Parks Fic: Chris Traeger’s Ugly Sweater Party (2/2)
Title: Chris Traeger's Spirited Ugly Sweater Party
Characters/Pairings: Ensemble, April/Andy, Ben/Leslie UST
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 8200
Setting: Season 3's lost Christmas. Post-Fancy Party, pre-Soulmates timeline wise.
Summary: A series of misadventures throughout Chris’ Christmas party-festive sweaters required.
Six: Maroon Cashmere Sweater
When the kitchen door swings open, Tom jumps, silently cursing Andy for being a terrible lookout, and quickly hides Ron’s bottle of whiskey behind his back. Fortunately, it’s neither Chris nor, worse, Ron who enters. “God, Ben!” he snaps, quietly breathing a sigh of relief. “Don’t sneak up on people!”
“I wasn’t. I was just looking for…” Ben frowns at him. “What are you doing?”
“Going old school. Deflowering this virgin elixir.”
“Huh?”
“Jeez. I’m spiking the punch, Ben!”
“What? Tom!”
“Ben, seriously. Did you know Chris has failed to offer even one alcoholic beverage?”
“Yeah? Well, Chris doesn’t drink.”
“So the rest of us have to suffer?” He turns back to the punch and continues to pour in the rest of Ron’s whiskey. There’s not much left. “And dude, what the hell are you wearing? Did you borrow that from your twelve-year-old sister? The theme was ugly sweaters, not pathetic.”
Ben stares pointedly at Tom’s sweater-an expensive maroon, cashmere v-neck-and Tom shrugs. “I couldn’t do it, man. This body is meant to look good.”
The kitchen door opens again just as Tom finishes off the bottle. He hands it to Ben, who immediately panics and scrambles to hide the evidence while Tom picks up the ladle to stir the punch. Still fumbling, Ben crams the bottle down his sweater, and then turns to face the door. “Hey, Ann…” he says shakily. “How’s it going?”
“What the hell are you two up to? Tom?”
“Hey, cupcake. Just perfecting Chris’ punch recipe.” He pours a cup and hands it to Ann. “Taste.”
Ann sniffs the cup. “Did you put alcohol in this?”
“What? No.”
“Liar.” She sips it and her eyes widen. “Wow. That is…potent.”
“But much improved.”
For the third time in five minutes, the door swings open, and yeah, this is definitely the last time Tom ever uses Andy as a guard. Especially since this time it is Chris and Ron, huddled together as some weird manwich and followed by Donna, who is fanning herself with a photograph. “Ben Wyatt!” shouts Chris. “Just the man I was looking for!”
“Chris.” Ben shifts uncomfortably, probably because he still has the whiskey bottle in his shirt, and shoots a panicked look in Tom’s direction. “We weren’t-”
“Do you remember a few years ago when Theresa wanted to make that Red Hot Auditors calendar to raise money for homeless gorillas?”
“Wait,” says Donna, “don’t tell me Ben was October?”
Ben frowns at her and tries to cross his hands over his chest, an awkward move with the bottle. To Chris he says, “If you’re talking about that amateur porn shoot crazy Theresa tried to do in her garage before she got fired, then yes.”
Chris laughs. “You are a treat, Ben Wyatt. I was just showing Donna the photos from my shoot, and we thought it might be a fabulous idea to make a new calendar. With pants this time, of course.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I think it’s a great idea!” interrupts Tom, elbowing Ben out of the way. “Except instead of shirtless men, let’s make it ladies in their underwear. And instead of people we know, let’s hire professional models. Swimsuit models.”
“Has anyone seen my whiskey?” asks Ron. Ben twitches, and way too obviously begins to back out of the room. “I am going to need alcohol if I’m going to be required to remain at this party.”
“Nonsense, Ron. Here. Try some punch.”
Chris pours Ron a glass and then, to Tom’s delighted horror, gets a glass for himself and throws it back in one hit. Everyone stares-even Ben, frozen in his progress out of the room-and watches as Chris smacks his lips. “That is…quite good. Unusual, though. I think perhaps I added too much nectarine.”
Ron takes a sip as well, eyes narrowing in a pointed glare at Tom. “Haverford!” he bellows. “May I see you in the other room, please?”
“I’d rather stay in here.”
