fic: disarm 2/3, pg13
title: Disarm 2/3
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: PG13, will be higher in part 3
words: ~3400
notes: Thanks so much to everyone who liked part 1!! I have part 3 partially written but will really need encouragement to keep going, this fic has been such a struggle for me but part 3 already has things I really like so I wanna finish this thing. ALSO IT'S MY BIRTHDAY ON MONDAY AND I'M NOT ABOVE USING THAT AS LEVERAGE FOR COMMENTS. But also, thank you to everyone who's helped me write this. I hope you all enjoy!!
Things are a little bit different after that, though Leslie doesn't notice right away. Just little things, like the coffee he'll have ready for her when she comes to his office to discuss their latest interviews (and after a few days, he even remembers to add the ten sugar packets).
A week goes by before she realizes her chest no longer tightens in anger at the sight of him.
And one night, when they stake out Dexhart's widow's home, when Ben is tired and stressed out in the back of a fake construction van with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a five o'clock shadow dusting his jaw, Leslie let's herself think he might even be cute.
Or maybe the pit of her stomach feels warm when his face scrunches up in a yawn for a different reason. She just can’t think of one right now.
"Candy necklace?" she offers, holding out the bag to him.
"I don't know how you eat so much sugar," he says, but he's smiling.
It's not like staking out a house for clues about a man's murder gives any reasons to smile, but Ben smiles more in general now, and it's nice.
She thrusts the bag even closer to him, tries to look as encouraging as possible. Maybe pouts a little.
He rolls his eyes goofily and takes a necklace.
---
"Knope. My office."
Leslie follows Ron to his office, heart beating fast like it always does. Ron sits and starts scribbling on a pad of paper, talking without looking at her.
"How are things with Wyatt?"
"Fine. It's going well, actually."
"We had a report last night about a suspicious vehicle in front of Ms. Dexhart's house last night. Had to do lots of cover-up to avoid making a scene."
Her blood goes cold.
"Tell Wyatt to get better at being invisible. People in Pawnee notice too much."
"Right. Of course."
Ron finally sets down his pen and looks up.
"You can do this, Knope. Now get back to work."
She glows with pride.
---
It's eerie to walk the empty festival grounds. Usually everything would be packed away for winter, but with the nature of the murder, all structures have been kept intact for investigation. The rented carnival rides went back to their companies, but the empty popcorn stands and animal enclosures look abandoned and sad.
They've swept the area and come back to investigate a million times, but Ben keeps insisting.
"We're missing something," he says, staring at the browned stalks of the corn maze like an equation he needs to crack.
"The corn was fully growing. There were gaps all over, kids always hide and make out in it." Her cheeks redden as Ben looks at her. "It was impossible to know where someone was hiding. It could have been anywhere. We haven’t found footprints."
He enters the corn maze, easy to navigate now that the stalks are falling over and withering.
"All the garbage is out and in the evidence locker, and there's security posted at all times of the day. What more could we miss?"
"Just keep an eye out," he calls back as she follows him.
She keeps her eyes trained to the ground, no twig snapped or leaf fallen goes past her. It's not always easy for her to slow down for details, but when she focuses she's damn good at it. And knowing Ben is here helps, in some weird way.
Until she looks up and he's gone.
"Wyatt?" she calls out, quickening her footsteps. "Ben?"
She hears no footsteps. Even if the corn is no longer in bloom, it's still a maze, and she's unwittingly led herself through some twists and turns, deep in.
"Ben?"
She starts sprinting, suddenly panicked at not knowing where Ben is. Up ahead she hears movement, hears some sort of rustling and hurries toward it.
Instead of finding Ben, she's met with a raccoon, eyes red and claws out. She yelps and falls backward.
"Leslie?"
Someone is running behind her and she doesn't even have time to upright herself before Ben appears around the corner.
"Are you okay?" he asks, out of breath. She takes his outstretched hand to help her stand. The raccoon hisses and her fingers clench around his.
"Run!"
They sprint out of the maze, tugging on each other's hands through sharp turns and dead ends, until they emerge panting out the front.
"Wouldn't be surprised," Leslie gasps between breaths, "if a raccoon did it."
Ben laughs, breathless.
For some reason he hasn't let go of her hand. Awkwardly she breaks contact first, wiping her now-sweaty palm on her slacks.
