fic: start a war (2/6?)f
title: Start A War (2/6?)
author: shornt
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: I think like a PG/PG13 for this chapter
words: ~5000
spoilers: Loosely based on a Mike Schur interview about season 4, but those were vague tidbits to begin with
notes: Sorry for the delay between chapters - this is a rough one to get through, but I think I like what I've been churning out! Thanks again to swayinisdancin for motivation/help/everything, and to cypanache for the beta.
Feedback is greatly appreciated! If you want to leave a comment (and please do!) but LJ is acting up again, feel free to drop it here!
Ben doesn’t really believe it until the next morning.
He’s carried home on a fast track of barely suppressed anger (he tried his best to hide it from her, because no matter what she does, he’ll never convince himself that she deserves it) and desperation. Not even thinking, just white-knuckling the wheel like it’s a life force, like it’s the one thing keeping him together.
He wakes up without even remembering getting into his house, still in his clothes with one shoe kicked off next to the bed. It initially confuses him, how he’s alone, how he can feel dried tears on his face though he can’t even remember crying. And suddenly it slams into his subconscious, enough that he has to lay back down.
He groans, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face in a pillow. After a moment he realizes it smells like her perfume from the last time she recklessly spent the night, and he remembers her shuffling to get out before Andy or April woke up that morning. Remembers how she had giggled, trying to pull her arms into her blazer as he grabbed her around the waist and pressed his smile into her neck, whispering promises of waffles and bacon against her skin.
“Make it up to me,” she’d said, ruffling his hair before leaving.
He hadn’t gotten to.
---
It’s a while before Ben can stand firmly on his own two feet again.
For the first few days, he just feels sorry for himself. Rarely gets out of bed, acts like he’s doing himself a favor by hardly eating or sleeping. He channel surfs aimlessly, lets his scruff become an unruly mess on his face, stays in the same few pairs of sweatpants the whole weekend. Andy pounds on the door until April pulls him away, yelling in terror that he think Ben might have died (“Just leave him alone for a while,” April says, sounding so understanding that it startles Ben). He calls in sick on Monday because he doesn’t want to leave his bed, this room, this house; for some reason he feels like he owes himself this time to mope.
But somehow, he doesn’t think much about Leslie. Not at first. He thinks about himself, now alone in this town he stayed in to be near her, this town he was falling for as he fell for her. It’s a selfish few days and they’re painful to think back on, but not as painful as the next phase.
Maybe just to make Andy feel better or to prove a point to no one in particular, Ben gets up early on Tuesday. He takes a shower, trims his beard to something that no longer resembles Grizzly Adams, puts on an ironed tie. He puts together a brown paper bag lunch for himself so he can stay in his office all day and avoid any run-ins, and even asks Andy if he or April would like the same.
“Dude!” Andy explains with glee, holding up his hand for a high five. “We are totally beard brothers! This is so great! And April likes mustard on her sandwiches.”
He manages to barricade himself from the rest of City Hall for almost the whole day, but a run to the washroom gets him a quick flash of white-blonde hair hurrying past him in the hall.
“Leslie?” he stutters, as some sort of reflex. He shouldn’t have, because despite the fact that she has small dark circles around her eyes, hardly noticable (since when did little sleep ever affect Leslie Knope?), she still looks... like Leslie. Bounce in her hair, gleam in her eye, pink-tint-to-her-cheeks Leslie. And he feels like a mess.
“Oh, I--” she mutters, her eyes going wide. And somehow they silently agree to turn the other way, to try to forget it happened. But he can’t forget the fact that she was smiling before she noticed him, content in her world. So he goes back to his office and does the worst thing -- he actively thinks about how angry he is at her.
And suddenly there’s a list in his head of all the reasons why he should hate her. She broke the rules for her normal job but suddenly running for office was more important than him. She picked her job over him and then strung him along for weeks before breaking it off. She acted like she was trying, really trying, when she knew all along that they couldn’t be together. She gave him everything he could have ever wanted, showed him everything he was capable of being, made him feel alive like he hadn’t felt since he took an oath to help the town of Partridge, Minnesota be the best it could be... and then she took it all away in an instant.
But when he wakes up the next morning, after bitterly downing whiskey all night while watching some Susan B. Anthony documentary she left on his DVR, he feels nothing but regret (and a little hungover). But there’s a hint of something like acceptance, like he gets that this won’t ever about that. It’s about Leslie and her dreams and not about him and maybe that’s not entirely fair, but it’s what he should have expected. It’s what he always knew, deep down. And it’s not even because she’s selfish; she’s just a woman with a dream, and why should he deny her that?
So he decides that avoidance is the best he can do now, for the next few weeks. They work in City Hall, so seeing each other is inevitable, but when he throws himself into his own work and spends his lunch breaks eating questionable burritos with Andy, it turns out... he doesn’t actually run into her that often.
He’s been discovering a lot, in the aftermath of this breakup -- how he didn’t actually care much for breakfast foods before her (he’s content with a quick bowl of Cheerios, really), how it’s now easier to ignore the faces behind the numbers in his budget reports without her voice in his head (though it does still pop in from time to time), how he’s somehow wrapped his entire life in Pawnee up around her so much that he’s actually struggling to stay afloat without a buoy.
He doesn’t have very much need to stop by the Parks department, now, and when he does it’s usually a question posed at Ron. And even through a grimace, Ron helps him because he knows; he claps Ben on the shoulder in support, almost says something nice before he stops himself, retreating back behind the mustache. Ben appreciates the effort all the same.
But sometimes it can’t be helped, and he ends up in Leslie’s office to work out a monetary budget to put with her proposal for the observatory. She avoids his eyes, hands him papers from three feet away, never says his first name without attaching the last. It’s stilted and professional, but sometimes he thinks he catches a glimmer of apology in her eyes and he clings to it like a life preserver.
So neither of them are doing the best, but they’re trying.
