Nation, I am sick: behind Stephen Colbert's sick episode

[sneezysammy345]

UPDATE! That is all.

[Jorm]

UPDATE! That is all.

Wow, that was demanding...

[anikadicara]

Hahaha you ask, I answer! Still to be continued, life is happening. But I'll do what I can.

***

Stephen emerged a couple minutes later, dressed in the robe and bunny slippers. Jenn grinned. "Lookin' good," she teased.

Stephen smiled back and ran his hand through his hair as if he were modeling. "Thank you."

"Let's go down, Melanie's doing makeup and Kerrie's going to leave the spray out of your hair for today."

"To further the pathetic look?"

"Something like that." They walked slowly downstairs, Stephen looking a little unstable on his feet. "You okay?" Jenn asked as he trailed behind.

"Fever's making me lightheaded. Taking it slow," he said. Jenn offered him her arm, feeling like some ridiculous hipster version of somebody's much younger mistress at a Victorian ball. Stephen didn't take it.

"Don't wanna get you sick," he said.

Thinking privately that the ship had already sailed on Stephen protecting them all from his flu, Jenn kept her mouth shut and withdrew her arm. They made their way to the hair and makeup room, where Stephen made a beeline for the chair. Jenn leaned against the doorframe and pulled out her iphone to send some emails.

"Hey, Stephen," said Kerrie. "How're ya doing?"

"Under the weather," said Stephen, leaning forward to grab a tissue from the counter. He blew his nose as Melanie started mixing makeup.

"We heard that," said Melanie. "Tough break." She took the tissue from him and threw it away.

"You're gonna get sick now," said Stephen.

"Honey, it's a small room, I'll be breathing your sick-ass germs for the next ten minutes," Melanie replied, sorting through makeup on the counter. Jenn stifled a laugh and Kerrie chuckled.

"I guess you have a point there," Stephen conceded. "I'll try not to breathe on you."

"Hold still for a sec," said Kerrie, and Melanie backed away to let Kerrie muss up Stephen's hair. She massaged his head, tangling his hair and giving it that fluffy, slept-on-it-at-a-weird-angle look.

"Feels good," said Stephen, leaning into her hands.

"Whoa now," said Melanie, playfully shoving Kerrie aside. "Stop seducing the boss-man."

"Hey. No accusations." said Kerrie, rolling her eyes at her assistant.

Stephen interrupted their banter with a sneeze. "HUSHHoo!"

"Bless, said Kerrie, handing Stephen a tissue.

He blew his nose and stuffed the tissue in the pocket of his robe. "Thanks. If you put makeup on me I'll just mess up your hard work by doing that," he said.

"Sorry, I gotta try." Melanie approached Stephen with some foundation and a brush. As soon as the bristles swept over his nose Stephen held out a hand to shoo Melanie away.

"Huh-ISHH! ISHH! IIUUSHH! HUSHHoo!" Kerrie handed him the tissue box, and he frantically pulled out a few and held them in front of his face. "Huh... Huh..." he massaged his nose with the tissues n frustration.

"Stuck?" Kerrie asked.

Stephen nodded.

"Here," Melanie stuck out her makeup brush and swept it over his nose.

"HEEEEUUUUSSSSSHHHOoo!" Stephen gave a massive sneeze that pitched him forward in his chair.

"Jeez!" said Kerrie. "Mel, that worked too well."

"That was the biggest ass sneeze I've ever heard!" Melanie agreed.

"An ass sneeze would be a fart," said Stephen weakly before blowing his nose yet again. Kerrie laughed.

"Well, at least he's still himself." She rolled her eyes at Melanie. "How're we gonna do this?"

"I've got some liquid foundation, we can try a foam applicator," said Melanie. "I'll go as light as possible."

"Sorry, guys." said Stephen, and he looked genuinely upset.

"Don't worry about it," said Melanie in a softer tone. "Happens to everyone."

"Even Bill O'Reilly, probably," said Kerrie. Stephen smiled, and Melanie got back to work on his face. With only one other break for Stephen to have a coughing fit, Melanie finished in about five minutes.

"If you have to sneeze or blow your nose, don't pinch," said Melanie, holding a tissue under her nose to demonstrate. "Try not to rub off the foundation."

"I'll try my hardest," said Stephen genuinely.

"Good luck," Kerrie wished him, and Jenn led him out to the studio doors.

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

So good <3mooore mkai :3

[anikadicara]

***

Jenn cracked the door and signaled Mark, who signaled the warm-up comic Pete that Stephen was ready to come out.

"All right! Guys," said Pete, in a loud stage voice. "It's almost go time." There was a deafening cheer from the crowd. Jenn and Stephen slipped in to the studio and waited in the wing, hidden from the audience behind a curtain. "But here's the thing. Looking around our studio, you'll probabably notice a few changes in the set." He picked a crumpled tissue off the floor and scrunched his nose at it, to laughter. "Yeah, it's hilarious, I agree. The problem is, though, that it's inspired by real events. My esteemed boss, the voice and brains behind this show, the almost superhero-like diety that you've come all this way to see-" He paused for dramatic effect. Hidden from view, Stephen was laughing and stifling a cough. "Well there's no easy way to say this, guys, but your hero Stephen Colbert has the flu."

There was an "awww" from the audience at Pete's words, and some concerned chatter. Stephen overheard somebody say in a slightly panicked voice, "You mean he's not here?" He saw Jenn roll her eyes.

"Okay before you panic, he's here," said Pete, who apparently had overheard the remark as well. "Although I'll let him know you were concerned for his health." Laughter. "Stephen's going to soldier on and do the show. But he's going to need your help. I need extra enthusiasm from you guys tonight. Can you do that?!" he yelled, and there was a cheer from the audience. Stephen put a hand to his forehead, which pounded more intensely at the increased volume.

"I wish they wouldn't," Stephen whispered to Jenn, who nodded in sympathy.

"Great!" Pete was saying to the audience. "Usually Stephen comes out and takes some questions before the show, but unfortunately he needs to save his voice. We hope you'll understand, we want him to get better, right?" Pete yelled the last part, and the audience burst into even louder applause. "Alright, great. Well without further ado, STEPHEN COLBERT!"

Stephen stepped into the bright lights as Cheap Trick blared over the sound system. His head pounded, and he squinted up into the lights and let out a massive, uncovered sneeze. "HASSHHHooo!"

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

LEAVE IT HANGING LIKE THAT? HOW COULD YOU? continue =-= nao. I love this<3

[anikadicara]

There was a ripple of concern from the audience, and some exclaimations of “bless you!” Stephen waved a hand at them, brushing it off.

“Save your breath,” he said. “There’s many more where that came from.” There was some scattered laughing and chatter as Stephen pulled Kerrie’s tattered tissue out of the pocket of his robe and blew his nose as quietly as he could. Mark ran out on stage and grabbed a tissue box off the side table, handing it to Stephen. He gratefully plucked a couple and wiped his nose, which made him sneeze again. “Hut-CHH! Hut-CCHHHH! See?” he said to the audience, with a tissue covering half his face. They laughed.

Stephen headed over to the armchair by the fake fireplace, and covered himself with the fleece blanket. Jim walked out from behind the camera with Stephen’s mic. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

“I’ll manage,” said Stephen, “One sec though.” He took a tissue in each hand and blew his nose again, forcefully, before allowing Jim to attach the microphone to his bathrobe. “Had to get that out before you all can hear it in high def,” he joked to the audience. He let them laugh for a minute, then said, “I apologize for not taking questions tonight, but I feel about as good as I look. If it makes you feel better, the answer to most of your questions would have sounded like this,” - Stephen coughed into a tissue - “so you’re really not missing out. Thanks for coming. If anyone has a hazmat suit, I will not judge you for wearing it.”

Jim gave him the time-to-start-the-show thumbs-up signal, and Stephen wished the audience a good show.

Cheap Trick’s Baby Mumbles blared over the speakers, and Stephen actually raised his hand to his forhead as it pounded. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes until the song died down and he was counted in, at which point he opened his eyes and began to read the prompter.

“Nation, I am sick. I am not kidding, I have a, uh, fever, and there is nothing left in my stomach. I believe I am vomiting bone marrow.” He paused to let the audience react. “So I’m gonna do the show from this chair, and I’m all set, I’ve got my Colbert Report robe,” he sniffled quietly, hoping nobody would notice. “I’ve got my little bunny slippers, I’ve got my nanna’s blanket. I have to say, she put up quite a fight when I took it. Stay strong, Nana, those aquarobics are working! And I’ve got my Gatorade, to replenish my electrolytes, and also because I am always open to intrusive sponsorship. Gatorade! Is it in you?” He swallowed painfully. “Because it won’t be in me for long.”

Stephen’s throat was burning from all the talking, and he took the audience’s laughter as an opportunity to take a small sip from the straw. “But no matter how sick I am, I will not leave America hanging. So let’s get my energy up for the show. Jimmy jam!”

