Fic: Enjoy the Ride
Title: Enjoy the Ride
Word count: 2,800 words
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Through Lucky
Summary: Leslie and Ben talk to each other in the hot tub limo. Yep, that's pretty much it.
Leslie tipped the last of the champagne into her and Ben’s tumblers and leaned back against the cushy leather seats of the hot tub limo. They were probably halfway back to Pawnee, and the ride back was quieter and calmer, compared to the intense panic of the trip up to Indy.
Ben was sitting next to her in the back of the limo, his body angled toward hers as he slouched into the corner. He still had that newly awakened look about him, slightly puffy hooded eyes and tousled hair giving him the appearance of a grumpy groundhog not quite ready to give up his winter’s nap.
On the other end of the limo, Ann and Tom had slumped back into slumber, Ann’s head resting peacefully against Tom’s shoulder, his sleep-flattened face pressed into the top of her head like he was smelling her hair. An affectionate arm curled around her shoulder, as if it belonged there.
Leslie scrunched up her nose a little at the sight, mystified. “They look almost happy together,” she mused.
Ben raised one of his skeptical eyebrows in the other couple’s direction and considered them for a moment. “Weren’t they broken up again? I thought …”
“No, that was last week,” Leslie corrected him, keeping her voice down. “They got back together Wednesday. Thursday? Wednesday, I think. No, you know what, I can’t keep track.”
Ben shook his head slightly. “I’m not even going to pretend to understand. But if it works for them …”
Leslie shrugged. “What is it that Bono says? She moves in mysterious ways.”
That seemed to be the theme of the night.
“Yes, that she does, I suppose,” Ben agreed softly, dropping his eyes and appearing overly interested in his champagne. The silence stretched between them, punctuated by a faint gurgling sound Ann was making in her sleep, and the rumbling of uneven pavement on one of Indiana’s lesser-used back roads.
Leslie closed her eyes for a moment, letting the events of the night wash over her, some of them admittedly blurrier than others. The excitement, the panic, the guilt, the relief when disaster had been averted. The warm feeling of having people she could depend on surrounding her, even when she let them down.
Ben really had been great, sidestepping her frantic apologies and immediately shifting into problem-solving mode. And it hadn’t been lost on her how his first groggy sentiment when they’d gotten out of the limo had been to stick up for her to Buddy Wood.
“Thanks again for understanding,” she said, shifting on the seat so that she was almost facing him.
“Yeah … of course.” But he blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes in a way that seemed to cancel out the sentiment. She nudged him in the knee, a gentle, silent prodding. He looked back at her, hesitating a few more moments before starting to haltingly tell her what was on his mind. “It’s just … I don’t know if I do. Understand. I’m still not sure … what happened tonight?”
Uh-oh. Now that the crisis had blown over, maybe she was going to have to answer for her behavior. But there was nothing angry or judgmental in his question-just mild confusion-and that made Leslie feel worse.
“I was with Ann and Tom, you know that already, it was like you said, I needed to blow off some steam,” she explained in a hushed rush. “I know I shouldn’t have, it wasn’t great timing, but they’ve been working so hard, and they’re dating, and I barely know what’s going on with that, what’s happening, or why it’s happening, I’ve been so absorbed in this campaign, and suddenly I had an opening in my schedule, so it seemed like a good opportunity to catch up. And I was so keyed up over the interview, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep even if I tried-”
Ben was shaking his head slightly, and she paused for breath to find out why.
“Leslie, stop, you don’t have to … it’s fine, of course you can have drinks with your friends. You’re an adult, and I’m not your mother here.” Leslie suppressed a smirk over that, because it didn’t seem like the time or place to explain to him how being stern like her mother, a little, could be a good thing-actually, maybe there never would be a good time to mention that. But Ben was still grimacing, so definitely not now. “I just don’t get … I don’t know why you were hiding it from me in the first place.”
“I had to hide it from you … you never would have let me do the interview drunk. And I disagreed with you strongly about that, back when I was drunk.” Leslie winced sheepishly. “Since then, I’ve come to see your point of view. The one you would have had, if I hadn't been hiding it from you.”
Ben’s mouth quirked into a smile at that, but he ran his fingers through his hair like he wasn’t quite mollified, and it dawned on Leslie that her dishonesty had started earlier in the evening, way before she’d known the interview was back on. She hadn’t lied to him directly … but she hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about her plans, either.
She exhaled and launched into the apology she knew he deserved.
