fic: only time will tell, leslie/ben (1/2)

Jul 16, 2012 13:15

title: Only Time Will Tell
author:
shornt
pairing: Leslie/Ben
rating: hard R
words: ~17,500. Uhh I am surprised too.
notes: So this is a monster of a thing. I basically started this a month ago, just feeling like I wanted to write an AU where Ben left in season 3. Huge thanks to fairytiger for continually stepping up and encouraging me to finish and listening to me ramble about it for weeks. And in the end I got this thing that's about three times longer than my fic has ever been. Oops. Anyway, here's some season 3/4 au for you. Posted in two parts, but all at once. Enjoy~


It makes sense that he left.

She repeats that to herself, constantly, quietly in the back of her mind.

It makes sense. Why bother worrying about it?

---

A Harvest Festival, a camping trip, and an impromptu wedding feels like a lot at once. They’re the moments you bond over later, the ones where you felt excited and scared and nervous and proud. Where you feel alone only to remember that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

When you realize you have someone new to take wandering sunset walks with.

It shouldn’t have startled her so much.

She catches him in the hallway, hop-skipping her way over to prod him over Andy and April’s requests. And she likes this, likes this new territory they’re slipping into, where it’s easy to talk and smile. He’s a good guy and they’ve shared so much lately, so she misses him flinch as she happily teases him about the 3D television he’s supposed to bring to the dinner party.

“Hey,” he starts as they fall into step down the hall. “I uh, something came up.”

She stops, warning bells going off in her mind.

“What’s up?”

His fingers fiddle with the invitation, and she tries not to be distracted by their deftness, their length. Why does such a small guy have such big hands? Not that there’s anything wrong--

“My boss just, uh, called me this morning.” She feels her heart in her throat, for some reason. “He wants me back on the road in a week.”

“Oh.”

And she feels thrown off-kilter, a little, even though she’s known this. He’s already been in Pawnee so long, but she thought maybe, just maybe...

His brow furrows, and she hurries to smile, but knows her face fell and she can’t take it back. Crap. This is -- what can she even say?

“So you’re gonna...”

“I don’t know,” he says, trying way too hard to be casual. His hair bounces against his forehead, and she’s noticed that always happens when he’s nervous. His movements go jerky and he stutters, stares at walls, tries so hard. “They found a city manager replacement, so Chris isn’t really needed either. He’s already making plans to move back.”

“Oh. Well. You have time. A week?”

“I’d probably have to leave Pawnee, like, this weekend. To go back to Indianapolis first, figure stuff out, y’know.”

He looks strained, and it’s on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t. Why? Why would he want to go back? Is Pawnee not enough?

“I guess you have some thinking to do,” she says, and winces. What does that even mean? That doesn’t tell him anything. What if she said--

“I guess so,” he replies, on the end of a sigh. He walks off down the hallway alone, doesn’t look at her, doesn’t say goodbye.

Her hand is itching to reach out. She mentally scolds it back to her side.

---

It’s a welcome distraction to try to prevent a wedding from happening.

Everyone’s so damn convinced that April and Andy can make their own decisions, that love is worth it, that blah blah blah. And maybe they’re right. But if she can’t fight to keep one damn person in Pawnee, then she’s going to throw herself at this marriage like her life depends on it.

Until she can’t do anything. Until Ron tells her about risks. Until Andy advises the whole damn party to do whatever makes her happy, and suddenly her mind jumps to ferris wheels and cotton candy and the Sweetums clouds.

She just cares about him. And she never expected to and never asked to, but it happened. And she feels like Pawnee would make him happy. That’s it, right? She likes having him around and she wants him somewhere where he can make real change, do something that matters.

The thought of him slashing another budget is maybe the most upsetting image that’s crossed her mind in weeks.

He finds her, as he always seems to, on the edge of the party. As he takes a slow drink from his beer, she grips the metal bar in her hands, she steels herself.