This was Jim’s cue to start playing Get Ready for This, and Stephen bobbed his head weakly to the music. As planned, a few seconds in he put his hands on his forehead and said, “Okay, stop, stop, stop, stop it, stop it, thank you.” His head really did pound, and he couldn’t help letting out a sigh when the music stopped playing. Luckily it was time for commercial break, and Jim’s “And we’re out!” couldn’t have sounded more wonderful to Stephen’s throbbing ears.

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

Awesome (: please continue

[rsquared906]

Yay! You came back!! This is great!

[HPG]

[anikadicara]

Kerrie came out from the wings, as did Jenn and writers Barry, Opus, and Paul. Jenn handed Stephen a few tissues, and Jim took off his microphone so he could blow his nose. As he attempted to clear his sinuses, Barry, Opus, and Paul made small edits to the script and pointed out sections for emphasis. His next segment was very short, just an introduction to a pre-taped interview they had never used and dug up from the archives. Barry’s only notes were that Stephen should “sound reluctant”. “Or confused,” said Paul. “Confused would work.”

“I feel both of those things,” said Stephen. “Won’t be a problem.”

“Hang in there, man,” said Paul, clapping him on the shoulder. Jim shooed them all off stage, and raised his script over his head to quiet the audience’s chatter.

“Thanks for your patience, we’re going to count back in from commercial in a minute. Usually I tell the audience to scream and cheer as loud as they can-”

As soon as he said this there were several hoots from the audience and some scattered clapping.

“- but as a kindness to our host we’re not doing that today. We’re going to count in quietly, so when I count down we need quiet on the set. Capiche?” He gathered general assent from the audience, then turned his back to them and counted down Stephen and the cameramen.

“And we’re back in three.. two...” he held up one finger and the cameras swivelled toward Stephen, who squinted toward the teleprompter. His eyes were too teary to make out the words clearly.

“Evidently there’s something called the Electronic Frontier Foundation? Is that... is that right?” he looked at Jim, who nodded reassuringly.

. . .

“And I’m being told, about a month ago, I sat down with the head of the foundation Cindy Kohn.” He really couldn’t read the prompter anymore. Feeling too sick to care very much, he let out a deep breath and ignored the prompter. “Here’s what happened.”

“And we’re out,” said Jim, who immediately crossed the room to Stephen. “You okay?” he said quietly, “what’s going on?”

“Sorry. My eyes are watering,” said Stephen, pulling a tissue from the box beside him and dabbing at them. “Do we need to reshoot that?” He prayed silently that Jim would say no.

“I think we’re okay,” said Jim. “Ask the writing guys,” he indicated Paul and Barry, who were approaching from the wings.

“You alright, man?” asked Paul with concern. He and Barry leaned in to talk to Stephen. “You look like you could pass out.”

“Should’ve taken more drugs,” said Stephen. “I feel like crap. How much more was left on the prompter?”

“Let’s just keep pushing through,” said Barry. “What you said was fine.”

“We’ll edit it,” promised Paul, and Stephen smiled at him.

“Dot,” he sniffed. “Not up to par?”

“Hey man, I’m just telling truth to power,” said Paul with a grin back.

Stephen shooed him away with one hand while blowing his nose with the other. “Shouldn’t we look it over before moving on?” he asked over his tissue.

“Let’s take a quick look, five minutes. Want to come backstage and lie down?” asked Paul.

“Don’t really want to move, actually,” said Stephen. “Let’s play them the clip and you can make sure it’s okay. I’ll just sit here.”

“Alright.” Barry clapped Stephen on the shoulder and straightened up. He and Paul went backstage to watch the previous segment’s playback over the monitor, and Jim addressed the audience.

“Alright, folks,” he boomed, and they quieted. “We’re going to play the Cindy Kohn segment for you, and you’re an important part of it. You guys provide the laugh track for the piece. See this mics up here?” He indicated the microphones suspended from the ceiling. “They’re there to catch your laughter. So no chuckling to yourself. I need big, booming laughs, you’re the energy. You game?”

The audience cheered. In the background, Kerrie was struggling to touch up Stephen’s makeup as it kept making him sneeze.

“HetCHH! CHH! CHHH! Het- ughhh.” He pinched his nose shut with a tissue in hand and stifled the last sneeze. His eyes watered and Kerrie dabbed away the tears that sprung from their corners.

“Poor you,” she said soothingly.

Stephen gave her a weak smile. “Not my best day.”

[anikadicara]

Jim signaled them to be quiet, and they began the video playback. As he watched himself on the screen, Stephen couldn’t help noticing how energetic and vital he had been on the day the interview was taped. He sat in the armchair feeling the pounding of his head and the chills of his fever and the weight of mucous filling his nose, and he thought he’d give anything to feel like he had the day he interviewed Cindy Kohn. How had he not appreciated being healthy?

In the front row of the audience, Elise tried to focus her eyes on the monitor but they kept sliding over to Stephen, slumped in his chair. Her plan was falling to pieces. She was exhausted, having gotten up at 4 am. She’d taken a bus for several hours from upstate. She’d debated, for hours, exactly how to approach this famous man who’d known her father. And now the Q & A was cancelled, the show was plodding along, she was just another audience member and Stephen looked as though he could barely handle being awake. She couldn’t dump this on him now. Despite her disappointment Elise couldn’t help grinning as the Stephen on the monitor proposed “beer cat” as an internet meme. She absently tugged on a strand of her red hair as she pictured a younger version of him laughing with her father in a Northwestern apartment.

The clip ended, the mics went off, and Mark signaled that they were once again off the air. Stephen’s team approached him.

“Clip looks fine,” said Paul. “We’re taking you off the prompter.”

“If we take fifteen I can print the prompter out on notecards,” offered Barry. “You’ll be able to read straight off there.”

“That’d work,” said Stephen, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll take some audience questions.”

“You don’t have to do that,” said Barry. “Save your voice.”

“I want to,” said Stephen. “I’m fine.” There was a simultaneous eyeroll from everybody at that statement.

“Way too late for that, man,” said Paul.

“I’m gonna do the Q&A,” Stephen insisted, and Jim took the reins.

“Fine,” he said. “Fifteen minutes?” he asked Barry.

“I’ll make it five.” Barry clapped Jim on the shoulder and he left with Paul.

“Can I get you anything?” asked Jenn as Jim reattached Stephen’s mic.

“I’m okay,” he assured her, and his voice out boomed to the entire audience. He laughed, which turned into a cough. “Wasn’t that convincing?” he asked the room, to laughter and applause. “So here’s what’s happening,” he said softly. “My eyes are watering from the faucet of disgusting going on in my head, and I can’t read the teleprompter. You know when you’re sick and everything seems kind of... surreal? In a haze?” A murmur of assent from the audience. “You’re all just a hazy blur to me right now. So my writers are going to print out the prompter on notecards, because they’re wonderful people, and because they probably want to go home at some point tonight.”

Stephen took a sip of water. Elise looked right at him from her front row seat and tried to make eye contact.

“So right now I’m gonna take some questions. Does anybody have any questions for me?”

Elise was too slow. Before she could even process what Stephen had said, many hands shot up.

“Jim, would you... do you mind calling on someone?” Stephen asked feebly. Jim grinned.

“Of course. You, miss. In the back. With the glasses.”

“Hey.” A tall girl stood up, pushing her long braids away from her eyes. “I’m wondering what your sick movie is. Like, do you have something you always watch when you’re sick?”

“Oprah,” said Stephen without hesitation, and the girl laughed. “No seriously. I’m a huge fan of Oprah, have been for... for a while... HUSHOO! Hu-SHH! Excuse be.” Stephen pulled a few tissues and gave his nose a gurgly blow, forgetting to turn off his mic. Jim ran forward immediately and tried to turn it off for him, and Stephen stopped blowing his nose in surprise. “I’b sorry!” he tried to yell, but his voice cracked. The audience lost it, and Stephen too dissolved into a laugh/cough combination into his tissue. He removed the microphone with one hand and threw it to the floor, while burying his face in a tissue with the other. Jim picked up the microphone and waited for Stephen to recover himself.

Stephen took some deep breaths and sipped the Gatorade. Now safely without the mic, he blew his nose harshly several times and then sneezed violently. “HAATTCHHH!” Some audience members yelled “bless you!” and he waved at them as he gave his nose one final blow. He sniffed dramatically, and made a performance of daintily cleaning around his nostrils with the tissue. He waved Jim back over and reattached the mic.

“Once again, I apologize,” said Stephen. “What were we talking about?”

The girl in the audience hesitated. “Oprah?”

“Right,” said Stephen. “In summary, I love Oprah and I’m sick. Next question.”

The audience laughed and Elise shot her hand up. To her shock, Jim pointed straight at her.

“Me?” she asked. Stephen nodded in her direction.

“Um, hi,” said Elise, standing up.

“Hi,” Stephen smiled at her. He had a nice smile, warm and genuine. Elise’s heart pounded against her chest.

“Hi,” said Elise again. “My question is, um, do you-”

“Do I need to sneeze again? Yes, I do.”

The audience laughed as Stephen pulled a tissue out of the box beside him and sneezed into it, twice. “HASHHH! HASHHoo!” He covered his mic and blew his nose.

“Bless you,” said Elise when he turned back to face her.

