Fic: Brave
Title: Brave
Rating: PG
Timeline: The summer between season 3 and season 4
Note: This is has literally been floating around my brain since the summer and I finally put my foot down and wrote it. I hate endings and I'm really unsure about this one (it feels abrupt) so particular feedback about that would be greatly appreciated. On an unrelated note, I recently joined tumblr and followed a bunch of people from this fandom so if you're getting a ton of likes and reblogs and stuff from nogginfullofsongs, that's me.
Leslie and Ben spend the day by a lake.
Can you take to my mistakes
And like me anyway?
I want to feel contained,
I want to see the country,
To sit and look inside you,
Or just to sit beside you,
To read my lover's thoughts
Or love what I've been thinking.
I want you to feel brave.
-Sparrows.
She picks him up early. It’s still mostly dark out, and it’s summertime so that means it’s extra early. He’d had to set an alarm for 5:07 am, and when it had gone off, his sleep-fogged mind had struggled to remember why. Good lord, why was his alarm going off so early?
But then he’d remembered, and gotten ready quietly. He never snuck out of his house in high school, but he imagined it was something like this. Only instead of parents, he’s trying not to wake Andy and April, and really, those two could probably sleep through anything. He leaves the navy blue t-shirt he’s already wearing, pulls on a pair of khakis, and stumbles into the bathroom. Cold water on his face, toothbrush into his mouth. Somehow the mint flavor wakes him up more than the splash of water.
He stubs his toes into his sneakers and picks up the backpack that he packed ahead of time and at 5:15 exactly, he’s turning the handle of the front door quietly, as if the click would actually wake his roommates. He slips outside.
Leslie is already there, of course. Who knows how long she’s been idling on the curb out front. She waves enthusiastically when she sees him and he grins, picking up his feet a bit faster than he’d thought possible at this hour.
“Good morning!” she says as soon as he slides into the passenger seat. He leans in and kisses her. “You taste like toothpaste.”
“You taste like coffee.” She plucks a plastic coffee tumbler (decorated, he notices, with a collage of Leslie and Ann smiling and the words “the best friends in the history of the galaxy” written in silver) out of the cup holder between them and hands it to him.
“For you!” she says. “I had mine already. There’re also some cinnamon rolls in the backseat.”
“Oh thank god,” Ben says. He brings the coffee greedily to his lips and misses the ways that Leslie sort of gets lost looking at him when he moans a little bit. She blinks out of the glazed-over look and reaches for the tumbler. “Nooo!” Ben groans, coiling away from her.
“Oh relax, you goober,” she says. “I’m not going to steal it. You have to buckle your seatbelt! C’mon, gimme. I’ll give it right back and I won’t even drink any. You know I won’t because I made it the way you like it so there’s not even any chocolate syrup.”
Ben hands over the tumbler and tugs his seatbelt across his body, clicking it into place.
“Let’s go!” Leslie says, pushing the car into gear. “Yay!”
As they drive, Leslie tells Ben about her morning so far. It’s been considerably longer than his, and she’s been remarkably productive from the sound of it. Ben swallows down his coffee and then twists to reach for a cinnamon roll from the back seat.
“Oh my god,” he says after taking his first bite.
“Good?” she asks. She darts a glance over to him and then trains her eyes back on the road.
Ben shifts in his seat so he’s facing her. “Oh my god. Did you make these?”
“Uh huh,” she says. “Do you like it?”
“Les, this is amazing.”
Leslie straightens up over the steering wheel. “Right?! It’s the first time I made them so I was kind of nervous but I think they turned out awesome! I wanted to bring breakfast because I figured you weren’t going to eat before we left but I knew nothing would be open so I had to make something. Cinnamon rolls are actually a lot of work.”
Ben smiles at her adoringly. She’s so awesome. She brought him coffee and didn’t put chocolate syrup in it. She made cinnamon rolls because she knew he wouldn’t wake up as early as she did and eat a real breakfast. She reaches over and runs a finger through the icing on the top of his cinnamon roll, popping that finger into her mouth. He mumbles a weak protest, but he’s smiling.
