fic: disarm, pg13
title: Disarm 1/? (probably 2 or 3)
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: PG13 for now, eventual R
words: ~3500
notes: I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FIC SINCE JANUARY. JANUARY. It is now July. I have been hoarding and writing this in spurts and doing research and blah blah blah and I told myself I wouldn't start to post it until it was finished out of fear of never finishing. However, the situation's getting dire and I want this thing out in the world. I need the encouragement of people hopefully wanting to read more! Many, many thanks to Rachel, Hana, and Ashley, who have at different times really helped me shape and write this, and who have all read over chunks of those so many times it's dumb. Hope you all didn't mind me bugging you! Apologies for any incorrect facts... this is a whole new genre for me. It's been a lot of work but I hope it'll pay off! Expect one to two more parts to this fic.
It’s truly, objectively, a beautiful day in Pawnee.
Kids are running around with fists of cotton candy, adults are challenging each other to rides on the tilt-a-whirl, the famous Li’l Sebastian is neighing gently in his pen, and Leslie swells with love for her hometown. Nothing makes her feel more proud than knowing she’s dedicated her life to protecting these people, this place.
Captain Swanson has always having her watch over community events like this, and even though she’s constantly putting together powerpoint presentations on why she’s a stronger detective than he gives her credit for, she not-so-secretly loves when she gets to spend her days like this. Just watching the community come together, occasionally busting the horrendous Greg Pikitis when she can, and making sure the people of her town are safe.
Nothing more serious than Pikitis graffiting the concessions stand or someone getting lost in the corn maze ever happens at events like this. The most dire emergency they’d had all week involved an older man slipping on some hay.
“Leslie,” she heard Andy’s voice, gravelly through the walkie-talkie. “Or, I’m sorry, Detective Knope--uh, we have an issue. Come back by the maze thingy. Over.”
“Roger that. On my way.”
Detective Dwyer had only been her partner for about a year now, since the time Captain Swanson caught her screaming at a group of teenagers about why parks closed at dawn. He claimed Leslie was too passionate (or in his words, “Brash, irresponsible, and downright bothersome”) to always work alone. And Andy is great; he has a heart of gold, and has been dreaming of being in law enforcement his whole life. He still has a lot to learn, but she’s alright teaching him. She just wishes the Captain could trust her more; she doesn’t need a big, bulking bodyguard when on patrol.
“Alright, 10-4 good buddy. Over and out.”
He also loves the walkie-talkies a little too much, but she’s gotten used to it.
Expecting to find a sick kid throwing up kettle corn (certainly wouldn’t be the first time today), Leslie’s startled to see Andy surrounded by several Pawnee cops and security guards.
“What’s going on?”
The closer she gets, the whiter Andy’s skin looks. Officer Haverford looks spooked, and Officer Meagle is in shock.
“Someone found a body in the corn maze. Councilman Dexhart’s body.”
---
"Ron, we don't need to call the Feds, Ron. Ron, don't call them. Don't call the FBI, Ron. Ron! We don't need the FBI, we--"
"Are you broken?"
Leslie takes a breath and steels herself. It's infuriating, how her captain can sit there calmly while a public official is dead and the FBI is about to swoop in and steal the case right out from underneath them.
"Captain, this is our jurisdiction. The Harvest Festival is mine, I was responsible for the citizens." The ever growing rock in her stomach sits heavier, and she swallows down the guilt. Her shaking fingers reach out to grip the edge of his desk. "I need to crack this case. Please, don't call the FBI."
"Knope, you know as well as I do what Dexhart was up to. This is beyond us, there are people angry at him in every damn state in the Midwest. And I need you to cooperate."
"They'll tell us what to do! They're going to try to do our jobs for us, Ron. And then they’ll take it over completely. They don't know Pawnee, they don't care, they just--"
"Are going to work as hard as they can to figure out who's responsible. And then I can get some rest.” Ron pauses to sigh loudly and looks down at his hands. “It's already been done, Knope. They're due here this afternoon."
Her fists clench and she feels her cheeks heat up.
"You and Andy are going to help them, you know the politics of this town better than anyone on the force. You’re still working on this case. Or I can hand this case over to Jerry, and we all know how that will go."
Leslie's eye twitches.
“Fine,” she hisses through clenched teeth.
"Great. Now, what do we do when we're upset?"
"We count backward from 1000 by sevens and think of warm brownies," she mumbles, defeated.
"There we go, Knope. You will help the agents, got that?"
"Yes, sir."
Ron pauses, and Leslie can swear he almost smiles.
"I know you can do this, Leslie."
Hearing her first name come out his mouth makes Leslie so emotional that Ron ends up pushing her out his office and locking the door behind her.
