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ptahrrific) wrote2007-08-25 12:10 am
ptahrrific) wrote2007-08-25 12:10 am
Entry tags:
Fake News: Expecting, Chapter 18
Title: Expecting, Chapter 18: Leader of the Nation
Series: The Colbert Report
Rating: PG
Words: ~4600
Disclaimer: Two.
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Notes: More information on the vetoed stem cell bill can be found on NYTimes.com (requires free registration), on ScienceDaily.com, and in the Library of Congress legislative record.
Clips referenced: A little respect; Vice President of the Nation.
For the full table of contents to this story, click here.
Chapter 18
Leader of the Nation
Today
The effect was more than a little startling. Moreau had changed out of surgical scrubs, but her hair was still tucked under the little green cap. Underneath it her face was flushed, her eyes were bright, and she wore a slightly manic grin.
"Hi, Jon!" she said perkily.
He had never expected to use the word "perkily" to describe anything Moreau did. "Hello?" he replied, hesitant, cautious.
"You'd better come back here," she announced. "There's someone you'll want to see."
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
June 7, 2007
35 Weeks
Stephen hung up the phone, sputtering, breathless. No way. No way.
He was halfway to dialing Jon when it occurred to him that, because it was lunchtime and Stephen wasn't there, Jon might be eating with someone else, and not want to be disturbed. But no, this was more important. It had to be.
He finished dialing, giddy, grinning, and when Jon answered it was with "Hey, Stephen, what's up?" rather than "Stephen, can it wait?" So he plunged ahead.
"Jon, you will never in a million years guess who just called me!"
"All right, who?"
"The assistant to the undersecretary for the deputy head of the subcommittee of planning for the President of the United States of America!"
"Seriously? What did they say?"
Stephen would have been bouncing in his seat if he hadn't been too pregnant to properly bounce. "There's a stem cell research bill in Congress and it's going to come to a vote and if it passes the President's going to veto it and he wants me to be there!"
"Really? He's going to use his third veto? Because if this is the bill I'm thinking of, it's in line with what most of the country and a lot of Republicans want...."
Stephen took a deep breath. Jon's not being unpatriotic, he reminded himself, he's just disagreeing with the President. It's not treasonous to be wrong. "Yes, really! Stop being such a factinista and be happy for me!"
"Sorry — I am, I really am. I can tell this is very exciting for you."
"It's the coolest thing ever, Jon! The President! The President! The President! George W. Bush! I haven't seen him since the Correspondents' Dinner, and I thought he'd forgotten about me, which is totally understandable, he's a busy man, lots of lost lambs to corral, two-thirds of them in fact — but he remembered!"
"All right, all right!" laughed Jon. "It's great. It's amazing. Congratulations."
"It is amazing — please, Jon, you have to let me go. I have to do this, Jon, please."
"Why are you asking...Stephen, when is this veto going to be, exactly?"
"It's due to come to a vote the week after next, so probably the 20th or 21st."
"You know our break doesn't start until the week after that."
"We could move it, couldn't we? Have a break that week, and do those shows on the week of the 4th instead. We haven't booked the guests yet, right?"
"No, but it's not that easy. I'm sorry, Stephen, but you're going to have to..."
"I can't cancel, Jon!" cried Stephen, a little more loudly than he meant to. "He's a busy man, he's like the father of the country, he's got ten other kids to look after, I have to take what I can get!"
"'Ten other kids'?" repeated Jon.
"I didn't say ten," corrected Stephen quickly. "I said three hundred million."
"It sounded like ten to me."
"Well, you heard wrong."
"'Ten' and 'three hundred million' don't sound anything alike."
"But I didn't say ten. Why would I say ten?"
Jon was quiet, and for a moment Stephen was afraid he was going to answer; but when he next spoke, he had dropped the subject.
"Listen, Stephen, if it were just about you and me, I would say fine, go, have a great time. But it's not just me. There are dozens of people who work on both of our shows, and they all have their vacations planned and their trips booked and friends and family they want to see, and anyway the final decision rests in the hands of the executives who calculate these things and write our schedules. It's just not feasible."
"All right, Jon, I understand."
"I'm really sorry, Stephen." A pause. "Wait. When you say 'I understand', do you mean—"
"Talk to you later!" said Stephen brightly, and hung up.
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
June 11, 2007
35 Weeks
"Before we get started," said DJ at Monday's meeting, "did everyone get the scheduling memo?"
There were nods and murmurs of assent from around the table. It was a more crowded table than usual, because the entire Daily Show staff was sitting or standing or leaning around it.
"You look troubled, Jon," observed John Hodgman. "Is anything the matter? Are you perhaps distressed over the plight of the Malaysian basking seal?"
Jon blinked. "The what?"
"The Malaysian basking seal. Long prized by hunters for its luxurious naturally puce coat, it has recently—"
"No, that's not it," said Jon quickly, before he was tempted to ask questions like when puce became luxurious. "It's the change — it's kind of my fault."
The others exchanged puzzled looks. Then John said, "I was under the impression that Mr. Colbert had made the request."
"Well, yeah, he did," replied Jon. It was hardly surprising that John knew this; no piece of knowledge was too eccentric for John. "But I accidentally gave him the idea, and then he went over my head."
"Dude, he didn't," chimed in Jason. "Not unless I got promoted and didn't know about it — which, by the way, I would totally not say no to..."
"Wait, back up. What do you mean?"
"Well, Colbert called me over the weekend and asked if I would be okay with the change in plans."
"I as well," said John, and then there was a general chorus of agreement. Even the interns were nodding their heads.
"And you all agreed to it?" asked Jon, dumbfounded. At that, everyone started talking at once.
"Well, not at first..."
"No, but then he said..."
"...he offered to give us a refund for the cruise..."
"...pay back the difference in the plane tickets..."
"...replace them and upgrade them to first class, I've never flown above coach..."
"...seats were available a week earlier, and he'd get VIP ones..."
"...said I was counting on the week's paycheck, and he said he'd write me a personal one..."
"...don't get paid but he'd write me a check anyway..."
"...and I thought about saying no just to spite him, but then..."
