Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2007-04-09 12:20 am
ptahrrific) wrote2007-04-09 12:20 am
Entry tags:
Fake News: Flashback: The Redemption of "Stephen Colbert"
Title: Flashback: The Redemption of "Stephen Colbert"
Fandom: The Colbert Report
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13 for offscreen disturbing content
Words: ~1400
Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual persons is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).
Also, the TCR characters are copyright the TCR staff, and certainly not owned by me.
Notes: This is a companion to I'm Right Behind You, which explores the creepy side of character!Stephen. Charlene is traumatized by him, Sam repelled. And yet Jon is friends with Stephen - which involves cutting him a lot of slack. I wanted to reconcile the two perspectives on the character.
The title is an allusion to Pastwatch: The Redemption of Christopher Columbus, an excellent novel by Orson Scott Card. Check your local library. If it's there, read it.
The story is largely flashback from I'm Right Behind You. The names are all from the credits of Craig Kilborn's last episode, and the description of Madeleine Smithberg is from her appearance in the same, but I know absolutely nothing about any of them except Craig. It's alsodarker than my usual fare the darkest thing I had written up until this point.
Flashback: The Redemption of Stephen Colbert
COLBERT: Yeah, I guess Lizz and Craig didn't get along... that's what I understand. Again, I was so new there that I was kept completely out of any sort of political machinations there.
IGNFF: So it's nothing that filtered out to the crew or the cast.
COLBERT: Other than the fact that Craig said, in an article in Esquire, that she'd blow him if he asked her, and that got him suspended for a week.
--IGN Filmforce interview with (the real) Stephen Colbert; August 11, 2003
They had a party to celebrate Jon's first show. The biggest room in the building had unadorned brick walls and a ceiling that was uncomfortably low for people who weren't Jon, but when the entire Daily Show staff had been crammed in and given a reasonable amount of alcohol it was a fairly cozy place.
Craig had lost his suit jacket somewhere, and his tie was in the process of undoing itself. Still, he was doing an admirable impression of a sober professional as he led Jon around and made introductions. These would have been redundant - Jon had met everyone in the weeks leading up to the show - except that Craig was choosing now to reveal things that Jon wished he would say in private, if at all.
"Y'gotta keep th' studio cool in th' summer," he slurred, gesturing to one of the camera operators, "'cause Rich here, 'e'll sweat like a pig otherwise. An' don't let Charlie buy the donuts," he added of a writer. "He'll eat half of 'em 'afore they get back t' th'office, amiright?"
They came to the executive producer, Madeleine Smithberg. Despite the casual sweater, she cut an imposing figure with her practical ash bob and sharp glasses. Next to her was Lizz Winstead; remembering what Craig had said about her in the past, Jon smiled weakly at her and prayed that someone would keep this from becoming a disaster.
At first, it seemed Someone was listening; Craig draped an arm around Madeleine's shoulders, but didn't seem to be falling on her, and waxed poetic about their abilities. "Best in th' business, they are ... can't do th' show without 'em ... make 'em happy, Jon, 's'all I'm sayin'. They're cool ladies."
Jon nodded and kept smiling, and both Madeleine and Lizz smiled back at him in an encouraging way, so that was all right. Madeleine looked happier when Craig dragged his arm off of her, but at least she didn't look mad at Jon.
Then they came to Stephen Colbert, standing with one of the field producers (Sherry? Ciera? Something like that), who looked at Jon with a bright - and distressingly phony - smile.
"Stephen!" enthused Craig, clapping the correspondent on the shoulder. Almost imperceptibly, Colbert flinched.
Already Jon wanted out of this conversation, but it wouldn't be polite, and anyway Craig was now depending on his elbow for support.
"Stephen, here," slurred Craig cheerfully, "great guy! Very' funny, ver' ... cooperative." He attempted a sly wink, though he couldn't manage to get one eye closed without half-closing the other.
"Excuse me," said the producer (Cherry?), slipping away. Jon had had a bit to drink himself, so his senses weren't as sharp as they might have been, but it dawned on him that everyone in the room was steadfastly looking at something else.
"I'm tellin' ya," continued Craig, petting Colbert's stiff shoulder, "give 'm enough of a bonus, an' he'll take you 'round th' world ... he's good at it, too, an' th' best bit is ... 's not e'en your money! Great value--"
"Craig, please," cut in Jon, finding his voice at last. He took a step back, and the taller man let go of Colbert to stumble after him. By the time Craig regained his sense of where his feet were, Colbert had disappeared into the crowd, and Jon let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.