---
When Leslie gets the email about a precinct meeting, she knows it’s coming.
That afternoon, Ron enters the conference room with two strange men and orders everyone to sit. Leslie takes a seat in the front row and gets a notepad ready for any pertinent information. Andy sits nearby, giggling with promising junior detective April Ludgate.
"Dexhart has enemies all over the Great Lakes area. Since there are many likely suspects with many possible motives, this is clearly out of our hands."
Leslie grips her pen until her knuckles turn white while Andy gasps in delight next to her.
"Seeing as this is no longer my issue, that is all I will speak of the manner. Traeger?"
Ron immediately busies himself with the open Dunkin Donuts box in the corner while the FBI agents take their place in front of the precinct.
"Hello everyone! What a hard working precinct! I would just like to take the time to personally thank you for your hard work. You're the people who keep America safe!"
The man flashes them double thumbs-ups. Leslie notices the second man behind him; shorter, much grumpier. He looks bored. Cute, but definitely bored.
"I am special agent Chris Traeger, and I will be in charge of this case. What does that mean? There's always the fear of the big, bad FBI taking over cases, stepping on the every day police force. Fear not! We are merely here to help make Pawnee safe, same as you. I have a team and will be traveling to out of town suspects, and my assistant agent Ben Wyatt--" he gestures to the second man, who barely nods in acknowledgement, "will be investigating here in Pawnee. We cause no threat to your daily business. Keep defending the great citizens of this town!"
Well, that wasn't so bad. Leslie almost moves to applaud, but no one else seems as impressed with Agent Traeger's positivity. Except maybe Andy.
"When will be receive our code names, Agent Sir?" Andy asks, practically salivating. "I'm Burt Macklin, new member of the FBI, and a loose cannon--"
"I think you've misunderstood," Chris explains gently. "But I like the enthusiasm!"
The meeting is dismissed shortly after. Leslie follows Andy out, but Agent Wyatt catches her arm.
“Are you Detective Knope?"
"Yes?"
"May I speak with you?"
Agent Wyatt leads her to a private office, one that's usually vacant but seems to be taken over by their new federal friends.
He sits at a desk and begins organizing the papers in front of him, setting an impressive looking graphing calculator aside.
"Your captain suggested working with you in this case, he seems to think you know more about that Harvest Fest thing than the others."
"The Harvest Festival," she corrects, feeling annoyance creep up her spine. "It's an invaluable tradition in Pawnee every year, one of many traditions. Pawnee has great traditions, and so does this precinct. The way we do things works just fine, perfect actually."
Wyatt looks up at her in annoyance.
"Are we really doing this? The local detective getting mad at the FBI? This isn’t a television show."
Leslie shrugs stubbornly.
"I don't know, you tell me. Are you going to disrupt our precinct and push me out of my own jurisdiction and trample over my case?"
"I just wanted to ask you about the Harvest Festival attendance," he interrupts. "I don't need to appreciate Pawnee to find a murderer."
"You're a jerk." She crosses her arms and stares him down, this stupid, high-and-mighty FBI agent who thinks he's some sort of hot shot. Not in her precinct.
"Excuse me?"
"This is my town, my job. You can't just swoop in here and act like this case means anything to you because--"
"This is the job of the federal government, Detective Knope." She tries not to flinch as his voice raises. "We're just as committed to the safety of this country as you are to your town, and we 'swoop in' to help when we’re needed. A man was killed under the watch of your police force. If you can't cooperate, then shutting you out of this case is exactly what I'll do."
He opens his laptop and begins typing, leaving her dumbfounded. How dare he?
"I'll get what I need from the documents, thanks."
She slams the door behind her as she leaves.
---
"What if I could have stopped it?"
She snuggles into Ann's shoulder, trying not to let any tears slip out.
Ann, best friend and beautiful EMT, who once hopped out of an ambulance to help a car crash victim and became Leslie's closest friend in the world.
"We've talked about this a million times. You can't be everywhere at once. There were dozens of officers and security guards who weren't able to either. You can't feel guilty, Les."
"I know,” Leslie sighs, hiding her face in Ann’s hair. “But I do. And I want to find out who did this. Not stupid Agent Wyatt from DC with his dumb face and crappy attitude. Me.”
“I know, honey.”
Ann hugs her and Leslie's grateful for the support.
---
Leslie tells Ben he's an ass ten minutes into work the next day.
Ben promptly moves her binders full of leads out to the break room and locks his office for the rest of the morning.
She’s forced to sit outside his door on a chair like a scolded child while Ron is let in to argue in her favor.
Through the wood she hears, “...best damn detective we have on this force,” and smiles.
When Ron leaves, Ben comes out, head hanging low and sleeves rolled up like he’s been doing hard labor. He puts his hands on his hips, closes his eyes like he can’t believe what he’s about to say, and sighs.
