Parks and Rec -- Stay
Mar. 24th, 2011 07:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anythingbutgreyStay
Parks and Rec. Ben/Leslie.
Sort of spoilers through Harvest Fest. Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
miss_mishi for the beta.
As might be obvious by now, Ben’s a simple guy. Go to work, crunch the numbers, try not to put too many people out of a job while recognizing that some people have to go. Go from work to the motel to the takeout menus in the drawer next to the fridge.
The call comes at 11:45 on a Thursday, when Ben is packing up his stuff to meet Leslie for lunch. It’s Chris on the line, with his ever too-happy voice and Hey Ben! and We miss you here!
And Ben politely responds with, “Thanks, Chris. I miss you guys too,” even though he doesn’t, and that is when Ben knows exactly what this phone call is about. He’s suddenly not hungry anymore.
“That’s so great!” Chris chirps. Ben tightens his grip around the phone. “Because I’m actually calling to tell you that we want you back, Ben. So, pack up your stuff and come on home. New assignment.”
Ben runs his tongue along his dried out lips. “When do you want me back by?”
“Monday,” Chris says. “That should give you enough time to pack up everything, right?”
Ben looks at the pile of papers on his desk and tells himself they’re the reason he wants to stay. “Actually, I really feel like I have more work to do here — ”
“Benjamin,” Chris says, and Ben doesn’t know how Chris can simultaneously sound like a child on Sweetum’s energy bars and Ben’s father, but it’s a really rare skill and Ben is glad it’s not marketable. “It’s done in Pawnee. We’ll see you Monday. It’s going to be great.”
Ben sets his Blackberry on the desk, and spins it under his index finger a couple times, like a record. Outside, the trees rustle and the birds chirp. Someone yells something profane about the library department. It is not Leslie. And everything is normal. Still, Ben feels like someone’s taken a wrecking ball to his face, which isn't a very normal thing at all.
“Wyatt,” Leslie calls as she steps into his office. He doesn’t flinch, and keeps his eye on the phone. “You better not be standing me up,” Leslie continues, and Ben looks up then, alarmed to think that somehow twenty minutes have passed since Chris’ phone call. He checks the time on his blackberry, and yes, it’s true, he just spent twenty minutes staring at nothing.
Leslie steps up to his desk. “Hey, are you okay?” she asks, and her voice is lower now. Leslie has a number of different voices, and Ben has started to catalogue them. This is her concerned friend voice. She uses it on or about Ann a lot. And about everyone at some point, but often about Tom, because Tom gets into more trouble than he probably should, and Ben thinks Leslie is protective of him because he sits so close to her, like that makes him her charge.
Ben coughs, and lifts his head wearing what he hopes is a passable copy of a smile. “I’m fine. Let’s get our lunch on.”
He brushes past her out the door and isn’t sure if he can sense her staring at him or if that’s just what he wants her to do.
-
Ben is having a staring contest with his turkey club. They sit in the courtyard and it’s a bright, warm day and Leslie picks at her salad and tries a number of different conversation starters, including prattling on about Jerry’s latest hysterical screw-up, but she can’t manage to get a blink out of Ben, let alone a reaction, a word, a smile. Leslie takes another stab at the piece of mini-corn hiding in the corner of her bowl.
“Also, I set some kittens on fire this morning,” she mumbles.
“Oh,” Ben says. And then, “Wait, what?”
She sets her fork down and rolls her eyes. “I was trying to wake you up from your coma there. What’s going on?”
Ben looks at her. Like, really looks at her, looks at her like he’s staring into the deep end of a pool to find one of those toys that sink to the bottom. Leslie coughs, and turns away. This is new with Ben, the butterflies, and she’ll call them that because she knows how to recognize them by now but she hasn’t yet decided what to do about them or what they mean. They first cropped up at the Harvest Festival months ago, which she figures is a decent amount of time, but it’s early enough that they could still fly away tomorrow morning and build a butterfly colony somewhere else. Or they could stop, lay eggs, though now Leslie is thinking about caterpillars growing in her stomach and maybe will go with a different metaphor from now on. The point is, she doesn’t know where this is going. It could be going nowhere. Sure, sometimes Ben looks at her and she thinks — but she doesn’t have anything concrete, and she doesn’t know if her own feelings are solid or not. But that’s not really a concern right now. Right now, her concern is Ben, who looks washed out, pale as a snowstorm, ill.
“I have to go back to Indianapolis,” he says, and Leslie blinks three times before it registers. It feels like a bookshelf has fallen on her, and she can’t speak, she can’t move, she can’t seem to do anything but sort of gup at him like a fish. Ben exhales, and then looks down at his untouched sandwich yet again, so that Leslie is left drowning and staring at the crown of his head. “I know,” he says to Leslie and the sandwich. Then, he places a hand on top of hers on the table and says, “I’m really sorry,” and before Leslie can muster up the breath to ask him why he’s apologizing, he’s gone.
-
Ben goes back to his motel room. He actually has work to do, but it seems sort of pointless now. He won’t go back until Sunday night — he decided that in the car ride back here — but he’s not going to keep working. He’ll call that his rebellion. The Parks department always needs help. He’ll spend the days with them. He’ll spend the days with Leslie, because Leslie is — well, Leslie is remarkable. This is what he told his mother when she called last week. Ben tries to be honest with himself since the days of Ice Town. He finds this works best. So, yes, he has feelings for Leslie, and yes, he will admit that to himself and no one else, though he thinks it’s pretty obvious to everyone but her, because Ben, much to his dismay, is turning out to be a pretty heart-on-my-sleeve kind of guy, which is generally not something he considered in the auditing department. But that’s how he first recognized this thing with Leslie. Not that there’s a thing, but, anyway, he just, he means — Ben started to feel things, which, he’ll be honest, isn’t a very common thing. And that’s when he figured it out.
