Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2009-07-01 10:11 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2009-07-01 10:11 pm
Fake News: Stay, part 4
Title: Stay (4/4)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Nothing that hasn't been in the story already.
Characters/pairings: Jon, "Stephen", Sam/Jason, Scarborough, Aasif
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.
Summary: Senateverse. Stephen comes home.
(See also the author's notes for research and commentary.)
Stay - Part IV
§
By the time Jon woke up and found the email waiting, Stephen's plane was already in the air. Between flight times, layovers, and the sheer effort of fighting against the rotation of the Earth, he would have more than thirty hours to make his decision.
He only needed one.
§
Stephen spent most of the three plane rides trying to figure out what he was going to say.
He had stammered through thanks and congratulations to various servicemembers in person, but now he had to make an actual Official Statement, and nothing he could come up with seemed adequate. (Okay, a few things did, but Jimmy, his communications director, had warned him against using those words where constituents could hear.)
His iPhone didn't get coverage in Austria, so during the layover at Vienna International he made a panicky call to his press secretary from the hotel phone. Normally Allison sounded kind of exasperated when Stephen panicked at her, but on this she was happy to help. She even thanked him for not calling at a bizarre hour.
Stephen, who had not bothered to check the time difference, took this as a sign that luck was on his side.
§
"CNN called while you were out," said Aasif as Jon returned from lunch. "That's the fourth press call today. I'm still giving them the same statement; are you sure you don't want to look it over?"
"I'll do you one better," Jon replied. "Get them on the line. I'll talk to them in person."
"What?"
"Oh, and call Brian Williams and have him invite me on the evening's broadcast, would you? Same for Anderson Cooper. In fact, while you're at it, see if The Huckabee Decree needs a second-act guest."
"Senator, are you sure you want to—?"
Jon shrugged. "Stephen's out of contact until tomorrow. Someone's got to keep feeding the news cycle."
§
After waving one last goodbye to the gathered reporters, Stephen jogged across the tarmac to the waiting motorcade, briefcase in hand. Other people would take care of the rest of his luggage; he was more concerned with making sure the cameras got the image of a vigorous and manly war zone returnee, who would have answered their questions right away if only he didn't have some vitally important place to be.
He slowed as he approached the limo. The tinted windows revealed nothing. For a moment, he wondered if it wouldn't be better for him to just turn around and face the press. Never mind that his brain thought it was around midnight.
Suck it up, Col-bert, he ordered, and squeezed his eyes shut.
Stephen knew the contours of a limo like the inside of his childhood home. It was easy to open the door without looking, easy to slide onto the plush leather and swing his suitcase onto the floor. He had was less certain about his ability to navigate the minibar blind, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
As long as he couldn't actually see the facing seat, he had no way of knowing that Jon wasn't there.
"Stephen?"
He could even imagine that he heard the man's voice....
"Stephen, are you okay?"
Stephen opened his eyes.
All right, that was definitely the real Jon sitting across from him. If he had been a figment of Stephen's imagination, he wouldn't have been wearing a seatbelt.
"I'm fine, Jon," he said, almost dizzy with relief. "Everything's fine."
§
As the limo drove off, Stephen launched into a tirade about how much dust there had been in Iraq, how it had gotten into everything, but he had finally been starting to adjust when they had sent him back, and what nerve did his civilian clothes have, anyway, being so uncomfortably comfortable?
So glad was Jon to have the man back safely that he listened to every furious word.
Stephen must have been more worn out than he let on; he ran out of steam pretty quickly. Jon waited for his diatribe to taper off into silence before speaking up.
"You didn't have to do all that just to impress me, you know."
Stephen snorted. "As if I care what some liberal Democrat politician thinks about me. This was all about our troops!" He whipped off his camouflage hat, providing Jon with his first personal sight of the cut that had, appropriately enough, generated so much buzz. "Look at this! Would I have let someone perpetuate this horror on my beautiful hair for anyone less than our soldiers? Feel it, Jon!"
So saying, he leaned forward. When Jon hesitated, he pointed insistently to his scalp, until at last Jon put forth an obliging hand and rubbed the soft fuzz with his fingers.
The skin underneath was warm to the touch. Stephen let out a soft breath.
"Don't," he added, as Jon tried to remove the hand. "Leave it."
"Are you sure...?"
"Just do it, Stewart."
"All right, all right."
