fic - "Autumn Harvest", Parks & Rec
title: Autumn Harvest
author: shornt
fandom: Parks and Rec
pairing: some Leslie/Mark & Leslie/Ben
rating: G
words: 1,575
disclaimer: If I owned it, it would be on TV every day.
summary: Three important Harvest Festivals in Leslie Knope's life.
1984
Leslie knew that her mom didn't really want to be there.
Dad was asleep at home, coming down from a bad cold, and Leslie had been absolutely bouncing off the walls. The energetic fourth grader finished her social studies project -- a poster about Margaret Thatcher -- early ("My desk partner didn't even know who she was, mom! Can you believe it?") and had been begging to go to the annual Harvest Festival all week. And now that it was Saturday and she had no homework left, Marlene had run out of excuses.
"Slow down, honey," she insisted, as Leslie's blonde curls bounced in and out of the crowd ahead. But Leslie was too excited -- the Festival only came once a year! There were caramel apples to be eaten, ring tosses to be won, corn mazes to get lost in...
Leslie loved coming here every fall. The trees were littering the ground in bright oranges and yellows, and the air smelled of firewood. There were people everywhere, some not even from Pawnee, and she liked seeing them all get along in one place. Sometimes she talked to kids from Eagleton as they cautiously approached goats in the petting zoo, and last year, she'd even met the mayor on a hay ride ("Mom, he shook my hand!"). Anything could happen at the festival.
After a few hours, her tug on her mom's hand had softened. She was crashing from the sugar after they shared a ginormous funnel cake ("You can't get it without the powdered sugar, Mom, that's the best part!") but there was still one ride left -- the ferris wheel. Leslie couldn't go home without riding it every year, and she waited in line excitedly next to her mother.
The seat was a little shaky, but she gripped the bar hard and ignored her mom fussing with her pigtails. Every time they reached the top, Leslie tried to spot her house, but they'd be on their way back down before she had the chance -- then the attendant started unloading.
Sitting in a standstill at the very top, Leslie gazed down with wide eyes -- she could see all of Pawnee spread out before her, twinkling in the sunset. Not only could she find her house, but she saw her school and City Hall and everything.
"Mom, look," she whispered, leaning against Marlene's arm.
"Yup, that's our town," her mom conceded, and Leslie thought she even saw a smile on her mother's face. Her heart felt full; maybe it was the height, or just the excitement of the day, but it just felt... magical.
"I love Pawnee," she said resolutely, and smiled to herself. The wheel started moving again.
2003
Leslie hoped Mark actually wanted to be here.
Helping put together the Harvest Festival had been hard work. It was Leslie's first year with the Parks Department, and she was still finding her way around. Ron, the Parks director, hadn't really been helpful ("I think he said, 'I would rather pull out every hair on my chest with a pair of pliers.' But he's not serious, right, Mom?") and seemed against the idea altogether, but Leslie was desperate to impress him -- she'd heard that Justine, the deputy director, was thinking about moving to Muncie, so she needed to be on Ron's good side when promotion time came around.
Still, she'd had to rely on so much volunteer work. No one at City Hall was as enthusiastic about the festival as they once were ("Except this guy Jerry, but I don't know, Mom. Something about him bugs me..."). Now she kind of understood their indifference.
"I hear they're slashing the festival out of the budget next year," she admitted to Mark as she swept up some straw off the pavement, sighing. The festival had come and gone, and she'd considered it her greatest success to date ("I helped run the festival and I'm not even the deputy yet, Mom!"), and to hear that it wouldn't get to continue was like a kick to the stomach.
"You know it's not your fault," Mark said with a shrug, flicking a piece of straw at her. She giggled a little too forcefully and pulled it out of her hair, bumping his leg with the broom.
"I know, but this was a big deal," she continued when their laughs subsided. "I spent so much time on helping out that I didn't even ride the ferris wheel this year..." She stared down at the ground. "What if I don't get moved up when Justine leaves?"
"You'll get the promotion," he assured her. "Everyone else in your department is an idiot." He hadn't even looked at her when he said it, but she still felt her heart rate speed up a little. Somehow, she'd barely heard the snub at her coworkers.
Mark thought it would be a good idea to celebrate their hard work with a few beers at the closest bar. After more than a few (and a shot or two... or five), Leslie thought it would be a good idea to go back to her place.
She felt his hands clumsily on her waist as she unlocked her door; he was whispering something in her ear, but she mostly felt his breath, hot against her skin.
He left before she woke up. She stayed in all day eating ice cream ("Oh come on Mom, it's low fat..."), and told everyone that her mopey mood was because of the festival.
But the festival was hardly in her thoughts, anymore.
2010
Leslie can tell that Ben genuinely wants to be here.
There had been a lot of arguing; even after he gave her the go-ahead on the festival, there were still roadblocks and restrictions. They didn't have all the money in the government. With a heavy heart, she'd had to scale back the petting zoo to just one small horse ("But without the goats--"), cut the amount of rides in half ("We can't get rid of the Ring of Fire--"), and shorten the concessions menu ("A Harvest Festival without sweet corn? We might as well join the terrorists, Ben.").