“Sorry,” she offers, unsure what she’s even apologizing for.
“Oh, no, ‘course,” he responds, equally as aimless.
They laugh their way back to the car, at nothing and everything, Ben doing the dumbest impression of a raccoon possible, when Leslie notices something on the ground.
“Hang on--”
She reaches down and sees a smiling tooth waving at her.
“Jamm Orthodontics?” Ben reads over her shoulder.
“Councilman Jamm,” she growls. “One of the worst people in this town.”
“This place has been on lockdown since Dexhart was found. There’s security here all the time. We’ve had it swept no less than three times. How…”
Before they can explore the area further, light bulbs flash and the voice of Joan Calomezzo carries across the grounds. And not only that, but half the press in Pawnee seems to be with her.
“Terror in Pawnee; this is the place where it all happened--”
“--been under high security--”
“--the late Councilman Dexhart found dead last month, still no word on who is responsible…”
Leslie cringes, but Ben grabs her arm in surprise. He’s breathing heavy, eyes bugging.
“The press. I’m terrible with the press. How did they know we were here?”
In two steps Joan has reached them and thrust a microphone in their faces unceremoniously.
“We are doing our best to figure out--”
“No comment!” Ben squeaks, trying to steer Leslie around the commotion.
“A harsh brush-off from the detectives in charge of the case, almost like they’re trying to cover up--”
“Joan,” Leslie scolds, feeling seriously annoyed. “How did you even--”
She looks down at the card in her hand.
“Crap on a crayfish…”
Several minutes of vague, hopeful chatter and a few stuttered words from Ben, Leslie’s managed to get them in her car and on the road back to the precinct.
“I think Jamm saw us and tipped them off. He would. God, he’s a slimy little--”
“We don’t want this much attention, Leslie. This could ruin our investigation.”
She hadn’t realized until now how often he’s been calling her Leslie. Not ‘Officer Knope’ or ‘Knope’.
“Things are different in Pawnee, Ben. You should be used to that by now.”
She smiles over at him, and he manages to return it.
---
There’s no question that they’re a team after that. She’s always thought Pawnee’s rabid raccoon population, at the very least, causes people to work together and overcome their differences for a greater cause. Throw Joan in the mix, and well, they had no choice but to work as one.
Ben asks her opinion more often. He lets her make decisions without balking.
After his freak out over the media, she realizes he doesn’t want to take credit for this case at all. He’s here because a crime was committed that put people in danger, and he wants to fix it. He wants to keep people safe.
They’re in this together.
---
“It’s so boring here, we just do a lot of paperwork and I got yelled at when I smashed a mug to scare a suspect.”
“Andy, you can’t do that, we’ve talked about this.”
“I know, boss, but he had it coming.”
Checking in with Andy makes her smile.
"Is Wyatt still a jerk face like you said? Because Chris is the best! He smiles a lot and gives me granola bars and it's so weird and creepy! I love it!"
Leslie sits back on her couch and thinks about it.
"He's not so bad. He's just doing his job."
---
"We're like, colleagues with benefits," she explains to Ann over lunch that weekend. Ann's eyebrows just about shoot off her forehead.
"Benefits?"
"Yeah like, we benefit from the fact that we're friends. Maybe? Are we friends? Something like that."
"Are you friends who keep their pants on or off?"
Leslie drops her fork into her bowl of whipped cream.
“What?”
Ann waggles her eyebrows.
---
So, now she can't stop thinking about it.
Ben with his pants off, that is.
He's attractive, that's always been the case. But maybe, possibly, sort of wanting him? That's... newer. And stranger. And so very messy.
It's one thing to feel comforted when he sets a hand on her back after getting no answers out of an interview, but it's entirely another to want him to keep putting his hand there. And elsewhere.
"We'll get there. It might take some time." He looks worn and frustrated, just like her. His jaw is set grimly and he just looks so tired.
He's trying so hard. Just like her.
"Wanna get a drink?" she asks, trying to be nonchalant. What's a drink between coworkers after a hard day? "I mean, we're almost done here for today. I don't think we're gonna get any information out of this guy."
He's looking at her funny, like he can't believe she's a person. He does it a lot and it's weird, but she's getting used to it. She might even like it.
"Sure. Why not?"