Just tell him. Really. Just do it, Leslie, don’t chicken out on this, just tell him--

“So, it looks like I’m out of Pawnee on Sunday.”

And it’s like the floor drops out beneath her. She closes her eyes, fists clenching harder, tries to recover.

“Wow.”

“I know, it’s soon.” He doesn’t sound happy. He should be happy. He deserves to be happy. Just tell him... “But we knew this was temporary, right?”

And he looks at her, and it’s questioning. He wants her to say it, she can feel it.

But wait. Why can’t he?

She can’t make his decisions for him. Would it even be enough? For all she knows, maybe he would be happy back on the road.

She shrinks back down.

“We both knew that,” she agrees, and it feels intimate, to make them a “we.” To assume that he’s sad for her, that he’s thinking about her at all. But he nods grimly.

“Yeah.”

And he stays there, lifts his beer back to his lips. Neither of them move. Not even the presence of Orin shakes her.

It could be the last time.

---

He and Chris pack up without much fuss.

They wrap of the last of their work in City Hall, finalize annual budgets with departments and check figures to make sure things are on track. It’s unnecessary, everyone knows it. They haven’t been needed as auditors for months. They only stayed for the festival, for Pawnee.

Leslie thinks of throwing a goodbye party, knows it would normally be her first move. But it’s soon, and rather than stay up all night after the wedding making homemade streamers and creating party mixes on itunes, she flips through her pictures of the festival and thinks.

Ben looks happy in them. But does that mean he won’t be happy anywhere else?

And, even more, was it ever even her that made him happy?

She wishes she knew him well enough to answer that.

---

He shakes her hand with a small smile on Friday.

Emails a “Thanks for the last few weeks” on Saturday.

Texts a goodbye on Sunday.

And that’s that.

---

Leslie gives herself that weekend. Writes drafts of speeches she should have given him as he is likely packing across town, curls up alone under an afghan on her couch as he’s likely steering his car out of city limits. Lets herself think that maybe she liked him.

Part of her wonders if she just let go something great. It feels like putting down a book mid-chapter, like she stopped herself halfway through a sentence.

But it’s not the first (and likely not the last) guy who’s left. And it’s probably better, that it was quick, that she didn’t have to dive in too deep for him to turn her down.

She knew he was going to leave and he followed through and, well, what did she expect?

---

Once Leslie goes back to work Monday morning, she realizes how long it’s been since that one parking spot in the back corner, the one under the oak tree, has been empty. She’s used to the dark blue Saturn, the one with the small ding on the bumper, right above the faded Twins sticker.

And she finds herself stopping several times during the day, the times she’d wander the halls to find him. Or text him about the specials in the commissary. Or show up at his office with a binder and ten new ideas.

Wandering only makes Andy start counting her laps in boredom, April refuses to eat anything from the commissary that isn’t prepackaged in a potato chip bag, and Ron has to physically force her and her idea binder out of his office.

And Tom’s busy on youtube. And Donna claims to be saving her voice for karaoke night at some club. And Ann is pulling a long shift at the hospital. And Jerry... well, Leslie isn’t that desperate just yet.

She just never realized how he fit, how he filled the cracks. How much she relied on him.

---

She has Ann, and when you have a friend like Ann, the hurt over a guy doesn’t last too long. And it’s not even like Ben was a boyfriend, or would have ever been --

No. Decidedly not a boyfriend. Just a friend. Which she has to repeat as a mantra when she wakes up one morning after a particularly intense dream involving Ben and some less-than-appropriate activities in a tent.

“Are you sure you didn’t--”

“No, Ann,” she snaps, shuffling whipped cream into her mouth like Ann’s about to steal it and run away. It’s a tense morning in the Perkins kitchen; the dream worked Leslie up so much that she couldn’t even get her own enjoyment out of it, and of course it’s all Ann wants to talk about.

“You guys always seemed kinda flirty.” Ann shrugs and takes a bite of her pancakes. Leslie screws her mouth into a pout; did they?