“Detective Knope, would you like to assemble a list of suspects to interview?”
Point one for Leslie.
---
"Mrs. Dexhart has already been questioned," Leslie explains, going down her list of suspects. "She was beside herself. And I've spoken to three teenagers who were in the corn maze when it happened. It was so dark in there, no one had any specific information."
She caps the dry erase marker with a proud smile. Ben mulls it over for a moment before speaking.
"Bring them all in for further questioning. Who in town had bad blood with Dexhart?"
"I promise, they've been expertly interviewed--"
"Detective--"
"I'm more than capable of questioning suspects, how do you think I solved the Pikitis Halloween 2010 debacle?"
"I don't know what that is."
"Exactly. I know how to do my job, Ben."
Ben flinches.
"Agent Wyatt, if you don't mind."
Leslie stares him down.
"Let me do my job, Benjamin."
Ben rubs a hand down his face, frustrated.
"Who else is on the list?" he asks, taking a deep breath.
"Practically everyone," Leslie sighs, pointing to the rest of the list. The rest of City Council, the mayor, half the public officials in City Hall, owners of every casino in a twenty mile radius, ex-flings and nurses and waitresses and angry boyfriends. The list was only growing.
Ben rubs his forehead in confusion.
"Okay. Our bureau was able to uncover ties to some known money launderers in Chicago, some of whom have run down to St Louis from what we can tell. Chris is looking into that with another team. We'll focus on Pawnee."
“Good.”
---
“You’re being too soft on her,” Ben whispers aggressively, as if Mrs. Dexhart could hear them through the double sided mirror.
“She just lost her husband, we’ve already had her, released her, and now she’s being treated like a suspect again. Being assertive is gonna go nowhere.”
Ben sighs, and she’s so sick of it, so completely over that sound.
“Is sighing the only thing you know how to do?” she snaps.
Ben stops and looks at her funny, one eyebrow up.
“Finish with her and let her go. But I’m taking the next one.”
“I’m going to be in the room, too.”
“Detective--”
“Call people by their real names. They’ll like you more.”
She leaves through the door.
---
“I get to go to Chicago to help them catch the bad guys!” Andy gleefully announces to the precinct.
Leslie is happy for him, but she can also feel her skin crawl.
She’s stuck here with Ben.
---
Ben says the FBI uncovered some illegal activity connected to Dexhart at the Snakehole Lounge, and he suggests going undercover to monitor the situation.
Leslie lights up; she won’t have to be cramped in an office with him. Even if his face is nice to look at, it’s usually annoyed.
But if she thought a nightclub was going to loosen him up, she was dead wrong.
“You look like a mother who’s chaperoning her kid,” Ben notes with a hint of playfulness, taking in her cardigan and cargo pants.
“You look like you’re going to a board meeting but tried too hard and not enough at the same time.”
He looks down in confusion at his plaid button-up, skinny tie, and khakis.
“So we’re both bad at dressing hip.”
Leslie laughs, a little. He’s been almost smiling since he pulled up in the City Hall parking lot; it’s kind of nice. Makes him slightly less infuriating.
He looks like a person she could learn not to hate.
“Come here,” she giggles, reaching out her hands without thinking. She starts undoing the knot on his stupid skinny tie before realizing it places her more intimately in his space than she planned. With the ends hanging loosely on his chest, she let's go of the silly fabric and steps back. "Uh, there. Take it off."
Ben removes the tie and holds out his hands, silently asking for assessment. Leslie holds in a laugh.
"Top button," she mumbles, embarrassed. He shyly undoes it, shoving the tie in the pocket of his windbreaker. "That'll have to do."
"If I lose my tie, you have to leave behind that grandma sweater," he teases.
This should feel weird, Leslie thinks. But it doesn’t, not really.
"Fine."
---
It feels like any other night at the Snakehole, and Leslie nearly orders her usual fruity, sweet drink before Ben stops her.
"Stick to seltzer," he suggests, and she wrinkles her nose.
Within an hour, she learns the Snakehole might be seedier than she thought, that clubs are a lot cheesier when you're sober, and that Ben can't dance at all.
"Who's that? Corner, ten o'clock."
Leslie looks over his shoulder to the bar, where a small group of adults has gathered. Squinting, she recognizes someone's face.
"Joe," she says, looking away before she's seen. "Head of the sewage department. He's gross, he's hit on me before, and he'll recognize me."
“Back door,” Ben suggests, nodding his head over there. Slowly, trying their best to blend into the crowd, they wind their way to the back of the club, Leslie only looking back over her shoulder quick enough to recognize Kathryn Pinewood in the group. The always seedy head of the Pawnee Restaurant Association, that could mean anything.
