Work Text:
The late afternoon sun rested across the earth like a golden blanket and two young boys joyfully played in a park, protecting the jungle gym – which was currently their fortress – from invading forces of darkness. They were dressed as superheros of their own design, outfits cobbled together from household items and the rest created in their imaginations.
“They're going to outflank us Tek, we need a plan.”
“Hold on Conan, I'm thinking.”
Conan frowned at his companion, “I told you, Stephen, my hero name is The Flaming C!” he huffed.
Stephen rolled his eyes, “I'm sorry, it's so lame though.”
“It is not, anyway it's better than Tek Jansen, what kind of a superhero name is that?”
“Fine, I'll use your stupid name.”
“Good. Got a plan then to stop these bad guys?”
--
Stephen sat with head in hands, completely and utterly at the mercy of his fear. It had been a long time since he'd had a panic attack and on top of the stress that caused it, he now felt like he was about to die.
The Colbert Report series premiere was just around the corner, it was new and exciting but the experience of running his own show was very different from his time at The Daily Show. He had a whole new appreciation for what Jon had been doing for the last six years and maybe the reason he had smoked so heavily. Stephen needed to be in control always, everything went through him – it had to – often to the detriment of his mental health. Now those cracks began to show.
Evie rested a hand on her husband's shoulder, rubbing gently, “You'll be okay in a minute, just breathe.” She said softly, taking a seat beside him and tenderly wrapping an arm around his waist. “Maybe you could call Jon and..”
“No, no I can't, I've talked him to death about this stuff, and well, he doesn't always make me.. feel better.” Jon was a great friend, his best friend in fact and there were many things he was good at, but calming emotional situations was not necessarily one of those.
“Well, what about Conan?”
Stephen lifted his head. “I don't know, it's been a long time..”
“You should really reach out to him, you two have been friends forever. I promise you he won't mind taking your call.”
He remained unconvinced so Evie elaborated, “I mean, he runs a show too and he's outside your whole thing. He might be able to offer some perspective that will make you feel better.”
Stephen turned and gave her a grateful smile, conscious of how lucky he was to be married to someone as thoughtful as her, “At the very least it would be good to catch up.”
--
Afternoon became evening and Stephen thought they should head home. They were having a sleep over which would give them lots of time to discuss fortress defense strategies and why his superhero name was better.
“But we just got to a fun part,” Conan complained, “it's not even dark yet.”
Stephen looked around anxiously, “I don't want to get in trouble with my Mom, we promised we'd be home by dark. She won't let us go out tomorrow if we're late.”
“Okay, okay we'll go but.. just wait here a sec I have to get something.”
Conan ran off towards a cluster of large trees in the distance before Stephen could protest, so he wandered over to the swing set and flopped down in one of the seats. His feet pushed casually off the ground and he swayed gently, squinting in the direction Conan had been. A feeling of unease prickled at the back of his neck when he realized his friend had disappeared into the thicket.
--
Sure they lived in the same city, but things had just become so busy between work and family, they had fallen out of touch over the years. Stephen held the phone to his ear, fingers poised in hesitation over the key pad. It was the weekend, he'd be busy, “I'd hate to intrude..” he mumbled to himself.
“I don't hear dialing!” Evie sang from down the hall.
He couldn't help but chuckle, she knew him all too well. With a wiggle of his rusted digits, he punched in what he hoped was still Conan's number.
“Hello.”
“Ah, hey Conan, it's Stephen..” he was nervous and any moisture in his mouth seemed to evaporate. Holding the receiver between his shoulder and head, he reached for a bottle of water on the other side of his desk.
“Stephen! Long time no speak.”
“I know.. it's my fault, I..” he mumbled into the phone.
“No, no forget it, that's showbiz baby. One day you wake up, realize you've been running on coffee and four hours sleep a week for months, and friends outside of your job? Well they tend to vanish. Not that I'm speaking from experience or anything, but I understand.”
Stephen chuckled, relieved that Conan wasn't one to hold a grudge about such things.
“Speaking of showbiz,” Conan continued, “I heard through the grapevine that you got your own gig?”
