I come bearing fic!
title: We Used to Wait (I)
fandom: Parks and Recreation
pairing: Ben/Leslie
rating: around PG
words: 4,500
disclaimer: I only wish I could claim ownership for this perfect show, but alas.
summary: Post-Harvest Festival, a few days prior to Ben's departure, and a birthday on the horizon.
---
Ben can feel their eyes burning into the back of his head and he groans loudly, warning them off.
“Cut it out.”
He flips over a page of Leslie’s most recent proposal, eyes lingering on a specific line about importing exotic eels to boost zoo attendance. They’re tying up loose ends, trying to set out some final blueprints for future success. The Harvest Festival achieved exactly what Leslie wanted, what he secretly wanted but didn’t dare hope for-it raised enough money to staunch the seemingly unstoppable monetary bleed of Pawnee, Indiana. It’s not a permanent fix or a cure-all, but it’s enough for them to leave. It’s enough for him to start saying goodbye.
He glances over his shoulder. April is staring at him with that eerily half-amused, half-plotting-your-doom expression, and he snaps back around. Tom’s yelling “What up bitches!” as he enters the room and Ben can hear Jerry muttering to Donna, something about how he doesn’t have money lying around to chip in for presents, that his daughter’s birthday is coming up in a month and he promised her a particularly expensive necklace.
“Honestly, guys? I neither want nor expect anything, from any of you. It’s just like any other day, alright?” He hates working in the main office, but Chris insisted on a 30-minute Naked Yoga session, and Ben can’t get out fast enough when Chris starts tugging his microfiber running pants off. In spite of the Harvest Festival’s success everyone there still only begrudgingly pretends to like him, and it’s always in a half-hearted, “Well if you insist,” kind of way that makes him want to do his work in the janitor’s closet. At least in there intervals of silence last longer than 20 seconds.
He can see Leslie pointing to him in an exaggerated way, eyes fixed on Jerry and clearly unaware that he is watching her. She’s flinging her arms wide, then glaring, then smiling brightly, her wild gesticulations becoming more comical with each mime. Jerry’s frustration is growing and he turns away, as though signaling he has withdrawn from their tacit conversation. She frowns, and it’s more charming than Ben would like to admit so he looks away, pretending he never saw her, never registered the dangerously adorable quality of her face. He stares at the stacks of colorful idea binders forming a wall in front of him, which are also more charming than he would like to admit, so he cradles his face in his hands and tries to focus.
His eyes fix on the stack of paper in front of him, and he looks busy. In reality he’s busy recalling Leslie’s face alight with a childlike expression of glee, this wholesome, adoring look as she surveyed the Harvest Festival in all its glory. She walked from person to person, thanking every citizen of Pawnee individually, like she was the Pope or something, blessing them for their show of faith. She even thanked him, shook his hand, held it, and smiled.
Tom is whispering that he wouldn’t mind buying gifts if they were for Justin; he always liked Justin, Justin had good taste, Leslie never made them buy Justin anything, he misses Justin. Ben feels something prick at him, something about an unknown name. He thought he knew all of the Parks department’s employees.
“Tom, you realize I can hear everything you’re saying?”
He shrugs.
“Who’s Justin?”
Ben’s not sure he wants to know the answer.
“Leslie’s perfect ex-boyfriend. The one that got away,” he says wistfully, shaking his head. “Only like the coolest dude I’ve ever known. I will never forgive her for doing that to me. I still can’t get him to go shopping together.”
Ben was right. He didn’t want to know.
“Oh,” he breathes, brows knitting together. When he looks up Leslie’s staring at him with a mixture of intensity and confusion, if that’s possible. When she recognizes him staring back she waves brightly, that typical Knope smile overtaking her face. Ben smiles in spite of himself, nods. Scribbles appear frustratedly on the paper before him.
Donna’s maintaining she won’t be driving anyone anywhere in her car.
“Can we go back to you all pretending I don’t exist, please?” Ben moans, throwing his pen down and standing abruptly. He storms out of the room. He can’t get the name Justin out of his head.
***
Leslie’s good at giving presents. No, she’s great at giving presents. She’s the best. Her presents are what people didn’t know they wanted, but needed. She’s a present-giving machine.
But for the first time, as she stares at Ben working diligently on the other side of the glass, she doesn’t have the faintest inkling of what the right present is. It’s not exactly like Ben is the easiest person to buy for. His face is scrunched in that thinking way, and he’s turning every now and then to talk to Tom or Donna or Jerry, and she’s thinking hard but has no answers. She knows the outcome she wants, but not how to get there. Ben tends to elicit that response from her. When she wanted to fix the budget, he kept undermining her efforts-she wanted to save Pawnee, but he kept complicating things. One minute he’d be ruthlessly cutting funds for a new jungle-gym in the park, and the next he’d be trying to help her come up with ideas to preserve the Pawnee Retirement Home’s botanical garden. She couldn’t decide if he was trying to destroy Pawnee, or save it.
With the conclusion of the Harvest Festival, she’s more lost than ever. He was stellar, and she was baffled. Ben confuses her, and the mere lack of certainty annoys her just as much as her inability to identify the right present. What do you buy for the one person you don’t really understand?
Ben’s saying something to Tom, or maybe to the room, and suddenly he’s on his feet, leaving. He looks angry, but that also just seems to be his resting expression 50% of the time, so she doesn’t worry. Part of her just wants to buy him some booze, tell him to drink until he can’t see straight and can forget about the last few months in Pawnee that seemed so taxing for him. But another part of her can’t forget how genuinely pleased he seemed at the Harvest Festival-how, if she didn’t know better, she’d have said he looked proud. There was a lot of that in the time leading up to the festival; more smiles than frowns, more laughter than bleak cynicism. What used to be dismay seemed to have eased into a gentle understanding and appreciation for Pawnee. And because of that, Leslie can’t dismiss Ben’s birthday. Not after all he’s done to help them, how many chances he’s given them (deserved as they were).