As might be obvious by now, Ben’s a simple guy. Go to work, crunch the numbers, try not to put too many people out of a job while recognizing that some people have to go. Go from work to the motel to the takeout menus in the drawer next to the fridge. Personal attachments don’t go well for him. He has girlfriends but they don’t stick around. Ben thinks that people in relationships should be the stable sort, especially at his age. They should want the package: the two kids, two cars and a dog package. Instead, Ben’s been on a mission for personal redemption since he was 18-years-old, and such a goal stability does not make. He figures it best to just sort of stick to himself. And he’s become a champion at one-night stands. He’s never done a survey, of course, but if he did he thinks he’d find an extremely high rate of both satisfaction and comfort. Not that Ben’s particularly promiscuous or anything, it’s just, you know, sometimes —
Anyway, the point is that Leslie is different, and Leslie makes him feel different. Leslie makes Ben want to stay still. She makes him want to freeze in place. She makes him want to pick out favorite restaurants and actually go to them, not just order from the ones with take-out. She makes him want to stay. He hasn’t felt that in a long time. Maybe ever. It actually took him a while to figure it out, but then he realized it with a sort of woosh, like being pulled around by a gust of wind. Then the air settled, and ever since then he’s been fixated. He’s been affixed.
Ben tosses a plaid suit-shirt into his suitcase. He’ll have to pull it out and iron it this evening; he’s only brought so many clothes. They weren’t even supposed to be in Pawnee for this long in the first place, even with that extension Chris got them. Still, packing now will keep him busy. Tomorrow he’s going to have to face Leslie, and then at the end of the weekend he’s going to have to walk away. The notion makes him feel dazed, nauseated, and Ben sits down at the edge of the bed. Maybe he should just leave now. Spare the goodbyes, just pack his suitcase up and run. Ben’s good at running. Ran out of Partridge, ran out of Minnesota, ran out of every other town he’s audited with pitchforks at his back. It’d be easiest. Ben doesn’t really know if he’s good at goodbyes, having rarely been offered the opportunity, but he has a feeling that saying goodbye to Leslie might splinter something in him. He could be a coward. He’s been known for that before. But Leslie is not a coward, and maybe he owes it to her to be brave.
So, he drives to City Hall. It’s past five by the time he makes it to the parking lot, but he knows Leslie will still be there. When he gets to the Parks department — and if he’s honest he gets there in kind of a sprint, slipping in his shoes — she is still at her desk while the rest of the office has cleared out. But while he’s expecting Leslie to be working, instead he finds her sitting at her desk, chin in her palm, staring out the window. He pauses in the entrance to the office. She hasn’t seen him yet, and he has never seen her like this. Leslie is always dashing from one project to the other, always moving, always thinking, always creating. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her be simply still.
He walks into the office quietly. He almost doesn’t want to disturb her, because as he gets closer he can see her lips turned to a frown and her forehead scrunched together in the way Leslie gets when she’s trying to think through a problem she doesn’t like. But he has things to say, and it’s important that he say them and hopefully he isn’t interrupting some thought pattern that was going to put the Pawnee Parks department on the map.
When he knocks on the door to her office, she jumps, a hand jumping to her throat and a little squeak coming out of her mouth, and Ben smiles even though his heart is threatening to scratch its way out of his chest cavity.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay,” she says with a gasp, shaking her head. “You just surprised me. What are you even doing here? Everyone’s gone home.”
He sits in one of the chairs opposite her desk, perched on the edge of the seat and his elbows at his knees. “I wanted to talk to you.”
Leslie sits up, straightens the collar of her shirt, and doesn’t look him in the eye. She’s actually looking just below, at his cheekbones, and Ben is once again reminded how not a politician she is. Politicians look at the eyebrows. It’s easy to get away with that. Leslie doesn’t have the training. Leslie doesn’t know the rules. Leslie just goes.
“What’s up?” she says to his left ear now. Ben wants to laugh, but he’s not even sure he can speak.
He coughs, and now it is his turn to have trouble looking her in the eye. But this isn’t about politics, and he feels no need to fake the handshakes or the smiles with her. Right now, he couldn’t falsify anything. With each moment that passes while he swallows back the truth of the matter, the air grows thick and hard to inhale.
Ben says, “I have feelings for you.” It’s easier than he thought it would be, at least for a moment. Then, he feels a panic in his chest building up all over again, refreshed and reinvigorated.
Leslie tilts her head, and her gaze moves back to his eyes. Ben stares back for a moment and then has to look away.
“Pardon?” she whispers.
“I have feelings for you,” Ben repeats and Leslie seems to sit up even straighter, her mouth parted in surprise, he thinks. “And I don’t want to go back to Indianapolis. I have to, but I don’t want to. And I hate to put you on the spot here, but I’m kind of on the clock.”
Leslie shakes her head. “I don’t understand. What am I on the spot for exactly?”
Ben almost laughs. God, he’s awful at this. He places his hands flat on his knees, grips them tight. “I will stay if you want me to stay. And if you don’t, I will leave, I will pack up my suitcase and vanish. But, I’d — I want you to ask me to stay.”
Leslie has turned to look out the window again, which could be a good or a bad sign. He feels like he should have more experience with this. He’s a grown man, he’s supposed to understand these things, but Ben doesn’t have a clue. Leslie isn’t saying anything, and he can feel that demolition site in his chest again. For a moment, a single, horrible moment, all he wants to do is clamber to her, take her hands in his or kiss her or hold her or plead for her to take him in this sorry state. Before today, he was kept in stasis, a pleasant hum. The prospect of leaving has sent him into hyper drive, a crescendo that grew louder with each passing moment and led him here. Ben has read about this sort of feeling before. He knows it can ruin a man.
“I’ll let you think on it,” he says to the doorway as he stands. “You know where to find me.”
-
Leslie is left with the windows. The sun bakes the top of her hand as it rests on the corner of her desk. She waits until she hears the snap of the office door clicking shut before breathing again, and when she does it’s a gasp, a hand sort of flapping in the air, as though emerging from the ocean after being pulled through a riptide. She sort of scrambles around her desk for her phone to text Ann and tell her to get her ass to the Parks department, because Leslie doesn’t think she can move.