"...then he said he was sorry about..."
"...apologized for saying we should invade Canada..."
"...admitted he was the one who dared Ed to put the fish in my desk, and said he was really sorry for it..."
"...expressed his regret for setting fire to a copy of my book, and informed me that he had purchased another..."
"...we'd never met, but on behalf of all the interns he'd ever teased, he..."
"...and then asked if I could put Sam on, and I don't even know what he said to her, because she wouldn't give me details, but..."
"...then he apologized for the thing with the pie..."
"...what he said about my..."
"...sorry for the crack he made..."
"...the six-pack and the garden hose..."
"...pinning the thing with the motor oil on me..."
"...said he really didn't mean..."
It was too much detail to absorb all at once, and it was complicated by the fact that half a dozen smaller "he did that to you too?" conversations had sprung up around the room in the middle of the general torrent of stories, but Jon got the idea.
"Didn't he ask you?" inquired Chuck as the flood died down. "If there's anyone here that he wouldn't forget about..."
"Or should apologize to," murmured someone in the back.
"He asked me first," said Jon, "and I said it wouldn't be possible because everyone else had made plans. I must have said it was fine by me — I didn't think he'd actually make it happen!"
I didn't realize how much Stephen wanted this.
He looked around the room, still not quite believing it. "You're really all okay with this?"
"Are you kidding?" asked one of the camera guys. "VIP tickets!"
"I've never seen Sam that happy," added Jason. "Or felt her that happy, if-you-know-what-I-mean."
"It got Stephen Colbert to apologize for something," put in DJ. "We should send him to DC more often."
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
When the meeting was over, Jon called the one person he was still worried about. Presumably the staff members had all checked with their spouses and families before giving Stephen the okay, but he hadn't expected Stephen to take it seriously.
"Hi, Trace, sorry to bother you at work, but did we have any plans for the first week of the summer break?"
"Nope. The schedule change happened too late to really plan anything, so we're going to spend it relaxing at home."
It took him a moment to sort that out. "Wait. You know about the schedule change?"
"Oh, Stephen called to make sure it was okay with me. Didn't I tell you?"
Jon was glad Tracey couldn't see him; he knew he was gaping like a fish.
"We didn't have anything major planned for the break anyway," she continued. "His surgery's at the end of it, and I figured you'd want to be there."
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
June 13, 2007
36 Weeks
All the changes in Stephen were too good to be true.
Jon knew this, somewhere in the back of his mind. But he wanted to take them at face value; he wanted to believe that things would only get better. And so he acted as though they would.
That was truthiness for you.
"Before we go, let's check in with our good friend Stephen Colbert at The Colbert Report. Stephen, my friend, what've you got for us?"
"Jon, my guest tonight: Republican presidential candidate Ron Paul!"
"Ah!" exclaimed Jon. "Terrific interview. We had him on last week, tremen—"
"Oh, well then!" snapped Stephen. "I guess there's nothing more to ask him then, is there?"
"No — Stephen, that's not what I'm saying—"
"No, no, I'll just cancel! Why bother? His Holiness, Pope Jon-O the Second, has exhausted all the questions!" growled the pundit.
Something in Jon snapped.
"You know what, Stephen? Enough of this! I don't understand this!" he returned, matching Stephen shout for shout. "You — I — we — I produce your show! We work together! We have lunch almost every other day! Yet every time we do the toss, all I get is the attitude! I'm tired of it!"
The audience — his audience, the one that skewed liberal, the one that didn't necessarily agree with Stephen on anything — went wild.
"I'm sick of it! A little respect!" yelled Jon over the cheers. "I want a little respect!"
He ran out of words, flailed for a moment (if this is how Lewis feels all the time, no wonder he can't hold still), and settled for tearing the night's script in half and slamming it down on the desk beside him. On the far screen, Stephen was panting as though he'd just run a marathon.
"You have it, Jon!" he shouted at last, voice reverberating through the speakers.
This wasn't the response Jon had been expecting — or would have been expecting, if he had been in a state where he was thinking at all.
"You have lots of respect! Everyone thinks you're so great, smart, funny, insightful, substantial news coverage, practically built The Daily Show from the ground up, the mainstream media loves you, the blogosphere worships you, it's easy for you, you don't have to do anything to make people like you, and you're not eight and a half months pregnant and you're not having f—"
(—thank goodness for that five-second broadcast delay—)
"—ing mood swings!"
His breathing was erratic now, shuddering—
"Succession crisis protocol. Jimmy, kill the feed!" he ordered, and there was a half-second of blackness in his box before Chuck cut back to a full screen of camera three.
"That's our show," said Jon automatically. "Join us tomorrow night at eleven; Angelina Jolie will be in the studio, to discuss..."
There was a general outcry for the audience.
"...to discuss how much it sucks to be you guys right now," he finished. "Here it is, your Moment of Zen."
The instant the camera turned off, he was sprinting for the door.
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
The Report staff had had drills for any conceivable emergency, from a shortage of Nutz in the break room fridge to a full-scale red-alert evacuation. They were well-trained. No matter the situation, there was a plan and they knew how to follow it.
They had never had a succession crisis before, but by golly they were ready for it. Like everyone else, Tad sprang into action. The first step on his part of the plan was to call the successor.
He was a little surprised to hear someone at the door so soon after he had made the call, but it was only Stewart. "Don't worry, Mr. Stewart, we've got everything under control."
"Tad, I am your executive producer. I need to know exactly what you're doing."
"Of course, sir. We skipped the intro and went straight to the credits. For the first act Jimmy has an old Difference Makers segment playing, and then we'll go to commercial. By that time the acting host will have arrived — he's on his way now — and we'll fill the extended second act with the introductory material and the regularly scheduled ThreatDown."
"You are organized," said Stewart, and Tad felt a flush of pride. "Who's the acting host?"
"The second in the line of succession to the Presidency, of course."
Stewart blinked. "I'm guessing you're not talking about Dick Cheney."
"No, sir. The Presidency of the Colbert Nation."
"Wait, who's the Vice President of the Colbert Nation?"
There was a knock at the door. "That's probably him now," said Tad, jumping to answer.
