Stephen Colbert

Stephen tugs up his pants, working on the fastens of his pants as he calls into the bathroom. "James! How formal is this restaurant?" He reaches for his shirt, slipping it onto it and buttoning it carefully. "Will this do?"

He peers into the bathroom, groaning at the sight of Wilson shaving. "I-- what? You're-- dinner, right?"

Yay, backidation.

Stephen stumbles as he goes through the portal, landing on the curb. Glancing down at the dirt on the knees of his suit, he thinks, Just perfect. What next?

His clock is off, apparently-- while he left one dimension on a Saturday night, it seems to be the middle of the day on a typical weekday. Glancing around, he considers his options. Wilson was probably still at work, but it's not like Stephen's exactly allowed. He doesn't have his keys to the apartment with him and he really doesn't want to wait by Wilson's car for a few hours.

Digging through his pocket, he heads for the payphone, dialing Wilson's work number.

It's hard, crawling out of bed and away from Wilson. He's tempted to push back his trip back-- he can't, though. If he doesn't go back tomorrow, he never will.

Slipping on a pair of pajama pants and stopping off at the bathroom, he heads for the kitchen to make coffee, glancing at the guest room door to see when Alan is.

It doesn't take long for Wilson to be discharged-- whether the paperwork is sped up by the nurses because of who Wilson is or who Stephen is, it doesn't matter. With the half hour they're in the car, well on their way.

The apartment is exactly as they left it-- no surprise, considering Stephen returned just long enough to feed Steve and grab a change of clothes. Settling Wilson onto the couch with a blanket and a glass of water, Stephen empties the kitchen garbage before attacking the room with a heavy cloud of air freshener.

"I mean it, James," he says, coming back into the living room. "I don't want you to get up at all-- if you need anything, I can take care of it. Got it?"

When Stephen wakes up, the first thing he notices is the lack of warmth and body curls around him. Rubbing his eyes, he props himself up, calling out, "James? Are you still here?"

A glance at the clock shows it's still early enough, but where was he? Pulling on a pair of boxers, Stephen heads into the kitchen. At the sight of a stranger standing at the sink, acting as if he owns the place, he lets out a yell.

When the house phone begins to ring, Stephen tears himself from the bathroom. Chase is apparently gone, ready to cause havoc in Wilson's body. He wipes at his eyes, answering the phone without glancing at the ID.

James, he thinks. Where are you? Who are you?

"Hello?" His voice breaks and he clears his throat. "Hello?"

He's been sleeping, yeah, but not as well as Stephen's used to. It just seems so cold in his bed without Wilson there. Lonely.

He tosses once more, shifting under the covers. God, does Stephen hate this room. He misses Wilson and he misses not having his threatened every other minute. Damn vampires. If he could just-- squeezing his eyes shut at the thought of Wilson, he tosses an arm out in an effort to fully sprawl. Connecting with something solid, Stephen sits up suddenly, fearful.

Something-- something doesn't seem right...

It takes no more than a second or two for Stephen to realize that something is severely wrong. The waist his arm is curled is significantly smaller and curvier, his head is comfortably resting on top of a head with much more hair, and there are breast pressing firmly against Stephen's chest.

Flying out of bed, yelling as he does, Stephen flings himself into the far corner of the room. "Who are you?" he screams.

It's blatantly obvious to even Stephen's self-centered eyes that Wilson's upset about this whole thing with House. While Stephen can't help feeling guilty about it, he decides to fight the urge to go see House about it -- without a doubt, that would only make things worse.

With plenty of time on his hands now, he decides to do something about Wilson's mood at least. It's a no-brainer to order from the Thai place down the street -- there's no way that his being in the kitchen would produce any good.

By the time Wilson's due home from work, Stephen set the table nicely -- romantically, even, if he were inclined to think of it that way. Tossing out the empty containers, he grabs a bottle of wine and sits back to wait.

He'll improve Wilson's mood if it kills the both of them trying.

Stephen's quieter than usual on the ride home. While he answers Wilson's attempts at conversation, he keeps everything to a minimum. Eventually, Wilson gives up and they arrive home in silence.

Walking through the open door, Stephen veers off into the living room as Wilson deals with the mail and answering machine. By the time he joins him, Stephen kicked off his shoes and tossed his coat toward the corner, not really caring where it lands.

Glancing over at Wilson, he drops to the couch and asks, "What the hell is wrong with you? What did you think you were doing, James?"

Curled around Wilson underneath the blankets he'd managed to steal, Stephen shivers again. He's sick of being stuck in the hospital, especially with the blackout on top of everything else. It just seems to get worse and worse.

"I'm cold," he mutters, scooting closer. "I hate this. How long until the lights come back on, James?"

The rest of the visit had been no less than absolutely mortifying. Beth had refused to look Stephen in the eye and had gone to great lengths to announce her arrival into any room he happened to be in -- with or without Wilson. She loudly complained about washing the sheets and there was still the whole pulp issue. He doesn't care what Wilson says. He's positive it was done on purpose.

He stops into House's office one afternoon -- he has the day off, already finished for the week at the office. It's been awhile anway. He wouldn't mind saying hello.

"Is his mother always like that?" Stephen asks, stepping into House's office. "Or is it just with me?"

Stephen's more than a little worn out by the time they get to Wilson's apartment. He's stopped crying and shaking, but he still can't fight the urge to curl around himself or Wilson.