However, she had help this time. Instead of grunting from the confines of his office, Ron had hammered away to build benches right beside her. She had the whole department backing her up, as well as Ann's support. And, less grumpy as the days went on, Ben had been there the whole time ("He's actually been really helpful, Mom... No, he's not playing a game! We haven't even set the games up yet...").
Now it's the last day of the festival. She's pretty sure this counts as some kind of victory, as she watches the kids running by, laughing as their parents try to reel them in. She remembers what it was like for her, and what it must be like to these kids. Their first Harvest Festival! Even the mayor had showed his face ("Ben, he shook my hand!"). She hadn't stopped grinning all week.
But things have begun to wind down. They have a lot of cleaning to do tomorrow, but everyone (even April) had agreed to help, so Leslie wasn't worried. Not about that, anyway. She had other worries -- what she considers a success isn't necessarily the same as Ben.
She decides to make a last round as the rides run for the last time, loading full of citizens that are eager to soak up the last few minutes of the mild autumn breeze. She sees Andy trying to win April a teddy bear, Chris complimenting a little boy on his balloon animal, Lucy convincing Tom to get his face painted.
"There you are," she hears, and it's Ben in his stupid blazer (although it's kind of growing on her), smiling in that way that she's never sure how to handle. His hand is outstretched toward the ferris wheel. "After you?"
"Star treatment," she chuckles, nodding and leading the way onto a seat. The ferris wheel is mostly deserted, as many kids have opted for the haunted hayride. It's quiet and peaceful, and Leslie hardly notices that Ben's arm is stretched across the seat behind her.
"Leslie, this has been really great," he says, tilting his head toward her. "I mean it. You really pulled it off."
"We pulled it off," she corrects him. "I didn't do it alone." He shrugs nonchalantly, and it's quiet for a rotation. But once they hit the top again, he breaks the silence.
"You've been to a lot of these things, haven't you?"
"More than I can count on my fingers," she agrees, and sighs. When she looks down below, she can tell that the festival is smaller, more humble than the grand ones of her youth. Or maybe they just seemed grand because she was young; the corn maze more complicated, the pumpkins a brighter orange. But this still turned out pretty spectacular.
"I have to hand it to you guys," he says, looking out when they're stopped at the top. It's a familiar feeling for her. "It's a pretty nice view."
"Yeah?" she asks, smiling at him with pride. He nods and looks her in the eye.
"I kind of like Pawnee."
Her eyebrows dart up, and she nudges him playfully with her elbow. He chuckles and his arm finds its way around her shoulders. She leans into him.
The wheel starts moving again.
author: shornt
fandom: Parks and Rec
pairing: some Leslie/Mark & Leslie/Ben
rating: G
words: 1,575
disclaimer: If I owned it, it would be on TV every day.
summary: Three important Harvest Festivals in Leslie Knope's life.
1984
Leslie knew that her mom didn't really want to be there.
Dad was asleep at home, coming down from a bad cold, and Leslie had been absolutely bouncing off the walls. The energetic fourth grader finished her social studies project -- a poster about Margaret Thatcher -- early ("My desk partner didn't even know who she was, mom! Can you believe it?") and had been begging to go to the annual Harvest Festival all week. And now that it was Saturday and she had no homework left, Marlene had run out of excuses.
"Slow down, honey," she insisted, as Leslie's blonde curls bounced in and out of the crowd ahead. But Leslie was too excited -- the Festival only came once a year! There were caramel apples to be eaten, ring tosses to be won, corn mazes to get lost in...
Leslie loved coming here every fall. The trees were littering the ground in bright oranges and yellows, and the air smelled of firewood. There were people everywhere, some not even from Pawnee, and she liked seeing them all get along in one place. Sometimes she talked to kids from Eagleton as they cautiously approached goats in the petting zoo, and last year, she'd even met the mayor on a hay ride ("Mom, he shook my hand!"). Anything could happen at the festival.
After a few hours, her tug on her mom's hand had softened. She was crashing from the sugar after they shared a ginormous funnel cake ("You can't get it without the powdered sugar, Mom, that's the best part!") but there was still one ride left -- the ferris wheel. Leslie couldn't go home without riding it every year, and she waited in line excitedly next to her mother.
The seat was a little shaky, but she gripped the bar hard and ignored her mom fussing with her pigtails. Every time they reached the top, Leslie tried to spot her house, but they'd be on their way back down before she had the chance -- then the attendant started unloading.
Sitting in a standstill at the very top, Leslie gazed down with wide eyes -- she could see all of Pawnee spread out before her, twinkling in the sunset. Not only could she find her house, but she saw her school and City Hall and everything.
"Mom, look," she whispered, leaning against Marlene's arm.
"Yup, that's our town," her mom conceded, and Leslie thought she even saw a smile on her mother's face. Her heart felt full; maybe it was the height, or just the excitement of the day, but it just felt... magical.
"I love Pawnee," she said resolutely, and smiled to herself. The wheel started moving again.
2003
Leslie hoped Mark actually wanted to be here.