He hears bits and pieces -- Tom sends out an email blast from Entertainment 720 regarding a party at the Snakehole when Leslie lets her friends know she’s going to run for mayor. April talks a little louder than usual when she tells Andy about Leslie’s early ideas about her campaign over their game of Call of Duty.
Ben’s been married to numbers, lately, trying not to stray beyond his actual duties as assistant city manager. Chris is delighted to see him in the office more often, but worried.
“Certainly, this doesn’t mean you and Leslie Knope won’t team up on projects again! You’re my dream team, you can’t let me down! But it’s nice to see more of you again, buddy!”
And really, Ben’s worried too.
Even if Leslie was the catalyst, it’s true that he moved to Pawnee for a little more. He was looking for a home, looking for people he wanted to serve, looking for friends. But now he’s lost without her leading the way, back in a rut he hasn’t been in for months.
He doesn’t know who he’s allowed to be friends with, anymore, so he suddenly withdraws. When Tom calls him up with monetary questions for his business plan, he lets it go to the last ring and sometimes all the way to voicemail (he does try to call back though, but on his own time, and offers little more than stilted budget advice). When Donna invites him out for drinks, he throws her a quick, “Thanks, but I’ve got a lot of work to do.” When Ann says hi and throws him a sympathetic smile, his returning one is tight-lipped and he just continues on his way.
Andy seems to think they’re in some sort of bizarre beard-growing contest and is in constant amazement that Ben’s stays neat and trimmed while his seems to have expanded down his neck and up his cheeks. April invites him out to watch movies with them but he always turns in before they’re over, not sure how to handle being friends with the only other people in this town that understand and adore Leslie as much as him.
When Chris pops into his office one morning to cheerfully ask that Ben attend a meeting with the library department to turn down their proposal for a new book drive van -- “Let them down gently, will you? Thank you, Ben, for being so helpful!” -- that he feels himself hit a solid wall.
Is he really that guy again?
And even though Tammy attempts to throw hot coffee at his face when he breaks the news to her, it’s that fear that nags at him instead of the burn mark on his left shoulder. That fear that maybe he’s stuck being Mean Ben. Maybe that’s all he ever was, and it was just Leslie that made everything seem better. Her smile and her hope and her love for everything around her -- and now it’s gone and he’s just Ben, the guy who hacks the budgets and fires people with a straight face.
Maybe all along, he’s just been the same hardened former boy-mayor.
And it makes him feel a little crazy, makes his hands shake the entire drive home from work, until suddenly he finds himself hitting the number he keeps meaning to take off speed dial but can’t actually work up the nerve to.
“...Ben?”
The fact that she picked up after one ring is a complete shock. He’d have understood being directed right to voicemail, or sitting through all the rings and being hung up on. He’d almost be less surprised if Ann had answered and told him off for calling. But it’s Leslie, and she doesn’t turn away the people she cares about. And it aches, somewhere in the back of his chest, and he hasn’t even gotten a word out.
“Are you there?”
“Yeah, sorry...” He feels really stupid, but he has no one else to turn to. No one knows him as well as her, not even Chris, and he hates to do this to her, to himself, but he has this masochistic need to hear it from her mouth. “I wanted to ask you something. I mean, if it’s okay, I don’t want to, y’know...”
“No, no,” she insists, though she sounds a bit strained. “I mean, I actually, uh... had some things I wanted to ask you, too. But I wasn’t sure if---”
“Go ahead!” Ben interjects, grateful for a distraction before he opens up. And a little victorious, deep down, that he’s not the only one who needs the other, here.
“When you ran for mayor, I mean... I kind of feel like I have no idea what I’m doing here. And that you might.”
He sucks in a breath, though he kind of feels like he should have expected this.
“I mean, I do know what I’m doing, or I know what I want to say, but I just... I think I need a little help. And you, just, you’ve been there already.”
“I was seventeen, Leslie.”
“I know, but you won, didn’t you?” And that’s Leslie, forever optimistic, looking at the brights instead of the darks. “That counts for something, Ben. You did something that made enough people in a town want you to represent them.”
And he should feel on top of the world, feel like he could fly, because that’s how Leslie wants everyone to feel. That’s what she does to people. But he’s having a little trouble getting off the ground.
“Leslie, am I just... am I just the same person I was, when I came here last year?” He’s scared, terrified of himself, really, and it’s the first time he’s said it out loud.
“What?”
“I feel like--” And his nervousness comes back, his inability to put his feelings to words. He runs a hand down his face, closes his eyes. Remembers how she’s the last person he should be burdening with his personal problems, right now, and also the last person he should be looking to for comfort. But she’s the only person he has. “Chris asked me to turn down a budget proposal for him today. Like... like nothing has changed.”
“Oh Ben,” she starts, sympathetic and caring and everything he tried to make himself forget she was. “You have changed. I mean, think about everything you did over the last year!”
“You did most of those things,” he says, with a smile that creeps up against his will.
“Stop doing that!” she exclaims, with a fervent frustration that startles him. “Ben, you always sell yourself short and it’s not fair to you. You have a brilliant mind and a lot of passion. I wouldn’t have a job if you didn’t help with the Harvest Festival. The only reason Chris is productive as a city manager is because you do all the hard work! The only reason Pawnee even has a government, still, is because you fixed the budget. You’re a great asset to Pawnee, Ben.”
That last part is gentle, spoken like she knows she’s overstepping her boundaries, like she knows she shouldn’t be allowed to say these things but she’s going to anyway. And it stirs something in him, something smug, something vindictive that he immediately hates himself for.
“But not an asset to you, then?”
And there’s this dead silence, and he wants to throw the phone across the room because he’s an asshole. All she wanted to do was make him feel better -- he called her looking for that. But if she believes what she’s saying, then why wasn’t she still with him? Why isn’t he worth it, anymore?
“Ben,” she starts, her tone staying firm though her voice shakes. And it’s a miracle she hasn’t hung up, hasn’t immediately blocked his number and pushed him away again. “Nothing that happened was because of you. It.... it doesn’t have anything to do with you not being those things.”
