parks & rec fic: next stop, the world (2/11)
next stop, the world [2/11]
Leslie/Ben, Chris/Ann, Andy/April
pg-13. 3412 words.
The best thing about working for Ron Swanson is, when he doesn't know what to say, the waffles are on him. Leslie decides to run for office, antics ensue.
Note: The next part! I wanted to wait to post, but tomorrow I'm going to a wedding in Texas and will be there for the next week. I'm not sure what my internet situation will be, so it may take up to a week before the next bit. I hope you enjoy, though. ♥
(You can read the first part here.)
Ann isn't sure why Leslie keeps trying to make herself eat salad, particularly now as she watches her best friend wrinkle her nose at the green leaves of spinach in front of her. They're covered in ranch dressing, which should probably be outlawed in Pawnee for the sake of everyone's health, but Leslie has still barely picked at the salad, except for eating the candied pecans on top.
"I just don't get it, Ann," Leslie's saying, twirling her fork in the green-and-white mixture, "I told him this great, secret news and he freaks out. He just left like he had a meeting or something. But he knows that I know there's no such thing as a meeting that late on Saturday. Unless it was a national emergency. But there wasn't a national emergency or I would've known about it. So I don't get it." This is the fifth time they've had this conversation, twice today, once Saturday night, once on Sunday via phone, and once on Sunday over donuts.
"Well, he does have that whole traumatic teen mayor thing in his past," Ann says, skipping the yeah, that was so ridiculous since it didn't seem to work the first four times. "Or maybe one of the guys at the Bulge was coming on to him and you didn't see? Remember how he was with your mom?" The idea hadn't occurred to her before now but it's a viable option.
Leslie ignores this second suggestion. "Okay, maybe I shouldn't have sprung it on him like that, but seriously? How could he not know I wanted to run for office, eventually? Is it so weird that eventually is now?"
"I don't know," she says, trying not to sound frustrated, just genuinely puzzled. "Why don't you, I don't know, call him and ask him what's up?"
"Or maybe he wanted me to talk to him about it before I decided," her friend thinks out loud, resting her chin in her hand. Under their feet, a pigeon flutters ominously. "But isn't that kind of sexist? Although he did ask me what I thought he should do when his boss wanted him to go back to Indianapolis, so... Maybe it's okay?"
"Remember how mad I was when you signed me up for an interview for this job?" Ann says. Leslie smiles as she catches her eye. Luckily their first fight was easily patched over. "I think you should talk to him and find out. If you keep avoiding him, things are just going to get weirder."
"It would solve a lot of problems," Leslie mutters.
"You need to talk to him before you decide to break up with him," she says, pulling Leslie's untouched salad away from her. Maybe there are a few spinach leaves untouched by heaping globs of ranch dressing. She finds a grape tomato and pops it into her mouth. "Really, if you talk to him you'll find out there's a totally reasonable explanation and you two can go back to being crazy about each other. Just as long as you don't make out in my yard again."
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that." Leslie's face has gone all soft and smiley, though, which means she isn't actually sorry. As long as it never happens again. "Just -- what do I say to him?"
Ann's fishing around for a response when a plate of un-dressinged salad appears right next to her, and she looks up into Chris's grinning face.
"Ann Perkins and Leslie Knope! Would it be all right with you if I joined literally my favorite government employees for lunch today?" He looks more tan than he did on Saturday, but he's smiling just as broadly in the sunlight as on the Fourth Floor. Only Chris could manage to do that.
"Sure," she says, smiling to make up for Leslie's vacant expression. "How's your week starting off?"
"I think this may literally be the best week ever," he says, pausing to take a bite of dandelion greens and bell peppers. "I went on the most amazing 10K run this morning to watch the sunrise. The leaves are all out on the trees in Ramsett Park and the birds sounded exquisite today. Once I got to work it was mostly crunching numbers but this little five year old girl somehow wandered into my office and we played Pattycake together. She was adorable. And now I'm here, eating a delicious lunch with Ann Perkins and Leslie Knope."
One day Ann would like to find out if his cheeks ever get sore from smiling so much. It's not that she dislikes his positivity, just that she's not sure how it's physically possible.
