parks & rec fic: next stop, the world (10b/11)
next stop, the world [10b/11]
Leslie/Ben, Chris/Ann, Andy/April
pg-13. 4816 words.
"Listen, cupcake, it's a fancy invitation and everything, but don't you think a Halloween party already has enough of a theme?" Leslie decides to run for office, antics ensue.
Note: I feel like I start every note lately by apologizing, but the final part is underway, and I hope you enjoy the shenanegins in this chapter. Thanks for sticking with me! ♥
(You can read previous parts here.)
"Listen, cupcake, it's a fancy invitation and everything, but don't you think a Halloween party already has enough of a theme?" Tom sets the cardstock invite on top of the latest stack of Leslie's campaign signs. She might have stopped talking to Ann this past week, but that doesn't mean her best friend (former, whatever) has given up. Even if she's been splitting her free time between campaigning and planning an incredible Halloween party. Last year she was all broken up over Chris dumping her, but this time nothing can stop her from celebrating her favorite holiday in style.
"But don't you think having a whole Gatsby theme would make it really classy? I was going to get those plastic martini glasses that were half off at the party supply store and buying fancy drinks and, I don't know, covering the beer labels with moonshine ones? I even started designing the labels with that software you put on my computer." She ran into this amazing silver flapper dress at the thrift shop in Snerling -- at some point Chris really did get her going to the health food store there and Ann can't seem to kick the habit -- and it's the worst when you're too fancy for your own party.
"A classy Halloween party?" Tom raises his eyebrows. The expression makes him look so much like a little kid that she's not sure why she thought it was a good idea to have him vet her party, except for the fact that he saved the last one. "Look, we're grown-ups but no one wants to feel like that when they're getting drunk with their friends. You know that, right?"
"Don't you guys have fancy government parties at City Hall?"
"Didn't you go to one of those with Leslie?"
Ann tries not to think about the Leslie part; she already spent two nights pathetically crying over the demise of their friendship over ice cream and rewatches of The Philadelphia Story, and even briefly considering this makes her feel totally pathetic. Instead she thinks about the experience of being another woman's trophy wife in the hot pink dress that wasn't even a great idea at her high school prom.
"Yeah," she says finally, trying not to squirm. All of the fancy furniture in the Dreamatorium isn't really comfortable. Her butt has gone numb at least once at every campaign session. "I can see your point."
"What you need to do," Tom says, still with that lit-up little boy expression on his face, "is only hand out a few invites to your VIPs. Then you spread the word that you're having this dope party at your place, but it's so cool that only the best of Pawnee's best could be there. Then everyone wants to crash it. That's when you get the parties everyone wants to be at."
"So... I invite the parks department and the other nurses and get ready for the whole town?" That's not exactly what she wanted, but it'd be way better than everyone standing around awkwardly.
"And then you let Entertainment 720 do the rest, dollface." The purr in his voice would be way more impressive if he didn't combine it with those finger guns. He must have some paying clients who need about two minutes of work a month, because everything Ann's seen him do is pro bono.
On the other hand, this party actually might not suck.
This year, Ron Swason thinks to himself as he tucks Ann's invitation into his empty desk drawer, he's going to be Davy Crockett for Halloween. After all, he already has the hat.
The late October wind is chilly. Leslie pulls her scarf closer around her neck, which has the added bonus of making Ben wrap his arm around her and pull her close. It'll only last until they ring the next doorbell. She slows her pace to draw the coziness out. Also, since the scandal, people have this weird habit of not answering their doors even when she can clearly hear their TVs and voices. A few hours ago, someone actually tried to spit in their faces but the spit only made it as far as Ben's shoes. Luckily she had tissues in the car. Still, all of this makes her want to slow down and enjoy just getting to walk with Ben.
"So, I was thinking about Ann's party," he says, in that look how casual I sound! voice that probably would've fooled her before they started dating. "I think it would be a good idea if we went."
"But there's so much campaigning we could be doing -- I could be doing!" He didn't look too happy about that first part. "It's ten days before the election! What if the things I say on that night change the hearts and minds of Pawnee's electorate, Ben? What if this is the game changer?"
"I don't think a lot of people are going to be coming to a town hall meeting the Friday night before Halloween," he tells her, and then, over the beginning of her explanation that that's not what she was planning even a little bit, "or be sitting around the house if you want to call or go door-to-door. They'll probably just think you're trick or treating a few days early, which I don't think will help you any."
"But she was sleeping with the enemy, Ben!" If it were a few degrees warmer she might actually step away from him but it's freezing and Ben's really good at the hand around the shoulders thing. "What kind of best friend does that?"
"You know that most local governments have that rule? They're not as serious about it, but this is Chris we're talking about. And he hasn't fired you. Or me."
"That's true. It's only because Ron threatened him, though." Her shoes make a scratchy sound as she drags them along the sidewalk. "If he fired you he'd have to give people bad news."
"Ann's your best friend," he says, stopping and looking her straight in the eyes, "and she loves Halloween. So I think we should go to the party."
"You could probably use some help with your dance moves," she says. Hopefully he understands that what she's really saying here is thanks for telling me the truth no matter what. Hopefully the fact that she kisses him, helps with the translation. Everyone knows anyway, right?
The face paint was on sale at Food 'N' Stuff for a dollar, which April just happened to have all crinkled up in her back pocket from a bet she won against Ron. (Tammy I disappeared as mysteriously as she appeared; Ron had said she would stick around forever.) Andy had wanted the football stripes that would make his character come to life, but, no offense to her husband, his whole "Reggie Wade!" thing gets kinda annoying after a while. It'd probably get worse if he dressed up like the guy for Halloween.