They quickly and quietly wind through the back kitchen and Ben pushes open the door to the alley behind the club. He lifts up a plastic crate and flips it over, sitting on it with a huff.
“Does everyone in the town know you?” he asks tiredly, looking worn.
“Pawnee is a great town, maybe the best in Indiana or even America. I like being involved. I like the people.”
“How do you investigate anything, then?” And he seems genuinely confused, not ill-willed. It’s the only reason Leslie doesn’t snap at him.
“When you’re friends with people, they’re helpful. They talk to me.”
“Unless they’re government employees you’ve turned down for dates.”
She frowns at him and leans against the wall, trying to ignore the stench of garbage wafting past them.
“You should keep some more distance,” he starts, looking up at her. Leslie kicks a rock on the ground, listening to the echo of gravel against pavement as he continues. "You care about their safety, you work to keep things safe. But you can't be everyone's best friend. You have to be responsible."
Ben takes a deep breath and let's his head hang low, staring at the ground.
“I don’t think I agree with that,” Leslie huffs.
“Fine.”
He stands, checks his phone, and without another word walks toward the end of the alley.
She follows him to the car, and they’re silent as he drives back to the station, save for a tentative “good night” before he drives off.
---
"Andy?"
"Yes? Or, no, I mean no, who is Andy, I have never heard that name in my entire life. This is Burt."
Leslie sighs through the phone, closes her eyes to steel herself. Andy is a mostly wonderful partner, but as stressed as she already is with Ben and this case, his fooling around is a lot to handle.
“Hang up the phone, babe,” she hears in the background.
“Is that April? Andy, you can’t--”
She stops herself and breathes again.
“You’re going to Chicago tomorrow, right?”
“Yep, boss!” No matter how many times she tells him they’re partners, that she’s not actually in charge of him, it makes no difference. She kinda likes it anyway. “I got a secret identity and everything. Chris says I won’t be needed the whole time, but I can eat all the deep dish pizza I want.”
“Great.” She’s trying to sound happy for him, really. He’s dreamed about the FBI since she’s known him. “Well, I just wanted to say, I hope you do good work there.”
She hears him giggling on the line, and it sounds like a crash and more giggling, and abruptly the phone is hung up.
---
A text from Andy that just says sat on my phone oh man sorryy! is received at 3am. She’s still awake, thinking.
---
Ben has them sit on on a City Council meeting the next day, just to judge the temperature of the room, the shiftiness of the politicians.
People greet her as she takes her seat, and she can see Ben scowling out the corner of her eye.
If he wants to be miserable and alone, fine. But she’s not leaving a Pawnee case in his hands.
“Why are you even in the FBI?” she asks, once the meeting lets out and they cross the parking lot back to the car. “You don’t even seem like you enjoy it.”
Ben sighs, the same stupid frustrated sigh he’s been emitting since this whole mess began.
It’s getting old.
“I think we should stay behind,” he announces, unlocking the door. “Just keep an eye on the people, see if anyone acts strangely on their way out.”
“A stakeout.” Leslie grins; she always has emergency candy rations with her in case of an unplanned stakeout. “I’ve got the perfect music.”
As soon as she’s settled in her seat, she pulls the emergency CD out of her purse and pops it in the player. The second “Every Breath You Take” begins playing, Ben turns the key to shut the car completely off. She’s about to protest when he turns in his seat, eyes so intense she’s rendered silent.
“You wanna know why I’m in the FBI?”
He lets the question hang in the air dramatically, and she just nods because apparently this is important. He deflates slightly, taking a deep breath before speaking again.
“Have you ever heard of Partridge, Minnesota?”
It rings a bell, but before Leslie can uncover the memory Ben continues.
“When I was a teenager, they elected me mayor.”
“Benji Wyatt!” She claps her hands gleefully, remembering a boy with a 90’s skater haircut in an issue of People magazine. “Oh my god, you were so cute.”
He smiles, but in a self deprecating way. His fingers flex around the car wheel as he nods.
“Yeah, and then I got impeached for bankrupting the town. Look, it’s not-- it’s complicated.” He’s conflicted, squinting and thinking while she waits for more. “I had to prove I was responsible, right? And I still wanted to work in the government. I studied accounting in college and well… the FBI was a possible career path. So.”
“Wow. That’s that?”
Ben shrugs.
“It’s a rigorous process, but it’s good work. And I’m making up for the dumb shit I did when I was 18.”
They sit in silence a few moments, staring out the windshield at the now-empty parking lot.
“Wanting to help your town isn’t dumb,” Leslie says, finally breaking the silence. Ben turns, a funny look on his face. She shrugs. “Trying to help is always good.”
“Thank you.”
She nods, unable to look away.