For a moment they sat in a strange sort of calm: Stephen with head bowed, while Jon's fingertips traced small circles on his crown.
"You know I have trouble with...things," murmured Stephen at last. "Balls that go behind couches, and so on."
Jon nodded, then caught himself. "I remember."
The head under his hand bobbed in acknowledgment. "Well, I don't want to have trouble with Iraq, Jon. Not with our soldiers. Not with the ordinary people, either. And this helps with that. Even when I'm not hearing about the war, or seeing it on the news, if I can see myself — or feel the breeze on my head, or — or anything else — it helps."
Shoulders still lowered, he twisted one arm around and groped for the handle of his briefcase.
"I've been drafting language for this bill," he explained, dragging it onto his lap and trying to open it while still hunched over. "To provide emergency funding to keep troops' homes from being foreclosed on. Because you tax-and-spenders are already bailing out every business that comes along asking for a handout, and these people have actually earned it."
Even though he couldn't see Stephen's eyebrows, Jon could almost hear their defiant arch in the words. "I agree," he said, without a moment's hesitation.
"Great!" exclaimed Stephen. "Because I'm going to need a co-sponsor...."
"I'm in," declared Jon. "Let's go find a quiet place where we can sit down and hash out the details."
§
"You live at a hotel?"
"A residence," corrected Jon. "It's basically an upscale condo."
"Which is run by the Ritz. That makes it a hotel."
Jon shrugged. "I like the room service."
§
After half an hour of research and debate, Jon left the room to grab a bottle of wine and returned to find Stephen's head lolled back on his chair, eyes closed.
He jolted awake when Jon called his name. "Huh? Wha? What's going on?"
"You're still jet-lagged," realized Jon. Of course he'd be nodding off. "What time do you think it is?"
"Um," said Stephen, squinting at his watch. "There's something weird about these numbers...."
"You've got it on upside-down," observed Jon, leaning over to check. Stephen had his watch set to D.C. time, but Jon had done the conversion more than enough in the past few days to work out Baghdad time in his head. "Past one in the morning. You should get some sleep. We've got enough to introduce on the floor now, and it'll probably get rewritten in committee anyhow."
"Right," agreed Stephen, slapping his cheeks lightly and blinking several times. "I'll get going. I know one of my houses is around here somewhere...of the ones that haven't been repossessed, anyway...."
"Do you want to stay?"
Jon didn't realize he was going to say it until too late: the words were out, and Stephen was glaring at him suspiciously. "If this is part of one of your agendas—"
"Stephen, don't be ridiculous. There are very nice guest rooms, and they all have full bathrooms. Think of it as a hotel, except that you don't have to pay for it. Besides, it's not like you haven't stayed with me before."
"Yeah, but that was planned," huffed Stephen, still looking cagey. "I didn't pack for this."
"You can borrow a robe or something. And I'm sure I have an extra toothbrush and razor around."
"Well...I guess I could survive without my exfoliating loofah for a night," admitted Stephen slowly. "Considering that I just spent several days being sandblasted."
§
As the roll call went around, Stephen chewed nervously on his pen.
Both of them knew Stephen had the more exciting stage presence, which was why he was going to handle the press conference afterwards. But he had insisted that Jon introduce the bill on the floor. Jon, of course, had been surprised. The man still didn't know about his something.
Well, Stephen knew. Hadn't been able to forget it, either — even half a world away.
"The gentleman from New York is recognized for three minutes."
Besides, a cause like this (still fresh in his mind, but he ran a hand over his shorn head, just in case) was too important to leave in Stephen's hands alone.
(Not that he would ever tell Jon that, of course. Couldn't let some liberal know there was that kind of weakness in the Senate's greatest pillar of conservatism — much less that he himself probably had the power to bring about socialized medicine, tax hikes, stem cell research, electric cars, and a profit margin to National Public Radio all at once if he so chose.)
"Madam Speaker, let me thank you for yielding time," began Jon.
The full attention of the Senate turned to him. And there it stayed.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Nothing that hasn't been in the story already.
Characters/pairings: Jon, "Stephen", Sam/Jason, Scarborough, Aasif
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.
Summary: Senateverse. Stephen comes home.
(See also the author's notes for research and commentary.)
