Parks Fic: Unity (2/?)
Title: Unity
Pairing: Ben/Leslie
Word Count: About 3000 (this part)
Rating: R (this part)
Setting: During "I'm Leslie Knope." The morning after Ben gives Leslie the eclair.
Summary: A collection of several moments that make up Leslie's ideas for the unity quilt.
A/n: Thank you to everyone for the great feedback on the last chapter. I really appreciate it. This fic feels a bit like writing molasses, so I'm glad it translates into something worth reading.
Part One
The pattering of raindrops against the roof of her house wakes her; a steady, gentle clamoring that beckons her from her dreams. It's light enough to know it's morning, but still dark and gray like night is lingering; it makes time indeterminable and Leslie is disoriented. Instinct tells her to roll over and look at the clock, to begin the rhythm of her day even if nature drew her unnaturally from sleep, but she doesn't. And it isn't that for the first time in a long time, she feels reluctant to leave her bed; it isn't that this is the type of morning that begs one to linger; it isn't (mostly) because she's avoiding reality. It's Ben. He's awake as well--has obviously been for awhile if the dark circles under his eyes are any indication. She smiles at him as her eyes blink open, and he gives her a small smile back, no hint of tiredness or restlessness in his gaze. Sleep has not been elusive; he's calm, almost as if he has chosen not to sleep.
And he stares at her.
The phrasing bothers her as it stumbles through her thoughts. It's accurate in only the basest way: that his eyes watch her without a break in contact. But there's a stigma there, of creepiness, that makes it sound unnerving, and it's nowhere close to describing the way Ben is looking at her. If she was vainer, she might be able to give words to it. To find some apt comparison, like Ben is studying her the way one studies a particularly complex but beautiful painting. But it's hard to think of herself in those terms, let alone imagine that someone else might see her that way, and so she remains at a loss.
She wonders if this could be the right time to finally speak. On this quiet, rainy morning, in this calm moment between them, if she can finally do what she was supposed to do hours, days, weeks ago: to tell him that she's crazy about him, but the real world is collapsing in on this relationship and there's no longer a way to hide. To crush the perfection of this moment and every subsequent moment that they might have had if their situation was different. In the back of her mind, she can hear Ann reminding her that it isn't fair to drag this out, but she silently hisses for Ann to shut up. After all, Ann doesn't know--not about the way Ben is looking at her or about the eclair or about the way Leslie feels like she's breaking into a million pieces whenever she thinks about ending this relationship. Her head and her heart are not in agreement, and for a little while longer, Leslie wants to let her heart win.
Ben threads his fingers through her hair, brushing it off of her cheek and toying with the mussed curls. She flinches as he tugs on a tangled bit, and he stops, running his palm to the crown of her head and resting it there. Everything is still except for the rain and Ben's eyes, and Leslie finds herself memorizing this moment. The nuances of the dim morning--the colors and sounds and the slight break in the constant humidity of summer--and the warmth of Ben's hand where it rests on her head, and that unnameable look in his eyes, and, mostly, just Ben. The shadow of stubble along his jaw; the slight tension in his mouth that isn't visible anywhere else; the way a little bit of his hair has fallen across his forehead that makes him look boyish, a direct contradiction to the intensity of his gaze. She can already anticipate coming back to this morning again and again in the future as a way to remember that this wasn't all just some beautiful dream. That this relationship was real, even if it never existed in any conventional sense.
The thought makes her miss him. Makes a little sliver of fear run up her spine because if she misses him when he's still lying in her bed, what is it going to be like when he's gone? She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to block out the future, but it's impossible when Ben and the future have somehow gotten all mixed together and he's here, leaning in and kissing her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, her forehead, temple, cheeks, nose, chin...
He rolls her onto her back, and his mouth find hers, his kisses insistent and tender as he settles his weight on top of her. It's not enough, though, and her hands run through his hair, over his neck and down his back, pulling him down until his body is smothering hers. She wants to feel overwhelmed by him; wants him everywhere; wants to be so lost in him that she can't think of anything else.
