Fic: The Trial by Leslie Knope - Part 2/?
Title: The Trial by Leslie Knope, Part 2/?
Fandom: Parks and Recreation
Pairings: Leslie/Ben, Ann/Other, Ann/Chris
Rating: R
Word count: ~5300 (this part)
Summary: An affirmation, sex, eggs, phone calls, a couple of bars, and a resolution.
Notes: Happy New Year everbody! This is in response to a prompt for the Leslie/Ben Holiday Fest by saucydiva: An AU where Leslie has to, for whatever reason, in whatever capacity, conduct an ethics trial. It could be for Chris, or make it really fun and have the accused be Ann or Ben. Basically, I want to see what happens when Leslie has a love of government versus love of friend dilemma. Also, I just noticed that in the episode Indianapolis Chris says his mom is "home up in Wisconsin" - so I guess that makes this officially AU now. And of course comments are awesomesauce!
Part 1
Chapter 2
5 AM. Leslie Knope looked herself in the eye. She wasn't usually one for spending an inordinate amount of time in front of the mirror, but this wasn't vanity.
"I am Leslie Knope. I am a strong, smart, competent, kind and beautiful person. I am a great friend. I am good fiancée. I am Pawnee's third ever councilwoman. I believe in discharging my duties in a way that is both efficient and compassionate. The order of importance is friends, waffles, work. Work is third. I believe in having a good plan. I know what to do," she said aloud. "I've also slept an hour at most and I am not ashamed to resort to Nutriyum bars to get through the day."
Then she set to work. She divided a crisp new page in her padfolio into three parts, addressing each of her three most pressing problems: Ben, Ann, Trial.
++++
Ben loved waking up next to Leslie, but it was a rare occurrence indeed. She said the slothful student habits of Pawnee's future elite were rubbing off on him while he kept telling her normal human adults needed more than four hours of sleep. And so, he loved it even when waking up with Leslie meant having your comforter ripped away and replaced by the weight of a fully awake, pant-suited and made-up councilwoman. Who was simultaneously kissing and tickling him awake.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," she giggled.
"Hmmm … ah … hello there, babycakes," he said as his hands moved to still hers from digging into his sides and making him squirm.
"Babycakes?"
He caught her mouth with his, deepening the kiss. Slid his tongue along her lower lip then into her mouth until she moaned satisfyingly against him. He grinned. "I like the ring of it, don't you?"
Leslie might be the virtuoso out-of-bed-getter, but he was damned if he wasn't going to get her into it first. Before she could protest, he shifted to align their hips and thrust against her. He was gratified to see her eyes fall shut before she lowered her head and exhaled sharply against his throat.
"Yeah, I think I do." Her voice had a breathy note to it. Good.
He started rubbing himself against her hip, pleased when she proceeded to do the same against his thigh. It was glaringly obvious before too long that there were too many layers of clothing separating them.
"You know, this wasn't really what I'd planned," she said as he removed her dress pants and panties in one quick go. She made no move to stop him. In fact, she was pushing his pajama pants down his legs.
"Oh no? … That's an … aaah …. a regrettable oversight, Madam Councilwoman," he forced out as she took him in her hand, stroking lightly. Far too lightly. Sweet. Delicious. Torture.
"Mhh … good thing I have you to set me straight, Professor." She positioned him against her then pushed down, allowing him to enter her, and let out a delightful little hiss. He groaned.
She moved up until he almost slid out of her, then he grabbed her ass and thrust back into her, hard, seeing stars. Soon enough they found a rhythm together. He thrusting into her, building a crescendo, she rubbing herself on his pubic bone and moaning with his every plunge. Finally, she arched her back, grabbed his hand and placed it on her clit. She whimpered as he started massaging it in small, gentle circles. He could feel her orgasm coming on in the shaking of her thighs before she clenched around his dick and clutched his biceps for support. He thrust into her a few more times and let himself fall over the edge, too. It occurred to him that he loved this. Having this comfortable, non-awkward but deeply satisfying morning sex with the woman wearing his engagement ring, this was the most content he'd ever been. Then he came inside her and his mind was a delicious void.
"Nice work, stud," Leslie said with a grin as they were lying next to each other on their backs, breathing heavily. She was still wearing her blouse and suit jacket. His pajama pants were at his ankles.
"Not bad yourself, hot stuff."
"Ben?"
"Yep."
"I'm sorry about being such a prick last night. So, to make it up to you … I - ahem - I cooked you breakfast. C'mon!"
Getting dressed involved, in his case, pulling up his pajama pants and, at her insistence, re-ironing her pants, which had ended up in a heap next to the bed, while she got cleaned up in the bathroom.
Here was the thing, about being with Leslie Knope. Patience. It was knowing that her first reaction to any given situation was nine times out of ten completely over the top and waiting for the second, the abashed and reluctantly rational one. As her boyfriend-turned-fiancé he'd perfected the strategy of patience. It was one that rarely failed him.
And then there was the other thing. Knowing that her level of thoughtfulness far exceeded normal human limitations and you were in for a lot of mind-blowing surprises. When she said breakfast, his mind had automatically jumped to waffles, french toast at the most, but definitely not …
"You made Eggs Benedict?" His voice took on a level of excitement usually reserved for rare Star Wars merchandise. And mint condition '60s Marvel comic books. And break-evens.
"I did," she said with a broad smile. "Even though I still think savoury breakfasts are a crime against humanity. And they're probably cold now. Plus, how do you figure when a poached egg is done? It's impossible! Also, I know the sauce is probably not supposed to look like that, but …"
"Babycakes?"
"What?" she asked, holding back a laugh. "God, do I really answer to that now?"
"You do. And. Just- It's perfect."
"It is?"
"Absolutely. Can't believe you did all this before work." He dug in and sure enough, one of her poached eggs was done to near hard-boiled level, while the other's egg whites were still practically liquid. Even though the hollandaise was store-bought, she'd somehow still managed to cause the butter to separate from the eggs. It didn't matter. He wasn't about to turn down a post-coital breakfast cooked by the most beautiful member of the City Council, much less one that consisted of his favourite-ever breakfast food.
"I had more than enough time, actually. And not just 'cause you sleep till all hours of the afternoon," she said with an edge.
It was just now 7:25.
A.M.
About the time he usually got up.
Ignoring the look on his face she went on, "I barely slept. Too much thinking to do."
"Ah. Any conclusions?"
"Hm. Beyond the fact that you were right and the realization that I'd much rather just spend the day in bed with you rewatching that Famous Firsts in American Women's History documentary, not so much. But - I have a plan. It involves spending all day coming up with a plan. For that stupid trial. That, and taking Ann out for drinks."
"I think that's wise."
