Fake News: Slow Me Down

[ptahrrific]

Title: Slow Me Down
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language; adult diapers; nitpicky details of Senatorial procedure
Characters/pairings: Jon/"Stephen", Sam, Larry, John-O, Lewis, Kristen, others
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

They didn't think anybody would be obtuse enough to filibuster this one. They underestimated Stephen Colbert (R-SC).

For a Secret Santa prompt requesting Jon/"Stephen" in an AU with no families, in which they're not necessarily newsmen - thus spawning the Senateverse. Title is Emmy Rossum's [lyrics]. Some lines are from this ThreatDown and this "overnight" broadcast.




Slow Me Down


"Coffee, Mr. Stewart?"

Jon Stewart (D-NY) looked up to see the worried face of his chief of staff. "No thanks, Sam. I'm kind of hoping to pass out soon, actually."

"Should I grab you a pillow, then? I hear Senator Cenac has a stash."

"That would be great, thanks." Jon attempted to give her an appreciative smile. It came out a little thin, given that he had been awake for sixteen hours so far, but he did his best.

Patting him on the arm, Sam took off, leaving Jon to slump back on the desk and listen as Stephen Colbert (R-SC) ranted about the tyranny of dessert forks.


*

That morning...

"Skipping town early?" teased Jon, leaning against the doorjamb. "Surely the responsible Senator Wilmore wouldn't shirk his duty to the taxpayers by missing a vote."

"Oh, Jon, you know I never miss an opportunity to stick it to the taxpayers!" said Larry Wilmore (D-CA), all wide-eyed innocence.

Jon grinned. "Looking forward to seeing your kids?"

The satirical edge in Larry's face softened. "Have been since Thanksgiving. Unless we're voting on whether to start a war, I'm not missing my flight."

"You're in luck," Jon said, walking with him down the corridors of the Hart Senate Office Building. "This bill's a no-brainer. It could probably pass after all of us have gone home."

"And let me guess: you're staying around anyway."

"This isn't exactly my holiday."

"A break's a break. Don't you have somebody to spend it with yet?"

Jon shrugged awkwardly. "C'mon, Larry, you know the American people are my one true love."

Larry's car had pulled up in front of the building when they stepped out into the unseasonably warm Washington December. Before climbing into the back seat, he turned and held up a fist, against which Jon gamely bumped his own. "See you, man. Find some time to relax, okay?"

"Sure—"

"—Mr. Wilmore!" The door behind them flew open, and an out-of-breath John Oliver stumbled to a stop next to the two senators. "So glad I caught you—possible emergency—"

"Settle down, John," urged Jon. "What's going on?"

Larry's communications director looked warily at him (which was completely unwarranted! Okay, Jon had tormented the man a few times, but it was all in good fun, and he certainly hadn't meant to make John cry!) before turning back to the senator he actually worked for. "Sir, we have a report that an aide to the junior senator from South Carolina was seen purchasing adult diapers earlier this morning."

"So Senator Colbert has some trouble with the plumbing," said Larry with a frown. "What's the problem? I mean, it's not like he's preparing for a filibuster."

He and Jon exchanged a nervous glance.

"No," said Larry. "He wouldn't. He's not that stupid. Is he?"

Jon was suddenly unsure. You underestimated the obtuseness of Stephen Colbert at your peril.

On the other hand....

"Nothing's going to happen, Larry," he said, squeezing the other man's shoulder and trying to sound more certain than he felt. "John's overreacting. Get to the airport. Your family's waiting."


*

The first hour...

"I don't believe this," grumbled Lewis Black (D-MD), sitting heavily down at the vacant desk next to Jon. "If he had a real problem with the bill, that would be one thing! But the longer he talks, the more obvious it becomes that he has no fucking clue what he's blocking!"

Jon set down his crossword. "At least he only has to stay on topic for three hours. After that, we get to hear how little he knows about everything else in the world. Any ideas about 'cyclotron energy unit'? Three letters, middle one 'e'?"

"Not the foggiest. You may be able to tune this shit out, but good luck getting me to concentrate on anything else right now."