---
Leslie insists she can get them good deals at the Bulge (she once declared a gay penguin wedding both legal and adorable), but he's not up for a club. They end up at Sullivan's, in a quiet booth in the back. He orders a Miller Lite and she scoffs and gets herself a shandy.
It's companionable silence at the start, both taking long sips of their beers and fiddling with the labels on the bottles.
They've never done this, just hanging out outside of work. No excuses or reasons to be there but each other’s company.
"So I told you my story," he starts after a breath. "What's yours? How did you become a detective?"
"I've lived in Pawnee my whole life. I've always wanted to stay here to make a difference."
She looks up and he's watching her, waiting for more. It's not the first time she's noticed his eyes, but god, they're so warm and brown.
"When I was ten, my father was hit by a drunk driver and passed away. And since then, I've just... wanted to be a person that helps keeps Pawnee safe."
His hand slides across the table, fingers shyly resting atop hers.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "About your father."
She doesn't think about it a ton, anymore. But there will always be the familiar pang of sadness in her chest when she remembers her dad.
She turns her hand so it's palm-up and grips his.
"Thanks."
Her dad would have gotten along with Ben, she thinks.
---
Two beers later, once he's loosened up and laughing easily, she challenges him to a series of shots.
"We have work tomorrow, Leslie, I don't know if that's such a good idea."
She calls him a chicken and sticks her tongue out at him until he giggles and relents.
After that, her vision isn't so sharp anymore.
They talk about every dumb thing their addled minds can think of, laughing until they can't breath and even singing along to the jukebox when they know the songs.
It's the happiest she's ever seen Ben, and she just wants him to be this happy all the time.
"Pawnee is good for you!" she yells. And she means it.
"I don't know. Maybe," he answers, looking bashful.
She hugs him without thinking, and tentatively his arms wrap around her.
It feels good. And she's just drunk enough to let herself enjoy it.
---
They're not totally irresponsible; not long later they're sitting on the curb near her car, waiting until her chart declares them sober enough to drive.
Calling for cabs doesn’t even cross her mind.
“And my parent’s don’t even, like, get along,” Ben mumbles, kicking a rock on the pavement.
Things have gotten a little less silly and a little more serious as they sit shoulder-to-shoulder, sipping on water bottles and waiting to feel more stable.
“Sometimes being a woman is the worst,” she blurts. She cringes before continuing. “Or like, in my job. I love being a woman. Women are the best. We’re gonna run the world.”
“Of course,” Ben offers, with a lopsided smile. She lets herself lean into his shoulder a bit.
“But Ron didn’t like me by myself. Too small and I yell a lot. But sometimes you have to!”
“You do yell a lot. But s’not so bad. Cute.”
When she lifts her head, he’s looking at her softly. It makes her stomach feel funnier than it already does, alcohol swirling with butterflies.
“I’m only with Andy ‘cause he doesn’t trust me alone. I love Andy, Andy is the nicest, but.”
She sighs, not even sure where she’s going with this. It’s complaints and worries she’s only ever said to Ann, and has tried to forget about for years. She knows that’s not the point of the job.
“I just wanna be taken seriously.”
“You are,” Ben says quietly. “Took me time, but. I do. You’re good.”
Her chest tightens, just a little.
“Thanks.”
They sit quietly and Leslie mindlessly rests her head against Ben’s shoulder.
“You’re good, too,” she says after a beat. He leans his cheek against her head.
Twenty minutes later, her chart declares it’s okay to go home.
“Be careful,” he warns as she gets in her car. He looks sleepy but content and it tugs at her heartstrings.
“Of course. It’s not a far drive.”
“Let me know when you get home safe.”
He lightly taps on the roof of her car before going back to his Saturn.
“I promise,” she calls to him.
---
She texts him once she's home, just a smiley face with the word "safe" because she can't focus on her phone long enough to write more. He replies with a simple "Good."
She dreams about him that night.
It’s… startling.
And yet not.
---
Ron interrupts her morning hangover, and she nearly slams her forehead against her desk trying to sit up.
"You and Wyatt are getting along?"
"Yes, yes, ouch," she mumbles.
"They've got a handshake," April calls out from her nearby desk. "It's gross."
Leslie feels her cheeks redden.
---
"You like him," Ann says over the phone, cutting to the chase. "You'd take his pants off in a second. I totally called it."
"Ann," she scolds, temples throbbing with an impending headache. "I can't. Not during this, we're working together, he doesn't live here, someone was killed..."
