Fic: A Good Day (1/1)
Title: A Good Day
Fandom: Parks and Recreation
Pairing: Ben/Chris
Wordcount: 1700
Rating: T
Summary: At the end of a bad day, Ben's feeling fed up with always being the bad guy, but Chris manages to make everything better.
Ben Wyatt had not been having a good day. The motel he and Chris had been placed in was even more decrepit than the ones the State Auditor’s office usually sprung for - he’d spent most of the previous night with his pillow clamped over his ears in a vain attempt to drown out the couple next door making loud, passionate love to at least each other, if not also a third party who may or may not have been a farm animal judging by the noises he was emitting. The motel had also not been able to provide him with non-decaf coffee, so he’d spent much of their morning budget meeting stabbing himself in the thigh with a pen just to stay awake.
Then at lunch with Chris - normally the best part of his day - the generically-cute-if-you-like-that-sort-of-thing waiter who waited on them at the diner spent the entire hour popping by the table to flirt with Chris or ask him if he wanted another specially made wheatgrass smoothie. Chris, being Chris, naturally beamed at him every time he came by and mentioned over and over to Ben what absolutely perfect service they had in Elnora, Indiana. Ben had grabbed the cheque quickly before Chris could see the guy had written his number on it. It was exhausting enough trying to keep what seemed like every available man or woman in Indiana away from the boss he was secretly in love with when he’d had a full night’s rest, but doing it on two or three intermittent hours of sleep was a Sisyphean task.
To top it all off, he had been forced to tell Chris and an adorable group of Girl Scouts - Girl Scouts, for God’s sake - that the pony show they had been looking forward to all year had been cancelled because of budget cuts. If a guy who took ponies away from Girl Scouts wasn’t the scum of the earth, Ben would sure like to know who was. Judging by their mixed reactions of tears, screaming, and some surprisingly non-adolescent cursing, the Girl Scouts agreed.
So when little Susie Baker, all blonde curls and big, brown eyes, and pink chiffon, had come up to him in the corridor of the Elnora Town Hall and assaulted him with an ice cream cone, it had been the last straw. He’d been about ready to just get in the car and drive all the way back to Minnesota when Chris had found him and, upon seeing the look on his face, guided him gently, but firmly toward their makeshift office.
“You look upset, Ben Wyatt,” Chris said to him solemnly, shutting the door behind them. “What can I do to make this better?”
“A little girl just threw her ice cream at me, Chris!” Ben shouted, frustrated, as he paced back and forth what he would have sworn was a former janitor’s closet, which the citizens of Elnora had given them to do their work in.
“She just walked right up to me and said, ‘Mommy says you’re the bad, bad man who made all the fun go away,” before throwing her ice cream at me as hard as she possibly could - which granted was not that hard considering her absurdly tiny hands - and then ran off crying while I stood there speechless with strawberry soft-serve dripping onto my loafers.”
“Ben Wyatt, don’t you worry,” Chris said cheerfully, rising from his creaky office chair. “I have an extra shirt stashed in here for emergencies, and I think that this shade of green will look amazing with your eyes.”
“We’re not talking about my eyes, Chris!” Ben continued to shout, though Chris’s words flattered him much more than they should have. “We’re talking about how the more of these jobs we do, the more I feel like I’m the Wicked Witch of the West and you’re Glinda!”
“But don’t you remember that musical I took you to when we were in New York, Ben,” Chris asked as he rummaged around looking for the shirt, “and how we learned that the Wicked Witch was just misunderstood? In reality, she wasn’t wicked at all, but rather a valiant defender of the underprivileged. And one hell of a singer, too, I might add - the closing number to the first act literally blew...my...mind.”
“You are impossible to talk to sometimes, you know that, Chris?” Ben said, torn between exasperation and instinctive fondness.
“Oh, I am very sorry to hear that, Ben,” Chris said, looking sincerely troubled. “I have always believed that nothing is more important than being a good listener. It makes me very upset to hear that I have failed you in that regard.”
Chris looked so utterly dejected at the thought of being a bad listener that Ben almost laughed in spite of himself. Instead, he sighed and walked over to Chris to take the proffered shirt, saying, “You haven’t failed me, Chris. It’s just hard that sometimes, when I’m feeling down or when I have a problem, the positivity isn’t entirely helpful.”