“Thank you,” he said graciously. “I’m sorry, what was your question.”

“I wanted to know,” Elise took a deep breath. Stephen looked at her curiously. “Did you keep in touch with your roommates at Northwestern and what were they like?”

“Oh, they were great,” said Stephen, wiping his nose with a crumpled tissue. “I loved them. We were all philosophy or drama majors, so you can imagine the lighthearted conversations we’d have about the meaning of life, death, and the human experience.” Laughter from the audience. “We wore black, and grew a lot of facial hair. We stored our leftover pizza in the oven.” More laughter, and Stephen cleared his throat. “Do kids today still do that?”

Elise thought about her father, telling her five-year-old self that he left pizza in the oven for days to make “pizza jerky.” She smiled and her eyes filled with tears.

“My dad did that,” she said. Stephen’s kind eyes were boring into hers. She hoped he didn’t notice how wet they were. He looked at her for several seconds, not saying anything, and then said seriously, “He sounds like a smart man after my own heart.”

Elise nodded, trying to hold herself together, and thankfully Jim called on another audience member who asked Stephen something about Eowin from Lord of the Rings. Elise sat gratefully down, and when she did she noticed her hands were shaking. So it was true. Whether he knew it or not, Stephen’s pizza detail had unequivocally answered her question. He was the man in her father’s college photos. He’d slept in the same house. He’d shared two years of her father’s life. They had laughed together while playing chess, her father leaning against a potted plant while Stephen bent over the board, grinning. Elise fingered the photograph in her pocket.

[anikadicara]

On stage, Stephen was suffering. He wanted to piece apart his opinion on Eowyn’s unfulfilled love for Aragorn, son of Arathorn, but he was distracted simultaneously by his throat and by the spitting image of Keith Lansing sitting in his front row.

“I think Eowyn moved on. She and Faramir shared loss, and they’re both characters who lived in someone else’s shadow. They had a-” he cleared his throat; his voice was becoming scratchy. “A bond because of that, and Tolkien led me to believe that was true love.” He cleared his throat again. “That’s all my voice will allow me to say on that,” he said, at which point Jim instructed the audience to sit tight for a few minutes while they finished checking the playback.

Stephen sank back in his chair, trying to ignore all the eyes on him as he blew his nose for what felt like the hundredth time. He’d given up on preserving Kerrie’s makeup job; he’d do whatever it took to finish the show without sounding like he’d pinched his nose shut with a clothespin. He watched the redheaded girl in the front row. She had Keith’s flaming red hair and his round face. Her eyes reminded him of Keith. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen Keith’s family, at the funeral, but all he could recall from that day was a flurry of tears, the disbelief of old college friends, and his own numb sense of deja vu. He didn’t recall hearing about a daughter, but they’d been out of touch for several years before the accident. And now, looking at this girl, Stephen was more and more sure that his friend’s blood ran through her veins. But maybe it was a fever dream.

“Stephen.” A firm voice jolted him out of his thoughts, and Barry stood in front of him holding a stack of cards.

“Sorry.” Stephen cleared his throat.

“Drink something.” Barry handed him the Gatorade, and Stephen took a sip and winced as it burned his sore throat. “These are your bullets for the next segment, you can read off here instead of the prompter. Krugman’s in the wings, we’re good to go.”

“I should say hi to him,” said Stephen without any real conviction. He didn’t think he could get out of the chair at this point even if he wanted to.

“We’ve talked to him, he knows what’s going on. It’s fine,” said Barry. “Let’s just keep moving so you can get some sleep.”

“Right.”

“You want to look ‘em over?” asked Barry.

“I’ll wing it.” Stephen took another painful sip of Gatorade. Kerrie approached with the dreaded makeup applicator. “Really?”

“Sorry, it’s gotta be done.” Kerrie knelt next to him and started to dab foundation onto his nose.

“hold… od… ASHOO!” Stephen twisted away from Kerrie just in time, directing the sneeze over his shoulder. He grappled blindly for the tissues as he bent over in another, harsher sneeze. “HATCHH!” Kerrie handed him a tissue and he blew his nose.

“You good?” she asked when he’d finished.

“One sec.” Stephen pulled two more tissues, and holding one in each hand he gave a huge noseblow. “Ow,” he said, bringing a hand to his good ear.

“Take it easy,” said Kerrie, and she gently dabbed his nose again with liquid foundation. This time, Stephen worked hard not to sniffle or sneeze before she finished. “You’re all set. Try not to touch it,” she said.

“Thanks.” Stephen was relieved to hear that most of the congestion had been cleared for now. He sipped the Gatorade and glanced down at the notecards, hoping they could start filming again before his nose filled.

[PetalPunk]

I really like this story. It's very realistic, and I love the "I'll power through it" kind of attitude that Stephen has..that how I'm like when I get sick... great plot, please update soon!

[Firebrand]

Ooo... I like the little subplot you've got going on. I've really enjoyed this story so far - I think you have a good handle on the characters & you've written the "behind-the-scenes" parts very realistically. Can't wait to read more!

[anikadicara]

I'm back, guys. To continue:

.....

“Ready?” Jim asked him. Stephen gave him the thumbs up. “Okay,” Jim clapped his hands loudly, and the audience settled down. “We’re going to start up again.” He counted down and signaled to Stephen, who leaned forward in his chair and rested his chin on his elbows to speak into the camera.

“I really do not feel well, folks. And I am not the only one who is not feeling well. Last week, evidently the labor department reported that we lost another one hundred and twenty-five thousands jobs, and I’m pretty sure the guy who created that report was then fired.”

Stephen paused, his throat felt like it was constricting from the mucous and he really wanted to cough. But he kept pushing through. “Well, here’s what happened next.” He looked down at his notecard, feeling like his mind was wading through molasses.

“Okay, the Republicans filibustered extending unemployment benefits, which I think takes some giant, legislative balls,” he gestured with his hands, to some laughter. “Good for you, fellas. And of course the Democrats got up in arms, because this November a lot of them are going to need unemployment benefits.” Seeing that the next step was a video tape recording, he gave in to his exhaustion. “I’m so thirsty. Someone else talk for a while.”

Stephen reached for his Gatorade, and the control room ran a clip of Rep. John Lewis. Stephen took the opportunity to sip the Gatorade and gently wipe at his nose with a tissue as John Lewis spoke on the screen in front of him. “Mr. Speaker, it is a strain and a disgrace that we did not extend unemployment insurance. Every single member who voted ‘No’ yesterday should be ashamed of themselves.” Stephen stifled two sneezes into his shoulder as the video continued to play, and rested his chin in his hand trying to calm the increased pounding in his head as John Lewis continued to yell. “People are suffering! I ask my Republican colleages, can’t you hear? Can’t you feel? Can’t you see? Where is your heart?”

Jim signaled to Stephen that he was back on camera. Exhausted, he spoke with his head still resting in his hands. “I think the Wizard of Oz has it. It’s right next to Michael Steele’s brain. Folks, it sucks, it sucks, but we cannot extend benefits, it’ll add like a quarter of one percent to the national debt. Someone agree with me, please.” With that, Stephen hastily covered his mic with a fist and broke into a coughing fit.

“We’re out,” said Jim, and Jenn came over to Stephen and handed his Gatorade, one hand rubbing in firm circles across his back. Was it a little inappropriate? Sure. But nobody’d fault her for it, this was an all-hands-on-deck attempt to get her boss through the task at hand. Eventually Stephen's coughs subsided, he took a few hesitant sips of Gatorade and tested his voice.

“Do I soud okay?” he said, then shook his head and grabbed a handful of tissues. He blew his nose hard with one hand, wincing at the pain in his head. “Does this sound better?” It did, but he spoke softly and hesitantly.

“Better,” said Jim. “Do you feel like you can keep going?” Stephen just shrugged, in a “what can you do?” resigned sort of way.

“Gotta do,” Stephen sniffed. “What you got… gotta… HAASHHoo!” His hands flew to his nose, uncovering the microphone and causing the entire audience to flinch as the sneeze boomed over the loudspeakers. Despite how horrible he felt, Stephen started laughing and the audience joined in.

“I’b sorry!” he said, tears in his eyes from laughter and his flu. He detached his mic before blowing his nose thoroughly, then wiped his eyes with a tissue. “Okay,” he said, pulling himself together. “Time to give it another go.”

Mark quieted the audience and Jim counted Stephen down. They began the playback, and after Glenn Thompson said that America could become Greece or New Jersey, Stephen cut in with, “We can become Greece, or greasier.” He fake gagged at the picture, but hesitantly, because a part of him was afraid it would turn all too real. He could see the nervous look on Jim’s face behind the camera, and quickly ended the bit with a sip of Gatorade. Stomach churning again at the idea of vomit, he sat forward in his seat.

“Look. No politician likes being seen screwing the unemployed, but there are decisions to be made.”

He sat completely still as a clip of Scott Brown played on the monitors.