"I'm not saying marry the guy. And we both know you’ll get the job done. But let yourself have some enjoyment in the meanwhile, you know?"
Leslie almost drops her phone on her desk as Ben enters the precinct for the morning, looking just as worse for the ware as she does.
He smiles, and pained as it is, it makes her feel warm.
"Yeah. Enjoyment."
---
She asks him if he wants to discuss their latest news from Chicago at JJ’s after work.
It’s hopeful as she can be without wearing her heart directly on her sleeve.
"Uh, I mean, I think we have time to do it here."
It's the sharp bob of his head, the stutter of his words. The excuses that make no sense before he wanders into an office that isn't his.
---
It's true, there's an even more comfortable ease there now. They trust each other. They trade information in shorthand and agree on what direction to pursue and can run an interview like they've been working side by side for years.
But there are the boundaries they've let themselves forget. And Ben is very clearly drawing the lines back where they belong.
---
Soon it’s clear that their leads are going cold.
Councilman Jamm has been, as predicted, everything but cooperative. Dexhart's family has asked for peace for grieving. Everyone in this town is either proven innocent or there’s not enough evidence to prove otherwise, and prospects in Chicago are looking slim.
"We have to stake out this poker night," Leslie insists, for the fifth time today.
"I told you, we've watched it the past two Thursdays. They just go in and play cards. There's nothing fishy. We're wasting our time, we'd be better off going to the city council meeting."
"We go to those all the time, as much as I love watching democracy happen, nothing’s going to happen so publicly. We’re too visible there.”
Ben’s doing that infuriating thing where he sighs and rubs his temples and shuffles around. It makes her want to punch him, to yell at him to just get on with it already. But that wouldn’t work with Ben. She knows Ben. She knows what works.
"You trust me, don't you?"
Ben's gaze doesn't waver, not for a second.
"Fine, but we're taking my car."
She smiles triumphantly.
---
He still makes them go to the meeting before the poker game, but she'll take it.
It's tense in the car.
They've been here before, they've done this. Jamm has a monthly poker night at his house in an attempt to gain allies all over town, and Dexhart was a regular participant known for cheating. He'd slept with at least half the players' wives. Anyone could have a motive.
Except they interviewed as many of them as they could and staked out the last two poker nights to no avail.
"We're leaving by ten."
"Midnight."
"I'm not bartering with you--"
"What happened?" she finally snaps. "Why are we fighting again, I thought we were... friends?” Her voice catches on the word and she winces.
Ben takes a deep breath and looks at his lap, and for once Leslie tries to let him find his words. Only he’s not saying anything. He’s gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline and thinking, and her patience can only get her so far.
“When we hung out, I had a good time, I don’t--”
“Leslie, we’re co-workers.” Ben finally looks at her, his face desperate. “I work for the federal government. You’re a local detective. This is a murder case. I can’t--”
He stares at her intensely, willing her to understand. She can’t get herself to voice the thought out loud any more than he can. But then he takes a weak, shaky breath.
“It’s not just me, right?”
His question lingers in the tense air between them.
Her answer’s on the tip of her tongue, that no, it isn’t just him, it never was just him, of course she feels it too. But before she can answer, someone outside starts shouting.
Some of the poker guys are out on the front lawn, shouting at someone hidden under a large hoodie. Leslie sees the moonlight glint off something in the person’s hand and her blood goes cold.
"Ben--" she calls, but he's already out of the car, gun raised.
Leslie rarely ever touches the gun on her hip. It's always been there, has always been a weight she carries. She knows how to shoot it, excelled in training. She can hunt like no other. It’s like another part of her body, always steady and dependable on her hip.
But holding it now feels different.
"FBI," Ben announces to the group, who immediately start backing away. All but the person in the hoodie.
"Pawnee PD," Leslie adds, coming up behind him.
"Whoa whoa whoa," Jamm exclaims, hands up. He looks particularly flustered.
"I told you they were snooping today!" someone yells.
The man in the sweatshirt breaks away from the group and starts running. Ben takes off and Leslie hurries after him, calling on her walkie talkie for backup. She hears sirens in the distance before they even reach the alley.
The hood falls off the man and he seems unfamiliar, but Leslie doesn’t even get a second to try to place him before a shot rings out and Ben pushes her to the ground.
