How Willow Smith Almost Burned My Apartment Down

After picking up fiance from school last night we decided we wanted to cook up some of the nice fillets that we had in the freezer. They were a gift from my parents when they came down and took me on a crazy grocery shopping excursion so we wanted to make sure that they were extra tasty. As fiance usually does the hardcore cooking, I decided that I wanted to learn. I season them up and place them in the skillet without any problems. Flip them a couple times and they're looking scrumptious. Then something fiance says reminds me that I wanted to show him Willow Smith's performance of Whip My Hair on Ellen. After checking the fillets I proceed to my computer and bring up said performance on the ol' tube of you. We sit around the table and watch the video of a 10 year old wanna-be-Rihanna and commence commenting on it. Lost in the catchy-ness of this performance, I completely forget about the steaks in the skillet... on the stove... the gas stove with fire underneath the burner. I realize that there is a slight haze around the computer and my mind goes through a couple of interesting steps.
"Why is it so hazy? Am I imagining things? Is Willow Smith magical enough to blur my vision? Oh shit. There are STEAKS ON THE STOVE!"
I then run to the stove and pull the skillet off of the burner. Now I have never owned a gas stove until this one and when you quickly add a gust of air to an open flame, it flares up.
NOT AWARE OF THIS UNTIL NOW.
After spewing a stream of curses that I wasn't aware of existing, I shoved the skillet back on the burner (rather than turning it off... which would have been the intelligent thing to do). At about this time, our fire detector decides to add it's two cents to the conversation, beeping its annoying little beep as loudly and obnoxiously as it can muster. Fiance grabs a towel and starts fanning the air beneath it to try to get it to stop its incessant noise-making so that the fire department won't make an unscheduled visit to our quiet apartment complex.
Meanwhile I am peeling the slightly charred fillets out of the skillet. Then I get an even more BRILLIANT idea. I'm going to make a red wine pan sauce that will taste delicious and help us to forget this whole fiasco! So I pour some red wine into the coal brisket covered bottom of the skillet with a spoonful of butter.
This is what is known as a bad idea.
Fiance had just gotten the detector to shut up when I did this. Which caused a wall of steam and smoke to erupt from the skillet and smack me in the face for my idiocy. At this point I run away from the stove like it's going to attack me with nun-chucks or something and tell fiance that I'll fan the detector if he fixes my mess. I then grab the towel from his hands while simultaneously shoving the spoon used to dip out the butter into his confused and open palm. I make it to the detector seconds after it decides to begin chirping once more. Fiance fixes the pan sauce and pours it down the sink for tasting/looking like poo water then opens all the windows to try to remove the haze of smoke that somehow managed to fill up our entire apartment.
And that is how Willow Smith almost burned down my apartment.