"Yeah? I'm just so confused. I mean, I thought we had these strict hos before bros guidelines in place and I still somehow don't hear about any of this except from CHRIS?" She ran her index finger along the edge of his plate. "There might be something to be said for that women's history series. I hate to bring this up, but you did fall asleep only four episodes in last time-"
He lifted her chin for a quick kiss across the kitchen counter. "You'll figure it out."
In the end, he practically had to kick her out the door. The third thing about being with Leslie: Knowing when she was being a master procrastinator and needed to be pushed.
++++
At 8:15 Leslie sat down at her desk and transferred the mountain of City Council-related paperwork to her oversized bottom drawer. It landed there with a resounding thud.
She reopened her padfolio and smirked as she crossed out the Ben section. It felt good to start the day by getting things done.
Next up - phone calls. She called the building manager and found out that the council chamber wouldn't be available before next Monday, which was almost a week away. She didn't know how to feel about that. Good because she hated the thought of that day, bad because it would prolong everybody's torment. Schizophrenic because she couldn't decide which outweighed the other.
She called the members of the ethics committee to let them know the date of and reason for the trial. They'd all been expecting her call because one Mr Traeger had already informed them she'd be getting in touch. Of course.
Then she called Ann. It was Tuesday, which meant Ann was working at St. Joe's. She wouldn't see her if she didn't call her. Ann now knew Leslie knew and knew she'd be tried by her best friend but she didn't know how Leslie would go about it because Leslie barely knew that herself and if she didn't call her, Ann would probably think she had nothing to say to her and, oh God, it was all a big mess. It was unfortunate, too, that when calling # 1 on your speed dial you couldn't punch the number in slowly, deliberately, make each digit last. Her palms started to sweat as she waited for Ann to pick up. But it just kept on ringing and then-
"Hi, you've reached Ann's voicemail. You know the drill. And please make it short and sweet, especially if your name is Leslie. I promise I'll get back to you just as soon as I can. Thanks."
Goddammit. On the one hand, it was a relief not to have to speak to the actual Ann right this second. On the other, she just wanted to rip that bandaid off. Real bad. Right now. Why did everything suddenly have to be weirdly conflicted and ambivalent?
Beep, said Ann's voicemail.
"Ann. It's Leslie. Leslie Knope, Pawnee City Council member. But you know that. We're best friends. Anyway, it's Leslie and, uh, so, I had that lunch date with Chris yesterday. As you know. And I thought, maybe, you had something you wanted to talk about. To me. Not that you have to, of course. And not because of the trial, Ann, or at least not just because of the trial. No- no judgement. Just, it's come to my attention that you might be going through … some stuff. And even if you don't feel like talking about it, Ann, or not to- not to me, I think maybe, as your best friend, I should take you out tonight. If you're up for it-"
Beep, said Ann's voicemail again. Well. That went horribly. Damn Ann and her limited message length. Leslie always forgot about it. She pushed the re-dial button.
"Ann - it's me again. Leslie. Short and sweet this time. Meet me at The Bulge at 7:30 tonight if you're up for it. We can talk or we can just get really drunk, up to you. Hos before bros, right? Love you. Hope to see you there. Okay. Bye for now."
She exhaled heavily. No way, no how should calling your best friend should ever be so damn difficult.
She wrote a note for Andy letting him know she was busy with a very pressing, high priority matter and to get the business, name and phone number of everybody who called. Make them spell it out, she underlined three times. Then she snatched up her padfolio and left the office. She had to talk to every department head about what they might have heard or witnessed and ask them to put out feelers to their subordinates and report back before the end of the week. It was gonna be another long day.
++++
"Ben Wyatt! It is just fantastic to see you! Thanks for calling. You've - literally - made my day."
He stepped into Scully's Bar and was greeted by Chris's brilliant smile and his overenthusiastic hug. And yet. And yet, Ben would've noticed, even if he hadn't already known, that all was not right in the world. After all, you didn't spend years on the road together, passing through towns where you knew nobody and nobody knew you without learning a few things about each other. Like the fact, discovered in late 2004 in an empty piano bar in Oxford, IN, that Chris played the instrument beautifully but that playing ballads invariably made him sob hard enough to have to stop and pop what Ben considered an alarming number of valerian root supplements. Or the fact that Ben practiced delivering new budget cuts to hostile civil servants in superhero voices in the shower, especially when was having a bad day. Discovered on July 21st, 2007 when Chris had stormed through the door connecting their motel rooms in English, IN, to inform him that the town's mayor was threatening to throw himself off the roof of city hall.
No, it wasn't in the words, nor was it in the cadence. It was something much more subtle. The evidence was in the smile, which was not so much forced as it was determined, and in the slight twitch in Chris's temple that was probably due to an overdose of herbal remedies. He hadn't been aware of it at the time, but it suddenly occurred to him that this was exactly how Chris had looked - and smiled and twitched - that day, many years ago …
____________________
Relief washed over Leslie her as she spotted Ann waving and walking towards her at 7:35. She'd received an encouraging text from her that afternoon (just 'Okay. See you there.'). But it didn't seem like much compared to the hard evidence of five minutes and no Ann, who was usually punctual.
"Ann, you're here! I'm so glad!" She knew her smile was forced and she was fidgeting with the stem of her martini glass. Knowing it didn't make it any more possible to stop.
"Hey. Sorry, am I late? Traffic was ri-"
"No, no, you're not late. What? No! Pffa. It never crossed my mind. Anyway - Bartender! Can we get another one of these, please?"
"Another chocolate martini, coming right up. On the house of course, for your friend, Leslie," said the bartender and they spent the next three minutes and eighteen seconds in rapt concentration on the process of martini-mixing. Leslie knew because she counted them.
____________________
≈
It was early 2000. Ben was having a shit day. There was no other way to say it. It had started with his landlady giving him grief about the fumigation notices that had gone unanswered for the couple of months he'd been forced to spend in Peru, Indiana. And now he was about to have his ass handed to him by Stroker. It wasn't fair. He was a good budget specialist, superb even. When he was done slashing and burning, it was virtually ensured a town's budget wouldn't come anywhere near bankruptcy for a couple of decades at least. He'd vouch for it.
He turned the corner to the antechamber of Stroker's office and was dimly surprised to see Traeger sitting in one of the purposely uncomfortable waiting chairs. He recognized his face from a few work functions they'd both attended. They'd never more than said hello. What was he doing here, also, presumably, on Stroker's shitlist? He seemed to be universally adored and gregarious in a way Ben definitely wasn't, always surrounded by a throng of smiling people.
"Hi," Ben said and sat down in the chair farthest from Traeger.
"Ben Wyatt, isn't it? Great to run into you!" Traeger replied with a blinding smile.