Not when he’s leaving at the end of the week.
Leslie feels an odd pang when she thinks about Chris and Ben’s impending departure. Mainly she’s worried about Ann. Things have been going well between her and Chris, and Leslie knows better than anyone how much Ann deserves a good, stable relationship. For the first time, it seems like she has someone reliable, and now he’s leaving. Leslie avoids prying into their plans, about what will happen when he goes-whether they’ll try long-distance or not. Leslie doesn’t really believe in it; not in the way that someone doesn’t believe in Santa Claus or late fees to the library, but in the way that it just doesn’t work. She tried with Dave, but when there’s nothing to ground someone to the place she loves? Impossible.
There’s a soft knocking and Ben is smiling at her from the doorway. Leslie feels embarrassed that she was thinking about him, even if only in conjunction with Chris and Ann. It’s like he knows, standing there in his typical Smug Ben fashion. She sweeps some papers together and nods professionally.
“Ben.”
“Leslie.”
He’s watching her, amused.
“Yes?”
“Why did you tell them it’s my birthday tomorrow?”
She brushes her hair over her shoulders nonchalantly, focusing on the many important documents in her capable hands.
“I have no idea what you mean, Benjamin. Why, I had no idea it was even your birthday tomorrow.”
He’s rolling his eyes, pushing his sleeves up over his forearms, nodding at her.
“Yeah, okay, so that’s not why Tom’s talking about taking us all to the Snakehole so he can get me ‘so plastered I’d make out with Jenny’ and ‘love it like an outlet loves its plug’?” He pauses, mulling over the words with a sudden look of trepidation. “Whatever that means.”
Brunette Jenny from the library? Leslie snaps her binder shut. What was it she promised to try to not call them anymore? Punkass book jockeys? Yeah, sounds about right.
“No,” she replies coolly, finally meeting his gaze. “Like I said, I didn’t tell them anything. And don’t expect anything from me!” She stands, rounding her desk to leave the room, but Ben’s blocking the door. She nearly rams into him, not expecting him to shift into the frame like he does. He’s smiling at her in that new way that confuses her; it’s like because he’s leaving Pawnee he’s suddenly more playful and bold. At least, that’s what it seems like to her.
“Excuse you,” she pokes his arm, standing on tiptoe to try to see over him. He quirks a brow, smile widening slightly. She starts leaning sideways to see if everyone has already left. They have.
She’s not sure how long she must have been sitting there pondering Ben’s departure, but the lights in the main room and hallways are off. Ben cocks his head to the side, glancing behind himself and into the darkened room.
“I let them leave 5 minutes early,” he shrugs. “You seemed preoccupied.”
“Hey! I still had a 30-minute brainstorming session planned before the end of the day! ‘Seesaws and Monkey Bars: Friend or Foe? How to stay safe on Pawnee’s Playgrounds.’”
Leslie makes a dramatic gesture with her hands and it looks like Ben wants to die a little.
“Did you honestly just-“ he cuts himself off, presses a hand over his mouth and chuckles.
“I can’t believe you let them out early…you’re supposed to be the hard-ass! You’re slacking, this is very disappointing. Just because you’re leaving in a couple days that doesn’t mean you get to shirk your Mean Ben duties.”
As soon as the words leave her lips, Leslie wishes she could will them back. Ben’s lips twitch slightly and the smile shrinks. The look on his face makes her heart falter, and she wants to say something but isn’t sure what. She’s not sure she’s really seen an expression like that on him before-he almost looks hurt.
“You haven’t called me that in a while,” he says quietly with a weak laugh, arms uncrossing to let her pass. She doesn’t move. He’s looking over her, at the giant seal above her desk. He won’t meet her eyes, but the smile’s back, not quite as earnest anymore. Leslie frowns.
“Yeah, well…that’s because you’ve been so…” she pauses, standing on tiptoe again so he will be forced to look at her, “Nice lately. You’ve been Nice Ben, Helpful Ben.” Leslie nods emphatically. “Sweet Ben, even. I’ve sort of forgotten what Mean Ben’s like, to be honest. Poor guy is long gone, forgotten.”
Ben’s staring at her with a bewildered, unreadable expression and she can only hope she didn’t hurt his feelings more. They may not always get along or see eye to eye, but he has always been civil. At least, more civil than she can say for herself. Once she’s satisfied that he’s not angry, she punches him playfully on the arm and walks out, shouting, “Come on Wyatt, they’re going to lock the building up with us in it if we don’t leave soon!”
Ben lags behind a moment, sending a cursory glance over the room before trailing after her, his smile considerably lightened.
Something in the way that Ben studies the building as they leave gives Leslie her first glimmer of an idea for the perfect present.
***
Ben can’t decide what struck him more: Mean Ben, or how cavalier Leslie was about his leaving. He knows they aren’t close like she is with Ron or Ann or Tom, or anyone in the Parks Department for that matter, but some part of him hoped she’d at least seem a little disappointed that he was finally leaving. He even amazed himself, not only staying this long in Pawnee, but wanting to stay this long in Pawnee. But Leslie seemed unfazed, and he’s not sure what he was expecting, but that certainly wasn’t what he was wanting.
Because as much as he hates to admit it (and still wouldn’t admit it under threat of painful death), he’s sad to be going. Everything has that odd nostalgic glow to it, that haze of familiarity magnified by affection. He hates himself for it, feels like an ass. The worst part is that he tried so hard to hate this place, to write it off as another Podunk town with bad bureaucrats and a useless citizenry-but he can’t. He doesn’t hate it, not at all. He even has the terrifyingly sneaking suspicion that somewhere between Leslie strong-arming him out of April’s birthday party and the Harvest Festival clean-up session, he fell in love. Pawnee became something he’s protective of, defensive even. And he has no idea how he let it happen, but he can’t stop caring long enough to actually stop caring.