Leslie sees blood and screams.
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: PG13, will be higher in part 3
words: ~3400
notes: Thanks so much to everyone who liked part 1!! I have part 3 partially written but will really need encouragement to keep going, this fic has been such a struggle for me but part 3 already has things I really like so I wanna finish this thing. ALSO IT'S MY BIRTHDAY ON MONDAY AND I'M NOT ABOVE USING THAT AS LEVERAGE FOR COMMENTS. But also, thank you to everyone who's helped me write this. I hope you all enjoy!!
Things are a little bit different after that, though Leslie doesn't notice right away. Just little things, like the coffee he'll have ready for her when she comes to his office to discuss their latest interviews (and after a few days, he even remembers to add the ten sugar packets).
A week goes by before she realizes her chest no longer tightens in anger at the sight of him.
And one night, when they stake out Dexhart's widow's home, when Ben is tired and stressed out in the back of a fake construction van with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a five o'clock shadow dusting his jaw, Leslie let's herself think he might even be cute.
Or maybe the pit of her stomach feels warm when his face scrunches up in a yawn for a different reason. She just can’t think of one right now.
"Candy necklace?" she offers, holding out the bag to him.
"I don't know how you eat so much sugar," he says, but he's smiling.
It's not like staking out a house for clues about a man's murder gives any reasons to smile, but Ben smiles more in general now, and it's nice.
She thrusts the bag even closer to him, tries to look as encouraging as possible. Maybe pouts a little.
He rolls his eyes goofily and takes a necklace.
---
"Knope. My office."
Leslie follows Ron to his office, heart beating fast like it always does. Ron sits and starts scribbling on a pad of paper, talking without looking at her.
"How are things with Wyatt?"
"Fine. It's going well, actually."
"We had a report last night about a suspicious vehicle in front of Ms. Dexhart's house last night. Had to do lots of cover-up to avoid making a scene."
Her blood goes cold.
"Tell Wyatt to get better at being invisible. People in Pawnee notice too much."
"Right. Of course."
Ron finally sets down his pen and looks up.
"You can do this, Knope. Now get back to work."
She glows with pride.
---
It's eerie to walk the empty festival grounds. Usually everything would be packed away for winter, but with the nature of the murder, all structures have been kept intact for investigation. The rented carnival rides went back to their companies, but the empty popcorn stands and animal enclosures look abandoned and sad.
They've swept the area and come back to investigate a million times, but Ben keeps insisting.
"We're missing something," he says, staring at the browned stalks of the corn maze like an equation he needs to crack.
"The corn was fully growing. There were gaps all over, kids always hide and make out in it." Her cheeks redden as Ben looks at her. "It was impossible to know where someone was hiding. It could have been anywhere. We haven’t found footprints."
He enters the corn maze, easy to navigate now that the stalks are falling over and withering.
"All the garbage is out and in the evidence locker, and there's security posted at all times of the day. What more could we miss?"
"Just keep an eye out," he calls back as she follows him.
She keeps her eyes trained to the ground, no twig snapped or leaf fallen goes past her. It's not always easy for her to slow down for details, but when she focuses she's damn good at it. And knowing Ben is here helps, in some weird way.
Until she looks up and he's gone.
"Wyatt?" she calls out, quickening her footsteps. "Ben?"
She hears no footsteps. Even if the corn is no longer in bloom, it's still a maze, and she's unwittingly led herself through some twists and turns, deep in.
"Ben?"
She starts sprinting, suddenly panicked at not knowing where Ben is. Up ahead she hears movement, hears some sort of rustling and hurries toward it.
Instead of finding Ben, she's met with a raccoon, eyes red and claws out. She yelps and falls backward.
"Leslie?"
Someone is running behind her and she doesn't even have time to upright herself before Ben appears around the corner.
"Are you okay?" he asks, out of breath. She takes his outstretched hand to help her stand. The raccoon hisses and her fingers clench around his.
"Run!"
They sprint out of the maze, tugging on each other's hands through sharp turns and dead ends, until they emerge panting out the front.
"Wouldn't be surprised," Leslie gasps between breaths, "if a raccoon did it."
Ben laughs, breathless.
For some reason he hasn't let go of her hand. Awkwardly she breaks contact first, wiping her now-sweaty palm on her slacks.
“Sorry,” she offers, unsure what she’s even apologizing for.