“Thank you Scott Brown. When you are starving, that is the best time to go on a diet. You’re already used to no food.” He took a pause as he felt his stomach flip over. Steeling himself, he looked down at his notecards and continued. “And, Nobel Prize winner Paul Krugman agrees. He said this last week. We are now speeding down the road of wasteful spending and debt, and unless we can escape, we will be smashed in inflation. I’m sorry, that’s not Krugman last week. That’s Herbert Hoover during the Depression. Well, what did Krugman say? Do we…? Fuck it, I’ll just ask him. Please welcome Paul Krugman."

Paul walked out from the wings, and Stephen grabbed the next set of the notecards Barry made for him. As Paul approached, Stephen lifted himself slightly out of his seat but the room lurched immediately and he sat right back down.

“Paul, I’d shake your hand, I’m sorry, I don’t want to...”

“Hey, I’m sick too,” said Paul, in his endearing, halting nerdy-economist voice. Stephen offered him a squirt of Purell, which Paul gamely took as the audience applauded and Stephen snuck in a sniff in an attempt to stem his running nose.

“Paul, thanks so much for coming back on.”

“Well, pleasure.”

“Ok, now listen, I want to apologize right off the top for not being as angry at you as I would like to. I just don’t have the strength.”

“It’s all right.”

“Okay.” Stephen sniffled. “What did you say about unemployment benefits? What, why do we need them?

“Uh-”

“Is it gonna kill us? The debt’s gonna kill us.”

“Uh…” Paul chuckled. “No, the debt’s not … I mean, uh, gosh, this guy just a minute ago made a pretty good argument. Actually, it - it won’t add, you know, nearly a quarter of a percent to our debt. It’s a tiny amount of money, uh, which is desperately needed. I mean, uh, first of all, these people are hurting-”

“But how, but how does it, how does it… I know it’s hurting, but try to make your argument without appealing to our humanity.”

“Ah, all right, yeah I can do that, I’m an economist.” Paul earned some light laughter from the audience, and Stephen was internally thankful to him for carrying the show for a little bit.

“Okay…” said Stephen slowly.

“The other thing is, what’s the problem with our economy right now?”

A question. Stephen pulled together his sluggish thoughts as fast as he could. “We, we’re, we're in the toilet,” he said, thinking fleetingly that that’s where his head should be. “Obama killed it. The stimulus killed it.”

“There’s not enough demand. The people are not spending enough-” as Paul spoke, Stephen sniffled in what he hoped was a discreet way. “businesses are not spending enough.”

“Right, right,” said Stephen, keeping up.

“Right now, the only party that’s really in a position to sustain spending, to keep, uh, to keep some demand up there so that jobs are available, is the federal government. One of the most effective ways-”

Stephen, who had been mustering his strength to contribute more to the interview, cut in. “The federal government can’t create one job. They cannot create one job, Ronald Reagan.” Paul's quizzical look hinted that Stephen wasn't being entirely lucid, so he clarified. “Other than Ronald Reagan’s job.”

“Right right right. Uh, you know, uh, the uh, the great depression was ended by a large public works program-”

“World War Two.” said Stephen, impressed with himself for remembering this fact from the pre-interview notes he’d read earlier.

“Known as World War Two,” Paul agreed.

“Right, exactly.”

“That created a whole lot of jobs.”

“Are you suggesting World War Three?”

“No-” Paul cut in, but Stephen had too much momentum to stop.

“Is Paul Krugman calling for World War Three?” Stephen sniffled.

“No, although I would like to be able to use that Hitler video if I could," joked Paul, referring to a joke from the Cindy Kohn video. "But the uh, no, but the federal govvernment can do a lot… and particularly, what the federal government can do right now, one of the most effective ways of getting spending power out there into the economy during this distressed time is to put money in the hands of people who desperately need the money and are going to spend it.”

“Well, why not, but, why not tax cuts though? If you want to put money back in people’s hands, go to tax cuts. That’s trickle down.”

“The problem with tax cuts-”

Stephen cut him off, he was on a roll and had a joke to make. “You want to trickle up.”

“The problem with tax cuts-”

“And I’m here to tell you, as a sick person, nothing trickles up. Okay?”

The audience laughed appreciatively, and Paul began to cough. “I’ve got my own version there,” he said, and Stephen reached for the tissues and held the box out to Paul, who refused.

“Do you want, I’m sorry, do you want some Gatorade, Paul Krugman?” asked Stephen kindly.

“Uh, no, I’ve had that, I’ve had enough in my lifetime,” said Paul seriously, but then broke into a smile as he tried to keep talking. “So-”

Emboldened, Stephen plowed on with questions. “So how does it help to get money to these poor people?” he asked with a sniff.

“Because, right now - Okay, I’m going to actually be wonkish and economic-y type-”

“Okay, hold on, hold on,” said Stephen as he leaned over to take a sip of Gatorade. “Go ahead.”

“So if you give money to someone who’s well off … give money to me, or you, we’re probably going to save a lot of it, because we’re not living hand to mouth. So that’s not going to help the economy. If you give money to somebody who’s on the edge, who’s been unemployed for 30 weeks and is really desperate, that person is gonna spend it. So actually, this is a way of putting money… the government actually doesn’t have to spend it, the government just has to provide it to people, and it’s a very fast, very effective way of creating jobs when you’re in this kind of crisis.”

During this speech Stephen was trying his hardest to remain focused. Paul talked quickly, and often backtracked and corrected his own thoughts as he spoke. Grasping at the thread of the conversation, Stephen said, “But, but… so you’re not worried about the debt at all. I mean, we’re in deep financial problems. I mean, we have no money, we’re way in debt, and you just want to blow $34 billion? Where are we supposed to get that money?

“Right. We can get that money by, at the moment, borrowing it…”

“From the Chinese. You want us all to work for the Chinese as opposed to-”

“The U.S. government is able to borrow money long-term at less than three percent interest. Aside from the fact that that means this is not a big problem to borrow night now, it’s also saying that the financial markets, people with actual money on the line, are giving a vote of confidence. They believe that the federal government can spend money, deficits now-”

“What about the Europeans? What about the Europoeans, they don’t have a vote of confidence in your ideas, cause the- Obama went up to the G-20, and he got, you know, he got faced by the European politicians. They said, they’re the spenders, they’re the socialist people, and they’re the ones who gave you your Nobel Prize. Shouldn’t you have to return your Nobel Prize now for going against the Europeans?

“The Swedes are happy. I was in Germany last month, and I felt I was a little bit lucky to get out without being arrested by the austerity police, but the, uh-”

Stephen started laughing, and felt his nose start to run so he covered it with his index cue cards as he asked, “Is that part of the Hitler meme?”

Paul chuckled and cleared his throat. “There you go. But the Europeans… Look, the Europeans are, this is European politics. European investors are perfectly happy, so this is a political thing. There’s nothing forcing the U.S. government to penny-pinch the way that the Republicans want it to.

“So we can just keep spending.”

“As a wise man said just a few minutes ago, but going on a diet when you’re starving is not a good idea.”

“Makes it easier to tighten your belt.”

“This is true.”

“Paul Krugman, thank you so much for coming by. Would you like a lozenge before you go?” he asked quietly.

“Thanks, I’m well equipped,” said Paul.

“Paul Krugman, everybody. We’ll be right back.”

____

More to come! Really this time; I've got a lot written I just have to fill in the parts that came from the actual show. You can watch this particular scene here --> http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/340746/july-05-2010/unemployment-benefits---paul-krugman

[PetalPunk]

YES YES YES YES!!! AN UPDATE!!!! THANK YOU!!!

Great part!

[anikadicara]

Today's segment: http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/340747/july-05-2010/michio-kaku

_____

Jim signaled commercial break, and Stephen immediately lunged for the tissues. He brought one to his face, but then remembered at the last minute that his mic was on. Removing it, Stephen blew his nose harshly and it morphed into a sneeze. “hxxxcshhh… huh… huh… HATchoo! Huhh…” the second sneeze stuck. Stephen looked up into the bright studio lights, tissue still clutched to his face, but was unable to sneeze. He hunched forward instead, burying his itchy nose in the tissue and willing the sneeze to come out. It didn’t, and finally he looked up to find Barry, Jim, Rich and Paul all standing around his chair, looking down at him.

“Stuck?” asked Barry, trying not to laugh at the dumb, half-sneezing expression on Stephen’s face. Stephen nodded. “Sorry, man,” said Barry, chuckling.

“Try to itch it with your tongue,” suggested Paul, opening his mouth and rubbing his tongue against the back of his top teeth. Stephen laughed, which turned to a cough. He threw away his tissue in a prop trash can beside him, and wiped his eyes with a fresh one.

“Okay, so we’re going straight to Kaku’s interview,” said Rich, trying to get the conversation on track.

“He should cobe out,” said Stephen, then groaned in frustration and blew his nose. “We should step up the pace before I start to sound like I feel. And before the audience gets fed up” he said.

“Jenn went to get him from the green room,” said Jim.

“Remember to ask him about time travel,” said Barry. “That’s his funniest bit.”

“And remind him that you hate Stephen Hawking, because we have that Stephen Hawking is an A-Hole recurring bit” added Paul.