“I don't know who has been spreading such viscous rumors, but yes, on Comedy Central.”
“Ha, wouldn't catch me dead on basic cable,” he jested, “should be fun though, less rules than I have to deal with anyway.” He paused for a moment, “Listen, congrats man you deserve it, you're one of the funniest people I know. Honestly, it's about time.”
There was a lull in the conversation while Stephen pondered what he should say, “I ah, well the show is kind of the reason I called but, if you aren't busy did you want to come around? I'm sure we could throw some lunch together.”
“Yeah of course! Just name the time.”
He was elated. Conan was coming over, just like the old days.
--
“Hurry up Conan.” Stephen muttered, staring at his feet as he drew patterns in the dirt. Suddenly there was movement on the edge of his vision but it wasn't in the direction Conan had gone. Stephen looked up and froze. There was a dog, large and black and it was staring at him as it trotted through the park. The thudding of his heart was all he could hear and he gripped the chains of the swing tightly, terror swallowing him as quickly as he imagined the dog would. He wanted to move, wanted to run, but his legs wouldn't work.
The dog came to a stop nearby and stood to attention, it's aggressive body language and bared teeth daring him to even flinch. Stephen looked determinedly at the ground, he remembered being told not to make eye contact with them. Please make it go away, please make it go away, he begged to God, tears welling and then running down his cheeks.
“Hey!”
Conan was yelling as he sprinted, full-bore, from the thicket with a huge stick in hand. Stephen looked up in time to see his friend stand between him and the dog. Conan began to jab at it menacingly and was shouting, his bravery prompting Stephen out of his own terrified paralysis. The both of them waved and hollered until the dog turned tail and bolted back the way it had come. Stephen flopped on the ground, hugging his knees and – with his face buried in them – started to sob.
“Are you alright? That was a huge dog. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left, we should have gone home.” Conan threw the stick aside, crouched next to his friend and rubbed his back reassuringly.
Stephen was recovering from the adrenaline rush but a feeling of shame lingered. Why was it always him that needed rescuing? Why couldn't he have been born brave as well?
--
They shook hands and embraced warmly before Stephen invited him inside. They walked through the house to the back patio where Evie had left a couple of cold beers for them.
“It's great to see you again my friend, it's been too long.” Stephen said cheerfully, inviting Conan to sit before he would, ever the polite host. “Sorry it's not Guinness.”
Conan chuckled, “It's fine,” twisting the cap off his beer and taking a swig, “and you're right, it has been too long but it's not all your fault you know. I didn't pick up the phone either.” He eyed Stephen, watching him turn the bottle slowly in his hands and pick at the label. “So.. you said you wanted to talk about your show, what's going on?”
Stephen looked over at his friend wearing a half smile muddied by anxiety but – as though they'd never been apart – he began to divulge every fear and insecurity that had been plaguing him. In each case Conan was able to offer advice and comforting words. Evie had been right, not that there was ever a question, and over the course of their conversation Stephen found himself relaxing more than he had in weeks.
One barbecue lunch and many drinks later, the afternoon sun lay a familiar golden blanket across the yard as two friends sat in comfortable silence.
“Do you remember – I think we must have been eight or nine – we were playing in a park somewhere down south one afternoon..”
Conan picked up the thought midway, they had played together many times in childhood but he knew the exact scenario to which Stephen was referring, “Oh yeah, I remember alright. That fucking dog was a monster.”
He slouched down in his chair, “Well.. I was crying because I was ashamed of my fear, I wanted to be as brave as you had been.” He spoke softly, as though he were back in that memory, and fiddled with a bottle cap.
“Stephen, I had the stick, that's the only reason.. and, well I saw that you were in danger. Nothing was going to get in the way of helping you, not even my pants-shitting fear.” Adding as an afterthought, "If the situation were reversed you would have done the same, I'm certain." Conan fell quiet, taking a sip of beer and giving Stephen a fond look from across the table, “You know.. you're going to do great.”
Stephen met Conan's eyes and nodded at his friend as a sunny smile broke across his face. For the first time since the show had been green-lit, he was confident that was true.