"That sounds great," she says, fishing a snow pea pod out of Leslie's salad, enjoying the burst of green sweetness as she bites into it. Chris has this weird effect of making food taste better in his presence. Maybe it's just that she makes a point of noticing. It distracts her from looking at him. "Well, I hope it literally is the best week ever." She pronounces it like him, emphasis on the lit, which makes a smile flash on Leslie's face as she gets up from her spot at the table.
"I was just telling Ann that I have to go meet with Ron about something," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You know, a park. And raccoons. The usual things Ron and I talk about." She's probably going to go find Ben and figure things out. Or make out. Ann's still not sure which order they would take.
"I hope you have an incredible meeting," Chris says, turning on his brightest grin. "Tell Ron Swanson I hope he has a phenomenal day."
Leslie just nods and power walks out of the courtyard. Chris has really got to change his rule on employee dating, if only for the sake of his relationship with Leslie. Although if she gets elected for mayor -- a sound near her right ear draws her attention back to the man sitting next to her.
"--plans for the rest of the day?" She's not sure what the question is, exactly, but the expression on his face is familiar. It's how he used to look when he was asking if she was free for dinner, with him.
"Wait, what were you saying?" She pushes her bangs off her forehead and tries not to look too pathetic or nostalgic. Or both.
"I was saying, what are your plans for the rest of the day?" Why's he still looking at her like that?
"More work on the obesity epidemic," she says, sifting again through Leslie's sludgy salad. "I'm trying to see when it started and see if we can maybe use that angle, like, look how amazing everyone looked in 1958!"
"Did they look amazing in 1958?" If this were anybody but Chris Traeger, Ann would swear he just scooted closer towards her. As it is, he's probably maximizing his metabolic digestion rate or something.
"So far it looks like heightened obesity goes back to World War One." It's easy to slip into her nurse's voice, the cool competence and slightly fancy words. She's still navigating this whole friends thing, with him. "But the percentage drops in the 1950s, a little bit, so maybe we can take a retro chic angle."
"That is truly fascinating," Chris says, literally resting his chin on his fist like he's the real life inspiration for The Thinker, which, given the man sitting next to her, really isn't too much of a stretch. "I'm sure your work this afternoon will be super productive."
"I hope so," she says, feeling her shoulders relax. The way he says it, it feels like it might actually be true.
"Ron, I said I was in a meeting with you so I'm here," Leslie says, slumping slightly against the walls of his office. "Is there anybody you need me to talk to?"
"You're still avoiding Chris," Ron says, not taking his eyes off the gun he's polishing. He probably shouldn't have that in City Hall, and how did he get it past the metal detector at the front door? She's given up on figuring that out.
"Except that now he's all buddy-buddy with Ann! What's up with that? Can't she see that he's ruining my life?"
"You know you shouldn't be telling your boss this, right?" He squints his eyes to get a better look. His eyebrows still aren't back, completely, and mentally she mutters I'm sorry for about the millionth time.
"Well, yeah. But you're Ron Swanson. We've worked together for years. And Tom quit two weeks ago, so who else would I talk to about this?"
"Don't talk to Tom about this." He cocks the gun and squints up his face like he's getting good visibility before shooting. He wouldn't shoot a gun at work. "It'd be Entertainment 7-whatever's first profitable outing."
"Okay, I won't tell Tom," she says, shifting her weight. "It's not like I was going to. It's just -- you know how sometimes everything gets to be almost perfect, and then those little things that keep it from being actually perfect get really annoying?"
Ron sighs, resting his hand against his mustache in a way that is too significant. She thought of getting him a fake one, but when she and Ben went to the costume shop last week, none of them looked like the famous Swanson mustache. Then they got distracted by all the sexy costumes. And the fitting rooms.
"I'll tell you what, Knope," he finally says, setting the gun on the desk, "it seems to me like you could use some waffles and all that sugary crap you put on top of them."
The best thing about working for Ron Swanson is, when he doesn't know what to say, the waffles are on him.