So her eyes stay shut. And Ben reminds her that in this prolonged moment, he's the most important person in the world.
It's slow and powerful in a way it's never been before. He takes his time, mapping her skin with his lips, relearning her body with his fingertips. Every touch is deliberate; every kiss unforgettable. When he finally thrusts into her, she holds him close, buries her head in his shoulder, and tries not to cry. Focuses instead on the feeling of him inside of her--on that wonderful and slightly unnerving thought of completeness; shudders at his breath against her neck and the quiet sounds he's making; touches him everywhere and burns this moment into her memory.
She breaks too soon, the emotions she's feeling intensifying everything else; her pleasure colliding with her sorrow in a way that makes her careen out of control, and she's left with the final, hollow thought that this is the end. This will be the last time. She wishes she could pause her life here indefinitely; hold onto Ben and never have to shatter this--them--but she can't. It's coming and she can't stop it.
She won't stop it, because stopping it would mean giving up on a lifelong dream.
They hold on to one another. Kiss. Linger as the rain slows and the birds begin to sing their early morning songs. But it is Ben who finally lets her go with the gentle reminder that they have to get ready for work, his voice still low and gravelly from disuse--a strange reminder that they haven't spoken to one another yet today, something unheard of in all of their previous sexual encounters. The thought makes Leslie pause, and she's left alone to watch Ben navigate through her bedroom to the bathroom.
Not that she's complaining. The view is spectacular.
The shower starts, and Leslie throws on cotton shorts and a t-shirt and wanders downstairs to start breakfast. She decides on scrambled eggs and toast without really thinking about it, but knowing dimly that she doesn't want to associate waffles with the end of something. She also manages to finish off the eclair while she's cooking, both because she's starving and because she doesn't want a reminder of what she's giving up to be staring her in the face once this is all said and done. She's on the last bite when Ben walks into the kitchen wearing nothing but his boxers and an undershirt. He comes up and kisses a smear of chocolate off of her lip, raising an eyebrow at breakfast, but not commenting, just turning to fiddle with the toaster while she finishes the eggs.
This time, she's aware of the silence between them. It's not uncomfortable--which perhaps isn't so surprising given that they're both prone to rambling through awkward situations. It actually speaks more to the ease she feels around him; to how natural it feels to have him in her kitchen in the morning; to the routine they've developed in the few weeks they've been together. And yes, she's ignoring the gigantic, rainbow-spotted elephant in the room, but she can wait to address that until after breakfast.
The toast pops. Ben lightly coats his with butter and then slathers a large amount of strawberry jelly over hers, just the way she likes it. He holds out the plates to her so she can distribute the eggs, and then they sit down at her table together. Leslie pulls her legs up so she's sitting cross-legged on her chair, and Ben reaches out and sets his hand on her knee. Unfortunately, she can't taste a bite of her breakfast because she spends the whole time trying to work out how she's going to do this. The Ann-voice in her head isn't piping up with any helpful tips, probably because she's mad that Leslie yelled at her earlier, and it definitely isn't helping that Ben's thumb is rubbing little circles over her skin, completely oblivious to the fact that she's about to kick him in the nuts. Metaphorically, that is. She dips her pinky finger into the jelly and sucks on it, mulling over the best way to go about this.
Ben, she rehearses, I am sorry to say that due to unfair societal standards, we are going to have to terminate our relationship.
Absolutely not, chastises Ann-voice, and Leslie is so happy that she's back, she doesn't even argue about the veto.
Ben, I really, really, really like you, but we have to break up.
Better. But maybe you should give a reason why.
Because I only have six months to live.
No.
Because Chris is a stupid butthead with stupid rules.
Leslie...
Because...Because I have a chance to go after my dream, and this relationship is standing in the way of it.
Ann-voice is mysteriously mum on this version, even as the words make Leslie feel a wave of nausea that tells her they're utterly wrong. But before she can try again, Ben's phone interrupts, vibrating across the table where he set it last night. Without thinking, Leslie reaches for it; Ben simply glances at her and takes another bite of his toast. "What is it?" he asks.