When Ann does arrive a very long twenty minutes later, Leslie has probably walked half a mile just pacing her office, and she continues to pace as she explains the days events, starting with right before lunch when she may have caught herself humming on her way to Ben’s office and then him leaving and then her day spent doing nothing and then him, in her office, with the confession and Leslie uses that word purposefully because that’s how it sounded from him and that’s what scares her the most.
“So,” Ann says, slowly with a drawn out vowel. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Leslie snips, turning on her heels for another circular pace around the office. “I wasn’t expecting this, you know. I was still trying to figure out the Ben feelings.”
“If you ask him to stay you’ll have the time to do that,” Ann offers.
Leslie shakes her head. “I can’t just do that on a chance. He’ll lose his job, Ann. And he’s worked so hard for everything, what with Ice Town and — I can’t be the one to take that away from him. Not unless I’m sure. And even if I am sure, I don’t know if it’s the right thing. It could not work out, or I could be jumping to conclusions, and then he’d lose so much for nothing.”
Ann crosses her arms and seems to smirk. “So you’ve thought this through, then.”
Leslie shrugs, and finally plops into her seat. “I just don’t know what’s right here. That’s what I’m worried about.”
Ann leans forward. “Can I ask you a question?” Leslie nods. “When Ben got to this town, you hated him. Like, really hated him. And he has proven to be your ally on pretty much everything, which I know means a lot because your work is so important to you. So, I want you to know that I see your face when he’s around you, even though you don’t so maybe you don’t notice the way you sort of turn into a living Christmas tree when he’s around, but I do. We all do. I think Tom has an office pool.”
Leslie blushes with the distinct feeling of a schoolgirl, caught enamored in spring. It’s true, of course. Leslie’s a bright person and she means that in all senses of the word, but Leslie around Ben is like a sun. She could blind someone. And she knows it. She can feel it.
But Leslie shakes her head, shakes it off. “I think I’m missing the question.”
Ann sits back in the chair again. “You have something that most people don’t get. You get a choice. Are you going to let that walk away? Can you live with that?”
-
It has started to rain. It’s just a shower, and will be over soon enough, but Ben sits by the window of his motel room and watches. He has gotten strangely used to this town over the past months — and the fact that he has been here a as long as he has sits oddly with him. It seems like he’s been here forever and also like he’s only been here a week at the same time. The community college students at the coffee shop down the street have only recently begun to smile at him when he picks up his morning Americano, which is a nice change from the scowls of months prior. Now, to be honest, Ben doesn’t think of Pawnee as home because Ben hasn’t thought of anything as home in a long time, but he does like it here. He likes it here for Leslie, and he likes it here for other things too. He doesn’t really understand Pawnee, and he doesn’t actually want to because frankly these people can be frightening, but he likes it nonetheless.
His suitcase is sitting half-packed on the floor. That’s how he feels, really. Halfway out the door. And the hour before packing was constituted of him pacing his floor and staring at his cell phone. Packing had to happen just to keep him sane. Half-preparing for the worst might be a pessimistic outlook, but Ben needs something to hold onto and packing is the only option he has at the moment. He can unpack if he needs to. He hopes he does. His hands haven’t stopped shaking since he got back here, even with the packing and the CNN blaring in the background and the whiskey he hasn’t touched but poured because it seemed like the thing to do.
The way Ben sees it there are two options: either Leslie says no and he trudges back to Indianapolis and tries to reshape a life without her — which he knows he had once though he sometimes has trouble recalling it — or Leslie says yes and Ben can stop. He can rest. As the latter needs little preparation, since Ben suspects it would be the easiest thing in the world, he has spent the last hour preparing for the alternative, which is that Leslie gives him a kind “Thanks, but no thanks” and he drives back to Indianapolis by morning, pretends to be fine until it becomes fact. It would be a while, but it would happen. He hopes. Ben’s not entirely sure. He feels reshaped by her. To return to whatever it was that came before would just sort of turn him into a pile of poorly constructed sludge. That much is clear. Ben hasn’t been breathing very well since he got back.
The news is sharing a story about some British political scandal Ben doesn’t really care much about when there’s a knock at the door. Ben doesn’t jump so much as groan when he hears it, because he knows who has to be there and the dread of loss is overpowering any sense of hope he might have had. This is Ben’s way, of course. To assume the worst. He doesn’t look through the peephole before opening the door.
Leslie doesn’t so much as glance at him. She keeps her eyes on his shoes. The umbrella in her hand is dripping rainwater onto the carpet in the hallway and it might be 80 degrees out but she’s shaking, or maybe Ben just wants that to be the case, wants her body to give her away so he can start breathing in the space before she speaks.
“Would you like to come in,” Ben sputters. She thanks his shoes and steps inside. It is impossible seeing her like this, still in her suit from this afternoon and standing in his bedroom. Well, it’s a motel room, everything is his bedroom, but she’s still standing in it and Ben might be feeling every emotion possible at the same moment, with desperation twice over. He just wants to kiss her. It seems so inane, so impossibly juvenile, but god all he wants is kiss her. That simple act could keep him, he thinks, for years.
“Can I tell you what I’m thinking?” Leslie asks, sort of looking in his direction across the ten-foot space between them. Ben actually doesn’t know how she’s managed to put this much distance between them, or the last time they were in the same room and more than two feet apart, but he doesn’t like it. He also doesn’t speak. He gives a sort of choked nod, and thinks there might be even more at stake here than he previously realized. Like a no, a banishment back to Indianapolis and a life before Leslie Knope could kill something in him, something he needs and something he spent a very long time fighting to get back.
“I’m wondering if you know what you’d be giving up by staying here,” Leslie begins. She has her political voice on, the kind she uses for making speeches. “I love this town, but you — you’re a big government official type on a mission. That’s more than the Pawnee town hall can offer you.”
Ben frowns. “You’re not a big government official type on a mission?”
She raises a hand. “Not the point. I am doing what I want to be doing. If you stay here, you wouldn’t be where you’re supposed to be. You’re a state government guy, and this is small town stuff.”