Tom keeps leaving messages on his voicemail, telling Ben he should come check out Entertainment 720. On the one he left yesterday, he brought up his Donezo List again. It's not like he's having a work lunch with Leslie today. The blinding white of the room makes him immediately regret this decision, and the fact that he left his sunglasses sitting on the dashboard of his car.
"Yo Ben!" Tom says, running towards him. His footsteps make booming echoes. How do they get any work done around here? "How's it hangin'?"
"Um, things are going pretty well. How's the new job going?"
"Dude, this job is dope! Jean-Ralphio just left to pick up some ladies from the Glitter Factory for inspiration, and Detlef comes in once a week to shoot baskets and look awesome. We just got our third client yesterday!" His eyes are lit up in a way that Ben's only seen before when Tom's been at the Snakehole Lounge, and even then he thought it probably had more to do with the weird lighting than anything.
"That's great, Tom." He looks over at the white covered couch. It's straight out of a Lady Gaga video or something. Did Tom manage to cry his way into all this furniture?
"Yeah, Joan Calamezzo's interviewing us for the fourth time tomorrow. I guess we're the biggest thing since Li'l Sebastian."
"Wow," Ben says, remembering once again that this pony was a big deal in Pawnee and trying to smile wide enough. "Listen, this is my lunch break. Do you mind if I eat my sandwich while I'm here?"
"Only if you wash it down with a glass of Snake Juice." Tom's already running to a bright white mini fridge in the corner of the room. "Seriously, I have three cases of this stuff. Jean-Ralphio's throat closed up after the second bottle last week. The ambulance driver's one of our clients now, though."
"What is he doing, running for Mayor of Pawnee?" He was trying for joking but it comes out way too bitter and true. It's probably the spindly chair he's trying to sit on. If a chair is something to be something you comfortably rest your butt on, this is definitely not a chair.
Tom frowns while he pours Snake Juice into tumblers that are way too big for that drink.
"You sound way bitter," he says once he's handed Ben a glass. "Why don't you let Tommy Timberlake know what's eating you?"
"What the hell." The Snake Juice burns all the way down. At least it's more interesting than his chicken salad sandwich. "I have this girlfriend and we're having issues."
"Wait, you have a girlfriend? Is she an elf or something?" Tom's face has lit up again. On a different day, this would be the kind of thing Ben would debate filming and posting on Youtube, for laughs. "Did she make you sit through the wrong Star Trek series too many times?"
"No, it's just -- she got this really great opportunity offered to her. And it's really awesome, but it changes things for us. She just sprung it on me and I freaked out and now things are weird." He takes another gulp of Snake Juice. Chris is way more fun to deal with when he's tipsy, so that's something. Just so long as he can make it back to City Hall intact.
"And now you're moping around in the Dreamatorium," Tom says, looking almost thoughtful as he takes a sip. "Which, don't get me wrong, is a great place to mope, but dude! Sweep her off her feet! Show her you're worth the lame ties and nerdy hobbies! Buy her diamonds or take her on a trip or something!"
"So you're saying we don't need to work out our issues, by, you know, talking or something," Ben paraphrases, enjoying the aftertaste at the back of his mouth, "I just need to buy her things."
"Exactly! As long as you have a special lady friend, all you need is to make sure she feels special and you're golden." He nods in such a self-assured way that it's hard not to believe him. Chris has convinced Ben this way at least a hundred times, except that Leslie isn't some dumpy Indiana town and he's pretty sure she won't send him death threats. He drains the glass with a flourish.
"You know what, Tom, that idea is actually not awful," he says, pressing his lips together in concentration, and holding his glass out. "Just give me more of that Snor -- I mean, let me help you finish some more of that Snake Juice."
April's in the middle of her mid-afternoon break. Andy has banished Kyle from the premises and has gotten a glob of shoe-shine right in the middle of her left palm. It's okay because he got it there by holding his hand.
It's going to be even better once she smears the glob down his face. She's going to do it slowly, like getting covered in gross brown shoe-shine is the sexiest thing ever. She can picture the way Andy's going to smile.
"How's it going, guys?"