What she hadn't counted on was how convincing he'd be as the Joker.
She's been hiding in their bedroom for the past hour, pretending to take a nap. It wasn't until she finished the face paint and really looked at him that it had struck her -- Andy is the most adorable, sweet guy she's ever known, but with that face paint it looks like he would kill her for laughs. He hasn't noticed she's gone because of course the Colts are on Monday night football, which just confirms what an idiot she was for thinking he should be anyone but Reggie Wade for Halloween. At least Reggie Wade hasn't killed his wife or escaped from Batman, she's pretty sure.
Suddenly the sound of the TV stops in the living room.
"Honey?" Andy calls in his sweet husband voice. Too bad she can't think of him without that face paint. "You still awake?"
"You need to wash your face," she yells as fast as she can, because her voice is all trembly. It's lame to be scared, and even lamer to be scared of Andy. "You can use my soap in the bathroom."
"Sweet!" Andy yells, his footsteps thumping towards the bathroom. It smells like Japanese cherry blossom and when she first started using it, he kept smelling her and then kissing her, which was really cute.
He must've caught his own reflection in the mirror, because all of a sudden she hears this strangled scream and then the water's going at full blast.
It's another hour before she lets him in the bedroom. When she kisses him, it's like they're in their very own cherry orchard in the springtime. Hey, it's not the worst fantasy.
Chris is somehow being productive today, so Ben figures it's probably okay to stop by Ann's office, especially since she's the only one in here.
"I thought you and Leslie decided to stop making out in here," she says with a half-smile, looking up from her computer.
"You know we haven't done that since May." That's not what he came in to say. "We're coming to your party tomorrow."
Ann blinks at him. "I know Leslie likes you and everything, but -- wow, she must really like you to let you convince her over to my house. She didn't even come to my Halloween party when we were best friends."
"Wasn't she out catching a town menace or something?" He keeps getting distracted, but something about talking to Ann always makes him feel like it is possible to belong to this place and these people, even if Pawnee's only been his town of residence for two years and he's not even a part of Leslie's department.
"It wouldn't be Leslie if she wasn't," Ann sighs, still almost smiling. "Did you guys decide on costumes already?"
"Well, it took me about three hours to explain why going as the Obamas probably wouldn't send the best message, even if she borrowed really great makeup from the community theater, so, yeah, we're working on it." He's not going to tell her that they had that conversation three days ago and their actual costumes are going to be awesome.
"You're keeping it a secret."
"Yeah. That's not what I came to talk to you about." Deep breath, Wyatt, no tangents. "Listen, I've been across Indiana with Chris, and --"
Ann swivels her chair away from him, her hair swinging against her shoulders. "Look Ben, the guy's already dumped me twice and there's his rule and Leslie and I think I've sent a pretty clear message, here."
"You know he's actually enjoying giving people bad news? I walked into the office after lunch yesterday and he was cutting the sewage department's budget by ten percent."
"That's never a good idea," she says. He has to keep himself from telling her that yeah, he had to ever so sneakily follow them out of the City Manager's office and tell Joe that the paperwork wouldn't be going through, but dammit, he came here for a reason and he is going to stick to that before Chris notices he's missing.
"Yeah. Anyway. You know how Chris is, and if you think Pawnee's small, we've been to some tiny towns where they don't even get cable. Women throw themselves at Chris and somehow he stays out of their way. It might be all those ten mile runs or maybe he's just great at not getting caught, but Ann, you're a different story." Okay, finally he's said it. Hopefully it didn't sound too ridiculous. "The point is, I've known Chris for years, and the thing is, he's really serious about you."
"Does Leslie know you're telling me this?" She's tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, one of those nervous habits she shares with Leslie like some kind of intangible best friends necklace, but there are the beginnings of a real smile on his face, and shit, it feels really good to play Cupid around here sometimes.
"I sort of mentioned it to her last night. I'll talk to her about it tonight. Chris hasn't fired us yet, so it's easier, I guess."
"But it's not official yet?" If the two of them don't start talking soon, this is going to turn into a game of telephone. Still, the last double date he went on with Leslie involved April and Andy, two fires and a minor explosion, so this might be an investment in his future. Or something.
"Apparently there has to be some kind of hearing. He's postponing it until after the election, I guess he thinks that would be better for Leslie's image but he hasn't really talked to me about his rationale."
"That makes sense," she says, turning back to her computer with more than a hint of I should probably get back to work.
"I should probably go." Hopefully when he gets back to the office, Chris hasn't decided to reduce someone else's department. Or fire Leslie.
Just as he's at the door, he hears the swivel of her chair, towards him, and when he looks at her, Ann's smiling in a way that reminds him of Leslie, the way she'll just abandon her face to delight, and even if it means he has to go get Leslie un-fired, Ben's really glad he stopped by.
"Thanks for telling me about Chris," Ann says. "I know you didn't have to do that."
Watch out, world, Ben Wyatt's coming.
Chris is just about to leave for the night -- he has a few hours left before his night-time run but he plans to spend it with some raw tomato soup and a hot cup of his favorite tisane -- when the click of heels in the rhythm Ann Perkins's stride make their way into his office.
"Here's the thing," she says, placing her hands on her hips like the Wonder Woman of City Hall, "I can't pick you over Leslie. So if you decide to fire her, Chris, it's just, she's my best friend."
He's staring at her lips moving, he read somewhere that watching a person's lips as they speak aids in rapid comprehension, but still he has to sit at his desk, wordless, for at least thirty seconds after she finishes talking before he grasps the essence of what she's just said.