Stay - Part IV
| From: Senator Stephen T. Colbert, R-SC <senator@colbert.senate.gov> To: Jon Stewart, D-NY <senator@stewart.senate.gov> Date: June 12, 3:12 AM Subject: WHEN I ARRIVE AT IAD I WILL GIVE A BRIEF STATEMENT TO REPORTERS, AND THEN STEP INTO A WAITING LIMOUSINE AND BE WHISKED AWAY. IF THERE HAPPENS TO BE ANOTHER PERSON ALREADY IN THE LIMOUSINE WHEN I STEP INTO IT, I MAY ALLOW HIM TO TALK TO ME. HE HAD BETTER BE THERE. |
By the time Jon woke up and found the email waiting, Stephen's plane was already in the air. Between flight times, layovers, and the sheer effort of fighting against the rotation of the Earth, he would have more than thirty hours to make his decision.
He only needed one.
Stephen spent most of the three plane rides trying to figure out what he was going to say.
He had stammered through thanks and congratulations to various servicemembers in person, but now he had to make an actual Official Statement, and nothing he could come up with seemed adequate. (Okay, a few things did, but Jimmy, his communications director, had warned him against using those words where constituents could hear.)
His iPhone didn't get coverage in Austria, so during the layover at Vienna International he made a panicky call to his press secretary from the hotel phone. Normally Allison sounded kind of exasperated when Stephen panicked at her, but on this she was happy to help. She even thanked him for not calling at a bizarre hour.
Stephen, who had not bothered to check the time difference, took this as a sign that luck was on his side.
"CNN called while you were out," said Aasif as Jon returned from lunch. "That's the fourth press call today. I'm still giving them the same statement; are you sure you don't want to look it over?"
"I'll do you one better," Jon replied. "Get them on the line. I'll talk to them in person."
"What?"
"Oh, and call Brian Williams and have him invite me on the evening's broadcast, would you? Same for Anderson Cooper. In fact, while you're at it, see if The Huckabee Decree needs a second-act guest."
"Senator, are you sure you want to—?"
Jon shrugged. "Stephen's out of contact until tomorrow. Someone's got to keep feeding the news cycle."
After waving one last goodbye to the gathered reporters, Stephen jogged across the tarmac to the waiting motorcade, briefcase in hand. Other people would take care of the rest of his luggage; he was more concerned with making sure the cameras got the image of a vigorous and manly war zone returnee, who would have answered their questions right away if only he didn't have some vitally important place to be.
He slowed as he approached the limo. The tinted windows revealed nothing. For a moment, he wondered if it wouldn't be better for him to just turn around and face the press. Never mind that his brain thought it was around midnight.
Suck it up, Col-bert, he ordered, and squeezed his eyes shut.
Stephen knew the contours of a limo like the inside of his childhood home. It was easy to open the door without looking, easy to slide onto the plush leather and swing his suitcase onto the floor. He had was less certain about his ability to navigate the minibar blind, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
As long as he couldn't actually see the facing seat, he had no way of knowing that Jon wasn't there.
"Stephen?"
He could even imagine that he heard the man's voice....
"Stephen, are you okay?"
Stephen opened his eyes.
All right, that was definitely the real Jon sitting across from him. If he had been a figment of Stephen's imagination, he wouldn't have been wearing a seatbelt.
"I'm fine, Jon," he said, almost dizzy with relief. "Everything's fine."
As the limo drove off, Stephen launched into a tirade about how much dust there had been in Iraq, how it had gotten into everything, but he had finally been starting to adjust when they had sent him back, and what nerve did his civilian clothes have, anyway, being so uncomfortably comfortable?
So glad was Jon to have the man back safely that he listened to every furious word.
Stephen must have been more worn out than he let on; he ran out of steam pretty quickly. Jon waited for his diatribe to taper off into silence before speaking up.
"You didn't have to do all that just to impress me, you know."
Stephen snorted. "As if I care what some liberal Democrat politician thinks about me. This was all about our troops!" He whipped off his camouflage hat, providing Jon with his first personal sight of the cut that had, appropriately enough, generated so much buzz. "Look at this! Would I have let someone perpetuate this horror on my beautiful hair for anyone less than our soldiers? Feel it, Jon!"
So saying, he leaned forward. When Jon hesitated, he pointed insistently to his scalp, until at last Jon put forth an obliging hand and rubbed the soft fuzz with his fingers.
The skin underneath was warm to the touch. Stephen let out a soft breath.