“I know,” he says, though he’s taking a perverse pleasure in the cracks in her voice. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I... I mean, I do blame you a little-- but it’s not, it’s not because of that.”
“I get it,” she says, with a tiny little laugh.
“I know you need to do this.”
“Yeah...”
“It’s just, I don’t know. It still hurts. A lot.”
“I know. And Ben?”
“Yeah?”
“I really am sorry.”
He wonders if her eyes burn as much as his, if the phone feels as heavy in her hand, if she had to sit down like he has. This is weird, talking about this over the phone, but he feels a weird sense of... peace.
“I want to help,” he suddenly says without thinking. “With your campaign. If you need my advice, I want to be there. And I mean, I don’t know if I’ll be the best help, but I... I don’t want to sit back on this.”
“Really?” she asks, and he can feel her grin. “You don’t have to, I know it won’t be easy. But oh my god, Ben, I would love that. Really. I... know I have no right to ask, but I do still want to be friends.”
“We’ll... we’ll figure it out,” he promises, for the both of them.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.” He hears Andy and April barge through the front door, back from some dinner with Andy’s band members they had been out at. “I promised Andy and April that I’d watch Die Hard with them tonight, and they just got back, so...”
“Right! Yes. Go do that. And we’ll...”
“Talk,” he fills in for her. “Keep me updated.”
“I will. I think there’s going to be a meeting, or something, later this week. With Barnes. If you wanted to come?”
“Yeah. Maybe,” he says. “Probably.”
“Thanks. Goodnight, Ben.”
“Goodnight, Leslie.” And there’s a pause, a moment before they both hang up, a moment where each of them almost says more. But then the dial tone fills the silence.
And he knows this is insane and maybe the dumbest idea he’s ever had. He’s been trying for weeks to get over Leslie, trying to move on. And now he’s offering himself up for her campaign, volunteering to help. He can almost feel Ann’s judgmental gaze that she’s sure to slip into when Leslie tells her.
But he feels... alive. This isn’t just about helping Leslie; it’s about helping Pawnee. It’s throwing himself into something that isn’t about numbers and what is affordable. This is about leadership and what’s best for the town, who has its best interests at mind and who is going to represent these people, these lovable weirdos who care about leftover sandwiches and sticking it to Eagleton and miniature horses and their deceased pets getting proper attention.
And who better to lead them than Leslie?
So he tells himself this isn’t for her. This is for Pawnee, a town that deserves the absolute best. A town that deserves someone who wants the best for everyone, who wants to put a smile on every kid’s face, who believes that one festival, or park, or person can completely change everything.
And it’s for him. It’s the chance for him to stare his fear in the face, to look at his past and try to correct what he did wrong. It’s the chance to put away the damn calculator and start caring again.
And maybe, deep down, it is for her. He wants Leslie to succeed. If her dreams are worth sacrificing him for, then he’s damn well going to make this worth the pain. He can lose her if it means Pawnee gains a mayor who loves this town more than anything -- even if it means more than him. She deserves that. Pawnee deserves that.
He joins Andy and April in front of the television, stealing the bowl of popcorn off April’s lap.
“Excuse me,” she snaps, pulling it right back. “I don’t remember granting you popcorn privileges.” He just smiles and shrugs, keeping his attention on the screen. “And what are you so happy about?”
“Yeah man, my beard’s totally beating yours,” Andy chimes in, stroking his chin proudly.
Ben grins to himself; he thinks he’s going to be okay.
---
Things aren’t easy with Leslie right off the bat. It’s not instant friendship. There’s a cautious awareness between them, a need to tiptoe so whatever this thin little alliance is won’t break.
They still don’t talk much, if they see each other in the halls. He nods his head, the corner of her mouth lifts up. She sends him an email about the meeting, though he notes he’s the fifth address in what appears to be an email list of volunteers -- everyone in the Parks department, Ann, Barnes, a few local business owners he remembers from the Harvest Festival, and a few names he doesn’t recognize but must be the other consultants that approached her.
He didn’t expect everything to be seamlessly patched, he didn’t expect this to be easy. But the stumbling around each other was still green, still new. They never got as personal as they did on the phone. She doesn’t bring it up and he doesn’t ask again, and they move on.
Ann is, of course, confused. She corners him in the hallway before the meeting, not exactly threatening but definitely skeptical.
“What are you trying to do, here?”
“What?”
“Come on, Ben. This is weird. You know this is weird.” And he does know that, and he does understand Ann’s concern, but he sometimes wonders why she has to fight battles for Leslie when Leslie doesn’t see the need to fight them on her own.
“I want to help. I want Leslie to win.”
“And you don’t want to try to get her back?” Ann crosses her arms, stares him down.
“Would it really matter if I did?”
“Well,” and at that, Ann sighs. “I suppose... no. It wouldn’t.”
“I know what she has to do. And if she has to do it, I want to make sure it works.”
“You’re a good guy,” she says, with a hint of a smile. “But you’re really going to put yourself through this? I mean, that has to suck, a little.”
“It sucks a lot,” he confides, and they share a bit of laughter. “It’s not easy, but I hope it’ll get easier. And... I don’t know, I like working for something I care about again.”
“It really does feel like you’re making a difference we work with her, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, and he can’t fight the smile on his lips. “It does.”
“I am sorry, you know. About all of this. And if it makes you feel any better, Leslie wasn’t exactly happy about it.”
“It’s fine,” he says, holding up a hand. He doesn’t need to know the details; Leslie can keep her secrets. “But thank you.”
“Of course. Just, be careful, okay? And don’t -- don’t expect too much out of this. I mean, don’t expect her to change her mind. I don’t want you guys to have to go through all of that again.”
“I’ll try,” he promises.
“You’d better.”
“Pawnee deserves her.” He and Ann share a small smile, a note of understanding; it’s not always easy sharing someone you love with an entire town of people, but with Leslie, there isn’t another option.