"Ann Perkins, I'm the City Manager," he says, once he can coax his brain to think of the right words, "and that is a position of responsibility and integrity. To suggest that I could ignore one of my own workplace rules for my personal social interests, no matter how much -- anyway, you can see how that would be an impossible compromise."
"I could close the door," she says, her voice low, "and if nobody would catch us, what would you do?" In another era, Ann Perkins really could've considered an alternate career as Mata Hari.
"If you closed the door, I would ask you out to the nicest restaurant in Indianapolis and after you left, I would call the place that has hybrid limousines and rent one but before you left, I think we would probably have to put everything back on my desk after we were done," he says, half-imagining those things in nearly exact detail.
"Do you know what Leslie's done for this town as part of the tiniest part of Pawnee's government?"
"There are a thousand towns in Indiana with the same rule I have," he says, a tiny speck of a person, looking up at her.
"A thousand towns in Indiana don't have Leslie," she says, walking towards the door. Just when he thinks she's about to leave, she turns around, her fingers resting lightly on the doorframe. "And they don't have me, either."
The office is empty but that doesn't stop Chris from imagining Ann Perkins, lingering there in his doorway, ever so slowly pulling the door shut.
The music thrums against Ann's temples. Tom told her she'd have to crank up the bass for the right party effect but it's starting to give her the beginnings of a headache. A few of the other nurses actually dressed up this year, and Doctor Harris hasn't left with his own bottle of wine yet. April and Andy got here about a half hour ago. They'd made Andy this Gumby headdress that hadn't exactly fit in the door until he tried walking in sideways, and she's not quite sure how that matched with April's Marilyn Monroe costume until Andy told her they'd picked each other's costumes. They've been grinding around on her living-room-turned-dancefloor ever since. Luckily the nurses have started joining in and not everyone's huddled in the kitchen. They really do love Andy, even after everything.
Apparently Tom plans on making a late entrance, but a few sexy cats and rabbits have told her he mentioned this party to the regulars at the Snakehole Lounge. Should she have gotten more booze? On the other hand, if they throw up all over her bathroom, the coolest party ever won't clean it up. She takes another sip of wine and debates this point for a few more seconds.
She's almost convinced herself to sneak out and buy another bottle of wine, and maybe some more tequila, when Leslie and Ben walk through the door, Elvis and Priscilla, shimmering and sparkling so much that Ann almost can't tell how obviously awkward Ben is in that clinging white jumpsuit. It helps that the aviators cover up most of his face.
Leslie starts to pull him towards the dance floor, but Ben angles his chin towards Ann, who watches as Leslie's face turns awkward under that huge beehive wig. Still, they start walking towards her and this isn't high school, she tells herself, you don't just up and walk away from your best friend. You pretend like nothing's wrong and greet her with a smile.
"Thanks for having us," Ben says, once they've gotten close enough to talk without shouting.
"Your costumes are great!" Ann tells them, setting her wineglass down on the counter. "How long did the Bedazzling take?" There's no way Leslie would trust anyone else with all these sequins.
"Oh, it was just six hours," Leslie says, making this half-assed eye contact that is nothing like what she's used to. "After we finished some campaign stuff."
"Tom told me you guys were going door to door." This isn't what you talk about with your best friend at a party for your favorite holiday. "But you probably need a break from that, right? There's food here in the kitchen and there's people dancing in the living room. I should probably run out and get some more drinks, so I'll see you two in a half hour?" Even if Leslie isn't exactly talking to her, she won't let random Pawneeans destroy her house. Hopefully.
Her jacket doesn't really match with her dress or the peacock feather in her hair but she's really glad for it when she steps outside and the wind wraps around her legs. Halloween isn't until Monday. Those trick-or-treaters are going to freeze.
She's nearly made it to her car when she hears someone else's door slam, and looks up to see that Camry Hybrid only one person in Pawnee owns, shimmering the exact color of the evening sky. Chris is carrying this huge triangular sandwich board, walking towards her.
"I'm going to go get some more drinks," she tells him. He's staring at her in a way that makes it impossible to just slink into her car and drive off in silence. "Is there anything you want?"
"No," he says, setting the triangle down on the pavement, where it fills up half the driveway. It's one of those upside down food pyramids she's seen hanging up in the health food store at Snerling. It looks like he painted it himself. "I want you, Ann Perkins."
Ordinarily it's the kind of line that would make her laugh at the cheesiness of it all, but Chris's expression is so intense and she's a little buzzed and Leslie's not even talking to her, and so, this one time, she thinks, what the hell?
"So you're breaking your own rule." The words have started to ring hollow in her own ears; the line of reasoning is wearing thin. They're grown-ups. The perk used to be that you got to do what you wanted. She takes a step closer to him. Her heels are too tall and she wobbles, just slightly. He reaches out his hand to steady her and it lands on the curve of her hip, the slightest pressure of his fingers and the warmth of his palm.
"You're an extraordinary woman. Ann Perkins." He says her name like he's trying to describe her with it, his fingers still curving over her hipbone. Her breath catches, shuddering, in her throat.
"You dumped me for Indianapolis." The words come out too rough, or else just as harsh as she wanted. She's not sure. He takes a step towards her and she has to steel her spine to keep herself from leaning into him.
"There are thousands of small towns in Indiana," he says, low, "and I won't lie to you, Ann Perkins, there have been other women in these towns, and how could I stay with any of them when I'm always going to leave? We have some fantastic dates, they find out how great they feel when they eat more raw food and when their apartments follow the rules of feng shui. Then I go back to Indianapolis. I always go back to Indianapolis, except now."