“We got along,” she muses. “Which is weird, because remember how I hated him?” That’s true, she thinks. When did that hate go away? Or maybe it wasn’t hate, necessarily. “But I mean, we were friends. Just friends.”

“Either way, he’s gone now.” Ann picks up Leslie’s now empty plate to bring it to the sink, but relents when Leslie whimpers. There’s still perfect good traces of syrup left on there! “So on to the next. Want to go out tomorrow?”

She raises her eyebrows with a wicked grin, and Leslie thinks of drinks at the Snakehole, dancing til she feels better. But then she thinks of a timid guy in a striped blue shirt and an awkward handshake. Hmm.

“Stay in for movie night?” Ann offers at Leslie’s hesitation.

Yes. Perfect, beautiful Ann.

---

And it fades, really. It hurts for a little while, but then it’s business as usual. Leslie Knope’s never been known not to bounce back. It’s not like she doesn’t miss him, but it’s also not an immediate pain.

She forgets how she used to stop by his office before lunch every day. Or how he used to text her to have a good weekend on his way home on Fridays. Or the unassuming way he’d shuffle into the Snakehole Lounge behind Tom, with that tiny little smile on his face once he found her in the crowd.

Maybe it was in her head.

Maybe they were barely friends. Or acquaintances. Or just amicable co-workers.

She makes herself forget the way it felt to hug him in the sun.

People hug each other all the time, anyway. It was never a big deal.

---

When Li’l Sebastian passes, she thinks about him. Should she text him? Or is that too much?

It’s been months, now. And she hasn’t heard a peep. He doesn’t seem to miss Pawnee much. She deletes his email from the mailing list as she shoots out the bad news.

And the best way to work through the sadness of losing someone (or somehorse) is remembering why they were awesome when they were alive, so of course she throws herself into the memorial. It goes off without a hitch; Ron presents the memorial wreath, Councilman Houser lights the torch, and the town cheers and cries together.

It’s a success. And then William Barnes finds her.

---

“So before we go any further, I need you to tell me: is there a scandal out there? Is there anything, at all, that you need to tell us about your life?”

Her hands clasp each other even harder, and she can’t stop the grin from breaking out over her face.

“Nothing! Clean as a whistle.”

Barnes smiles, satisfied, and suddenly a political campaign is hers for the taking.

---

And then she’s too busy to think about him. There’s meetings to decide what office to run for (city council, ultimately, because one step at a time, Leslie). There’s consultations on image, speech drafts to write up and save for later. They want her to stand on a podium and announce her run at the end of summer, and she’s not sure she’ll ever mark anything more wonderful on her calendar.

This is important. This is everything.

Which is why it’s easy to forget, until suddenly it’s thrown back into her life.

---

“Les, my feet hurt,” Ann groans, as Leslie leads the way out of yet another Ann Taylor Loft. “Can’t we take a lunch break?”

“It’s only eleven!”

“But you made me eat breakfast at five.”

It’s a beautiful day in Indianapolis, breezy and warm with bright sunlight. Something about announcing a campaign seemed too special even for Lady Place. So Leslie grabbed her best friend and the car keys for a quick day trip upstate.

She reaches in her bag and tosses Ann a Nutriyum bar.

“Here. I know you say they’re awful, but sustenance.”

Ann frowns and throws the bar into the nearest garbage.

They stroll down the block with sunglasses on, pointing at displays in storefront windows. Ann coerces her into a Starbucks, and once she has a sip of her triple mocha latte with three extra sugar packets and whipped cream, she concedes that Ann often has good ideas. They link arms as Ann, now energized, pulls Leslie toward a glorified department store.

“I just need something that says ‘regal,’ you know? But not in a way that means I’m better than everyone else. Just better than people who might run against me. But in a relatable way? I mean, professional and clean, but also like I’m just one of the gals and we could kick it back. Maybe a little bit--”

“Got it,” Ann interrupts, saving herself from the third rambly speech today. Leslie frowns. Does Ann really get it or is she just saying she gets it? Either way, she disappears down a crowded aisle lined with pantsuits while Leslie gets distracted by a watch display. Does she need a new watch? They’re kind of expensive, but for the campaign...