"Uh, okay. If you say so." He really didn't care that much. Someone shining sunshine up his ass was perhaps the last thing he needed. Not when he was gearing for a fight.
"Oh yes. I've missed Indianapolis. In fact, I've just returned from the town of Churubusco, population 1,700. It was - literally - the most wonderful town I've visited in years."
"Really?" Wonderful couldn't have been further from how he would've described the people of Peru. Belligerent, maybe. Pugnacious - there was a word ugly enough to describe that town and its inhabitants.
"Absolutely. Of course, the tremendous hospitality of Churubusco's citizens is also why I'm here now. It would have been just a tragedy to cut many of Churubusco's amazing public services. They educate the town's troubled youths on the benefits on netipotting - breathing right is so important. It has to be absolutely the best idea I've heard in at least a decade! And - they do warn them not to use tap water. Did you know you can get infected with brain-eating amoebae? You should google it. It's terrifying - and - water supplies aren't required to be tested for them."
"Yeah. That. … sounds like such a profitable use of taxpayer money."
"Indeed, " Traeger nodded, ignoring the sarcasm. "However, the prospect of reassignment naturally fills me with anxiety. So good to have company." His smile never wavered. "And I am - of course - confident everything will work out for the best. What about you?"
Ben was there because Stroker had finally gotten wind of the death threats, though he doubted she knew the full extent of them. If anybody who had threatened him printed a dozen WANTED - Dead or Alive posters, he'd likely be shot inside a week - at least in North Central Indiana.
"Uh, me too, I guess. Reassignment, that is. I suppose a potentially dead auditor is just too big a liability." He kicked an imaginary stone with his dress shoe.
"Potentially … dead?," Traeger asked with what to Ben seemed a frankly amusing amount of alarm.
"Hm. Death threats. In the last three towns. Not … not that anybody would ever act on them of course, but you know how it is." He heaved a sigh. "They're just covering their asses," he finished cynically.
"Wow. That is truly horrifying. … Though on the other hand it shows a certain public spirit that has to be applauded, don't you think? Also, no offense, but you do have a reputation for a certain ruthlessness."
"Do I?" He didn't much care for gossip, but wasn't surprised.
"Definitely." Something must have shown on Ben's face, because Traeger continued, "Oh really, don't be offended. I'm jealous, actually. Wouldn't want to miss the amazing going-away parties, of course, but I do try to get the job done. And fail, more often than not. Hence, I'm afraid, the reassignment."
He looked down at his own polished black balmorals and that's when Ben had an idea.
Barely 20 minutes later, they stepped out of Stroker's office together and shook hands. Stroker had been gratifyingly dumbfounded as well as forced to acknowledge that losing its best auditor and an auditor whose feedback scores were through the roof wasn't a good move for the department, not if it could be avoided. In an instant, he'd managed to get their their reassignments put on ice, pending the approval of their new partnership.
"Ben Wyatt! That - was incredible! Tremendous stroke of the imagination," Chris was saying as he clapped him enthusiastically on the back. Ben winced. Unbelievably, Chris's smile had gotten another 100 watt or so brighter. "Positive thinking, Ben, you should try it! Now, would you like to go for some gingko tea?"
≈
____________________
"So, I'm actually really glad you called," Ann said once her drink was sitting in front of her and they'd run out of excuses not to speak.
"Yeah? Me too and as I sa-"
"Leslie, I know this is just like ridiculously awkward and I'm … I'm just really, really super sorry for putting you in this position. This whole thing is completely screwed up and, to be honest, I don't even know what I was thinking and all I can say is … I just hope we can get through it somehow and you won't … won't hate me forever," said Ann, sounding rehearsed. Leslie could tell because she'd rehearsed versions of the same type of let-me-eat-crow speech more often than she could count. They came with the fireball mentality. They were not, however, typical of Ann.
"Are you okay Ann? And I don't just mean the- the Chris thing. Are you and Graham doing alright?" Ann didn't respond for three consecutive seconds, so she added, "I'm just … kinda worried."
"Yeah," Ann nodded. "I mean, as okay as we ever are. I guess our problems have been kind of … well documented-" This was true. Leslie had been witness to a few of their shouting matches, both on the phone and in person. "I don't know, Leslie, would you mind if we don't talk about this … for right now?"
"Sure, yeah, I guess. Just as long as you're okay. Because I swear to you, Ann, if he hurt you, I will put an arrow in his head my-"
"No, no, it's nothing like that. Just- just the usual … shouting and such."
"Mmpf. Well. Man are dogs! As I always say. Ben and I were yelling at each other pretty good last night."
"Really. Nothing serious?"
"Nah. Kinda my fault. And anyway," she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "then we had amazing make-up sex this morning. I tell you, it's the best kind, Ann, maybe you shou-"
Ann was very intent on her drink all of a sudden. "I filed for divorce a week ago," she said to the chocolate-coloured liquid. So quietly Leslie almost missed it.
"You … wha … Ann?"
Ann looked up. "I filed for divorce a week ago," she repeated steadily, her voice devoid of emotion.
____________________
"I just really screwed up, Ben," Chris said once they'd sat down with their cranberry juice and beer, respectively. "What else can I say?"
Perhaps most people wouldn't have thought Chris a likely friend for Ben, but he didn't care. His inexorable positivity was a quality Ben had relied on for years, even as he kept rolling his eyes at Chris spouting serendipitous nonsense. He'd counted on the fact that when people loved Chris, they somehow hated him a little less too. Besides, he also still went out with Tom and Jean-Ralphio, he still roomed with Andy and April, he still went shopping with Donna Meagle. He liked it that way. They all complemented him, they broadened his horizons, he didn't need any carbon copies of himself. So now, given he was one of only handful people who were in the know, that's what he was doing here. Being a friend.
"Well, just- just know that I certainly don't hold it against you. I mean, that - would be ridiculous. I think. And I just … wanted you to know that. But cranberry juice, really? Do you have a urinary tract infection or something?"
"I do not. However, it's never too early to take preventative measures. It also tastes better than about 90% of the things I drink."
"Unfortunately, I have no trouble believing that. At all."
"Ben," Chris said with the patent mixture of good-natured annoyance and genuine amusement he'd perfected over the years and reserved strictly for Ben's snarkiness. "Anyway. Thank you. No reason to dwell on it though, since all of it is now in the hands of your stunningly competent fiancée. Who, I'm sure, will do a marvelous job and leave no stone unturned." He took a sip of cranberry juice. Ben suppressed a grimace. "Hm. Which is of course highly admirable and exactly how it should be. I just wish I wasn't the subject of it."