“Oh, no, ‘course,” he responds, equally as aimless.
They laugh their way back to the car, at nothing and everything, Ben doing the dumbest impression of a raccoon possible, when Leslie notices something on the ground.
“Hang on--”
She reaches down and sees a smiling tooth waving at her.
“Jamm Orthodontics?” Ben reads over her shoulder.
“Councilman Jamm,” she growls. “One of the worst people in this town.”
“This place has been on lockdown since Dexhart was found. There’s security here all the time. We’ve had it swept no less than three times. How…”
Before they can explore the area further, light bulbs flash and the voice of Joan Calomezzo carries across the grounds. And not only that, but half the press in Pawnee seems to be with her.
“Terror in Pawnee; this is the place where it all happened--”
“--been under high security--”
“--the late Councilman Dexhart found dead last month, still no word on who is responsible…”
Leslie cringes, but Ben grabs her arm in surprise. He’s breathing heavy, eyes bugging.
“The press. I’m terrible with the press. How did they know we were here?”
In two steps Joan has reached them and thrust a microphone in their faces unceremoniously.
“We are doing our best to figure out--”
“No comment!” Ben squeaks, trying to steer Leslie around the commotion.
“A harsh brush-off from the detectives in charge of the case, almost like they’re trying to cover up--”
“Joan,” Leslie scolds, feeling seriously annoyed. “How did you even--”
She looks down at the card in her hand.
“Crap on a crayfish…”
Several minutes of vague, hopeful chatter and a few stuttered words from Ben, Leslie’s managed to get them in her car and on the road back to the precinct.
“I think Jamm saw us and tipped them off. He would. God, he’s a slimy little--”
“We don’t want this much attention, Leslie. This could ruin our investigation.”
She hadn’t realized until now how often he’s been calling her Leslie. Not ‘Officer Knope’ or ‘Knope’.
“Things are different in Pawnee, Ben. You should be used to that by now.”
She smiles over at him, and he manages to return it.
---
There’s no question that they’re a team after that. She’s always thought Pawnee’s rabid raccoon population, at the very least, causes people to work together and overcome their differences for a greater cause. Throw Joan in the mix, and well, they had no choice but to work as one.
Ben asks her opinion more often. He lets her make decisions without balking.
After his freak out over the media, she realizes he doesn’t want to take credit for this case at all. He’s here because a crime was committed that put people in danger, and he wants to fix it. He wants to keep people safe.
They’re in this together.
---
“It’s so boring here, we just do a lot of paperwork and I got yelled at when I smashed a mug to scare a suspect.”
“Andy, you can’t do that, we’ve talked about this.”
“I know, boss, but he had it coming.”
Checking in with Andy makes her smile.
"Is Wyatt still a jerk face like you said? Because Chris is the best! He smiles a lot and gives me granola bars and it's so weird and creepy! I love it!"
Leslie sits back on her couch and thinks about it.
"He's not so bad. He's just doing his job."
---
"We're like, colleagues with benefits," she explains to Ann over lunch that weekend. Ann's eyebrows just about shoot off her forehead.
"Benefits?"
"Yeah like, we benefit from the fact that we're friends. Maybe? Are we friends? Something like that."
"Are you friends who keep their pants on or off?"
Leslie drops her fork into her bowl of whipped cream.
“What?”
Ann waggles her eyebrows.
---
So, now she can't stop thinking about it.
Ben with his pants off, that is.
He's attractive, that's always been the case. But maybe, possibly, sort of wanting him? That's... newer. And stranger. And so very messy.
It's one thing to feel comforted when he sets a hand on her back after getting no answers out of an interview, but it's entirely another to want him to keep putting his hand there. And elsewhere.
"We'll get there. It might take some time." He looks worn and frustrated, just like her. His jaw is set grimly and he just looks so tired.
He's trying so hard. Just like her.
"Wanna get a drink?" she asks, trying to be nonchalant. What's a drink between coworkers after a hard day? "I mean, we're almost done here for today. I don't think we're gonna get any information out of this guy."
He's looking at her funny, like he can't believe she's a person. He does it a lot and it's weird, but she's getting used to it. She might even like it.
"Sure. Why not?"
---
Leslie insists she can get them good deals at the Bulge (she once declared a gay penguin wedding both legal and adorable), but he's not up for a club. They end up at Sullivan's, in a quiet booth in the back. He orders a Miller Lite and she scoffs and gets herself a shandy.