“Uh, Leslie?”

She looks up and sees only a sea of tweed and wool.

“No, behind--”

A light touch on her back sends her about a foot in the air, a watch case tumbling to the ground from her hands.

“Ann, you can’t do that, you know I just drank this whole thing!”

She holds up the empty plastic coffee cup, licked clean of any remaining chocolate syrup. Ann’s eyebrows lift.

“You drank that entire--? Oh god. Anyway, no, Leslie, you need to see this.”

Leslie sighs, about to put up an argument for the watch she only sort of might definitely need, when Ann grabs her wrist, dragging her to the edge of the ladies department.

“Look,” she asserts, pointing at something in the men’s suit section. Leslie squints. There’s a portly old businessman trying to squeeze himself to a jacket on one end, and a skinny bearded guy reading the tag on a blazer several aisles over. What’s the big deal?

Wait.

“Isn’t that Ben?”

Ann’s question lingers in the air as Leslie grabs her arm, ducking behind a rack of really tacky wrap dresses. Who even wears things like this? Oh wait, the blue color is pretty.

“Ouch. That’s my foot, Ann.”

“I know,” Ann hisses through gritted teeth. She nods back in the man’s direction, and Leslie refocuses.

The guy’s the right height, possibly. And skinny enough, in stupid pants that look too tight to be comfortable. Pointy nose, too. Certainly awkward, as he seemingly gets sticker shock and tries to escape before a salesman corners him. But it’s hard to see his face, with the beard in the way. What’s up with that? Leslie never pegged Ben for facial hair. It’s not long, though, just like a nice trimmed scruff, peppering his jawbone and arching up to meet his sideburns and wow, it’s like really sort of delicious looking, and--

No. There’s no way that can be Ben, right?

“Why are we hiding?” Ann asks suddenly, and Leslie clamps her hand over her mouth.

“Zip your pouty, beautiful lips,” she warns under her breath, and looks back over. If only he turned his face this way.

“OW, ANN.”

“Just look!”

Sure enough, that stomp to the foot was loud enough that the man (and probably half the store) is looking over in concern. His eyes widen as her head pops out from between the dresses. Warm and brown and alarmed, just how she remembers them.

“Yeahthat’sBen,” she mumbles, too loud.

Crap on a card table. Crap. It’s like several memories shoot off at once in her mind as he walks over, and she thinks about that time he approached her at a wedding to tell her he was leaving. She never considered seeing him again. In neurotic panic, she leans against what she thinks is Ann’s shoulder, cool and collected. She’s totally got this.

“Leslie? What... are you doing?”

She looks to the side and, okay, so it’s a white plastic mannequin.

“Just... chillin’.” She tries to flip her hair casually and it hits her in the face so that’s not going as planned.

His brow furrows, but then his eyes travel over her face and his features slowly fade into a smile. And she finds herself grinning back.

“Wow. Hi.” He can’t seem to say much else, and she takes the time to stare at his jaw a little. Maybe. And his chin, the little dimple above it. Wow. Ben with facial hair. She never would have thought of it, but it looks nice. She wants to touch it. But no, probably shouldn’t. He seems to find his voice, anyway. “What are you doing here?”

“Suit shopping. Like a gal’s day out. Or something.”

“Oh, fun,” he says back. He’s still smiling. She can tell by the ache in her cheeks that she is, too.

God, it’s so good to see him.

Would a hug be too much? Maybe. It’s been a while. He probably wouldn’t want to.

“What have you been up to?”

He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looks at the ground in that embarrassed way he always has, only now she’s thought about it and knows it’s adorable, and oh god this is a lot at once.

“I got promoted, actually. My boss was really impressed by the Harvest Festival, so I’m working out of Indianapolis now. No more, uh, road trips.”

