Work Text:
“And remember, folks…”
STAY INSIDE.
A dozen sharp clicks echo throughout the stage as every light and camera is simultaneously cut for the evening. The sound of the studio’s recording equipment being snuffed out is quickly replaced by the fast-paced clatter of heavy, rhythmic heels against frigid marble flooring. The footsteps belong to the late night show’s most valuable cast member, the host Mr. (Ant) Tenna, as he rushes towards the stage exit. In spite of his haste, he wastes no time cleanly adjusting his tie and running a gloved hand over his antennas just as he breaches the doorway.
Before he can actually pull its metallic handle and continue his steady march, a small Pippins excitedly jumps to his side, its arms waving frantically and its face flushed with a warm pink tone.
“Mr. Tenna, that was such a stunning performance tonight! You really wooed us with that crazy scoop about the kid who left their house and got STRANDED in the WOODS because their CAR BROKE DOWN when they SHOULD have just stayed HOME—”
“I get it, I get it!” Tenna grumbles, interrupting the Pippins’s dramatic retelling of the story he had lifted from Mike’s Bad Things That Happen When You Leave The House: Volume 4, a catalogue of sensational headlines that always end up being incredibly convenient during the summer when his Lightner family begins to consider a long vacation.
“Why don’t you take all that energy and put it towards doing your job?” Tenna sneers before yanking the exit door open. The Pippins makes no change in demeanor; it simply smiles and says, “Will do, Mr. Tenna! You always know what’s best for us little guys!”
Tenna wordlessly steps through the doorway, choosing not to respond, or think too hard about the words the Pippins said (he didn’t shrink, did he? God, why can’t they just leave him alone) and instead turns his focus once more to the employee he actually wants to hear from. Mike’s office is… his office, technically. Being that they were co-hosts on the same show, both news anchors who needed to share all information and start each broadcast on precisely the same page, it only made sense for Tenna to conjoin their quarters in the studio to ensure nothing could possibly be miscommunicated or lost between the two of them.
Or perhaps he just enjoys trustworthy company needs to keep everything under his thumb.
The moment the heavy double doors are pushed wide open, Tenna is met with the familiar sight of his (rather small) co-host sitting at his dedicated section in their shared office. The short microphone-esque Darkner makes only the slightest glance in Tenna’s direction before returning to his current task of sifting through various manilla envelopes and paper files.
“Mike!” Tenna beams, clasping his hands together with a wide grin plastering his screen.
“The one and only,” Mike drones lazily as he continues sliding sheets of paper into neatly stacked envelopes. Had it been any other employee, Tenna would feel slighted by the apparent flippancy, but this was Mike. Mike was like this, just as Tenna was like himself, and neither of them made a fuss about it.
“So, Mike,” Tenna starts as he makes his way towards Mike’s desk. There’s a noticeable thud when Tenna leans his weight into the edge of the desk, and he peers not-so-subtly at Mike’s spread of handiwork. “Have you got those new headlines prepared yet?”
Instead of responding verbally, Mike simply grins and tuts as his fingers make their way into an envelope laying to his left, snagging a sheet between his index and middle fingers before waving the paper in the direction of his boss. Eagerly, Tenna plucks the paper from Mike’s hand and excitedly scans over its contents:
Headlines for Upcoming Summer Months:
Backyard Barbeque Nightmare
Sunstroke Fever
Resort Turned Deadly
"Summer Vacay” A Huge Scam
Mind-Altering Heatwaves
“That ain’t even half of it,” says Mike, “but it’s a good start, yeah? Thought you might like that last one,” he finishes slyly. Mike doesn’t actually need to hear Tenna’s response; the man’s feelings are written all over his screen as his signature grin widens and his left leg begins to bounce with budding enthusiasm.
“Now this is what you call a newsflash,” Tenna chirps, still gazing over the paper like he’s already mentally concocting the perfect scoops to go along with each headline. “You have no idea how much I need these right now, Mike.”
A sudden pause. The two men fall silent after Tenna's last spoken word. Tenna breaks his previously persistent gaze upon the paper and turns his head away towards empty air. The silence is filled by an unspoken sentiment that Tenna refuses to admit and Mike doesn’t truly need elaboration on.
“Kris?” Mike finally urges, though he’s already well aware of the answer. He always knows, of course.
A sharp hiss forces itself out from between Tenna’s teeth; it sounds like a laugh that died in his throat before Mike could hear it.
