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thirdmondayTitle: The Genesis of Cake Night
Recipient: Amadi
Fandom/s: The Daily Show/The Colbert Report
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Characters: Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, Evelyn McGee-Colbert
Prompt: Jon & Stephen, friends with chocolate cake
Disclaimer: Very much a work of utter fiction. All TV shows belong to their respective owners, Ho Hos to Hostess, and people to themselves. All characters' resemblances to the actual people is superficial at best. As far as I know, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert never actually instituted Cake Night at The Daily Show.
Author: everysecondtuesday
Notes: Thanks so much to Sarken for the kick-ass beta. Anyone curious as to when the first Cake Night takes place who doesn't want to look up which correspondents were around when: the answer is sometime in 2002. I had to check Wikipedia, because at first my faulty memory wanted to include some correspondents who never served together. If anyone has a recipe for double chocolate peanut butter fudge, I would welcome with open arms your sharing. (The recipe, though actual fudge would not be rejected. *grin*)
Cake night began neither with cake, nor at night. It began with the fact that Jon Stewart, worst boss in history, was a lunch thief.
—
"You're not being fair," Evie said, laughing. "I sent that banana bread for everyone."
"Exactly," Stephen said. "Everyone. Meaning not just Jon Stewart and his bottomless pit of a stomach."
"Didn't you say Steve also had some?"
"That's true," Stephen allowed. "But Steve, Jon, and their bottomless stomachs do not everyone make."
"I'll bake some more." Evie heaved a sigh of exasperation, but Stephen noticed that her eyes crinkled at the corners and her lips kept twitching into the smallest of smiles.
"You are the best wife ever." Stephen brushed a kiss against her cheek. "I'll go to the grocery store for supplies."
As if magically summoned by the jangle of the car keys, Maddie appeared and said, "We're out of Ho Hos." It was obvious she intended to accompany Stephen to be certain this was a mistake never to be repeated.
"You appear to have gained a co-pilot." Evie didn't even bother to hide her smile now.
"You're in charge of the list," Stephen told Maddie.
Of course, once the new banana bread was finished and out of the oven, his children fell upon it like a ravening horde. But really, Stephen wasn't the kind of father who could blame them. "They get it from you," Stephen told Evie in his most serious voice. "I'm pretty sure my side has better table manners."
"You forget," Evie said, flicking a crumb at him. "I've met your family."
—
The cake was actually introduced by Jon. Or rather, Tracey.
"I heard you didn't get any of the banana bread," Jon explained, sheepish. "And that you liked chocolate cake. While my skills at baking are few—toxic brownie sludge, I think, was the phrase Tracey used on my last attempt—my wife was kind enough to step up to the plate on my behalf."
Jon was the best boss ever. Which was about the moment that Steve, Matt, Lauren, Rob, Rachael, and Ed came tumbling into the break room.
"Ooo, cake!" Rachael said.
"Thanks!" Matt said.
Steve didn't so much bother with words as grab a plate and a slice that could qualify as a minor cake in and of itself. The rest followed his lead. Once the whirlwind of correspondents was finished with it, the cake was not so much decimated as demolished entirely.
—
"So what you're saying," Evie said, lips twitching with suppressed mirth, "is that you'd like me to make you cake?"
". . . That would be nice," Stephen admitted.
"Did someone say cake?" Maddie poked her head in the kitchen.
"Chocolate?" John's hopeful voice carried in from the living room.
"It sounds like you have competition," Evie said.
"No diet so good as hungry kids," Stephen said.
—
"So here's the thing," Jon said. "You're not actually allowed to kill your coworkers."
"Then why were we given these tiny gladiatorial swords, if not to pit us against one another in a glorious match to the death over who is top correspondent?" Stephen asked idly, twirling the small steel letter opener on his desk.
"Correction: you're not allowed to kill any of the other correspondents unless you catch it on camera. The company doesn't forgive the waste of potential revenue." Jon stole Steve's chair and from his side of the office and wheeled it in front of Stephen's desk. Smiling wryly, Jon placed the small paper bag he'd brought with him on the desktop and said, "But if you're good, you get presents."