"Picture message. From Henry. Who's Henry?"
"My brother." He takes the phone from Leslie, who shifts in her chair, dropping one leg to the floor and unconsciously leaning closer to Ben. If she's invading his privacy, he certainly doesn't seem to mind, just bringing the phone down between them so she can see as he opens the picture. She's not sure what she was expecting (if she was expecting anything), but she's not prepared when a family pops onto the screen: a man and a woman with a baby. It's startling for a number of reasons--because the man on the screen is so obviously Ben's brother, despite somewhat softer features and less hair; because Leslie's suddenly pretty sure she's never actually seen a newborn baby, and it's shocking how tiny and wrinkled she looks in her mother's arms; because an honest-to-god family has suddenly burst to life in her kitchen when just minutes ago she was trying to decide how to break up with her boyfriend. And, mostly, because when Leslie's eyes drift up to Ben, he somehow seems both happy and sad, grinning through a flash of pain that he can't hide in his eyes.
"That's your brother?" she asks, unnecessarily. Ben nods and she leans her head against his shoulder. "You didn't tell me he had a baby."
"I did," says Ben absently. "Yesterday. You hung up on him, remember?"
"That was your brother?" Leslie groans, shutting her eyes and hiding her face. It feels like an embarrassing first impression even though it's not actually that at all. But suddenly all she can imagine is Ben explaining how his crazy ex-girlfriend hung up on his brother and damn, didn't he dodge a bullet by getting out of that relationship? And then everyone will laugh and--
"Les?" Ben pulls back from her, setting the phone on the table and bringing his hands up to her shoulders, and she realizes she might be hyperventilating a little. "Are you okay?"
"Yes." No! "I just--I'm sorry I hung up the phone. I didn't realize..."
"It's not a big deal. I called him back on my way over to your house. He was on cloud nine anyway. I don't even think he noticed I was gone."
Because her emotions dictate all of her actions this morning, Leslie ignores the instinct that says this is a bad idea, and moves so she's sitting in Ben's lap. He wraps his arms around her waist, still looking at her like he's worried, but Leslie just picks up his phone and glances down at the picture again. This time her eyes are drawn to the woman--Ben's sister-in-law. It's hard to tell what she looks like really, with her sweaty hair matted back and body lost in a frumpy hospital gown, but Leslie is instantly compelled to like her simply from the look on her face, this odd mixture of exhaustion and euphoria that is strangely attractive. For a brief second, she wonders what that would be like--having a husband and a child and being part of some semblance of a typical family unit--and then she shakes the thought away.
She absolutely will not even consider the fact that the idea of husband briefly coincided with Ben in her mind.
"Everything's always been really easy for him," says Ben. It's not a bitter observation as much as it is wistful, and Leslie turns to look at him. "Or at least it seems that way. I don't know. He doesn't...over-think things, I guess. He just does what makes him happy."
The way Ben looks at her when he says that makes her heart flip over. "I've always been kind of jealous of that. Because I'm..."
"Cautious." She smiles, brushing her fingers through his hair and then down to his cheek. "That's not a bad thing, Ben."
"No. Not always. But sometimes I wish I was more carefree like that. That I acted more like a kid and not an adult, and just said screw it and did what I wanted." He laughs, a brittle, hollow sound. "Kissing you is the first thing I've really done in years just to make myself happy. I just...I need you to know that, Leslie. I need you to know how happy you've made me."
Oh god. He needs to stop talking; needs to stop being so stupidly perfect; needs to do something horrible and give her the push to break both of their hearts. "You make me happy, too," she says instead, because it's true and he needs to know--needs to never doubt that that's the truth. She is so happy with him.
He kisses her, briefly, his hands squeezing her hips, and then Leslie drops her face to his neck, hiding the tears that have suddenly welled up in her eyes. She wonders if she could ever be like that...If she could ever risk everything just to be happy. But then, her happiness isn't that black and white; it's dependent on more than Ben, no matter how much a part of it he's become.
The most she can do is continue to prolong the inevitable.
Shut up, Ann, she thinks preemptively.