"Chris, Leslie won't make it any harder on you than it has to be. I'm, I'm … pretty sure of it. And you did request this trial yourself, which will obviously work in your favour-"
"Ben, I appreciate your compassion. It makes you what you are. And what you are is literally the finest human being I know. But I believe she not only has every right, but that she should be hard on me. This is an extremely serious matter-"
"Sleeping with your ex-girlfriend a couple times? I don't know, I could think of worse. Like, like spending months hiding an illicit relationship, maybe. Or only coming forward because your girlfriend was running for office and it was going to come out anyway…"
Chris smiled wryly. "Well. You paid the price, didn't you?"
"I guess. As you say, it seems to have worked out for the best."
"Hm." For a while, they sat in companionable silence and sipped their drinks, absently watching the basketball game on TV. Indiana Pacers versus Chicago Bulls. No wonder the bar was so well patronized tonight.
____________________
≈
As first impressions went, Leslie's of Graham could've been better. And vice versa probably. It was April 2012. Extraordinarily, Ann had been going out with him for two months and he still hadn't been properly vetted by Leslie. But it was April 2012 and like anything in early 2012 it was forgiven because it was universally understood that Leslie was in full campaign-craziness mode.
She finally met Graham at a picnic her campaign was throwing for the general public in Ramsett Park. There had been a minor hiccup with the catering - they'd ended up serving gin and tonics and duck à l'orange at 10:30 in the morning - so her fuse had been a little short.
"Hi Graham, great to meet you finally. Thanks for coming all the way from … I don't even know where you live!" According to Ann, he was blond doctor of average height who'd just transferred to St. Joe's from Monroe Hospital in Bloomington and, if memory served, he still lived somewhere out of town. If there had been additional details, she couldn't recall them just then because her head was overflowing with talking points on public spending. "Anyway. Thanks for coming."
"Hi yourself. So you're the one stealing Ann away from me at all hours. Keep an eye on you." He winked. Ew. She disliked him instantly. Obviously he had it all backwards. And then there was the kicker. "And for the record - it's Eagleton. Ann didn't tell you I just bought a house there?"
"Ann Meredith Perkins! You AREN'T going to tell me you're DATING an EA-URGH-GLETONIAN!" she yelled, making it sound as if she was about to throw up. Which she was.
"What's the problem?" Graham asked at the same time as Ann began to frantically explain, "No no. Leslie. He's just moved here, he doesn't even know- it's really just a property value type thing, it doesn't mean anything and besides a lot of the doctors at St. Joe's commute from Eagleton so it's really not that unu-"
"Seriously, Ann? I can't- I don't have time for this right now. I have to give an interview explaining why I'm contributing to public drunkenness at a Sunday morning family picnic," she said and strode off.
For all that though, Graham seemed a good enough guy. He had a good job. He worked out but wasn't insane about it. He liked Downton Abbey just as much as Ann did. He wanted kids and didn't like to play games. And he'd rather swept Ann off her feet. Leslie never quite got over the Eagleton-thing - there'd been a major tantrum and a minor crisis when Ann declared she was moving in with him - but at least he'd seemed better relationship material than anybody since Mark. He proposed just three months after that day in April and they were married by the following January. It all seemed pretty fast to Leslie, but Ann had pled that there was the age factor and the parent approval factor (which was of course absolute because Graham happened to be a doctor) and that it somehow just made sense. And that Leslie wasn't really one to argue when her own boyfriend lived like he was still attending college rather than teaching it. Which was maybe fair enough.
≈
____________________
"I just - hate being angry." Chris shook his head sadly. "And the only thing worse than being angry is being angry with myself. The utter futility of it. All of it. At least you and Leslie bring out the best in each other. Ann and I … that ended years ago."
"Yeah, so why did you … ?"
He shrugged. "Wish I knew. The heat of the moment? She was there, in front of the mural. She was clearly unhappy. I tried to cheer her up. One thing led to another. Next thing I know she was kissing me, the buttons of my shirt went flying-"
"Alright. I don't need explicit details."
They returned to their comfortable silence after that, watching the game. Ben wasn't the biggest sports fan, but neither did he mind. He'd long since made his peace with what it meant to live in the Hoosier State, knew that as an Indianapolis native, Chris's had a deep-seated Pacers love that needed no explanation.
"That was fantastic! That last rebound? Marvelous. Great game," Chris commented as they exited the bar.
"The Bull's won, Chris." All around them, other patrons were leaving, muttering angrily amongst themselves or hanging their heads in silence.
"Ben! You can't argue with their performance. Terrific! A joy to watch!"
____________________
"Why didn't you tell me?"
It was possibly not the most sensitive thing to ask, she realized belatedly when Ann snorted in frustration. "I don't know, Leslie, I guess it's just shitty timing. … I mean, I had this feeling that things weren't working out and next thing I knew, Ben was asking me what I knew about diamond cuts and then you were in this happy little bubble of … well, of hysteria. To put it mildly."
It was true. She had been a little deranged after Ben had popped the question. It had started with such queries as whether it would bum Ben out more if his father showed up at the wedding and stared his disapproving stare at them all day or if he didn't show at all and whether cloud seeding could be done pre-emptively to ensure with absolute certainty it wouldn't rain that day. Things had quickly gone downhill from there to contingency plans in case Harvey James Park was overrun by the herd of hippopotami recently acquired by Pawnee Zoo and/or a mob of angry citizens demanding to know why the wedding cake didn't contain any lemon curd (Leslie didn't care for it). Ben had put his foot down when Ann alerted him that Leslie had started making concrete plans for eloping to Samoa. That might've been construed as a fiendish betrayal, but Ann had put forth the very valid argument that she expected to be forced to wear at least as ugly a bridesmaid's dress at Leslie's wedding as Leslie had at hers, while Leslie shone stunningly in white. Leslie would've commenced agonizing over whether white even looked good on her if Ben hadn't decreed - in that fascist hardass voice of his that brooked no argument - that nobody was allowed to worry about anything until they at least set a date. Since then, everything had been great. No date had been set and nothing had changed, really, except for that bling on her finger which made Leslie smile with the knowledge that Ben had every intention of being Mr Knope. Someday.
"Leslie, you were just so happy and … and insane. But in a- well not in a good, but in a sweet way. I guess I couldn't stand to take any of that away from you."
"Oh Ann."
They were silent for a little while. Ann sipping her martini, Leslie frantically racking her brains for something to say or do that would make it all better and coming up empty.
"How about we just get really, really drunk?"
"I thought you'd never ask." Ann's smile was genuine for the first time that night.
++++
3 AM. Leslie woke with a start, an idea at the forefront of her mind. She gently disentangled herself from Ben's arm around her waist and went into the living room. She opened her padfolio on another new page. She drew a pen. She labelled the page Trial. Then she pre-empted the result.