It's companionable silence at the start, both taking long sips of their beers and fiddling with the labels on the bottles.
They've never done this, just hanging out outside of work. No excuses or reasons to be there but each other’s company.
"So I told you my story," he starts after a breath. "What's yours? How did you become a detective?"
"I've lived in Pawnee my whole life. I've always wanted to stay here to make a difference."
She looks up and he's watching her, waiting for more. It's not the first time she's noticed his eyes, but god, they're so warm and brown.
"When I was ten, my father was hit by a drunk driver and passed away. And since then, I've just... wanted to be a person that helps keeps Pawnee safe."
His hand slides across the table, fingers shyly resting atop hers.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "About your father."
She doesn't think about it a ton, anymore. But there will always be the familiar pang of sadness in her chest when she remembers her dad.
She turns her hand so it's palm-up and grips his.
"Thanks."
Her dad would have gotten along with Ben, she thinks.
---
Two beers later, once he's loosened up and laughing easily, she challenges him to a series of shots.
"We have work tomorrow, Leslie, I don't know if that's such a good idea."
She calls him a chicken and sticks her tongue out at him until he giggles and relents.
After that, her vision isn't so sharp anymore.
They talk about every dumb thing their addled minds can think of, laughing until they can't breath and even singing along to the jukebox when they know the songs.
It's the happiest she's ever seen Ben, and she just wants him to be this happy all the time.
"Pawnee is good for you!" she yells. And she means it.
"I don't know. Maybe," he answers, looking bashful.
She hugs him without thinking, and tentatively his arms wrap around her.
It feels good. And she's just drunk enough to let herself enjoy it.
---
They're not totally irresponsible; not long later they're sitting on the curb near her car, waiting until her chart declares them sober enough to drive.
Calling for cabs doesn’t even cross her mind.
“And my parent’s don’t even, like, get along,” Ben mumbles, kicking a rock on the pavement.
Things have gotten a little less silly and a little more serious as they sit shoulder-to-shoulder, sipping on water bottles and waiting to feel more stable.
“Sometimes being a woman is the worst,” she blurts. She cringes before continuing. “Or like, in my job. I love being a woman. Women are the best. We’re gonna run the world.”
“Of course,” Ben offers, with a lopsided smile. She lets herself lean into his shoulder a bit.
“But Ron didn’t like me by myself. Too small and I yell a lot. But sometimes you have to!”
“You do yell a lot. But s’not so bad. Cute.”
When she lifts her head, he’s looking at her softly. It makes her stomach feel funnier than it already does, alcohol swirling with butterflies.
“I’m only with Andy ‘cause he doesn’t trust me alone. I love Andy, Andy is the nicest, but.”
She sighs, not even sure where she’s going with this. It’s complaints and worries she’s only ever said to Ann, and has tried to forget about for years. She knows that’s not the point of the job.
“I just wanna be taken seriously.”
“You are,” Ben says quietly. “Took me time, but. I do. You’re good.”
Her chest tightens, just a little.
“Thanks.”
They sit quietly and Leslie mindlessly rests her head against Ben’s shoulder.
“You’re good, too,” she says after a beat. He leans his cheek against her head.
Twenty minutes later, her chart declares it’s okay to go home.
“Be careful,” he warns as she gets in her car. He looks sleepy but content and it tugs at her heartstrings.
“Of course. It’s not a far drive.”
“Let me know when you get home safe.”
He lightly taps on the roof of her car before going back to his Saturn.
“I promise,” she calls to him.
---
She texts him once she's home, just a smiley face with the word "safe" because she can't focus on her phone long enough to write more. He replies with a simple "Good."
She dreams about him that night.
It’s… startling.
And yet not.
---
Ron interrupts her morning hangover, and she nearly slams her forehead against her desk trying to sit up.
"You and Wyatt are getting along?"
"Yes, yes, ouch," she mumbles.
"They've got a handshake," April calls out from her nearby desk. "It's gross."
Leslie feels her cheeks redden.
---
"You like him," Ann says over the phone, cutting to the chase. "You'd take his pants off in a second. I totally called it."
"Ann," she scolds, temples throbbing with an impending headache. "I can't. Not during this, we're working together, he doesn't live here, someone was killed..."
