While You Were Sleeping: Chapter 3
Title: While You Were Sleeping: Chapter 3
Word Count: About 2900 (this chapter)
Rating: PG (this chapter)
Setting: AU season 3 (December 2010)
Summary: Ben Wyatt is living a quiet, routine life until one event turns everything upside-down. Basically, it's the plot of While You Were Sleeping in the Parks-verse
A/n: Sorry this one took so long! I'm hoping to get at least one more chapter posted before Christmas. Fingers crossed. As always, I owe angelica_rules a million thank yous for reading through this chapter and giving me feedback. By the time this is all over, I am going to owe her the moon or something equally large and absurd. This would not be happening without you, Funda!
Chapter Three
Ben is no stranger to sleepless nights. When you single-handedly destroy a town when you're only eighteen, it's followed by a healthy dose of anxiety and months of insomnia. He learned long ago that routine helps. It's the type of consistent rhythm that school children follow, and he might be embarrassed by that if hadn't learned long ago how underrated a good night's sleep is.
So he's not at all surprised that after the day he had, sleep seems to be the furthest thing from his mind.
He'd tried and failed to reach Chris again when he got home from the hospital. While some small part of him hopes that it's because Chris is somewhere over the Rocky Mountains, trying to find his way home to Ann, he mostly fears that Chris really won't look at his phone for four days. The thought of it puts a knot in his stomach; he can only imagine the hurt and confusion that will follow his confession of the mix-up. And as much as he dreads explaining his own role in this, the thought of having to make excuses for Chris is so much worse.
As much as he hates to admit it, Chris is the closest thing that Ben has to a friend. But Ben is neither eloquent nor tactful enough to make excuses for his behavior.
The worst part is that Chris could do it. Chris could waltz into the hospital tomorrow, tears in his eyes, consolations and apologies on his lips, and all would be forgiven without a second thought. Ben would gracefully bow out and go back to his normal life, and all would be right with the world.
Without Chris, it will just be Ben, fumbling to find the right words, making Chris sound like the enemy, and bungling up everyone's lives.
Would it really be so bad to wait for Chris, accompany him to the hospital to make his own apologies, and then quietly disappear?
By the time he finishes nursing his fourth beer, the same thoughts circling in his mind with no end in sight, he decides he needs some fresh air. He stands, displacing Tobias onto the floor, and heads outside.
The snow that had started when he left the hospital is settled now, a mess of mush and ice along the sidewalk and the streets that will probably seep straight through his shoes. He just jams his hands into the pocket of his coat, though, and heads down the street; his mind already feels clearer in the crisp cold air.
"There was a mix-up," he practices, watching his breath form a white puff and disappear into the night. "I'm not Ann's boyfriend. I just share an office with him. He and Ann had a little miscommunication about the ski trip, and he had already left when she got there. She was upset and ran out of the office, and then the accident happened. I haven't been able to reach Chris, but I'm sure he'll be here as soon as he can."
Simple. It doesn't sound so bad.
If he could just say it and then disappear, it would be fine. But his mind already supplies the barrage of questions that follow.
What kind of mix-up?
Why was Ann upset?
Why can't you reach Chris?
Why didn't you say something sooner?
His own annoyance with Chris is still bubbling under the surface, and he knows it will come out. He's not even sure why he cares one way or the other. Poisoning the well with his own version of the truth is probably nothing less than Chris deserves, yet somehow, it still feels like a betrayal.
Or it's the easy way out.
It is. Not getting involved. For once, not trying to explain away Chris' behavior. It's so much easier.
And to be quite honest, he's not sure which excuse is the truth. Maybe they both are.
It doesn't make either of them legitimate.
The thoughts continue to follow one another in his mind, too influenced by his own guilt and cowardice to find a logical thread to follow. After twenty minutes, he's only slightly surprised to find himself standing back outside the hospital.
And it's illogical, but he wonders that if he just sees Ann for a few minutes, maybe he'll know what to do.
The hospital is much quieter at this time of night. He goes in through the lobby rather than the ER and finds his way back to the fourth floor without encountering another soul. Upstairs, the lights are dimmed and the only sound is the ambient noise of heart monitors and computers.
Feeling slightly out of place, he creeps down the hall to Ann's room. It's half-lit, and he wonders if a person in a coma has any concept of night or day.
"Hey, Ann," he says softly. He approaches the bed, his hands still jammed into his pockets, and looks down at her. She looks the same as when he saw her this afternoon; he has no idea whether that's good or bad.
This is absurd, he thinks. He has no idea if she's going to be okay, no idea if she'll ever even wake up, and in light of that, whatever internal conflict he's having seems wildly insignificant.
He rubs his hand over his eyes, quite suddenly feeling exhausted.
"Oh!"
He turns at the soft exclamation; Leslie stands in the doorway, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, looking as surprised as he feels to see her.