Seven: Snowman Sweater
Ben hides behind the door as Ron physically drags Tom into the other room, and Ann watches as he takes advantage of everyone being distracted to pull the whiskey bottle out from under his sweater and hide it in a plant that hangs from Chris’ ceiling. It’s a good call, since Ron is probably out for blood. Chris, meanwhile, is on his third cup of punch in as many minutes, and has begun to giggle vociferously.
“This is so good!” he raves, ladling himself another cup. “Have you all tried this? It’s so fantabulously yummerific.”
“Oh-Okay, Chris,” says Ann, crossing the room and putting a hand over his cup to keep him from drinking any more. “I think that’s enough punch.”
“What is wrong with him?”
“Tom spiked the punch,” Ben mutters. Donna’s eyebrows shoot into her hairline.
“Seriously? That is the fastest I’ve ever seen alcohol go to someone’s head.”
“Ann Perkins!” slurs Chris-and, wow, Donna is right. This is hitting Chris hard and fast. He slings an arm over Ann’s shoulders, and she struggles to hold his weight. “That is a very smiley snowmen. Snowman. Man of snow.”
“Uh, thank you?”
“Why don’t we go build one? A real one. Outside. Where the snow is.”
Ann shakes her head, shooting a slightly desperate look at Donna and Ben, the latter of whom crosses the room and backs Chris onto a chair. “I’ll make some coffee,” Donna offers.
“Chris doesn’t drink coffee,” Ann mutters. “There’s probably none here. But Chris,” she shakes him a bit. “Chris, do you have any tea? Or juice?”
“I have fruit punch!”
“Yeah, okay.” She turns back to Donna. “Can you watch him? Have him drink some water. Leslie snuck in her own food supply, and I’m pretty sure she’ll have something that can help sober him up.”
“Yep. Come on, bionic man. Let’s get some water and go finish polling people about their favorite sweaters.”
“Yours is my favorite,” says Chris, standing up and leaning in to give Donna a loud smack on the lips. “And yours too, Ann!” He turns toward her, stumbling forward, and before she realizes what’s happening, his lips are on hers too, warm and soft against hers, his tongue sweet with the taste of fruit punch. For a split second, she forgets herself, leaning in to the kiss and shutting her eyes, and then she abruptly pulls back. Chris doesn’t notice, merely turning toward Ben and cawing, “Yours too, Ben Wyatt!” He lurches toward Ben, but Donna grabs him by the back of his sweater and Ben ducks out of the way, following Ann as she flees the kitchen.
“Are you okay?” asks Ben, continuing to trail after her even once they’re safely out of reach of Chris. Ann barely hears him, her eyes scanning the room for Leslie.
“What? Oh-Oh yeah. I’m great. Just great.”
“I can tell.”
Ann rounds on him, ready to take her rage and frustration out on the nearest person, but it’s hard to make that person Ben when he’s just standing there with his hands in his pockets, actually looking concerned. “Look,” he says, “Chris can be kind of a jerk sometimes. And alcohol pretty much amplifies all jackassery. It’s a dangerous combination.”
“Yeah,” agrees Ann. It’s a fair, if mild assessment. “I shouldn’t have come tonight.”
“No, hey. Don’t let him get you down. Just think about how miserable he’s going to be tomorrow when he realizes that he spent the night drinking and being fed food that Leslie would approve of.”
Ann manages a small smile at the thought. “I think she brought cookies.”
“And knowing Leslie they have a ridiculous amount of chocolate in them. Or icing. Or both.” He smiles, ducking his head a little bit, this cute, shy, dopey move that clearly speaks more to his mention of Leslie than the idea of vengeance. That is not the look of a man seeking revenge.
“You guys have been spending a lot of time together lately, huh?”
“What?” Ben rubs a hand over the back of his neck and shifts his weight. “Uh, yeah…I-I guess. At work. Professionally. Like…uh…colleagues.”
Ann stares at him, waiting for him to stop stammering, but the silence only seems to egg him on.
“We-uh-that is Leslie is…a fantastic person-coworker. I really like, um, working with her…and…and stuff.”
“And stuff,” echoes Ann, folding her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow. She’s pretty sure it’s the “and stuff” that Leslie would like to expand on. And if this horrifyingly awkward conversation isn’t proof that Ben feels the same, Ann isn’t sure what is. “Right. Well, I happen to know that she likes working with you too. And stuff.”
“She does?”
“Yep. She was really happy when you decided to stay.”
“Yeah?”