Nobody will get fired, she wrote.
Part 3
Fandom: Parks and Recreation
Pairings: Leslie/Ben, Ann/Other, Ann/Chris
Rating: R
Word count: ~5300 (this part)
Summary: An affirmation, sex, eggs, phone calls, a couple of bars, and a resolution.
Notes: Happy New Year everbody! This is in response to a prompt for the Leslie/Ben Holiday Fest by saucydiva: An AU where Leslie has to, for whatever reason, in whatever capacity, conduct an ethics trial. It could be for Chris, or make it really fun and have the accused be Ann or Ben. Basically, I want to see what happens when Leslie has a love of government versus love of friend dilemma. Also, I just noticed that in the episode Indianapolis Chris says his mom is "home up in Wisconsin" - so I guess that makes this officially AU now. And of course comments are awesomesauce!
Part 1
Chapter 2
5 AM. Leslie Knope looked herself in the eye. She wasn't usually one for spending an inordinate amount of time in front of the mirror, but this wasn't vanity.
"I am Leslie Knope. I am a strong, smart, competent, kind and beautiful person. I am a great friend. I am good fiancée. I am Pawnee's third ever councilwoman. I believe in discharging my duties in a way that is both efficient and compassionate. The order of importance is friends, waffles, work. Work is third. I believe in having a good plan. I know what to do," she said aloud. "I've also slept an hour at most and I am not ashamed to resort to Nutriyum bars to get through the day."
Then she set to work. She divided a crisp new page in her padfolio into three parts, addressing each of her three most pressing problems: Ben, Ann, Trial.
++++
Ben loved waking up next to Leslie, but it was a rare occurrence indeed. She said the slothful student habits of Pawnee's future elite were rubbing off on him while he kept telling her normal human adults needed more than four hours of sleep. And so, he loved it even when waking up with Leslie meant having your comforter ripped away and replaced by the weight of a fully awake, pant-suited and made-up councilwoman. Who was simultaneously kissing and tickling him awake.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," she giggled.
"Hmmm … ah … hello there, babycakes," he said as his hands moved to still hers from digging into his sides and making him squirm.
"Babycakes?"
He caught her mouth with his, deepening the kiss. Slid his tongue along her lower lip then into her mouth until she moaned satisfyingly against him. He grinned. "I like the ring of it, don't you?"
Leslie might be the virtuoso out-of-bed-getter, but he was damned if he wasn't going to get her into it first. Before she could protest, he shifted to align their hips and thrust against her. He was gratified to see her eyes fall shut before she lowered her head and exhaled sharply against his throat.
"Yeah, I think I do." Her voice had a breathy note to it. Good.
He started rubbing himself against her hip, pleased when she proceeded to do the same against his thigh. It was glaringly obvious before too long that there were too many layers of clothing separating them.
"You know, this wasn't really what I'd planned," she said as he removed her dress pants and panties in one quick go. She made no move to stop him. In fact, she was pushing his pajama pants down his legs.
"Oh no? … That's an … aaah …. a regrettable oversight, Madam Councilwoman," he forced out as she took him in her hand, stroking lightly. Far too lightly. Sweet. Delicious. Torture.
"Mhh … good thing I have you to set me straight, Professor." She positioned him against her then pushed down, allowing him to enter her, and let out a delightful little hiss. He groaned.
She moved up until he almost slid out of her, then he grabbed her ass and thrust back into her, hard, seeing stars. Soon enough they found a rhythm together. He thrusting into her, building a crescendo, she rubbing herself on his pubic bone and moaning with his every plunge. Finally, she arched her back, grabbed his hand and placed it on her clit. She whimpered as he started massaging it in small, gentle circles. He could feel her orgasm coming on in the shaking of her thighs before she clenched around his dick and clutched his biceps for support. He thrust into her a few more times and let himself fall over the edge, too. It occurred to him that he loved this. Having this comfortable, non-awkward but deeply satisfying morning sex with the woman wearing his engagement ring, this was the most content he'd ever been. Then he came inside her and his mind was a delicious void.
"Nice work, stud," Leslie said with a grin as they were lying next to each other on their backs, breathing heavily. She was still wearing her blouse and suit jacket. His pajama pants were at his ankles.
"Not bad yourself, hot stuff."
"Ben?"
"Yep."
"I'm sorry about being such a prick last night. So, to make it up to you … I - ahem - I cooked you breakfast. C'mon!"
Getting dressed involved, in his case, pulling up his pajama pants and, at her insistence, re-ironing her pants, which had ended up in a heap next to the bed, while she got cleaned up in the bathroom.
Here was the thing, about being with Leslie Knope. Patience. It was knowing that her first reaction to any given situation was nine times out of ten completely over the top and waiting for the second, the abashed and reluctantly rational one. As her boyfriend-turned-fiancé he'd perfected the strategy of patience. It was one that rarely failed him.
And then there was the other thing. Knowing that her level of thoughtfulness far exceeded normal human limitations and you were in for a lot of mind-blowing surprises. When she said breakfast, his mind had automatically jumped to waffles, french toast at the most, but definitely not …
"You made Eggs Benedict?" His voice took on a level of excitement usually reserved for rare Star Wars merchandise. And mint condition '60s Marvel comic books. And break-evens.
"I did," she said with a broad smile. "Even though I still think savoury breakfasts are a crime against humanity. And they're probably cold now. Plus, how do you figure when a poached egg is done? It's impossible! Also, I know the sauce is probably not supposed to look like that, but …"
"Babycakes?"
"What?" she asked, holding back a laugh. "God, do I really answer to that now?"
"You do. And. Just- It's perfect."
"It is?"
"Absolutely. Can't believe you did all this before work." He dug in and sure enough, one of her poached eggs was done to near hard-boiled level, while the other's egg whites were still practically liquid. Even though the hollandaise was store-bought, she'd somehow still managed to cause the butter to separate from the eggs. It didn't matter. He wasn't about to turn down a post-coital breakfast cooked by the most beautiful member of the City Council, much less one that consisted of his favourite-ever breakfast food.
"I had more than enough time, actually. And not just 'cause you sleep till all hours of the afternoon," she said with an edge.
It was just now 7:25.
A.M.
About the time he usually got up.
Ignoring the look on his face she went on, "I barely slept. Too much thinking to do."
"Ah. Any conclusions?"
"Hm. Beyond the fact that you were right and the realization that I'd much rather just spend the day in bed with you rewatching that Famous Firsts in American Women's History documentary, not so much. But - I have a plan. It involves spending all day coming up with a plan. For that stupid trial. That, and taking Ann out for drinks."
"I think that's wise."