Ben folds his arms. Leslie sits down at the edge of the bed, mutes the television, and stares at the screen. She laces her fingers together and folds them in her lap, watching the ticker stream by. Ben, still hovering by the doorway, watches the light splash across her face in the dim room. Her eyes are shining. He could be making that up. When people ask Ben what superpower he wishes he could have — as is too common at really horrible political luncheons when no one knows how to hold a conversation between normal human beings — he always says telepathy.
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Ben says, in a voice he hopes sounds assured. “I think that I can work here. I know there’s less paperwork, but I think the numbers robot can manage.”
The corner of Leslie’s mouth lifts a little. Ben smiles.
“I just worry,” Leslie says, and then stops. Ben waits, even though his heart has transformed into a gong and he can’t really hear anything over the sound. “I worry that you’ll be here for a month or two or seven and you’ll just realize that Pawnee isn’t for you and you’ll go back to Indianapolis and have to prove you’re responsible all over again. Because you gave up your job for some girl.”
“But you’re not some girl — ”
Leslie laughs. “I know. I think I know both of us better than that. But that’s how it reads.”
Ben walks to the bed and sits next to her, far enough away that he doesn’t run the risk of accidentally touching her. He reaches for the remote and turns off the television, trying not to think about the fact that he and Leslie are sitting in the dark together in the three-second span it takes for him to reach back and switch on the light. Outside, the rain has faded to a faint drizzle. Ben misses the downpour splashing against the window. Instead, he only has silence.
“Here’s what I know,” Ben begins, and he has to clench his eyes shut while he speaks because no, he is not a brave man. But this demands bravery, this act, this moment, and so he finds himself thinking that he should channel his inner Leslie Knope, which simultaneously convinces him that this is the exact right thing to do and makes him sound like Chris, which is a really disturbing combination.
“What I know,” Ben continues, after a pause, “is that I am a better person around you. I know that you are the most impressive woman I have ever met, and I know that we work well together. I know that you like having me around to help with your department and to eat my leftover pancakes. I know that when I’m around you I feel — well, I feel everything. And I know that when I’m not with you, I feel… less. Like you’ve been this thing that I’ve been waiting for to fill in the gaps.”
Leslie laughs. Well, it’s not a laugh, it’s more of a puff of air and a sad smile that under the circumstances passes for a laugh. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she mumbles, and Ben can’t help it, he moves closer to her and takes one of her hands in both of his. The smile drops away, and she turns to him with eyes wide.
“No,” he says. “I really don’t.”
They stay like that for a moment, stilled. Ben doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do next, because to be honest he’s staring at Leslie’s mouth and not really thinking in complete sentences. Then, Leslie looks away. Ben catches his breath.
“You know, a boyfriend of mine once got on one knee in front of me and asked me to never call him again,” she says, chuckling lightly and staring into the distance, toward something Ben knows he can’t see. “And I would prefer a finance meeting over a romantic vacation any day, so. Just make sure I’m what you want,” Leslie says to the carpet.
Ben laughs, and it’s a real one, it’s loud and bright and true, even though it’s probably kind of rude to laugh at someone’s vulnerability but there’s something borderline farcical about Leslie saying that. As though there’s ever really been anything he’s wanted more. Leslie pulls her head up, startled. “You’re what I want,” Ben says, still smiling. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as much. Except for maybe Ice Town. But this is a much better idea.”
Leslie laughs and exhales, air whistling between her teeth. Ben stares at her mouth again. This could become a habit.
“I want you to stay,” she says, and perhaps for the first time all day they can look each other in the eye.
Ben grins. He actually probably smiles wider than he has ever smiled in his life, including that time he won the mayoral election. That’s kind of what this feels like, though. Like being chosen. When he was voted into office there was fanfare, but here there is Leslie and the quiet and that’s perfectly fine with him.
“Okay, good,” he says, caught between a gasp and a laugh. He wonders for a moment if that wasn’t the right response, if instead he should have closed with some sweeping romantic gesture. But then Leslie is kissing him and he doesn’t really feel the need to say anything, because against his mouth, she whispers, “Stay, stay, stay.”
Parks and Rec. Ben/Leslie.
Sort of spoilers through Harvest Fest. Many thanks to
miss_mishi for the beta.As might be obvious by now, Ben’s a simple guy. Go to work, crunch the numbers, try not to put too many people out of a job while recognizing that some people have to go. Go from work to the motel to the takeout menus in the drawer next to the fridge.
The call comes at 11:45 on a Thursday, when Ben is packing up his stuff to meet Leslie for lunch. It’s Chris on the line, with his ever too-happy voice and Hey Ben! and We miss you here!
And Ben politely responds with, “Thanks, Chris. I miss you guys too,” even though he doesn’t, and that is when Ben knows exactly what this phone call is about. He’s suddenly not hungry anymore.
“That’s so great!” Chris chirps. Ben tightens his grip around the phone. “Because I’m actually calling to tell you that we want you back, Ben. So, pack up your stuff and come on home. New assignment.”
Ben runs his tongue along his dried out lips. “When do you want me back by?”
“Monday,” Chris says. “That should give you enough time to pack up everything, right?”
Ben looks at the pile of papers on his desk and tells himself they’re the reason he wants to stay. “Actually, I really feel like I have more work to do here — ”
“Benjamin,” Chris says, and Ben doesn’t know how Chris can simultaneously sound like a child on Sweetum’s energy bars and Ben’s father, but it’s a really rare skill and Ben is glad it’s not marketable. “It’s done in Pawnee. We’ll see you Monday. It’s going to be great.”
Ben sets his Blackberry on the desk, and spins it under his index finger a couple times, like a record. Outside, the trees rustle and the birds chirp. Someone yells something profane about the library department. It is not Leslie. And everything is normal. Still, Ben feels like someone’s taken a wrecking ball to his face, which isn't a very normal thing at all.
“Wyatt,” Leslie calls as she steps into his office. He doesn’t flinch, and keeps his eye on the phone. “You better not be standing me up,” Leslie continues, and Ben looks up then, alarmed to think that somehow twenty minutes have passed since Chris’ phone call. He checks the time on his blackberry, and yes, it’s true, he just spent twenty minutes staring at nothing.