“Pawnee deserves her,” she agrees.
--
He spends a week on the CC list of emails between Leslie and Barnes, like a secret spy who reads the ideas and strategies and decodes them for Leslie. He offers his own opinions, but only when asked. There are still lines he’s apprehensive to cross, and he’s not going to force himself into her life where she doesn’t want him.
Barnes calls for corporate sponsorship, citing Kernstens and Sweetums as potential investors looking for political candidates to back up. But that doesn’t feel right, and Leslie looks to him for answers. He suggests running a grassroots campaign, looking to the private business owners who already support her for help, as well as her friends and family. He tries not to consider it a personal victory when she sides with him.
He thinks about what Ann asked him, about trying to get Leslie back. And that did make him worry, it made him second guess, but now... he can see he’s already lost her to this.
Except he feels lighter, somehow. He talks Andy and April into joining him on a canvassing venture in two weeks, when Leslie plans to announce her candidacy and start on her platform for her campaign. And the prospect excites him; he can’t wait to dig his heels into something that’s truly important, something that will be good for this town.
But it is painful, a little, and not just because Leslie is at the forefront of his mind, whether he can withstand her there or not. There’s also this standard, a bit too high in his head, that he has to reach to satisfy himself. This idea that he failed himself when in this position, so he can’t let Leslie do the same. And it’s silly, because she’s a fully capable adult woman who knows everything about this town and what it needs, and he was just a silly teenager who wanted to impress a girl and thought maybe he could get more pop machines for the school district.
Even though he’s mostly at peace with his past, he’s desperate to not repeat it, even if it isn’t him behind the podium.
---
The town inches into late fall and “Knope for Mayor” signs are hammered into people’s front lawns. Everyone’s feet hit the pavement, visiting houses and handing out pamphlets and pens adorned with her name. The elections aren’t until the spring, because Pawnee marches to the beat of their own drum (and the citizens have proven in the past that political decision-making isn’t enough to get them out of bed during a November snow storm), but everyone is buzzing with interest at the potential for a new mayor.
It’s nearly Halloween when Chris catches him in the courtyard, sipping his coffee and browsing over a newspaper as April sits across from him, invested in some tumblr blog on her phone. And the slap on the back startles him, makes him cough a bit and oh great, the ink smudged on the article he was reading.
“Ben Wyatt!” Chris exclaims. “Just the man I was looking for. Leslie Knope is well into her campaign and very busy right now.”
“Okay?” Ben asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Her observatory project will either have to be delayed for a year, or someone else has to take charge. And since you two are my dynamic duo, she suggested you take over!”
“Wait, what? Really?” He’s stunned.
“Yes! Isn’t it great? Her name would still be attached to the project, of course, and she still wants to be a part of it. But she doesn’t have the time to take charge so she suggested coming to you! And I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
“Wow.” He’s worked on projects with her, beside her. He’s been in her brainstorming sessions and he’s offered up ideas. But he’s never actually taken charge of his own project here in town. And even though he shouldn’t, he’s a bit thrilled at Leslie’s referral. Because, when it comes down to it, Leslie’s word means something around here.
“You’ll do it, right?”
“I, uh...” He’s groping for words because he’s simultaneously excited beyond belief and absolutely terrified. If he does this, he needs to do it right. He knows nothing about observatories, and he’ll have a lot of research to do, but... this thing could be his. “Let me think about it, but... I think so.” He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I think I will.”
“That’s the spirit! I should take you to my bikram yoga class, it’ll help you center yourself before starting on such a big project. This is just fantastic!”
“Yeah, I don’t think--” But Chris has already slapped him on the back again, leaving the courtyard with the usual spring to his step. “So that just happened,” he states to no one in particular.
“If sitting by you means subjecting myself to him, I might not do it anymore,” April deadpans, but makes no attempts to move.
Ben turns, craning his neck to see through the window into the parks department. Leslie is going over something with Ron, pointing at a paper in her hand and gesturing wildly in her usual way. She looks up and catches his eye.
He smiles. Thank you.
She shrugs casually in reply. Of course.
---
When he’s able to share lunch with Leslie in the commissary without his hands shaking, he feels like anything’s possible. He starts letting himself dream, starts thinking about trying to climb up the government ladder himself. Chris was comfortable in his seat as city manager, but Ben thinks maybe, in two years, city council might not be too wild a dream. If his name gets out there with this observatory, and if he’s associated with Leslie and her campaign...
And that’s, of course, when he gets the email.
Ben,
Long time no see! I hope Pawnee is treating you well -- I’ve heard some interesting things about that town, but hopefully you’ve felt at home with Chris there with you.
I know you left your job with us, and I understand. The traveling isn’t always the easiest and you wanted to stay in one place. But I have some good news for you -- Ted’s decided to retire early. His position in the budget department here in Indianapolis was originally going to be offered to Chris. But Chris is needed as city manager in Pawnee, and we’ve spoken with him already. He recommended you to us, and I have to say, I am delighted by the idea.
If you’re interested in coming back and working here in the city again, please call me when you can. We’d love to set up an interview and work out details...
The rest of the email is formalities, scheduling possibilities. And, most intriguingly, salary estimations. And it’s more -- a lot more -- than he’s making here in Pawnee. And one sentence at the bottom, right before his former boss bids him adieu:
I know this is what you wanted when you were here. It’ll get you where you want to go, Ben.
He stares at the email, the computer screen making his eyes burn a bit. It’s -- it’s everything he’d been working toward. It’s a firm place in the state government. It’s a branching-off point; the stepping stone those before him have used to get where they needed to go. It’s everything staying in Pawnee to work on a parks project and consult local budgets is not.
His phone beeps, and it’s inevitably Leslie’s name that flashes across the screen.
Everyone going to JJs tonight. You in?
A wonderful little olive branch, as she’s been prone to throw him lately.