"Then why did you come back?" It would be so easy to rest her hand on top of his, or pull him closer. It's not like picking her best friend over him has really worked this time.
"Well, your City Manager had a massive heart attack," he says, returning to that cheerful tone that makes her, right now, want to smack him. "And you know, Ann Perkins, when I got back to Indianapolis, I can't explain it, but my condo was suddenly too big for one person. It's a very soothing, beautiful place, and I had spent a lot of time here in Pawnee, so I figured all I needed was more people over. But then -- in the midst of my first round of tendonitis, when I was at Lil Sebastian's memorial, I saw you looking over at me."
"You were crying a lot at that service." If this is working up to some deep confession of his feelings for her, the path he's tracing is incredibly bizarre. Then again, this is Chris Traeger.
"I was. I was thinking, at some point, maybe even sooner than the next hundred years, I will have to die. And then it occurred to me that only a few feet away is this incredible, beautiful, capable, intelligent, good-humored woman who is looking at me like she's not sure what's wrong but will do everything she can to fix it."
"You could've ended Leslie's career."
"I didn't fire her," he says, and looking at him, she sees that what he's saying, here, is I won't fire her.
"Okay." Ann tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, instantly regretting it when she remembers the glitzy earrings she added last minute as part of her costume. Of course they'd have this epic relationship talk at her Halloween party.
"Okay?" Chris takes another step towards her, slinging his other hand around her waist so that his hand rests on the small of her back, right where her jacket ends and, seriously, how is it that she can feel all ten of his fingers, warm and separate through the fabric and sequins of her dress?
"You can take me out to dinner," she says, her arms wrapping around him while she says it, resting behind his neck so that, if anyone saw, they'd totally look like some weirdly misplaced high school slow dance. "A real date, this time."
"One date?" He looks at her, eyebrows raised, the face that made her want to pack up and run to Indianapolis, that made her dye part of her hair that awful red, the one she really hasn't been able to stop thinking about, no matter how many guys or re-watches of her favorite old movies.
"You left me for Indianapolis," she says, planting her feet like it'll give her the kind of emotional strength Leslie always imagines her best friend to have, this new Ann Perkins, "and you have an incredibly stupid rule about dating and you almost ended Leslie's career. So you can take me out to dinner and we'll see where it goes."
"We'll see where it goes," he echoes, leaning towards her and oh god, she's missed kissing him even if it's just been a few weeks, maybe he practiced on all the women of Indiana, but he's just insistent enough and uses exactly the right about of tongue. He pulls her closer against him and oh god, they'd better not have run out of drinks inside because she might not make it to the liquor store for a while.
But right in the middle of this thought, there's a light against her eyelids and Tom has just pulled into her driveway, eyes wide under his pimp hat. Next to him, in the front seat, there's Jean-Ralphio. And that wouldn't be okay, even on the best day, but today is a lot worse, because he's holding a camera.
To: chris.traeger@pawnee.gov
From: tom@entertainment720.com
Subject: BUSTED!!
Hey Chris,
You might find the video attached to this email pretty interesting. If you don't want me to give it to Joan, I think there's a certain rule you need to get rid of so that one of my clients can stop worrying that he or she will get fired.
Tom
Ann's been staring at the email for the last half-hour. She's watched the video twice, once on mute because watching herself kiss Chris while hearing Tom and Jean-Ralphio comment on their technique is right up there on her list of Awful Experiences. She must've been on the BCC list, along with who else? For all she knows, Joan already has this video.
Her cell phone starts vibrating on the desk and she picks it up without looking at the name.
"Hello?"
"I told Tom to get rid of the video," comes Leslie's voice on the other side of the phone, "I just got the email an hour ago and I'm trying to stop this whole thing, Ann, I'm really sorry."
"Wait, how did you know I got it?" A few days ago she would've taken the I'm really sorry as a blanket apology and they would've gone back to being best friends, fighting this new problem together, but now she drums her fingers against her desk.
"I figured if Tom BCC'd me that he'd do the same thing for you. He put Ben on there, too. I'm not sure who else. He's not picking up his phone and I don't want this video to go public. Unless you want it to. You look really good in that costume."
"Thanks," she says, swiveling her chair, "but I didn't think you'd want to protect me if I was with Chris."
"Why didn't you tell me you were with him?" Leslie asks, avoiding the point in a way that makes Ann realize that this, in the end, was probably the point after all.
"He had that rule and you hated that and I'm pretty sure you're not the biggest Chris fan, and you've been campaigning and first there was all the Ben drama and then you were doing the Harvest Festival and then there was more Ben drama, thanks to Chris, so I figured you didn't want to know."
"It is the worst rule ever, and he could've handled the raccoons at the Harvest Festival on his own," Leslie says, "but I'm your best friend! You were the one who put that Al Green song on the mixtape when Ben and I took that roadtrip to Indianapolis. Weren't you?"
"Yeah." Of all the things she could admit to, Ann figures this is probably the most benign.
"So the point is, why would you make Chris into this big bad secret?"
"I didn't want to hurt you," she says, regretting her phrasing once the words are out of her mouth. It just sounds so cheesy. But then Leslie sighs into the phone in a familiar way that tells her, it's going to be okay.
"Oh Ann," her best friend says, that sunny voice that is the epitome of all the campaigning she's done over the last few months, the only woman who would take her town hall complaint seriously, all those months ago, "Sweet, beautiful Ann."