"Don't," he added, as Jon tried to remove the hand. "Leave it."
"Are you sure...?"
"Just do it, Stewart."
"All right, all right."
For a moment they sat in a strange sort of calm: Stephen with head bowed, while Jon's fingertips traced small circles on his crown.
"You know I have trouble with...things," murmured Stephen at last. "Balls that go behind couches, and so on."
Jon nodded, then caught himself. "I remember."
The head under his hand bobbed in acknowledgment. "Well, I don't want to have trouble with Iraq, Jon. Not with our soldiers. Not with the ordinary people, either. And this helps with that. Even when I'm not hearing about the war, or seeing it on the news, if I can see myself — or feel the breeze on my head, or — or anything else — it helps."
Shoulders still lowered, he twisted one arm around and groped for the handle of his briefcase.
"I've been drafting language for this bill," he explained, dragging it onto his lap and trying to open it while still hunched over. "To provide emergency funding to keep troops' homes from being foreclosed on. Because you tax-and-spenders are already bailing out every business that comes along asking for a handout, and these people have actually earned it."
Even though he couldn't see Stephen's eyebrows, Jon could almost hear their defiant arch in the words. "I agree," he said, without a moment's hesitation.
"Great!" exclaimed Stephen. "Because I'm going to need a co-sponsor...."
"I'm in," declared Jon. "Let's go find a quiet place where we can sit down and hash out the details."
"You live at a hotel?"
"A residence," corrected Jon. "It's basically an upscale condo."
"Which is run by the Ritz. That makes it a hotel."
Jon shrugged. "I like the room service."
After half an hour of research and debate, Jon left the room to grab a bottle of wine and returned to find Stephen's head lolled back on his chair, eyes closed.
He jolted awake when Jon called his name. "Huh? Wha? What's going on?"
"You're still jet-lagged," realized Jon. Of course he'd be nodding off. "What time do you think it is?"
"Um," said Stephen, squinting at his watch. "There's something weird about these numbers...."
"You've got it on upside-down," observed Jon, leaning over to check. Stephen had his watch set to D.C. time, but Jon had done the conversion more than enough in the past few days to work out Baghdad time in his head. "Past one in the morning. You should get some sleep. We've got enough to introduce on the floor now, and it'll probably get rewritten in committee anyhow."
"Right," agreed Stephen, slapping his cheeks lightly and blinking several times. "I'll get going. I know one of my houses is around here somewhere...of the ones that haven't been repossessed, anyway...."
"Do you want to stay?"
Jon didn't realize he was going to say it until too late: the words were out, and Stephen was glaring at him suspiciously. "If this is part of one of your agendas—"
"Stephen, don't be ridiculous. There are very nice guest rooms, and they all have full bathrooms. Think of it as a hotel, except that you don't have to pay for it. Besides, it's not like you haven't stayed with me before."
"Yeah, but that was planned," huffed Stephen, still looking cagey. "I didn't pack for this."
"You can borrow a robe or something. And I'm sure I have an extra toothbrush and razor around."
"Well...I guess I could survive without my exfoliating loofah for a night," admitted Stephen slowly. "Considering that I just spent several days being sandblasted."
As the roll call went around, Stephen chewed nervously on his pen.
Both of them knew Stephen had the more exciting stage presence, which was why he was going to handle the press conference afterwards. But he had insisted that Jon introduce the bill on the floor. Jon, of course, had been surprised. The man still didn't know about his something.
Well, Stephen knew. Hadn't been able to forget it, either — even half a world away.
"The gentleman from New York is recognized for three minutes."
Besides, a cause like this (still fresh in his mind, but he ran a hand over his shorn head, just in case) was too important to leave in Stephen's hands alone.
(Not that he would ever tell Jon that, of course. Couldn't let some liberal know there was that kind of weakness in the Senate's greatest pillar of conservatism — much less that he himself probably had the power to bring about socialized medicine, tax hikes, stem cell research, electric cars, and a profit margin to National Public Radio all at once if he so chose.)
"Madam Speaker, let me thank you for yielding time," began Jon.
The full attention of the Senate turned to him. And there it stayed.
no subject
There could indeed be a story there. Coming up with crazy twists isn't exactly hard when it's Stephen involved...
(Maybe it's just the most convenient stop relative to Baghdad? Either way, pretend away =D)
no subject