He likes this. This whole dating-Leslie thing is pretty great. The relationship is still kind of young, and it’s still very secret. Well, okay, mostly secret. As secret as they are capable of. And he is completely aware of how dumb and sappy he sounds in his own brain right now, and a part of him hates that, but he’s literally never felt like this in a relationship before. He feels sure of himself, and of her. He’s normally so much more awkward than this, but he feels comfortable. Leslie really likes him, and he knows that, and so he doesn’t worry about always trying to please her and say the things that she’d want to hear. He says the things that he’s thinking, and then they end up being things she likes hearing.
He likes this. He likes having a home where she can pick him up in the morning. He likes reaching over and tugging her earlobe from the passenger seat, just wanting to touch her, to be tethered to her. He likes living in one city and having a girlfriend, and friends, and a life here, contained in one place.
And look at him now, holding out a bite of homemade cinnamon roll for his girlfriend as she drives them to Tucker Lake for the day. Leslie laughs and pulls the torn bit of cinnamon roll into her mouth hands-free, leaving a smear of gooey cinnamon in the corner of her mouth. Her tongue reaches for it and then Ben’s thumb follows.
#
The gravel parking lot is empty when they pull in. It’s still crazy early; the sun has just barely risen (and when they’d caught the light right in their eyes in the car, blinding them, Leslie had called out “Good morning, Sun!” and Ben had echoed her with a “Hellloooooo Sun!” and then they’d laughed together and groped for the car’s visors to block the sharp rays).
Ben opens up his backpack to tuck away the extra cinnamon rolls and some of the emergency Capri Sun packs from Leslie’s trunk. He swings it onto his back and fumbles only a little when Leslie hands him two fishing poles to carry. She’s got her own backpack on and the tackle box and she grins a little bit as he shifts the fishing poles into his other hand, trying to find their center of balance so he can carry them easily. He leans in for a kiss, then takes her hand and lets her lead towards the path to the lake.
“I just want to reiterate that I’ve never been fishing before,” Ben says.
“I know,” Leslie says. “Don’t worry about it, you’ll be awesome. Mostly you just have to sit and wait for something to tug on your line anyway.”
“Yeah it’s not that that I’m worried about so much as the whole… like… am I gonna have to put a worm on a hook?”
Leslie laughs but doesn’t say anything. Ben worries that she thinks he was kidding. He’s literally not going to be able to do that.
The hike to the lake is long but isn’t particularly hard on either of them. Ben lags a bit, because even with a cup of coffee in him he’s bone-tired. When they reach the lake, he spreads out the blanket he brought and lies down to sip on a juice box. Leslie kneels next to him and opens up the tackle box and explains all of its contents to him thoroughly. She shows him how to bait his hook, and to his credit, he tries to do it. He really does. He’s got a worm in his hand and everything, but it’s just gross. It’s dirty and slimy and ick ick oh god he can’t do it. Leslie’s in a fit of giggles beside him, but she manages to take the worm gently from his fingers and lean in to press a kiss to his scrunched-up nose.
She shows him how to cast his line into the water and then casts her own. They wait for bites and discuss their favorite political speeches. She starts off so articulate about the Crisis of Confidence speech but it dissolves into, “It’s SO GOOD. It’s just-Ben, it just makes me feel SO-don’t you agree? It’s just such a heartfelt speech even though it’s kind of sad, and it’s still so relevant,” and then she begins to quote it, “We’ve always believed in something called progress. We’ve always had a faith that the days of our children would be better than our own.”
“That’s your Carter voice?” Ben teases.
Leslie looks at him, eyes bright. “Yeah, why? You think you can do better?”
Ben quirks an eyebrow at her, cocky. He tilts his head and drawls, trying to make it look as effortless as possible. “It is a crisis of confidence… The erosion of our confidence in the future is threatening to destroy the social and political fabric of America.”
Leslie’s eyes narrow a little bit and her chin tips down. Ben recognizes that look from all the board games they’ve played together. “We know the strength of America. We are strong. We can regain our unity. We can regain our confidence. We are the heirs of generations who survived threats much more powerful and awesome than those that challenge us now.”
“Was that... Was that cockney at the end there?” he teases.
Leslie looks a little shocked. “What? No. It was southern. Jimmy Carter was from Georgia. He had an accent.”