“We’re gonna be lucky if I can focus on the conversation at all,” said Stephen, only half-joking as his sneezy expression returned. Barry noticed it and handed Stephen a tissue. “Huh…” he paused and lifted his head to the ceiling. “huh… huhRUSSHH!” He blew his nose and then exhaled dramatically. “That felt great.”

“Here’s your guest,” said Jim. Stephen saw Michio Kaku walking towards him. “Mr. Kaku, thank you for coming.”

“Thank you,” he said brightly. “How are you doing?”

“Honestly I’ve been better. Don’t get too close,” said Stephen.

“You have a good setup here,” he observed, taking in the set with all of its sick-person dressings.

“Thank you. We try. I know you spoke with Rich earlier, but you’re familiar with the format? I’m an idiot, its your job to educate me.”

Kaku grinned and nodded. “I will do that.”

“Great. Thank you. I apologize in advance for my lack of energy, this isn’t the state I would’ve chosen to meet you in.”

“Not a problem, I hope you feel better.”

Stephen held out a fist. “Sanitary fist bump?”

Kaku laughed and acquiesced; they bumped fists and the audience applauded as Jim got their attention to re-start the taping. Stephen quickly blew his nose one last time and attached his mic while Mark attached Kaku’s, and Jim quieted the audience and counted Stephen down.

At Jim’s signal, Stephen looked into the camera. “My guest tonight,” he paused, feeling like he was about to sneeze. “I just had a guest, who is it?” His nose burned. “Michio Kaku? Oh, I like him. Please welcome Michio Kaku!”

The audience applauded, and Stephen jokingly stood up; normally this was the part of the show where he ran across the studio to greet is guest, but the best he could do was stand halfway up and wave before collapsing back into the chair.

“Doctor. Thank you so much for coming on.” Stephen heard congestion creeping into his voice, but it was too late to blow his nose.

“My pleasure.”

“I’m a huge fan.”

“Uh huh.” Kaku grinned.

“Uh, you are the author of among other things a book The Physics of the Impossible. Where you say that the things that I used to watch, like the sci-fi shows I used to watch like in the afternoons when I was home sick,” The audience and Kaku laughed at this. Stephen swallowed painfully. “Those things could be real. Could we, could we teleport?”

“We already teleport individual atoms. We’re going to be teleporting up to the space shuttle and maybe up to the space station, maybe to the moon. But right now it’s just atoms.”

“And you’re not a crazy person,” said Stephen.

“No,” said Kaku, laughing.

“You’re a theoretical physicist.”

“I’m a theoretical physicist,” he agreed.

“So you’re, you’re the real deal, you’re one of the, um, cofounders of, of, uh, what’s it called, string…?”

“String field theory.”

“String field theory, okay.”

“Right.”

“Well this is the craziest type of physics, though, right?”

“That’s right,” said Kaku delightedly. “It’s definied in hyperspace, and we-”

“What is that, what is hyperspace?”

“Higher dimensions, that we think, uh, could allow us to, quote, ‘read the mind of God.’ These are cosmic questions that we physicists deal with.”

Stephen was acutely aware of the pain in his throat, so he tried to speak evenly and quietly as he asked, “Can you answer a question for me? Am I… are you actually here, or is my fever just so high that I’m hallucinating that there is a Japanese mad with crazy long hair talking about reading the mind of God?” The audience, probably exhausted at this point, howled with laughter at this. “What do you bead, read the mind of God? I thought God had one of those helmets that Bagneto wears, so you can’t read his mind.” Kaku laughed. It was easy to make him laugh, and Stephen felt buoyed by his success despite the congestion creeping back into his voice. “What do you mean read the mind of God?” Stephen sniffed.

“We want an equation one inch long, that would allow us to summarize all the forces of the universe. Gravity, light-”

“One inch long equation.”

“One inch long.”

“So size doesn’t matter with this equatiod.” Stephen said, running a finger under his nose.

Kaku chuckled. “No. E = MC squared unlocked the secret of the stars. And that equation is only one inch long. And we want a one inch equation that would stop everything from the big bang through the creation of life and the universe as we know it.”

“How, what do you mead, aren’t, aren’t there theories for everything? Isn’t like, there’s quantum mechanics, and then there’s, there’s sort of the physics of cosmology, and, and don’t they relate? Are physics different, small and.. large?” Stephen knew he was barely making sense, but his brain was feeling more sluggish by the minute and all he wanted to do was sleep.

Kaku seemed unphased. “Well, in some sense God has two hands. One one hand we have the quantum theory, the theory they’re very small, and then we have Einstein’s theory of general relativity, big bangs and black holes, and the two theories are incompatible.”

“Why didn’t Einstein figure those out? Did Einstein work on that?”

“Thirty years of his life. He wanted one fabric that would unite the two theories into one cosmic framework. That’s what I do for a living.”

“So you think you’re smarter than Einstein?”

Kaku laughed. “No-”

“Einstein couldn’t get it but you’re gonna get it too.”

“I have the privilege of living after him, when we have a lot more data.”

“Oh, oh, so you look ad see where the mistake, can you see like the potholes, the thing that he fell in, like the bistakes he made?”

“That’s exactly right, I can read his unified theory today and see where all the mistakes are. I can see where the dead ends were. Thirty years of activity, I can see exactly where he hit dead ends and different routes where he just gave up, basically.”

“So you say it’s possible that, that we, we’re gonna have time machines.”

“It’s possible.”

“Isid’t it impossible to have a time machine, because I can go back and kill my Grandmother, than I’m never born, isn’t that… isn’t it impossible? I mean, Stephen Hawkig said ‘Where are the time travelers?’ If somebody in the future’s bade it, where are the time travelers?”

“Personally, I-”

“Do you like Hawking, by the way?”

“Yeah. I just met him last month-”

“I thig he’s a jerk,” said Stephen, his sore voice lending itself to deadpanning. Kaku laughed. “But go ahead.”

“He’s a colleague of mine. Maybe they’re invisible. Cause we will have invisibility way before we have time travel. Maybe here, they’re here in this room.

“Wait a secod. We have invisibility.” Stephen’s throat burned.

“We’re going to have it very soon. Within the coming decades we will have something resembling a Harry Potter invisibility cloak.”

“Really.”

“Maybe they’re already here,” said Kaku as the audience whooped.

Stephen mentally pumped himself up to end the interview. Pushing his voice to the breaking point, he looked straight into the camera “Well then I’d just like to say, on behalf of my time to the future travelers, come out come out wherever you are. Dr. Michio Kaku, host of Sci Fi Science on the Science Channel, we’ll be right back.”

[anikadicara]

______

Stephen pulled out a tissue and started coughing into it as Jim signaled the end of the segment. He removed his mic, then blew his nose several times. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly to Kaku.

“I’m sorry you’re so sick!” he said. “Thank you for having me.”

“Mich-” Stephen’s voice cracked and he realized that his mic was not on, and that the audience was too loud to possibly hear him. He picked it up and pinned it to his collar.

“Thank Michio Kaku, everybody, he braved my germs tonight.”

Loud whoops and cheers for Kaku, who stood up and waved and then was lead offstage by Mark.

“Thank all of you, too,” said Stephen, wiping his nose with a tissue while talking to the audience. “I apologize for being like this.”

“We love you Stephen!” shouted some girl in the audience.

Stephen smiled. “I love you too. But I think you should raise… r.. huhRUTCHOO!” A large portion of the audience jumped as Stephen’s sneeze boomed over the studio’s speakers. “By poidt is proved, you should raise your stadards.” He was ridiculously stuffy from the last sneeze, so Stephen once again removed his mic and blew his nose into several tissues, depositing them in the overflowing bin that had been placed beside him as a set decoration. The audience applauded, and then started chatting among themselves as Mark reemerged from backstage to talk to Stephen.

“Almost there,” he said. “We didn’t transfer the sign off from the prompters, but I bet someone can just give it to you quick. Barry?” Mark got Barry’s attention and beckoned him over. “Fill Stephen in on the sign-off?”

“We’re right up against 22 minutes, so keep it short. Four points. Thanks for being here, I hope you don’t get sick from licking your TV screens, the studio audience is courageous for being in the hot zone of disease, goodnight.”

“I can do that,” said Stephen tiredly.

“Great. Two minutes,” said Jim, who’d walked over as Barry was talking. Stephen gave him the thumbs up, then leaned his head back against the top of the chair and closed his eyes. He felt like he could fall asleep then and there. And he almost did; listening to the chattering of the audience and enjoying the heat of the studio lights against his chilled body, and trying to figure out what he wanted to say to Keith Lansing’s daughter after the show. He had to talk to her, it felt like a miracle. Like in his vulnerable time of need, his best friend from college was visiting him from beyond the grave. His fever must be high. Before he knew it, he heard Mark counting him down. “Three, two,” and a pause.

Stephen lifted his head slowly and blinked a couple of times into the camera. “Well that’s it for the Report everybody-” he paused to swallow painfully, then continued to ad-lib, talking slowly and quietly. “Thank you so much for being here, and joining in out there, I’m sorry I was sick. I’ll try to be better tomorrow. I hope… I hope nobody got sick from watching. Don’t lick your screen tonight, not tonight. And I want to thank all of these people,” he gestured to his audience, “for being here tonight, and having the courage-” The audience went wild. Stephen couldn’t believe the support they gave him for hacking and sniffling and sneezing in front of them for almost two hours in sweltering heat. This was an incredible job.