Ann nods, watching as Ben’s smile grows. And god, he’s obviously as clueless about this as Leslie, which probably explains why if he does like her-and Ann would bet money that he does-he hasn’t asked her out yet. Which means at this rate, it’s going to take a miracle to get one of them to man up and do this.
Well, Leslie has often told Ann she is a miracle worker.
And it is Christmas.
“Look, Ben,” she says, finding it easier than she should to feign weariness; this really has been a long night. “I appreciate the pep talk, but this has been a pretty shitty night, so I think I’m going to head home.”
“Oh…Okay.”
“Can you do me a favor, though? I gave Leslie a ride over here. Can you find her for me and let her know I’m leaving and tell her not to worry? Give her a ride home at the end of the night?”
“I…Yes. I can do that. Absolutely.”
“Great. Thank you.” She pats Ben on the arm and smiles.
Operation Sexy Christmas Elf-as Leslie grossly dubbed it-is a go.
Eight: Penguin Sweater
It takes Ben almost a half an hour to find Leslie.
It’s a chaotic search. Without Chris at the helm, Tom has changed the music and the house fairly vibrates with the level of the bass. Ron has absconded with the punch, and Donna has taken advantage of Chris’ affectionate inebriation to drag him underneath every sprig of mistletoe in the house. Even more disturbing, April and Andy are actually following Jerry around the house so they can make out in front of him, and Ben keeps bumping into them as he looks for Leslie.
He also narrowly avoids Orin twice.
The entire time he’s torn between feeling giddy-that heart-racing excitement that comes innately at any opportunity to be near Leslie-and guilty over feeling happy because it’s all thanks to Ann’s misery. Maybe he should sit down with Chris and have a little talk about his ignorant harassment of his ex-girlfriend. Because undoubtedly, Chris doesn’t actually get what’s going on.
Ben supposes it’s a side effect from wanting to be friends with everyone, always.
In the end, it’s one of the park rangers who points him in the right direction, shouting loudly that he thought he saw Leslie head toward the bedroom. And then it takes a couple minutes of concerted effort to separate the idea of Leslie and bedroom into two distinct, unrelated entities. An admirable attempt that goes right out the window the second he steps into the room and actually sees Leslie sitting on the bed.
Chris’ bed. Chris Traeger’s bed.
It’s the most sobering thought he can muster. To moderate success.
“Hey!” says Leslie, standing up quickly and brushing the front of her sweater with her hand. “I wasn’t doing anything! Just checking on the coats. You know. Safety.”
“Ann told me you brought cookies.”
“Oh.” Leslie bends and pulls out a bag from underneath a coat, holding it out toward Ben. “You want one?”
“No thanks. I’m full.”
“Seriously?”
“No, I’m starving,” he says, stepping forward and pulling out a cookie. “I should have thought to bring provisions.”
Leslie smiles as he takes a bite-it’s chocolate, chocolate chip with a generous dollop of chocolate icing on top, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to go into a sugar coma, but it’s delicious. He gives a little moan of approval, and Leslie’s eyes brighten. “This is excellent.”
“Thanks. I have sugar cookies, too, if you want.”
Ben nods as Leslie sits back down and digs through the pocket of her coat, and when she pats the space next to her on the bed, he only hesitates for a second before joining her. He leaves a good two feet of space between them, though, for propriety’s sake, a caution Leslie doesn’t appear to share. She immediately shifts closer, setting the bags of cookies between them and biting off the head of a snowman sugar cookie.
“I’ve, uh, been looking for you,” says Ben.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Uh, Ann decided to head home early. Everything’s okay, but Chris…Well, Chris was being Chris. Time ten.”
“Is she okay? Damn, I should have never forced her to come tonight. She really didn’t want to.”
“She said not to worry.”
Leslie sighs. “Poor, beautiful, snow angel Ann.” She glances at the cookies. “I should make her some Chris-is-an-idiot-who-doesn’t-deserve-you Christmas cookies.”
“Decorate a gingerbread man in workout clothes. It might feel good to bite the head off.”
Leslie giggles, reaching down and snagging a Santa cookie. “We can pretend Santa is future Chris-fat and bearded.”
“Cookie therapy.”
They smile at each other, a look that lingers a beat longer than usual, and then Leslie drops her eyes to his chest. “I love your sweater,” she says.
“Oh. Thanks. It’s actually-”
And then his brain stops working.
Because Leslie reaches out and touches his chest.
Deliberately.