"I'm not saying marry the guy. And we both know you’ll get the job done. But let yourself have some enjoyment in the meanwhile, you know?"
Leslie almost drops her phone on her desk as Ben enters the precinct for the morning, looking just as worse for the ware as she does.
He smiles, and pained as it is, it makes her feel warm.
"Yeah. Enjoyment."
---
She asks him if he wants to discuss their latest news from Chicago at JJ’s after work.
It’s hopeful as she can be without wearing her heart directly on her sleeve.
"Uh, I mean, I think we have time to do it here."
It's the sharp bob of his head, the stutter of his words. The excuses that make no sense before he wanders into an office that isn't his.
---
It's true, there's an even more comfortable ease there now. They trust each other. They trade information in shorthand and agree on what direction to pursue and can run an interview like they've been working side by side for years.
But there are the boundaries they've let themselves forget. And Ben is very clearly drawing the lines back where they belong.
---
Soon it’s clear that their leads are going cold.
Councilman Jamm has been, as predicted, everything but cooperative. Dexhart's family has asked for peace for grieving. Everyone in this town is either proven innocent or there’s not enough evidence to prove otherwise, and prospects in Chicago are looking slim.
"We have to stake out this poker night," Leslie insists, for the fifth time today.
"I told you, we've watched it the past two Thursdays. They just go in and play cards. There's nothing fishy. We're wasting our time, we'd be better off going to the city council meeting."
"We go to those all the time, as much as I love watching democracy happen, nothing’s going to happen so publicly. We’re too visible there.”
Ben’s doing that infuriating thing where he sighs and rubs his temples and shuffles around. It makes her want to punch him, to yell at him to just get on with it already. But that wouldn’t work with Ben. She knows Ben. She knows what works.
"You trust me, don't you?"
Ben's gaze doesn't waver, not for a second.
"Fine, but we're taking my car."
She smiles triumphantly.
---
He still makes them go to the meeting before the poker game, but she'll take it.
It's tense in the car.
They've been here before, they've done this. Jamm has a monthly poker night at his house in an attempt to gain allies all over town, and Dexhart was a regular participant known for cheating. He'd slept with at least half the players' wives. Anyone could have a motive.
Except they interviewed as many of them as they could and staked out the last two poker nights to no avail.
"We're leaving by ten."
"Midnight."
"I'm not bartering with you--"
"What happened?" she finally snaps. "Why are we fighting again, I thought we were... friends?” Her voice catches on the word and she winces.
Ben takes a deep breath and looks at his lap, and for once Leslie tries to let him find his words. Only he’s not saying anything. He’s gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline and thinking, and her patience can only get her so far.
“When we hung out, I had a good time, I don’t--”
“Leslie, we’re co-workers.” Ben finally looks at her, his face desperate. “I work for the federal government. You’re a local detective. This is a murder case. I can’t--”
He stares at her intensely, willing her to understand. She can’t get herself to voice the thought out loud any more than he can. But then he takes a weak, shaky breath.
“It’s not just me, right?”
His question lingers in the tense air between them.
Her answer’s on the tip of her tongue, that no, it isn’t just him, it never was just him, of course she feels it too. But before she can answer, someone outside starts shouting.
Some of the poker guys are out on the front lawn, shouting at someone hidden under a large hoodie. Leslie sees the moonlight glint off something in the person’s hand and her blood goes cold.
"Ben--" she calls, but he's already out of the car, gun raised.
Leslie rarely ever touches the gun on her hip. It's always been there, has always been a weight she carries. She knows how to shoot it, excelled in training. She can hunt like no other. It’s like another part of her body, always steady and dependable on her hip.
But holding it now feels different.
"FBI," Ben announces to the group, who immediately start backing away. All but the person in the hoodie.
"Pawnee PD," Leslie adds, coming up behind him.
"Whoa whoa whoa," Jamm exclaims, hands up. He looks particularly flustered.
"I told you they were snooping today!" someone yells.
The man in the sweatshirt breaks away from the group and starts running. Ben takes off and Leslie hurries after him, calling on her walkie talkie for backup. She hears sirens in the distance before they even reach the alley.
The hood falls off the man and he seems unfamiliar, but Leslie doesn’t even get a second to try to place him before a shot rings out and Ben pushes her to the ground.
Leslie sees blood and screams.