He hasn’t even let this sink in and he already feels like a traitor.
author: shornt
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: I think like a PG/PG13 for this chapter
words: ~5000
spoilers: Loosely based on a Mike Schur interview about season 4, but those were vague tidbits to begin with
notes: Sorry for the delay between chapters - this is a rough one to get through, but I think I like what I've been churning out! Thanks again to swayinisdancin for motivation/help/everything, and to cypanache for the beta.
Feedback is greatly appreciated! If you want to leave a comment (and please do!) but LJ is acting up again, feel free to drop it here!
Ben doesn’t really believe it until the next morning.
He’s carried home on a fast track of barely suppressed anger (he tried his best to hide it from her, because no matter what she does, he’ll never convince himself that she deserves it) and desperation. Not even thinking, just white-knuckling the wheel like it’s a life force, like it’s the one thing keeping him together.
He wakes up without even remembering getting into his house, still in his clothes with one shoe kicked off next to the bed. It initially confuses him, how he’s alone, how he can feel dried tears on his face though he can’t even remember crying. And suddenly it slams into his subconscious, enough that he has to lay back down.
He groans, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face in a pillow. After a moment he realizes it smells like her perfume from the last time she recklessly spent the night, and he remembers her shuffling to get out before Andy or April woke up that morning. Remembers how she had giggled, trying to pull her arms into her blazer as he grabbed her around the waist and pressed his smile into her neck, whispering promises of waffles and bacon against her skin.
“Make it up to me,” she’d said, ruffling his hair before leaving.
He hadn’t gotten to.
---
It’s a while before Ben can stand firmly on his own two feet again.
For the first few days, he just feels sorry for himself. Rarely gets out of bed, acts like he’s doing himself a favor by hardly eating or sleeping. He channel surfs aimlessly, lets his scruff become an unruly mess on his face, stays in the same few pairs of sweatpants the whole weekend. Andy pounds on the door until April pulls him away, yelling in terror that he think Ben might have died (“Just leave him alone for a while,” April says, sounding so understanding that it startles Ben). He calls in sick on Monday because he doesn’t want to leave his bed, this room, this house; for some reason he feels like he owes himself this time to mope.
But somehow, he doesn’t think much about Leslie. Not at first. He thinks about himself, now alone in this town he stayed in to be near her, this town he was falling for as he fell for her. It’s a selfish few days and they’re painful to think back on, but not as painful as the next phase.
Maybe just to make Andy feel better or to prove a point to no one in particular, Ben gets up early on Tuesday. He takes a shower, trims his beard to something that no longer resembles Grizzly Adams, puts on an ironed tie. He puts together a brown paper bag lunch for himself so he can stay in his office all day and avoid any run-ins, and even asks Andy if he or April would like the same.
“Dude!” Andy explains with glee, holding up his hand for a high five. “We are totally beard brothers! This is so great! And April likes mustard on her sandwiches.”
He manages to barricade himself from the rest of City Hall for almost the whole day, but a run to the washroom gets him a quick flash of white-blonde hair hurrying past him in the hall.
“Leslie?” he stutters, as some sort of reflex. He shouldn’t have, because despite the fact that she has small dark circles around her eyes, hardly noticable (since when did little sleep ever affect Leslie Knope?), she still looks... like Leslie. Bounce in her hair, gleam in her eye, pink-tint-to-her-cheeks Leslie. And he feels like a mess.
“Oh, I--” she mutters, her eyes going wide. And somehow they silently agree to turn the other way, to try to forget it happened. But he can’t forget the fact that she was smiling before she noticed him, content in her world. So he goes back to his office and does the worst thing -- he actively thinks about how angry he is at her.
And suddenly there’s a list in his head of all the reasons why he should hate her. She broke the rules for her normal job but suddenly running for office was more important than him. She picked her job over him and then strung him along for weeks before breaking it off. She acted like she was trying, really trying, when she knew all along that they couldn’t be together. She gave him everything he could have ever wanted, showed him everything he was capable of being, made him feel alive like he hadn’t felt since he took an oath to help the town of Partridge, Minnesota be the best it could be... and then she took it all away in an instant.
But when he wakes up the next morning, after bitterly downing whiskey all night while watching some Susan B. Anthony documentary she left on his DVR, he feels nothing but regret (and a little hungover). But there’s a hint of something like acceptance, like he gets that this won’t ever about that. It’s about Leslie and her dreams and not about him and maybe that’s not entirely fair, but it’s what he should have expected. It’s what he always knew, deep down. And it’s not even because she’s selfish; she’s just a woman with a dream, and why should he deny her that?
So he decides that avoidance is the best he can do now, for the next few weeks. They work in City Hall, so seeing each other is inevitable, but when he throws himself into his own work and spends his lunch breaks eating questionable burritos with Andy, it turns out... he doesn’t actually run into her that often.
He’s been discovering a lot, in the aftermath of this breakup -- how he didn’t actually care much for breakfast foods before her (he’s content with a quick bowl of Cheerios, really), how it’s now easier to ignore the faces behind the numbers in his budget reports without her voice in his head (though it does still pop in from time to time), how he’s somehow wrapped his entire life in Pawnee up around her so much that he’s actually struggling to stay afloat without a buoy.
He doesn’t have very much need to stop by the Parks department, now, and when he does it’s usually a question posed at Ron. And even through a grimace, Ron helps him because he knows; he claps Ben on the shoulder in support, almost says something nice before he stops himself, retreating back behind the mustache. Ben appreciates the effort all the same.
But sometimes it can’t be helped, and he ends up in Leslie’s office to work out a monetary budget to put with her proposal for the observatory. She avoids his eyes, hands him papers from three feet away, never says his first name without attaching the last. It’s stilted and professional, but sometimes he thinks he catches a glimmer of apology in her eyes and he clings to it like a life preserver.
So neither of them are doing the best, but they’re trying.