Leslie’s a full six paces ahead of him, bursting out of the exits with her usual exuberance. She lights up when she sees a small crowd gathered at the front doors. The surge of panic subsides in Ben when he realizes that the group is their coworkers rather than angry citizens coming to complain at closing. They’re all huddled around a figure that must be Chris. Ben would recognize that crisp staccato anywhere.
“I have literally never had a better idea than this, in my, entire life.”
Ben fights the urge to sprint to his car and never look back.
“Ron Swanson,” Chris points emphatically at the mustachioed bear of a man, his smile kilowatts too bright for a normal human being. “Thoughts?”
Ron’s massaging his chin, brows furrowed into a thoughtful mass. His broad shoulders slacken into a dismissive shrug.
“Sure, why not.” He says gruffly. Andy fist pumps beside him.
“What! What’s going on? Tell me, tell me!” Leslie’s smile is nearly leaping off her face and Ben is struggling to ease his way into the circle, eyes flickering over to his car every few moments.
“Chris wants to throw a party at the cabin where Tom shot Ron,” April’s dark monotone identifies her beside Andy, and Tom looks visibly uncomfortable. Ron gives him a rough smack square on the back for reassurance, but it almost knocks the small man over.
“Oh my god,” Leslie claps her hands together, shooting Ben a grin. “Chris, that’s perfect!”
“What happened to ‘don’t expect anything’, Leslie?”
Leslie actually sticks her tongue out at him and Ben feels some part of him click strangely, and he has to look away from her and down at the keys in his hands before he can speak again.
“No, I’m sorry, that’s very generous of you all but I can’t let you do this. It’s totally unnecessary and a waste of funds.”
He doesn’t look up but he can tell Leslie’s frowning.
“Who said we’re taking money from Pawnee for you? We’re paying for it!”
Ben’s head snaps up and he’s staring at her, completely lost. Everyone else doesn’t look quite as enthused as Leslie. He scratches the back of his neck, compromising, “Fine. I want to chip in.”
“Are you crazy? You can’t pay for your own birthday party. Jeez Ben, sometimes I swear you have no idea how to have fun.”
Ben can see Ann and Chris exchanging a look, one that he’s only see Chris issue when talking to Andy about a certain dark-haired girl. Ben’s car is so close, he could sprint to it in only a couple of seconds. He’s starting to feel panicked, like even though they’re outside, there’s not enough air when Leslie’s standing so close to him and smiling like that and Chris is watching them that way.
“Don’t worry Ben, I’ve got time tonight. I’ll put together a memo and send it out to all of you later.” She sweeps a finger around the circle and makes sure everyone is paying attention. “Will we carpool tomorrow after work then?” The mixture of nods and mumbles satisfies her and she claps eagerly.
“This is going to be great!”
Ben smiles feebly.
This is going to be a disaster.
***
Leslie’s slumped over her desk using every last ounce of her energy to not fall asleep at work. But it’s so very tempting. Her desk is so flat and her chair is so comfortable and she is so, so tired. An hour into the day Ben had quietly brought her coffee and left without saying a word, and it got her through lunch. The caffeine has worn off and she’s staring blankly at the window into the office, and Tom keeps glancing at her with concern.
“You okay there Leslie? You look like you had a rough night.”
“Stayed up late,” she murmurs, shaking her head as if to rouse herself. “Had to finish some stuff for today for Ben.”
“Ah, gotcha,” Tom says knowingly, and she looks at him with confusion.
“Say no more!” He adds, even going so far as to wink.
Leslie is too tired to even try to decipher Tom’s weirdness, so she settles on using her pen as a microphone, directing her voice at the doorway.
“People of Pawnee! Do you know what time it is?”
Tom almost looks like he’s expecting Leslie to shout something absurd like ‘Hammer time!’ and start dancing. She’s still waiting expectantly before speaking again.
“I genuinely want to know,” she almost whimpers. “My clock looks like a bunch of squiggly lines and it hurts my eyes to stare for too long, help.”
April quickly replies that there’s only about 10 minutes until they can go home and Leslie groans in misery. Did she even sleep last night? She can’t remember. But she also can’t remember the penultimate line of the Preamble right now, and that’s an extremely distressing sign that she indeed did not sleep. She’s not sure she slept much the night before either, and suddenly everything seems foggy and like there’s a mist over her eyes.
“That’s it, I’m getting Ben.” Tom throws his pen down and nearly kicks over his chair, but Leslie’s trying to claw him back as he passes her desk.
“No! No Tom, don’t!” She’s pleading but Tom is actually covering his ears and striding away from her at what in her eyes looks like a cartoonishly fast speed. She lets her forehead rest on the desk again and doesn’t look up until she hears footsteps approaching her.
“Tom?” she asks blindly, slowly recognizing the dark spiky hair and concerned eyes.
“Oh my god, Leslie. The dark circles under your eyes make you look like you’ve been punched in the face. What did you do last night?”
“That’s sweet of you Ben. And to be honest I don’t really remember, but I’m pretty sure it’s your fault.”
He looks apologetic and is pressing a careful hand to her forehead. It feels nice, and his skin is smooth and cool. She leans into his hand and smiles softly.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, gently pulling her up out of her seat, bracing her against him. It feels vaguely familiar, like it’s happened once before, maybe when she was sick. Ben was always very attentive. Why did she call him Mean Ben yesterday?
“We’re taking you home.”
“What!” she yelps, turning to stare into his face. Her depth perception is off and her nose grazes his and she laughs softly. He looks like he’s frozen, but his hands are strong and he’s not letting go. She’s grateful for that, because her legs feel wobbly.