Leslie steps up to his desk. “Hey, are you okay?” she asks, and her voice is lower now. Leslie has a number of different voices, and Ben has started to catalogue them. This is her concerned friend voice. She uses it on or about Ann a lot. And about everyone at some point, but often about Tom, because Tom gets into more trouble than he probably should, and Ben thinks Leslie is protective of him because he sits so close to her, like that makes him her charge.
Ben coughs, and lifts his head wearing what he hopes is a passable copy of a smile. “I’m fine. Let’s get our lunch on.”
He brushes past her out the door and isn’t sure if he can sense her staring at him or if that’s just what he wants her to do.
-
Ben is having a staring contest with his turkey club. They sit in the courtyard and it’s a bright, warm day and Leslie picks at her salad and tries a number of different conversation starters, including prattling on about Jerry’s latest hysterical screw-up, but she can’t manage to get a blink out of Ben, let alone a reaction, a word, a smile. Leslie takes another stab at the piece of mini-corn hiding in the corner of her bowl.
“Also, I set some kittens on fire this morning,” she mumbles.
“Oh,” Ben says. And then, “Wait, what?”
She sets her fork down and rolls her eyes. “I was trying to wake you up from your coma there. What’s going on?”
Ben looks at her. Like, really looks at her, looks at her like he’s staring into the deep end of a pool to find one of those toys that sink to the bottom. Leslie coughs, and turns away. This is new with Ben, the butterflies, and she’ll call them that because she knows how to recognize them by now but she hasn’t yet decided what to do about them or what they mean. They first cropped up at the Harvest Festival months ago, which she figures is a decent amount of time, but it’s early enough that they could still fly away tomorrow morning and build a butterfly colony somewhere else. Or they could stop, lay eggs, though now Leslie is thinking about caterpillars growing in her stomach and maybe will go with a different metaphor from now on. The point is, she doesn’t know where this is going. It could be going nowhere. Sure, sometimes Ben looks at her and she thinks — but she doesn’t have anything concrete, and she doesn’t know if her own feelings are solid or not. But that’s not really a concern right now. Right now, her concern is Ben, who looks washed out, pale as a snowstorm, ill.
“I have to go back to Indianapolis,” he says, and Leslie blinks three times before it registers. It feels like a bookshelf has fallen on her, and she can’t speak, she can’t move, she can’t seem to do anything but sort of gup at him like a fish. Ben exhales, and then looks down at his untouched sandwich yet again, so that Leslie is left drowning and staring at the crown of his head. “I know,” he says to Leslie and the sandwich. Then, he places a hand on top of hers on the table and says, “I’m really sorry,” and before Leslie can muster up the breath to ask him why he’s apologizing, he’s gone.
-
Ben goes back to his motel room. He actually has work to do, but it seems sort of pointless now. He won’t go back until Sunday night — he decided that in the car ride back here — but he’s not going to keep working. He’ll call that his rebellion. The Parks department always needs help. He’ll spend the days with them. He’ll spend the days with Leslie, because Leslie is — well, Leslie is remarkable. This is what he told his mother when she called last week. Ben tries to be honest with himself since the days of Ice Town. He finds this works best. So, yes, he has feelings for Leslie, and yes, he will admit that to himself and no one else, though he thinks it’s pretty obvious to everyone but her, because Ben, much to his dismay, is turning out to be a pretty heart-on-my-sleeve kind of guy, which is generally not something he considered in the auditing department. But that’s how he first recognized this thing with Leslie. Not that there’s a thing, but, anyway, he just, he means — Ben started to feel things, which, he’ll be honest, isn’t a very common thing. And that’s when he figured it out.
As might be obvious by now, Ben’s a simple guy. Go to work, crunch the numbers, try not to put too many people out of a job while recognizing that some people have to go. Go from work to the motel to the takeout menus in the drawer next to the fridge. Personal attachments don’t go well for him. He has girlfriends but they don’t stick around. Ben thinks that people in relationships should be the stable sort, especially at his age. They should want the package: the two kids, two cars and a dog package. Instead, Ben’s been on a mission for personal redemption since he was 18-years-old, and such a goal stability does not make. He figures it best to just sort of stick to himself. And he’s become a champion at one-night stands. He’s never done a survey, of course, but if he did he thinks he’d find an extremely high rate of both satisfaction and comfort. Not that Ben’s particularly promiscuous or anything, it’s just, you know, sometimes —
Anyway, the point is that Leslie is different, and Leslie makes him feel different. Leslie makes Ben want to stay still. She makes him want to freeze in place. She makes him want to pick out favorite restaurants and actually go to them, not just order from the ones with take-out. She makes him want to stay. He hasn’t felt that in a long time. Maybe ever. It actually took him a while to figure it out, but then he realized it with a sort of woosh, like being pulled around by a gust of wind. Then the air settled, and ever since then he’s been fixated. He’s been affixed.
Ben tosses a plaid suit-shirt into his suitcase. He’ll have to pull it out and iron it this evening; he’s only brought so many clothes. They weren’t even supposed to be in Pawnee for this long in the first place, even with that extension Chris got them. Still, packing now will keep him busy. Tomorrow he’s going to have to face Leslie, and then at the end of the weekend he’s going to have to walk away. The notion makes him feel dazed, nauseated, and Ben sits down at the edge of the bed. Maybe he should just leave now. Spare the goodbyes, just pack his suitcase up and run. Ben’s good at running. Ran out of Partridge, ran out of Minnesota, ran out of every other town he’s audited with pitchforks at his back. It’d be easiest. Ben doesn’t really know if he’s good at goodbyes, having rarely been offered the opportunity, but he has a feeling that saying goodbye to Leslie might splinter something in him. He could be a coward. He’s been known for that before. But Leslie is not a coward, and maybe he owes it to her to be brave.