He hears bits and pieces -- Tom sends out an email blast from Entertainment 720 regarding a party at the Snakehole when Leslie lets her friends know she’s going to run for mayor. April talks a little louder than usual when she tells Andy about Leslie’s early ideas about her campaign over their game of Call of Duty.
Ben’s been married to numbers, lately, trying not to stray beyond his actual duties as assistant city manager. Chris is delighted to see him in the office more often, but worried.
“Certainly, this doesn’t mean you and Leslie Knope won’t team up on projects again! You’re my dream team, you can’t let me down! But it’s nice to see more of you again, buddy!”
And really, Ben’s worried too.
Even if Leslie was the catalyst, it’s true that he moved to Pawnee for a little more. He was looking for a home, looking for people he wanted to serve, looking for friends. But now he’s lost without her leading the way, back in a rut he hasn’t been in for months.
He doesn’t know who he’s allowed to be friends with, anymore, so he suddenly withdraws. When Tom calls him up with monetary questions for his business plan, he lets it go to the last ring and sometimes all the way to voicemail (he does try to call back though, but on his own time, and offers little more than stilted budget advice). When Donna invites him out for drinks, he throws her a quick, “Thanks, but I’ve got a lot of work to do.” When Ann says hi and throws him a sympathetic smile, his returning one is tight-lipped and he just continues on his way.
Andy seems to think they’re in some sort of bizarre beard-growing contest and is in constant amazement that Ben’s stays neat and trimmed while his seems to have expanded down his neck and up his cheeks. April invites him out to watch movies with them but he always turns in before they’re over, not sure how to handle being friends with the only other people in this town that understand and adore Leslie as much as him.
When Chris pops into his office one morning to cheerfully ask that Ben attend a meeting with the library department to turn down their proposal for a new book drive van -- “Let them down gently, will you? Thank you, Ben, for being so helpful!” -- that he feels himself hit a solid wall.
Is he really that guy again?
And even though Tammy attempts to throw hot coffee at his face when he breaks the news to her, it’s that fear that nags at him instead of the burn mark on his left shoulder. That fear that maybe he’s stuck being Mean Ben. Maybe that’s all he ever was, and it was just Leslie that made everything seem better. Her smile and her hope and her love for everything around her -- and now it’s gone and he’s just Ben, the guy who hacks the budgets and fires people with a straight face.
Maybe all along, he’s just been the same hardened former boy-mayor.
And it makes him feel a little crazy, makes his hands shake the entire drive home from work, until suddenly he finds himself hitting the number he keeps meaning to take off speed dial but can’t actually work up the nerve to.
“...Ben?”
The fact that she picked up after one ring is a complete shock. He’d have understood being directed right to voicemail, or sitting through all the rings and being hung up on. He’d almost be less surprised if Ann had answered and told him off for calling. But it’s Leslie, and she doesn’t turn away the people she cares about. And it aches, somewhere in the back of his chest, and he hasn’t even gotten a word out.
“Are you there?”
“Yeah, sorry...” He feels really stupid, but he has no one else to turn to. No one knows him as well as her, not even Chris, and he hates to do this to her, to himself, but he has this masochistic need to hear it from her mouth. “I wanted to ask you something. I mean, if it’s okay, I don’t want to, y’know...”
“No, no,” she insists, though she sounds a bit strained. “I mean, I actually, uh... had some things I wanted to ask you, too. But I wasn’t sure if---”
“Go ahead!” Ben interjects, grateful for a distraction before he opens up. And a little victorious, deep down, that he’s not the only one who needs the other, here.
“When you ran for mayor, I mean... I kind of feel like I have no idea what I’m doing here. And that you might.”
He sucks in a breath, though he kind of feels like he should have expected this.
“I mean, I do know what I’m doing, or I know what I want to say, but I just... I think I need a little help. And you, just, you’ve been there already.”
“I was seventeen, Leslie.”
“I know, but you won, didn’t you?” And that’s Leslie, forever optimistic, looking at the brights instead of the darks. “That counts for something, Ben. You did something that made enough people in a town want you to represent them.”
And he should feel on top of the world, feel like he could fly, because that’s how Leslie wants everyone to feel. That’s what she does to people. But he’s having a little trouble getting off the ground.
“Leslie, am I just... am I just the same person I was, when I came here last year?” He’s scared, terrified of himself, really, and it’s the first time he’s said it out loud.
“What?”
“I feel like--” And his nervousness comes back, his inability to put his feelings to words. He runs a hand down his face, closes his eyes. Remembers how she’s the last person he should be burdening with his personal problems, right now, and also the last person he should be looking to for comfort. But she’s the only person he has. “Chris asked me to turn down a budget proposal for him today. Like... like nothing has changed.”
“Oh Ben,” she starts, sympathetic and caring and everything he tried to make himself forget she was. “You have changed. I mean, think about everything you did over the last year!”
“You did most of those things,” he says, with a smile that creeps up against his will.
“Stop doing that!” she exclaims, with a fervent frustration that startles him. “Ben, you always sell yourself short and it’s not fair to you. You have a brilliant mind and a lot of passion. I wouldn’t have a job if you didn’t help with the Harvest Festival. The only reason Chris is productive as a city manager is because you do all the hard work! The only reason Pawnee even has a government, still, is because you fixed the budget. You’re a great asset to Pawnee, Ben.”
That last part is gentle, spoken like she knows she’s overstepping her boundaries, like she knows she shouldn’t be allowed to say these things but she’s going to anyway. And it stirs something in him, something smug, something vindictive that he immediately hates himself for.
“But not an asset to you, then?”
And there’s this dead silence, and he wants to throw the phone across the room because he’s an asshole. All she wanted to do was make him feel better -- he called her looking for that. But if she believes what she’s saying, then why wasn’t she still with him? Why isn’t he worth it, anymore?
“Ben,” she starts, her tone staying firm though her voice shakes. And it’s a miracle she hasn’t hung up, hasn’t immediately blocked his number and pushed him away again. “Nothing that happened was because of you. It.... it doesn’t have anything to do with you not being those things.”