"My good sir, that sounds like bribery!" Stephen gasped, holding his hands to his chest. "You cut me to the quick. I am incorruptible, honest to the core. I am—"
"German chocolate cake," Jon said, pulling a near-opaque plastic container and two forks from the bag.
"—at your command," Stephen finished, accepting a fork and popping the lid off the container. Then, "What, no milk?"
Jon reached into the bag and pulled out a paper carton of whole milk. "I forgot the cups."
"That's okay." Stephen opened the carton, giving his best evil grin. "I didn't feel like sharing anyway."
"You," Jon pointed his plastic fork at Stephen, "have forgotten who brought the cake."
"Hm." Stephen considered his options. "Very well. I accept your terms and boss germs."
"The break room has extra glasses," Jon said.
"You want to clue the others in that there is German chocolate cake in the offing?" Stephen asked, digging his fork into the soft cake and taking a bite. Mouth full, "Go ahead. But remember what happened the last several times Steve was confronted with the temptation of baked goods."
Jon looked at Stephen with something like horror, though whether it was from remembrance, or at Stephen talking with his mouth full, Stephen didn't know. He didn't particularly care. The cake was perfect: velvety, moist, rich explosions of chocolate in Stephen's mouth, with the faintest undertones of coconut rolling over his tongue. The things it was doing to his mouth were practically indecent. From Jon's expression, so, too, were the noises of appreciation Stephen was making.
After a moment, Jon asked, "That good?"
"Better," Stephen said fervently. "We should make every day Cake Day."
Jon's lips quirked in a small grin, and he allowed, "Maybe once a week or so."
"Every day," Stephen said firmly and took another bite.
—
"Stephen, honey, Lord knows I love you, but I am not baking you a cake a day." Evie pushed her hair out of her face and checked the oven. The timer hadn't gone off, but Evie never seemed to pay it much heed. Judging by the results, Stephen wasn't going to argue with her.
. . . Over her methods, at least.
"It would be for a good cause," Stephen protested.
"Not going to happen."
Stephen set the table, and Evie pulled the lasagna from the oven to cool on two potholders stacked side by side on the counter. After dinner, when the kids were settled in front of the television for their allotted hour of TV, Evie said, "Fine. Every two weeks. Any more than that, and our whole household is going to develop diabetes. I won't be responsible for that."
"Who says I would share with the whole household?" Stephen asked glibly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.
Maddie looked over from the TV, expression suspicious. "Share what? Are we talking about Mom's famous fudge? Because if we are, there is definitely sharing in our future."
Which is how, on Maddie's insistence, Cake Day came to include fudge.
—
When The Colbert Report was picked up by Comedy Central, Stephen's favorite weekly workday holiday—the somewhat inaccurately named Cake Day—came to something of an end.
"I'll miss it," Stephen said wistfully.
"Don't tell the others," Jon said, "but I think you were my favorite correspondent."
"I bet that's what you tell all the girls." Stephen grinned. "But mostly, I was talking about Tracey's cake."
Jon's expression suddenly fell. "Evie's fudge. Oh my God. I didn't even—" Then, "It's not too late. We can still cancel The Colbert Report."
"It's my studio now," Stephen said. "Why don't we cancel the new studio and The Daily Show? You can come work for me."
"I'm almost tempted," Jon said. Finally, "You do know what this means?"
"You're going to try sneaking into my house and absconding with my wife's recipe book?"
"That's a thought," Jon said. "Or we could just plan a new Cake Day outside of work."
Stephen considered. "Once a month or so?"
"Do you really think I can go that long without double chocolate peanut butter fudge?" Jon asked. "I'm thinking every day."
"Or every few weeks?"
"Every day," Jon said firmly.