“No, look I’m fine, see?” She’s trying to wriggle free and he looks uncomfortably amused. Leslie’s fingers scrabble through her purse until they find the small bar. She tears at it with her teeth, and blows the corner of the wrapper into Ben’s face. He looks shocked and is trying to pry it from her hands.
“Leslie, I thought we talked about NutriYum bars! You know they’re not good for you, stop it!” She’s wrestling away from him and fumbling for her keys.
“I can drive myself home Ben, cut it out,” Ben’s fingers are tugging at hers, trying to retrieve the keys and candy bar.
“Ron!” Tom yells, drawing out the ‘O’ in his name so that he sounds like a small child calling for his mother. “Ben and Leslie are fighting and it’s scary!”
Ron barely glances up, a faint smile hidden under his mustache.
“Let them work it out,” he bellows, scrolling through pictures of artery-clogging breakfast foods on his computer.
“Hey!” Ben takes hold of Leslie’s hand and won’t let go. “Leslie, c’mon. Do you trust me?”
She stops writhing long enough to look at his face and it makes her relax her grip. Ben’s eyes are fixed on her in an oddly perceptive way, and she feels a bit dizzy. Probably all the struggling compounded with the sleep deprivation.
He works the NutriYum away first, pocketing it before she can protest. Leslie’s clenching the keys and it’s starting to hurt, the metal digging into the soft skin of her palm. Ben cups her fist in both hands, looking at her with what appears to be a genuine desire to help.
“Just let me drive you home so you can take a nap, please?”
Her grip loosens. A nap sounds amazing. He starts to ease the keys out of her hand when suddenly Leslie wraps her hands around his.
“I don’t want to miss your party!” she exclaims, genuine fear etched over her face. Ben’s smile is so warm and she’s holding his hand and everything feels fuzzy, but she knows she has to be there. She has to give him his present, she has to say goodbye.
“You won’t miss my party.” He’s staring directly into her eyes. Ben suddenly looks more important somehow, like if she blinks he’ll disappear.
“Promise?”
He gives her hands a squeeze.
“Boy Mayor’s honor.”
“Okay.” She smiles, lets him take the keys. “Please drive me home, Ben.”
***
“Do you know where I live?”
“Of course not.”
Ben’s a little surprised by how defensive he sounds. Leslie’s half-asleep beside him, co-piloting the drive home. Every now and then she chimes in with directions, head lolling sideways to look at him. He refuses to look back, because he’s pretty sure that’s more distraction than he can handle. He’s probably getting them lost as it is.
“Left at the shrubbery up there, by the blue mailbox. Such a pretty shade of blue, I was sad when the pink flowers on the bushes died though.”
She’s musing aloud and Ben’s trying to focus on the road but he’s preoccupied with that airy voice of hers and the glimmer of her golden hair in the mirror.
“Here.” She nods when he glances at her.
The house is small but sweet, very much like Leslie. Unimposing, welcoming. He realizes he has never been to her house, and he’s about to go inside. He’s about to see a very private part of Leslie’s life, and it feels like an honor he’s not sure he’s earned.
Ben pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. He hops out of the car and circles around to the passenger door, tugging it open to find Leslie almost completely asleep. Her eyes are closed and she’s breathing steadily. It’s the most peaceful he’s ever seen her, and he can’t help but marvel at how pretty she looks, so serene. He swallows and gingerly nudges her shoulder.
“Um, Leslie,” he’s trying to figure out how to get her inside. She stirs with a groan. Her mouth gapes into a yawn that actually crinkles her nose.
“Oh god, stop it please,” he mutters. The mere idea of trying to scoop her out of the seat is almost too much for him to bear.
“I didn’t do anything,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. “We’re home!” She says deliriously, and Ben lets her overlook the fact that she said we. He tries to overlook it himself.
“Here,” he offers her his hand and she topples out of the car, spilling into his arms with a laugh. “Let’s get you inside.” Fumbling with her keys, Ben tries to determine which one leads to the house. It all feels very awkward and opportunistic; he’d be lying if he said he’d never wondered what Leslie’s home looked like, but he also doesn’t want to feel like he’s sneaking his way into it with her sleep-deprived self as an excuse.
Leslie reaches for his hand and points to the proper key, fingers grazing the skin of his palm as he pulls away to open the door. Sunlight streams through half-curtained windows, bathing her living room in a soft yellow light. The sofas look comfortable, and the coffee table is piled with stacks of heavy folders and documents. The whole room is overwhelmed with paperwork, but it only makes him love it more. It's her whole self compacted into a house, into a room. All of that drive and passion and love. Photographs of Pawnee line the walls, bright and prosperous and beautiful.
“Ben?”
He’s so caught up in the pieces of Leslie’s life on the walls that he forgets he’s propping her up in the doorway, staring blankly into the entry of her home.
“Right, sorry,” he stammers, guiding her inside and over to the couch. She slumps down into a tiny heap, and heaves a deep sigh of relief. He sees a blanket over the armchair nearby and retrieves it, draping it carefully over Leslie. She snuggles into the warmth and he catches himself staring a little too long. He feels a gentle tug at the hem of his shirt, and Leslie’s pulling him down toward her.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, heavy-lidded eyes barely open enough to see him. There’s that grateful, honest smile on her face that makes him feel like he should just leave town now, skip the party, skip the goodbyes altogether. And then it makes him feel like he can never leave, never say goodbye. He hates Pawnee when he’s staring at that smile, because he knows something’s happened and it can’t be undone. It’s the town’s fault for bringing him there and it’s her fault for keeping him there and it’s his own fault for not wanting to leave.
He settles into the armchair beside her, watching her drift to sleep, hating himself a little but not too much as he memorizes that smile.