After a beat he shifts the car back into drive.
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: PG13 for now, eventual R
words: ~3500
notes: I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FIC SINCE JANUARY. JANUARY. It is now July. I have been hoarding and writing this in spurts and doing research and blah blah blah and I told myself I wouldn't start to post it until it was finished out of fear of never finishing. However, the situation's getting dire and I want this thing out in the world. I need the encouragement of people hopefully wanting to read more! Many, many thanks to Rachel, Hana, and Ashley, who have at different times really helped me shape and write this, and who have all read over chunks of those so many times it's dumb. Hope you all didn't mind me bugging you! Apologies for any incorrect facts... this is a whole new genre for me. It's been a lot of work but I hope it'll pay off! Expect one to two more parts to this fic.
It’s truly, objectively, a beautiful day in Pawnee.
Kids are running around with fists of cotton candy, adults are challenging each other to rides on the tilt-a-whirl, the famous Li’l Sebastian is neighing gently in his pen, and Leslie swells with love for her hometown. Nothing makes her feel more proud than knowing she’s dedicated her life to protecting these people, this place.
Captain Swanson has always having her watch over community events like this, and even though she’s constantly putting together powerpoint presentations on why she’s a stronger detective than he gives her credit for, she not-so-secretly loves when she gets to spend her days like this. Just watching the community come together, occasionally busting the horrendous Greg Pikitis when she can, and making sure the people of her town are safe.
Nothing more serious than Pikitis graffiting the concessions stand or someone getting lost in the corn maze ever happens at events like this. The most dire emergency they’d had all week involved an older man slipping on some hay.
“Leslie,” she heard Andy’s voice, gravelly through the walkie-talkie. “Or, I’m sorry, Detective Knope--uh, we have an issue. Come back by the maze thingy. Over.”
“Roger that. On my way.”
Detective Dwyer had only been her partner for about a year now, since the time Captain Swanson caught her screaming at a group of teenagers about why parks closed at dawn. He claimed Leslie was too passionate (or in his words, “Brash, irresponsible, and downright bothersome”) to always work alone. And Andy is great; he has a heart of gold, and has been dreaming of being in law enforcement his whole life. He still has a lot to learn, but she’s alright teaching him. She just wishes the Captain could trust her more; she doesn’t need a big, bulking bodyguard when on patrol.
“Alright, 10-4 good buddy. Over and out.”
He also loves the walkie-talkies a little too much, but she’s gotten used to it.
Expecting to find a sick kid throwing up kettle corn (certainly wouldn’t be the first time today), Leslie’s startled to see Andy surrounded by several Pawnee cops and security guards.
“What’s going on?”
The closer she gets, the whiter Andy’s skin looks. Officer Haverford looks spooked, and Officer Meagle is in shock.
“Someone found a body in the corn maze. Councilman Dexhart’s body.”
---
"Ron, we don't need to call the Feds, Ron. Ron, don't call them. Don't call the FBI, Ron. Ron! We don't need the FBI, we--"
"Are you broken?"
Leslie takes a breath and steels herself. It's infuriating, how her captain can sit there calmly while a public official is dead and the FBI is about to swoop in and steal the case right out from underneath them.
"Captain, this is our jurisdiction. The Harvest Festival is mine, I was responsible for the citizens." The ever growing rock in her stomach sits heavier, and she swallows down the guilt. Her shaking fingers reach out to grip the edge of his desk. "I need to crack this case. Please, don't call the FBI."
"Knope, you know as well as I do what Dexhart was up to. This is beyond us, there are people angry at him in every damn state in the Midwest. And I need you to cooperate."
"They'll tell us what to do! They're going to try to do our jobs for us, Ron. And then they’ll take it over completely. They don't know Pawnee, they don't care, they just--"
"Are going to work as hard as they can to figure out who's responsible. And then I can get some rest.” Ron pauses to sigh loudly and looks down at his hands. “It's already been done, Knope. They're due here this afternoon."
Her fists clench and she feels her cheeks heat up.
"You and Andy are going to help them, you know the politics of this town better than anyone on the force. You’re still working on this case. Or I can hand this case over to Jerry, and we all know how that will go."
Leslie's eye twitches.
“Fine,” she hisses through clenched teeth.
"Great. Now, what do we do when we're upset?"
"We count backward from 1000 by sevens and think of warm brownies," she mumbles, defeated.
"There we go, Knope. You will help the agents, got that?"
"Yes, sir."
Ron pauses, and Leslie can swear he almost smiles.
"I know you can do this, Leslie."
Hearing her first name come out his mouth makes Leslie so emotional that Ron ends up pushing her out his office and locking the door behind her.
---
When Leslie gets the email about a precinct meeting, she knows it’s coming.