After a pause, he continued. “to have the courage to be in what we are calling the hot zone. These four people in the front should go to CDC right away.” He pointed at them, and locked eyes with Keith’s daughter.

Dylan’s heart leaped as Stephen pointed and looked straight at her. Was he doing it on purpose? Did he know who she was?

Stephen broke the moment and waved at the camera. “Goodnight.”

Jim boomed, “And we’re out,” and Stephen collapsed back in his chair and let out a groan.

[anikadicara]

“We did it,” he said to the audience. “We got through it. And I’m not kidding, wash your hands.”

“Sit tight for a minute, folks,” said Jim. “The crew’s gonna do a quick check of the tape to make sure we don’t have to re-shoot anything.” He retreated offstage with the writers. Stephen was alone on stage, and he just sat there for a moment, relaxing into the armchair and relishing the fact that he didn’t have to move or think. He was, however, still acutely aware of the fact that he had the rapt attention of one hundred and fifteen people. He motioned Jenn over.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I’ll live,” said Stephen grimly. “Do you seen that girl in the front row with the red hair and purple jeans?”

Jenn turned around to look at Elise.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to hold her back for a minute, after the audience leaves.”

“Okay… should I get a gift bag?” Usually when Stephen knew someone in the audience, he said a quick hi to them and sent them home with a bag full of Colbert Report memorabilia.

“No, you don’t need to,” said Stephen. “I just want to talk to her.” Jenn didn’t argue. As most of the audience chatted excitedly about the show they’d just seen, and Stephen drifted towards sleep, Jenn approached Elise.

“Excuse me,” she said.

Elise looked up, startled. “Yeah?”

“Do you have a minute after the show? Stephen wants to talk to you.”

“Um, yeah!” said Elise. Her heart leaped. He had recognized her!

“Great.” Jenn headed offstage to check in with Jim, putting a hand on Stephen’s shoulder as she passed and shaking him subtly. He gave a small groan and lifted his heavy head.

“You guys are still here?” he mock-whined. The audience laughed in sympathy; Stephen really looked wrecked.

Jim came out from backstage, followed closely by Jenn. “That’s a wrap for today,” he announced to the audience. “Let’s give one last round of applause to our brave trooper against disease, Mr. Stephen Colbert!”

The audience got to its feet, screaming and stamping. Stephen smiled, and managed to heave himself out of his chair and wave goodnight to everybody.

“Goodnight, thadk you for puttig up with be todight,” he said sincerely. He was relieved not to have to mask the congestion from his voice any longer. They cheered even louder, and he waved once again and walked gingerly backstage, collapsing into a folding chair just out of their sight with his head in his hands. He could tell that his fever had returned in full force.

[anikadicara]

Mark, Jim, and Jenn started shepherding the audience out of the studio. Elise stood up but hovered by her seat uncertainly, until she was able to catch Jenn’s eye. Jenn motioned her over. Heart hammering, Elise followed Jenn behind the set where they found Stephen, hunched over in a folding chair with his head in his hands.

“Stephen?” said Jenn gently, putting her hand on his shoulder. He gave a hard sniff and lifted his head slowly. “I’ve got, um…”

“Elise,” said Elise, sticking her hand out for a shake.

“Hi,” croaked Stephen. “Do you really want to shake by hand?” he asked with a small smile.

“Right. Sorry,” said Elise, clasping both hands behind her back.

“Jed, cad you give us a binute?” asked Stephen quietly. Jenn nodded and retreated back to the studio, but not before handing Stephen a stack of tissues which he gratefully took. “Take a seat,” he said to Elise, indicating another folding chair beside him with one hand and wiping his nose with the other. Elise sat, watching him.

“So,” she said, unable to stand the silence. He looked up from his tissue.

“Your father,” said Stephen. “The ode you said stored pizza id the ovid.” Elise looked at him, sure he could hear her heart beating. “Was he Keith Ladsig?”

“Yes,” said Elise, and to her horror she felt her eyes fill with tears.

Stephen gave her a small smile, his kind eyes crinkled and she could see they were wet too. “He was a great guy, I biss hib all the tibe.”

They both heard how ridiculous his voice sounded, and Stephen laughed a little bit and blew his nose. “It’s hopeless at this poidt,” he said, and Elise smiled. She began to relax.

“Sorry. Maybe I should come back another time?” she asked hopefully.

Stephen ignored that. “I rebember,” he said softly, “this ode tibe, I got really sick in college. Horrible flu. I lay od the couch id our apartbedt for a week, all I did was read Lord of the Rigs ad blow by dose ad cobplaid thad I felt useless. I drove all our frieds crazy, they were all so addoyed, but thed your dad,” Stephen paused to cough. “I was sleeping, ad your dad put od a pair of rubber gloves and picked up all by tissues that I left aroud the house, ad whed I woke up he’d dumped theb id a pillow case ad sewed it up ad said, ‘Look! You’re dot useless, you bade sobthig!’”

Elise laughed. “He was funny,”

“The fuddiest.” Stephen smiled at her. There was a short silence, while Stephen pulled a tissue and held it in front of his face, eyes closed and head tilted back. “Sorry. I’ve gotta sdeeze.”

Elise sat and watched him struggle. His breath hitched a few times, then he exhaled, then hitched, then exploded with a massive “HURRRUUSHHOO!” He blew his nose and apologized, then held the tissue out to Elise with a small smile. “Got a pillowcase?” Elise shook her head. “duvet cover?”

“I have a ziploc bag,” she said, pulling it out of her purse and holding it out to him. “It has some sandwich crumbs in it, but I think my dad would’ve been okay with that.”

“Id his bebory,” said Stephen, taking it from her and depositing his tissue in it. “The world’s bost disgustig bebedto.” Elise cocked her head. Stephen blew his nose, hard. “Be- bebend- bebendo.”

“Memento?” Elise offered.

“Yes,” Stephen smiled. There was a short silence.

“Thank you,” said Elise.

“For the sdot bag?” He held up the ziploc and she laughed.

“No. I mean, thanks for talking to me. About my dad.”

“Adytibe,” he said sincerely. “I’b so glad you cabe ad foud be. How’d you dow?”

Elise had forgotten about the photograph. She reached into her pocket and pulled it out. “I found a box of old pictures in my grandma’s house,” she said, showing it to him. “and I recognized you in it.”

“Eved… with that hair ad the beard?” he said, then pulled a tissue from the box and sneezed into it. “Huh-RUSHHOO! Excuse be,” he said, wiping his nose and depositing the tissue in his pocket. He wiped his hands with a clean one, then reached for the photo. “Bay I?”

Elise nodded, and he carefully took it from her. “I rebember that chess board,” he said. “Your dad was a sore loser.”

She smiled. “Nobody ever tells me the bad things.”

“I know,” said Stephen. “I hate that.”

“What else was he bad at?”

“Cookig. Cleadng. Pizza storage.” Elise laughed. “He was a procrastidator. He’d leave his work till the last bidute ad thed stay up all dight and eat a whole box of Oreos to stay awake.”

“He used to do this thing with Oreos,” said Elise.

“Where he’d take them apart, pull out the fillig, ad roll it idto a ball?”

“Yeah!” Elise grinned.

“That was so weird.”

“I know.” There was a short silence, and then Stephen broke it.

“How’s your bother?” asked Stephen.

Elise took a minute, choosing her words carefully. “She’s okay, I think,” she said. “I actually, I haven’t seen her in a while.” Stephen didn’t say anything, but brought his hands to his chin and looked at her expectantly. “We fought a lot. She married someone who… wasn’t that nice to me. He didn’t want kids, so like it wasn’t personal, but he just… he wasn’t fun to be around. I moved in with a friend a couple years ago to finish high school, and now I go to Vassar. It’s fun, I study Chemistry, but I don’t know if I really like it that much. It’s okay, but I don’t really like going to class, you know? I mean, nobody really likes going to class, but it’s hard to know if you’ve picked the right thing.” Elise felt herself talking out of nerves, and fell silent. Stephen’s eyes were twinkling.

“I was a philosophy bajor in college,” he said, pulling a tissue from the box and pinching his nose.

“Really?”

“I was.” He wiped his nose with the tissue and balled it in his hand. “thed I chadged to actig, but serious, where I wore all black ad was biserable at people.”

Elise laughed. “That’s hard to imagine.”

“This doesed’t look like the face of a shakespeariad actor to you?

“You did Shakespeare? I love Shakespeare! Well actually not all of it, mostly just that one where they’re on a boat? The Tempest? Every time I’ve gone on a boat since eighth grade I pretend I’m in the tempest.”

Stephen laughed, which quickly turned to a cough that he muffled into a balled-up tissue.

“I’b sorry,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Elise answered quickly with a nervous grin. “It was a weird thing to say.”

“Are you kiddig? You’re fuddy.” Elise didn’t know how to respond to that. Stephen said, “You have your father’s teeth.”