They both turn and stare at the familiar/unfamiliar voice of their roommate. Except it's like Ben Wyatt has a crazy twin, or something. The top button's unbuttoned on his dorky checkered shirt and he's rolled up his sleeves and he definitely looks drunk. It's three PM on a Monday afternoon. Go Ben.
"We're awesome!" Andy says, raising his shoe-shined hand for a high five. Ben actually goes for it and makes palm-to-palm contact, although he kinda flails afterwards.
"Well, that's great." He's swaying in place. "Hey, I meant to say that I loved that clay doll you guys left outside my door. Is it supposed to be me?"
"What, you didn't recognize your huge face and tiny tie?" April says, smiling in that way she knows looks menacing. Maybe it'll haunt his dreams or something.
Ben laughs half-assedly and walks away. They watch him go for a second. He might run into somebody important.
Once he disappears behind a door (hopefully it's the bathroom), Andy wraps his arm around her waist and this time, her left hand makes slow, sultry contact with the side of his face.
When Leslie pulls into her driveway, the sunsetting light is just enough to show that somebody's sitting on her doorstep. That someone is wearing a skinny tie and holding a takeout box from JJs, and even though he's squinting into the sunlight that's tinting him a crazy shade of orange, Leslie can't help but grin at Ben as she steps out of her car. Then she remembers Saturday night and tries to rearrange her face into puzzled, just in time to meet Ben in front of her door.
"Do you have a question about the Parks summer budget?" she says, loudly enough that the neighbors can hear if they're snooping around. "You should step in, or else I'll get flies in the house." It's something her mother always says.
Ben's eyes widen slightly but he follows her inside to her now-clean house. He wobbles a little, which is weird for him, and takes a seat on her staircase. He sets the takeout box next to him, which doesn't stop it from wafting the delicious scent of waffles towards her.
"Listen, Leslie, I need to apologize for Saturday night. I'm still trying to be a grown up and you need to follow your dreams. I mean, and you need to follow your dreams, shit, I had this all planned out in my head..."
"Wait -- are you drunk? On a Monday night?" She leans against the wall across from him and lets gravity pull her towards the floor, without so much as taking off her heels.
"Tom made me drink some of his Snake Juice. That sounded dirty. It's a long story." He rubs his palms against his face and yeah, he was a jerk, but she really wants to undo his tie and wrap her arms around him. "Here's the thing. You just sprung the mayor thing on me and I know you have to be secretive and everything but it was like, it was like watching my life flush down the toilet again. I could even hear the swirling noises. And you should get to have that."
"Thank you," she says, trying to be cautious, still. He's fishing around for some papers under the box of what smells just like waffles and whipped cream. If he drunkenly made her campaign posters, they will probably be the cutest thing ever.
Instead he hands her printouts with the names of hotels on them, and it's not until she gets to the city that she realizes this isn't some weird way to tack on a meeting on hotel codes to his apology. The hotels are in Miami, three weeks from now.
"Okay, I didn't tell Tom about us, I just told him I had, um, lady problems," and here she decides his drunk laugh is probably her favorite sound in the world, "and he said I should sweep my lady off her feet. So I was thinking. There are some really pretty state parks in Miami and Ron said you have about two months' worth of sick days saved up and I bet you can miss a week of campaigning because you're beautiful and amazing and everyone will vote for you. So, I was wondering, do you want to go see manatees and tropical flowers with me?"
"That would be the best," she says, and now she can smile and wrap her arms around him, even if woah, he really does smell like Snake Juice. She's never seen a manatee in real life. Maybe there's more they should talk about but seriously, how many guys know the romantic value of cute ocean animals? "I'd love to go."
"Good," Ben says, his words slightly muffled by the fabric of her blazer, "because those things are non-refundable and nobody wants to spend a week alone even on the best vacation ever."
"I like you when you're drunk," she says. Three weeks is enough time to get her campaign launched and get things settled in the Parks Department. Maybe Ann can help with some of the summer fun things they've got planned, the week that she's gone. She runs her fingers against the line of his jaw.
He pulls her towards him and then, because sometimes everything comes up Leslie Knope, they're making out on her staircase. There will be time for waffles eventually.
part 3!