"Did you get anything yet?" she asks, working hard to keep her voice steady, managing to lift her head and look at him. "For the baby? Is it a girl or a boy?"
"Girl," says Ben. "And no, I haven't gotten anything yet."
"Good. I mean, I have the perfect thing...somewhere. I just have to find it."
Ben looks around skeptically--he has no faith she can find anything here, no matter how many times she proves him wrong--and she swats his shoulder. "What is it?" he asks.
"A bunny. I made it, years ago, for one of my friends, but then...Well, I never got to give it to her. But it's perfect. It's soft and colorful and I embroidered all of my favorite quotes from children's literature onto its body. You know, like, 'Once you become Real, you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always,' and, 'It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.'"
"The second one's Harry Potter?"
"Yes. And the other is The Velveteen Rabbit. Perfect, right? It's a great first impression, Uncle Ben."
He grins and kisses her again. "Yeah. It is perfect. But are you sure...I mean, are you sure you want me to take it? It sounds...special."
It is. And maybe it's weird that she's going to give it to her soon to be ex; even the way Ben is looking at her, so hesitantly, so unsure, makes her wonder if he senses what's coming and knows how strange this all is. He doesn't, of course; that's just a projection of her own feelings and doubts, but no, this is the right decision, no matter what else is happening. "I'm sure," she says. "I'll find it and bring it to work today, okay?"
"Okay."
She grabs Ben's wrist, twisting it to see his watch, and sighs. "I should get going or I'm going to be late. And you need to go home and change." She kisses him and stands. "I'll see you in a little bit."
"Yeah. And we have dinner reservations tonight..." He clears his throat and looks up, his eyes searching hers. She still can't tell what he's thinking, but suddenly she wonders if her own anxieties and pain are written all over her face, and that's why he's been staring all morning. "Don't forget."
"Right." Ben stands, leaning in and giving her another long, lingering kiss, and Leslie sighs and pulls him closer.
In the back of her mind, Ann-voice groans. And Leslie has an inkling that when she gets to work, Ann herself isn't going to be much happier.
Part Three
Pairing: Ben/Leslie
Word Count: About 3000 (this part)
Rating: R (this part)
Setting: During "I'm Leslie Knope." The morning after Ben gives Leslie the eclair.
Summary: A collection of several moments that make up Leslie's ideas for the unity quilt.
A/n: Thank you to everyone for the great feedback on the last chapter. I really appreciate it. This fic feels a bit like writing molasses, so I'm glad it translates into something worth reading.
Part One
The pattering of raindrops against the roof of her house wakes her; a steady, gentle clamoring that beckons her from her dreams. It's light enough to know it's morning, but still dark and gray like night is lingering; it makes time indeterminable and Leslie is disoriented. Instinct tells her to roll over and look at the clock, to begin the rhythm of her day even if nature drew her unnaturally from sleep, but she doesn't. And it isn't that for the first time in a long time, she feels reluctant to leave her bed; it isn't that this is the type of morning that begs one to linger; it isn't (mostly) because she's avoiding reality. It's Ben. He's awake as well--has obviously been for awhile if the dark circles under his eyes are any indication. She smiles at him as her eyes blink open, and he gives her a small smile back, no hint of tiredness or restlessness in his gaze. Sleep has not been elusive; he's calm, almost as if he has chosen not to sleep.
And he stares at her.
The phrasing bothers her as it stumbles through her thoughts. It's accurate in only the basest way: that his eyes watch her without a break in contact. But there's a stigma there, of creepiness, that makes it sound unnerving, and it's nowhere close to describing the way Ben is looking at her. If she was vainer, she might be able to give words to it. To find some apt comparison, like Ben is studying her the way one studies a particularly complex but beautiful painting. But it's hard to think of herself in those terms, let alone imagine that someone else might see her that way, and so she remains at a loss.