“His teetth?” That one took Elise by surprise. She’d never really thought about her teeth much at all, let alone compared it to her father’s.

“He sbiled like you do, showig all your teeth.” She grinned. “Dobody’s told you that before?”

“None of my friends knew him,” she said. “And my mom’s husband doesn’t like us to talk about him.” Elise said this matter-of-factly, but Stephen looked concerned.

“So you have dobody to talk to about hib?”

“Not really,” said Elise quietly. “That’s why I came and found you.”

Elise could feel the empathy pouring out of Stephen as he regarded her. It was a calming feeling for her jittery mind. Until he said softly, “Where are you stayig todight?”

Startled, she said, “Um, I was just gonna get a bus back to school, I guess.” The truth was that she hadn’t really given much thought to what would happen after this; she had taken out three hundred dollars from the bank (most of her savings) before she came, and she figured if worst came to worst she could check in to a Hilton.

“It’s albost ted at dight.”

“It’s not like anyone’s keeping track of me,” said Elise.

“You cad stay at by house.”

Taken aback, Elise spit out, “What? But you’re like, famous. What if I’m a stalker? I might’ve made up that whole thing about my dad so I could come to your house and steal all your stuff and sell it on Ebay.”

Stephen cocked his head, a smile playing on his lips. “You cabe up with that awfully fast.”

Elise smiled nervously back. What he’d said was sinking in. This man she’d never met was offering her a place to sleep. A friend of her dad’s.

“Stay with be,” he said again, in his gravelly flu-ridden voice. “Just for todight, you cad ride with be back idto the city and get a bus back to school id the bordig.”

“Wait, back into the city? Where do you live?”

“Dew Jersey.” Stephen massaged his throat.

“You live in Jersey?” Elise was surprised; she figured Stephen would have some great penthouse in Manhattan that cost fifty million dollars. Although looking around the studio at the folding chairs, scuffed floors, and peeling paint, she had to admit Stephen’s world wasn’t as shiny or intimidating as she’d expected it to be.

Stephen chuckled and coughed. Wiping his nose, he asked, “What’d you expect?”

“Upper West Side.”

“I’b dot the character, you dow.”

“I noticed.” Elise was smiling for real now.

“So what do you thidk? If by voice holds out, we cad talk bore about your dad id the car.”

“Are you okay to drive?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah.” She was surprised to see that even though Stephen’s eyes were only half open and he had a slightly sweaty, unhealthy glow about him, he looked happy at her answer.

“Great. Ad I drove here, I’ll be okay.” Elise watched as Stephen blew his nose again, feeling her temporary calm start to ebb away. She was going to his house. She didn’t even know where he lived, or who he lived with, or anything about him, really, except that he knew her father in college 25 years ago. Stephen balled up the tissue in his hand. “Did you brig luggage?” he rasped.

Elise shook her head. “I thought I’d get a bus back, I guess. I guess I didn’t think about it that much.”

“By daughter’d probably have sobethig you cad sleep id.”

“You have a daughter?”

“I do. Badelide.”

“Madeline?”

“She goes by baddy.”

“Baddy. Got it.”

Stephen laughed, and snuffled into his tissue. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Elise didn’t know why she kept saying that. It’s not like he needed her permission to be sick. But she’d always been awkward around sick people. Awkward in general, but especially around sick people. And strangers. This was going to go great. “How old is she?”

“Fifteed.”

“Do you have other kids?”

“Jod ad Peter.” Stephen blew his nose. “Ted ad seved. Why do so bady dumbers ed id ed?”

Elise laughed. “So sick people don’t tire themselves out trying to do math.”

“Bust be it.”

Jenn reappeared, carrying a pile of clothes, a bottle of Gatorade, and a box of tissues. “Want to get changed?” she asked Stephen, who groaned.

“That beads gettig up.”

“Here.” Jenn put down the items in her arms and took Stephen by the arm. He slowly eased himself upright.

He looked a little off balance, and Jenn asked, “Okay?” Stephen shook his head, twisted away from her, and sneezed a harsh “HurrESHOO!” into his elbow. Still holding Stephen’s arm with one hand, Jenn leaned down and retrieved a tissue which he took gratefully.

“Thags, Jed.”

“You sound awful,” she stated. “You should change quick and go home.”

“Elise’s cobig with be.”

If Jenn was thrown by this, she didn’t show it; Elise suddenly wondered if Stephen did this regularly. Maybe the whole nice guy thing was a trap. Maybe he didn’t really have kids, and didn’t really miss her father, and wasn’t really sick, and the whole thing was an act just to lure her back to some sketchy corner of New Jersey where he’d rape or kill her. But then she looked at Stephen, head bent to the floor and gurgling exhaustedly into a tissue. He was definitely sick. And he definitely didn’t look capable of hurting anybody. And Jenn seemed like Stephen’s personal assistant, and maybe if you were a celebrity’s personal assistant it was your job to act like the weird stuff they do is perfectly normal.

“Okay,” Jenn said. She turned to Elise. “Do you have any bags, or anything you need to take with you?”

“Nope,” said Elise, in what she hoped was an offhand voice. Casual. Like she did this all the time.

“Okay. Well we can’t leave anyone in the studio after Security leaves, so why don’t you come back to the green room and hang out while Stephen gets changed.”

“Sure.” Stephen straightened up, and Jenn handed him the pile of clothes. The three of them walked slowly out of the studio, and as Jenn pulled open the door Elise felt a rush of hot, moist air. She’d forgotten, caught up in the excitement and air conditioning of the studio, that they were in the middle of a heat wave.

“Yuck. I don’t know how you’re wearing that bathrobe in this heat,” Jenn said to Stephen.

“I cad’t wait to put od padts.”

“Do you have a thermometer?”

“Dot with be. But I dow I have a fever, it’s a hudred degrees out ad I’b freezig.”

“You absolutely have a fever.”

“Dews flash.” Stephen reached a bathroom, and he ducked inside to change. Jenn pointed Elise to the open door beside the bathroom.

“This is our green room, help yourself to Michio Kaku’s leftovers,” she said, dumping the Gatorade and tissues on a chair and indicating a half-eaten fruit plate. “It’s probably the least diseased thing in this building right now.”

Elise laughed. “Thanks.”

“I’m going to go get the valet to bring out Stephen’s car.” And Jenn left her there. Elise sat down on an uncomfortable couch, much like the Ikea models her off-campus friends had in college. The room was small but cozy with a low coffee table, a couple of lamps, mint green walls and a piece of wall art made of metal bent into squares. Michio Kaku had eaten almost everything but the green food on his fruit plate; Elise helped herself to a piece of honeydew and a grape. Her eyes fell on a picture of Stephen wearing an American Flag sweater under a banner for something called the March to Keep Fear Alive. This is not where she’d planned on ending up today, that was for sure.

[anikadicara]

Feeling restless, Elise paced around the room for a bit. A bookshelf held several books that she recognized were written by recent guests on the show (she’d been watching consistently for about a month, after she’d recognized Stephen in her father’s photo). There were a couple of DVDs, including one confidently entitled “A Colbert Christmas: The Greatest Gift of All”. She picked it up, smiling. One of her father’s favorite jokes had been hyperbole; he’d pour cereal and declare himself “King of the Pourers, Almighty God of Wheat.” She was reading the back of the DVD when she heard a soft knock at the door.

“Ready? Sorry it took be so log, I had to call by wife.” Stephen had changed into long pants and a black fleece Northface; Elise was broiling just looking at him. His hair was tousled and nose red-rimmed, but there was something cozy and inviting about him, too. In his khakis and Merrils he looked like a dad. A sleepy and sick one, but still.

“Oh, no problem. I’m ready.” Elise put on her backpack and met him in the doorway. “Do you want these?” She picked up the tissues and Gatorade from the chair where Jenn had left them.

“Seebs like a good idea, thadk you.”

“Sure.” She followed him out of the greenroom, up some stairs (he took them slowly) and into his office. He made a beeline for a comfortable looking leather couch and sank into it, leaning his head back onto a George W. Bush throw pillow. Elise stood in the doorway, taking in the office.

It was wonderful. The whole room glowed with a warm light, from several floorlamps interspersed throughout. Most of the walls - two of which were worn, New York brick - were covered in memorabilia, including a Nixon campaign poster, a giant map of the United States made of license plates, a bulletin board with colored index cards keeping track of the weeks’ segments, and a framed advertisement for The Colbert Report that claimed, “It’s what Lincoln would have watched.” A suit of armor stood against one wall, and an elliptical machine draped in American flags against another. There were toys everywhere; Lord of the Rings pinball, several bobblehead dolls, some action figures. A couple of bulging bookshelves. A desk and coffee table littered with papers and clippings and photographs and tissues. Comfortable clutter.

Jenn was flitting around the room, gathering stacks of paper into a large leather shoulderbag and trying to straighten up as she went along. “All set?” she said brightly, looking at Stephen on the couch. Stephen held up a finger and then buried his face in his elbow to sneeze. “Huh-SHHH! Huh-RUSHHHOO!”