Leslie/Ben, Chris/Ann, Andy/April
pg-13. 3412 words.
The best thing about working for Ron Swanson is, when he doesn't know what to say, the waffles are on him. Leslie decides to run for office, antics ensue.
Note: The next part! I wanted to wait to post, but tomorrow I'm going to a wedding in Texas and will be there for the next week. I'm not sure what my internet situation will be, so it may take up to a week before the next bit. I hope you enjoy, though. ♥
(You can read the first part here.)
Ann isn't sure why Leslie keeps trying to make herself eat salad, particularly now as she watches her best friend wrinkle her nose at the green leaves of spinach in front of her. They're covered in ranch dressing, which should probably be outlawed in Pawnee for the sake of everyone's health, but Leslie has still barely picked at the salad, except for eating the candied pecans on top.
"I just don't get it, Ann," Leslie's saying, twirling her fork in the green-and-white mixture, "I told him this great, secret news and he freaks out. He just left like he had a meeting or something. But he knows that I know there's no such thing as a meeting that late on Saturday. Unless it was a national emergency. But there wasn't a national emergency or I would've known about it. So I don't get it." This is the fifth time they've had this conversation, twice today, once Saturday night, once on Sunday via phone, and once on Sunday over donuts.
"Well, he does have that whole traumatic teen mayor thing in his past," Ann says, skipping the yeah, that was so ridiculous since it didn't seem to work the first four times. "Or maybe one of the guys at the Bulge was coming on to him and you didn't see? Remember how he was with your mom?" The idea hadn't occurred to her before now but it's a viable option.
Leslie ignores this second suggestion. "Okay, maybe I shouldn't have sprung it on him like that, but seriously? How could he not know I wanted to run for office, eventually? Is it so weird that eventually is now?"
"I don't know," she says, trying not to sound frustrated, just genuinely puzzled. "Why don't you, I don't know, call him and ask him what's up?"
"Or maybe he wanted me to talk to him about it before I decided," her friend thinks out loud, resting her chin in her hand. Under their feet, a pigeon flutters ominously. "But isn't that kind of sexist? Although he did ask me what I thought he should do when his boss wanted him to go back to Indianapolis, so... Maybe it's okay?"
"Remember how mad I was when you signed me up for an interview for this job?" Ann says. Leslie smiles as she catches her eye. Luckily their first fight was easily patched over. "I think you should talk to him and find out. If you keep avoiding him, things are just going to get weirder."
"It would solve a lot of problems," Leslie mutters.
"You need to talk to him before you decide to break up with him," she says, pulling Leslie's untouched salad away from her. Maybe there are a few spinach leaves untouched by heaping globs of ranch dressing. She finds a grape tomato and pops it into her mouth. "Really, if you talk to him you'll find out there's a totally reasonable explanation and you two can go back to being crazy about each other. Just as long as you don't make out in my yard again."
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that." Leslie's face has gone all soft and smiley, though, which means she isn't actually sorry. As long as it never happens again. "Just -- what do I say to him?"
Ann's fishing around for a response when a plate of un-dressinged salad appears right next to her, and she looks up into Chris's grinning face.
"Ann Perkins and Leslie Knope! Would it be all right with you if I joined literally my favorite government employees for lunch today?" He looks more tan than he did on Saturday, but he's smiling just as broadly in the sunlight as on the Fourth Floor. Only Chris could manage to do that.
"Sure," she says, smiling to make up for Leslie's vacant expression. "How's your week starting off?"
"I think this may literally be the best week ever," he says, pausing to take a bite of dandelion greens and bell peppers. "I went on the most amazing 10K run this morning to watch the sunrise. The leaves are all out on the trees in Ramsett Park and the birds sounded exquisite today. Once I got to work it was mostly crunching numbers but this little five year old girl somehow wandered into my office and we played Pattycake together. She was adorable. And now I'm here, eating a delicious lunch with Ann Perkins and Leslie Knope."
One day Ann would like to find out if his cheeks ever get sore from smiling so much. It's not that she dislikes his positivity, just that she's not sure how it's physically possible.