"Yeah? I'm just so confused. I mean, I thought we had these strict hos before bros guidelines in place and I still somehow don't hear about any of this except from CHRIS?" She ran her index finger along the edge of his plate. "There might be something to be said for that women's history series. I hate to bring this up, but you did fall asleep only four episodes in last time-"
He lifted her chin for a quick kiss across the kitchen counter. "You'll figure it out."
In the end, he practically had to kick her out the door. The third thing about being with Leslie: Knowing when she was being a master procrastinator and needed to be pushed.
++++
At 8:15 Leslie sat down at her desk and transferred the mountain of City Council-related paperwork to her oversized bottom drawer. It landed there with a resounding thud.
She reopened her padfolio and smirked as she crossed out the Ben section. It felt good to start the day by getting things done.
Next up - phone calls. She called the building manager and found out that the council chamber wouldn't be available before next Monday, which was almost a week away. She didn't know how to feel about that. Good because she hated the thought of that day, bad because it would prolong everybody's torment. Schizophrenic because she couldn't decide which outweighed the other.
She called the members of the ethics committee to let them know the date of and reason for the trial. They'd all been expecting her call because one Mr Traeger had already informed them she'd be getting in touch. Of course.
Then she called Ann. It was Tuesday, which meant Ann was working at St. Joe's. She wouldn't see her if she didn't call her. Ann now knew Leslie knew and knew she'd be tried by her best friend but she didn't know how Leslie would go about it because Leslie barely knew that herself and if she didn't call her, Ann would probably think she had nothing to say to her and, oh God, it was all a big mess. It was unfortunate, too, that when calling # 1 on your speed dial you couldn't punch the number in slowly, deliberately, make each digit last. Her palms started to sweat as she waited for Ann to pick up. But it just kept on ringing and then-
"Hi, you've reached Ann's voicemail. You know the drill. And please make it short and sweet, especially if your name is Leslie. I promise I'll get back to you just as soon as I can. Thanks."
Goddammit. On the one hand, it was a relief not to have to speak to the actual Ann right this second. On the other, she just wanted to rip that bandaid off. Real bad. Right now. Why did everything suddenly have to be weirdly conflicted and ambivalent?
Beep, said Ann's voicemail.
"Ann. It's Leslie. Leslie Knope, Pawnee City Council member. But you know that. We're best friends. Anyway, it's Leslie and, uh, so, I had that lunch date with Chris yesterday. As you know. And I thought, maybe, you had something you wanted to talk about. To me. Not that you have to, of course. And not because of the trial, Ann, or at least not just because of the trial. No- no judgement. Just, it's come to my attention that you might be going through … some stuff. And even if you don't feel like talking about it, Ann, or not to- not to me, I think maybe, as your best friend, I should take you out tonight. If you're up for it-"
Beep, said Ann's voicemail again. Well. That went horribly. Damn Ann and her limited message length. Leslie always forgot about it. She pushed the re-dial button.
"Ann - it's me again. Leslie. Short and sweet this time. Meet me at The Bulge at 7:30 tonight if you're up for it. We can talk or we can just get really drunk, up to you. Hos before bros, right? Love you. Hope to see you there. Okay. Bye for now."
She exhaled heavily. No way, no how should calling your best friend should ever be so damn difficult.
She wrote a note for Andy letting him know she was busy with a very pressing, high priority matter and to get the business, name and phone number of everybody who called. Make them spell it out, she underlined three times. Then she snatched up her padfolio and left the office. She had to talk to every department head about what they might have heard or witnessed and ask them to put out feelers to their subordinates and report back before the end of the week. It was gonna be another long day.
++++
"Ben Wyatt! It is just fantastic to see you! Thanks for calling. You've - literally - made my day."
He stepped into Scully's Bar and was greeted by Chris's brilliant smile and his overenthusiastic hug. And yet. And yet, Ben would've noticed, even if he hadn't already known, that all was not right in the world. After all, you didn't spend years on the road together, passing through towns where you knew nobody and nobody knew you without learning a few things about each other. Like the fact, discovered in late 2004 in an empty piano bar in Oxford, IN, that Chris played the instrument beautifully but that playing ballads invariably made him sob hard enough to have to stop and pop what Ben considered an alarming number of valerian root supplements. Or the fact that Ben practiced delivering new budget cuts to hostile civil servants in superhero voices in the shower, especially when was having a bad day. Discovered on July 21st, 2007 when Chris had stormed through the door connecting their motel rooms in English, IN, to inform him that the town's mayor was threatening to throw himself off the roof of city hall.
No, it wasn't in the words, nor was it in the cadence. It was something much more subtle. The evidence was in the smile, which was not so much forced as it was determined, and in the slight twitch in Chris's temple that was probably due to an overdose of herbal remedies. He hadn't been aware of it at the time, but it suddenly occurred to him that this was exactly how Chris had looked - and smiled and twitched - that day, many years ago …
____________________
Relief washed over Leslie her as she spotted Ann waving and walking towards her at 7:35. She'd received an encouraging text from her that afternoon (just 'Okay. See you there.'). But it didn't seem like much compared to the hard evidence of five minutes and no Ann, who was usually punctual.
"Ann, you're here! I'm so glad!" She knew her smile was forced and she was fidgeting with the stem of her martini glass. Knowing it didn't make it any more possible to stop.
"Hey. Sorry, am I late? Traffic was ri-"
"No, no, you're not late. What? No! Pffa. It never crossed my mind. Anyway - Bartender! Can we get another one of these, please?"
"Another chocolate martini, coming right up. On the house of course, for your friend, Leslie," said the bartender and they spent the next three minutes and eighteen seconds in rapt concentration on the process of martini-mixing. Leslie knew because she counted them.
____________________
≈
It was early 2000. Ben was having a shit day. There was no other way to say it. It had started with his landlady giving him grief about the fumigation notices that had gone unanswered for the couple of months he'd been forced to spend in Peru, Indiana. And now he was about to have his ass handed to him by Stroker. It wasn't fair. He was a good budget specialist, superb even. When he was done slashing and burning, it was virtually ensured a town's budget wouldn't come anywhere near bankruptcy for a couple of decades at least. He'd vouch for it.
He turned the corner to the antechamber of Stroker's office and was dimly surprised to see Traeger sitting in one of the purposely uncomfortable waiting chairs. He recognized his face from a few work functions they'd both attended. They'd never more than said hello. What was he doing here, also, presumably, on Stroker's shitlist? He seemed to be universally adored and gregarious in a way Ben definitely wasn't, always surrounded by a throng of smiling people.
"Hi," Ben said and sat down in the chair farthest from Traeger.
"Ben Wyatt, isn't it? Great to run into you!" Traeger replied with a blinding smile.
