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Now I know why I have soft, pouty, full breasts.
— Jon Stewart on the JSEB

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Fun Fiction


You Win
by Sara J.

You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream...
- Edgar Allen Poe

(In other words, this story is 100% pure BS. Fictional to the max. Just my imagination ... running away with me.)

"Mondays. I hate Mondays. Mondays suck," I muttered as I stalked down the hallway.

"You know you're an assistant," a voice behind me interrupted my mini tirade. "You don't have to be here."

Thank you for that, Colbert. Remind me of my insignificant status. Remind me I'm a loser. No really! I don't mind. I stopped and shifted my armload of notes from the last writers' meeting. When I looked up, I was surprised to see Stephen waiting for me. At that moment, I was glad I hadn't snapped at him as I typically do. He hadn't meant to sound...well, like a jackass, but sometimes I don't think he knows the way he comes off.

Besides, I was more or less happy with my "assistant" title. I was trying to break into that elusive "correspondent" category. I'd auditioned a few times, but so far as close as I'd gotten was a spot as an extra whom Steve Carell used to point out how hot it was getting in the city. (I get a few extra bucks and some camera time, and all I have to do is fake-faint into a fountain? I'm there!)

"Go on ahead," I told Stephen. "I've got some stuff to do. Ya know - peon, assistanty stuff."

I joked about it, but really, being an assistant wasn't working in a coal mine, for god's sake. But it wasn't being an assistant I relished - it was the fact of whose assistant I was.

"Sara, you're here early," a strangely seductive voice spoke up behind me, and I had to fight off a shiver of tingles when I felt a warmth on my shoulder. My eyes flickered and I smiled. "Yeah, you know...just trying to be a 'team player'," I replied with all the annoyance one can muster when she has Jon Stewart's hand on her freakin' shoulder. I started walking, and his fingers slipped slowly off my shoulder and slightly down my back. That time there was no way in hell I could've staved off that shudder.

He laughed softly as he matched my stride. "I see you here all the time," he said, "Don't you have friends on the outside?"

I rolled my eyes. Friends? What are those? "Yeah, but my roommate is off doing her own thing, and...I like it here, you know? I mean, you guys are my friends, aren't you?"

At that moment Mo Rocca turned the corner. "Good morning, Jon," he greeted his co-worker.

"Morning, Mo," Jon returned.

"Hi, Sara," Mo said to me, waving slightly.

"Hey, Mo," I replied, fluttering my fingers. I love it when he says my name in that adorable lisp of his. Sometimes I honestly didn't know which I'd rather be the assistant to - him or Jon.

When we got to the break room, the only other person in it was Lauren Weedman, who was reading the newspaper and sipping coffee. Jon and I sat down at the table and for a moment all I could do was gaze at him.

Sigh. Jon. Jon Stewart. I was Jon Stewart's assistant. Yeah, so he was married. A girl could still dream. But he and Tracey were so sweet together, all happy and was so precious that it'd make you wanna puke, and I would never have wanted anything to threaten that.

And what a lucky woman Tracey was. To get to see him, talk to him, touch him whenever she liked, to get to have his smile, his laugh, his love, to know what it feels like to...

"...would you?"

I snapped back to attention when I realized that I hadn't heard a word Jon just said. That'll teach me to fantasize about him in the midst of conversation. Lordy.

"S-sure," I sputtered, taking a complete shot in the dark.

"Seriously?" he asked. "You would do that for me?"

Hell, I'd probably heave a brick through a window in the Smithsonian for him. But in this instance, I hadn't the murkiest clue what he wanted from me. Whatever it was, I'd agreed to it. Oh, golly. If love is blind, then lust is deaf.

"I said 'sure', didn't I?" I replied with a smile, hoping I hadn't just signed a death warrant.

His expression was skeptical. "You don't have any problem with it?"

Man, there's more of this? "Of course not! Why would I?"

He looked a bit stunned. Maybe I should have a problem with it. This isn't going to involve potential pain on my part, is it?

"Great, then I'll see you on set?" he asked, motioning vaguely toward...uh...the set. What could I do? I nodded. "Absotively! ...I mean...yeah, sure, whatever." I leaned back in my chair and he laughed. I love making him laugh. Gives me a delusional sense of accomplishment. He stood up, then and walked out the door, smiling at me before disappearing past the doorframe. I waved until he vanished from sight, then let my hand drop to the table.

"'Absotively'? What am I, in seventh grade?"

To my left, Lauren chuckled. I turned toward her. "What?"

She gave me a knowing look. "You've got the hots for Jon."

I nonchalantly brushed it off. "Oh, pssh, yeah, right. Like I have the hots for Jon, I'm so sure."

Yeah. Real casual.

Lauren only laughed. I didn't blame her. Women know when another woman has a thing for a guy. Call it a sixth sense. Or annoying as hell.