Craig didn't seem to notice anything amiss as he tugged Jon towards the research assistants, who were standing in a group. "Have y' met these lovely ladies?" he began.
"Yes. Yes, actually, I have," said Jon, extricating his arm from Craig's grasp. The host looked at him blankly, as if his train of thought had just been flagged to halt, and he wasn't sure how to catch another one.
"Excuse me." Jon nodded politely to the research assistants and backed away. He was more than sober enough to bob and weave through the crowd towards the door. Craig, it appeared, was just sober enough to sit down without getting hurt.
The bathroom was empty when Jon walked in, except for one closed stall.
"Colbert?" he ventured.
"No," replied a tightly controlled voice, echoing around the tiles.
"I'm not going to do anything, I swear," said Jon quickly. "You don't have to say anything, either. I just ... I'm sorry for what happened back there."
He studied his reflection in the dingy mirror. Brown hair that seemed to leap away from his forehead; hangdog eyes; impossibly Jewy nose. There were a couple of gray strands at his temples. When had those gotten there?
"I didn't want to hear it," he continued after a moment. "And I'm not going to judge..."
"You have kids, Stewart?" asked Colbert abruptly.
His voice was quavering.
The correspondent had always ("always" here being for the few weeks that Jon had known him) seemed so sure of himself, so confident - well, to be frank, so arrogant and stubborn. He never paused to think about things; he reacted simply, honestly, and wholeheartedly to whatever came his way, running on basic instinct and never looking back.
Jon, who was a nervous bundle of self-deprecating insecurity more often than not, had at first admired Colbert's strength of will. For about five minutes. Then it had gotten annoying. Then downright hurtful, as the feelings of others seemed to have no more effect on Colbert's opinions, and the expression thereof, than facts.
It had never occurred to Jon that Colbert's voice could quaver.
"No," he finally replied. "No, I just got married last month, and we don't want kids yet..."
"Two. I have -- two."
His voice caught, and Jon waited patiently. There was silence, except for the drip of a leaky faucet.
"They don't know," continued Colbert at last. "My wife doesn't know. I only ... did it once, told her it was a bonus for a really good segment ... and then we didn't have to worry about buying school supplies. It isn't a regular thing. It doesn't mean I can't provide for my family, it doesn't mean I'm gay, it doesn't..."
The familiar vehement stubbornness had risen again in his voice, and Jon was actually glad to hear it; but then the voice dropped out altogether. A long silence ensued. Jon supposed it was his turn to break it. He just had no idea how.
"I believe you," he said at last.
No response. Should he say something more?
Then there was a click, and the stall door behind him swung open. Colbert's usually perfectly-sculpted hair was disheveled and falling in his face; his eyes, so well adapted to the sardonic look that went with one raised eyebrow, were red-rimmed and bright. When they met Jon's in the mirror, Jon thought wildly that he wanted nothing more than to see the raised eyebrow again, even if its scorn were turned on him. The arrogant, stubborn, confident attitude that it represented was a more fragile thing than Jon could have dreamed, and somehow that made it precious, needing to be protected.
"Really?" asked Colbert.
"Really." Jon put every ounce of understanding that he could summon into its expression as he replied. "I'm sure you're a wonderful husband, and a great father."
"And not gay."
"...yeah. And not gay."
Colbert looked wary, disbelieving. "People don't believe me when I say that."
"Colbert, I believe you. I swear." Okay, so Jon wasn't quite as sure as he had been a moment ago. But he had said he wouldn't judge, and by golly he wasn't going to.
The face behind him broke into a relieved smile, a smile that seemed by itself to be brighter than all the bulbs in the room put together. "You know something, Stewart? You're a good man. You get it."
Jon smiled despite himself: a dopey, lopsided smile, as he saw in the mirror, but he couldn't help it. The phrase was just so very him. "Thanks, Colbert."
"Please." The other man extended a hand, using the other to assemble some approximation of his normal hairdo as his voice assumed its normal, self-assured, and downright pleasant tone. "Call me Stephen."
Fandom: The Colbert Report
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13 for offscreen disturbing content
Words: ~1400
Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual persons is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).