She presses the phone closer against her ear.
part 11!
Leslie/Ben, Chris/Ann, Andy/April
pg-13. 4816 words.
"Listen, cupcake, it's a fancy invitation and everything, but don't you think a Halloween party already has enough of a theme?" Leslie decides to run for office, antics ensue.
Note: I feel like I start every note lately by apologizing, but the final part is underway, and I hope you enjoy the shenanegins in this chapter. Thanks for sticking with me! ♥
(You can read previous parts here.)
"Listen, cupcake, it's a fancy invitation and everything, but don't you think a Halloween party already has enough of a theme?" Tom sets the cardstock invite on top of the latest stack of Leslie's campaign signs. She might have stopped talking to Ann this past week, but that doesn't mean her best friend (former, whatever) has given up. Even if she's been splitting her free time between campaigning and planning an incredible Halloween party. Last year she was all broken up over Chris dumping her, but this time nothing can stop her from celebrating her favorite holiday in style.
"But don't you think having a whole Gatsby theme would make it really classy? I was going to get those plastic martini glasses that were half off at the party supply store and buying fancy drinks and, I don't know, covering the beer labels with moonshine ones? I even started designing the labels with that software you put on my computer." She ran into this amazing silver flapper dress at the thrift shop in Snerling -- at some point Chris really did get her going to the health food store there and Ann can't seem to kick the habit -- and it's the worst when you're too fancy for your own party.
"A classy Halloween party?" Tom raises his eyebrows. The expression makes him look so much like a little kid that she's not sure why she thought it was a good idea to have him vet her party, except for the fact that he saved the last one. "Look, we're grown-ups but no one wants to feel like that when they're getting drunk with their friends. You know that, right?"
"Don't you guys have fancy government parties at City Hall?"
"Didn't you go to one of those with Leslie?"
Ann tries not to think about the Leslie part; she already spent two nights pathetically crying over the demise of their friendship over ice cream and rewatches of The Philadelphia Story, and even briefly considering this makes her feel totally pathetic. Instead she thinks about the experience of being another woman's trophy wife in the hot pink dress that wasn't even a great idea at her high school prom.
"Yeah," she says finally, trying not to squirm. All of the fancy furniture in the Dreamatorium isn't really comfortable. Her butt has gone numb at least once at every campaign session. "I can see your point."
"What you need to do," Tom says, still with that lit-up little boy expression on his face, "is only hand out a few invites to your VIPs. Then you spread the word that you're having this dope party at your place, but it's so cool that only the best of Pawnee's best could be there. Then everyone wants to crash it. That's when you get the parties everyone wants to be at."
"So... I invite the parks department and the other nurses and get ready for the whole town?" That's not exactly what she wanted, but it'd be way better than everyone standing around awkwardly.
"And then you let Entertainment 720 do the rest, dollface." The purr in his voice would be way more impressive if he didn't combine it with those finger guns. He must have some paying clients who need about two minutes of work a month, because everything Ann's seen him do is pro bono.
On the other hand, this party actually might not suck.
This year, Ron Swason thinks to himself as he tucks Ann's invitation into his empty desk drawer, he's going to be Davy Crockett for Halloween. After all, he already has the hat.
The late October wind is chilly. Leslie pulls her scarf closer around her neck, which has the added bonus of making Ben wrap his arm around her and pull her close. It'll only last until they ring the next doorbell. She slows her pace to draw the coziness out. Also, since the scandal, people have this weird habit of not answering their doors even when she can clearly hear their TVs and voices. A few hours ago, someone actually tried to spit in their faces but the spit only made it as far as Ben's shoes. Luckily she had tissues in the car. Still, all of this makes her want to slow down and enjoy just getting to walk with Ben.
"So, I was thinking about Ann's party," he says, in that look how casual I sound! voice that probably would've fooled her before they started dating. "I think it would be a good idea if we went."
"But there's so much campaigning we could be doing -- I could be doing!" He didn't look too happy about that first part. "It's ten days before the election! What if the things I say on that night change the hearts and minds of Pawnee's electorate, Ben? What if this is the game changer?"
"I don't think a lot of people are going to be coming to a town hall meeting the Friday night before Halloween," he tells her, and then, over the beginning of her explanation that that's not what she was planning even a little bit, "or be sitting around the house if you want to call or go door-to-door. They'll probably just think you're trick or treating a few days early, which I don't think will help you any."
"But she was sleeping with the enemy, Ben!" If it were a few degrees warmer she might actually step away from him but it's freezing and Ben's really good at the hand around the shoulders thing. "What kind of best friend does that?"
"You know that most local governments have that rule? They're not as serious about it, but this is Chris we're talking about. And he hasn't fired you. Or me."
"That's true. It's only because Ron threatened him, though." Her shoes make a scratchy sound as she drags them along the sidewalk. "If he fired you he'd have to give people bad news."
"Ann's your best friend," he says, stopping and looking her straight in the eyes, "and she loves Halloween. So I think we should go to the party."
"You could probably use some help with your dance moves," she says. Hopefully he understands that what she's really saying here is thanks for telling me the truth no matter what. Hopefully the fact that she kisses him, helps with the translation. Everyone knows anyway, right?
The face paint was on sale at Food 'N' Stuff for a dollar, which April just happened to have all crinkled up in her back pocket from a bet she won against Ron. (Tammy I disappeared as mysteriously as she appeared; Ron had said she would stick around forever.) Andy had wanted the football stripes that would make his character come to life, but, no offense to her husband, his whole "Reggie Wade!" thing gets kinda annoying after a while. It'd probably get worse if he dressed up like the guy for Halloween.