“I know,” he says, though he’s taking a perverse pleasure in the cracks in her voice. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I... I mean, I do blame you a little-- but it’s not, it’s not because of that.”
“I get it,” she says, with a tiny little laugh.
“I know you need to do this.”
“Yeah...”
“It’s just, I don’t know. It still hurts. A lot.”
“I know. And Ben?”
“Yeah?”
“I really am sorry.”
He wonders if her eyes burn as much as his, if the phone feels as heavy in her hand, if she had to sit down like he has. This is weird, talking about this over the phone, but he feels a weird sense of... peace.
“I want to help,” he suddenly says without thinking. “With your campaign. If you need my advice, I want to be there. And I mean, I don’t know if I’ll be the best help, but I... I don’t want to sit back on this.”
“Really?” she asks, and he can feel her grin. “You don’t have to, I know it won’t be easy. But oh my god, Ben, I would love that. Really. I... know I have no right to ask, but I do still want to be friends.”
“We’ll... we’ll figure it out,” he promises, for the both of them.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.” He hears Andy and April barge through the front door, back from some dinner with Andy’s band members they had been out at. “I promised Andy and April that I’d watch Die Hard with them tonight, and they just got back, so...”
“Right! Yes. Go do that. And we’ll...”
“Talk,” he fills in for her. “Keep me updated.”
“I will. I think there’s going to be a meeting, or something, later this week. With Barnes. If you wanted to come?”
“Yeah. Maybe,” he says. “Probably.”
“Thanks. Goodnight, Ben.”
“Goodnight, Leslie.” And there’s a pause, a moment before they both hang up, a moment where each of them almost says more. But then the dial tone fills the silence.
And he knows this is insane and maybe the dumbest idea he’s ever had. He’s been trying for weeks to get over Leslie, trying to move on. And now he’s offering himself up for her campaign, volunteering to help. He can almost feel Ann’s judgmental gaze that she’s sure to slip into when Leslie tells her.
But he feels... alive. This isn’t just about helping Leslie; it’s about helping Pawnee. It’s throwing himself into something that isn’t about numbers and what is affordable. This is about leadership and what’s best for the town, who has its best interests at mind and who is going to represent these people, these lovable weirdos who care about leftover sandwiches and sticking it to Eagleton and miniature horses and their deceased pets getting proper attention.
And who better to lead them than Leslie?
So he tells himself this isn’t for her. This is for Pawnee, a town that deserves the absolute best. A town that deserves someone who wants the best for everyone, who wants to put a smile on every kid’s face, who believes that one festival, or park, or person can completely change everything.
And it’s for him. It’s the chance for him to stare his fear in the face, to look at his past and try to correct what he did wrong. It’s the chance to put away the damn calculator and start caring again.
And maybe, deep down, it is for her. He wants Leslie to succeed. If her dreams are worth sacrificing him for, then he’s damn well going to make this worth the pain. He can lose her if it means Pawnee gains a mayor who loves this town more than anything -- even if it means more than him. She deserves that. Pawnee deserves that.
He joins Andy and April in front of the television, stealing the bowl of popcorn off April’s lap.
“Excuse me,” she snaps, pulling it right back. “I don’t remember granting you popcorn privileges.” He just smiles and shrugs, keeping his attention on the screen. “And what are you so happy about?”
“Yeah man, my beard’s totally beating yours,” Andy chimes in, stroking his chin proudly.
Ben grins to himself; he thinks he’s going to be okay.
---
Things aren’t easy with Leslie right off the bat. It’s not instant friendship. There’s a cautious awareness between them, a need to tiptoe so whatever this thin little alliance is won’t break.
They still don’t talk much, if they see each other in the halls. He nods his head, the corner of her mouth lifts up. She sends him an email about the meeting, though he notes he’s the fifth address in what appears to be an email list of volunteers -- everyone in the Parks department, Ann, Barnes, a few local business owners he remembers from the Harvest Festival, and a few names he doesn’t recognize but must be the other consultants that approached her.
He didn’t expect everything to be seamlessly patched, he didn’t expect this to be easy. But the stumbling around each other was still green, still new. They never got as personal as they did on the phone. She doesn’t bring it up and he doesn’t ask again, and they move on.
Ann is, of course, confused. She corners him in the hallway before the meeting, not exactly threatening but definitely skeptical.
“What are you trying to do, here?”
“What?”
“Come on, Ben. This is weird. You know this is weird.” And he does know that, and he does understand Ann’s concern, but he sometimes wonders why she has to fight battles for Leslie when Leslie doesn’t see the need to fight them on her own.
“I want to help. I want Leslie to win.”
“And you don’t want to try to get her back?” Ann crosses her arms, stares him down.
“Would it really matter if I did?”
“Well,” and at that, Ann sighs. “I suppose... no. It wouldn’t.”
“I know what she has to do. And if she has to do it, I want to make sure it works.”
“You’re a good guy,” she says, with a hint of a smile. “But you’re really going to put yourself through this? I mean, that has to suck, a little.”
“It sucks a lot,” he confides, and they share a bit of laughter. “It’s not easy, but I hope it’ll get easier. And... I don’t know, I like working for something I care about again.”
“It really does feel like you’re making a difference we work with her, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, and he can’t fight the smile on his lips. “It does.”
“I am sorry, you know. About all of this. And if it makes you feel any better, Leslie wasn’t exactly happy about it.”
“It’s fine,” he says, holding up a hand. He doesn’t need to know the details; Leslie can keep her secrets. “But thank you.”
“Of course. Just, be careful, okay? And don’t -- don’t expect too much out of this. I mean, don’t expect her to change her mind. I don’t want you guys to have to go through all of that again.”
“I’ll try,” he promises.
“You’d better.”
“Pawnee deserves her.” He and Ann share a small smile, a note of understanding; it’s not always easy sharing someone you love with an entire town of people, but with Leslie, there isn’t another option.