So, he drives to City Hall. It’s past five by the time he makes it to the parking lot, but he knows Leslie will still be there. When he gets to the Parks department — and if he’s honest he gets there in kind of a sprint, slipping in his shoes — she is still at her desk while the rest of the office has cleared out. But while he’s expecting Leslie to be working, instead he finds her sitting at her desk, chin in her palm, staring out the window. He pauses in the entrance to the office. She hasn’t seen him yet, and he has never seen her like this. Leslie is always dashing from one project to the other, always moving, always thinking, always creating. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her be simply still.
He walks into the office quietly. He almost doesn’t want to disturb her, because as he gets closer he can see her lips turned to a frown and her forehead scrunched together in the way Leslie gets when she’s trying to think through a problem she doesn’t like. But he has things to say, and it’s important that he say them and hopefully he isn’t interrupting some thought pattern that was going to put the Pawnee Parks department on the map.
When he knocks on the door to her office, she jumps, a hand jumping to her throat and a little squeak coming out of her mouth, and Ben smiles even though his heart is threatening to scratch its way out of his chest cavity.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay,” she says with a gasp, shaking her head. “You just surprised me. What are you even doing here? Everyone’s gone home.”
He sits in one of the chairs opposite her desk, perched on the edge of the seat and his elbows at his knees. “I wanted to talk to you.”
Leslie sits up, straightens the collar of her shirt, and doesn’t look him in the eye. She’s actually looking just below, at his cheekbones, and Ben is once again reminded how not a politician she is. Politicians look at the eyebrows. It’s easy to get away with that. Leslie doesn’t have the training. Leslie doesn’t know the rules. Leslie just goes.
“What’s up?” she says to his left ear now. Ben wants to laugh, but he’s not even sure he can speak.
He coughs, and now it is his turn to have trouble looking her in the eye. But this isn’t about politics, and he feels no need to fake the handshakes or the smiles with her. Right now, he couldn’t falsify anything. With each moment that passes while he swallows back the truth of the matter, the air grows thick and hard to inhale.
Ben says, “I have feelings for you.” It’s easier than he thought it would be, at least for a moment. Then, he feels a panic in his chest building up all over again, refreshed and reinvigorated.
Leslie tilts her head, and her gaze moves back to his eyes. Ben stares back for a moment and then has to look away.
“Pardon?” she whispers.
“I have feelings for you,” Ben repeats and Leslie seems to sit up even straighter, her mouth parted in surprise, he thinks. “And I don’t want to go back to Indianapolis. I have to, but I don’t want to. And I hate to put you on the spot here, but I’m kind of on the clock.”
Leslie shakes her head. “I don’t understand. What am I on the spot for exactly?”
Ben almost laughs. God, he’s awful at this. He places his hands flat on his knees, grips them tight. “I will stay if you want me to stay. And if you don’t, I will leave, I will pack up my suitcase and vanish. But, I’d — I want you to ask me to stay.”
Leslie has turned to look out the window again, which could be a good or a bad sign. He feels like he should have more experience with this. He’s a grown man, he’s supposed to understand these things, but Ben doesn’t have a clue. Leslie isn’t saying anything, and he can feel that demolition site in his chest again. For a moment, a single, horrible moment, all he wants to do is clamber to her, take her hands in his or kiss her or hold her or plead for her to take him in this sorry state. Before today, he was kept in stasis, a pleasant hum. The prospect of leaving has sent him into hyper drive, a crescendo that grew louder with each passing moment and led him here. Ben has read about this sort of feeling before. He knows it can ruin a man.
“I’ll let you think on it,” he says to the doorway as he stands. “You know where to find me.”
-
Leslie is left with the windows. The sun bakes the top of her hand as it rests on the corner of her desk. She waits until she hears the snap of the office door clicking shut before breathing again, and when she does it’s a gasp, a hand sort of flapping in the air, as though emerging from the ocean after being pulled through a riptide. She sort of scrambles around her desk for her phone to text Ann and tell her to get her ass to the Parks department, because Leslie doesn’t think she can move.
When Ann does arrive a very long twenty minutes later, Leslie has probably walked half a mile just pacing her office, and she continues to pace as she explains the days events, starting with right before lunch when she may have caught herself humming on her way to Ben’s office and then him leaving and then her day spent doing nothing and then him, in her office, with the confession and Leslie uses that word purposefully because that’s how it sounded from him and that’s what scares her the most.
“So,” Ann says, slowly with a drawn out vowel. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Leslie snips, turning on her heels for another circular pace around the office. “I wasn’t expecting this, you know. I was still trying to figure out the Ben feelings.”
“If you ask him to stay you’ll have the time to do that,” Ann offers.
Leslie shakes her head. “I can’t just do that on a chance. He’ll lose his job, Ann. And he’s worked so hard for everything, what with Ice Town and — I can’t be the one to take that away from him. Not unless I’m sure. And even if I am sure, I don’t know if it’s the right thing. It could not work out, or I could be jumping to conclusions, and then he’d lose so much for nothing.”
Ann crosses her arms and seems to smirk. “So you’ve thought this through, then.”
Leslie shrugs, and finally plops into her seat. “I just don’t know what’s right here. That’s what I’m worried about.”
Ann leans forward. “Can I ask you a question?” Leslie nods. “When Ben got to this town, you hated him. Like, really hated him. And he has proven to be your ally on pretty much everything, which I know means a lot because your work is so important to you. So, I want you to know that I see your face when he’s around you, even though you don’t so maybe you don’t notice the way you sort of turn into a living Christmas tree when he’s around, but I do. We all do. I think Tom has an office pool.”
Leslie blushes with the distinct feeling of a schoolgirl, caught enamored in spring. It’s true, of course. Leslie’s a bright person and she means that in all senses of the word, but Leslie around Ben is like a sun. She could blind someone. And she knows it. She can feel it.
But Leslie shakes her head, shakes it off. “I think I’m missing the question.”
Ann sits back in the chair again. “You have something that most people don’t get. You get a choice. Are you going to let that walk away? Can you live with that?”