What she hadn't counted on was how convincing he'd be as the Joker.
She's been hiding in their bedroom for the past hour, pretending to take a nap. It wasn't until she finished the face paint and really looked at him that it had struck her -- Andy is the most adorable, sweet guy she's ever known, but with that face paint it looks like he would kill her for laughs. He hasn't noticed she's gone because of course the Colts are on Monday night football, which just confirms what an idiot she was for thinking he should be anyone but Reggie Wade for Halloween. At least Reggie Wade hasn't killed his wife or escaped from Batman, she's pretty sure.
Suddenly the sound of the TV stops in the living room.
"Honey?" Andy calls in his sweet husband voice. Too bad she can't think of him without that face paint. "You still awake?"
"You need to wash your face," she yells as fast as she can, because her voice is all trembly. It's lame to be scared, and even lamer to be scared of Andy. "You can use my soap in the bathroom."
"Sweet!" Andy yells, his footsteps thumping towards the bathroom. It smells like Japanese cherry blossom and when she first started using it, he kept smelling her and then kissing her, which was really cute.
He must've caught his own reflection in the mirror, because all of a sudden she hears this strangled scream and then the water's going at full blast.
It's another hour before she lets him in the bedroom. When she kisses him, it's like they're in their very own cherry orchard in the springtime. Hey, it's not the worst fantasy.
Chris is somehow being productive today, so Ben figures it's probably okay to stop by Ann's office, especially since she's the only one in here.
"I thought you and Leslie decided to stop making out in here," she says with a half-smile, looking up from her computer.
"You know we haven't done that since May." That's not what he came in to say. "We're coming to your party tomorrow."
Ann blinks at him. "I know Leslie likes you and everything, but -- wow, she must really like you to let you convince her over to my house. She didn't even come to my Halloween party when we were best friends."
"Wasn't she out catching a town menace or something?" He keeps getting distracted, but something about talking to Ann always makes him feel like it is possible to belong to this place and these people, even if Pawnee's only been his town of residence for two years and he's not even a part of Leslie's department.
"It wouldn't be Leslie if she wasn't," Ann sighs, still almost smiling. "Did you guys decide on costumes already?"
"Well, it took me about three hours to explain why going as the Obamas probably wouldn't send the best message, even if she borrowed really great makeup from the community theater, so, yeah, we're working on it." He's not going to tell her that they had that conversation three days ago and their actual costumes are going to be awesome.
"You're keeping it a secret."
"Yeah. That's not what I came to talk to you about." Deep breath, Wyatt, no tangents. "Listen, I've been across Indiana with Chris, and --"
Ann swivels her chair away from him, her hair swinging against her shoulders. "Look Ben, the guy's already dumped me twice and there's his rule and Leslie and I think I've sent a pretty clear message, here."
"You know he's actually enjoying giving people bad news? I walked into the office after lunch yesterday and he was cutting the sewage department's budget by ten percent."
"That's never a good idea," she says. He has to keep himself from telling her that yeah, he had to ever so sneakily follow them out of the City Manager's office and tell Joe that the paperwork wouldn't be going through, but dammit, he came here for a reason and he is going to stick to that before Chris notices he's missing.
"Yeah. Anyway. You know how Chris is, and if you think Pawnee's small, we've been to some tiny towns where they don't even get cable. Women throw themselves at Chris and somehow he stays out of their way. It might be all those ten mile runs or maybe he's just great at not getting caught, but Ann, you're a different story." Okay, finally he's said it. Hopefully it didn't sound too ridiculous. "The point is, I've known Chris for years, and the thing is, he's really serious about you."
"Does Leslie know you're telling me this?" She's tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, one of those nervous habits she shares with Leslie like some kind of intangible best friends necklace, but there are the beginnings of a real smile on his face, and shit, it feels really good to play Cupid around here sometimes.
"I sort of mentioned it to her last night. I'll talk to her about it tonight. Chris hasn't fired us yet, so it's easier, I guess."
"But it's not official yet?" If the two of them don't start talking soon, this is going to turn into a game of telephone. Still, the last double date he went on with Leslie involved April and Andy, two fires and a minor explosion, so this might be an investment in his future. Or something.
"Apparently there has to be some kind of hearing. He's postponing it until after the election, I guess he thinks that would be better for Leslie's image but he hasn't really talked to me about his rationale."
"That makes sense," she says, turning back to her computer with more than a hint of I should probably get back to work.
"I should probably go." Hopefully when he gets back to the office, Chris hasn't decided to reduce someone else's department. Or fire Leslie.
Just as he's at the door, he hears the swivel of her chair, towards him, and when he looks at her, Ann's smiling in a way that reminds him of Leslie, the way she'll just abandon her face to delight, and even if it means he has to go get Leslie un-fired, Ben's really glad he stopped by.
"Thanks for telling me about Chris," Ann says. "I know you didn't have to do that."
Watch out, world, Ben Wyatt's coming.
Chris is just about to leave for the night -- he has a few hours left before his night-time run but he plans to spend it with some raw tomato soup and a hot cup of his favorite tisane -- when the click of heels in the rhythm Ann Perkins's stride make their way into his office.
"Here's the thing," she says, placing her hands on her hips like the Wonder Woman of City Hall, "I can't pick you over Leslie. So if you decide to fire her, Chris, it's just, she's my best friend."
He's staring at her lips moving, he read somewhere that watching a person's lips as they speak aids in rapid comprehension, but still he has to sit at his desk, wordless, for at least thirty seconds after she finishes talking before he grasps the essence of what she's just said.