That afternoon, Ron enters the conference room with two strange men and orders everyone to sit. Leslie takes a seat in the front row and gets a notepad ready for any pertinent information. Andy sits nearby, giggling with promising junior detective April Ludgate.
"Dexhart has enemies all over the Great Lakes area. Since there are many likely suspects with many possible motives, this is clearly out of our hands."
Leslie grips her pen until her knuckles turn white while Andy gasps in delight next to her.
"Seeing as this is no longer my issue, that is all I will speak of the manner. Traeger?"
Ron immediately busies himself with the open Dunkin Donuts box in the corner while the FBI agents take their place in front of the precinct.
"Hello everyone! What a hard working precinct! I would just like to take the time to personally thank you for your hard work. You're the people who keep America safe!"
The man flashes them double thumbs-ups. Leslie notices the second man behind him; shorter, much grumpier. He looks bored. Cute, but definitely bored.
"I am special agent Chris Traeger, and I will be in charge of this case. What does that mean? There's always the fear of the big, bad FBI taking over cases, stepping on the every day police force. Fear not! We are merely here to help make Pawnee safe, same as you. I have a team and will be traveling to out of town suspects, and my assistant agent Ben Wyatt--" he gestures to the second man, who barely nods in acknowledgement, "will be investigating here in Pawnee. We cause no threat to your daily business. Keep defending the great citizens of this town!"
Well, that wasn't so bad. Leslie almost moves to applaud, but no one else seems as impressed with Agent Traeger's positivity. Except maybe Andy.
"When will be receive our code names, Agent Sir?" Andy asks, practically salivating. "I'm Burt Macklin, new member of the FBI, and a loose cannon--"
"I think you've misunderstood," Chris explains gently. "But I like the enthusiasm!"
The meeting is dismissed shortly after. Leslie follows Andy out, but Agent Wyatt catches her arm.
“Are you Detective Knope?"
"Yes?"
"May I speak with you?"
Agent Wyatt leads her to a private office, one that's usually vacant but seems to be taken over by their new federal friends.
He sits at a desk and begins organizing the papers in front of him, setting an impressive looking graphing calculator aside.
"Your captain suggested working with you in this case, he seems to think you know more about that Harvest Fest thing than the others."
"The Harvest Festival," she corrects, feeling annoyance creep up her spine. "It's an invaluable tradition in Pawnee every year, one of many traditions. Pawnee has great traditions, and so does this precinct. The way we do things works just fine, perfect actually."
Wyatt looks up at her in annoyance.
"Are we really doing this? The local detective getting mad at the FBI? This isn’t a television show."
Leslie shrugs stubbornly.
"I don't know, you tell me. Are you going to disrupt our precinct and push me out of my own jurisdiction and trample over my case?"
"I just wanted to ask you about the Harvest Festival attendance," he interrupts. "I don't need to appreciate Pawnee to find a murderer."
"You're a jerk." She crosses her arms and stares him down, this stupid, high-and-mighty FBI agent who thinks he's some sort of hot shot. Not in her precinct.
"Excuse me?"
"This is my town, my job. You can't just swoop in here and act like this case means anything to you because--"
"This is the job of the federal government, Detective Knope." She tries not to flinch as his voice raises. "We're just as committed to the safety of this country as you are to your town, and we 'swoop in' to help when we’re needed. A man was killed under the watch of your police force. If you can't cooperate, then shutting you out of this case is exactly what I'll do."
He opens his laptop and begins typing, leaving her dumbfounded. How dare he?
"I'll get what I need from the documents, thanks."
She slams the door behind her as she leaves.
---
"What if I could have stopped it?"
She snuggles into Ann's shoulder, trying not to let any tears slip out.
Ann, best friend and beautiful EMT, who once hopped out of an ambulance to help a car crash victim and became Leslie's closest friend in the world.
"We've talked about this a million times. You can't be everywhere at once. There were dozens of officers and security guards who weren't able to either. You can't feel guilty, Les."
"I know,” Leslie sighs, hiding her face in Ann’s hair. “But I do. And I want to find out who did this. Not stupid Agent Wyatt from DC with his dumb face and crappy attitude. Me.”
“I know, honey.”
Ann hugs her and Leslie's grateful for the support.
---
Leslie tells Ben he's an ass ten minutes into work the next day.
Ben promptly moves her binders full of leads out to the break room and locks his office for the rest of the morning.
She’s forced to sit outside his door on a chair like a scolded child while Ron is let in to argue in her favor.
Through the wood she hears, “...best damn detective we have on this force,” and smiles.
When Ron leaves, Ben comes out, head hanging low and sleeves rolled up like he’s been doing hard labor. He puts his hands on his hips, closes his eyes like he can’t believe what he’s about to say, and sighs.