Also, the TCR characters are copyright the TCR staff, and certainly not owned by me.
Notes: This is a companion to I'm Right Behind You, which explores the creepy side of character!Stephen. Charlene is traumatized by him, Sam repelled. And yet Jon is friends with Stephen - which involves cutting him a lot of slack. I wanted to reconcile the two perspectives on the character.
The title is an allusion to Pastwatch: The Redemption of Christopher Columbus, an excellent novel by Orson Scott Card. Check your local library. If it's there, read it.
The story is largely flashback from I'm Right Behind You. The names are all from the credits of Craig Kilborn's last episode, and the description of Madeleine Smithberg is from her appearance in the same, but I know absolutely nothing about any of them except Craig. It's also
Flashback: The Redemption of Stephen Colbert
COLBERT: Yeah, I guess Lizz and Craig didn't get along... that's what I understand. Again, I was so new there that I was kept completely out of any sort of political machinations there.
IGNFF: So it's nothing that filtered out to the crew or the cast.
COLBERT: Other than the fact that Craig said, in an article in Esquire, that she'd blow him if he asked her, and that got him suspended for a week.
--IGN Filmforce interview with (the real) Stephen Colbert; August 11, 2003
They had a party to celebrate Jon's first show. The biggest room in the building had unadorned brick walls and a ceiling that was uncomfortably low for people who weren't Jon, but when the entire Daily Show staff had been crammed in and given a reasonable amount of alcohol it was a fairly cozy place.
Craig had lost his suit jacket somewhere, and his tie was in the process of undoing itself. Still, he was doing an admirable impression of a sober professional as he led Jon around and made introductions. These would have been redundant - Jon had met everyone in the weeks leading up to the show - except that Craig was choosing now to reveal things that Jon wished he would say in private, if at all.
"Y'gotta keep th' studio cool in th' summer," he slurred, gesturing to one of the camera operators, "'cause Rich here, 'e'll sweat like a pig otherwise. An' don't let Charlie buy the donuts," he added of a writer. "He'll eat half of 'em 'afore they get back t' th'office, amiright?"
They came to the executive producer, Madeleine Smithberg. Despite the casual sweater, she cut an imposing figure with her practical ash bob and sharp glasses. Next to her was Lizz Winstead; remembering what Craig had said about her in the past, Jon smiled weakly at her and prayed that someone would keep this from becoming a disaster.
At first, it seemed Someone was listening; Craig draped an arm around Madeleine's shoulders, but didn't seem to be falling on her, and waxed poetic about their abilities. "Best in th' business, they are ... can't do th' show without 'em ... make 'em happy, Jon, 's'all I'm sayin'. They're cool ladies."
Jon nodded and kept smiling, and both Madeleine and Lizz smiled back at him in an encouraging way, so that was all right. Madeleine looked happier when Craig dragged his arm off of her, but at least she didn't look mad at Jon.
Then they came to Stephen Colbert, standing with one of the field producers (Sherry? Ciera? Something like that), who looked at Jon with a bright - and distressingly phony - smile.
"Stephen!" enthused Craig, clapping the correspondent on the shoulder. Almost imperceptibly, Colbert flinched.
Already Jon wanted out of this conversation, but it wouldn't be polite, and anyway Craig was now depending on his elbow for support.
"Stephen, here," slurred Craig cheerfully, "great guy! Very' funny, ver' ... cooperative." He attempted a sly wink, though he couldn't manage to get one eye closed without half-closing the other.
"Excuse me," said the producer (Cherry?), slipping away. Jon had had a bit to drink himself, so his senses weren't as sharp as they might have been, but it dawned on him that everyone in the room was steadfastly looking at something else.
"I'm tellin' ya," continued Craig, petting Colbert's stiff shoulder, "give 'm enough of a bonus, an' he'll take you 'round th' world ... he's good at it, too, an' th' best bit is ... 's not e'en your money! Great value--"
"Craig, please," cut in Jon, finding his voice at last. He took a step back, and the taller man let go of Colbert to stumble after him. By the time Craig regained his sense of where his feet were, Colbert had disappeared into the crowd, and Jon let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.
Craig didn't seem to notice anything amiss as he tugged Jon towards the research assistants, who were standing in a group. "Have y' met these lovely ladies?" he began.