"You could go home if you want. He'll have to give up sooner or later, and there are still enough of us left to make quorum."

"Nah. Us old single Jews ought to leave that opportunity to the people who really need it. But, listen, you're his friend. Can't you talk him into keeling over sooner?"

"One bill!" cried Jon in exasperation. "We co-sponsored one bill! Why does everyone think that makes us BFFs?"

"Uh, Jon? I don't know if you've noticed, but Colbert never reaches across the aisle. And then you get up there and start talking about autism education, and all of a sudden he's working with a Democrat for the first time in his entire legislative career. There are people who voted for that bill out of shock alone."

"It wasn't exactly a partisan issue—"

"Don't sell yourself short, Stewart!" barked Lewis. "You've got something that man respects. Even if neither of you wants to admit it."

"Well, it's not going to help us now, anyway," said Jon. "Even his own party is cutting him loose on this one. The minority leader tried to talk him down earlier. He's way past listening to someone like me."

"Ah, you're probably right," grumbled Lewis. "Listen, the cafeteria just closed, so I'm sending someone out for Chinese. You want anything?"


*

Now...

Colbert was reciting a recipe for brownies (apparently his mother's) when a high voice cut through the monologue. "Senator Stewart!"

Jon, who had finally started to drift off, sat up straight. "Yes! Hi! What?"

"Senator, the motion only needs one more name," said freshman senator Kristen Schaal (D-CO). "Why can't you just sign the thing?"

With a groan, Jon smoothed down his hair. "Because there's no point," he said, as he had the last three times Schaal had come around looking for signatures.

"Sure there is! If we invoke cloture, we can cut off Senator Colbert's ridiculous posturing in mid-sentence!"

"But it won't pass at all unless enough of us are present. And even if we can somehow convince our whole supermajority to fly back to DC to vote on it, it won't actually go into effect for days, and we can get the exact same result by just waiting for Senator Colbert to drop from fatigue."

"So that's your grand strategy, Stewart? Just sit back and wait until things come out right?"

"Sounds like you've got the idea."

"I don't believe this!" cried Schaal. "That attitude might be understandable in a member of the public, but you are a United States Senator!"

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but this was too much. Jon burst into a fit of giggles.

"Well, if that's your attitude, fine," snapped Schaal. "I'll just go find someone who cares enough to write their name on a piece of paper for their country!"

Jon was still giggling by the time the next quorum call came around.


*

At half past three, Colbert stopped talking.

Almost nobody else was awake by this point. The other senators were slumped on their desks or stretched out on cots in the aisles, opening their eyes only to answer roll calls. And Colbert's staff had been tag-teaming their duties, so that one could be standing alert in the wings while the rest napped.

So the only people who saw what happened next were Jon (whose insomnia had kicked in), the Colbert aide on duty at the time (Jon had seen him around a few times; Tad something), and any poor souls who had nothing better to do than watch C-SPAN at this hour.

Colbert had just finished talking about some girl he knew in kindergarten ("...she says to me, 'Do you like kickball?', and I love kickball, it was my favorite thing in the world, hell, I was holding a kickball, but do I say I like kickball? No!..."). He paused to take a swig of Red Bull. The pause dragged on a few beats too long.

When Colbert swayed a little at his desk, Jon almost got up. Across the room, Tad took a step forward, ready to catch his boss if the man really did pass out.

Then, loosening his tie (his glasses and jacket had been removed long ago), Colbert took a great gulping breath, looked desperately at his hands, and cried, "Oh, that this too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!"

Jon stared. Either the man was delirious, or he was reciting Shakespeare.

"Or that the Everlasting had not fixed his canon 'gainst self-slaughter!" continued Colbert, turning his anguished gaze to the ceiling. "Oh, God! God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of the world!"

Okay, Jon was definitely sleep-deprived. He wasn't even entirely sure what that meant, but all of a sudden there were tears in his eyes.


*

It hadn't always been like this.