“You’re welcome.”
***
fandom: Parks and Recreation
pairing: Ben/Leslie
rating: around PG
words: 4,500
disclaimer: I only wish I could claim ownership for this perfect show, but alas.
summary: Post-Harvest Festival, a few days prior to Ben's departure, and a birthday on the horizon.
---
Ben can feel their eyes burning into the back of his head and he groans loudly, warning them off.
“Cut it out.”
He flips over a page of Leslie’s most recent proposal, eyes lingering on a specific line about importing exotic eels to boost zoo attendance. They’re tying up loose ends, trying to set out some final blueprints for future success. The Harvest Festival achieved exactly what Leslie wanted, what he secretly wanted but didn’t dare hope for-it raised enough money to staunch the seemingly unstoppable monetary bleed of Pawnee, Indiana. It’s not a permanent fix or a cure-all, but it’s enough for them to leave. It’s enough for him to start saying goodbye.
He glances over his shoulder. April is staring at him with that eerily half-amused, half-plotting-your-doom expression, and he snaps back around. Tom’s yelling “What up bitches!” as he enters the room and Ben can hear Jerry muttering to Donna, something about how he doesn’t have money lying around to chip in for presents, that his daughter’s birthday is coming up in a month and he promised her a particularly expensive necklace.
“Honestly, guys? I neither want nor expect anything, from any of you. It’s just like any other day, alright?” He hates working in the main office, but Chris insisted on a 30-minute Naked Yoga session, and Ben can’t get out fast enough when Chris starts tugging his microfiber running pants off. In spite of the Harvest Festival’s success everyone there still only begrudgingly pretends to like him, and it’s always in a half-hearted, “Well if you insist,” kind of way that makes him want to do his work in the janitor’s closet. At least in there intervals of silence last longer than 20 seconds.
He can see Leslie pointing to him in an exaggerated way, eyes fixed on Jerry and clearly unaware that he is watching her. She’s flinging her arms wide, then glaring, then smiling brightly, her wild gesticulations becoming more comical with each mime. Jerry’s frustration is growing and he turns away, as though signaling he has withdrawn from their tacit conversation. She frowns, and it’s more charming than Ben would like to admit so he looks away, pretending he never saw her, never registered the dangerously adorable quality of her face. He stares at the stacks of colorful idea binders forming a wall in front of him, which are also more charming than he would like to admit, so he cradles his face in his hands and tries to focus.
His eyes fix on the stack of paper in front of him, and he looks busy. In reality he’s busy recalling Leslie’s face alight with a childlike expression of glee, this wholesome, adoring look as she surveyed the Harvest Festival in all its glory. She walked from person to person, thanking every citizen of Pawnee individually, like she was the Pope or something, blessing them for their show of faith. She even thanked him, shook his hand, held it, and smiled.
Tom is whispering that he wouldn’t mind buying gifts if they were for Justin; he always liked Justin, Justin had good taste, Leslie never made them buy Justin anything, he misses Justin. Ben feels something prick at him, something about an unknown name. He thought he knew all of the Parks department’s employees.
“Tom, you realize I can hear everything you’re saying?”
He shrugs.
“Who’s Justin?”
Ben’s not sure he wants to know the answer.
“Leslie’s perfect ex-boyfriend. The one that got away,” he says wistfully, shaking his head. “Only like the coolest dude I’ve ever known. I will never forgive her for doing that to me. I still can’t get him to go shopping together.”
Ben was right. He didn’t want to know.
“Oh,” he breathes, brows knitting together. When he looks up Leslie’s staring at him with a mixture of intensity and confusion, if that’s possible. When she recognizes him staring back she waves brightly, that typical Knope smile overtaking her face. Ben smiles in spite of himself, nods. Scribbles appear frustratedly on the paper before him.
Donna’s maintaining she won’t be driving anyone anywhere in her car.
“Can we go back to you all pretending I don’t exist, please?” Ben moans, throwing his pen down and standing abruptly. He storms out of the room. He can’t get the name Justin out of his head.
***
Leslie’s good at giving presents. No, she’s great at giving presents. She’s the best. Her presents are what people didn’t know they wanted, but needed. She’s a present-giving machine.
But for the first time, as she stares at Ben working diligently on the other side of the glass, she doesn’t have the faintest inkling of what the right present is. It’s not exactly like Ben is the easiest person to buy for. His face is scrunched in that thinking way, and he’s turning every now and then to talk to Tom or Donna or Jerry, and she’s thinking hard but has no answers. She knows the outcome she wants, but not how to get there. Ben tends to elicit that response from her. When she wanted to fix the budget, he kept undermining her efforts-she wanted to save Pawnee, but he kept complicating things. One minute he’d be ruthlessly cutting funds for a new jungle-gym in the park, and the next he’d be trying to help her come up with ideas to preserve the Pawnee Retirement Home’s botanical garden. She couldn’t decide if he was trying to destroy Pawnee, or save it.
With the conclusion of the Harvest Festival, she’s more lost than ever. He was stellar, and she was baffled. Ben confuses her, and the mere lack of certainty annoys her just as much as her inability to identify the right present. What do you buy for the one person you don’t really understand?
Ben’s saying something to Tom, or maybe to the room, and suddenly he’s on his feet, leaving. He looks angry, but that also just seems to be his resting expression 50% of the time, so she doesn’t worry. Part of her just wants to buy him some booze, tell him to drink until he can’t see straight and can forget about the last few months in Pawnee that seemed so taxing for him. But another part of her can’t forget how genuinely pleased he seemed at the Harvest Festival-how, if she didn’t know better, she’d have said he looked proud. There was a lot of that in the time leading up to the festival; more smiles than frowns, more laughter than bleak cynicism. What used to be dismay seemed to have eased into a gentle understanding and appreciation for Pawnee. And because of that, Leslie can’t dismiss Ben’s birthday. Not after all he’s done to help them, how many chances he’s given them (deserved as they were).