“I’m sorry, Ben. I shouldn’t have snuck out like that. I think … ” What had she been thinking? A part of her had been impulsively rebelling, not wanting to be told what to do anymore. Ben ran a tight ship, which made him an awesome campaign manager … maybe not as awesome of a boyfriend? No, he was a pretty awesome boyfriend too. But it was hard to separate the two these days, with strategy meetings that turned into makeout sessions, and binders and to-do lists showing up on their date nights. It was everything she’d dreamed, and also … a lot of pressure, all the time. “I think I didn’t want to disappoint you. You’ve been working so hard, so incredibly hard, and I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t working as hard. I’m really sorry.”
He reached across and took her hand in his, his face softening into something much more affectionate than guarded. “That’s insane.” His voice was quiet and sincere. “No one works as hard as you do.”
Relieved, Leslie grinned and squeezed his hand. “That’s what Tom said.” Of course Ben knew that. It was silly that she’d ever think otherwise. She really was lucky to have him. “But I really am sorry I screwed up that interview.”
Ben shook his head vehemently. “Don’t be. You were just blowing off some steam, and you had no way of knowing the interview would be back on. And look, he had it in for you no matter what. Even if you had been completely on your game, I don’t know if it would have mattered. If anything, it’s my fault, I should have known that was how he operated, if I had done more research on him, watched more tapes …”
“It’s no one’s fault,” Leslie said firmly, squeezing his fingers. “And we’ll figure something else out.”
“Right.”
He smiled weakly at her, but he had that strained, tense look he’d had ever since they’d met Bobby Newport’s new campaign manager. He’d been working long hours, the same long hours she was, even though she knew he needed more sleep than she did. Constantly strategizing, brainstorming, working the phones, delegating, researching, organizing, tabulating …
His work ethic-the way he cared about work in the same way she did-was one of the first real things she’d come to appreciate about him, back when they were working on the Harvest Festival together. Now that he was working for her, he seemed to care more than ever. Which was awesome-she was grateful, and proud, and she had to admit, quite often turned on by it.
But she was also, honestly, a little worried. Because he’d used words like poison referring to his role in her campaign, because she could see the pressure he was putting on himself to reverse that and win this for her. Because she knew what a wreck he was over his own political failures. And because she’d seen the look on his face when the power had gone out the night before the Harvest Festival-when he’d left, blaming himself somehow for something that he had no control over.
She wanted to win this election so badly. For Pawnee, most of all, and for herself, because she’d wanted it for so long and she thought she could do so much … but there was also a part of her that wanted it to pull it off specifically for Ben. Because she could see how much this meant to him, that he wanted to win as much as she did, and she wondered how he would take it if they didn’t. She knew he wasn’t the curse … but did he?
The thing was, an election wasn’t a problem she could solve, exactly. It wasn’t like a power outage, where she just had to find a new generator, negotiate to be able to use it, and turn the darned thing on. It wasn’t even like a festival, with a finite number of tasks, and the satisfaction of knowing that if all the boxes on all the to-do lists were checked off, the event would almost surely be a success.
There was only so much they could do in this campaign. Some breaks would go in their favor and some wouldn’t-and in the end, people would vote for who they voted for.
And it might not be her. It might be. She wanted it to be. Wanted it so badly.
But if she was being honest with herself … and with Ben …
“Ben, have you thought about …” Leslie dropped her voice even lower, conscious of Tom and Ann sleeping nearby, and how hard they and all the others had worked, how much everyone wanted this for her. She didn’t want them to wake up and hear what she was about to say. “We haven’t talked about, there’s always the possibility that … you know …” She swallowed again, forcing herself to face this, so that he would. “I might lose.”
Ben blanched, and his knee did this weird jerky thing, and he suddenly looked way more alert than he had since Pawnee. “No, no, don’t … we’ll think of something else. We will. Bobby Newport is not going to beat Leslie Knope.” She smiled at the contrast between the way Ben pronounced their two names. “There’s no way. We just have to …” He trailed off, looking pained as he tried to think of the magic strategy that was going to rocket her 20 points up in the polls within the next three weeks, now that this interview had been a bust.
“Lincoln lost-something like six times,” she pointed out. “Churchill lost every election until he was prime minister. Maybe it’s a good thing if I lose! I could be president … or prime minister, if I work on my British accent …”
Ben was looking at her like she’d sprouted a second head, one that didn’t in any way resemble a famous politician.
“Maybe,” he said, sounding as if he didn’t really believe she could be prime minister of England, which she bristled over momentarily. Okay, he was probably right that the UK wouldn’t elect an American, if that was even allowed, but still. “Or maybe we should focus on winning this election … and then set our sights on 10 Downing Street.”