Ben grins and watches her face relax into a mirroring smile. “I know he had an accent. We listened to this speech on the way to Indianapolis for the little league thing. Remember?”
“Oh yeah. I was trying to anti-seduce you.” She seems a little sheepish at that.
“Huh. Well while the whale songs were somewhat effective… we’re still here, aren’t we?” His eyes are on her, wide and calm.
“Yeah,” she says. She smiles softly and leans in.
They kiss until something tugs at her line.
#
After Leslie reels in a small fish and lets him back out into the lake, they go back to talking about campaign speeches as if they’d never been distracted. Well, Leslie does. It takes Ben a second to catch on.
“I think Carter’s delivery could have been better,” she says.
“Whose what?”
“Jimmy Carter. I said I thought his delivery could have been better but I think I’m changing my mind. I think it fit with the content of the speech. A little more downtrodden, you know? But also hints of hope. But the key is to be engaging. Don’t you think?”
Ben nods, a little confused. “Yeah. I do. I think the most important part is to be engaging. What you’re saying has to make sense, you know, but if you’re not saying it in a way that people will listen, then what you’re saying gets lost.”
Leslie nods, serious. She looks like she’s weighing options, considering.
And everything sort of clicks into place. Leslie makes campaign speeches in her sleep. And Ben supposes that that’s completely normal for her. At first, he’d hear her mumble things to the American people about why she deserved the presidency and what her foreign policy would be like. But the past couple dream-speeches have been about Pawnee City Council. It seems obvious now. Leslie dreams big. Leslie dreams president-big. So this city council thing wasn’t a dream. It was real. It must be.
“Do you want a sandwich or something?” he asks abruptly, standing up and heading towards her backpack.
“Mmm, no sandwich yet. But you could bring me some Rice Krispie Treats.”
He takes his time crouched over her bag, as if he’s looking in it for the sandwich or the treats.
This is going to have to end, isn’t it? He’s already on borrowed time. This was a risk anyway, dating within the government when they both knew it was against the rules. And they’d decided it was worth it. It’s worth the risk if I can be with you. That’s what she’d said, and he’d felt warmth spread through him and pull his cheeks into a slow, sweet smile. But it wasn’t worth it when the stakes were upped. A slap on the wrist at work was one thing, or a suspension or a probation or whatever it would be if they got caught. But that plus ruining her chances for city council? No way. No way he’s going to be responsible for that. She has to run. She has to win. And she has to one day run the whole town. That’s really all there is to it.
So it’s an easy decision, really. It sucks, but it’s not a tough call. Because he wants so badly for her to have everything that she could ever want, especially when it comes to politics.
He grabs a turkey and cheese sandwich and a couple enormous Rice Krispie Treats, which have m&ms in them, and turns. Leslie is reclined on the blanket, legs stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankle. She’s wearing denim shorts and a plaid button-down, which is rolled up to mid-forearm. She looks so pretty today. Her hair is back in a bun at the nape of her neck, but some from the front has fallen free and is tucked behind her ear.
He kneels down next to her on the blanket. Just because this has to end, doesn’t mean it has to end today. He leans in, invading her personal space until she brings one hand up to his cheek.
“Hey,” she says with a small breathy laugh.
“Hello.” He leans in what’s left between them and kisses her, then keeps leaning until she lays all the way back on the blanket. He stretches his body alongside hers, pressed close, and cradles her face. He cherishes her lips, her tongue. She hums.
“You know I think you’re awesome, right?” he says, still so close to her that he can’t see the look on her face.
“Yeah?” she says hopefully.
“Yeah. Everything you’ve done today is awesome, Leslie. The cinnamon rolls and the coffee and the snacks and the worm.”
“You know, there’s still time for me to teach you how to bait your own fishing hook. It’s easy! Just close your eyes and go for it.”
Ben shakes his head quickly, pinching his eyes shut. “Yuck, no. Gross.”
Leslie laughs. “Okay. Don’t worry, I’ll do it for you, you wimp.”
Ben settles further down next to her, lying on his side and bending his arm beneath his head. Leslie mirrors him and pushes her face in close so their noses are almost touching.
“Yes please,” he says. “You be the brave one.”
He closes his eyes. She strokes a hand through his hair.