"I don't really follow politics," began one of Jon's old routines, "but some of this stuff is just ridiculous. If you look at the two longest-serving senators, Strom Thurmond and...."

Eventually someone pointed out to him that most Americans couldn't name any two senators, and a legislative career was born. It wasn't as if he was going anywhere in Hollywood, after all; and politics is basically the same thing as show business, but with the possibility of making a difference.

Or so he had thought. Time and experience had leeched away those hopes. How long had it been since he had felt like Schaal, enthusiastic about every little motion, expecting petty amendments and procedural rulings to add up to saving the world?

Talk about weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable things to put your faith in.

The record for longest Senate speech also belonged to Strom Thurmond, who once filibustered for over 24 hours. (Before the invention of Red Bull, even.) The act passed anyway. Colbert had been talking for at least thirteen hours now, but there was nobody waiting to relieve him. Even if he broke the record, he couldn't hold out long enough on his own to keep this bill from passing anyway.

And, okay, both of their protests were stupid at best. But if you could put in that kind of marathon effort and still have it come to nothing, what was the point in starting?

On the other hand, how long had it been since Jon had cared enough to start?


*

Dawn...

"...got to keep going. Got to push on. Can't give up."

Jon suspected he had gotten a catnap in between quorum calls, but he wasn't entirely sure. Maybe he had just zoned out for a while. Either way, he had missed the point when Colbert descended into random babbling.

"Can't slow down," intoned Colbert.

The aide-on-hand had switched, too. Tad Something had been replaced by Meg Something. She was the right age to be an intern; Jon wondered if she was getting college credit for the job. He hoped she was getting some sort of compensation for putting up with that boss.

"Can't slow down, definitely can't stop."

Where was he getting this stuff? It had to be random.

"God, don't let me stop."

Didn't it?

"More votes, more debates, more bills. Anything. Anything is fine, just keep going."

No way....

"I can talk all night. I can talk forever. As long as it takes for everyone to come back."

He couldn't possibly be filibustering just to keep the Senate in session.

"Because I can't go home. I can't be alone. Don't you understand, you can't leave me alone, you can't give me time with nothing to fill it but self-reflection and doubt...."

You underestimate the obtuseness of Stephen Colbert at your peril.


*

Stephen's vision was starting to blur, but he was pretty sure that was Senator Stewart approaching his desk.

"I don't yield the floor," he said thickly, then groped for whatever train of thought he had been following before the interruption. Too late: it was gone.

And he was so tired.

Well, he could fill time with that. "I'm so tired...."

"You can stop now," said Stewart.

"Can't stop," corrected Stephen. "If I stop, everything might fall apart...." (He wasn't entirely sure what that meant. All he knew was that he had to keep talking.)

"You're the one who's falling apart," Stewart answered. "You're wearing yourself out."

"...'m tired, yes, but it's fine. I'm fine. I'll manage. Better this than nothing...and I don't have anything else...."

"Of course you do. But you'll never see it if you don't slow down."

"...tried it once, left myself a second for thought, almost swallowed my tongue...can't handle that, not on my own, not again...."

"You don't want to be alone? Fine. Spend Christmas with me."

"...what?"

Stewart smiled. "I could use the company."

Stephen's mouth seemed to have stopped working. He gripped the desk to steady himself, head spinning.

"But you have to stop this now." Stewart held open his arms. "It'll be okay, I promise. Just...let yourself...stop."

With a half sob, more out of exhaustion than anything else, Stephen fell.


*

Jon sank to his knees, arms wrapped around the thoroughly drained Colbert, and stayed there as the other Senators were roused for a final quorum call and the long-delayed vote. (The bill passed.)

So he wasn't going to save the world. Didn't mean he couldn't make a difference in other ways. Maybe this would be one of them.

"Shhh," he murmured into Colbert's limp and stringy hair, rubbing the man's shoulder. A damp face pressed against his shirt front. "Everything's gonna be fine."

"Jon?" asked Colbert in a small, half-asleep voice.

"Yes?...Stephen?"

"You could use a shower."

Jon snorted, not unfondly. "This from the man who needs his diaper changed."