She wonders if this could be the right time to finally speak. On this quiet, rainy morning, in this calm moment between them, if she can finally do what she was supposed to do hours, days, weeks ago: to tell him that she's crazy about him, but the real world is collapsing in on this relationship and there's no longer a way to hide. To crush the perfection of this moment and every subsequent moment that they might have had if their situation was different. In the back of her mind, she can hear Ann reminding her that it isn't fair to drag this out, but she silently hisses for Ann to shut up. After all, Ann doesn't know--not about the way Ben is looking at her or about the eclair or about the way Leslie feels like she's breaking into a million pieces whenever she thinks about ending this relationship. Her head and her heart are not in agreement, and for a little while longer, Leslie wants to let her heart win.
Ben threads his fingers through her hair, brushing it off of her cheek and toying with the mussed curls. She flinches as he tugs on a tangled bit, and he stops, running his palm to the crown of her head and resting it there. Everything is still except for the rain and Ben's eyes, and Leslie finds herself memorizing this moment. The nuances of the dim morning--the colors and sounds and the slight break in the constant humidity of summer--and the warmth of Ben's hand where it rests on her head, and that unnameable look in his eyes, and, mostly, just Ben. The shadow of stubble along his jaw; the slight tension in his mouth that isn't visible anywhere else; the way a little bit of his hair has fallen across his forehead that makes him look boyish, a direct contradiction to the intensity of his gaze. She can already anticipate coming back to this morning again and again in the future as a way to remember that this wasn't all just some beautiful dream. That this relationship was real, even if it never existed in any conventional sense.
The thought makes her miss him. Makes a little sliver of fear run up her spine because if she misses him when he's still lying in her bed, what is it going to be like when he's gone? She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to block out the future, but it's impossible when Ben and the future have somehow gotten all mixed together and he's here, leaning in and kissing her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, her forehead, temple, cheeks, nose, chin...
He rolls her onto her back, and his mouth find hers, his kisses insistent and tender as he settles his weight on top of her. It's not enough, though, and her hands run through his hair, over his neck and down his back, pulling him down until his body is smothering hers. She wants to feel overwhelmed by him; wants him everywhere; wants to be so lost in him that she can't think of anything else.
So her eyes stay shut. And Ben reminds her that in this prolonged moment, he's the most important person in the world.
It's slow and powerful in a way it's never been before. He takes his time, mapping her skin with his lips, relearning her body with his fingertips. Every touch is deliberate; every kiss unforgettable. When he finally thrusts into her, she holds him close, buries her head in his shoulder, and tries not to cry. Focuses instead on the feeling of him inside of her--on that wonderful and slightly unnerving thought of completeness; shudders at his breath against her neck and the quiet sounds he's making; touches him everywhere and burns this moment into her memory.
She breaks too soon, the emotions she's feeling intensifying everything else; her pleasure colliding with her sorrow in a way that makes her careen out of control, and she's left with the final, hollow thought that this is the end. This will be the last time. She wishes she could pause her life here indefinitely; hold onto Ben and never have to shatter this--them--but she can't. It's coming and she can't stop it.
She won't stop it, because stopping it would mean giving up on a lifelong dream.
They hold on to one another. Kiss. Linger as the rain slows and the birds begin to sing their early morning songs. But it is Ben who finally lets her go with the gentle reminder that they have to get ready for work, his voice still low and gravelly from disuse--a strange reminder that they haven't spoken to one another yet today, something unheard of in all of their previous sexual encounters. The thought makes Leslie pause, and she's left alone to watch Ben navigate through her bedroom to the bathroom.
Not that she's complaining. The view is spectacular.
The shower starts, and Leslie throws on cotton shorts and a t-shirt and wanders downstairs to start breakfast. She decides on scrambled eggs and toast without really thinking about it, but knowing dimly that she doesn't want to associate waffles with the end of something. She also manages to finish off the eclair while she's cooking, both because she's starving and because she doesn't want a reminder of what she's giving up to be staring her in the face once this is all said and done. She's on the last bite when Ben walks into the kitchen wearing nothing but his boxers and an undershirt. He comes up and kisses a smear of chocolate off of her lip, raising an eyebrow at breakfast, but not commenting, just turning to fiddle with the toaster while she finishes the eggs.
