Fic: Silent Tango 3/5
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: 3/5
"Good Morning Sunshine!"
"..."
"Jon? Are you awake?"
"..."
"Jon! Wake up!!"
"Mmmph. Ow. What, Stephen?!"
"I made you breakfast! A proper, American breakfast too! I tried to make waffles, but the toaster blew up for some reason, so I made pancakes instead and I burned them a little too, but you can still bend them without them snapping so they're okay, and you can cover them with whipped cream and berries, but there was a little problem with the blueberries, so we'll have to have-"
"Stephen!"
"...Yes, Jon?"
"Could you talk more quietly? Please? I've got a splitting headache for some reason..."
"Sorry. But anyway, the blueberries kind of exploded too, all over the stove, and my maid left with my wife, so that-
"Stephen?"
"Yes, Jon?"
"That was code for 'Shut Up'."
"Well, why didn't you say so? Come on, sit up and drink some coffee. It'll help with the hangover."
"What hangover? Owww."
"That hangover."
"Stephen. I smell...Vodka? Did you put Vodka in the pancakes?!"
"Vodka pancakes? That sounds good...I should have them learn how to make those down at the diner-"
"Stephen?"
"Yes, Jon?"
"Where are my clothes?"
"Uh...your pants are in the dryer...at least I think it's the dryer...trying to get the smell of booze out of them...I never did figure out what you did with your tie. Your shirt will need dry cleaning...and to get those buttons reattached, but that chocolate sauce is a bitch to get out after it's dried...
Oh yeah! I forgot. That was the other thing. The whipped cream went flat after it was out all night, so I tried to make some myself, and it's actually harder than it sounds..."
"Stephen?"
"Yes, Jon?"
"Did we have sex?"
"Uh, yes. Yes we did."
"Stephen?"
"Yes, Jon?"
"I'm going to be sick."
********************************************************************************************
Later, after Jon had puked up what he swore was half a hot fudge sundae and a quart of premium Vodka, and fished a pair of pants out from under the bed, he went looking for Stephen.
He found him in the wreckage of the kitchen.
"Stephen?"
Go Away. Please just go away. I don't-I can't...Stupid, Stupid, STUPID Col-bert. What were you thinking? I just wanna-
"Stephen?"
"Hi Jon."
Oh god. What do I say? What do I do? Running...running is good...how do I get past him?
"Hi Stephen.”
Jon realized suddenly with a jolt that for some inexplicable reason, he was afraid of the other man.
It went beyond nervousness or a desire to avoid the inescapably awkward conversation they were going to have, but was a genuine, unadulterated fear of physical harm.
Jon had previously linked annoyance, amusement, exasperation, frustration and a dozen other emotions to interactions with Stephen, but fear had never been among them.
It was his face, Jon decided. Stephen’s face was an instrument, and Stephen was a maestro. He could weave it into a hundred different expressions, of confidence, self-assurance and haughty self-satisfaction. On the rare occasions when his carefully crafted mask would slip, pure emotion and insecurity would shine through, the untainted innocence that made everyone in its path want to give him a hug and a cookie.
Right now, his face was blank. Utterly and deathly blank.
All the wrinkles and lines that shaped Stephen’s countenance had all but disappeared, and even his eyes seemed hollow.
His back was straight, the epitome of a pundit’s perfect posture, not a crease on his ‘casual’ Saturday suit.
He looked like the world’s least lifelike wax statue.
Any emotion visible was in Stephen’s hands, maintaining a death grip on the granite counter behind him, every tendon stretched taught along the backs.
At least, Jon hoped they were. He couldn’t see Stephen’s left hand.
Swallowing hard, Jon took a tentative step forward.
Come on Stephen, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you...It's all right...
He realized he sounded like he was talking to a frightened animal, but right now the comparison seemed fairly apt.
Stephen’s hands (Thank God, he could see both of them now…) relaxed infinitesimally, the first sign of life in what seemed like hours.
Jon flinched involuntarily, and Stephen tensed again.
Trying to wince and curse himself mentally, (without Stephen hearing it, which was quite a trick these days), Jon’s mind once more flashed to wild animals, namely those that could supposedly ‘smell’ fear. If he wanted to get anywhere in this ‘conversation’ he needed to calm down and be rational. It wasn’t like Stephen was reaching for Sweetness or the bread knife or something…
"The bread knife's in the toaster," Stephen mumbled.
Jon blinked. "What?"
"I was trying to get the waffles out. That's what a bread knife's for."
Jon remained frozen for a second, before quickly glancing to his left to see, yes, a melted plastic handle inside a still slightly smoking appliance.
Suddenly, all of Jon’s tension drained away and he began to laugh. Hard. Stephen stared, Still unmoving, but with a look of incredulity on his face.
"And you wonder why it exploded?! Oh my-Ow. Owwww. You got any advil in this place?"
Stephen startled into action as Jon sank into an only slightly mangled chair at the breakfast bar, Accepting the proffered pills and a glass of water, he crushed the pills between his teeth and grimaced slightly at the taste.
The other man was still silent, verbally and mentally, waiting for Jon to make the next move.