-
It has started to rain. It’s just a shower, and will be over soon enough, but Ben sits by the window of his motel room and watches. He has gotten strangely used to this town over the past months — and the fact that he has been here a as long as he has sits oddly with him. It seems like he’s been here forever and also like he’s only been here a week at the same time. The community college students at the coffee shop down the street have only recently begun to smile at him when he picks up his morning Americano, which is a nice change from the scowls of months prior. Now, to be honest, Ben doesn’t think of Pawnee as home because Ben hasn’t thought of anything as home in a long time, but he does like it here. He likes it here for Leslie, and he likes it here for other things too. He doesn’t really understand Pawnee, and he doesn’t actually want to because frankly these people can be frightening, but he likes it nonetheless.
His suitcase is sitting half-packed on the floor. That’s how he feels, really. Halfway out the door. And the hour before packing was constituted of him pacing his floor and staring at his cell phone. Packing had to happen just to keep him sane. Half-preparing for the worst might be a pessimistic outlook, but Ben needs something to hold onto and packing is the only option he has at the moment. He can unpack if he needs to. He hopes he does. His hands haven’t stopped shaking since he got back here, even with the packing and the CNN blaring in the background and the whiskey he hasn’t touched but poured because it seemed like the thing to do.
The way Ben sees it there are two options: either Leslie says no and he trudges back to Indianapolis and tries to reshape a life without her — which he knows he had once though he sometimes has trouble recalling it — or Leslie says yes and Ben can stop. He can rest. As the latter needs little preparation, since Ben suspects it would be the easiest thing in the world, he has spent the last hour preparing for the alternative, which is that Leslie gives him a kind “Thanks, but no thanks” and he drives back to Indianapolis by morning, pretends to be fine until it becomes fact. It would be a while, but it would happen. He hopes. Ben’s not entirely sure. He feels reshaped by her. To return to whatever it was that came before would just sort of turn him into a pile of poorly constructed sludge. That much is clear. Ben hasn’t been breathing very well since he got back.
The news is sharing a story about some British political scandal Ben doesn’t really care much about when there’s a knock at the door. Ben doesn’t jump so much as groan when he hears it, because he knows who has to be there and the dread of loss is overpowering any sense of hope he might have had. This is Ben’s way, of course. To assume the worst. He doesn’t look through the peephole before opening the door.
Leslie doesn’t so much as glance at him. She keeps her eyes on his shoes. The umbrella in her hand is dripping rainwater onto the carpet in the hallway and it might be 80 degrees out but she’s shaking, or maybe Ben just wants that to be the case, wants her body to give her away so he can start breathing in the space before she speaks.
“Would you like to come in,” Ben sputters. She thanks his shoes and steps inside. It is impossible seeing her like this, still in her suit from this afternoon and standing in his bedroom. Well, it’s a motel room, everything is his bedroom, but she’s still standing in it and Ben might be feeling every emotion possible at the same moment, with desperation twice over. He just wants to kiss her. It seems so inane, so impossibly juvenile, but god all he wants is kiss her. That simple act could keep him, he thinks, for years.
“Can I tell you what I’m thinking?” Leslie asks, sort of looking in his direction across the ten-foot space between them. Ben actually doesn’t know how she’s managed to put this much distance between them, or the last time they were in the same room and more than two feet apart, but he doesn’t like it. He also doesn’t speak. He gives a sort of choked nod, and thinks there might be even more at stake here than he previously realized. Like a no, a banishment back to Indianapolis and a life before Leslie Knope could kill something in him, something he needs and something he spent a very long time fighting to get back.
“I’m wondering if you know what you’d be giving up by staying here,” Leslie begins. She has her political voice on, the kind she uses for making speeches. “I love this town, but you — you’re a big government official type on a mission. That’s more than the Pawnee town hall can offer you.”
Ben frowns. “You’re not a big government official type on a mission?”
She raises a hand. “Not the point. I am doing what I want to be doing. If you stay here, you wouldn’t be where you’re supposed to be. You’re a state government guy, and this is small town stuff.”
Ben folds his arms. Leslie sits down at the edge of the bed, mutes the television, and stares at the screen. She laces her fingers together and folds them in her lap, watching the ticker stream by. Ben, still hovering by the doorway, watches the light splash across her face in the dim room. Her eyes are shining. He could be making that up. When people ask Ben what superpower he wishes he could have — as is too common at really horrible political luncheons when no one knows how to hold a conversation between normal human beings — he always says telepathy.
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Ben says, in a voice he hopes sounds assured. “I think that I can work here. I know there’s less paperwork, but I think the numbers robot can manage.”
The corner of Leslie’s mouth lifts a little. Ben smiles.
“I just worry,” Leslie says, and then stops. Ben waits, even though his heart has transformed into a gong and he can’t really hear anything over the sound. “I worry that you’ll be here for a month or two or seven and you’ll just realize that Pawnee isn’t for you and you’ll go back to Indianapolis and have to prove you’re responsible all over again. Because you gave up your job for some girl.”
“But you’re not some girl — ”
Leslie laughs. “I know. I think I know both of us better than that. But that’s how it reads.”
Ben walks to the bed and sits next to her, far enough away that he doesn’t run the risk of accidentally touching her. He reaches for the remote and turns off the television, trying not to think about the fact that he and Leslie are sitting in the dark together in the three-second span it takes for him to reach back and switch on the light. Outside, the rain has faded to a faint drizzle. Ben misses the downpour splashing against the window. Instead, he only has silence.
“Here’s what I know,” Ben begins, and he has to clench his eyes shut while he speaks because no, he is not a brave man. But this demands bravery, this act, this moment, and so he finds himself thinking that he should channel his inner Leslie Knope, which simultaneously convinces him that this is the exact right thing to do and makes him sound like Chris, which is a really disturbing combination.
“What I know,” Ben continues, after a pause, “is that I am a better person around you. I know that you are the most impressive woman I have ever met, and I know that we work well together. I know that you like having me around to help with your department and to eat my leftover pancakes. I know that when I’m around you I feel — well, I feel everything. And I know that when I’m not with you, I feel… less. Like you’ve been this thing that I’ve been waiting for to fill in the gaps.”