Sure enough, it was the broad smiling face and improbably voluminous hair of the VP. "Good evening!" he said. "Chad, wasn't it?"
"Tad, sir."
"Of course. Tad. Hello there, Jon."
"Hello, Joe. You realize this isn't official, and there's no possible way to pay you for it."
"Oh, of course not. I consider this a public service."
"I hope you do. Tad, before you go, where's Stephen?"
"In his office," replied Tad, deciding not to mention the possibility that his boss had barricaded the door. "Right this way, Mr. Scarborough."
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
A grudging "Come in" prompted Jon to open the door; Stephen was on his leather flag-pillowed couch with an open pint of Americone Dream, two empty cartons already at his feet. His eyes were red but dry; any outburst had been and gone.
"You all right?" asked Jon carefully.
"No," grumbled Stephen. "You want some ice cream? There are a couple more pints in the fridge."
"Maybe later. You look pretty good. You look like you could handle the show."
"It's not like your show, Jon. I have to have a certain level of rage to do it right. And it isn't easy to do, either, especially when hormones are putting my mood all over the place anyway, and I had just gotten comfortable in pre-show enthusiasm when you put me over the top into blind fury."
"I'm sorry about that...."
"I peaked too soon," continued Stephen, as if he hadn't heard, "and I knew if I tried to do the show from that point, I'd slide into morose by the second act. As you can see. So I invoked the succession protocol. Is Scarborough here yet?"
"Yeah, he's here. He didn't seem particularly angry, though."
"He'll get there. He called Papa Bear a suck-up once, you know. Which was wrong, but at least it means he has the requisite balls."
He had spent the whole conversation staring into his ice cream; as he swallowed another spoonful without meeting Jon's eyes, Jon wasn't sure if he'd be welcome to sit down. He settled for leaning against the wall by the arm of the couch.
"I really am sorry," he said quietly.
"I know," replied Stephen, and gouged out another chunk of Americone Dream.
For a while there didn't seem to be anything more to say; and then Jon thought of something.
"I respect you."
Stephen swallowed a little too quickly. He coughed a few times, then replied, "You never said."
"I didn't think I needed to."
"Well, neither did I."
There was silence again, except for the noise of Stephen eating.
"Are you going to be okay?" asked Jon after a time.
"Mmhmm," mumbled Stephen around his spoon.
Something about his tone was unconvincing. This was only a gut feeling, but Jon gave it some thought and decided it was one of those worth following.
"Is anything else bothering you?" he asked.
Stephen's lip began to wobble.
Nailed it.
"She doesn't want me to go, Jon!" he cried at last.
"Slow down, Stephen. Who doesn't want you to go? Where?"
"Dr. Moreau. The veto. The photo-op."
"Is it because of the pregnancy? She doesn't want you traveling this late?"
"No, no, nothing like that — I can't fly, but I could still have someone drive me, and they have an associate hospital down there so it would be fine in an emergency if one of the doctors came — we worked all that out before I told her what the trip was." He was stabbing at what was left of the pint, the edge of his spoon chopping it into little bits. "She just doesn't want me associated with the veto!"
"She likes the bill, I take it?"
"She loves the bill! Jon, I don't understand it — how can people approve of it? It's ridiculous. It's a horrible bill!"
"I approve of it."
And finally Stephen turned to face him. "Well, why?" he demanded, half helpless confusion and half his customary anger.
"It could lead to treatments for some very serious diseases. Ease the suffering of a lot of people. Even save lives."
"But it kills embryos! You wouldn't say it's okay to kill a three-year-old, even if it did cure cancer!"
"Embryos aren't three-year-olds! The ones they're talking about are going to be destroyed anyway. They're leftovers from fertility clinics, parents who wanted to have kids and got their pregnancies and moved on. They'll never be carried to term."
"This one will!" snapped Stephen, hands flying protectively to his stomach.
"Of course he will, I don't doubt it, but you aren't going to carry them all."
"I'm not going to adopt every orphan in the world, either! That doesn't mean you should be allowed to chop them up for science!"
"We're not talking about orphans! We're talking about microscopic frozen clumps of identical cells. They can't think. They can't feel."
"They're not people, is what you're saying."
That was loaded language, and Jon knew it. He shrugged uncomfortably. "I guess it is."
"So when does an embryo get to count as a person, Jon?" demanded Stephen. "When you can feel him kick? When the doctors can pick up his brain function? When he starts to look like a baby on the ultrasound? When his heart starts to beat? When?"
"Stephen, if there were an easy answer to that question...."
"I have an easy answer," hissed Stephen. He had dropped the carton and spoon and was clutching his stomach with both hands. "This is a person. Maybe he's still too small to survive outside of me, but he's my son. Has been ever since I got the implantation. And the only reason he isn't your godson yet because you haven't signed the right papers. Unless you have a problem with that? Are you only going to consider yourself his godfather after the birth? What about me? When do you think I start having the right to call him my child?"
Jon took a deep breath to answer. Then another.
(He didn't talk about this. Not even with those close friends he trusted to have some sensitivity. But Stephen, living his own beliefs as thoroughly as he had, throwing himself body and soul into the issue...Stephen had at least earned the right to hear it.)
"The first time I got to see the ultrasound," he said quietly, "with Tracey, I mean...it was magical. You know intellectually what's going on in there, but having it on the screen like that...my whole world, it just rocked on its axis."
"So it starts being a person after you see it?" pressed Stephen. He wasn't spitting fire any more, though. As if he'd recognized that something in Jon had changed, and he might want to pay attention to this one.
"Not even that." Jon shook his head. "That was a huge moment, but it wasn't where those feelings started. Even before we conceived, as soon as we decided for sure that it was the right time to have kids, I had all these things in mind about my children-to-be. Plans. Hopes and dreams. Fears, too — what if we screw them up? What if one day we turn our backs for a second and they get hit by a bus? And...god, Stephen, I already loved my son back then. Even doing little things like picking out Mets onesies, I would think about who we were doing this for, and know I had to get it absolutely right."
Stephen was nodding along by now. "I know!" he said in a hushed voice. "I know how that feels!"
