaming again, huh? Come back down to Earth, Hair Boy, and get in here with my paper!"
He picked the newspaper up off the bottom step of the porch and brought it in to his wife. In spite of the fact that he was completely aware of her deep affections for him, Helga continued to boss Arnold around like she'd always done. They both seemed to enjoy having things that way, agreeing that there wasn't any real power struggle but Arnold still allowing Helga to be herself.
Arnold thought about this as Helga went to snatch the paper out of his hands. "You know, Helga, some men are turned on by displays of power and self-assertion by a woman."
She grabbed the paper and began to pull it from his grasp. "You don't say?"
He tightened his own grip. "Do you know any men who are like that?"
Helga tugged harder at the paper. "I know one who's probably going to get turned on pretty badly here in a second if he doesn't let go of my pap—"
Arnold, possessing more physical strength than the once mighty bully, pulled in on the paper and planted his lips on Helga's. He felt her melt away as she usually would at first, and then tighten up again into her natural posture. He released her and gave her that knowing, eyes half-lidded smile he was famous for.
"Can you imagine if you'd done that to me before I confessed my feelings for you?"
"Yeah, Old Betsy probably would have laid me out in a second!" Arnold walked off into the kitchen with Helga trailing behind him. He threw on his apron and chef's hat as he always did when entering the kitchen, and went to work preparing breakfast. Arnold was the cook for the household, his skills greater than Helga's. Even though she had spent many hours in her parents' kitchen preparing her own meals as a child, Helga wasn't in the same league as Arnold. One of his specialties was a close Campfire Lass knockoff, chocolate turtles, which he had improved upon after first making it in fourth grade. Helga sat at the dining room table chewing on a few while reading the comics.
"Man, I can't get enough of that poor Thergood!"
Arnold overheard her reading. "Do you ever read the actual news?"
"I'm getting there! Keep your apron on!"
"Is there anything in there about Congress voting on whether to increase funding for NASA?"
"Let's see…" Helga flipped through the main section looking for an answer. "Yeah, here it is. The House voted it down, 300-180."
"Damn it!" Arnold quipped as he cracked an egg.
"Why do you care so much? You work at the university; it's not coming out of your paycheck."
She heard the clang of kitchen tools over her shoulder at that remark. Oh boy, here it comes.
"It affects all of us, Helga. All of the technology around us is a product of the space program. If we shut down the space program—"
"Then we shut down the rapid pace of the growth of technology. I've heard your little spiel a hundred times on this issue."
Arnold lowered the tone of his voice after his wife's words. "Helga, do you at least agree with me that it's important?"
"I never said it wasn't."
"That's not what I meant."
She detected the waning in his voice. Sighing, she got up and walked into the kitchen. "Look, I know how you feel about what you think is important, Arnold. You've always been passionate on certain issues, ever since that Scheck character tried to tear down your neighborhood when we were kids. Personally, I wouldn't mind seeing the space program get its money. But we're talking about national policy here, Arnold. You can't just go marching into the Capitol and start selling your case like you do around here."
"Well…I wasn't exactly planning on doing anything about this. It's not that big a deal; I just would have liked to seen them pass the bill. Besides, what would I do if I went there?"
"Exactly, there's nothing you can do, so don't worry about it."
Arnold smiled at that last comment. As a kid, he always heard everyone telling him that when a problem came along. Back then, that comment would have lit the proverbial flame in his heart, causing him to go on a tear until everything was fixed. But things were different now. In the real world, things didn't work like they did when he was a kid. He figured he probably would have gone insane thinking about all the problems in the world if Helga hadn't been around to put everything in perspective.
Arnold finished preparing their breakfast, a skillet with a little bit of everything thrown in. He brought everything to the table and sat down. Helga shoved the paper off to one side and pulled the food in for closer inspection. "Carrots? Green beans? What else did you hide in here?"
"Helga, you can't even taste the vegetables with all the sausage I put in there."
"Ou got at wight!" she mumbled with a mouth full of sausage and egg.
Arnold glanced over at the front page of the paper as he ate, looking at the headlines. "Famine continues in Africa." "Battle over abortion rights continues to rage." "Frankie G., Jr., strikes again, three injured in south side looting." "Taxes climb to record heights in 43 states."
"Helga, do you ever imagine things were the way they used to be?"
She glared up at him. "What time period are we referring to here?"
"Back when we were in elementary—"
"No, I don't," she quickly responded.
He returned the glare, and then remembered what her childhood had been like. "Okay, I'll be more specific. Remember how I was always solving everyone's problems and giving out advice, despite the fact that I overdid it at times?"
"Who says you still aren't?"
A smirk as he continued, "No, not petty, everyday problems like we've got around here. I mean the big stuff, like with Scheck."
"Yeah, I remember all that. I used to call you a bunch of names behind your back about everything you did."
He stopped at that remark for a moment. "Anyway, do you ever feel like we could apply those childhood principles to the problems in the world today?"
Helga looked at him with a puzzled look on her face. "Didn't we just talk about this? You know, 'nothing you can do' and all of that?"
"Yeah, I know. Realistically, there isn't a lot we could do. But do you ever think about being in a position of power to really do something about it?"
"Well, I have thought about a seat of power before, but not for carrying out your good deed agenda."
"Really? What kind of power did you imagine you had?"
"Oh, you know, supreme dictator of the world, stuff like that."
"Maybe you could settle on president, perhaps?"
"Of course! Like that would ever happen."
"Why not? You're just the kind of person we need in the oval office! You'd get all our problems solved in no time!"
"Sure, Mr. Optimism, I'll get started on my campaign tonight. I've got a book signing in a couple hours, so if you'll excuse me, I'll be getting ready now."
Helga cleared her plate from the table and began ascending the stairs to the bathroom. Back in the kitchen area, she could hear Arnold whistling, "Hail to the Chief." Arnold, what a hopeless dreamer! Come on, me as president? What would be the odds on that? Still, I have to admit it'd be a pretty sweet gig. She started humming the song herself as she made her way into the shower.
Two things: First, the spelling of Thergood may be wrong, as I didn't check it with the actual comic (that comic being Born Loser, of course). Also, for those of you familiar with the U.S. House of Representatives, you may have noticed there's a total of 480 Congressmen according to the vote count given. This story does take place in the future, so I increased the number to account for a likely population increase.
So how was that? Let me know if you'd like. Another chapter of "What Is…" will be up within the week, so fret not, my friends. Thanks for reading.