Finishing the last of the glass of water, Jon opened his mouth to speak, only to realize he didn't know what to say.
"Uh...look, Stephen. Earlier, that was the booze..."
Stephen held up an elegant hand to stop him. "I know Jon. I know. And I'm really sorry I took advan-"
"No!"
A look of startled confusion.
"I meant, this morning. Throwing up. That was the booze. Not you."
And the pancakes.
"Oi!"
"Sorry." But seriously. Who puts orange juice concentrate in pancake batter?
"So...what are you saying now, Jon?"
Sighing, Jon got to his feet, setting the glass back down on the counter and once more awkwardly moved towards Stephen, who seemed too confused to be nervous this time.
Running his hand through his hair, (which he swore must be white by this morning. He hadn't had a chance to look in a mirror yet,) Jon cleared his throat.
"Stephen...I...uh..."
Unable to find his voice, Jon willed Stephen to help him out here, but their mental link seemed to have conveniently failed.
Fuck it.
Grabbing Stephen by the shirt Jon pulled him into a deep kiss.
It wasn't a particularly good kiss. It was rather sloppy and awkward, tasting slightly of ibuprofen and Stephen's All-American Pancakes and the fact that Jon had accidentally banged their noses together certainly wasn't doing anything for his hangover.
But as he felt the last of Stephen's tension drain out of him and he began to kiss back, Jon decided actions were far better than words.
And, y'know, weird telepathic mind links.
***************************************************************************************************************
Jon didn’t manage to return Mrs. Wilcox’s ladder until Monday morning.
At six thirty in the morning, he found himself trying to carry a ladder almost twice his height and weight into a garage stuffed to the brim with what looked like boxes of antique candy and model airplanes, silently and by himself because Stephen refused to get up before 8 am.
Ten minutes later, with what Jon proudly considered to be only the noise level of a stampede of pygmy elephants, he replaced the ladder on its rack and turned to leave.
“Coffee?”
Wincing, Jon turned to see the old lady in a tattered orange bathrobe, holding a big gulp mug of what smelled like gourmet coffee.
“No, thanks I just-“
“You probably woke everyone on the block with that racket.”
“Sorry about that-“
“Don’t worry about it. Fuck ‘em. They all hate me anyway.”
Blinking, Jon cracked a smile.
“I guess you don’t really fit in with the neighborhood image.”
“Damn straight. They wanna mow my lawn, that’s their damn choice. I’m not doin’ it.”
A few minutes and a great mug of coffee later, Jon started getting ready to leave.
“Where’re your clothes, young man?”
“Huh?” he glanced down and did a double take. He was wearing one of Stephen’s custom-tailored Armani suits, rolled up several times around the ankles and cuffs.
“Oh. That. Uh…”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll make you a deal.”
Shifting into ‘Executive Producer’ Mode, Jon instantly became wary.
“What kind of deal?”
“You get those other paparazzi people to get off my turf, and I won’t release any of the photos I’ve taken over the past 48 hours, or any of a similar nature in the future.”
Instantly embarrassed, Jon squirmed in his oversized suit for a few moments as the old lady sipped her coffee calmly.
”What other paparazzi?” Jon latched onto the safest part of that statement.
“I can’t get rid of the entire press! Stephen would probably kill me if I did!”
“Oh, goodness no, not all of them, just the ones around his house. The ones that have been snooping around the past few weeks in that black news van.”
She reached into her bathrobe and extracted a set of glossy eight-by-twelve photos. They showed Stephen at various household tasks. Cleaning Sweetness on his front porch, threatening the mail man off his yard, collecting the scattered mail from the sidewalk…and sure enough, in the background of every photo was the same non-descript black van. Jon couldn’t read the license plates, but he took the pictures with a promise to Linda that he’d see what he could find out.
An hour and a half later Jon strode into the office, only slightly late. Jon had insisted on driving back to his apartment to get fresh clothes and a shower, but what the hell, he was the boss.
“Jon! Where’ve you been?! We’ve been trying to contact you all weekend!”
“Oh, sorry. I was…out of town, and I think there’s something wrong with my cell coverage. What’s up?”
Wyatt grinned, “Please tell me you’ve heard!”
“What?”
“A moose broke through Sarah Palin’s living room sliding door and she shot it. With a crossbow.”
Jon groaned. “Please don’t tell me what her poll numbers did.”
“Yup, sky high.”
“Well, you have to admit, it is pretty badass,” Sam joined the conversation.
Twenty minutes later everyone ran off to work on their projects, and Jon headed in the direction of Stephen’s office.
When he didn’t get a response to knocking, Jon glanced through the window. Yep, lights were on and Stephen was moving behind his desk.
Trying the knob and finding it unlocked Jon opened the door and knocked again.
“Stephen?”
Glancing up from the letter he was reading, Stephen noticed Jon for the first time.
“Geez Jon, you could’ve just knocked from outside. Just because we’re sleeping together and you can read my mind doesn’t mean I want you to burst in unannounced.”