“That’s great!”

This project? It's as much yours as it is mine. It's ours. Looks like they both got something out of the hard work.

“How about you?” he asks, looking boyish despite the facial hair.

“Leslie’s running for City Council!”

Leslie’s head jerks over. Has Ann been there the whole time? She looks to Leslie with a crooked smile, proud and also maybe a little calculating. Leslie narrows her eyes in curiousity.

“Oh my gosh!” Ben gushes. “You’re running for office? Leslie, that’s so great, really, that’s-- and oh, hi Ann, but Leslie, city council!”

She feels like every part of her is blushing at once, but she stands up tall, squares her shoulders, and grins wildly at him. It’s likely he’s just being polite, but he always supported her and she’s thankful that hasn’t gone away. And then suddenly she’s striding forward, colliding awkwardly with him in a hug that’s more accidental than anything.

It’s not entirely the same, as he definitely wasn’t expecting that, but there’s still something familiar lurking around the edges. Enough to throw her even more off-kilter.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head in self deprecation. “That was weird. I just, Leslie, I’m so happy for you. How did this happen?”

“Well, first of all...” She steels herself, sucks in a sharp breath. It may have been a few months, but it still hurts. “Li’l Sebastian passed.”

She tries to ignore how Ben’s face seems to travel from confused to enlightened to what she assumes is his own way of coping.

“The pony? Oh, that’s... that’s awful.” After a delayed second, he pats her on the arm.

“He was a mini-horse,” she corrects sadly, for probably the millionth time. “And yes, it was awful, but the town pulled through. And I got to plan the memorial service. And afterward, my campaign manager and his team approached me and said they wanted me to run!”

“It was only a matter of time,” Ben says, and he’s looking at her like before, but it feels so good to see it again. It’s like, she didn’t even know how much she missed him. She wonders if he missed her at all.

“It’s really good to see you, Ben.” She reaches out and tugs at his jacket sleeve a little.

“You too.”

Ann clears her throat somewhere by the skirts, but immediately goes back to digging through a pile when they look over.

“I’m sorry, I can’t steal you from your gal’s day,” he says, his voice apologetic. “Ann probably needs you.”

“Right.” Yes, that’s safer. She’s starting to feel a little dizzy. “Well, gosh, I’m so happy we ran into each other. It’s been a while.”

“It has.”

She’s finding it hard to move away. What was she doing, again? Shopping? Suits. Right. Oh yeah, they’re in Indianapolis, and something about watches...

“I should get going, I didn’t even really need a suit, and Chris is expecting me over for dinner. Something about homemade kale chips?” He looks at Leslie in horror, and she giggles before she can stop herself. “So...”

But she doesn’t really want to let him leave, not completely. Not again.

“Hey, you can like, email me sometime. Or something. To stay in touch.”

“I think I will,” he replies through another smile, though it looks a bit more hesitant. Crap, she’s gone over the line, it’s too much, he doesn’t-- “Here.”

He pulls out his wallet and withdraws a business card, handing it to her. She tries to sigh in relief but everything feels too tight. His fingers brush against her skin a little and wow, she forgot about his big hands.

“Fancy,” she muses in a bad British accent. “But I already have your email saved in my contacts somewhere!”

“Of course you do. And I have yours, actually, so that’s good. I should probably get going.”

He starts to inch his way out, and she feels an urge to pull him back over and keep him.

“You too. I’m serious about emailing.”

“I’ll ready a draft right now.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Bye.”

“See ya.”

“Bye, Ben!” Ann waves.

“Nice seeing you too, Ann.”

He turns the corner, barely visible on the other side of the necktie section.

“That was slightly adorable,” Ann observes.

“Were you there that entire time, or did you keep leaving and coming back?”

Ann ignores her and barrels on.

“So are you going to email him?” she waggles her eyebrows.

“Yes,” Leslie answers slowly, confused. “It was my idea to bring it up? And I can’t believe we haven’t been emailing this whole time, actually.”