“All right, then, Ben Wyatt,” Chris said, his chipper demeanor returning in a flash, “You tell me your problem again, and I shall attempt to offer concrete solutions, completely devoid of positivity.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not possible,” Ben said, his tone assuming its normal dry sarcasm, though tinged with an undercurrent of warmth. “But okay, we’ll give this a try.”
He absently began unbuttoning his red plaid shirt as he said, “I’m just tired of feeling like the bad guy all the time, Chris. I mean, you listen to people’s ideas, and tell them that they’re wonderful and special and amazing, but then you turn to me with those big, blue, pleading eyes of yours like you’re begging me, “Please, Ben, just this once,” and I have to say, “No, Chris, we can’t, there’s not room in the budget.”
He paused to let the stained shirt slip from his shoulders before continuing, “I don’t know, every time, every town, I feel like I’m not just disappointing all those people...I’m disappointing you.”
Ben lapsed into silence and had only just shrugged on Chris’s green button-up when he was surprised to look up and find Chris standing mere inches away from him, his expression uncharacteristically earnest.
He placed his hands securely on Ben’s shoulders and fixed Ben’s warm, brown eyes with his own piercing blue ones as he said firmly, “Ben Wyatt, I never want to hear you say the words “disappoint” and “you” in the same sentence again, unless that sentence is “I know that I could never disappoint you.” Because, you, Ben, are...my...hero.”
“What?” Ben asked, so surprised by Chris’s declaration that it didn’t occur to him that his shirt was still unbuttoned.
“You have the hardest job on earth, Ben, and you do it with such intelligence and caring. I get to listen to what people want, but you, you give them what they need. And you never get a thank you for it, not even when we’re two towns away, and these people finally realize their government is actually running better thanks to you. I don’t have enough strength to do it once, but somehow you’ve managed it over and over again. So yes, Ben Wyatt, I’ll say it again, you are not only my hero, but also one of the best people I have ever known.”
“Chris, I....” Ben started before trailing off, not trusting himself enough to say anything more, lest in this moment of weakness, when Chris’s words had - he was sure quite unknowingly - fanned the flames of his increasingly uncontrollable crush, he let slip something indiscreet.
“Yes, Ben Wyatt?” Chris asked in a voice which was surprisingly soft as he almost imperceptibly moved his hands from Ben’s shoulders up to the sides of his neck.
A thousand different replies popped into his head at that moment: I love you. Why are you so perfect? You know that your body isn’t really a microchip, right?, but what he actually ended up saying was, “Thanks for the shirt.”
“You are most welcome,” Chris said, giving him the patented Chris Traeger blinding smile. “I was correct - it looks great with your eyes.”
Chris then leaned forward so that his face was only a few inches away from Ben’s and added quietly, “You have amazing eyes, Ben Wyatt.”
Ben wondered wildly if he was misreading the signals, because he would have sworn that Chris - gorgeous, sunny, perfect Chris - was actually hitting on him. Figuring that he could always go back to his original plan of heading back to Minnesota if this went south, Ben summoned his courage and said, “You have amazing...well, everything, Chris Traeger. And I’ve, um, kind of had a huge crush on you for the past...four months.”
Chris gave him a smile that somehow managed to put the previous one to shame and said, “Well now, I guess I should be worried.”
“Why?” Ben asked anxiously, terrified that he’d permanently botched things up between them.
“With how you give good news, I’m going to be out of a job pretty soon,” Chris replied, beaming. “Because, Ben Wyatt, that is literally...the best news...I have ever heard.”
Before Ben could reply, Chris had swiftly pressed his his lips to Ben’s, tightening his grip on Ben’s neck to pull him in close. Once Ben had sufficiently recovered from the initial euphoric rush to form semi-coherent thoughts once more, he was extremely pleased to note that Chris kissed as enthusiastically as he did everything else. He marveled for the hundredth time, as Chris maneuvered him back onto the flimsy, metal desk the two of them shared, at how, when you were with Chris Traeger, even the worst of days could suddenly become amazing.