It was meant to be in joking tone, Jon could tell, but Stephen was tense about something. Without having to enter the office he could tell Stephen’s mind was a carefully crafted blank, something Jon thought he was getting too good at these days.
“Stop it.”
“Sorry. It’s sort of becoming second nature these days. Our range is increasing too, did you notice?”
“Yes, I did. I heard you picking on Ms. Palin a floor away.”
“Creepy. I wonder how strong it’ll get.”
“Do you need something Jon? Or are you just here to gossip, because some of us have work to do…”
Jon frowned, and was about to point out that he never did any work apart from answering his fan mail sometimes, but decided to drop the point. Stephen was clearly upset about something, and goading him never worked.
“It’s almost 10 o’clock. I was wondering if you wanted to swing down to the diner and get something to eat. We have to have chicken a la bland sauce for dinner, remember?”
Stephen groaned. “The Correspondent’s dinner. I forgot. I need to get a manicure this afternoon.”
“Too late. Our flight leaves at 2 o’clock, remember?”
“Just fantastic. How could I forget?! And more importantly, why didn’t Jimmy remind me?!”
“Well, you were kind of busy this weekend. I’m just glad you’re not sore you weren’t invited to speak again this year.”
“During the reign of a communist dictator in a liberal controlled media? Certainly not! I’d probably be shot at the stand as soon as I started to spout the Truthiness of their agenda!”
Jon smiled and handed Stephen his jacket.
Before heading out Stephen dropped the letter he had been reading in the office shredder. Jon was just able to see the seal on the envelope: United States of America Department of the Army.
***************************************************************************************************************
Dear Diary, today was Day Four of my relationship with the great Stephen Colbert! He’s already cheating on me!
Shut up, Jon.
Is this what you call the ‘Colbert Bump’?
I said, ‘Shut up, Jon’.
I mean, I was expecting the Bill O’Reilly stuff, I braced myself for that, but Anderson Cooper?!
Oh, like you weren’t drooling over Brian Williams the entire time!
He’s a good friend of the show!
Mmm…I wonder why he keeps coming back with you making doe eyes at him?
They were standing outside the reception, waiting for their limos (Jon’s rented, Stephen’s not), and passing time the same way they had all evening. Trying to get the other to crack up from no discernible outside cause.
So far no one had really noticed. It was too much like how they acted around each other anyway.
“What’s taking so long?”
“I don’t know. Why, you in a hurry to get away from me?”
I’m in a hurry to get you back to my place so we can do exactly what you were thinking about during dessert.
“What the Hell is taking so long?!”
***************************************************************************************************************
From the top floor of the building across the street, the sniper viewed his target.
The two men began to separate as one of the limos began to arrive, giving him a clearer shot.
***************************************************************************************************************
Fuck it, Jon decided, Let’s just take the same limo, Stephen.
Best idea you’ve had all night.
“Colbert! I want a word!”
“Mr. O’Reilly!” Stephen glanced guiltily at Jon. Go ahead. I’ll only be a minute. “What can I do for you, sir?”
Smiling, Jon ducked into the back of the limo.
See you in a few then.
***************************************************************************************************************
A third party had entered the shot. The target was about to get away…
***************************************************************************************************************
From the back seat of the rented limo, Jon and Stephen traded quips for a good three city blocks before Jon’s ‘Can you hear me now?’ went unanswered.
Fifteen minutes later after Jon had paid off the driver and made his way back up to his hotel room his cell rang. Closing the door he answered it with one hand while removing his tie with the other.
“Just let me change out of this Tux Stephen, I’ll meet you in a minute.”
“Mr. Stewart?” A voice that was overly peppy at 11 o’clock at night (or at any time, really) greeted him.
“Oh, sorry. Who is this?”
“Mr. Jon Stewart? I’m Sasha Monroe from reception at George Washington University.”
Jon sighed and sank onto the hotel bed, trying to unlace his dress shoes. “Can this wait until the morning? It’s really quite late and I’m still fairly jetlagged.”
“No sir, Sorry. GWU is a hospital. You’re listed as a Mr. Stephen Col-bert’s Emergency Contact?”
Jon dropped the cell.
“Sir? Sir?”
“Finding his hands Jon grabbed at the phone.”
“What happened?!” He was shouting, and felt bad. It wasn’t her fault.
“There was a… an accident.”
“What kind of an accident?!”
“Mr. Col-bert was shot.”
“SHOT?!” Now he didn’t feel bad. “How the fuck is that an accident?! Is he all right?!”
The poor girl sounded terrified. “The paramedics stabilized him for now, but-“
“But WHAT?!”
“Mr. Col-bert’s in a coma.”
***************************************************************************************************************
A/N:
1. I live in Alaska and have friends that have been attacked and killed by Moose. Moose attacks are not funny.
2. However, Sarah Palin is.
3. One of the original reasons I started this fic was for the next chapter. Mostly because it was a form of Stephen!Whump that Reseda_Ptah hadn’t done yet, and I had to do it before she did.
4. I swear after that cliffhanger I’ll get the last two chapters up quickly. This chapter was just hella long.
5. Please Review. That is all.