“Bless you,” said Jenn. Elise entered the office and tried to hand him a tissue from the box she carried, but he held up a finger and sneezed three more times. “HISHHoo! HISHHoo! Hut-CHHH!”

Stephen groaned and looked up, taking the tissue from Elise and clamping it around his nose. “Jed, I thidk you’re the ode bakig be sdeeze.”

Jenn laughed at this. “Did I give you your fever, too?”

“Probably.” Stephen blew his nose.

“Maybe you’re allergic to me,” Jenn played along.

“Defiditely feels like allergies,” said Stephen dryly. Jenn laughed.

“I know you just sat down, but your car’s outside.”

Stephen stood wearily. “I was just restig for a binute,” he said. “The bedicide defiditely wore off.”

“Are you okay to drive?” Jenn crossed the room and put a hand to Stephen’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“I could drive,” said Elise, surprised at her own daring. She was emboldened by feeling helpless and awkward; if she drove, at least she would be doing something.

“Could you?” said Stephen. “I dod’t wadt you to do adythig that bakes you udcomfortable.”

“Totally. I mean, I drive my friends’ cars all the time at school. For like grocery shopping and the movie theater and stuff.”

“Thag you so b… buch… HuhRUSHHoo!” Stephen brought a tissue to his nose just in time, and gave it a tired blow and a wipe. “Guess I would’dt wadda do that od the road.”

“Better safe than sorry,” said Elise.

“Your father used to say that,” said Stephen, and Elise realized it was true.

“Yeah, but so does everybody,” she said.

“He’s say it about everythig, tho. If he wadted to watch Detwork ad I wadted to go to a bovie we hadd’t seed thirty tibes, he’d go, “better safe thad sorry.”

Elise laughed, delighted. “I love that movie!”

Stephen said, “It’s ode of by favorites.”

“So you guys are family friends?” asked Jenn conversationally.

“I wedt to college with her father.” Stephen swiped at his nose with the tissue balled in his hand.

“Cool,” said Jenn brightly. “Well, fell better, and why don’t you give me a call when you wake up tomorrow morning so we can call a sick day if you need to.”

“Souds good,” said Stephen.

“You didn’t fight me on that at all,” said Jenn. “You must feel really bad.”

“I’ll live,” he said grimly, breaking into a cough. “Udless I dod’t.”

“Get some rest,” said Jenn, and Stephen waved his goodbye.

[rsquared906]

This is still so awesome! I'm so happy you've continued it!!

[Firebrand]

I love how you write Stephen - I feel like this is exactly how he would be in real life. I love this story & I can't wait for more!

[anikadicara]

Elise and Stephen made their way outside, Elise carrying her backpack and Stephen hauling his leather bag, a box of tissues, and a bottle of Gatorade. Someone from the parking lot next door had brought out Stephen’s car, and it sat idling at the curb. A handful of people stood on the sidewalk, and as Elise followed Stephen down the steps she saw a couple of them take notice and head their way.

“Stephen!” shouted a girl, tall and blonde in a very short dress. “Stephen, can I get a picture?”

Stephen kept walking down the stairs without saying anything, and at first Elise thought he’d ignore the girl and go straight to the car but it turned out he just didn’t want to shout.

“Of course,” he said, and the girl grabbed him aggressively around the waist and pulled him in for a hug, pressing her cheek against his and holding her iphone out in front of their faces for a selfie.

“Careful, I’b full of germs,” said Stephen. The girl just laughed and snapped the picture.

“Thank you sooo much,” she said. “You’re the best!”

Stephen chucked. “Thadk you. Wash your hads.”

He took a few more pictures as Elise hung back on the bottom step. He was amazingly polite, she thought. Even if she felt perfectly healthy, Elise knew she’d never let a stranger smush her face up against her and take a picture. Stephen chatted with everybody, making small talk, occasionally dragging a crumpled tissue under his sore nose. Even in the dark evening Elise was swelteringly hot, and couldn’t wait to get in the air conditioned Audi.

Finally Stephen took the last of his pictures and told the crowd he had to get home. “Thag you all, but I have to go hobe ad rest.” Most of them told him to feel better and dispersed. A couple of girls walked a few steps away but then stood and continued to watch Stephen.

He apologized to Elise, voice rough. “I’b sorry,” he said. “Part of the job.”

“That was really nice of you,” she said.

“They’re very dedicated. They waited id the heat all this tibe.”

“Pretty intense,” she said as they walked to the car where the parking lot attendant stood with the keys.

“Hi, Bike,” said Stephen to the man standing by his car.

“You alright, man? You sound rough,” said Mike, handing Stephen the keys. He passed them to Elise.

“Yeah, I’b dot feelig well. This is Elise,” he said, “She’s drivig todight.”

“Good stuff,” said Mike, shaking her hand. To Stephen, he said, “Hope you get better, man.”

“Thag you.” Stephen deposited his bag in the back seat, and Elise put her backpack there too. She got into the driver’s seat as Stephen took the passenger’s. He placed the Gatorade in a cupholder and the tissues in his lap. “Have you ever drivid ode of these?” he asked her conversationally.

“A car?” She put the keys in the ignition. “All the time. I have Zipcar.”

“Ad Audi. It’s a great car.”

“I don’t really know cars,” she admitted. “But I’m a good driver. I wont’ crash it, I promise.”

“I don’t thig you’re godda crash it.”

“You’re pretty trusting,” she said. “What if I’m lying?”

“How could Keith Landsig’s daughter be a liar?” said Stephen with a smile. Elise laughed. “I do thidk everybody gets bore trustig whed they’re sick.”

“Maybe.” Elise pulled away from the curb, acclimating herself to the extremely sensitive gas petal. She made it all the way to the stoplight at the corner before realizing she had no idea what to do next. “Wait. I have no idea where we’re going.”

Stephen laughed, and coughed a few times. “Left. Thed left agaid at the dext block. You're really dot a pladder, are you?”

“No, not really. Was my dad a planner?” she asked. Talking made her feel more comfortable, plus, how often was she with an old friend of her father’s? Never.

“Dot at all. I dod’t thig he ever showed up for a class with the right books. Dot odce.”

Elise laughed. “I’m really bad at remembering my keys,” she offered.

“So was he. He odce locked hibself out of our apartbedt ad broke id through our neighbor’s widdow.”

“Do I stay on this?” Elise was driving slowly down 11th avenue.

“Yeah. There’ll be sides for Lincod Tuddel.”

“Okay. Was the neighbor mad?”

“Very.” Stephen blew his nose, sounding extremely congested. “Ugh. This is awful.”

Elise didn’t know what to say.

“You dow whed you get a cold ad you feel like you’re dose is the heaviest part of your body?”

“Uh…”

“I’b just godda hold it for a while. Dod’t judge be.”

Elise pulled up to a red light and looked over at Stephen, who had a tissue in his right hand clamped over his nose.

“I’m not judging you,” she said.

“I’b judging be a little bit. I dow this is gross.”

“Seriously, you invited me to sleep at your house. You could do actually anything you want, and I’ll still think you’re awesome.”

Stephen smiled. “Your dad was awesobe,” he said, “Ad you seeb to have followed id his footsteps.” Elise grinned as she brought her eyes back to the road.

They were mostly quiet as she traveled through the Lincoln Tunnel, save for the occasional sniffle from Stephen. He’d reclined his seat back and closed his eyes, tissue still clamped firmly in place around his nose as if it were bleeding. Just when Elise started to fear that he’d fall asleep and leave her hopelessly lost in New Jersey, she heard his breath hitch.

“Huh… huhchxx… chxxxAH! Ugh.” He’d tried to stifle and hadn’t been entirely successful. He blew squelchily into a tissue. “Excuse be.”

“Bless you,” said Elise. “Um, where do I go after this?”

“Oh, I have a GPS!” he said, and Elise laughed. “What?" Stephen asked.

“I could’ve been using that this whole time,” she said.

“But that would’ve beed too easy.”

“Fair.”

Stephen programmed the GPS. “I’b goig to have to sterilize that later,” he chuckled. “Is it cold id here?”

“No,” said Elise, who’d actually been considering turning up the AC. “Are you cold?”

“It’s probably just by fever,” said Stephen, putting a hand on his forehead.

“You can turn down the AC if you want,” said Elise.

“Do, you’re dot sick. I’b dot goig to sweat you out. It’d be like hot yoga id here, probably.”

Elise laughed. “You do hot yoga?”

Stephen laughed and coughed wetly. “Do I look like I do hot yoga?” Do, but by wife does,” he said.

“Really, it’s fine. You can turn it down. I’m comfortable.”

“Thag you,” said Stephen, and to Elise’s internal dismay he turned it entirely off. “Beig sick is no fun.”

“I know,” she said, in a voice that she hoped came across as sympathetic rather than nervous.

“Is it okay with you if I rest for a bit? I wadt to talk about your dad, but I’b just really dot feeling great right now.”

“No, yeah, I know. It’s totally fine, you should rest,” said Elise.

“The GPS is probably better compady thad be right dow adyway,” he said. Then he blew his nose, reclined his seat even more, and closed his eyes.