Fic: Silent Tango, 2/5
Title: Silent Tango
Fandom: Fake News
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jon/"Stephen"
Summary: With Stephen back from Iraq, Jon and Stephen struggle to deal with their divorces, their budding relationship, oh, and a telepathic mind link, an assassination attempt and bananas on their breakfasts, too.
Chapter: 2/5
When asked later, both Jon and Stephen would describe the next few weeks as "terribly busy".
A more accurate description may be that both men were desperately trying to be terribly busy in order to avoid each other, and that the universe decided that was a bad idea.
Not much happened in that month with a few exceptions.
- Stephen's hair began to grow back to something resembling its normal self.
- President Obama was seen wearing a navy pinstripe blazer in the Oval Office, causing scandal and a fashion trend.
- Stephen's hair began to grow back slightly patchy in places, causing hysterics and a refusal to go on air. Jon was no where to be found to calm him and crisis was narrowly avoided by Stephen's hairdresser.
- A tiny African country that no one in the U.S. had previously heard of switched corrupt dictatorships, fueling debate over whether America should intervene.
- Jon's recently estranged wife was sighted at a cafe in L.A. with George Clooney, causing uproar in the tabloids and many gleeful jokes at the Daily Show offices.
However, after a while, neither had any more excuses to avoid seeing each other anymore and Jon tentatively invited Stephen to lunch at his office one day.
Half a dozen sandwiches, two six packs and four hours later a set of ground rules suspiciously similar to that of drunken weekends in Vegas were established and life went on as normal...somewhat.
Jon continued to handle Stephen as though he were made of glass. It was actually quite similar to their original relationship, only Stephen's mood swings had become more erratic and inexplicably the ability to read Stephen's mind seemed to decrease Jon's ability to diffuse his tantrums rather than improve them. Stephen's bi-polar view of this new ability only set Jon further on edge.
One day Stephen would be sending Jon "Thought-grams" to crack him up in the middle of a meeting and the next he would lash out at Jon for reading things beyond his control.
One day at another of their lunches at Aunt Sally's, (he had become ridiculously addicted to their food after years of enforced healthy eating with his wife), Jon tried to broach the subject with Stephen.
"So, you know you're actually taking this really well, Stephen. Better than me even."
Immersed in his Philly Cheese Steak, Stephen shrugged. "The liberal agenda has been trying to pollute my mind for years. Being connected to you is pretty much just the same thing."
"Uh..." Jon wasn't sure whether to be insulted or not. "That wasn't exactly what I meant... I was more referring to the existence of telepathy at all. You just accept it as fact."
Stephen looked up, blinking. "Why wouldn't I? Of course it's real. I believe everything Jon, the fact it's actually happening is just unneeded...'proof'."
He had a bit of cheese dangling from his lower lip. Jon thought it was ridiculously cute.
Blushing slightly, Stephen immediately wiped his mouth and went on the offensive.
Comfortably settling into the booth Jon smiled and quietly listened to the rambling on the dangerous American obsession with scientific evidence.
He still wasn't convinced Stephen was fine, but his mind hadn't directly contradicted anything his mouth had said. It was a definite step forward.
********************************************************************************************
"No, Stephen! I cannot allow you do this!"
"Well, why not?"
Jon let out an exasperated sigh and ran his head over his ever-graying hair. This was the fourth time this week that Stephen had come to him with a ridiculous request for his show. Last week it had been for a five times larger than life statue of himself for the set. Today Jon was vetoing the use of a flamethrower in a segment on flag-burning.
Taking a deep breath and speaking in a calm voice Jon repeated himself.
"Because you're still paying off the lawsuits for the guy in your audience you shot. Twice."
Stephen waved off the argument with one hand. "Three times, but that's not the point. Plus, he dropped the charges when I gave him free tickets to the show for a week."
Jon opened his mouth to ask, but decided he really didn't want to know.
"Because your hair just started to grow back and you don't want your eyebrows to have catch up."
As if responding to threat on their lives Stephen's eyebrows arched and he was about to make another argument when he closed his mouth.
"You're right, Jon. It's dangerous and stupid. I'll find something else for the segment."
"No, you ca-. Wait, what? Really?"
Stephen nodded earnestly. "Really."
Jon narrowed his eyes. There had to be a catch...what was it?
No catch Jon. You win.
Stephen turned and walked away, leaving Jon standing alone, still at a loss for words.
********************************************************************************************
"So he came to his senses. So what? It's not that big of a deal."
"John, this is Stephen we're talking about. When he was ten his parents told him Santa Claus wasn't real and he informed them that that was just another lie propagated by the liberal agenda in their ongoing war against Christmas."
The Brit frowned, leaning back in his chair. "The way I see it this is a good thing. You argued down Colbert! You made him see reason past his own ego. That is not an easy thing to do. You should celebrate! Don’t worry about it so much!"
Sinking into a chair Jon put his feet up on the meeting table and groaned, rubbing his temples. "Maybe you're right...I just worry about him. He's been acting...erratic...the past few weeks."