Suddenly I was struck by a realization. Lauren must've heard what Jon was saying to me when I she could tell me!

"Hey, did you by any chance hear what-"

"I heard," she interrupted. "But I'm not telling you!"

"What? Why not?"

"'Cause it's more fun to watch you rack your brain trying to figure it out!"

"Lauren, you suck!"

Of course, my frustration only fueled her amusement. "Don't worry about it," she assured me between giggles. "You'll be glad you agreed to it. Trust me."

Jeez oh holy, what the fu-

"All I'll tell you is that you're going to be on camera. And if you want to be on time for it, you'd better bail. Taping's in five."

Holy sugar. Now what am I gonna do? Taping's in five, I'm supposed to be on camera, and...and what? Lordy lordy lordy...


Double sugar.

"What do you want, Colbert?"

He handed me a sheet of paper. "Quick, read this. You'll have until after the first commercial break to memorize it. Hey, where the hell were you? I was supposed to give this to you ten minutes ago."

"I was in the break room," I said. "You didn't check the break room?"


"Shut up."

I had to laugh. That was Stephen for ya.

I was going over the lines - I had lines! - when I heard Jon yell "But first, let's do some damn Headlines!" I always liked it when he said that. It had so much more character than, "First, some Headlines."

I quickly memorized the few lines I had, and when the commercial break came up, I realized that the copier had cut off the end of the skit. And Stephen was nowhere around. Great. The one time I could use his help, and he's gone. Yippy skippy.

"We'll be right back."

Oh, joy. Jon called me out on set and I felt like I was making that final march. When I got to the desk, there was Stephen - now he shows up - and another chair between him and Jon. So I took it. The three of us were soon after joined by the other correspondents, and Jon made that "hushing" motion to quiet the crowd down. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, and then leaned over and put his hands on my shoulders...again... "This is Sara. She's our newest correspondent, so be gentle."

Exsqueeze me? Baking powder? Did he just say "newest correspondent"? Dost my ears deceive me...again?

"Or you could rip her to shreds, it really doesn't make any difference," he added. The audience laughed, of course, and he gave me a look that told me I had really heard him right. "But, we like her, and we think we'd like to keep her."

Giggles from the audience.

"Don't worry, we went out and got her one of those big cages with a run and everything, so she'll be fine. She can hang out in the shade, go out and get some sun, it's all good!"

That time, everyone laughed. Especially me.

A signal later, and we were back on the air. I knew exactly what I had to do - I had thought this was only a one-time thing! - but was clueless about the ending. I hoped it wasn't too obvious how nervous I was about that.

The whole thing was, Stephen and I were holding a debate at the other end of the desk about inter-office relationships. He was for it, I was against it. (In actuality, I was for it, too - obviously.) So when Jon introduced us, off we went. Point. Counterpoint. Point. Counterpoint...

Finally, at the line just above where the skit got cut off, I turned to Jon and said, "Jon, what do you think about-"

And that was as far as I got.

One arm wrapped around to my back and grasped my shirt. His fingers slid up the back of my head through my hair. His lips were on mine and I could taste him, sweet as I'd ever imagined, and I let my hands fall to his thighs.

Suddenly, he leaned forward, pushing me off my chair and we tumbled to the floor.

The audience was going absolutely crazy, and who could blame them? Half of them wished they were in my place!

After what seemed too short an eternity, he gently pulled back and when I opened my eyes, he had a smile on his face but was just a bit puzzled. "You did know I was going to do that, right?" he half-whispered. Dazed, I could only nod. Liar!

He took my hands and pulled me up, and the two of us went back to our chairs and brushed ourselves off as if nothing had happened. Then, suddenly struck by the improvisation gods, I turned to Stephen.

"You win."

And the crowd goes wild!

And I walked off set at the commercial break feeling like the luckiest damn loser in the world.

I honestly hadn't expected anything like that to happen. I had to wonder whose idea that whole thing...Lauren! I caught up with her in the hallway. "Lauren!"

She turned, the hugest smile in the history of smiles on her face. "Lauren," I gasped. "Was that...did you..."

"Yep," was all she said, and went on down her merry way.

I always knew I liked her.

Just before I was set to take off for home, I saw Jon with Tracey. They were walking down the hallway as close as can be, joined at the hip, superglued...snuggling and talking and kissing and...okay, yeah, I'm gonna puke. But they're so very sweet together. I was forced to give an "awwww" smile in spite of myself. I absent-mindedly licked my lips and remembered my "inauguration" as a correspondent. When I opened my eyes again, Jon slipped his arm around Tracey's waist and she leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked out into the city, and I was forced back into reality. Yep, it had involved potential pain on my part.

Sigh. I hate Mondays.



Added May 22, 2002



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