Not when he’s leaving at the end of the week.
Leslie feels an odd pang when she thinks about Chris and Ben’s impending departure. Mainly she’s worried about Ann. Things have been going well between her and Chris, and Leslie knows better than anyone how much Ann deserves a good, stable relationship. For the first time, it seems like she has someone reliable, and now he’s leaving. Leslie avoids prying into their plans, about what will happen when he goes-whether they’ll try long-distance or not. Leslie doesn’t really believe in it; not in the way that someone doesn’t believe in Santa Claus or late fees to the library, but in the way that it just doesn’t work. She tried with Dave, but when there’s nothing to ground someone to the place she loves? Impossible.
There’s a soft knocking and Ben is smiling at her from the doorway. Leslie feels embarrassed that she was thinking about him, even if only in conjunction with Chris and Ann. It’s like he knows, standing there in his typical Smug Ben fashion. She sweeps some papers together and nods professionally.
“Ben.”
“Leslie.”
He’s watching her, amused.
“Yes?”
“Why did you tell them it’s my birthday tomorrow?”
She brushes her hair over her shoulders nonchalantly, focusing on the many important documents in her capable hands.
“I have no idea what you mean, Benjamin. Why, I had no idea it was even your birthday tomorrow.”
He’s rolling his eyes, pushing his sleeves up over his forearms, nodding at her.
“Yeah, okay, so that’s not why Tom’s talking about taking us all to the Snakehole so he can get me ‘so plastered I’d make out with Jenny’ and ‘love it like an outlet loves its plug’?” He pauses, mulling over the words with a sudden look of trepidation. “Whatever that means.”
Brunette Jenny from the library? Leslie snaps her binder shut. What was it she promised to try to not call them anymore? Punkass book jockeys? Yeah, sounds about right.
“No,” she replies coolly, finally meeting his gaze. “Like I said, I didn’t tell them anything. And don’t expect anything from me!” She stands, rounding her desk to leave the room, but Ben’s blocking the door. She nearly rams into him, not expecting him to shift into the frame like he does. He’s smiling at her in that new way that confuses her; it’s like because he’s leaving Pawnee he’s suddenly more playful and bold. At least, that’s what it seems like to her.
“Excuse you,” she pokes his arm, standing on tiptoe to try to see over him. He quirks a brow, smile widening slightly. She starts leaning sideways to see if everyone has already left. They have.
She’s not sure how long she must have been sitting there pondering Ben’s departure, but the lights in the main room and hallways are off. Ben cocks his head to the side, glancing behind himself and into the darkened room.
“I let them leave 5 minutes early,” he shrugs. “You seemed preoccupied.”
“Hey! I still had a 30-minute brainstorming session planned before the end of the day! ‘Seesaws and Monkey Bars: Friend or Foe? How to stay safe on Pawnee’s Playgrounds.’”
Leslie makes a dramatic gesture with her hands and it looks like Ben wants to die a little.
“Did you honestly just-“ he cuts himself off, presses a hand over his mouth and chuckles.
“I can’t believe you let them out early…you’re supposed to be the hard-ass! You’re slacking, this is very disappointing. Just because you’re leaving in a couple days that doesn’t mean you get to shirk your Mean Ben duties.”
As soon as the words leave her lips, Leslie wishes she could will them back. Ben’s lips twitch slightly and the smile shrinks. The look on his face makes her heart falter, and she wants to say something but isn’t sure what. She’s not sure she’s really seen an expression like that on him before-he almost looks hurt.
“You haven’t called me that in a while,” he says quietly with a weak laugh, arms uncrossing to let her pass. She doesn’t move. He’s looking over her, at the giant seal above her desk. He won’t meet her eyes, but the smile’s back, not quite as earnest anymore. Leslie frowns.
“Yeah, well…that’s because you’ve been so…” she pauses, standing on tiptoe again so he will be forced to look at her, “Nice lately. You’ve been Nice Ben, Helpful Ben.” Leslie nods emphatically. “Sweet Ben, even. I’ve sort of forgotten what Mean Ben’s like, to be honest. Poor guy is long gone, forgotten.”
Ben’s staring at her with a bewildered, unreadable expression and she can only hope she didn’t hurt his feelings more. They may not always get along or see eye to eye, but he has always been civil. At least, more civil than she can say for herself. Once she’s satisfied that he’s not angry, she punches him playfully on the arm and walks out, shouting, “Come on Wyatt, they’re going to lock the building up with us in it if we don’t leave soon!”
Ben lags behind a moment, sending a cursory glance over the room before trailing after her, his smile considerably lightened.
Something in the way that Ben studies the building as they leave gives Leslie her first glimmer of an idea for the perfect present.
***
Ben can’t decide what struck him more: Mean Ben, or how cavalier Leslie was about his leaving. He knows they aren’t close like she is with Ron or Ann or Tom, or anyone in the Parks Department for that matter, but some part of him hoped she’d at least seem a little disappointed that he was finally leaving. He even amazed himself, not only staying this long in Pawnee, but wanting to stay this long in Pawnee. But Leslie seemed unfazed, and he’s not sure what he was expecting, but that certainly wasn’t what he was wanting.
Because as much as he hates to admit it (and still wouldn’t admit it under threat of painful death), he’s sad to be going. Everything has that odd nostalgic glow to it, that haze of familiarity magnified by affection. He hates himself for it, feels like an ass. The worst part is that he tried so hard to hate this place, to write it off as another Podunk town with bad bureaucrats and a useless citizenry-but he can’t. He doesn’t hate it, not at all. He even has the terrifyingly sneaking suspicion that somewhere between Leslie strong-arming him out of April’s birthday party and the Harvest Festival clean-up session, he fell in love. Pawnee became something he’s protective of, defensive even. And he has no idea how he let it happen, but he can’t stop caring long enough to actually stop caring.