"I know you do," agreed Jon, with a wan smile. "So you have some chance of imagining what it's like to feel that way for months and months, and still not have anyone to feel it for."
"Because you didn't think the baby counted as a person yet...?"
"Because Tracey still hadn't gotten pregnant."
"But she got over that eventually, right?" asked Stephen, brow furrowing. "I mean, you have kids now, so she must have."
"We were hoping that would happen. But after half a year, we had to start considering that maybe it wouldn't. That maybe there was something wrong with her...maybe something wrong with me. We went to doctors, talked about hormones, talked about surrogacy...and we talked seriously about adoption. It was...hard." He swallowed. "Not that we couldn't have fallen in love with kids that weren't biologically ours, but it would mean — for me, at least — it would have meant letting go of all those feelings I'd built up so far. I had this whole place in my heart set aside for this baby, and an adopted kid would have gotten a different place. The first one would just have stayed...empty."
"Jon," said Stephen softly, "do you want to sit down?"
"I do, yeah."
Stephen scooted over to vacate one of the cushions. Jon kicked a couple of ice cream cartons aside and sank down onto it. He'd been starting to feel weak on his feet, but hadn't realized how bad it had gotten until he felt how much easier it was not to stand.
"It wasn't — I mean, obviously it wasn't like going through a miscarriage," he added. "But it wasn't like nothing, either."
"So what happened?" breathed Stephen, eyes shining. He was cradling his stomach again, protective instincts running strong.
"You haven't guessed?" asked Jon lightly. "We used IVF, Stephen."
From the way Stephen started, no, he hadn't guessed at all.
"Twice," added Jon, just to be clear. "Once for Nate, once for Maggie. And because it was only twice, there's a set of our leftover embryos frozen in a vat somewhere."
"Oh," said Stephen. He searched briefly for a follow-up, and settled on, "...oh."
"Everyone's situation is different. Everyone's going to have their own feelings, and they deserve to," said Jon. "You've loved your son from the moment this started. Those feelings are real, and they matter, and the biological side of it has no bearing on whether he's allowed to count as a person. I loved my kids long before they were people, even by the most hard-line standards. That was real too. And, Stephen, now that they've been born...those extra embryos in the freezer, they're not my children. Nate and Maggie are my children. Everything else is might-have-beens, things that could have happened but didn't, and are never going to."
Stephen blinked several times. He seemed to be out of things to say.
"Do you still respect me?" asked Jon. If he had just thrown a grenade of irreconcilable differences into the middle of their relationship, he might as well find out now.
"I...feel like I'm not supposed to," admitted Stephen.
Jon waited.
Stephen bowed his head. At this angle, his glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. "Maybe I shouldn't have yelled at the doctor."
Jon raised his eyebrows. "Should I ask?"
"I may have used the words 'sanctity of life' and 'no respect for'. Also 'innocent children' and 'willful murder of'. Possibly with a few disparaging comments on the value of medical science in general." It was his turn to take a deep breath. "I'm s-sorry."
"Sounds like she's the one you should apologize to," said Jon. "And who knows? Maybe she'll be more willing to let you go if you show her that you can respect her job in the process."
"I don't have to go," blurted Stephen. "If it would make you feel like I didn't respect you, or — or was judging you for the way you got your kids — then I don't even have to try."
Maybe he really was changing, after all. "If it's important to you, go for it," Jon assured him. "Say your piece. Have your opinions. As long as you can do it without questioning the moral fiber of anyone who takes a different view, we'll be cool."
And Stephen leaned in toward him, their faces so close that Jon could count the shades of brown in the other man's eyes. "Do you promise, Jon?"
"Cross my heart," Jon replied.
Series: The Colbert Report
Rating: PG
Words: ~4600
Disclaimer: Two.
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Notes: More information on the vetoed stem cell bill can be found on NYTimes.com (requires free registration), on ScienceDaily.com, and in the Library of Congress legislative record.
Clips referenced: A little respect; Vice President of the Nation.
For the full table of contents to this story, click here.
Chapter 18
Leader of the Nation
Today
The effect was more than a little startling. Moreau had changed out of surgical scrubs, but her hair was still tucked under the little green cap. Underneath it her face was flushed, her eyes were bright, and she wore a slightly manic grin.
"Hi, Jon!" she said perkily.
He had never expected to use the word "perkily" to describe anything Moreau did. "Hello?" he replied, hesitant, cautious.
"You'd better come back here," she announced. "There's someone you'll want to see."
June 7, 2007
35 Weeks
Stephen hung up the phone, sputtering, breathless. No way. No way.
He was halfway to dialing Jon when it occurred to him that, because it was lunchtime and Stephen wasn't there, Jon might be eating with someone else, and not want to be disturbed. But no, this was more important. It had to be.
He finished dialing, giddy, grinning, and when Jon answered it was with "Hey, Stephen, what's up?" rather than "Stephen, can it wait?" So he plunged ahead.
"Jon, you will never in a million years guess who just called me!"
"All right, who?"
"The assistant to the undersecretary for the deputy head of the subcommittee of planning for the President of the United States of America!"
"Seriously? What did they say?"
Stephen would have been bouncing in his seat if he hadn't been too pregnant to properly bounce. "There's a stem cell research bill in Congress and it's going to come to a vote and if it passes the President's going to veto it and he wants me to be there!"
"Really? He's going to use his third veto? Because if this is the bill I'm thinking of, it's in line with what most of the country and a lot of Republicans want...."
Stephen took a deep breath. Jon's not being unpatriotic, he reminded himself, he's just disagreeing with the President. It's not treasonous to be wrong. "Yes, really! Stop being such a factinista and be happy for me!"
"Sorry — I am, I really am. I can tell this is very exciting for you."
"It's the coolest thing ever, Jon! The President! The President! The President! George W. Bush! I haven't seen him since the Correspondents' Dinner, and I thought he'd forgotten about me, which is totally understandable, he's a busy man, lots of lost lambs to corral, two-thirds of them in fact — but he remembered!"
"All right, all right!" laughed Jon. "It's great. It's amazing. Congratulations."