They're standing in front of the door, Wilson fiddling with the keys, when Stephen tells him how much he's looking forward to just sinking into the couch and not moving. Wilson shoots him a look, opening his mouth to say something before closing it again.

Funny, he's been doing that the whole way back from the hospital.

It's not until Stephen is out of the cab and actually standing in front of the portal that he realizes going back through means going back to his wife. Back to Tad, back to kids who barely tolerate him, and back to a cold, lonely bed.

He turns on his heels sharply, making his way into the hospital. He's not sure where he's going, but it doesn't matter. He's crying, every so often choking back a sob. He decides to just wander, not really caring much.

Passing another nurses station, he recognizes a few of them shooting dirty looks. He can do without them tonight, so he ducks into a nearby room before glancing at the bed.

"H--House?"

Stephen's making his way around the apartment, hunting down stray clothing and other possessions. Once he finds something, he's tossing it toward the door and near his bag.

"You can keep the DVDs for awhile. I'll get them from you later." He tosses this over his shoulder, glancing at where Wilson lays sprawled on the couch. "I'll come back next weekend," he promises in an effort to break the silence.

The bar's a decent place -- not too loud, not too dark -- and there are still plenty of pool tables open when they arrive. Leaving Wilson to stake a claim on one of them, Stephen makes his way over to the bartender and orders a couple of beers.

He returns quickly, popping the top of his beer as he watches Wilson rack up the balls. Reaching for a cue, Stephen teases, "Ready for a night of complete and total humiliation?"

There's a catchy song playing over the speakers, floating over the sound of friendly chatter. Unable to look away from Wilson, Stephen realizes there's place he'd rather be.

Stephen leaves shortly after breakfast, absently waving goodbye to the kids as he does. There's a short, stilted conversation with his wife ("Well, I know it's a Saturday, that doesn't mean my work just magically disappears -- I'm the boss, what do you expect me to do?"), and he's off to the studio.

Letting himself in with his personalized set of keys -- it's surprisingly inexpensive to have a ornate 'C' engraved into them -- Stephen makes his way to his office, pausing just outside the door. Carefully, he pushes a hand through the doorway, the rest of his body following a moment later.

It doesn't take long to realize that it worked and he's back at the hospital. A few nearby people pay no attention as he instantly turns back around, quickly walking through the door and out into the street.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, Stephen's tipping the cab driver, rushing into the apartment building.

He stops at Wilson's door, frantically knocking.

By the time Fox News in the Morning ends, Stephen is already bored. He briefly contemplates washing the breakfast dishes before discarding that idea -- that's a woman's work. He supposes he could watch a rerun of Judge Judy, but there's something about her dominating presence that disturbs Stephen.

Shortly after eating the pasta Wilson had left for him, Stephen gives in and leaves the apartment. There's a nearby department store that he heads to, sure he can spend a few hours there.

He spends a half-hour browsing through tube socks before heading over to the ties. Glancing through his wallet to make sure he has enough cash on him (Stephen's almost curious to see if his credit cards still work, despite his not existing, though it's hardly worth the trouble), he narrows it down to one of two ties.

A few more minutes of careful contemplation and Stephen reaches for the one stripped with red and blue. He closes his hand around it just in time to watch another hand latch on.

Stephen glances up. "Excuse me. I can see you obviously have excellent taste, so I'm sure finding another tie will hardly be a problem for you. If you could just let go of mine--" He tugs, eyeing the woman across from him.

"Oh!" She lets go immediately. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you -- I'll just go find another one." She turns to walk away, hesitating slightly. "Do I know you? Your voice sounds awfully familiar."

Stephen brightens. Someone who recognizes him, someone else who understands. "I'm Stephen Colbert."

She taps her chin. "Stephen Colbert, huh? Hmm, Stephen . . . oh!" She reddens. "Stephen. From Dr. Wilson's apartment." Holding a hand out, she smiles warmly, blush still creeping across her cheeks. "I'm Abby Smid, I live next door."

"Next door?" He freezes. There's an awkward beat as they both look at their shoes. "I should probably--"

"Right, right." Abby nods, still smiling. "It was nice meeting you Stephen. It's great to finally be able to put a face with the voice." She blushes again.

Muttering a goodbye, Stephen takes the tie to the cash register, careful to avoid Abby and her gaze.

He's back in the apartment with at least four hours left to spare.

Stephen sighs, shifting impatiently.

Afterward, Stephen blindly gropes for something to wipe himself clean with. A moment of hesitation and he dabs at Wilson also, tossing the undershirt aside. He rolls over, pulling his legs up so he's almost curling against Wilson.

"I forgot how good that can be." Stephen mutters. He's feeling lazy, though he's still wide awake. "It's nice."

Sexy as hell, too, but he'd never say that.

"It's different," Stephen adds, "And I'm usually against things that are different on principle, but I like not giving."

The ride home is mostly silent, as is the walk to the door. Impatiently, Stephen watches Wilson hunt for his keys before struggling with the lock. He sighs heavily.

Eventually, it's popping open and Wilson's walking inside, Stephen closely following. Wilson sets his bag aside, closing the door behind him, and in an instant he's pinned, back firmly against the wood, a strong grip holding him in place.

Stephen drops to his knees, no pretense and no warning, and suddenly unfastens Wilson's pants, pulling his cock out. Leaning forward, Stephen takes it into his mouth, feeling the swell as the other man hardens.

He gives one long suck, glancing up at Wilson's face.