—
Recipient: Amadi
Fandom/s: The Daily Show/The Colbert Report
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Characters: Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, Evelyn McGee-Colbert
Prompt: Jon & Stephen, friends with chocolate cake
Disclaimer: Very much a work of utter fiction. All TV shows belong to their respective owners, Ho Hos to Hostess, and people to themselves. All characters' resemblances to the actual people is superficial at best. As far as I know, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert never actually instituted Cake Night at The Daily Show.
Author: everysecondtuesday
Notes: Thanks so much to Sarken for the kick-ass beta. Anyone curious as to when the first Cake Night takes place who doesn't want to look up which correspondents were around when: the answer is sometime in 2002. I had to check Wikipedia, because at first my faulty memory wanted to include some correspondents who never served together. If anyone has a recipe for double chocolate peanut butter fudge, I would welcome with open arms your sharing. (The recipe, though actual fudge would not be rejected. *grin*)
Cake night began neither with cake, nor at night. It began with the fact that Jon Stewart, worst boss in history, was a lunch thief.
—
"You're not being fair," Evie said, laughing. "I sent that banana bread for everyone."
"Exactly," Stephen said. "Everyone. Meaning not just Jon Stewart and his bottomless pit of a stomach."
"Didn't you say Steve also had some?"
"That's true," Stephen allowed. "But Steve, Jon, and their bottomless stomachs do not everyone make."
"I'll bake some more." Evie heaved a sigh of exasperation, but Stephen noticed that her eyes crinkled at the corners and her lips kept twitching into the smallest of smiles.
"You are the best wife ever." Stephen brushed a kiss against her cheek. "I'll go to the grocery store for supplies."
As if magically summoned by the jangle of the car keys, Maddie appeared and said, "We're out of Ho Hos." It was obvious she intended to accompany Stephen to be certain this was a mistake never to be repeated.
"You appear to have gained a co-pilot." Evie didn't even bother to hide her smile now.
"You're in charge of the list," Stephen told Maddie.
Of course, once the new banana bread was finished and out of the oven, his children fell upon it like a ravening horde. But really, Stephen wasn't the kind of father who could blame them. "They get it from you," Stephen told Evie in his most serious voice. "I'm pretty sure my side has better table manners."
"You forget," Evie said, flicking a crumb at him. "I've met your family."
—
The cake was actually introduced by Jon. Or rather, Tracey.
"I heard you didn't get any of the banana bread," Jon explained, sheepish. "And that you liked chocolate cake. While my skills at baking are few—toxic brownie sludge, I think, was the phrase Tracey used on my last attempt—my wife was kind enough to step up to the plate on my behalf."
Jon was the best boss ever. Which was about the moment that Steve, Matt, Lauren, Rob, Rachael, and Ed came tumbling into the break room.
"Ooo, cake!" Rachael said.
"Thanks!" Matt said.
Steve didn't so much bother with words as grab a plate and a slice that could qualify as a minor cake in and of itself. The rest followed his lead. Once the whirlwind of correspondents was finished with it, the cake was not so much decimated as demolished entirely.
—
"So what you're saying," Evie said, lips twitching with suppressed mirth, "is that you'd like me to make you cake?"
". . . That would be nice," Stephen admitted.
"Did someone say cake?" Maddie poked her head in the kitchen.
"Chocolate?" John's hopeful voice carried in from the living room.
"It sounds like you have competition," Evie said.
"No diet so good as hungry kids," Stephen said.
—
"So here's the thing," Jon said. "You're not actually allowed to kill your coworkers."
"Then why were we given these tiny gladiatorial swords, if not to pit us against one another in a glorious match to the death over who is top correspondent?" Stephen asked idly, twirling the small steel letter opener on his desk.
"Correction: you're not allowed to kill any of the other correspondents unless you catch it on camera. The company doesn't forgive the waste of potential revenue." Jon stole Steve's chair and from his side of the office and wheeled it in front of Stephen's desk. Smiling wryly, Jon placed the small paper bag he'd brought with him on the desktop and said, "But if you're good, you get presents."