"It is amazing — please, Jon, you have to let me go. I have to do this, Jon, please."
"Why are you asking...Stephen, when is this veto going to be, exactly?"
"It's due to come to a vote the week after next, so probably the 20th or 21st."
"You know our break doesn't start until the week after that."
"We could move it, couldn't we? Have a break that week, and do those shows on the week of the 4th instead. We haven't booked the guests yet, right?"
"No, but it's not that easy. I'm sorry, Stephen, but you're going to have to..."
"I can't cancel, Jon!" cried Stephen, a little more loudly than he meant to. "He's a busy man, he's like the father of the country, he's got ten other kids to look after, I have to take what I can get!"
"'Ten other kids'?" repeated Jon.
"I didn't say ten," corrected Stephen quickly. "I said three hundred million."
"It sounded like ten to me."
"Well, you heard wrong."
"'Ten' and 'three hundred million' don't sound anything alike."
"But I didn't say ten. Why would I say ten?"
Jon was quiet, and for a moment Stephen was afraid he was going to answer; but when he next spoke, he had dropped the subject.
"Listen, Stephen, if it were just about you and me, I would say fine, go, have a great time. But it's not just me. There are dozens of people who work on both of our shows, and they all have their vacations planned and their trips booked and friends and family they want to see, and anyway the final decision rests in the hands of the executives who calculate these things and write our schedules. It's just not feasible."
"All right, Jon, I understand."
"I'm really sorry, Stephen." A pause. "Wait. When you say 'I understand', do you mean—"
"Talk to you later!" said Stephen brightly, and hung up.
June 11, 2007
35 Weeks
"Before we get started," said DJ at Monday's meeting, "did everyone get the scheduling memo?"
There were nods and murmurs of assent from around the table. It was a more crowded table than usual, because the entire Daily Show staff was sitting or standing or leaning around it.
"You look troubled, Jon," observed John Hodgman. "Is anything the matter? Are you perhaps distressed over the plight of the Malaysian basking seal?"
Jon blinked. "The what?"
"The Malaysian basking seal. Long prized by hunters for its luxurious naturally puce coat, it has recently—"
"No, that's not it," said Jon quickly, before he was tempted to ask questions like when puce became luxurious. "It's the change — it's kind of my fault."
The others exchanged puzzled looks. Then John said, "I was under the impression that Mr. Colbert had made the request."
"Well, yeah, he did," replied Jon. It was hardly surprising that John knew this; no piece of knowledge was too eccentric for John. "But I accidentally gave him the idea, and then he went over my head."
"Dude, he didn't," chimed in Jason. "Not unless I got promoted and didn't know about it — which, by the way, I would totally not say no to..."
"Wait, back up. What do you mean?"
"Well, Colbert called me over the weekend and asked if I would be okay with the change in plans."
"I as well," said John, and then there was a general chorus of agreement. Even the interns were nodding their heads.
"And you all agreed to it?" asked Jon, dumbfounded. At that, everyone started talking at once.
"Well, not at first..."
"No, but then he said..."
"...he offered to give us a refund for the cruise..."
"...pay back the difference in the plane tickets..."
"...replace them and upgrade them to first class, I've never flown above coach..."
"...seats were available a week earlier, and he'd get VIP ones..."
"...said I was counting on the week's paycheck, and he said he'd write me a personal one..."
"...don't get paid but he'd write me a check anyway..."
"...and I thought about saying no just to spite him, but then..."
"...then he said he was sorry about..."
"...apologized for saying we should invade Canada..."
"...admitted he was the one who dared Ed to put the fish in my desk, and said he was really sorry for it..."
"...expressed his regret for setting fire to a copy of my book, and informed me that he had purchased another..."
"...we'd never met, but on behalf of all the interns he'd ever teased, he..."
"...and then asked if I could put Sam on, and I don't even know what he said to her, because she wouldn't give me details, but..."
"...then he apologized for the thing with the pie..."
"...what he said about my..."
"...sorry for the crack he made..."
"...the six-pack and the garden hose..."
"...pinning the thing with the motor oil on me..."
"...said he really didn't mean..."
It was too much detail to absorb all at once, and it was complicated by the fact that half a dozen smaller "he did that to you too?" conversations had sprung up around the room in the middle of the general torrent of stories, but Jon got the idea.
"Didn't he ask you?" inquired Chuck as the flood died down. "If there's anyone here that he wouldn't forget about..."
"Or should apologize to," murmured someone in the back.
"He asked me first," said Jon, "and I said it wouldn't be possible because everyone else had made plans. I must have said it was fine by me — I didn't think he'd actually make it happen!"
I didn't realize how much Stephen wanted this.
He looked around the room, still not quite believing it. "You're really all okay with this?"
"Are you kidding?" asked one of the camera guys. "VIP tickets!"
"I've never seen Sam that happy," added Jason. "Or felt her that happy, if-you-know-what-I-mean."
"It got Stephen Colbert to apologize for something," put in DJ. "We should send him to DC more often."
When the meeting was over, Jon called the one person he was still worried about. Presumably the staff members had all checked with their spouses and families before giving Stephen the okay, but he hadn't expected Stephen to take it seriously.
"Hi, Trace, sorry to bother you at work, but did we have any plans for the first week of the summer break?"
"Nope. The schedule change happened too late to really plan anything, so we're going to spend it relaxing at home."
It took him a moment to sort that out. "Wait. You know about the schedule change?"
"Oh, Stephen called to make sure it was okay with me. Didn't I tell you?"
Jon was glad Tracey couldn't see him; he knew he was gaping like a fish.
"We didn't have anything major planned for the break anyway," she continued. "His surgery's at the end of it, and I figured you'd want to be there."
June 13, 2007
36 Weeks
All the changes in Stephen were too good to be true.
Jon knew this, somewhere in the back of his mind. But he wanted to take them at face value; he wanted to believe that things would only get better. And so he acted as though they would.
That was truthiness for you.
"Before we go, let's check in with our good friend Stephen Colbert at The Colbert Report. Stephen, my friend, what've you got for us?"
"Jon, my guest tonight: Republican presidential candidate Ron Paul!"