“Amongst other things.” Ann’s perfect manicured fingers form a tent shape, and Leslie feels her cheeks redden.

“It was one dream!” she snaps, grabbing a random scarf off the nearest shelf so she can storm to the counter with something in hand. “It doesn’t mean anything. We were friends and I’d like to be friends again, and that’s it. It has nothing to do with his face or his hands or his beard or anything, okay?”

Ann follows her to the register, an amused smile on her face.

“Whatever you say, Leslie.”

“That’s right.”

It’s not until the cashier attendant hands her credit card back to her that she realizes she bought a scarf with a chess piece pattern all over it. When is she ever going to need that?

As she grabs the bag off the counter and turns to leave, Ann starts muttering behind her.

“You’re both stupid huge dorks.”

Leslie pretends not to hear her.

---

Hi Ben!

It was so great to see you today. It’s been ages! I hope Chris didn’t poison you with his kale chips. I had to google what kale is, by the way, and I’ll never understand why people are okay with eating leaves. It feels so wrong to me, like I plucked the appendages off a tree. It’s just kind of icky, right?

So I announce my campaign to Pawnee tomorrow. Any advice from the resident previously-elected-official? :)

Sincerely,

Leslie Knope
Deputy Director, Pawnee Parks Department
Candidate for Pawnee City Council, 2012

PS. We should get lunch sometime or something!

PPS. Just not calzones.

PPPS. Also, what’s with the beard? Very Lincoln.

Reconnecting with old friends is one of Leslie’s favorite activities. It always sucks when you realize how long it’s been since you last talked, but then there’s so much to catch up on and learn. It’s like making friends all over again! And if there’s one thing Leslie is amazing at, it’s trading memories. Who doesn’t love reminiscing?

“It’s too late for this,” Ann groans into the phone. “Or early. Are you still up or have you slept?”

“It’s only 3am, Ann,” Leslie answers, but evades the rest of the question. “And come on, does that email sound okay?”

“It sounds like a lot of exclamation points. Talk to me tomorrow.”

Leslie’s just about to jump into explaining why reconnecting is so important when she’s met with the dial tone. Ann may be beautiful, but she’s never been a morning person.

---

Leslie spends all morning stressing over the email, redrafting and trying to determine what the proper punctuation is. She can’t overstep.

She goes into work early to try to distract herself, but only ends up getting so much done that she has to worry about it all day. But just as she lines up a lunch with Ann, her inbox reflects a new message.

Ben beat her. Is that better or worse?

Hi Leslie--

It was really great to see you, I didn’t expect to run into you. But I definitely expected you to run for office someday soon, so I just wanted to say, again, how happy I am for you. Keep me updated on that, alright? I’ll stick a sign in my apartment window.

Let me know if you’re ever in Indianapolis again, and I’ll take you out to dinner. I know a great pastry shop; I think it would hold up even by Leslie Knope standards.

I hope things are going well in Pawnee. Tell Tom I say hi.

Ben Wyatt

---

“On one hand, he wants to take you out!” Ann says excitedly, handing Leslie’s blackberry back over the table.

“If I’m in town. Which, when am I going to be in Indianapolis any time soon? I mean, it’s like, something casual friends say to each other. ‘Seeing you is fun, but I’m not making extra effort.’” She grimaces. “I’ve heard a lot of that before.”

“You haven’t seen each other in months, Leslie. He’s not gonna rush across the state to take you out to a romantic dinner before he’s gotten the chance to feel out where he stands.”

Leslie shrugs. She’s thought about all of this too much, already.

“I don’t think Ben likes me like that,” she admits, quirking the corner of her mouth down. “Which is fine. I mean, we were friends, and he left. So. That’s that. It doesn’t mean anything.”

She shoves her blackberry back in her pocket. Ann looks like she has more to say, but she thankfully turns back to take a sip of her juice.

It’s just two old friends--nay, acquaintances--pleased to see each other after a long time.