“Ben … I think you’re missing my point. I probably won’t win.” She knew he knew this-Ben, the numbers robot, had seen every spreadsheet that she had-but she didn’t think he’d accepted it. He wasn’t prepared for it, if it happened, and it might happen. So she pushed forward. “Think about this. My opponent is a Newport.”
“Exactly!” Ben protested. “Bobby Newport …”
“His family owns the local newspaper. They own almost everything.”
“I know, that’s why we have to-”
“His dad paid $250,000 for a professional political strategist. She hangs out with Colin Powell!” Leslie’s face was splitting into a smile, not because she was happy, but because it was so absurd, how much the deck had been stacked against them. It was like her campaign experience was being written by someone with a really twisted sense of humor. “And have you seen him? He’s like … what you would get if you mixed a young Joe Biden with a greek god.”
She started giggling at her own imagery, and once she started, she couldn’t quite stop. Ben just stared, his mouth agape.
“Look at him!” This conversation wasn’t going how she intended, but she was starting to feel a little crazed. It must be the champagne … or the fact that she hadn’t slept in something like 30 hours … or that her very first election ever, she was facing-and losing to-an overgrown child. “A Newport. And he hands out candy at campaign events. How am I supposed to compete with the Willy Wonka of Pawnee? He’s got the sugar vote locked up! That’s almost the entire vote!”
At this, Ben started tentatively spluttering too.
“You’re right,” he added forlornly. “We are so screwed.”
But they were both laughing now, mirthless outbursts that gradually morphed into body-shaking, cathartic fits of giggles that somehow still didn’t wake up their companions.
When their laughter had finally subsided, Ben leaned forward and took her hands, looking shell-shocked and worried again. “I don’t understand. How are you okay with this?”
“I’m not okay with it. I want to be on City Council. And I definitely don’t want Bobby Newport to be on City Council.” Leslie shrugged, swiping her fingers across the damp smudges that had appeared on her cheeks sometime in the past few minutes. Probably because she’d been laughing too hard. “But … a couple years ago, I got tapped to head up a task force to catch a possum, and I felt like I had arrived.”
The mayor’s assistant had given her a card, had said to call her when she needed a favor. The memory of that first small recognition still made Leslie’s heart swell with pride, even after all she’d achieved since then.
“And now … people have asked me to run for office. Isn’t that amazing? And then they ditched me. But now I get to run for office with all my wonderful friends, and I’m in love with my brilliant campaign manager, and people are taking me seriously. They’re listening to me, and fighting for me, and … Ben, I want to enjoy it. That’s the thing. I’m not giving up, and I’m going to work my ass off until Election Day, and I know you will too, you all will. But I don’t want it to be … I don’t want it to be this tense, stressful thing that we have to get through. I’m running for office, and it should be fun. This might be all I get.” Her eyes were definitely tearing up, in spite of herself, and she shook it off. “Until the next election,” she quickly amended.
Ben absorbed this for a few moments, stroking her fingers with his thumbs.
“I get it. I’ve been … well, you know how I’ve been.” He bit his lip, looking remorseful, which is the opposite of what she wanted, but then in the next instant he was looking at her with so much love and awe in his eyes, it took her breath away. “I have so much respect for you, I just can’t imagine a world where a simple majority of voters can’t see what I see. If Pawnee can’t see that …”
“Come on now, you have to promise you won’t hold it against Pawnee.”
Ben’s mouth bent into that slight smile of his, and now it was him brushing the tears off her cheeks. “I promise,” he said solemnly.
She nudged him playfully in the knee. “We’re still going to give this our all, you know. We might still win this thing.”
“Oh, I know. We have three weeks left to kick some ass. And believe me, there are some asses I really want to kick. One or two in particular.”
Their heads bent together, Leslie lightly bumped her fist against his, setting off a heady, slow-motion version of their usual celebratory handshake ritual. It ended with their fingers intertwined.
“So what do we do now?” he asked finally.
With that one short question, it felt like equilibrium had been restored. They weren’t just campaign manager and the candidate he managed. They were in this together, and it felt good.
“Well. We’re in a hot tub limo. I think … ” She looked around her, taking in the goofy neon blue lights casting a strange glow on garish fixtures. The contentedly cuddling mass comprised of two of her best and most loyal friends. The earnest adoring angles of her boyfriend/campaign manager’s face. And through the dark-tinted windows, the faint but charming outlines of southern Indiana, her beloved home state. “I think we enjoy the ride.”
The limo rocked as they went over a particularly bumpy patch of road, and Ben frowned. “I think I still wish the ride was a little smoother.”
But then he was kissing her, and he didn’t seem to mind so much.