Leslie’s a full six paces ahead of him, bursting out of the exits with her usual exuberance. She lights up when she sees a small crowd gathered at the front doors. The surge of panic subsides in Ben when he realizes that the group is their coworkers rather than angry citizens coming to complain at closing. They’re all huddled around a figure that must be Chris. Ben would recognize that crisp staccato anywhere.
“I have literally never had a better idea than this, in my, entire life.”
Ben fights the urge to sprint to his car and never look back.
“Ron Swanson,” Chris points emphatically at the mustachioed bear of a man, his smile kilowatts too bright for a normal human being. “Thoughts?”
Ron’s massaging his chin, brows furrowed into a thoughtful mass. His broad shoulders slacken into a dismissive shrug.
“Sure, why not.” He says gruffly. Andy fist pumps beside him.
“What! What’s going on? Tell me, tell me!” Leslie’s smile is nearly leaping off her face and Ben is struggling to ease his way into the circle, eyes flickering over to his car every few moments.
“Chris wants to throw a party at the cabin where Tom shot Ron,” April’s dark monotone identifies her beside Andy, and Tom looks visibly uncomfortable. Ron gives him a rough smack square on the back for reassurance, but it almost knocks the small man over.
“Oh my god,” Leslie claps her hands together, shooting Ben a grin. “Chris, that’s perfect!”
“What happened to ‘don’t expect anything’, Leslie?”
Leslie actually sticks her tongue out at him and Ben feels some part of him click strangely, and he has to look away from her and down at the keys in his hands before he can speak again.
“No, I’m sorry, that’s very generous of you all but I can’t let you do this. It’s totally unnecessary and a waste of funds.”
He doesn’t look up but he can tell Leslie’s frowning.
“Who said we’re taking money from Pawnee for you? We’re paying for it!”
Ben’s head snaps up and he’s staring at her, completely lost. Everyone else doesn’t look quite as enthused as Leslie. He scratches the back of his neck, compromising, “Fine. I want to chip in.”
“Are you crazy? You can’t pay for your own birthday party. Jeez Ben, sometimes I swear you have no idea how to have fun.”
Ben can see Ann and Chris exchanging a look, one that he’s only see Chris issue when talking to Andy about a certain dark-haired girl. Ben’s car is so close, he could sprint to it in only a couple of seconds. He’s starting to feel panicked, like even though they’re outside, there’s not enough air when Leslie’s standing so close to him and smiling like that and Chris is watching them that way.
“Don’t worry Ben, I’ve got time tonight. I’ll put together a memo and send it out to all of you later.” She sweeps a finger around the circle and makes sure everyone is paying attention. “Will we carpool tomorrow after work then?” The mixture of nods and mumbles satisfies her and she claps eagerly.
“This is going to be great!”
Ben smiles feebly.
This is going to be a disaster.
***
Leslie’s slumped over her desk using every last ounce of her energy to not fall asleep at work. But it’s so very tempting. Her desk is so flat and her chair is so comfortable and she is so, so tired. An hour into the day Ben had quietly brought her coffee and left without saying a word, and it got her through lunch. The caffeine has worn off and she’s staring blankly at the window into the office, and Tom keeps glancing at her with concern.
“You okay there Leslie? You look like you had a rough night.”
“Stayed up late,” she murmurs, shaking her head as if to rouse herself. “Had to finish some stuff for today for Ben.”
“Ah, gotcha,” Tom says knowingly, and she looks at him with confusion.
“Say no more!” He adds, even going so far as to wink.
Leslie is too tired to even try to decipher Tom’s weirdness, so she settles on using her pen as a microphone, directing her voice at the doorway.
“People of Pawnee! Do you know what time it is?”
Tom almost looks like he’s expecting Leslie to shout something absurd like ‘Hammer time!’ and start dancing. She’s still waiting expectantly before speaking again.
“I genuinely want to know,” she almost whimpers. “My clock looks like a bunch of squiggly lines and it hurts my eyes to stare for too long, help.”
April quickly replies that there’s only about 10 minutes until they can go home and Leslie groans in misery. Did she even sleep last night? She can’t remember. But she also can’t remember the penultimate line of the Preamble right now, and that’s an extremely distressing sign that she indeed did not sleep. She’s not sure she slept much the night before either, and suddenly everything seems foggy and like there’s a mist over her eyes.
“That’s it, I’m getting Ben.” Tom throws his pen down and nearly kicks over his chair, but Leslie’s trying to claw him back as he passes her desk.
“No! No Tom, don’t!” She’s pleading but Tom is actually covering his ears and striding away from her at what in her eyes looks like a cartoonishly fast speed. She lets her forehead rest on the desk again and doesn’t look up until she hears footsteps approaching her.
“Tom?” she asks blindly, slowly recognizing the dark spiky hair and concerned eyes.
“Oh my god, Leslie. The dark circles under your eyes make you look like you’ve been punched in the face. What did you do last night?”
“That’s sweet of you Ben. And to be honest I don’t really remember, but I’m pretty sure it’s your fault.”
He looks apologetic and is pressing a careful hand to her forehead. It feels nice, and his skin is smooth and cool. She leans into his hand and smiles softly.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, gently pulling her up out of her seat, bracing her against him. It feels vaguely familiar, like it’s happened once before, maybe when she was sick. Ben was always very attentive. Why did she call him Mean Ben yesterday?
“We’re taking you home.”
“What!” she yelps, turning to stare into his face. Her depth perception is off and her nose grazes his and she laughs softly. He looks like he’s frozen, but his hands are strong and he’s not letting go. She’s grateful for that, because her legs feel wobbly.