“Who do they think they are?!” the man exclaims, opting to start ranting instead of answering Mike upfront. “I spent an entire broadcast showing them what happens when teenagers try to leave the house late, and what did they do?!”
Mike begins, “They left right before you—”
“They left right before I even signed off!!”
Tenna slams his fist against the cold surface of Mike's desk. The entire furniture piece trembles with the force. Mike remains reactionless, his hands clasped together and his expression neutral with vague sympathy. He’s well-accustomed to Tenna’s outbursts by now, and he’s learned that Tenna calms down much faster if he doesn't bring attention to them. Tenna suddenly snaps back to face Mike; the short Darkner doesn’t hesitate to meet his intense stare.
“I need you on set with me next time.”
Mike still doesn't respond just yet. The sentence sounds accusatory, almost punitive, but Mike knows better. Tenna regrets sending him to create headlines instead of hosting with him for the evening. Tenna believes he would have gotten through to Kris had Mike been there. Mike knows Tenna will never admit that, but he’s laughably bad at hiding his feelings or rather, Mike can see right through him.
“You know I’ll be there, boss.”
Mike doesn’t question Tenna the way another employee would. He doesn’t ask, “what about the rest of the headlines?” He doesn’t say, “I need to finish all of the other tasks you assigned me!” Tenna is nothing if not shortsighted when he’s worked up. The other headlines have long since left his mental periphery. He wants things a certain way right now, and it's all that matters. Knowing how quickly Tenna shifts his priorities based on his emotions isn’t something Mike dreads; it’s simply a key factor in understanding what goes through his boss’s head.
Useful information to tuck away for when he needs it.
With only one sentence, Tenna regains his composure. He regains his usual smirk, his shoulders relax, and he mindlessly begins to adjust his tie; they're all tell-tale signs Mike has learned to read that Tenna is placated for the time being. It used to take more. He used to need long, drawn out conversations and breakdowns that lasted into the early hours of the morning. Tenna used to need a physical outlet. He used to break mirrors and throw furniture and kick walls in until he was too injured to continue. Now, all it takes is one sentence. Maybe some light banter at most. Mike is proud of his own progress and handiwork on Tenna; he has Tenna wrapped around his finger and the man is none the wiser to the degree of influence Mike truly wields over him. Tenna just believes it's all his own doing, and Mike is simply a good friend reliable anchor that he can trust to get his job done.
“Excellent! I need you on set at 7:30 sharp, and we’ll take one of the headlines on that sheet for the story,” Tenna rambles as Mike nods along. “Don’t be a second late!”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Tenna.”
Tenna nods and folds his hands behind his back. “Good man.”
With this, Tenna turns the opposite direction towards his own desk. Mike watches as the TV-headed man slumps into the large black chair with an audible sigh. While Tenna is distracted with loosening his tie and collar, Mike quietly taps the TV-shaped brooch pinned to his lapel; it discreetly captures a picture of his boss, and Mike makes a mental note to log the entire incident later. He needs to keep track of Tenna’s outbursts and the aftermath of his sour moods.
He likes to remind himself of how vulnerable Tenna is willing to be in front of him. He needs to know what makes Tenna tick so he can always be one step ahead of the man as he had been tonight. Of course he already knew Kris was the source of Tenna’s grief that evening; had it been Toriel, Tenna wouldn't have made up a story featuring a teenager.
Tenna remains quiet, lost in thought, likely mulling over the events of the evening broadcast while Mike keeps a watchful eye, cognizant of any signs that Tenna needs something before he can even speak. Tenna moves his right arm forward, just barely sliding it across his desk. Mike knows this signal well; before Tenna says anything, Mike hops down from his chair and waltzes up to a cabinet near Tenna’s desk.
“Mike, can y—” Tenna stops as he processes what Mike is doing.
“Way ahead of you, boss. Scotch or bourbon?”
“Uh,... bourbon.” Tenna grins.
As Mike slides the filled glass towards Tenna’s hand, Tenna glances at him with a smile.
“You kinda creep me out sometimes, Mike,” he states, his smile widening. “Like you can read my mind. That's my line of work, you know?” Tenna's tone of voice is jovial enough that Mike knows he means nothing of it, but most wouldn't be keen enough to understand that.
“I just know you, boss,” Mike says with a chuckle.
“I know you real well.”