This time, she's aware of the silence between them. It's not uncomfortable--which perhaps isn't so surprising given that they're both prone to rambling through awkward situations. It actually speaks more to the ease she feels around him; to how natural it feels to have him in her kitchen in the morning; to the routine they've developed in the few weeks they've been together. And yes, she's ignoring the gigantic, rainbow-spotted elephant in the room, but she can wait to address that until after breakfast.
The toast pops. Ben lightly coats his with butter and then slathers a large amount of strawberry jelly over hers, just the way she likes it. He holds out the plates to her so she can distribute the eggs, and then they sit down at her table together. Leslie pulls her legs up so she's sitting cross-legged on her chair, and Ben reaches out and sets his hand on her knee. Unfortunately, she can't taste a bite of her breakfast because she spends the whole time trying to work out how she's going to do this. The Ann-voice in her head isn't piping up with any helpful tips, probably because she's mad that Leslie yelled at her earlier, and it definitely isn't helping that Ben's thumb is rubbing little circles over her skin, completely oblivious to the fact that she's about to kick him in the nuts. Metaphorically, that is. She dips her pinky finger into the jelly and sucks on it, mulling over the best way to go about this.
Ben, she rehearses, I am sorry to say that due to unfair societal standards, we are going to have to terminate our relationship.
Absolutely not, chastises Ann-voice, and Leslie is so happy that she's back, she doesn't even argue about the veto.
Ben, I really, really, really like you, but we have to break up.
Better. But maybe you should give a reason why.
Because I only have six months to live.
No.
Because Chris is a stupid butthead with stupid rules.
Leslie...
Because...Because I have a chance to go after my dream, and this relationship is standing in the way of it.
Ann-voice is mysteriously mum on this version, even as the words make Leslie feel a wave of nausea that tells her they're utterly wrong. But before she can try again, Ben's phone interrupts, vibrating across the table where he set it last night. Without thinking, Leslie reaches for it; Ben simply glances at her and takes another bite of his toast. "What is it?" he asks.
"Picture message. From Henry. Who's Henry?"
"My brother." He takes the phone from Leslie, who shifts in her chair, dropping one leg to the floor and unconsciously leaning closer to Ben. If she's invading his privacy, he certainly doesn't seem to mind, just bringing the phone down between them so she can see as he opens the picture. She's not sure what she was expecting (if she was expecting anything), but she's not prepared when a family pops onto the screen: a man and a woman with a baby. It's startling for a number of reasons--because the man on the screen is so obviously Ben's brother, despite somewhat softer features and less hair; because Leslie's suddenly pretty sure she's never actually seen a newborn baby, and it's shocking how tiny and wrinkled she looks in her mother's arms; because an honest-to-god family has suddenly burst to life in her kitchen when just minutes ago she was trying to decide how to break up with her boyfriend. And, mostly, because when Leslie's eyes drift up to Ben, he somehow seems both happy and sad, grinning through a flash of pain that he can't hide in his eyes.
"That's your brother?" she asks, unnecessarily. Ben nods and she leans her head against his shoulder. "You didn't tell me he had a baby."
"I did," says Ben absently. "Yesterday. You hung up on him, remember?"
"That was your brother?" Leslie groans, shutting her eyes and hiding her face. It feels like an embarrassing first impression even though it's not actually that at all. But suddenly all she can imagine is Ben explaining how his crazy ex-girlfriend hung up on his brother and damn, didn't he dodge a bullet by getting out of that relationship? And then everyone will laugh and--
"Les?" Ben pulls back from her, setting the phone on the table and bringing his hands up to her shoulders, and she realizes she might be hyperventilating a little. "Are you okay?"
"Yes." No! "I just--I'm sorry I hung up the phone. I didn't realize..."
"It's not a big deal. I called him back on my way over to your house. He was on cloud nine anyway. I don't even think he noticed I was gone."