Helping put together the Harvest Festival had been hard work. It was Leslie's first year with the Parks Department, and she was still finding her way around. Ron, the Parks director, hadn't really been helpful ("I think he said, 'I would rather pull out every hair on my chest with a pair of pliers.' But he's not serious, right, Mom?") and seemed against the idea altogether, but Leslie was desperate to impress him -- she'd heard that Justine, the deputy director, was thinking about moving to Muncie, so she needed to be on Ron's good side when promotion time came around.
Still, she'd had to rely on so much volunteer work. No one at City Hall was as enthusiastic about the festival as they once were ("Except this guy Jerry, but I don't know, Mom. Something about him bugs me..."). Now she kind of understood their indifference.
"I hear they're slashing the festival out of the budget next year," she admitted to Mark as she swept up some straw off the pavement, sighing. The festival had come and gone, and she'd considered it her greatest success to date ("I helped run the festival and I'm not even the deputy yet, Mom!"), and to hear that it wouldn't get to continue was like a kick to the stomach.
"You know it's not your fault," Mark said with a shrug, flicking a piece of straw at her. She giggled a little too forcefully and pulled it out of her hair, bumping his leg with the broom.
"I know, but this was a big deal," she continued when their laughs subsided. "I spent so much time on helping out that I didn't even ride the ferris wheel this year..." She stared down at the ground. "What if I don't get moved up when Justine leaves?"
"You'll get the promotion," he assured her. "Everyone else in your department is an idiot." He hadn't even looked at her when he said it, but she still felt her heart rate speed up a little. Somehow, she'd barely heard the snub at her coworkers.
Mark thought it would be a good idea to celebrate their hard work with a few beers at the closest bar. After more than a few (and a shot or two... or five), Leslie thought it would be a good idea to go back to her place.
She felt his hands clumsily on her waist as she unlocked her door; he was whispering something in her ear, but she mostly felt his breath, hot against her skin.
He left before she woke up. She stayed in all day eating ice cream ("Oh come on Mom, it's low fat..."), and told everyone that her mopey mood was because of the festival.
But the festival was hardly in her thoughts, anymore.
2010
Leslie can tell that Ben genuinely wants to be here.
There had been a lot of arguing; even after he gave her the go-ahead on the festival, there were still roadblocks and restrictions. They didn't have all the money in the government. With a heavy heart, she'd had to scale back the petting zoo to just one small horse ("But without the goats--"), cut the amount of rides in half ("We can't get rid of the Ring of Fire--"), and shorten the concessions menu ("A Harvest Festival without sweet corn? We might as well join the terrorists, Ben.").
However, she had help this time. Instead of grunting from the confines of his office, Ron had hammered away to build benches right beside her. She had the whole department backing her up, as well as Ann's support. And, less grumpy as the days went on, Ben had been there the whole time ("He's actually been really helpful, Mom... No, he's not playing a game! We haven't even set the games up yet...").
Now it's the last day of the festival. She's pretty sure this counts as some kind of victory, as she watches the kids running by, laughing as their parents try to reel them in. She remembers what it was like for her, and what it must be like to these kids. Their first Harvest Festival! Even the mayor had showed his face ("Ben, he shook my hand!"). She hadn't stopped grinning all week.
But things have begun to wind down. They have a lot of cleaning to do tomorrow, but everyone (even April) had agreed to help, so Leslie wasn't worried. Not about that, anyway. She had other worries -- what she considers a success isn't necessarily the same as Ben.
She decides to make a last round as the rides run for the last time, loading full of citizens that are eager to soak up the last few minutes of the mild autumn breeze. She sees Andy trying to win April a teddy bear, Chris complimenting a little boy on his balloon animal, Lucy convincing Tom to get his face painted.
"There you are," she hears, and it's Ben in his stupid blazer (although it's kind of growing on her), smiling in that way that she's never sure how to handle. His hand is outstretched toward the ferris wheel. "After you?"
"Star treatment," she chuckles, nodding and leading the way onto a seat. The ferris wheel is mostly deserted, as many kids have opted for the haunted hayride. It's quiet and peaceful, and Leslie hardly notices that Ben's arm is stretched across the seat behind her.
"Leslie, this has been really great," he says, tilting his head toward her. "I mean it. You really pulled it off."
"We pulled it off," she corrects him. "I didn't do it alone." He shrugs nonchalantly, and it's quiet for a rotation. But once they hit the top again, he breaks the silence.
"You've been to a lot of these things, haven't you?"
"More than I can count on my fingers," she agrees, and sighs. When she looks down below, she can tell that the festival is smaller, more humble than the grand ones of her youth. Or maybe they just seemed grand because she was young; the corn maze more complicated, the pumpkins a brighter orange. But this still turned out pretty spectacular.
"I have to hand it to you guys," he says, looking out when they're stopped at the top. It's a familiar feeling for her. "It's a pretty nice view."
"Yeah?" she asks, smiling at him with pride. He nods and looks her in the eye.
"I kind of like Pawnee."
Her eyebrows dart up, and she nudges him playfully with her elbow. He chuckles and his arm finds its way around her shoulders. She leans into him.
The wheel starts moving again.