“No, look I’m fine, see?” She’s trying to wriggle free and he looks uncomfortably amused. Leslie’s fingers scrabble through her purse until they find the small bar. She tears at it with her teeth, and blows the corner of the wrapper into Ben’s face. He looks shocked and is trying to pry it from her hands.
“Leslie, I thought we talked about NutriYum bars! You know they’re not good for you, stop it!” She’s wrestling away from him and fumbling for her keys.
“I can drive myself home Ben, cut it out,” Ben’s fingers are tugging at hers, trying to retrieve the keys and candy bar.
“Ron!” Tom yells, drawing out the ‘O’ in his name so that he sounds like a small child calling for his mother. “Ben and Leslie are fighting and it’s scary!”
Ron barely glances up, a faint smile hidden under his mustache.
“Let them work it out,” he bellows, scrolling through pictures of artery-clogging breakfast foods on his computer.
“Hey!” Ben takes hold of Leslie’s hand and won’t let go. “Leslie, c’mon. Do you trust me?”
She stops writhing long enough to look at his face and it makes her relax her grip. Ben’s eyes are fixed on her in an oddly perceptive way, and she feels a bit dizzy. Probably all the struggling compounded with the sleep deprivation.
He works the NutriYum away first, pocketing it before she can protest. Leslie’s clenching the keys and it’s starting to hurt, the metal digging into the soft skin of her palm. Ben cups her fist in both hands, looking at her with what appears to be a genuine desire to help.
“Just let me drive you home so you can take a nap, please?”
Her grip loosens. A nap sounds amazing. He starts to ease the keys out of her hand when suddenly Leslie wraps her hands around his.
“I don’t want to miss your party!” she exclaims, genuine fear etched over her face. Ben’s smile is so warm and she’s holding his hand and everything feels fuzzy, but she knows she has to be there. She has to give him his present, she has to say goodbye.
“You won’t miss my party.” He’s staring directly into her eyes. Ben suddenly looks more important somehow, like if she blinks he’ll disappear.
“Promise?”
He gives her hands a squeeze.
“Boy Mayor’s honor.”
“Okay.” She smiles, lets him take the keys. “Please drive me home, Ben.”
***
“Do you know where I live?”
“Of course not.”
Ben’s a little surprised by how defensive he sounds. Leslie’s half-asleep beside him, co-piloting the drive home. Every now and then she chimes in with directions, head lolling sideways to look at him. He refuses to look back, because he’s pretty sure that’s more distraction than he can handle. He’s probably getting them lost as it is.
“Left at the shrubbery up there, by the blue mailbox. Such a pretty shade of blue, I was sad when the pink flowers on the bushes died though.”
She’s musing aloud and Ben’s trying to focus on the road but he’s preoccupied with that airy voice of hers and the glimmer of her golden hair in the mirror.
“Here.” She nods when he glances at her.
The house is small but sweet, very much like Leslie. Unimposing, welcoming. He realizes he has never been to her house, and he’s about to go inside. He’s about to see a very private part of Leslie’s life, and it feels like an honor he’s not sure he’s earned.
Ben pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. He hops out of the car and circles around to the passenger door, tugging it open to find Leslie almost completely asleep. Her eyes are closed and she’s breathing steadily. It’s the most peaceful he’s ever seen her, and he can’t help but marvel at how pretty she looks, so serene. He swallows and gingerly nudges her shoulder.
“Um, Leslie,” he’s trying to figure out how to get her inside. She stirs with a groan. Her mouth gapes into a yawn that actually crinkles her nose.
“Oh god, stop it please,” he mutters. The mere idea of trying to scoop her out of the seat is almost too much for him to bear.
“I didn’t do anything,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. “We’re home!” She says deliriously, and Ben lets her overlook the fact that she said we. He tries to overlook it himself.
“Here,” he offers her his hand and she topples out of the car, spilling into his arms with a laugh. “Let’s get you inside.” Fumbling with her keys, Ben tries to determine which one leads to the house. It all feels very awkward and opportunistic; he’d be lying if he said he’d never wondered what Leslie’s home looked like, but he also doesn’t want to feel like he’s sneaking his way into it with her sleep-deprived self as an excuse.
Leslie reaches for his hand and points to the proper key, fingers grazing the skin of his palm as he pulls away to open the door. Sunlight streams through half-curtained windows, bathing her living room in a soft yellow light. The sofas look comfortable, and the coffee table is piled with stacks of heavy folders and documents. The whole room is overwhelmed with paperwork, but it only makes him love it more. It's her whole self compacted into a house, into a room. All of that drive and passion and love. Photographs of Pawnee line the walls, bright and prosperous and beautiful.
“Ben?”
He’s so caught up in the pieces of Leslie’s life on the walls that he forgets he’s propping her up in the doorway, staring blankly into the entry of her home.
“Right, sorry,” he stammers, guiding her inside and over to the couch. She slumps down into a tiny heap, and heaves a deep sigh of relief. He sees a blanket over the armchair nearby and retrieves it, draping it carefully over Leslie. She snuggles into the warmth and he catches himself staring a little too long. He feels a gentle tug at the hem of his shirt, and Leslie’s pulling him down toward her.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, heavy-lidded eyes barely open enough to see him. There’s that grateful, honest smile on her face that makes him feel like he should just leave town now, skip the party, skip the goodbyes altogether. And then it makes him feel like he can never leave, never say goodbye. He hates Pawnee when he’s staring at that smile, because he knows something’s happened and it can’t be undone. It’s the town’s fault for bringing him there and it’s her fault for keeping him there and it’s his own fault for not wanting to leave.
He settles into the armchair beside her, watching her drift to sleep, hating himself a little but not too much as he memorizes that smile.
“You’re welcome.”
***