"Ah!" exclaimed Jon. "Terrific interview. We had him on last week, tremen—"
"Oh, well then!" snapped Stephen. "I guess there's nothing more to ask him then, is there?"
"No — Stephen, that's not what I'm saying—"
"No, no, I'll just cancel! Why bother? His Holiness, Pope Jon-O the Second, has exhausted all the questions!" growled the pundit.
Something in Jon snapped.
"You know what, Stephen? Enough of this! I don't understand this!" he returned, matching Stephen shout for shout. "You — I — we — I produce your show! We work together! We have lunch almost every other day! Yet every time we do the toss, all I get is the attitude! I'm tired of it!"
The audience — his audience, the one that skewed liberal, the one that didn't necessarily agree with Stephen on anything — went wild.
"I'm sick of it! A little respect!" yelled Jon over the cheers. "I want a little respect!"
He ran out of words, flailed for a moment (if this is how Lewis feels all the time, no wonder he can't hold still), and settled for tearing the night's script in half and slamming it down on the desk beside him. On the far screen, Stephen was panting as though he'd just run a marathon.
"You have it, Jon!" he shouted at last, voice reverberating through the speakers.
This wasn't the response Jon had been expecting — or would have been expecting, if he had been in a state where he was thinking at all.
"You have lots of respect! Everyone thinks you're so great, smart, funny, insightful, substantial news coverage, practically built The Daily Show from the ground up, the mainstream media loves you, the blogosphere worships you, it's easy for you, you don't have to do anything to make people like you, and you're not eight and a half months pregnant and you're not having f—"
(—thank goodness for that five-second broadcast delay—)
"—ing mood swings!"
His breathing was erratic now, shuddering—
"Succession crisis protocol. Jimmy, kill the feed!" he ordered, and there was a half-second of blackness in his box before Chuck cut back to a full screen of camera three.
"That's our show," said Jon automatically. "Join us tomorrow night at eleven; Angelina Jolie will be in the studio, to discuss..."
There was a general outcry for the audience.
"...to discuss how much it sucks to be you guys right now," he finished. "Here it is, your Moment of Zen."
The instant the camera turned off, he was sprinting for the door.
The Report staff had had drills for any conceivable emergency, from a shortage of Nutz in the break room fridge to a full-scale red-alert evacuation. They were well-trained. No matter the situation, there was a plan and they knew how to follow it.
They had never had a succession crisis before, but by golly they were ready for it. Like everyone else, Tad sprang into action. The first step on his part of the plan was to call the successor.
He was a little surprised to hear someone at the door so soon after he had made the call, but it was only Stewart. "Don't worry, Mr. Stewart, we've got everything under control."
"Tad, I am your executive producer. I need to know exactly what you're doing."
"Of course, sir. We skipped the intro and went straight to the credits. For the first act Jimmy has an old Difference Makers segment playing, and then we'll go to commercial. By that time the acting host will have arrived — he's on his way now — and we'll fill the extended second act with the introductory material and the regularly scheduled ThreatDown."
"You are organized," said Stewart, and Tad felt a flush of pride. "Who's the acting host?"
"The second in the line of succession to the Presidency, of course."
Stewart blinked. "I'm guessing you're not talking about Dick Cheney."
"No, sir. The Presidency of the Colbert Nation."
"Wait, who's the Vice President of the Colbert Nation?"
There was a knock at the door. "That's probably him now," said Tad, jumping to answer.
Sure enough, it was the broad smiling face and improbably voluminous hair of the VP. "Good evening!" he said. "Chad, wasn't it?"
"Tad, sir."
"Of course. Tad. Hello there, Jon."
"Hello, Joe. You realize this isn't official, and there's no possible way to pay you for it."
"Oh, of course not. I consider this a public service."
"I hope you do. Tad, before you go, where's Stephen?"
"In his office," replied Tad, deciding not to mention the possibility that his boss had barricaded the door. "Right this way, Mr. Scarborough."
A grudging "Come in" prompted Jon to open the door; Stephen was on his leather flag-pillowed couch with an open pint of Americone Dream, two empty cartons already at his feet. His eyes were red but dry; any outburst had been and gone.
"You all right?" asked Jon carefully.
"No," grumbled Stephen. "You want some ice cream? There are a couple more pints in the fridge."
"Maybe later. You look pretty good. You look like you could handle the show."
"It's not like your show, Jon. I have to have a certain level of rage to do it right. And it isn't easy to do, either, especially when hormones are putting my mood all over the place anyway, and I had just gotten comfortable in pre-show enthusiasm when you put me over the top into blind fury."
"I'm sorry about that...."
"I peaked too soon," continued Stephen, as if he hadn't heard, "and I knew if I tried to do the show from that point, I'd slide into morose by the second act. As you can see. So I invoked the succession protocol. Is Scarborough here yet?"
"Yeah, he's here. He didn't seem particularly angry, though."
"He'll get there. He called Papa Bear a suck-up once, you know. Which was wrong, but at least it means he has the requisite balls."
He had spent the whole conversation staring into his ice cream; as he swallowed another spoonful without meeting Jon's eyes, Jon wasn't sure if he'd be welcome to sit down. He settled for leaning against the wall by the arm of the couch.
"I really am sorry," he said quietly.
"I know," replied Stephen, and gouged out another chunk of Americone Dream.
For a while there didn't seem to be anything more to say; and then Jon thought of something.
"I respect you."
Stephen swallowed a little too quickly. He coughed a few times, then replied, "You never said."
"I didn't think I needed to."
"Well, neither did I."
There was silence again, except for the noise of Stephen eating.
"Are you going to be okay?" asked Jon after a time.
"Mmhmm," mumbled Stephen around his spoon.
Something about his tone was unconvincing. This was only a gut feeling, but Jon gave it some thought and decided it was one of those worth following.
"Is anything else bothering you?" he asked.
Stephen's lip began to wobble.
Nailed it.
"She doesn't want me to go, Jon!" he cried at last.
"Slow down, Stephen. Who doesn't want you to go? Where?"
"Dr. Moreau. The veto. The photo-op."
"Is it because of the pregnancy? She doesn't want you traveling this late?"