"Hi," he says. "Sorry. I didn't realize … I didn't think anyone would be here this late."
"I never left," says Leslie. She walks around the bed, picks up a stack of binders from the seat of a chair and places them on Ann's bedside table, and then sits across from him. She smiles at Ann, giving her hand a squeeze, and then her eyes flit back to Ben. "I couldn't. She's my best friend in the entire universe."
It almost seems pointed, considering his own supposed relationship to Ann, but there doesn't seem to be any maliciousness in the comment. It's simply a fact, as basic as humans need oxygen or the sky is blue. Ann is Leslie's best friend, and she isn't going to leave her side.
In his whole life, Ben doesn't think he's ever cared that much about another person.
The thought makes him sad.
"Sorry," says Leslie, and for a second, he's convinced she read his thoughts. "We were never properly introduced." She stands and sticks her hand out over the bed, and Ben scrambles to rise and meet the gesture. "I'm Leslie Knope, Deputy Director of the Department of Parks and Recreation."
Ben almost smiles. "Ben Wyatt," he says. And then, as though it's perfectly normal to include one's profession in an introduction, he adds, "Accountant."
"Hot accountant," corrects Leslie, grinning at him. She lets go of his hand and sinks back into her seat. "That's how Ann referred to you."
Right. He's Chris in this scenario.
He has to tell her.
"Look," he says, fumbling with the zipper on his coat; it's suddenly, inexplicably warm in here, "about that. I'm not-"
"No, I know," Leslie says apologetically. "You're more than just a pretty face. It's just that when you and Ann first started dating, that's how she referred to you. The nickname kind of stuck."
Chris would be thrilled, thinks Ben. He mostly feels nauseated; the lie sits like a rock in his stomach, and with each passing second, it feels more absurd to spit out the truth: that he's a nobody who barely knows Ann but is pretending to be her boyfriend in order to avoid an awkward conversation.
That's not at all weird. Or slightly creepy.
Ben can't quite articulate why it matters if anyone thinks of him as weird or creepy, which in itself is a whole other level of concern. As soon as he admits the truth, he can walk out of this situation forever and never see Leslie or Ann again. Maybe he can even switch offices at work to avoid Chris.
That thought is not as appealing or comforting as it should be.
"Are you okay?" asks Leslie. "You look a little flushed. Maybe you should sit down. Oh! Or-" She reaches for her purse and begins to dig through it. "-I have NutriYum bars!" She produces them, smiling triumphantly, and holds out one to Ben. "My friend Andy brought them when he came to pick up April and Jerry." She glances down at Ann and shrugs. "Sorry, Ann."
Ben takes one of the bars from Leslie's hand and glances down at the familiar label. Sometimes he eats them just to annoy Chris.
"They're good for getting through long work nights," says Leslie as she rips open the wrapper of her own bar. She takes a huge bite, shivering a little as she swallows, and her eyes brighten in a way that suggests the sugar hit her immediately.
"I usually prefer coffee," says Ben, but he opens the wrapper anyway and takes a more conservative bite than Leslie. It still feels like an instant sugar rush. And then, because he truly is a coward at heart, he changes the subject.
"So...Your friends left?"
Leslie nods. "Jerry was complaining about his heart. I probably shouldn't have made him run back to the car when I found out about the accident. We were responding to a call about some kids ice skating on the pond at Ramsett Park. You're not supposed to do that, you know, even though only one kid has ever fallen through the ice and that's only because it was March and the ice was half-melted-but anyway, April had just finished scaring off the kids when I found out about Ann. We ran back to the car, and the stress was apparently too much for Jerry to handle, so Andy came and picked up him and April here."
"Oh. So they were just your coworkers."
Leslie's brow furrows the tiniest bit, almost as if she's confused by Ben's casual observation, but before she can say anything else, there's a knock on the window. Ben looks over his shoulder and catches a glimpse of a frustrated-looking nurse, but when he turns back toward Leslie, she's disappeared.
"Visiting hours ended over an hour ago," says the nurse. Ben turns to face her, an apology already formed on his lips, but the nurse isn't even looking at him. "I know you're there, Leslie."
Ben raises an eyebrow as he glances back at the other side of the bed; Leslie's blue eyes peek up over the edge, and reluctantly, she raises herself to her full height. "I warned you at nine, Leslie. You promised you'd leave."
"It's a dumb rule."
The nurse sighs. "You can come back in the morning. At ten. When visiting hours start."
"Maybe we should go," he says to Leslie. She looks ready to fight, which would probably not go over well with the hospital staff. "You don't want to get banned from the hospital."
He's mostly joking, but the idea seems to quell Leslie's urge to protest. She sighs, gathering her coat, scarf, hat, purse, and three binders, and nearly stomps out of the room. "I'll be back at ten," she says to the nurse.