Leslie laughs. Well, it’s not a laugh, it’s more of a puff of air and a sad smile that under the circumstances passes for a laugh. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she mumbles, and Ben can’t help it, he moves closer to her and takes one of her hands in both of his. The smile drops away, and she turns to him with eyes wide.
“No,” he says. “I really don’t.”
They stay like that for a moment, stilled. Ben doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do next, because to be honest he’s staring at Leslie’s mouth and not really thinking in complete sentences. Then, Leslie looks away. Ben catches his breath.
“You know, a boyfriend of mine once got on one knee in front of me and asked me to never call him again,” she says, chuckling lightly and staring into the distance, toward something Ben knows he can’t see. “And I would prefer a finance meeting over a romantic vacation any day, so. Just make sure I’m what you want,” Leslie says to the carpet.
Ben laughs, and it’s a real one, it’s loud and bright and true, even though it’s probably kind of rude to laugh at someone’s vulnerability but there’s something borderline farcical about Leslie saying that. As though there’s ever really been anything he’s wanted more. Leslie pulls her head up, startled. “You’re what I want,” Ben says, still smiling. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as much. Except for maybe Ice Town. But this is a much better idea.”
Leslie laughs and exhales, air whistling between her teeth. Ben stares at her mouth again. This could become a habit.
“I want you to stay,” she says, and perhaps for the first time all day they can look each other in the eye.
Ben grins. He actually probably smiles wider than he has ever smiled in his life, including that time he won the mayoral election. That’s kind of what this feels like, though. Like being chosen. When he was voted into office there was fanfare, but here there is Leslie and the quiet and that’s perfectly fine with him.
“Okay, good,” he says, caught between a gasp and a laugh. He wonders for a moment if that wasn’t the right response, if instead he should have closed with some sweeping romantic gesture. But then Leslie is kissing him and he doesn’t really feel the need to say anything, because against his mouth, she whispers, “Stay, stay, stay.”
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Date: 2011-03-25 12:08 am (UTC)this is adorable and you should be proud. the romantic beats feel just right to me, stretched out a bit without being ponderous or childish.
my favorite line is:
Her eyes are shining. He could be making that up. When people ask Ben what superpower he wishes he could have — as is too common at really horrible political luncheons when no one knows how to hold a conversation between normal human beings — he always says telepathy.
because that question comes up so often amidst awkward silences and i always say telepathy too. just a very true moment, there.
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Date: 2011-03-25 12:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-25 12:18 am (UTC)So basically, this gave me many, many feelings. You have Leslie and especially Ben's voices down.
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Date: 2011-03-25 12:22 am (UTC)Okay, I really do love how much it was about Ben wanting to stay because basically he is a man who has always been moving around and that basically, he's found a reason to stand still and just basically somewhere he can consider home.
This was one of my favorites, jsyk.
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Date: 2011-03-25 12:23 am (UTC)(Tom totally would have an office pool. And Ron would think it beneath his dignity to enter, but then he would anyway. And he would bet for Leslie/Ben but he wouldn't want anyone to know about it. Sorry, I'm ficcing your fic).
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Date: 2011-03-25 12:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-25 12:39 am (UTC)Also Leslie kisses him and there is nothing that is not perfect about this fic.
although did you mean 'site' here: "that demolition sight"
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Date: 2011-03-25 12:40 am (UTC)yes that would be a typo i will fix it ty
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Date: 2011-03-25 12:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-25 12:42 am (UTC)speed demon
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Date: 2011-03-25 12:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-25 02:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-25 02:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-25 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-25 03:09 am (UTC)Very cute :)
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Date: 2011-03-25 03:39 am (UTC)I know that when I’m around you I feel — well, I feel everything. And I know that when I’m not with you, I feel… less. Like you’ve been this thing that I’ve been waiting for to fill in the gaps.
HAJSGLHAJLGA PERFECT
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Date: 2011-03-25 04:13 am (UTC)SO GOOD.
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Date: 2011-03-26 12:41 am (UTC)AND
He just wants to kiss her. It seems so inane, so impossibly juvenile, but god all he wants is kiss her. That simple act could keep him, he thinks, for years.
WHAT. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?
FLAWLESS.
Seriously though, best Park and Rec fic I've ever read. Everyone is flawlessly written, so in character. Like, I see this actually being an episode. And you know how I feel about your writing... so pitch-perfect. Poetic without being purple-y. So.
Basically, you are perfect. Ben and Leslie are perfect. All is perfect in this little moment.
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Date: 2011-03-26 12:56 am (UTC)i am so glad you enjoyed it, bb. your comment fills me with joy.
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Date: 2011-03-28 04:27 am (UTC)Just because I love vulnerable Leslie. Great job!
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Date: 2011-04-06 04:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-08 01:30 pm (UTC)Perfect. PERFECT. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
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Date: 2011-04-27 04:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-02 01:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-02 01:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 11:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-25 10:05 pm (UTC)THAT AWKWARD MOMENT WHEN YOU MAKE THE FLAWLESSLY ACCURATE COMPARISON BETWEEN LESLIE KNOPE AND THE SUN. THAT AWKWARD MOMENT WHEN I READ THIS FOR THE FIRST TIME TODAY, THE VERY SAME DAY I WOKE UP THINKING THAT I'M GOING TO START CALLING BEN AND LESLIE MY SUNNY OTP, BECAUSE COME ON, ISN'T IT OBVIOUS. O M G.
"They stay like that for a moment, stilled. Ben doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do next, because to be honest he’s staring at Leslie’s mouth and not really thinking in complete sentences."
Oh, sweet Lord in Heaven. YOU CANNOT WRITE SUCH PERFECT THINGS AND BE AN ACTUAL HUMAN BEING THAT EXISTS. Thank you so very much for writing this! I adore you already. (I follow you on Tumblr, by the way, my blog is disheveledcurls.)
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Date: 2011-09-25 10:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-28 06:44 am (UTC)