"That sounds great," she says, fishing a snow pea pod out of Leslie's salad, enjoying the burst of green sweetness as she bites into it. Chris has this weird effect of making food taste better in his presence. Maybe it's just that she makes a point of noticing. It distracts her from looking at him. "Well, I hope it literally is the best week ever." She pronounces it like him, emphasis on the lit, which makes a smile flash on Leslie's face as she gets up from her spot at the table.
"I was just telling Ann that I have to go meet with Ron about something," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You know, a park. And raccoons. The usual things Ron and I talk about." She's probably going to go find Ben and figure things out. Or make out. Ann's still not sure which order they would take.
"I hope you have an incredible meeting," Chris says, turning on his brightest grin. "Tell Ron Swanson I hope he has a phenomenal day."
Leslie just nods and power walks out of the courtyard. Chris has really got to change his rule on employee dating, if only for the sake of his relationship with Leslie. Although if she gets elected for mayor -- a sound near her right ear draws her attention back to the man sitting next to her.
"--plans for the rest of the day?" She's not sure what the question is, exactly, but the expression on his face is familiar. It's how he used to look when he was asking if she was free for dinner, with him.
"Wait, what were you saying?" She pushes her bangs off her forehead and tries not to look too pathetic or nostalgic. Or both.
"I was saying, what are your plans for the rest of the day?" Why's he still looking at her like that?
"More work on the obesity epidemic," she says, sifting again through Leslie's sludgy salad. "I'm trying to see when it started and see if we can maybe use that angle, like, look how amazing everyone looked in 1958!"
"Did they look amazing in 1958?" If this were anybody but Chris Traeger, Ann would swear he just scooted closer towards her. As it is, he's probably maximizing his metabolic digestion rate or something.
"So far it looks like heightened obesity goes back to World War One." It's easy to slip into her nurse's voice, the cool competence and slightly fancy words. She's still navigating this whole friends thing, with him. "But the percentage drops in the 1950s, a little bit, so maybe we can take a retro chic angle."
"That is truly fascinating," Chris says, literally resting his chin on his fist like he's the real life inspiration for The Thinker, which, given the man sitting next to her, really isn't too much of a stretch. "I'm sure your work this afternoon will be super productive."
"I hope so," she says, feeling her shoulders relax. The way he says it, it feels like it might actually be true.
"Ron, I said I was in a meeting with you so I'm here," Leslie says, slumping slightly against the walls of his office. "Is there anybody you need me to talk to?"
"You're still avoiding Chris," Ron says, not taking his eyes off the gun he's polishing. He probably shouldn't have that in City Hall, and how did he get it past the metal detector at the front door? She's given up on figuring that out.
"Except that now he's all buddy-buddy with Ann! What's up with that? Can't she see that he's ruining my life?"
"You know you shouldn't be telling your boss this, right?" He squints his eyes to get a better look. His eyebrows still aren't back, completely, and mentally she mutters I'm sorry for about the millionth time.
"Well, yeah. But you're Ron Swanson. We've worked together for years. And Tom quit two weeks ago, so who else would I talk to about this?"
"Don't talk to Tom about this." He cocks the gun and squints up his face like he's getting good visibility before shooting. He wouldn't shoot a gun at work. "It'd be Entertainment 7-whatever's first profitable outing."
"Okay, I won't tell Tom," she says, shifting her weight. "It's not like I was going to. It's just -- you know how sometimes everything gets to be almost perfect, and then those little things that keep it from being actually perfect get really annoying?"
Ron sighs, resting his hand against his mustache in a way that is too significant. She thought of getting him a fake one, but when she and Ben went to the costume shop last week, none of them looked like the famous Swanson mustache. Then they got distracted by all the sexy costumes. And the fitting rooms.
"I'll tell you what, Knope," he finally says, setting the gun on the desk, "it seems to me like you could use some waffles and all that sugary crap you put on top of them."
The best thing about working for Ron Swanson is, when he doesn't know what to say, the waffles are on him.