"Uh, okay. If you say so." He really didn't care that much. Someone shining sunshine up his ass was perhaps the last thing he needed. Not when he was gearing for a fight.
"Oh yes. I've missed Indianapolis. In fact, I've just returned from the town of Churubusco, population 1,700. It was - literally - the most wonderful town I've visited in years."
"Really?" Wonderful couldn't have been further from how he would've described the people of Peru. Belligerent, maybe. Pugnacious - there was a word ugly enough to describe that town and its inhabitants.
"Absolutely. Of course, the tremendous hospitality of Churubusco's citizens is also why I'm here now. It would have been just a tragedy to cut many of Churubusco's amazing public services. They educate the town's troubled youths on the benefits on netipotting - breathing right is so important. It has to be absolutely the best idea I've heard in at least a decade! And - they do warn them not to use tap water. Did you know you can get infected with brain-eating amoebae? You should google it. It's terrifying - and - water supplies aren't required to be tested for them."
"Yeah. That. … sounds like such a profitable use of taxpayer money."
"Indeed, " Traeger nodded, ignoring the sarcasm. "However, the prospect of reassignment naturally fills me with anxiety. So good to have company." His smile never wavered. "And I am - of course - confident everything will work out for the best. What about you?"
Ben was there because Stroker had finally gotten wind of the death threats, though he doubted she knew the full extent of them. If anybody who had threatened him printed a dozen WANTED - Dead or Alive posters, he'd likely be shot inside a week - at least in North Central Indiana.
"Uh, me too, I guess. Reassignment, that is. I suppose a potentially dead auditor is just too big a liability." He kicked an imaginary stone with his dress shoe.
"Potentially … dead?," Traeger asked with what to Ben seemed a frankly amusing amount of alarm.
"Hm. Death threats. In the last three towns. Not … not that anybody would ever act on them of course, but you know how it is." He heaved a sigh. "They're just covering their asses," he finished cynically.
"Wow. That is truly horrifying. … Though on the other hand it shows a certain public spirit that has to be applauded, don't you think? Also, no offense, but you do have a reputation for a certain ruthlessness."
"Do I?" He didn't much care for gossip, but wasn't surprised.
"Definitely." Something must have shown on Ben's face, because Traeger continued, "Oh really, don't be offended. I'm jealous, actually. Wouldn't want to miss the amazing going-away parties, of course, but I do try to get the job done. And fail, more often than not. Hence, I'm afraid, the reassignment."
He looked down at his own polished black balmorals and that's when Ben had an idea.
Barely 20 minutes later, they stepped out of Stroker's office together and shook hands. Stroker had been gratifyingly dumbfounded as well as forced to acknowledge that losing its best auditor and an auditor whose feedback scores were through the roof wasn't a good move for the department, not if it could be avoided. In an instant, he'd managed to get their their reassignments put on ice, pending the approval of their new partnership.
"Ben Wyatt! That - was incredible! Tremendous stroke of the imagination," Chris was saying as he clapped him enthusiastically on the back. Ben winced. Unbelievably, Chris's smile had gotten another 100 watt or so brighter. "Positive thinking, Ben, you should try it! Now, would you like to go for some gingko tea?"
≈
____________________
"So, I'm actually really glad you called," Ann said once her drink was sitting in front of her and they'd run out of excuses not to speak.
"Yeah? Me too and as I sa-"
"Leslie, I know this is just like ridiculously awkward and I'm … I'm just really, really super sorry for putting you in this position. This whole thing is completely screwed up and, to be honest, I don't even know what I was thinking and all I can say is … I just hope we can get through it somehow and you won't … won't hate me forever," said Ann, sounding rehearsed. Leslie could tell because she'd rehearsed versions of the same type of let-me-eat-crow speech more often than she could count. They came with the fireball mentality. They were not, however, typical of Ann.
"Are you okay Ann? And I don't just mean the- the Chris thing. Are you and Graham doing alright?" Ann didn't respond for three consecutive seconds, so she added, "I'm just … kinda worried."
"Yeah," Ann nodded. "I mean, as okay as we ever are. I guess our problems have been kind of … well documented-" This was true. Leslie had been witness to a few of their shouting matches, both on the phone and in person. "I don't know, Leslie, would you mind if we don't talk about this … for right now?"
"Sure, yeah, I guess. Just as long as you're okay. Because I swear to you, Ann, if he hurt you, I will put an arrow in his head my-"
"No, no, it's nothing like that. Just- just the usual … shouting and such."
"Mmpf. Well. Man are dogs! As I always say. Ben and I were yelling at each other pretty good last night."
"Really. Nothing serious?"
"Nah. Kinda my fault. And anyway," she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "then we had amazing make-up sex this morning. I tell you, it's the best kind, Ann, maybe you shou-"
Ann was very intent on her drink all of a sudden. "I filed for divorce a week ago," she said to the chocolate-coloured liquid. So quietly Leslie almost missed it.
"You … wha … Ann?"
Ann looked up. "I filed for divorce a week ago," she repeated steadily, her voice devoid of emotion.
____________________
"I just really screwed up, Ben," Chris said once they'd sat down with their cranberry juice and beer, respectively. "What else can I say?"
Perhaps most people wouldn't have thought Chris a likely friend for Ben, but he didn't care. His inexorable positivity was a quality Ben had relied on for years, even as he kept rolling his eyes at Chris spouting serendipitous nonsense. He'd counted on the fact that when people loved Chris, they somehow hated him a little less too. Besides, he also still went out with Tom and Jean-Ralphio, he still roomed with Andy and April, he still went shopping with Donna Meagle. He liked it that way. They all complemented him, they broadened his horizons, he didn't need any carbon copies of himself. So now, given he was one of only handful people who were in the know, that's what he was doing here. Being a friend.
"Well, just- just know that I certainly don't hold it against you. I mean, that - would be ridiculous. I think. And I just … wanted you to know that. But cranberry juice, really? Do you have a urinary tract infection or something?"
"I do not. However, it's never too early to take preventative measures. It also tastes better than about 90% of the things I drink."
"Unfortunately, I have no trouble believing that. At all."
"Ben," Chris said with the patent mixture of good-natured annoyance and genuine amusement he'd perfected over the years and reserved strictly for Ben's snarkiness. "Anyway. Thank you. No reason to dwell on it though, since all of it is now in the hands of your stunningly competent fiancée. Who, I'm sure, will do a marvelous job and leave no stone unturned." He took a sip of cranberry juice. Ben suppressed a grimace. "Hm. Which is of course highly admirable and exactly how it should be. I just wish I wasn't the subject of it."
