Fake News: Hedgehog's Dilemma

[ptahrrific]

Title: Hedgehog's Dilemma
Rating: G

For a prompt in the fakenews_fanfic 2007 Secret Santa: "hedgehog's dilemma", with an appearance (sort of) by John King. Wasn't sure if people would know what the hedgehog's dilemma is, so I brought an actual hedgehog in to illustrate.


Hedgehog's Dilemma


"Jon, why is there a hedgehog in your office?"

If anyone else had greeted him with this line, Jon would have said something like this: "Hello to you too. I'm fine, thanks for asking; and you?"

But it would have been wasted on Stephen, so he just answered the question. "My wife brought it home from the clinic a week ago. Maggie tried to play with it and got poked by the spines, and now she cries whenever she sees it, so Tracey asked if I could keep it in the office for a while. There really isn't enough space here, so it's only temporary. A couple of the writers have already offered to adopt it."

"So what's wrong with it?" asked Stephen, leaning over the cage (and right in front of Jon's view of John King on the TV across the room) to get a better view of the little brown ball of spines and fur. "Ruptured spleen? Hedgehog diabetes? Food poisoning?"

"No, it just got its head stuck in a McFlurry cup. Almost starved before someone found it and brought it in."

The hedgehog snuffled around in the newspaper on the floor of its cage, then turned black beady eyes on Stephen.

"Jon! It's looking at me!"

"Probably just curious," said Jon. "That, or it's hoping you'll refill its food dish."

Stephen sat down across the desk from Jon, but kept his eyes on the hedgehog. "I don't trust it. What if it tries to impale me?"

"It won't. You can even try to pet it, if you want."

"And why would I do that, Jon?"

"To be nice?"

This was answered with a skeptical look of withering intensity.

"You know, Stephen, domestic hedgehogs can be very friendly. They only roll up and do the spine thing when they're scared. As long as you're careful, they like to be touched and held."

Stephen eyed Jon dubiously for a minute more, then leaned back towards the cage.

"Go on," said Jon encouragingly.

"I'm getting there, Jon. Don't rush me."

So Jon sat back and waited while Stephen inched forward, put his hand over the top of the cage, and reached slowly down until his hand was right over the little animal's back.

The hedgehog moved.

Stephen jumped.

In an instant the little animal had rolled up, and Stephen yanked his hand back. "Ow!"

"Careful! You need a band-aid or something?"

"No," snapped Stephen, sticking his fingers in his mouth.

"Oh, good. You want to try again?"

"No." His voice was muffled by his fingers. "I already had a cast on this arm; I don't need a tourniquet too."

"If you say so."

"This is all your fault," grumbled Stephen around his hand. "Never should have listened to your bleeding-heart liberal ideas. Where's my lunch, anyway? I'm only here because you said there would be lunch."

"Pizza's on its way."

"Good."

He glared irritably at the floor. There was a moment of silence, filled only by John King's almost-muted analysis of the latest presidential debate.

"Stephen . . . ."

Stephen took his hand out of his mouth. "What, Jon?"

"I heard about your wife, and—"

"Oh God what did you hear?"

"Just some rumors that you were having trouble, and—"

"Well, we're not. We're fine. Everything's fine."

"Okay, but I just wanted to say, if it wasn't—"

"If it wasn't, which it is, it would be none of your business, so quit sticking your oversized mainstream media nose in places where it doesn't belong and shut up! Just shut up!"

Jon shut up.

Stephen folded his arms and glared, this time at the cage.

The hedgehog unrolled itself.

"It just doesn't make sense," Stephen said at last.

"What doesn't?" asked Jon cautiously.

Stephen waved his hand broadly in the general direction of the cage. "Why would you keep reaching out to something that hurts you whenever you try?"

Jon sighed. "I've been asking myself that for years."