Because her emotions dictate all of her actions this morning, Leslie ignores the instinct that says this is a bad idea, and moves so she's sitting in Ben's lap. He wraps his arms around her waist, still looking at her like he's worried, but Leslie just picks up his phone and glances down at the picture again. This time her eyes are drawn to the woman--Ben's sister-in-law. It's hard to tell what she looks like really, with her sweaty hair matted back and body lost in a frumpy hospital gown, but Leslie is instantly compelled to like her simply from the look on her face, this odd mixture of exhaustion and euphoria that is strangely attractive. For a brief second, she wonders what that would be like--having a husband and a child and being part of some semblance of a typical family unit--and then she shakes the thought away.
She absolutely will not even consider the fact that the idea of husband briefly coincided with Ben in her mind.
"Everything's always been really easy for him," says Ben. It's not a bitter observation as much as it is wistful, and Leslie turns to look at him. "Or at least it seems that way. I don't know. He doesn't...over-think things, I guess. He just does what makes him happy."
The way Ben looks at her when he says that makes her heart flip over. "I've always been kind of jealous of that. Because I'm..."
"Cautious." She smiles, brushing her fingers through his hair and then down to his cheek. "That's not a bad thing, Ben."
"No. Not always. But sometimes I wish I was more carefree like that. That I acted more like a kid and not an adult, and just said screw it and did what I wanted." He laughs, a brittle, hollow sound. "Kissing you is the first thing I've really done in years just to make myself happy. I just...I need you to know that, Leslie. I need you to know how happy you've made me."
Oh god. He needs to stop talking; needs to stop being so stupidly perfect; needs to do something horrible and give her the push to break both of their hearts. "You make me happy, too," she says instead, because it's true and he needs to know--needs to never doubt that that's the truth. She is so happy with him.
He kisses her, briefly, his hands squeezing her hips, and then Leslie drops her face to his neck, hiding the tears that have suddenly welled up in her eyes. She wonders if she could ever be like that...If she could ever risk everything just to be happy. But then, her happiness isn't that black and white; it's dependent on more than Ben, no matter how much a part of it he's become.
The most she can do is continue to prolong the inevitable.
Shut up, Ann, she thinks preemptively.
"Did you get anything yet?" she asks, working hard to keep her voice steady, managing to lift her head and look at him. "For the baby? Is it a girl or a boy?"
"Girl," says Ben. "And no, I haven't gotten anything yet."
"Good. I mean, I have the perfect thing...somewhere. I just have to find it."
Ben looks around skeptically--he has no faith she can find anything here, no matter how many times she proves him wrong--and she swats his shoulder. "What is it?" he asks.
"A bunny. I made it, years ago, for one of my friends, but then...Well, I never got to give it to her. But it's perfect. It's soft and colorful and I embroidered all of my favorite quotes from children's literature onto its body. You know, like, 'Once you become Real, you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always,' and, 'It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.'"
"The second one's Harry Potter?"
"Yes. And the other is The Velveteen Rabbit. Perfect, right? It's a great first impression, Uncle Ben."
He grins and kisses her again. "Yeah. It is perfect. But are you sure...I mean, are you sure you want me to take it? It sounds...special."
It is. And maybe it's weird that she's going to give it to her soon to be ex; even the way Ben is looking at her, so hesitantly, so unsure, makes her wonder if he senses what's coming and knows how strange this all is. He doesn't, of course; that's just a projection of her own feelings and doubts, but no, this is the right decision, no matter what else is happening. "I'm sure," she says. "I'll find it and bring it to work today, okay?"
"Okay."
She grabs Ben's wrist, twisting it to see his watch, and sighs. "I should get going or I'm going to be late. And you need to go home and change." She kisses him and stands. "I'll see you in a little bit."
"Yeah. And we have dinner reservations tonight..." He clears his throat and looks up, his eyes searching hers. She still can't tell what he's thinking, but suddenly she wonders if her own anxieties and pain are written all over her face, and that's why he's been staring all morning. "Don't forget."
"Right." Ben stands, leaning in and giving her another long, lingering kiss, and Leslie sighs and pulls him closer.
In the back of her mind, Ann-voice groans. And Leslie has an inkling that when she gets to work, Ann herself isn't going to be much happier.
Part Three