Chapter Text
1996, Patterson Springs, North Carolina
There's a man in Jon's garden.
This is nothing new - he's been there for a couple of days now, just watching, not-quite-hidden in the bushes on Jon's lawn, notepad and pen poised and at the ready whenever Jon passes a window or even makes a move towards going outside. He tends to flee every time Jon gets near, but Jon's heard him, sneaking around, often humming the James Bond theme song under his breath.
Jon just sighs and shoves another lot of resumés in his bag and hopes this weirdo following him around won't stop him from finally, finally finding a job.
After another couple of days when the guy doesn't show any signs of leaving, Jon decides maybe he should do something about it. So he sneaks out the back door - manfully resisting humming anything resembling the Bond theme (Mission Impossible is another matter entirely) - and tiptoes around the side of the house.
The guy jumps when Jon appears at his elbow.
"Coffee?" Jon says, offering him a mug. The mystery man makes a frantic attempt to conceal himself in what little cover the tiny bush next to him offers, but soon realises it's completely futile and, brushing bits of leaf from his turtleneck, accepts the cup.
Jon waits for a while, sipping his own coffee, but when the guy doesn't seem inclined to talk he asks, "So what are you doing in my front yard?"
The guy tries his best not to look shifty. "You won't be calling it that for long if the metric system has its way," he says, under his breath. Louder, he says, "Research," and waggles the notepad at Jon as if that explains everything.
"Okay," Jon says slowly, "now tell me why I shouldn't call the cops and tell them you've been stalking me since Monday."
"I'm not a stalker!" the guy says, standing to face Jon. "I'm Stephen Colbert! I'm on assignment! I'm doing a piece on the life of a college student! So far-" he flicks through his notepad "-it seems to consist of looking for work and getting high a lot."
"Don't you go to the same college as me?" Jon asks, thinking he recognises the guy from his politics classes. "Couldn't you just look at your own life?"
The guy - Stephen - flails a little at that. "I am not a student!" he hisses. "I am an intern for WPTS in Patterson Springs, North Carolina!"
"Right," Jon says. "I'm calling the cops now."
"No!" Stephen cries, literally throwing himself at Jon's feet. "Please don't! I'll get fired, and I've wanted this job for so long! I even grew this mustache for it!" He points to his upper lip, and sure enough when Jon looks closer he can see a few scraggly hairs clinging to it. "Please don't send me away," Stephen begs. There are tears in his eyes.
Jon sighs.
"Fine," he says, "just... bring your mug back in when you're finished with it."
"Thankyou!" Stephen says, pulling himself up and shaking Jon's hand. "You won't regret this, I promise!"
"Sure," Jon says. "I hope I don't."
Over the next few days Jon finds himself chatting to Stephen more and more, often talking on his way home from classes or another hopeless round of jobhunting. Stephen walks beside Jon now instead of behind him, and Jon finds himself quite enjoying the other man's company, even if he does have some... interesting views.
"...and that's why the metric system should be stopped at all costs," Stephen finishes explaining to Jon one night. They're sitting in Jon's yard, half-sheltered by the bushes. Stephen tilts his head up to watch the sky and Jon thinks how peaceful he looks, how different from the manic energy he normally possesses.
He reaches out a hand to touch Stephen's shoulder. Stephen looks over as it settles there.
"What?" he says.
"...nothing," Jon replies. "Just thinking how nice this is. And how weird, considering I thought you were a stalker only a few days ago."
Stephen smiles broadly. "It is nice," he says, tipping his head back again.
They sit in silence for a moment.
"You know what would be great right now?" Stephen says. "Ricky Martin. His music is great for everything."
Jon laughs harder than he has in weeks. Then his asthma decides to make itself known and he laughs himself into a coughing fit.
"Ricky Martin?" he says when he can speak. "Really?" When looks up, Stephen's staring at him with something approaching shock. "Stephen? What's wrong?"
"I, uh, have to go," Stephen says, and then for the first time in over a week Jon is alone in his yard.
Jon doesn't see Stephen for a while after that. He walks out the door the next morning expecting to see Stephen's smiling face, but there's no one. And there's no one when he gets home that night, or wakes up the next day, or the next, or the next.
Jon misses him more than he thought he would.
On the fourth day Jon is roused by his doorbell ringing over and over. He heaves himself out of bed and shuffles to the door.
He's half expecting it will be Stephen.
What he's not expecting is the giant bowl of soup Stephen's clutching.
"Here," Stephen says, thrusting the bowl at Jon, "chicken soup. I hear it's good when you're sick." Jon takes it, bemused, as Stephen starts to babble. "I'm really sorry I ran away the other day," he says, "but I was scared you had the flu or smallpox or the black plague or something, and I didn't want to catch that, not when I've finally got my dream internship and I'm finally going to be an anchor. But your friendship means more to me, Jon, and I couldn't let you suffer on your own." He adopts a noble pose. "Besides, I've started taking Vaxadrine, and so I should be safe."
"It was just asthma, Stephen," Jon tells him, once he's managed to sort through all the crazy to get to Stephen's meaning. "It's not contagious."
"Oh," Stephen says, slumping a little. "Well, I guess Vaxadrine is good for that, too." He pulls a bottle from his pocket, rattling it at Jon. "Want some? Side effects may include wandering liver, internal decapitation, and limp noodle."
Jon stares at him. "No thanks." He looks down at the bowl in his arms. It smells delicious. "Hey," he says, "you wanna have some of this? Maybe inside this time?"
Stephen smiles slowly and Jon feels oddly warm in his chest. Somehow he doesn't think it's just the soup.
"Oh!" Stephen exclaims as he steps into Jon's house for the first time. "I also have a proposition for you. I thought, since I knew you were looking for work..."
The next morning Stephen waits anxiously at the WPTS studios. Where is he? What if he doesn't show? What if-
"Hey," Jon says, suddenly appearing next to Stephen, "sorry I'm late. How do I look?"
Stephen sees the beginnings of a mustache across Jon's upper lip and smiles.
"It'll do," he says, and together they turn and walk into the building. "Hey, did I ever tell you what I found out about Wayne Colt? Let's just say we may have a new anchor around here pretty soon..."