"Ann Perkins, I'm the City Manager," he says, once he can coax his brain to think of the right words, "and that is a position of responsibility and integrity. To suggest that I could ignore one of my own workplace rules for my personal social interests, no matter how much -- anyway, you can see how that would be an impossible compromise."
"I could close the door," she says, her voice low, "and if nobody would catch us, what would you do?" In another era, Ann Perkins really could've considered an alternate career as Mata Hari.
"If you closed the door, I would ask you out to the nicest restaurant in Indianapolis and after you left, I would call the place that has hybrid limousines and rent one but before you left, I think we would probably have to put everything back on my desk after we were done," he says, half-imagining those things in nearly exact detail.
"Do you know what Leslie's done for this town as part of the tiniest part of Pawnee's government?"
"There are a thousand towns in Indiana with the same rule I have," he says, a tiny speck of a person, looking up at her.
"A thousand towns in Indiana don't have Leslie," she says, walking towards the door. Just when he thinks she's about to leave, she turns around, her fingers resting lightly on the doorframe. "And they don't have me, either."
The office is empty but that doesn't stop Chris from imagining Ann Perkins, lingering there in his doorway, ever so slowly pulling the door shut.
The music thrums against Ann's temples. Tom told her she'd have to crank up the bass for the right party effect but it's starting to give her the beginnings of a headache. A few of the other nurses actually dressed up this year, and Doctor Harris hasn't left with his own bottle of wine yet. April and Andy got here about a half hour ago. They'd made Andy this Gumby headdress that hadn't exactly fit in the door until he tried walking in sideways, and she's not quite sure how that matched with April's Marilyn Monroe costume until Andy told her they'd picked each other's costumes. They've been grinding around on her living-room-turned-dancefloor ever since. Luckily the nurses have started joining in and not everyone's huddled in the kitchen. They really do love Andy, even after everything.
Apparently Tom plans on making a late entrance, but a few sexy cats and rabbits have told her he mentioned this party to the regulars at the Snakehole Lounge. Should she have gotten more booze? On the other hand, if they throw up all over her bathroom, the coolest party ever won't clean it up. She takes another sip of wine and debates this point for a few more seconds.
She's almost convinced herself to sneak out and buy another bottle of wine, and maybe some more tequila, when Leslie and Ben walk through the door, Elvis and Priscilla, shimmering and sparkling so much that Ann almost can't tell how obviously awkward Ben is in that clinging white jumpsuit. It helps that the aviators cover up most of his face.
Leslie starts to pull him towards the dance floor, but Ben angles his chin towards Ann, who watches as Leslie's face turns awkward under that huge beehive wig. Still, they start walking towards her and this isn't high school, she tells herself, you don't just up and walk away from your best friend. You pretend like nothing's wrong and greet her with a smile.
"Thanks for having us," Ben says, once they've gotten close enough to talk without shouting.
"Your costumes are great!" Ann tells them, setting her wineglass down on the counter. "How long did the Bedazzling take?" There's no way Leslie would trust anyone else with all these sequins.
"Oh, it was just six hours," Leslie says, making this half-assed eye contact that is nothing like what she's used to. "After we finished some campaign stuff."
"Tom told me you guys were going door to door." This isn't what you talk about with your best friend at a party for your favorite holiday. "But you probably need a break from that, right? There's food here in the kitchen and there's people dancing in the living room. I should probably run out and get some more drinks, so I'll see you two in a half hour?" Even if Leslie isn't exactly talking to her, she won't let random Pawneeans destroy her house. Hopefully.
Her jacket doesn't really match with her dress or the peacock feather in her hair but she's really glad for it when she steps outside and the wind wraps around her legs. Halloween isn't until Monday. Those trick-or-treaters are going to freeze.
She's nearly made it to her car when she hears someone else's door slam, and looks up to see that Camry Hybrid only one person in Pawnee owns, shimmering the exact color of the evening sky. Chris is carrying this huge triangular sandwich board, walking towards her.
"I'm going to go get some more drinks," she tells him. He's staring at her in a way that makes it impossible to just slink into her car and drive off in silence. "Is there anything you want?"
"No," he says, setting the triangle down on the pavement, where it fills up half the driveway. It's one of those upside down food pyramids she's seen hanging up in the health food store at Snerling. It looks like he painted it himself. "I want you, Ann Perkins."
Ordinarily it's the kind of line that would make her laugh at the cheesiness of it all, but Chris's expression is so intense and she's a little buzzed and Leslie's not even talking to her, and so, this one time, she thinks, what the hell?
"So you're breaking your own rule." The words have started to ring hollow in her own ears; the line of reasoning is wearing thin. They're grown-ups. The perk used to be that you got to do what you wanted. She takes a step closer to him. Her heels are too tall and she wobbles, just slightly. He reaches out his hand to steady her and it lands on the curve of her hip, the slightest pressure of his fingers and the warmth of his palm.
"You're an extraordinary woman. Ann Perkins." He says her name like he's trying to describe her with it, his fingers still curving over her hipbone. Her breath catches, shuddering, in her throat.
"You dumped me for Indianapolis." The words come out too rough, or else just as harsh as she wanted. She's not sure. He takes a step towards her and she has to steel her spine to keep herself from leaning into him.
"There are thousands of small towns in Indiana," he says, low, "and I won't lie to you, Ann Perkins, there have been other women in these towns, and how could I stay with any of them when I'm always going to leave? We have some fantastic dates, they find out how great they feel when they eat more raw food and when their apartments follow the rules of feng shui. Then I go back to Indianapolis. I always go back to Indianapolis, except now."