“Detective Knope, would you like to assemble a list of suspects to interview?”
Point one for Leslie.
---
"Mrs. Dexhart has already been questioned," Leslie explains, going down her list of suspects. "She was beside herself. And I've spoken to three teenagers who were in the corn maze when it happened. It was so dark in there, no one had any specific information."
She caps the dry erase marker with a proud smile. Ben mulls it over for a moment before speaking.
"Bring them all in for further questioning. Who in town had bad blood with Dexhart?"
"I promise, they've been expertly interviewed--"
"Detective--"
"I'm more than capable of questioning suspects, how do you think I solved the Pikitis Halloween 2010 debacle?"
"I don't know what that is."
"Exactly. I know how to do my job, Ben."
Ben flinches.
"Agent Wyatt, if you don't mind."
Leslie stares him down.
"Let me do my job, Benjamin."
Ben rubs a hand down his face, frustrated.
"Who else is on the list?" he asks, taking a deep breath.
"Practically everyone," Leslie sighs, pointing to the rest of the list. The rest of City Council, the mayor, half the public officials in City Hall, owners of every casino in a twenty mile radius, ex-flings and nurses and waitresses and angry boyfriends. The list was only growing.
Ben rubs his forehead in confusion.
"Okay. Our bureau was able to uncover ties to some known money launderers in Chicago, some of whom have run down to St Louis from what we can tell. Chris is looking into that with another team. We'll focus on Pawnee."
“Good.”
---
“You’re being too soft on her,” Ben whispers aggressively, as if Mrs. Dexhart could hear them through the double sided mirror.
“She just lost her husband, we’ve already had her, released her, and now she’s being treated like a suspect again. Being assertive is gonna go nowhere.”
Ben sighs, and she’s so sick of it, so completely over that sound.
“Is sighing the only thing you know how to do?” she snaps.
Ben stops and looks at her funny, one eyebrow up.
“Finish with her and let her go. But I’m taking the next one.”
“I’m going to be in the room, too.”
“Detective--”
“Call people by their real names. They’ll like you more.”
She leaves through the door.
---
“I get to go to Chicago to help them catch the bad guys!” Andy gleefully announces to the precinct.
Leslie is happy for him, but she can also feel her skin crawl.
She’s stuck here with Ben.
---
Ben says the FBI uncovered some illegal activity connected to Dexhart at the Snakehole Lounge, and he suggests going undercover to monitor the situation.
Leslie lights up; she won’t have to be cramped in an office with him. Even if his face is nice to look at, it’s usually annoyed.
But if she thought a nightclub was going to loosen him up, she was dead wrong.
“You look like a mother who’s chaperoning her kid,” Ben notes with a hint of playfulness, taking in her cardigan and cargo pants.
“You look like you’re going to a board meeting but tried too hard and not enough at the same time.”
He looks down in confusion at his plaid button-up, skinny tie, and khakis.
“So we’re both bad at dressing hip.”
Leslie laughs, a little. He’s been almost smiling since he pulled up in the City Hall parking lot; it’s kind of nice. Makes him slightly less infuriating.
He looks like a person she could learn not to hate.
“Come here,” she giggles, reaching out her hands without thinking. She starts undoing the knot on his stupid skinny tie before realizing it places her more intimately in his space than she planned. With the ends hanging loosely on his chest, she let's go of the silly fabric and steps back. "Uh, there. Take it off."
Ben removes the tie and holds out his hands, silently asking for assessment. Leslie holds in a laugh.
"Top button," she mumbles, embarrassed. He shyly undoes it, shoving the tie in the pocket of his windbreaker. "That'll have to do."
"If I lose my tie, you have to leave behind that grandma sweater," he teases.
This should feel weird, Leslie thinks. But it doesn’t, not really.
"Fine."
---
It feels like any other night at the Snakehole, and Leslie nearly orders her usual fruity, sweet drink before Ben stops her.
"Stick to seltzer," he suggests, and she wrinkles her nose.
Within an hour, she learns the Snakehole might be seedier than she thought, that clubs are a lot cheesier when you're sober, and that Ben can't dance at all.
"Who's that? Corner, ten o'clock."
Leslie looks over his shoulder to the bar, where a small group of adults has gathered. Squinting, she recognizes someone's face.
"Joe," she says, looking away before she's seen. "Head of the sewage department. He's gross, he's hit on me before, and he'll recognize me."
“Back door,” Ben suggests, nodding his head over there. Slowly, trying their best to blend into the crowd, they wind their way to the back of the club, Leslie only looking back over her shoulder quick enough to recognize Kathryn Pinewood in the group. The always seedy head of the Pawnee Restaurant Association, that could mean anything.