Fandom: Parks and Recreation
Pairing: Ben/Chris
Wordcount: 1700
Rating: T
Summary: At the end of a bad day, Ben's feeling fed up with always being the bad guy, but Chris manages to make everything better.
Ben Wyatt had not been having a good day. The motel he and Chris had been placed in was even more decrepit than the ones the State Auditor’s office usually sprung for - he’d spent most of the previous night with his pillow clamped over his ears in a vain attempt to drown out the couple next door making loud, passionate love to at least each other, if not also a third party who may or may not have been a farm animal judging by the noises he was emitting. The motel had also not been able to provide him with non-decaf coffee, so he’d spent much of their morning budget meeting stabbing himself in the thigh with a pen just to stay awake.
Then at lunch with Chris - normally the best part of his day - the generically-cute-if-you-like-that-sort-of-thing waiter who waited on them at the diner spent the entire hour popping by the table to flirt with Chris or ask him if he wanted another specially made wheatgrass smoothie. Chris, being Chris, naturally beamed at him every time he came by and mentioned over and over to Ben what absolutely perfect service they had in Elnora, Indiana. Ben had grabbed the cheque quickly before Chris could see the guy had written his number on it. It was exhausting enough trying to keep what seemed like every available man or woman in Indiana away from the boss he was secretly in love with when he’d had a full night’s rest, but doing it on two or three intermittent hours of sleep was a Sisyphean task.
To top it all off, he had been forced to tell Chris and an adorable group of Girl Scouts - Girl Scouts, for God’s sake - that the pony show they had been looking forward to all year had been cancelled because of budget cuts. If a guy who took ponies away from Girl Scouts wasn’t the scum of the earth, Ben would sure like to know who was. Judging by their mixed reactions of tears, screaming, and some surprisingly non-adolescent cursing, the Girl Scouts agreed.
So when little Susie Baker, all blonde curls and big, brown eyes, and pink chiffon, had come up to him in the corridor of the Elnora Town Hall and assaulted him with an ice cream cone, it had been the last straw. He’d been about ready to just get in the car and drive all the way back to Minnesota when Chris had found him and, upon seeing the look on his face, guided him gently, but firmly toward their makeshift office.
“You look upset, Ben Wyatt,” Chris said to him solemnly, shutting the door behind them. “What can I do to make this better?”
“A little girl just threw her ice cream at me, Chris!” Ben shouted, frustrated, as he paced back and forth what he would have sworn was a former janitor’s closet, which the citizens of Elnora had given them to do their work in.
“She just walked right up to me and said, ‘Mommy says you’re the bad, bad man who made all the fun go away,” before throwing her ice cream at me as hard as she possibly could - which granted was not that hard considering her absurdly tiny hands - and then ran off crying while I stood there speechless with strawberry soft-serve dripping onto my loafers.”
“Ben Wyatt, don’t you worry,” Chris said cheerfully, rising from his creaky office chair. “I have an extra shirt stashed in here for emergencies, and I think that this shade of green will look amazing with your eyes.”
“We’re not talking about my eyes, Chris!” Ben continued to shout, though Chris’s words flattered him much more than they should have. “We’re talking about how the more of these jobs we do, the more I feel like I’m the Wicked Witch of the West and you’re Glinda!”
“But don’t you remember that musical I took you to when we were in New York, Ben,” Chris asked as he rummaged around looking for the shirt, “and how we learned that the Wicked Witch was just misunderstood? In reality, she wasn’t wicked at all, but rather a valiant defender of the underprivileged. And one hell of a singer, too, I might add - the closing number to the first act literally blew...my...mind.”
“You are impossible to talk to sometimes, you know that, Chris?” Ben said, torn between exasperation and instinctive fondness.
“Oh, I am very sorry to hear that, Ben,” Chris said, looking sincerely troubled. “I have always believed that nothing is more important than being a good listener. It makes me very upset to hear that I have failed you in that regard.”
Chris looked so utterly dejected at the thought of being a bad listener that Ben almost laughed in spite of himself. Instead, he sighed and walked over to Chris to take the proffered shirt, saying, “You haven’t failed me, Chris. It’s just hard that sometimes, when I’m feeling down or when I have a problem, the positivity isn’t entirely helpful.”
