Lovers In Between (1/5) - (Leslie/Ben) a Parks and Rec Fic
Title: Lovers In Between (1/5)
Author: quick_ly
Fandom: Parks and Recreation
Pairing: Leslie/Ben
Word Count: 1,358 (this part)
Rating: Let’s say it’s a very hard PG-13.
Summary: The first time Ben Wyatt meets Leslie Knope, he’s twenty-one and trying to hide from the rest of the world.
Disclaimer: No, I do not own Parks and Recreation.
A/N: Before reading, I feel like I should warn you that this could also be called “quick_ly’s lame-ass attempt at writing multi-chapter fic”. I’ve never been even remotely able to write a story longer than a chapter, but I’ve wanted to jump into the multi-chapter game for a while now, so here we are. I’m no cypanache, but I hope you find this to be somewhat enjoyable.
-
The first time Ben Wyatt meets Leslie Knope, he’s twenty-one and trying to hide from the rest of the world.
It’s sometime early in March (that weird part of the year when winter’s been going on forever and you just need spring to get here), and Ben and a couple of his buddies are at some party at Indiana University, because apparently the best shindigs always require a long-ass road trip with people who don’t understand the meaning of the phrase shut the fuck up (it should be noted that Ben was not at all in favor of the idea to drive the 358.2 miles from Virginia Tech to Indiana University, and that he will not now nor ever encourage it to anyone else.) The party itself isn’t really that bad - a keg here, a couple of crappy Madonna songs there, you know, the works - but Ben doesn’t really notice, as he’s been spending the last thirty or so minutes staring at some blonde chick fiercely trying to convince her friend that Hillary Clinton is far superior to Bill.
He’d first caught sight of her a couple hours earlier (far more sober, she had been discussing Nixon’s resignation and how deeply it affected politics in the late 1970’s), and from what Ben can tell, she’s smart and witty and knows her shit, is the kind of person who doesn’t apologize unless she truly feels sorry and who wouldn’t in a million years run her hometown into the ground. She’s got this aura about her that’s so, so (he cringes at the name) Benjy Wyatt, young and full and ready to take over the world no matter who tries to stop her. Ben hasn’t been that person for a couple years now, but the feeling - of having your entire life ahead of you, of knowing you have what it takes, of being invincible - it’s all still there, if not buried somewhere deep where there’s no hope of ever finding it. Just looking at her, Ben gets the impression that she’s here to stay, that one day she’ll be calling the shots, that no matter how old or young, this girl is going to do great things with her life (as opposed to him, who isn’t going to do anything.) And yeah, she’s insanely cute and more than a little tipsy, but that’s not even why he finds her so mesmerizing. It’s that intelligence and sense of what is right and wrong - a clear unwillingness to give up for she believes in - that make her so attractive, and when she finally convinces her friend which Clinton is the best and triumphantly walks off, Ben tires makes his move.
“You’re right,” he says, tapping her on the shoulder, “Hillary is way better.”
“Yeah?” She seems pretty wasted (than again, so is he), but gives him this smile, big and wide and so full of life, and it’s quite possibly the nicest, warmest smile Ben’s seen in a long tine (maybe, probably ever).
“Yeah.” Ben tries to give her an equally pleasing smile; he’s not sure it’s possible. “She’s really smart and cool, you know, and I’m totally looking forward to the day she’s inaugurated the first female president.”
(The funny thing is - he’s not completely lying. Ben does really believe that Hillary would make a great president, and the fact that this pretty, smart, seemingly all around awesome girl whole-heartedly agrees is just a coincidence.)
She gives him another big, loving smile before stating very formally “I’m Leslie Knope from Indiana University” in what he can imagine is her most presidential voice.
“I’m Ben” (it’s too soon after Ice Town to be giving out a last name, especially to someone like Leslie, because she seems exactly like the kind of person who would know all about Benjy Wyatt.) “So, you like politics?”
And than they’re off, talking about government and policies and all the other stuff their friends somehow find boring. It’s really amazing how much they have in common (both enjoy government to no end, want to run for office, love Star Wars - the list only goes on), and Ben can’t help but feel like this girl - who’s funny and intelligent and loves the Bill of Rights - this is the kind of girl he’d want to end up with.
Of course, because they’re wasted college kids, they end up hooking up in her dorm room instead.
It’s rushed and messy, and when she comes Ben could have sworn he hears her call out Bem!, but it’s also the best sex he’s had in a long time, and waking up in the morning to her yellow-hair in his face is pretty fucking awesome.
And than he goes and catches a glimpse of the clock, realizing it’s about twenty minutes after the time they had all designated as the leaving time, and Ben’s suddenly up, scrambling around to try and find his clothes and get something to write an apology letter to Leslie on.