"No, no, nothing like that — I can't fly, but I could still have someone drive me, and they have an associate hospital down there so it would be fine in an emergency if one of the doctors came — we worked all that out before I told her what the trip was." He was stabbing at what was left of the pint, the edge of his spoon chopping it into little bits. "She just doesn't want me associated with the veto!"
"She likes the bill, I take it?"
"She loves the bill! Jon, I don't understand it — how can people approve of it? It's ridiculous. It's a horrible bill!"
"I approve of it."
And finally Stephen turned to face him. "Well, why?" he demanded, half helpless confusion and half his customary anger.
"It could lead to treatments for some very serious diseases. Ease the suffering of a lot of people. Even save lives."
"But it kills embryos! You wouldn't say it's okay to kill a three-year-old, even if it did cure cancer!"
"Embryos aren't three-year-olds! The ones they're talking about are going to be destroyed anyway. They're leftovers from fertility clinics, parents who wanted to have kids and got their pregnancies and moved on. They'll never be carried to term."
"This one will!" snapped Stephen, hands flying protectively to his stomach.
"Of course he will, I don't doubt it, but you aren't going to carry them all."
"I'm not going to adopt every orphan in the world, either! That doesn't mean you should be allowed to chop them up for science!"
"We're not talking about orphans! We're talking about microscopic frozen clumps of identical cells. They can't think. They can't feel."
"They're not people, is what you're saying."
That was loaded language, and Jon knew it. He shrugged uncomfortably. "I guess it is."
"So when does an embryo get to count as a person, Jon?" demanded Stephen. "When you can feel him kick? When the doctors can pick up his brain function? When he starts to look like a baby on the ultrasound? When his heart starts to beat? When?"
"Stephen, if there were an easy answer to that question...."
"I have an easy answer," hissed Stephen. He had dropped the carton and spoon and was clutching his stomach with both hands. "This is a person. Maybe he's still too small to survive outside of me, but he's my son. Has been ever since I got the implantation. And the only reason he isn't your godson yet because you haven't signed the right papers. Unless you have a problem with that? Are you only going to consider yourself his godfather after the birth? What about me? When do you think I start having the right to call him my child?"
Jon took a deep breath to answer. Then another.
(He didn't talk about this. Not even with those close friends he trusted to have some sensitivity. But Stephen, living his own beliefs as thoroughly as he had, throwing himself body and soul into the issue...Stephen had at least earned the right to hear it.)
"The first time I got to see the ultrasound," he said quietly, "with Tracey, I mean...it was magical. You know intellectually what's going on in there, but having it on the screen like that...my whole world, it just rocked on its axis."
"So it starts being a person after you see it?" pressed Stephen. He wasn't spitting fire any more, though. As if he'd recognized that something in Jon had changed, and he might want to pay attention to this one.
"Not even that." Jon shook his head. "That was a huge moment, but it wasn't where those feelings started. Even before we conceived, as soon as we decided for sure that it was the right time to have kids, I had all these things in mind about my children-to-be. Plans. Hopes and dreams. Fears, too — what if we screw them up? What if one day we turn our backs for a second and they get hit by a bus? And...god, Stephen, I already loved my son back then. Even doing little things like picking out Mets onesies, I would think about who we were doing this for, and know I had to get it absolutely right."
Stephen was nodding along by now. "I know!" he said in a hushed voice. "I know how that feels!"
"I know you do," agreed Jon, with a wan smile. "So you have some chance of imagining what it's like to feel that way for months and months, and still not have anyone to feel it for."
"Because you didn't think the baby counted as a person yet...?"
"Because Tracey still hadn't gotten pregnant."
"But she got over that eventually, right?" asked Stephen, brow furrowing. "I mean, you have kids now, so she must have."
"We were hoping that would happen. But after half a year, we had to start considering that maybe it wouldn't. That maybe there was something wrong with her...maybe something wrong with me. We went to doctors, talked about hormones, talked about surrogacy...and we talked seriously about adoption. It was...hard." He swallowed. "Not that we couldn't have fallen in love with kids that weren't biologically ours, but it would mean — for me, at least — it would have meant letting go of all those feelings I'd built up so far. I had this whole place in my heart set aside for this baby, and an adopted kid would have gotten a different place. The first one would just have stayed...empty."
"Jon," said Stephen softly, "do you want to sit down?"
"I do, yeah."
Stephen scooted over to vacate one of the cushions. Jon kicked a couple of ice cream cartons aside and sank down onto it. He'd been starting to feel weak on his feet, but hadn't realized how bad it had gotten until he felt how much easier it was not to stand.
"It wasn't — I mean, obviously it wasn't like going through a miscarriage," he added. "But it wasn't like nothing, either."
"So what happened?" breathed Stephen, eyes shining. He was cradling his stomach again, protective instincts running strong.
"You haven't guessed?" asked Jon lightly. "We used IVF, Stephen."
From the way Stephen started, no, he hadn't guessed at all.
"Twice," added Jon, just to be clear. "Once for Nate, once for Maggie. And because it was only twice, there's a set of our leftover embryos frozen in a vat somewhere."
"Oh," said Stephen. He searched briefly for a follow-up, and settled on, "...oh."
"Everyone's situation is different. Everyone's going to have their own feelings, and they deserve to," said Jon. "You've loved your son from the moment this started. Those feelings are real, and they matter, and the biological side of it has no bearing on whether he's allowed to count as a person. I loved my kids long before they were people, even by the most hard-line standards. That was real too. And, Stephen, now that they've been born...those extra embryos in the freezer, they're not my children. Nate and Maggie are my children. Everything else is might-have-beens, things that could have happened but didn't, and are never going to."
Stephen blinked several times. He seemed to be out of things to say.
"Do you still respect me?" asked Jon. If he had just thrown a grenade of irreconcilable differences into the middle of their relationship, he might as well find out now.
"I...feel like I'm not supposed to," admitted Stephen.
Jon waited.
Stephen bowed his head. At this angle, his glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. "Maybe I shouldn't have yelled at the doctor."
Jon raised his eyebrows. "Should I ask?"