"Then why did you come back?" It would be so easy to rest her hand on top of his, or pull him closer. It's not like picking her best friend over him has really worked this time.
"Well, your City Manager had a massive heart attack," he says, returning to that cheerful tone that makes her, right now, want to smack him. "And you know, Ann Perkins, when I got back to Indianapolis, I can't explain it, but my condo was suddenly too big for one person. It's a very soothing, beautiful place, and I had spent a lot of time here in Pawnee, so I figured all I needed was more people over. But then -- in the midst of my first round of tendonitis, when I was at Lil Sebastian's memorial, I saw you looking over at me."
"You were crying a lot at that service." If this is working up to some deep confession of his feelings for her, the path he's tracing is incredibly bizarre. Then again, this is Chris Traeger.
"I was. I was thinking, at some point, maybe even sooner than the next hundred years, I will have to die. And then it occurred to me that only a few feet away is this incredible, beautiful, capable, intelligent, good-humored woman who is looking at me like she's not sure what's wrong but will do everything she can to fix it."
"You could've ended Leslie's career."
"I didn't fire her," he says, and looking at him, she sees that what he's saying, here, is I won't fire her.
"Okay." Ann tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, instantly regretting it when she remembers the glitzy earrings she added last minute as part of her costume. Of course they'd have this epic relationship talk at her Halloween party.
"Okay?" Chris takes another step towards her, slinging his other hand around her waist so that his hand rests on the small of her back, right where her jacket ends and, seriously, how is it that she can feel all ten of his fingers, warm and separate through the fabric and sequins of her dress?
"You can take me out to dinner," she says, her arms wrapping around him while she says it, resting behind his neck so that, if anyone saw, they'd totally look like some weirdly misplaced high school slow dance. "A real date, this time."
"One date?" He looks at her, eyebrows raised, the face that made her want to pack up and run to Indianapolis, that made her dye part of her hair that awful red, the one she really hasn't been able to stop thinking about, no matter how many guys or re-watches of her favorite old movies.
"You left me for Indianapolis," she says, planting her feet like it'll give her the kind of emotional strength Leslie always imagines her best friend to have, this new Ann Perkins, "and you have an incredibly stupid rule about dating and you almost ended Leslie's career. So you can take me out to dinner and we'll see where it goes."
"We'll see where it goes," he echoes, leaning towards her and oh god, she's missed kissing him even if it's just been a few weeks, maybe he practiced on all the women of Indiana, but he's just insistent enough and uses exactly the right about of tongue. He pulls her closer against him and oh god, they'd better not have run out of drinks inside because she might not make it to the liquor store for a while.
But right in the middle of this thought, there's a light against her eyelids and Tom has just pulled into her driveway, eyes wide under his pimp hat. Next to him, in the front seat, there's Jean-Ralphio. And that wouldn't be okay, even on the best day, but today is a lot worse, because he's holding a camera.
To: chris.traeger@pawnee.gov
From: tom@entertainment720.com
Subject: BUSTED!!
Hey Chris,
You might find the video attached to this email pretty interesting. If you don't want me to give it to Joan, I think there's a certain rule you need to get rid of so that one of my clients can stop worrying that he or she will get fired.
Tom
Ann's been staring at the email for the last half-hour. She's watched the video twice, once on mute because watching herself kiss Chris while hearing Tom and Jean-Ralphio comment on their technique is right up there on her list of Awful Experiences. She must've been on the BCC list, along with who else? For all she knows, Joan already has this video.
Her cell phone starts vibrating on the desk and she picks it up without looking at the name.
"Hello?"
"I told Tom to get rid of the video," comes Leslie's voice on the other side of the phone, "I just got the email an hour ago and I'm trying to stop this whole thing, Ann, I'm really sorry."
"Wait, how did you know I got it?" A few days ago she would've taken the I'm really sorry as a blanket apology and they would've gone back to being best friends, fighting this new problem together, but now she drums her fingers against her desk.
"I figured if Tom BCC'd me that he'd do the same thing for you. He put Ben on there, too. I'm not sure who else. He's not picking up his phone and I don't want this video to go public. Unless you want it to. You look really good in that costume."
"Thanks," she says, swiveling her chair, "but I didn't think you'd want to protect me if I was with Chris."
"Why didn't you tell me you were with him?" Leslie asks, avoiding the point in a way that makes Ann realize that this, in the end, was probably the point after all.
"He had that rule and you hated that and I'm pretty sure you're not the biggest Chris fan, and you've been campaigning and first there was all the Ben drama and then you were doing the Harvest Festival and then there was more Ben drama, thanks to Chris, so I figured you didn't want to know."
"It is the worst rule ever, and he could've handled the raccoons at the Harvest Festival on his own," Leslie says, "but I'm your best friend! You were the one who put that Al Green song on the mixtape when Ben and I took that roadtrip to Indianapolis. Weren't you?"
"Yeah." Of all the things she could admit to, Ann figures this is probably the most benign.
"So the point is, why would you make Chris into this big bad secret?"
"I didn't want to hurt you," she says, regretting her phrasing once the words are out of her mouth. It just sounds so cheesy. But then Leslie sighs into the phone in a familiar way that tells her, it's going to be okay.
"Oh Ann," her best friend says, that sunny voice that is the epitome of all the campaigning she's done over the last few months, the only woman who would take her town hall complaint seriously, all those months ago, "Sweet, beautiful Ann."
She presses the phone closer against her ear.
part 11!