"Chris, Leslie won't make it any harder on you than it has to be. I'm, I'm … pretty sure of it. And you did request this trial yourself, which will obviously work in your favour-"
"Ben, I appreciate your compassion. It makes you what you are. And what you are is literally the finest human being I know. But I believe she not only has every right, but that she should be hard on me. This is an extremely serious matter-"
"Sleeping with your ex-girlfriend a couple times? I don't know, I could think of worse. Like, like spending months hiding an illicit relationship, maybe. Or only coming forward because your girlfriend was running for office and it was going to come out anyway…"
Chris smiled wryly. "Well. You paid the price, didn't you?"
"I guess. As you say, it seems to have worked out for the best."
"Hm." For a while, they sat in companionable silence and sipped their drinks, absently watching the basketball game on TV. Indiana Pacers versus Chicago Bulls. No wonder the bar was so well patronized tonight.
____________________
≈
As first impressions went, Leslie's of Graham could've been better. And vice versa probably. It was April 2012. Extraordinarily, Ann had been going out with him for two months and he still hadn't been properly vetted by Leslie. But it was April 2012 and like anything in early 2012 it was forgiven because it was universally understood that Leslie was in full campaign-craziness mode.
She finally met Graham at a picnic her campaign was throwing for the general public in Ramsett Park. There had been a minor hiccup with the catering - they'd ended up serving gin and tonics and duck à l'orange at 10:30 in the morning - so her fuse had been a little short.
"Hi Graham, great to meet you finally. Thanks for coming all the way from … I don't even know where you live!" According to Ann, he was blond doctor of average height who'd just transferred to St. Joe's from Monroe Hospital in Bloomington and, if memory served, he still lived somewhere out of town. If there had been additional details, she couldn't recall them just then because her head was overflowing with talking points on public spending. "Anyway. Thanks for coming."
"Hi yourself. So you're the one stealing Ann away from me at all hours. Keep an eye on you." He winked. Ew. She disliked him instantly. Obviously he had it all backwards. And then there was the kicker. "And for the record - it's Eagleton. Ann didn't tell you I just bought a house there?"
"Ann Meredith Perkins! You AREN'T going to tell me you're DATING an EA-URGH-GLETONIAN!" she yelled, making it sound as if she was about to throw up. Which she was.
"What's the problem?" Graham asked at the same time as Ann began to frantically explain, "No no. Leslie. He's just moved here, he doesn't even know- it's really just a property value type thing, it doesn't mean anything and besides a lot of the doctors at St. Joe's commute from Eagleton so it's really not that unu-"
"Seriously, Ann? I can't- I don't have time for this right now. I have to give an interview explaining why I'm contributing to public drunkenness at a Sunday morning family picnic," she said and strode off.
For all that though, Graham seemed a good enough guy. He had a good job. He worked out but wasn't insane about it. He liked Downton Abbey just as much as Ann did. He wanted kids and didn't like to play games. And he'd rather swept Ann off her feet. Leslie never quite got over the Eagleton-thing - there'd been a major tantrum and a minor crisis when Ann declared she was moving in with him - but at least he'd seemed better relationship material than anybody since Mark. He proposed just three months after that day in April and they were married by the following January. It all seemed pretty fast to Leslie, but Ann had pled that there was the age factor and the parent approval factor (which was of course absolute because Graham happened to be a doctor) and that it somehow just made sense. And that Leslie wasn't really one to argue when her own boyfriend lived like he was still attending college rather than teaching it. Which was maybe fair enough.
≈
____________________
"I just - hate being angry." Chris shook his head sadly. "And the only thing worse than being angry is being angry with myself. The utter futility of it. All of it. At least you and Leslie bring out the best in each other. Ann and I … that ended years ago."
"Yeah, so why did you … ?"
He shrugged. "Wish I knew. The heat of the moment? She was there, in front of the mural. She was clearly unhappy. I tried to cheer her up. One thing led to another. Next thing I know she was kissing me, the buttons of my shirt went flying-"
"Alright. I don't need explicit details."
They returned to their comfortable silence after that, watching the game. Ben wasn't the biggest sports fan, but neither did he mind. He'd long since made his peace with what it meant to live in the Hoosier State, knew that as an Indianapolis native, Chris's had a deep-seated Pacers love that needed no explanation.
"That was fantastic! That last rebound? Marvelous. Great game," Chris commented as they exited the bar.
"The Bull's won, Chris." All around them, other patrons were leaving, muttering angrily amongst themselves or hanging their heads in silence.
"Ben! You can't argue with their performance. Terrific! A joy to watch!"
____________________
"Why didn't you tell me?"
It was possibly not the most sensitive thing to ask, she realized belatedly when Ann snorted in frustration. "I don't know, Leslie, I guess it's just shitty timing. … I mean, I had this feeling that things weren't working out and next thing I knew, Ben was asking me what I knew about diamond cuts and then you were in this happy little bubble of … well, of hysteria. To put it mildly."
It was true. She had been a little deranged after Ben had popped the question. It had started with such queries as whether it would bum Ben out more if his father showed up at the wedding and stared his disapproving stare at them all day or if he didn't show at all and whether cloud seeding could be done pre-emptively to ensure with absolute certainty it wouldn't rain that day. Things had quickly gone downhill from there to contingency plans in case Harvey James Park was overrun by the herd of hippopotami recently acquired by Pawnee Zoo and/or a mob of angry citizens demanding to know why the wedding cake didn't contain any lemon curd (Leslie didn't care for it). Ben had put his foot down when Ann alerted him that Leslie had started making concrete plans for eloping to Samoa. That might've been construed as a fiendish betrayal, but Ann had put forth the very valid argument that she expected to be forced to wear at least as ugly a bridesmaid's dress at Leslie's wedding as Leslie had at hers, while Leslie shone stunningly in white. Leslie would've commenced agonizing over whether white even looked good on her if Ben hadn't decreed - in that fascist hardass voice of his that brooked no argument - that nobody was allowed to worry about anything until they at least set a date. Since then, everything had been great. No date had been set and nothing had changed, really, except for that bling on her finger which made Leslie smile with the knowledge that Ben had every intention of being Mr Knope. Someday.
"Leslie, you were just so happy and … and insane. But in a- well not in a good, but in a sweet way. I guess I couldn't stand to take any of that away from you."
"Oh Ann."
They were silent for a little while. Ann sipping her martini, Leslie frantically racking her brains for something to say or do that would make it all better and coming up empty.
"How about we just get really, really drunk?"
"I thought you'd never ask." Ann's smile was genuine for the first time that night.
++++
3 AM. Leslie woke with a start, an idea at the forefront of her mind. She gently disentangled herself from Ben's arm around her waist and went into the living room. She opened her padfolio on another new page. She drew a pen. She labelled the page Trial. Then she pre-empted the result.
Nobody will get fired, she wrote.
Part 3