“All right, then, Ben Wyatt,” Chris said, his chipper demeanor returning in a flash, “You tell me your problem again, and I shall attempt to offer concrete solutions, completely devoid of positivity.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not possible,” Ben said, his tone assuming its normal dry sarcasm, though tinged with an undercurrent of warmth. “But okay, we’ll give this a try.”
He absently began unbuttoning his red plaid shirt as he said, “I’m just tired of feeling like the bad guy all the time, Chris. I mean, you listen to people’s ideas, and tell them that they’re wonderful and special and amazing, but then you turn to me with those big, blue, pleading eyes of yours like you’re begging me, “Please, Ben, just this once,” and I have to say, “No, Chris, we can’t, there’s not room in the budget.”
He paused to let the stained shirt slip from his shoulders before continuing, “I don’t know, every time, every town, I feel like I’m not just disappointing all those people...I’m disappointing you.”
Ben lapsed into silence and had only just shrugged on Chris’s green button-up when he was surprised to look up and find Chris standing mere inches away from him, his expression uncharacteristically earnest.
He placed his hands securely on Ben’s shoulders and fixed Ben’s warm, brown eyes with his own piercing blue ones as he said firmly, “Ben Wyatt, I never want to hear you say the words “disappoint” and “you” in the same sentence again, unless that sentence is “I know that I could never disappoint you.” Because, you, Ben, are...my...hero.”
“What?” Ben asked, so surprised by Chris’s declaration that it didn’t occur to him that his shirt was still unbuttoned.
“You have the hardest job on earth, Ben, and you do it with such intelligence and caring. I get to listen to what people want, but you, you give them what they need. And you never get a thank you for it, not even when we’re two towns away, and these people finally realize their government is actually running better thanks to you. I don’t have enough strength to do it once, but somehow you’ve managed it over and over again. So yes, Ben Wyatt, I’ll say it again, you are not only my hero, but also one of the best people I have ever known.”
“Chris, I....” Ben started before trailing off, not trusting himself enough to say anything more, lest in this moment of weakness, when Chris’s words had - he was sure quite unknowingly - fanned the flames of his increasingly uncontrollable crush, he let slip something indiscreet.
“Yes, Ben Wyatt?” Chris asked in a voice which was surprisingly soft as he almost imperceptibly moved his hands from Ben’s shoulders up to the sides of his neck.
A thousand different replies popped into his head at that moment: I love you. Why are you so perfect? You know that your body isn’t really a microchip, right?, but what he actually ended up saying was, “Thanks for the shirt.”
“You are most welcome,” Chris said, giving him the patented Chris Traeger blinding smile. “I was correct - it looks great with your eyes.”
Chris then leaned forward so that his face was only a few inches away from Ben’s and added quietly, “You have amazing eyes, Ben Wyatt.”
Ben wondered wildly if he was misreading the signals, because he would have sworn that Chris - gorgeous, sunny, perfect Chris - was actually hitting on him. Figuring that he could always go back to his original plan of heading back to Minnesota if this went south, Ben summoned his courage and said, “You have amazing...well, everything, Chris Traeger. And I’ve, um, kind of had a huge crush on you for the past...four months.”
Chris gave him a smile that somehow managed to put the previous one to shame and said, “Well now, I guess I should be worried.”
“Why?” Ben asked anxiously, terrified that he’d permanently botched things up between them.
“With how you give good news, I’m going to be out of a job pretty soon,” Chris replied, beaming. “Because, Ben Wyatt, that is literally...the best news...I have ever heard.”
Before Ben could reply, Chris had swiftly pressed his his lips to Ben’s, tightening his grip on Ben’s neck to pull him in close. Once Ben had sufficiently recovered from the initial euphoric rush to form semi-coherent thoughts once more, he was extremely pleased to note that Chris kissed as enthusiastically as he did everything else. He marveled for the hundredth time, as Chris maneuvered him back onto the flimsy, metal desk the two of them shared, at how, when you were with Chris Traeger, even the worst of days could suddenly become amazing.