As he’s leaving, Ben gets a peak of her door, decorated with a big poster that says “Leslie Knope’s Room” in glittery letters, and he feels like the biggest kind of asshole.
(Sixteen years later when Chris tells him they’ll be going to a city in Indiana called Pawnee, Ben’s not terribly surprised to learn he’ll be meeting with one Leslie Knope.)
--
The first thing he notices about her - aside from the obvious: she’s older and clearly not drunk - is that Leslie’s pretty much the exact same person she was sixteen years ago.
Yes, she’s defiantly smarter and wittier and probably wouldn’t list Squeeze as her all time favorite band, but her optimism, that desire to do right by and for the people, that’s still quite alive, and while this would’ve been great news if he wanted to ask her out, all Ben Wyatt, the state auditor sees is someone who is going to make his job ten times harder, and that may or may not scare the shit out of him.
(The fact that Leslie doesn’t even remotely remember him only stings a little, because really, why would she? Not only was she drunk out of her mind that night, but Ben never even gave her a last name. Honestly, if he hadn’t seen the big Leslie Knope glitter sign, Ben probably wouldn’t remember her either. Still, he can’t help but feel a little disappointed about it, because there was this small, small part of him that was a little excited about the prospect of seeing her again, because the small, small part of twenty-one year old Ben Wyatt who thought she was his kind of girl is still there.)
Pretty quickly (quicker than Ben would have liked) they take on their respective roles of the “mean” state auditor and the angered citizen who doesn’t want to believe that their precious city isn’t so precious. He tells her the truth about Pawnee, she calls him a jerk. He tries to play nice, she drunkenly tells him to get out of the bar (he preferred drunk-Leslie last time). He doesn’t let her get away with spitting on him, she calls him an ass. Like pretty much every other person who cares about their town, she takes every opportunity to make known that in her book, he sucks, and on some level, it’s a good thing. Because people like Leslie Knope, those who are kind and caring and give a shit, they’re the kind of people who really scare Ben. The Leslie Knopes of the world aren’t going to go down without a fight, will do whatever it takes to give their people the best, effortlessly give out this energy and optimism and hope, which, as the man responsible for making sure their cities don’t fall to pieces to due careless spending, is something Ben can’t have any of. So he keeps his head down, tries his best to toon Leslie’s Leslie-ness out, and really, it’s not until he’s sitting alone in his car, offering Freddy Spaghetti money he doesn’t have to play the Pawnee kids concert, that Ben knows he’s in too deep. Way, way too deep.
Part Two
Author: quick_ly
Fandom: Parks and Recreation
Pairing: Leslie/Ben
Word Count: 1,358 (this part)
Rating: Let’s say it’s a very hard PG-13.
Summary: The first time Ben Wyatt meets Leslie Knope, he’s twenty-one and trying to hide from the rest of the world.
Disclaimer: No, I do not own Parks and Recreation.
A/N: Before reading, I feel like I should warn you that this could also be called “quick_ly’s lame-ass attempt at writing multi-chapter fic”. I’ve never been even remotely able to write a story longer than a chapter, but I’ve wanted to jump into the multi-chapter game for a while now, so here we are. I’m no cypanache, but I hope you find this to be somewhat enjoyable.
-
The first time Ben Wyatt meets Leslie Knope, he’s twenty-one and trying to hide from the rest of the world.
It’s sometime early in March (that weird part of the year when winter’s been going on forever and you just need spring to get here), and Ben and a couple of his buddies are at some party at Indiana University, because apparently the best shindigs always require a long-ass road trip with people who don’t understand the meaning of the phrase shut the fuck up (it should be noted that Ben was not at all in favor of the idea to drive the 358.2 miles from Virginia Tech to Indiana University, and that he will not now nor ever encourage it to anyone else.) The party itself isn’t really that bad - a keg here, a couple of crappy Madonna songs there, you know, the works - but Ben doesn’t really notice, as he’s been spending the last thirty or so minutes staring at some blonde chick fiercely trying to convince her friend that Hillary Clinton is far superior to Bill.
He’d first caught sight of her a couple hours earlier (far more sober, she had been discussing Nixon’s resignation and how deeply it affected politics in the late 1970’s), and from what Ben can tell, she’s smart and witty and knows her shit, is the kind of person who doesn’t apologize unless she truly feels sorry and who wouldn’t in a million years run her hometown into the ground. She’s got this aura about her that’s so, so (he cringes at the name) Benjy Wyatt, young and full and ready to take over the world no matter who tries to stop her. Ben hasn’t been that person for a couple years now, but the feeling - of having your entire life ahead of you, of knowing you have what it takes, of being invincible - it’s all still there, if not buried somewhere deep where there’s no hope of ever finding it. Just looking at her, Ben gets the impression that she’s here to stay, that one day she’ll be calling the shots, that no matter how old or young, this girl is going to do great things with her life (as opposed to him, who isn’t going to do anything.) And yeah, she’s insanely cute and more than a little tipsy, but that’s not even why he finds her so mesmerizing. It’s that intelligence and sense of what is right and wrong - a clear unwillingness to give up for she believes in - that make her so attractive, and when she finally convinces her friend which Clinton is the best and triumphantly walks off, Ben tires makes his move.