"Yes. Yes, actually, I have," said Jon, extricating his arm from Craig's grasp. The host looked at him blankly, as if his train of thought had just been flagged to halt, and he wasn't sure how to catch another one.
"Excuse me." Jon nodded politely to the research assistants and backed away. He was more than sober enough to bob and weave through the crowd towards the door. Craig, it appeared, was just sober enough to sit down without getting hurt.
The bathroom was empty when Jon walked in, except for one closed stall.
"Colbert?" he ventured.
"No," replied a tightly controlled voice, echoing around the tiles.
"I'm not going to do anything, I swear," said Jon quickly. "You don't have to say anything, either. I just ... I'm sorry for what happened back there."
He studied his reflection in the dingy mirror. Brown hair that seemed to leap away from his forehead; hangdog eyes; impossibly Jewy nose. There were a couple of gray strands at his temples. When had those gotten there?
"I didn't want to hear it," he continued after a moment. "And I'm not going to judge..."
"You have kids, Stewart?" asked Colbert abruptly.
His voice was quavering.
The correspondent had always ("always" here being for the few weeks that Jon had known him) seemed so sure of himself, so confident - well, to be frank, so arrogant and stubborn. He never paused to think about things; he reacted simply, honestly, and wholeheartedly to whatever came his way, running on basic instinct and never looking back.
Jon, who was a nervous bundle of self-deprecating insecurity more often than not, had at first admired Colbert's strength of will. For about five minutes. Then it had gotten annoying. Then downright hurtful, as the feelings of others seemed to have no more effect on Colbert's opinions, and the expression thereof, than facts.
It had never occurred to Jon that Colbert's voice could quaver.
"No," he finally replied. "No, I just got married last month, and we don't want kids yet..."
"Two. I have -- two."
His voice caught, and Jon waited patiently. There was silence, except for the drip of a leaky faucet.
"They don't know," continued Colbert at last. "My wife doesn't know. I only ... did it once, told her it was a bonus for a really good segment ... and then we didn't have to worry about buying school supplies. It isn't a regular thing. It doesn't mean I can't provide for my family, it doesn't mean I'm gay, it doesn't..."
The familiar vehement stubbornness had risen again in his voice, and Jon was actually glad to hear it; but then the voice dropped out altogether. A long silence ensued. Jon supposed it was his turn to break it. He just had no idea how.
"I believe you," he said at last.
No response. Should he say something more?
Then there was a click, and the stall door behind him swung open. Colbert's usually perfectly-sculpted hair was disheveled and falling in his face; his eyes, so well adapted to the sardonic look that went with one raised eyebrow, were red-rimmed and bright. When they met Jon's in the mirror, Jon thought wildly that he wanted nothing more than to see the raised eyebrow again, even if its scorn were turned on him. The arrogant, stubborn, confident attitude that it represented was a more fragile thing than Jon could have dreamed, and somehow that made it precious, needing to be protected.
"Really?" asked Colbert.
"Really." Jon put every ounce of understanding that he could summon into its expression as he replied. "I'm sure you're a wonderful husband, and a great father."
"And not gay."
"...yeah. And not gay."
Colbert looked wary, disbelieving. "People don't believe me when I say that."
"Colbert, I believe you. I swear." Okay, so Jon wasn't quite as sure as he had been a moment ago. But he had said he wouldn't judge, and by golly he wasn't going to.
The face behind him broke into a relieved smile, a smile that seemed by itself to be brighter than all the bulbs in the room put together. "You know something, Stewart? You're a good man. You get it."
Jon smiled despite himself: a dopey, lopsided smile, as he saw in the mirror, but he couldn't help it. The phrase was just so very him. "Thanks, Colbert."
"Please." The other man extended a hand, using the other to assemble some approximation of his normal hairdo as his voice assumed its normal, self-assured, and downright pleasant tone. "Call me Stephen."
All this babble means I liked it, if it's not immediately obvious.
FIRST COMMENT!
(I am totally mature, aye.)
Anyway, aw man. I know they don't know each other well at all at this point, but that doesn't stop me wanting Jon to hug him. He needs hugs, Jon! Regular hugs with just enough back-patting to appear manly and hetero! (Don't say anything when he snuggles. Just accept it and move on.)
Re: All this babble means I liked it, if it's not immediately obvious.
And Jon will always be ready to provide hugs when necessary, never fear.