"Erratic?"
"Strange."
"Strange?"
"Unpredictable, irrational, temperamental..."
He was met by a raised eyebrow that could have put Stephen to shame.
Sighing, Jon resigned himself to explaining the complexities of Stephen Colbert. But before he could begin John held up an elegantly manicured hand to stop him.
"Never mind. I know what you mean. He's obviously upset about something and I think you and I both know what it is."
Jon's feet crashed off the table and he nearly fell out of his chair. "You do? I mean, we do?" Jon asked nervously, "What?"
"His divorce, of course," John frowned. "What were you on about?"
"Divorce?!"
"It's nothing official yet...but his wife moved out months ago. It's only a matter of time before she convinces him to sign the papers. She's a match of wills for him...It's actually quite scary."
John frowned, “Didn’t you already know?”
Jon was already halfway out the door.
"Oi!" The Brit shouted down the hall after him, "What were you on about?"
********************************************************************************************
After several frantic calls to Stephen's assistant, chauffeur and hairdresser Jon was informed that Mr. Colbert had gone home for the day.
Twenty minutes later Jon was pounding on Stephen's door.
"Stephen! Stephen, open the door!"
The windows inside the house remained dark.
"Come on Stephen! I know you're in there!"
Nothing happened, and Jon cursed, circling the house twice to look for an open window.
After walking around the house twice Jon reflected on two things: First, that this was turning into every bad teenage romance movie from the 80's, and Second that he probably looked like he was casing the joint.
Looking around he saw a several people on the street and two guys chatting over a lawnmower, the late afternoon sun heavy in the sky.
Okay, maybe not.
No one seemed to pay attention to a short graying Jew shouting at a darkened house, but then again, Jon reflected, they'd probably seen much worse around Stephen's house.
"Excuse me?"
The voice startled Jon out of his anxious pacing. Swiveling around he was met by a woman shorter and grayer than himself. With her cat-eye glasses on a chain and bright flowered housedress Jon was already mentally labeling her 'Nana Jean'.
"Are you trying to get in?"
"Ah! Uh-I was just-"
A smooth hand cut him off. "He keeps the upstairs eastern window open for the telescope he uses to spy on the neighbors."
"Um...thanks...How do you know...?"
"If he's going to snoop I might as well snoop back. His little fan club pays quite well for photos. You can't live on social security these days. There's a twenty foot ladder in my garage. I expect you to put it back when you're done with it."
With that the old lady pivoted around and walked off, leaving Jon to gape.
********************************************************************************************
"Stephen? Stephen where are you?"
Jon tore through the house in an increasing panic. He'd gone over all three levels and the bunker twice already and Stephen was no where to be found. Trying to fight down the growing nagging fears of what he'd actually find, Jon stopped to catch his breath and keep from hyperventilating. You'd think Stephen would actually install an elevator...
Fumbling in his pocket for his inhaler Jon closed his eyes and tried to calm himself.
Probably just curled up somewhere with a bottle of Stoli and...Sweetness...Oh God...Please don't let him have done something stupid...
A sudden sound of flushing water behind him made Jon jump and almost choke on his inhaler. He spun around just in time to see Stephen emerge from the bathroom behind him, a copy of the New York Times under his arm.
"Stephen!"
A frown. "How did you get in?"
"You're okay! You are okay, aren't you?"
"It was Mrs. Wilcox, wasn't it? Nosy old coot."
"Stephen, focus! ...You read the New York Times?"
"No, I was out of toilet paper. Why are you here, Jon?"
His panic subsiding into hysterical giggles Jon paused to consider the question.
"Uh...well...I..."
Why was he here? He couldn't quite remember...Oh, right, Stephen's divorce.
"I heard about your...separation..."
"And?"
"Uh..." Jon wasn't quite sure...His first reaction to hearing about one of Stephen's problems was to rush over and fix it, or deal with the emotional aftermath if he couldn't. He didn't know how to handle Stephen being so...calm.
Oh right, that was it too. Stephen was acting weird... Jon needed to know why...
"And you've been acting weird, and I thought that might be the reason...and..."
Bored, Stephen strode past him, tossing the torn newspaper on a nearby coffee table and sinking into the living room couch.
"There's no reason because I'm not acting weird. And there is no divorce. I won't allow it. It's un-Christian and cowardly. I made vows on my wedding day I intend to keep."
Stephen leaned back, spreading his arms along the back of the couch while Jon stood limply, inhaler still in hand.
"To love and cherish, and all that other stuff the priest said. I won't divorce, and I won't get an annulment...she just needs to understand that and accept..."
Jon watched blankly. Stephen continued. It had all the words of one of his rants, but none of the passion, or even the anger that went hand in hand with them. Jon had heard him read teleprompters with more conviction.
What was he thinking? Stepping a bit closer, Jon tentatively took a seat on the edge of the couch.
Mustn't accept this. It's wrong, it's not right.
Stephen's thoughts seemed to have the same bland tone as his words, but they rung honest.
Shouldn't sign the papers...Won't sign them...Come on Col-bert...You know better than this!