Tom keeps leaving messages on his voicemail, telling Ben he should come check out Entertainment 720. On the one he left yesterday, he brought up his Donezo List again. It's not like he's having a work lunch with Leslie today. The blinding white of the room makes him immediately regret this decision, and the fact that he left his sunglasses sitting on the dashboard of his car.
"Yo Ben!" Tom says, running towards him. His footsteps make booming echoes. How do they get any work done around here? "How's it hangin'?"
"Um, things are going pretty well. How's the new job going?"
"Dude, this job is dope! Jean-Ralphio just left to pick up some ladies from the Glitter Factory for inspiration, and Detlef comes in once a week to shoot baskets and look awesome. We just got our third client yesterday!" His eyes are lit up in a way that Ben's only seen before when Tom's been at the Snakehole Lounge, and even then he thought it probably had more to do with the weird lighting than anything.
"That's great, Tom." He looks over at the white covered couch. It's straight out of a Lady Gaga video or something. Did Tom manage to cry his way into all this furniture?
"Yeah, Joan Calamezzo's interviewing us for the fourth time tomorrow. I guess we're the biggest thing since Li'l Sebastian."
"Wow," Ben says, remembering once again that this pony was a big deal in Pawnee and trying to smile wide enough. "Listen, this is my lunch break. Do you mind if I eat my sandwich while I'm here?"
"Only if you wash it down with a glass of Snake Juice." Tom's already running to a bright white mini fridge in the corner of the room. "Seriously, I have three cases of this stuff. Jean-Ralphio's throat closed up after the second bottle last week. The ambulance driver's one of our clients now, though."
"What is he doing, running for Mayor of Pawnee?" He was trying for joking but it comes out way too bitter and true. It's probably the spindly chair he's trying to sit on. If a chair is something to be something you comfortably rest your butt on, this is definitely not a chair.
Tom frowns while he pours Snake Juice into tumblers that are way too big for that drink.
"You sound way bitter," he says once he's handed Ben a glass. "Why don't you let Tommy Timberlake know what's eating you?"
"What the hell." The Snake Juice burns all the way down. At least it's more interesting than his chicken salad sandwich. "I have this girlfriend and we're having issues."
"Wait, you have a girlfriend? Is she an elf or something?" Tom's face has lit up again. On a different day, this would be the kind of thing Ben would debate filming and posting on Youtube, for laughs. "Did she make you sit through the wrong Star Trek series too many times?"
"No, it's just -- she got this really great opportunity offered to her. And it's really awesome, but it changes things for us. She just sprung it on me and I freaked out and now things are weird." He takes another gulp of Snake Juice. Chris is way more fun to deal with when he's tipsy, so that's something. Just so long as he can make it back to City Hall intact.
"And now you're moping around in the Dreamatorium," Tom says, looking almost thoughtful as he takes a sip. "Which, don't get me wrong, is a great place to mope, but dude! Sweep her off her feet! Show her you're worth the lame ties and nerdy hobbies! Buy her diamonds or take her on a trip or something!"
"So you're saying we don't need to work out our issues, by, you know, talking or something," Ben paraphrases, enjoying the aftertaste at the back of his mouth, "I just need to buy her things."
"Exactly! As long as you have a special lady friend, all you need is to make sure she feels special and you're golden." He nods in such a self-assured way that it's hard not to believe him. Chris has convinced Ben this way at least a hundred times, except that Leslie isn't some dumpy Indiana town and he's pretty sure she won't send him death threats. He drains the glass with a flourish.
"You know what, Tom, that idea is actually not awful," he says, pressing his lips together in concentration, and holding his glass out. "Just give me more of that Snor -- I mean, let me help you finish some more of that Snake Juice."
April's in the middle of her mid-afternoon break. Andy has banished Kyle from the premises and has gotten a glob of shoe-shine right in the middle of her left palm. It's okay because he got it there by holding his hand.
It's going to be even better once she smears the glob down his face. She's going to do it slowly, like getting covered in gross brown shoe-shine is the sexiest thing ever. She can picture the way Andy's going to smile.
"How's it going, guys?"