“I should make one like this,” she says, tracing her fingers over his pectoral muscles and down his sternum. Ben can barely hear what she’s saying, he’s so focused on her touch-on the fact that he’d swear his skin is burning even with a layer of knitted fabric between them. “I love penguins. And they’re holding hands and ice skating…It’s like cuteness cubed…”
Ben turns toward her, his knee bumping into hers as he angles his body toward hers, and he takes a deep breath. It’s not where he imagined doing this-Chris’ bedroom of all places, with a party going on just outside the door-but he’s alone with her and she’s-maybe, probably-giving him some kind of signal, and if there was ever a time to take a chance and kiss her-
“Wait!” Leslie shouts. Ben jumps back, leaping off of the bed and running a hand through his hair, already muttering apologies for merely having the thought of kissing her. “This is an ugly sweater party,” she says accusingly, ignoring his near-epileptic fit. “Did you wear that sweater because you thought it was ugly?”
Ben stares at her. “Um-No. I mean, the invitation said spirited, not ugly.” Leslie raises a skeptical eyebrow and Ben stutters to explain. “Chris’ grandmother made me this sweater. She-She’s made me one for the past three Christmases, and this was last year’s…I mean, you know that’s why Chris is having this party, right?”
“What are you talking about?”
“His grandmother died last spring. And this-I mean, I guess this was the best way he could think of to honor her.”
“Oh god. And everyone’s been calling it an ugly sweater party.” She stands up, coming over and swatting his upper arm. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I did…” He did. Several times.
“I mean about his grandmother.”
“Oh. Well, I think it’s okay. I mean, Chris doesn’t know you guys reinterpreted the theme. I think he’s just happy that everyone showed up in a sweater.”
Leslie reaches out and takes his hand, dragging him across the room to the door-not that Ben’s complaining. “Come on,” she says determinedly. “We need to set everyone straight before someone says something to Chris.”
Nine: No Sweater
Jerry finally manages to sneak away without Andy and April noticing, creeping toward the bedroom with the plan to hide out until this party is over. Just as he reaches the door, it swings open, nearly hitting him in the face as Leslie barges out of the room with Ben. She glares at Jerry, and he starts to apologize, only to be interrupted.
“Dammit, Jerry! You own even more Christmas sweaters than I do! Why they hell aren’t you wearing one?”
“I…I forgot, Leslie. I’m sorry.”
She rolls her eyes and stalks past him.
“Dammit, Jerry,” mutters Ben.
At least the night starts to look up after that. Jerry finds two bags of cookies abandoned in the bedroom.
Ten: Poinsettia Sweater
“Friends!”
Chris feels a bit unsteady, almost as though he’s swaying, and he wonders if climbing up on this table was the best idea. It seemed like a good idea in theory. He can see everyone at his party, all of his wonderful friends, having a great time and smiling.
So yes. Brilliant idea.
After all, what’s a little vertigo when the view is so splendid?
“Friends!” he says again, placing one hand back on the wall this time just to steady himself. “I want to thank all of you for coming to my party and helping me to celebrate this most festivetacular holiday season!”
There’s a cheer from the crowd, and Chris grins, holding up the class of punch he managed to steal from Ron before he climbed up on the table. “There are so many reasons to be joyous this year. New friends and old! New job! New home! New, exciting opportunities! I have literalbly never been more happy.
“But some of you may not know that this party is also a way to remember…A way for me to honor my amazing Granny, who passed away earlier this year.”
Chris looks down at his sweater, running a hand over the knitted poinsettia, and then back out into the crowd-at the sea of festive sweaters that he knows his grandmother would have loved. “She knitted me a Christmas sweater every year, and I could think of no better way to celebrate her than by hosting a spirited sweater party…” He trails off, unable to speak around the lump in his throat, tears burning his eyes that he doesn’t bother to blink away. “I…”
He sobs, openly, the tears slipping over his cheeks and running down to drip onto the fabric of his sweater.
It’s Ben that intervenes. Wonderful Ben, his best friend, who loved Granny Traeger as much as Chris did even though they only met once. He steps through the crowd and climbs up on the table with Chris, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder and holding his own cup of punch out to the crowd. “To Chris’ grandmother,” he says, as calm and steady as always. “A really lovely person.”
Chris watches as his guests toast, and then turns to smile at Ben, who raises his own glass and takes a sip of punch. Chris follows suit, swigging back the contents of his glass, and then turning and planting a kiss on Ben’s cheek. “Thank you, Ben,” he says seriously. “That was the most moving toast I have ever heard.”