Blinking, Jon looked up.
Doesn't matter if I want to...It's about what's right...It's always about what's right...What I have to do, not what I should do...It's what I need to do...
Though his mouth was still moving, still forming words Jon assumed were along the same train of thought he had started with, silent tears were streaming down Stephen's cheeks.
He probably didn't even know.
Have to stick with it...Have to make her see that we need to stick with it...gotta be strong...I'm weak, mustn't sign the papers, mustn't give in, mustn't listen...
"Stephen."
Surprised, Stephen's rant was cut short, and he turned to face the man on the other end of the couch.
Jon reached up and wiped away a tear track with his thumb.
"You can sign the papers. No one with think any differently of you."
I won't think any differently of you.
With the same numb look on his face, Stephen nodded dumbly...
Please don't go...
"Stephen? Where are the papers?"
With the obedience of a trained puppy Stephen reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of battered pages and handed them to Jon.
"Thank you."
This simple phrase seemed to shake him out of his reverie and Stephen jumped up from the couch, almost running off towards the kitchen.
Jon looked at the stack of documents in his hands. They were already signed.
Slightly wrinkled, the ink smudged on this signature, that initialing...small drops of water damage and a small rip through all the pages on the side, as though someone had begun to tear them in half and stopped.
He looked at the date. Six days ago.
Jon began to laugh.
********************************************************************************************
Fifteen minutes later Stephen walked back downstairs, face washed, tie straightened, mask firmly in place.
Striding into the living he began to start damage control. "Really, Jon-"
"Jon?"
Jon Stewart was sitting on the floor, back against the coffee table, chugging what Stephen was pretty sure had been a full bottle of good quality Vodka. His tie hung loosely around his neck, his shoes and suit jacket had vanished completely. He was giggling like a madman, causing a good deal of booze to go down his front. Not that much though, and Stephen was sure that had been a full bottle...
"Jon, are you all right?"
"Stephen!! Never better! Want some Stoli?" Jon giggled again and took another swig.
"I mean, why shouldn’t I be fine?" Jon continued conversationally, "My life is fucking fantastic! My wife left me for a sex icon, my country's going to hell in a handbasket, and my best friend and I have developed super-powers! It's fucking awesome! Oh, and by the way, said best friend has decided he can't trust me and has been avoiding telling me anything, leaving me completely fucking alone while I tiptoe around him trying to figure out what the hell is going on in his head!"
Another giggle. "Get it? 'Cause o' the telepathy? No?" His grin dissipated and he looked like he was thinking. He frowned, and his tone changed. "Anyway, maybe I've just had enough of being the rational one, the calm one, the one that fixes all the fucking problems!!!"
Suddenly the look of fury vanished from his face as quickly as it had come. He giggled again and frowned much more comically at the empty bottom of his bottle.
"Huh...'s weird. I coulda swore this was a full bottle..."
Stephen stood frozen in the doorway, panicking silently.
What do I do? What do I do? Come on Col-bert...think...I've never seen Jon act like this...
...It's kinda hot...
Crushing any errant parts of his mind Stephen's legs seem to have made his decision for him. He was halfway across the room, helping Jon unsteadily to his feet, empty bottle still in hand.
"Come on Stewart, you're drunk off your ass. You're not acting like yourself."
Another of those damn giggles. Stephen tried to ignore the way it went straight to his groin.
"Nah...'M actin' like you. 'S kinda fun! Gettin' to yell at stuff...very catho-lic..." Jon frowned again. "No, Cath-...Cath-arctic...Cath-artist..."
Jon was leaning against Stephen almost entirely for support. Stephen tried to turn him around towards the stairs...
"Where're we goin'?"
"Bedroom. How does someone so tiny drink so much?"
Jon nuzzled "I don' wanna go to bed yet. 'M having fun.
Before Stephen could react Jon's arm went up and tossed the bottle against the far wall. It shattered on a photo of Stephen and Eleanor Holmes Norton, raining glass all over the floor.
Stephen almost dropped Jon in shock. Jon was giggling even harder.
"You're insane, Stewart. Fuckin' smashed."
With a Jew-do move Stephen couldn't quite figure out Stewart managed to spin him around and pin him to the wall.
A slightly wicked grin crossed Stewart's face. "You wanna get fuckin' smashed?"
"What?"
The grin vanished, once more to be replaced by a worried lower lip and slightly furrowed brow.
"No, wait...'that's not it...um...”
While Jon tried to decipher his own words Stephen stared.
He realized how ridiculous this must look to an outside observer. A tiny, barefoot little man, pinning a man a good third of his size larger than him against a wall, trying to translate a euphemism for gay sex.
But Jon was giggling again, and his shirt was soaked through with that clear, strong smelling liquor, and damned if this wasn't the most erotic experience of Stephen's life.
"Yeah!" Jon perked up. "Couldn't have said it...thought it better myself! That's what I meant!"
And at that point Stephen had no choice but to kiss him senseless and pray to God he wouldn't be able to remember this in the morning.
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