“You’re right,” he says, tapping her on the shoulder, “Hillary is way better.”
“Yeah?” She seems pretty wasted (than again, so is he), but gives him this smile, big and wide and so full of life, and it’s quite possibly the nicest, warmest smile Ben’s seen in a long tine (maybe, probably ever).
“Yeah.” Ben tries to give her an equally pleasing smile; he’s not sure it’s possible. “She’s really smart and cool, you know, and I’m totally looking forward to the day she’s inaugurated the first female president.”
(The funny thing is - he’s not completely lying. Ben does really believe that Hillary would make a great president, and the fact that this pretty, smart, seemingly all around awesome girl whole-heartedly agrees is just a coincidence.)
She gives him another big, loving smile before stating very formally “I’m Leslie Knope from Indiana University” in what he can imagine is her most presidential voice.
“I’m Ben” (it’s too soon after Ice Town to be giving out a last name, especially to someone like Leslie, because she seems exactly like the kind of person who would know all about Benjy Wyatt.) “So, you like politics?”
And than they’re off, talking about government and policies and all the other stuff their friends somehow find boring. It’s really amazing how much they have in common (both enjoy government to no end, want to run for office, love Star Wars - the list only goes on), and Ben can’t help but feel like this girl - who’s funny and intelligent and loves the Bill of Rights - this is the kind of girl he’d want to end up with.
Of course, because they’re wasted college kids, they end up hooking up in her dorm room instead.
It’s rushed and messy, and when she comes Ben could have sworn he hears her call out Bem!, but it’s also the best sex he’s had in a long time, and waking up in the morning to her yellow-hair in his face is pretty fucking awesome.
And than he goes and catches a glimpse of the clock, realizing it’s about twenty minutes after the time they had all designated as the leaving time, and Ben’s suddenly up, scrambling around to try and find his clothes and get something to write an apology letter to Leslie on.
As he’s leaving, Ben gets a peak of her door, decorated with a big poster that says “Leslie Knope’s Room” in glittery letters, and he feels like the biggest kind of asshole.
(Sixteen years later when Chris tells him they’ll be going to a city in Indiana called Pawnee, Ben’s not terribly surprised to learn he’ll be meeting with one Leslie Knope.)
--
The first thing he notices about her - aside from the obvious: she’s older and clearly not drunk - is that Leslie’s pretty much the exact same person she was sixteen years ago.
Yes, she’s defiantly smarter and wittier and probably wouldn’t list Squeeze as her all time favorite band, but her optimism, that desire to do right by and for the people, that’s still quite alive, and while this would’ve been great news if he wanted to ask her out, all Ben Wyatt, the state auditor sees is someone who is going to make his job ten times harder, and that may or may not scare the shit out of him.
(The fact that Leslie doesn’t even remotely remember him only stings a little, because really, why would she? Not only was she drunk out of her mind that night, but Ben never even gave her a last name. Honestly, if he hadn’t seen the big Leslie Knope glitter sign, Ben probably wouldn’t remember her either. Still, he can’t help but feel a little disappointed about it, because there was this small, small part of him that was a little excited about the prospect of seeing her again, because the small, small part of twenty-one year old Ben Wyatt who thought she was his kind of girl is still there.)
Pretty quickly (quicker than Ben would have liked) they take on their respective roles of the “mean” state auditor and the angered citizen who doesn’t want to believe that their precious city isn’t so precious. He tells her the truth about Pawnee, she calls him a jerk. He tries to play nice, she drunkenly tells him to get out of the bar (he preferred drunk-Leslie last time). He doesn’t let her get away with spitting on him, she calls him an ass. Like pretty much every other person who cares about their town, she takes every opportunity to make known that in her book, he sucks, and on some level, it’s a good thing. Because people like Leslie Knope, those who are kind and caring and give a shit, they’re the kind of people who really scare Ben. The Leslie Knopes of the world aren’t going to go down without a fight, will do whatever it takes to give their people the best, effortlessly give out this energy and optimism and hope, which, as the man responsible for making sure their cities don’t fall to pieces to due careless spending, is something Ben can’t have any of. So he keeps his head down, tries his best to toon Leslie’s Leslie-ness out, and really, it’s not until he’s sitting alone in his car, offering Freddy Spaghetti money he doesn’t have to play the Pawnee kids concert, that Ben knows he’s in too deep. Way, way too deep.
Part Two