They both turn and stare at the familiar/unfamiliar voice of their roommate. Except it's like Ben Wyatt has a crazy twin, or something. The top button's unbuttoned on his dorky checkered shirt and he's rolled up his sleeves and he definitely looks drunk. It's three PM on a Monday afternoon. Go Ben.
"We're awesome!" Andy says, raising his shoe-shined hand for a high five. Ben actually goes for it and makes palm-to-palm contact, although he kinda flails afterwards.
"Well, that's great." He's swaying in place. "Hey, I meant to say that I loved that clay doll you guys left outside my door. Is it supposed to be me?"
"What, you didn't recognize your huge face and tiny tie?" April says, smiling in that way she knows looks menacing. Maybe it'll haunt his dreams or something.
Ben laughs half-assedly and walks away. They watch him go for a second. He might run into somebody important.
Once he disappears behind a door (hopefully it's the bathroom), Andy wraps his arm around her waist and this time, her left hand makes slow, sultry contact with the side of his face.
When Leslie pulls into her driveway, the sunsetting light is just enough to show that somebody's sitting on her doorstep. That someone is wearing a skinny tie and holding a takeout box from JJs, and even though he's squinting into the sunlight that's tinting him a crazy shade of orange, Leslie can't help but grin at Ben as she steps out of her car. Then she remembers Saturday night and tries to rearrange her face into puzzled, just in time to meet Ben in front of her door.
"Do you have a question about the Parks summer budget?" she says, loudly enough that the neighbors can hear if they're snooping around. "You should step in, or else I'll get flies in the house." It's something her mother always says.
Ben's eyes widen slightly but he follows her inside to her now-clean house. He wobbles a little, which is weird for him, and takes a seat on her staircase. He sets the takeout box next to him, which doesn't stop it from wafting the delicious scent of waffles towards her.
"Listen, Leslie, I need to apologize for Saturday night. I'm still trying to be a grown up and you need to follow your dreams. I mean, and you need to follow your dreams, shit, I had this all planned out in my head..."
"Wait -- are you drunk? On a Monday night?" She leans against the wall across from him and lets gravity pull her towards the floor, without so much as taking off her heels.
"Tom made me drink some of his Snake Juice. That sounded dirty. It's a long story." He rubs his palms against his face and yeah, he was a jerk, but she really wants to undo his tie and wrap her arms around him. "Here's the thing. You just sprung the mayor thing on me and I know you have to be secretive and everything but it was like, it was like watching my life flush down the toilet again. I could even hear the swirling noises. And you should get to have that."
"Thank you," she says, trying to be cautious, still. He's fishing around for some papers under the box of what smells just like waffles and whipped cream. If he drunkenly made her campaign posters, they will probably be the cutest thing ever.
Instead he hands her printouts with the names of hotels on them, and it's not until she gets to the city that she realizes this isn't some weird way to tack on a meeting on hotel codes to his apology. The hotels are in Miami, three weeks from now.
"Okay, I didn't tell Tom about us, I just told him I had, um, lady problems," and here she decides his drunk laugh is probably her favorite sound in the world, "and he said I should sweep my lady off her feet. So I was thinking. There are some really pretty state parks in Miami and Ron said you have about two months' worth of sick days saved up and I bet you can miss a week of campaigning because you're beautiful and amazing and everyone will vote for you. So, I was wondering, do you want to go see manatees and tropical flowers with me?"
"That would be the best," she says, and now she can smile and wrap her arms around him, even if woah, he really does smell like Snake Juice. She's never seen a manatee in real life. Maybe there's more they should talk about but seriously, how many guys know the romantic value of cute ocean animals? "I'd love to go."
"Good," Ben says, his words slightly muffled by the fabric of her blazer, "because those things are non-refundable and nobody wants to spend a week alone even on the best vacation ever."
"I like you when you're drunk," she says. Three weeks is enough time to get her campaign launched and get things settled in the Parks Department. Maybe Ann can help with some of the summer fun things they've got planned, the week that she's gone. She runs her fingers against the line of his jaw.
He pulls her towards him and then, because sometimes everything comes up Leslie Knope, they're making out on her staircase. There will be time for waffles eventually.
part 3!