“Sure, Chris. No problem.”
“And now,” Chris says, turning back to the crowd, “I also want to announce the winner of the spirited sweater contest!” He tries to bend and pick up the package he set on the table before he climbed up, but his knees don’t seem to work right and his tears are kind of blurring his view. Luckily, Ben is there to grab it, holding it out as Chris nearly jumps in excitement. “By an overwhelming majority, I am pleased to present this prize to Leslie Knope! Come up here, Leslie!”
Leslie looks as thrilled as Chris knew she would be as she approaches the table amongst the applause, reaching out and taking the box from Ben’s hands. “Thanks,” she says, smiling at Chris. She turns. “And thank you everyone! This is a real honor.”
“Open it!”
“Yeah! What’s the prize?”
Leslie looks back at Chris, who nods excitedly, and she rips the paper off and opens the box, pulling out and unfolding a sweater that depicts two penguins building a snowman.
“A Granny original,” says Chris, and Leslie nods, fingering it.
“It’s perfect.”
It is.
Eleven: Winning Sweater
Leslie stands in the snow, staring down at the ground and watching the blinking lights on her sweater create colorful patterns against the white canvass. The battery pack clipped to the back of her jeans is starting to run low, and it’s become almost uncomfortably warm where it touches her skin, but the effect of the little lights lining Santa’s workshop on her sweater was clearly worth it. Prize-winningly worth it.
“You ready to go?”
She doesn’t turn, enjoying the sound of Ben’s feet crunching in the snow as he comes up next to her. He’s close enough that she could reach out and grab his hand again if she wanted (which she does, more than she’s ready to admit), but without impulsivity or purpose powering her, she can’t bring herself to make the move.
“Did you get Chris to stop crying?”
“Uh, well…Donna offered to stay until he sobers up. I think she’s enjoying how over-affectionate the alcohol has made him.”
Leslie looks over at him and smiles. “So…”
“So…” He smiles back, and Leslie bites her lip, wishing she knew what he was thinking. Wishing she could find the courage to take a risk. Wishing that he could. “I guess,” he says, glancing down at the ground and then back at her, “I guess I should get you home.”
Leslie nods. “Actually…Could you take me to Ann’s? I want to make sure she’s okay after all of this.”
“Sure.”
They stare at one another for a beat. The cold stings Leslie’s cheeks and nose, probably tinting them a ridiculous red, but Ben’s looking at her like it maybe doesn’t matter. He’s looking her like maybe he wants to kiss her-and dammit, why won’t he just kiss her?
Screw it.
She leans over and nudges him with her shoulder, taking the opportunity to grasp his hand again, threading her gloved fingers around his bare ones, feeling a little bit brave even though it’s far from everything she wants to do. Ben glances down at their joined hands and then squeezes.
“So, prize-winner, I guess next Christmas we’re going to match, huh?”
He looks like he regrets it as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but Leslie feels the butterflies in her stomach flutter like mad at the words. She wonders what next Christmas will bring. If she’ll be able to do more than hold Ben’s hand in a year. If they’ll still be working as a team.
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “We will.”
Ben gives her a small, pleased smile, and before Leslie realizes what’s happening, he leans down and presses a kiss to her cheek. It’s brief, just a brush of his warm lips against her skin, but Leslie flushes, a little dizzy from the touch.
“Ben…”
Whatever she planned to say-she really couldn’t say what was going to come out of her mouth-it’s interrupted by a loud shout that echoes through the still night air and breaks the spell between them. “Hey! Hey Leslie! Ben!”
They turn, still holding hands, and see April and Andy across the lawn. Andy has a kitchen knife in his hand, and he’s making a fruitless attempt to cut down a pine tree with it. “Hey! Do either of you guys have an ax by chance?”
Ben raises an eyebrow. “No…”
“Damn it.”
Andy scratches his head and then takes another chop at the tree. April watches impassively, only stamping her feet now and then against the cold.
“Should we stop them?” asks Leslie.
“No. They’ll probably give up before they do any real damage. I’m pretty sure that’s a butter knife.”
Leslie giggles, but her laughter dissolves as Ben turns back to her, a seriousness in his eyes that doesn’t match the smile on his face, and god, she can’t wait to talk to Ann about all of this. Even though nothing more is going to happen tonight, it feels more likely now than ever that it will.
“Merry Christmas, Leslie,” he says softly.
Someday.
“Merry Christmas, Ben.”