"I may have used the words 'sanctity of life' and 'no respect for'. Also 'innocent children' and 'willful murder of'. Possibly with a few disparaging comments on the value of medical science in general." It was his turn to take a deep breath. "I'm s-sorry."
"Sounds like she's the one you should apologize to," said Jon. "And who knows? Maybe she'll be more willing to let you go if you show her that you can respect her job in the process."
"I don't have to go," blurted Stephen. "If it would make you feel like I didn't respect you, or — or was judging you for the way you got your kids — then I don't even have to try."
Maybe he really was changing, after all. "If it's important to you, go for it," Jon assured him. "Say your piece. Have your opinions. As long as you can do it without questioning the moral fiber of anyone who takes a different view, we'll be cool."
And Stephen leaned in toward him, their faces so close that Jon could count the shades of brown in the other man's eyes. "Do you promise, Jon?"
"Cross my heart," Jon replied.
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The whole succession crisis was hilarious. And Joe Scarborough? Wow.
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This discussion was actually held on the Colboard a while back. There were several suggestions over who'd fill in for Stephen until someone remembered that Scarborough is the Nation's VP (and Stephen is Archduke of Scarborough County). So, yep, Joey Scars it is.
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Oh well done. Stephen's finally growing up and finding his own words, rather than mindlessly parroting those of others. He's finally got a cause, something to stand for, and he's making his decisions.
Brilliant. Fucking brilliant.
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Yes, by golly, Stephen's growing up.
So glad you approve of it =)
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Yes you have. Meanie. *sulks*
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"I can't cancel, Jon!" cried Stephen, a little more loudly than he meant to. "He's a busy man, he's like the father of the country, he's got ten other kids to look after, I have to take what I can get!"
"'Ten other kids'?" repeated Jon.
"I didn't say ten," corrected Stephen quickly. "I said three hundred million."
"It sounded like ten to me."
"Well, you heard wrong."
"'Ten' and 'three hundred million' don't sound anything alike."
"But I didn't say ten. Why would I say ten?"
Jon was quiet, and for a moment Stephen was afraid he was going to answer; but when he next spoke, he had dropped the subject.
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And the "ten other kids" thing got to me, too. Perfect.
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And thank you!
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But this is my favorite chapter too, and I have loved all of them. I love seeing more of Stephen's "humanity," and their ability to listen to and even understand each other when they completely disagree. And I "aww"ed out loud at the 10 kids thing.
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So glad you like it ^_^
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:]
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Also, the last illustration--perfect. =)
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But now the pressure's on, and this time his convictions are standing up to the test, and you're quite right: it's very much real to him now.
And thank you ^_^
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I love how much Stephen has grown up. And awwww at the end.
And I absolutely love the succession crisis. Brilliance!
Also, the bit with ten vs. three hundred million. Aww, Stephen.
Wonderful work. ^^
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So glad you like it, especially Stephen's development. It's long overdue, but better late than never.
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D'awwwww. I ♥ Stephen. And I ♥ Jon. I just ♥ this story. Today I was on the endless commute home and I perked up 'cause I remembered you'd be posting the next part. >_>
And now I want Americone Dream. Must... resist...
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So glad you like them, and thank you =D (I haven't even gotten any Americone Dream yet, alas...)
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Haha, yeah right.I hope somehow you manage to come across some Americone. Just think: it could change your life!
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I loved the staff explanations of Stephen's rearranging. :D
*Shovels love onto this. With a shovel*
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Seriously, thank you =)
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and YEYS for Jon being all comforting and sticking up for himself and all...
And RAWR at the Doc for being all "RAWR" and Stephen being all "*sob*"
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It was hardly surprised Is this a typo, or did I make a mistake?
Stephen seems like the right kind of turnip. Doing all those things to the staff. At least he gave them the good stuff, but then again, it was for his own 'cause...Never mind. I momentarily paused at the Joe Scarborough part, and I digged the stem cell thing. It made a good argument, and I'm genuinely interested in the turn out of the issue.
I think you broke my soul a little bit. I'm hooked.
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Stephen's a decent guy on some level. It just doesn't come out that often.
Thank you!
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"I can't cancel, Jon!" cried Stephen, a little more loudly than he meant to. "He's a busy man, he's like the father of the country, he's got ten other kids to look after, I have to take what I can get!"
Oh god, you broke me. Poor Stephen. This was such a great chapter---I LOVED that toss when it aired...this story is going to leave an empty place in my life.
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I loved that toss too. Assertive!Jon is hot.
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I adore this fic. No matter how much people rant about mpreg to me, I'm always going to be a little soft on the topic. Not to mention this fic is the absolute cream of the crop.
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I've never read an mpreg fic that I finished, but one of my fandoms (Red Dwarf) has canon mpreg that makes perfect sense and handles it very well, so I can't discount the idea.
And thank you!
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I've read a few mpreg fics in different genres, and there's two general types of mpreg: the crack!mpreg, which usually involves no explanation whatsoever as to why this dude is going to have a baby (I've only seen an explanation once, and that was in Naruto... but I'd rather not get into the idea of THAT one), and the serious!mpreg, which usually offers some sort of medical explanation. The one presented here is, quite simply, the most feasible one out there, and that's why I like it. Granted, I probably have a slanted outlook on pregnancy as a gender-confused person. :/
When something deserves thanks, I give it thanks. And try to not act like a total glassy-eyed fangirl.
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I'm not sure whether I would consider a story about a man in a woman's body getting pregnant to be mpreg or not. It has similar psychological issues, but physically it's not abnormal.
I do appreciate it, though I wouldn't complain even if it were glassy-eyed fangirlism ^_^
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Well, the issue in the particular fic I had in mind involved the person magically changed into a woman, getting pregnant, then getting changed into a guy again... but for some reason with the zygote still remaining intact. I am a scientific mind, despite my love of fantasy literature, and this just managed to make precisely no sense to me.
I'm terrifying when I go into fangirl mode. You should have seen me when I first saw that clip of Jon and Stephen sharing pizza. Okay, maybe it's good you didn't see me, I was in a bit of a frenzy and could have killed. XD