"My good sir, that sounds like bribery!" Stephen gasped, holding his hands to his chest. "You cut me to the quick. I am incorruptible, honest to the core. I am—"
"German chocolate cake," Jon said, pulling a near-opaque plastic container and two forks from the bag.
"—at your command," Stephen finished, accepting a fork and popping the lid off the container. Then, "What, no milk?"
Jon reached into the bag and pulled out a paper carton of whole milk. "I forgot the cups."
"That's okay." Stephen opened the carton, giving his best evil grin. "I didn't feel like sharing anyway."
"You," Jon pointed his plastic fork at Stephen, "have forgotten who brought the cake."
"Hm." Stephen considered his options. "Very well. I accept your terms and boss germs."
"The break room has extra glasses," Jon said.
"You want to clue the others in that there is German chocolate cake in the offing?" Stephen asked, digging his fork into the soft cake and taking a bite. Mouth full, "Go ahead. But remember what happened the last several times Steve was confronted with the temptation of baked goods."
Jon looked at Stephen with something like horror, though whether it was from remembrance, or at Stephen talking with his mouth full, Stephen didn't know. He didn't particularly care. The cake was perfect: velvety, moist, rich explosions of chocolate in Stephen's mouth, with the faintest undertones of coconut rolling over his tongue. The things it was doing to his mouth were practically indecent. From Jon's expression, so, too, were the noises of appreciation Stephen was making.
After a moment, Jon asked, "That good?"
"Better," Stephen said fervently. "We should make every day Cake Day."
Jon's lips quirked in a small grin, and he allowed, "Maybe once a week or so."
"Every day," Stephen said firmly and took another bite.
—
"Stephen, honey, Lord knows I love you, but I am not baking you a cake a day." Evie pushed her hair out of her face and checked the oven. The timer hadn't gone off, but Evie never seemed to pay it much heed. Judging by the results, Stephen wasn't going to argue with her.
. . . Over her methods, at least.
"It would be for a good cause," Stephen protested.
"Not going to happen."
Stephen set the table, and Evie pulled the lasagna from the oven to cool on two potholders stacked side by side on the counter. After dinner, when the kids were settled in front of the television for their allotted hour of TV, Evie said, "Fine. Every two weeks. Any more than that, and our whole household is going to develop diabetes. I won't be responsible for that."
"Who says I would share with the whole household?" Stephen asked glibly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.
Maddie looked over from the TV, expression suspicious. "Share what? Are we talking about Mom's famous fudge? Because if we are, there is definitely sharing in our future."
Which is how, on Maddie's insistence, Cake Day came to include fudge.
—
When The Colbert Report was picked up by Comedy Central, Stephen's favorite weekly workday holiday—the somewhat inaccurately named Cake Day—came to something of an end.
"I'll miss it," Stephen said wistfully.
"Don't tell the others," Jon said, "but I think you were my favorite correspondent."
"I bet that's what you tell all the girls." Stephen grinned. "But mostly, I was talking about Tracey's cake."
Jon's expression suddenly fell. "Evie's fudge. Oh my God. I didn't even—" Then, "It's not too late. We can still cancel The Colbert Report."
"It's my studio now," Stephen said. "Why don't we cancel the new studio and The Daily Show? You can come work for me."
"I'm almost tempted," Jon said. Finally, "You do know what this means?"
"You're going to try sneaking into my house and absconding with my wife's recipe book?"
"That's a thought," Jon said. "Or we could just plan a new Cake Day outside of work."
Stephen considered. "Once a month or so?"
"Do you really think I can go that long without double chocolate peanut butter fudge?" Jon asked. "I'm thinking every day."
"Or every few weeks?"
"Every day," Jon said firmly.
—
(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-18 01:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-23 03:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-23 04:49 pm (UTC)I wasn't expecting a fic, so this is double plus good to see. Thank you so much! *adoring hugs*
(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-23 10:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-24 01:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-24 01:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-24 12:46 am (UTC)And now I want cake. Grrrr.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-24 01:20 am (UTC)Thanks for reading!