Leslie takes care not to bring up the especially dirty dream she has about her and Ben hidden in the suit rack that night.

---

It just becomes a casual email correspondence, like the ones Leslie still has with old college friends every once in awhile. The people you know you’ll never see.

She lets him know how many people turned up for the rally as she announced her campaign; he sends his congratulations.

He tells her that his brother’s wife gave birth to a girl and he isn’t sure what sort of gift to send; Leslie offers him advice.

It’s short and never lofty. Whatever words will get her by.

She’s itching to give him more, to invite him out to real dinner that isn’t by chance, to let him know just how much she missed him and how she wishes she could see him now.

But it’s Ben, newly promoted with a permanent address and an unshaven jaw. It’s not the same. And no matter how much she wants it to be the same, it won’t be.

He never asks for more. He probably never wanted it.

---

When things with the campaign pick up, she starts adding him at the end of team emails. Just gentle alerts to what she’s doing, that there are things he can come to if he wants. To his credit, he had valid reasons for not coming to them yet. Maybe it’s just not meant to be.

Still, she sends him a copy of her newly published book in the mail. Scrawls a quick note inside the cover and tapes the package up before she can rethink it.

Ben -
I don’t know if you miss Pawnee, but it misses you.
- Leslie

She doesn’t hear back and assumes she crossed the line.

“STOP EMAILING HIM” she writes on a post-it note and attaches it to her laptop. Maybe opening up communication like that was bad.

So she stops sending personal emails, but officially adds him to the Knope 2012 mailing list, and convinces herself it’s not the same thing.

---

The Goddesses camping trip helps refocus her, and she dives head-first into her plans for the late October meet-and-greet. It’s still early in the campaign but so important to start pulling investors and making sure businesses know that you’re welcoming. Even Tom seems interested in helping, and she’s so excited and anxious that she lets him steer the ship as she works on a speech for the occasion.

She had high hopes, but Tom takes care of the event in his typical fashion. Times ten.

“Shouldn’t my face be on all these rugs?” she asks him. This is a disaster. Her name is in the room once, and she’s surrounded by Haverfords on every surface. He’s determined to see no problem, and ugh, Leslie hates being annoyed with her friends, but...

Someone she doesn’t recognize from behind is chatting with Tanya of Sue’s Salads in the corner, and she approaches, ready to use salad hating to her advantage with the gentleman.

Only that’s not going to work in this situation, she realizes.

“Hi, Leslie.” Ben offers his hand for her to shake, and she’s too surprised to take it, staring at him with wide eyes. The beard’s trimmed a little, and he’s dressed nicely in a tweet blazer, and Leslie forgets Tanya’s even standing there as she subconsciously wraps her arms around his neck in a hug.

“Ben!” yelps, but quickly extracts herself before he even has a chance to reciprocate. That’s really not the way she should be going, here. “Why are you-- what is it that you’re doing? Here?”

“I keep getting your campaign emails and this was the first thing I could get to,” he says with a weird smile. But he remembers his manners quicker than she does. “I was just talking to Tanya here about how Sue’s is going.”

“I remember him from the Harvest Festival,” Tanya begins, but Leslie cuts her off with a wave of her hand.

“Great, great, salads are a thing, blah blah blah.” Really, she just wants to talk to Ben. Finally someone here that she doesn’t have to impress. Tanya huffs off and Ben looks at her with his eyebrows raised.

“I see things in Pawnee haven’t changed much, though this seems a little saturated in Tom.”

“He has this new company,” she explains, but can’t help but look pained as she gestures around the room.

“Yeah, he emailed me about it to ask for financial advice a while back.”

“Oh.” Well, that’s odd. “You keep in touch with other people here?”

“Not really, just you and sometimes Tom. Though I haven’t heard from you lately?”

“Busy,” she answers guiltily. He looks a little hurt but recovers quickly.

“I really, really enjoyed your book.” He pulls the book out of his bag, much to her shock. “I should have written you, but I wanted to tell you in person. It’s really great, Leslie. A perfect way to show the town how much you love it.”

