Fake News: Hello, Nurse
Title: Hello, Nurse
Fandom: The Colbert Report
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Two.

For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.

And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.

Summary: After sustaining grave injuries during their epic battle with Conan, Stephen insists that Jon nurse him back to health.


Hello, Nurse


"Why am I doing this, again?"

"Because, Jon, I sustained grave and heart-wrenching injuries after our epic battle with Conan O'Brien, and my wife just left me for the first time this year, which is weird because normally she holds out until after Valentine's Day, so I need somebody to nurse me back to health. And you still owe me for throwing me down that stairwell."

Jon had given up on convincing Stephen that a couple of bruises and a bump on the head weren't life-threatening, and on reminding Stephen that Jon himself had been the first one thrown down the stairs; but he was still trying to find at least one point on which to retain his dignity. "No, I mean, why do I have to wear a nurse's uniform?"

"Well, duh, Jon," said Stephen, as though Jon had just posed the most obvious question in the history of obvious. "How else can you nurse me back to health?"

"Yeah, but—a female nurse's uniform?"

"It's the only one I have, so you'll just have to live with it. We all have to make sacrifices, Jon."

"Why do you have a female nurse outfit in my size, anyway?"

"You just got lucky, I guess."

Jon gave up. At least there was no one else around to see him. He left Stephen's room and changed into the crisp pale-pink dress and clean white apron. It was a perfect fit. There was even a little tag with his own name engraved on it. More luck, Jon supposed.

"You're not wearing the hat!" complained Stephen when he came back in.

"Stephen, do I have to—"

"Wear the hat!" Stephen brandished his arched eyebrows like twin scimitars.

Jon put on the hat.

At once Stephen broke into a wide smile. A smile of pure, innocent joy. The kind of smile that, whether he knew it or not, had the power to melt all of Jon's irritation away. He had to know. He couldn't not know the kind of effect he had, not when he was using it so well, so deftly, that even when Jon knew exactly how he was manipulated, it didn't make him any less willing to do whatever Stephen wanted.

"Nurse! Fluff my pillows."

It was a darn good thing he had that smile.

Once the bedding was arranged to his satisfaction, Stephen lay back as delicately as a child invalid. He might have been lifted directly out of 19th-century literature. "And get me some ice," he ordered, ruining the image. "And some aspirin. And a glass of water."

Jon sighed. Smile or no smile, enough was enough. "Stephen, I don't think you understand."

"What don't I understand, Jon?"

"A nurse's job isn't to follow all of your orders until you feel better." Tugging at his skirt, Jon sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned slightly over Stephen. "Nurses are there to help you get better. And they know more about how to make that happen than you do. So if you want to be a good patient, you need to do everything a nurse says."

"E-everything?" stammered Stephen.

"That's right. Everything. Remember, it's all to help you get well. Okay?"

"Okay," murmured Stephen, eyes round. "What do you want me to do?"

Jon stood up. "Stay right here and be very quiet while I get you that water."


—


When Jon reappeared, Stephen eyed the Elmo-themed sippy cup with distaste. "Why can't I have a normal cup?"

"All the other ones are piled in the sink," replied Jon, wishing he knew just how long Mrs. Colbert had been gone, and whether she was in fact coming back this time.

"But—"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Jon shook a finger at Stephen. "No complaining. Nurse's orders. Now drink up."

To Jon's great relief, Stephen sat up and took the cup with no more objection; he pulled up a chair to watch the other man drink.

As it turned out, this was a complex, multi-step process. Stephen began by plying the tip of the spout with his lips, as though the red plastic needed some introduction to the feel of his mouth before he slipped it in farther. Curling his palm around the bottom of the cup, he tilted it slowly upwards, easing the spout all the way into his mouth. His lips continued to work the surface even as he began to suck the water down, Adam's apple bobbing with every swallow; his eyes were nearly shut, but from beneath long lashes his gaze remained focused intently on the cup in his hand, and in between gulps he let slip little whimpers of pleasure.

Jon resisted the impulse to cross his legs. He was still wearing a skirt, after all.

At last Stephen slid the cup out of his mouth with a sigh of satisfaction, then opened his eyes. "How was that, nurse?"

"Very good." Jon smiled warmly. "You're an excellent patient, Stephen."

Stephen beamed.

When Jon reached out to take the cup, Stephen held it a little longer than was strictly necessary. "What else do I have to do, nurse?" he murmured as their fingers brushed.

"Tell you what," said Jon quietly. "Why don't you tell me the first thing you're going to do when you become Vice President."

Stephen looked a little startled; but within a few seconds he was off, railing against the tyranny of taxes for the rich, regulations against child labor, and the fact that divorce, though strictly un-Catholic, had not yet been declared illegal for everyone. Only after ten minutes of this did the extra-strength sleeping pills that Jon had dissolved in his water begin to slow him down.

When at last Stephen was snoring gently against the pillow, Jon remained only long enough to smooth a lock of hair out of his face, then went downstairs to do the dishes.