They quickly and quietly wind through the back kitchen and Ben pushes open the door to the alley behind the club. He lifts up a plastic crate and flips it over, sitting on it with a huff.
“Does everyone in the town know you?” he asks tiredly, looking worn.
“Pawnee is a great town, maybe the best in Indiana or even America. I like being involved. I like the people.”
“How do you investigate anything, then?” And he seems genuinely confused, not ill-willed. It’s the only reason Leslie doesn’t snap at him.
“When you’re friends with people, they’re helpful. They talk to me.”
“Unless they’re government employees you’ve turned down for dates.”
She frowns at him and leans against the wall, trying to ignore the stench of garbage wafting past them.
“You should keep some more distance,” he starts, looking up at her. Leslie kicks a rock on the ground, listening to the echo of gravel against pavement as he continues. "You care about their safety, you work to keep things safe. But you can't be everyone's best friend. You have to be responsible."
Ben takes a deep breath and let's his head hang low, staring at the ground.
“I don’t think I agree with that,” Leslie huffs.
“Fine.”
He stands, checks his phone, and without another word walks toward the end of the alley.
She follows him to the car, and they’re silent as he drives back to the station, save for a tentative “good night” before he drives off.
---
"Andy?"
"Yes? Or, no, I mean no, who is Andy, I have never heard that name in my entire life. This is Burt."
Leslie sighs through the phone, closes her eyes to steel herself. Andy is a mostly wonderful partner, but as stressed as she already is with Ben and this case, his fooling around is a lot to handle.
“Hang up the phone, babe,” she hears in the background.
“Is that April? Andy, you can’t--”
She stops herself and breathes again.
“You’re going to Chicago tomorrow, right?”
“Yep, boss!” No matter how many times she tells him they’re partners, that she’s not actually in charge of him, it makes no difference. She kinda likes it anyway. “I got a secret identity and everything. Chris says I won’t be needed the whole time, but I can eat all the deep dish pizza I want.”
“Great.” She’s trying to sound happy for him, really. He’s dreamed about the FBI since she’s known him. “Well, I just wanted to say, I hope you do good work there.”
She hears him giggling on the line, and it sounds like a crash and more giggling, and abruptly the phone is hung up.
---
A text from Andy that just says sat on my phone oh man sorryy! is received at 3am. She’s still awake, thinking.
---
Ben has them sit on on a City Council meeting the next day, just to judge the temperature of the room, the shiftiness of the politicians.
People greet her as she takes her seat, and she can see Ben scowling out the corner of her eye.
If he wants to be miserable and alone, fine. But she’s not leaving a Pawnee case in his hands.
“Why are you even in the FBI?” she asks, once the meeting lets out and they cross the parking lot back to the car. “You don’t even seem like you enjoy it.”
Ben sighs, the same stupid frustrated sigh he’s been emitting since this whole mess began.
It’s getting old.
“I think we should stay behind,” he announces, unlocking the door. “Just keep an eye on the people, see if anyone acts strangely on their way out.”
“A stakeout.” Leslie grins; she always has emergency candy rations with her in case of an unplanned stakeout. “I’ve got the perfect music.”
As soon as she’s settled in her seat, she pulls the emergency CD out of her purse and pops it in the player. The second “Every Breath You Take” begins playing, Ben turns the key to shut the car completely off. She’s about to protest when he turns in his seat, eyes so intense she’s rendered silent.
“You wanna know why I’m in the FBI?”
He lets the question hang in the air dramatically, and she just nods because apparently this is important. He deflates slightly, taking a deep breath before speaking again.
“Have you ever heard of Partridge, Minnesota?”
It rings a bell, but before Leslie can uncover the memory Ben continues.
“When I was a teenager, they elected me mayor.”
“Benji Wyatt!” She claps her hands gleefully, remembering a boy with a 90’s skater haircut in an issue of People magazine. “Oh my god, you were so cute.”
He smiles, but in a self deprecating way. His fingers flex around the car wheel as he nods.
“Yeah, and then I got impeached for bankrupting the town. Look, it’s not-- it’s complicated.” He’s conflicted, squinting and thinking while she waits for more. “I had to prove I was responsible, right? And I still wanted to work in the government. I studied accounting in college and well… the FBI was a possible career path. So.”
“Wow. That’s that?”
Ben shrugs.
“It’s a rigorous process, but it’s good work. And I’m making up for the dumb shit I did when I was 18.”
They sit in silence a few moments, staring out the windshield at the now-empty parking lot.
“Wanting to help your town isn’t dumb,” Leslie says, finally breaking the silence. Ben turns, a funny look on his face. She shrugs. “Trying to help is always good.”
“Thank you.”
She nods, unable to look away.
After a beat he shifts the car back into drive.