"Wonderful."
Sheepishly, Ben follows Leslie out of the room and down the hallway to the elevator. "Here," he says, watching Leslie struggle to balance her stuff while putting on her coat. He reaches out to take the binders and she jams her hat on her head, almost angrily.
"It is a dumb rule," Ben offers.
"They're just still mad at me because I stole all that flu medication a few months ago," says Leslie. She pulls on her coat, a big puffy thing with the name of her department embroidered on the breast, and zips it up to her neck. "Maybe if they weren't so stingy with the doses, people could get back to work sooner."
The elevator doors ping when they reach the first floor, and Ben follows Leslie out, through the lobby, and into the parking lot. She tugs on her gloves, and then reaches out to take the binders back from him.
"Thanks." She presses the binders to her chest and looks up at him. "Where'd you park?"
"I didn't," admits Ben. "I walked."
"Oh. Do you want a ride home?"
"Oh, no. That's okay. It's just a few blocks."
"It's freezing," says Leslie. "And I don't mind. Come on."
She starts to walk before Ben can protest again, and reluctantly, he follows her across the slushy parking lot. When they reach Leslie's car, she opens the back door to put her binders into a briefcase, which is buckled into the back seat.
"What are those, anyway?" he asks, opening the passenger door and watching as Leslie carefully steps to her side of the car.
"Work binders." She slips a little as she opens her car door, but manages to stay upright. "You can never be too careful."
He nods. "The last time I flew home to see my family, I put all of my work files in my carry-on just because I didn't trust the airline not to lose my checked luggage."
"You'd be crazy not to," says Leslie. She climbs into the car and Ben follows suit. As he fastens his seatbelt, he catches another glimpse of the files, and this time, he can't stop himself from smiling.
"So you're not a native Pawneean?" asks Leslie.
"No. I'm originally from Minnesota. I moved here right after college."
"Well it is the greatest city in Indiana. Probably America. Possibly the world."
It's also the first place Ben went after his disgraced tenure as mayor where not one person knew about his past. Not that he's going to mention that to Leslie.
"So I live on Pine Street."
"Really? That's just a couple of blocks from my house."
"Small world."
Leslie nods, and then for the first time all day, lapses into a silence. But even silence with Leslie seems to be fraught with energy; he swears he can practically hear her thinking, can tell by the grip of her fingers on the steering wheel that she's either still angry or worried, and he has the overwhelming urge to tell her that's it's going to be okay, even though he has no idea if it is. He drums his fingers against his knee, feeling slightly awkward, and clears his throat.
"So," he says, "how did you and Ann meet?"
"She never told you?"
"No."
"Oh. We met at a town hall meeting. Ann came to complain about the pit outside of her house. You know, where the lot is now." For the first time since they left the hospital, she smiles. "We're turning it into a park."
"Right," says Ben. It stirs something in his memory; a few skeptical articles that now seem impossibly linked to the enthusiastic, obstinate woman he's met today. If he wasn't aware of the thousand obstacles that stood in Leslie's way, he'd be shocked that anyone could write an article that didn't believe in the project as much as she did. "I remember reading about that in the paper. I didn't realize Ann was involved."
"She's practically an honorary member of the Parks Department."
In the litany of qualities Chris had mentioned about Ann, this tidbit had never come up. Ben likes the way it slides into place, though: some definition in the indistinct and unvarying picture that Chris paints of all of his girlfriends. Somehow, though, it's Leslie who sticks in his mind. Leslie, whose coworkers come with her to the hospital; Leslie, who has three work binders buckled into the back seat; Leslie, who works her title into general introductions.
Leslie, whose best friend is an honorary coworker.
Work is practically his whole life, too. And at this moment, he's never felt less like it's an acceptable substitute for everything missing in his life.
"Where do you live?" asks Leslie. She glances over at Ben, and dazedly, he realizes that they're on his street.
"Next block," he says. "The building on the corner."
Leslie slows to a stop in front of his building, and leans over to look up at the apartment. "Which one is yours?"
"Uh…Second floor." He points in the general direction, and Leslie frowns.
"There's no Christmas lights."
"Oh, uh, no. I didn't really get around to decorating this year."
"Right," murmurs Leslie. "Ski trip. I forgot."
So did he, frankly. "It's okay," he says, not quite sure whom he's reassuring. He gives Leslie a tight smile, and opens the car door. "Thanks for the ride."
"So I'll see you tomorrow, probably."
"Yeah. Probably. Maybe."
"Goodnight, Ben."
"'Night, Leslie."
He stands on the sidewalk as she drives away, watching her car turn down the next block and disappear out of sight. When he turns back toward the building, he stares up at his darkened apartment.
He can feel the cold biting his fingers, but it's a long time before he finally heads inside.