“Pawnee deserves her,” she agrees.
--
He spends a week on the CC list of emails between Leslie and Barnes, like a secret spy who reads the ideas and strategies and decodes them for Leslie. He offers his own opinions, but only when asked. There are still lines he’s apprehensive to cross, and he’s not going to force himself into her life where she doesn’t want him.
Barnes calls for corporate sponsorship, citing Kernstens and Sweetums as potential investors looking for political candidates to back up. But that doesn’t feel right, and Leslie looks to him for answers. He suggests running a grassroots campaign, looking to the private business owners who already support her for help, as well as her friends and family. He tries not to consider it a personal victory when she sides with him.
He thinks about what Ann asked him, about trying to get Leslie back. And that did make him worry, it made him second guess, but now... he can see he’s already lost her to this.
Except he feels lighter, somehow. He talks Andy and April into joining him on a canvassing venture in two weeks, when Leslie plans to announce her candidacy and start on her platform for her campaign. And the prospect excites him; he can’t wait to dig his heels into something that’s truly important, something that will be good for this town.
But it is painful, a little, and not just because Leslie is at the forefront of his mind, whether he can withstand her there or not. There’s also this standard, a bit too high in his head, that he has to reach to satisfy himself. This idea that he failed himself when in this position, so he can’t let Leslie do the same. And it’s silly, because she’s a fully capable adult woman who knows everything about this town and what it needs, and he was just a silly teenager who wanted to impress a girl and thought maybe he could get more pop machines for the school district.
Even though he’s mostly at peace with his past, he’s desperate to not repeat it, even if it isn’t him behind the podium.
---
The town inches into late fall and “Knope for Mayor” signs are hammered into people’s front lawns. Everyone’s feet hit the pavement, visiting houses and handing out pamphlets and pens adorned with her name. The elections aren’t until the spring, because Pawnee marches to the beat of their own drum (and the citizens have proven in the past that political decision-making isn’t enough to get them out of bed during a November snow storm), but everyone is buzzing with interest at the potential for a new mayor.
It’s nearly Halloween when Chris catches him in the courtyard, sipping his coffee and browsing over a newspaper as April sits across from him, invested in some tumblr blog on her phone. And the slap on the back startles him, makes him cough a bit and oh great, the ink smudged on the article he was reading.
“Ben Wyatt!” Chris exclaims. “Just the man I was looking for. Leslie Knope is well into her campaign and very busy right now.”
“Okay?” Ben asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Her observatory project will either have to be delayed for a year, or someone else has to take charge. And since you two are my dynamic duo, she suggested you take over!”
“Wait, what? Really?” He’s stunned.
“Yes! Isn’t it great? Her name would still be attached to the project, of course, and she still wants to be a part of it. But she doesn’t have the time to take charge so she suggested coming to you! And I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
“Wow.” He’s worked on projects with her, beside her. He’s been in her brainstorming sessions and he’s offered up ideas. But he’s never actually taken charge of his own project here in town. And even though he shouldn’t, he’s a bit thrilled at Leslie’s referral. Because, when it comes down to it, Leslie’s word means something around here.
“You’ll do it, right?”
“I, uh...” He’s groping for words because he’s simultaneously excited beyond belief and absolutely terrified. If he does this, he needs to do it right. He knows nothing about observatories, and he’ll have a lot of research to do, but... this thing could be his. “Let me think about it, but... I think so.” He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I think I will.”
“That’s the spirit! I should take you to my bikram yoga class, it’ll help you center yourself before starting on such a big project. This is just fantastic!”
“Yeah, I don’t think--” But Chris has already slapped him on the back again, leaving the courtyard with the usual spring to his step. “So that just happened,” he states to no one in particular.
“If sitting by you means subjecting myself to him, I might not do it anymore,” April deadpans, but makes no attempts to move.
Ben turns, craning his neck to see through the window into the parks department. Leslie is going over something with Ron, pointing at a paper in her hand and gesturing wildly in her usual way. She looks up and catches his eye.
He smiles. Thank you.
She shrugs casually in reply. Of course.
---
When he’s able to share lunch with Leslie in the commissary without his hands shaking, he feels like anything’s possible. He starts letting himself dream, starts thinking about trying to climb up the government ladder himself. Chris was comfortable in his seat as city manager, but Ben thinks maybe, in two years, city council might not be too wild a dream. If his name gets out there with this observatory, and if he’s associated with Leslie and her campaign...
And that’s, of course, when he gets the email.
Ben,
Long time no see! I hope Pawnee is treating you well -- I’ve heard some interesting things about that town, but hopefully you’ve felt at home with Chris there with you.
I know you left your job with us, and I understand. The traveling isn’t always the easiest and you wanted to stay in one place. But I have some good news for you -- Ted’s decided to retire early. His position in the budget department here in Indianapolis was originally going to be offered to Chris. But Chris is needed as city manager in Pawnee, and we’ve spoken with him already. He recommended you to us, and I have to say, I am delighted by the idea.
If you’re interested in coming back and working here in the city again, please call me when you can. We’d love to set up an interview and work out details...
The rest of the email is formalities, scheduling possibilities. And, most intriguingly, salary estimations. And it’s more -- a lot more -- than he’s making here in Pawnee. And one sentence at the bottom, right before his former boss bids him adieu:
I know this is what you wanted when you were here. It’ll get you where you want to go, Ben.
He stares at the email, the computer screen making his eyes burn a bit. It’s -- it’s everything he’d been working toward. It’s a firm place in the state government. It’s a branching-off point; the stepping stone those before him have used to get where they needed to go. It’s everything staying in Pawnee to work on a parks project and consult local budgets is not.
His phone beeps, and it’s inevitably Leslie’s name that flashes across the screen.
Everyone going to JJs tonight. You in?
A wonderful little olive branch, as she’s been prone to throw him lately.
He hasn’t even let this sink in and he already feels like a traitor.