And he’s smiling at her in that way, with the twinkle in his eye she didn’t realize gave her butterflies until she didn’t have it anymore.

“And I do miss Pawnee,” he admits, looking down at the cover, his fingers playing around the edges. She feels her heart skip a beat. “So it was a nice way to remember. Thanks.”

She catches herself before she can agree, before she can blurt, “I miss Pawnee too!” Because . . . she lives there. And it’s not Pawnee she misses.

She needs to snap out of it. Really. But she spent so long assuming Ben was done with Pawnee, that leaving was easy for him, that cutting ties was something he had no trouble with. But he’s here. And he’s looking fondly at her book. And he still talks to Tom.

Maybe he did care. About Pawnee. She has to remind herself that they’re talking about Pawnee and not her.

She can’t stand and chat with him all night, and Tom ends up sweeping her across the room as he uses her to weasel his way into Entertainment 720 proposals. She keeps her eye on Ben, who keeps to himself in the corner, only mingling with the few curious businessmen who mistake him for someone of interest.

When she gets up to the podium to start her speech, she seeks him out. Still there, still smiling at her. But she notices a pin she must have overlooked earlier; a Knope 2012 pin.

She never sent him that.

She falters over her opening line. Tom takes care of ruining the rest.

Just when she’s at her breaking point, as women scantily clad in gold nylon start booty-shaking around the room and the nipple king announces his leave, she feels a warm hand wrap around her arm.

“Leslie, just come this way--”

She’s pulled through the mess of the meet-and-greet and deposited in the quiet lobby, breathing hard with her hands clenched into fists.

“You don’t want them to see you angry, that means you’re short tempered and can fly off the handle.” Ben’s running a hand up and down her back, and it’s probably to relax her but it just makes her feel more on fire, makes her want to grab him in a different way than she wants to grab Tom. This is unsafe.

“I’m fine, I’m just gonna go in there and bash his tiny little head in--”

“No,” he pleads, holding her arms again. She wriggles herself free. Who does he think he is? “I think Tom’s company is bankrupt, that’s probably why he’s pulling these stunts.”

She stops to think. That makes sense. And crap, that sucks.

“You should probably talk to him,” Ben suggests, his voice gentler.

“I hate when you’re right,” she growls, and he laughs. And it feels almost like old times. Like they’re locked in battle over a budgetary concern, and she wants to crack skulls while he brings her back to earth.

But it’s not. They’re barely friends and this is the second time they’ve talked in person for over half a year.

“I should go find him,” she adds glumly, noticing everyone leaving her event.

“Head up,” Ben says with a pat on her back. She straightens her blazer and goes to shake hands goodbye.

---

Once she settles things with Tom inside a mobile hot tub, she towels off and goes in search of Ben to invite him out to JJs with them.

But he left before she got the chance to thank him.

Of course.

---

“He came to your meet-and-greet??” Ann squeals over the phone that night. “Leslie! That’s too cute. What happened?”

“Nothing happened!” Leslie answers with a sigh. “You don’t get it, it’s not -- it’s not like that. He probably just got annoyed by all my emails.”

“But you sent him the book and he brought it with him to say thanks.”

“He was being nice! He’s not a monster.” She thinks back to the smell of turkey legs and the banjo notes of a silly children’s entertainer. “He supports local politics.”

“He supports you,” Ann corrects.

But no, Ann’s wrong. You support your friends, past and present. That’s just decent. That doesn’t mean anything special. Leslie would show up in Indianapolis if Ben decided to run for office tomorrow. You just do that.

It doesn’t mean anything more.

She’s not setting herself up for that again.

---

The next week finds Leslie babysitting cult members with Ron and Ann, answering the same questions Shauna asks every time Zorp is set to bring the world to its demise.

But it does get her thinking.

What if this was her last day on earth?

She’s happy she’s here with Ann, her very best friend in the whole world, and Ron, whom she cares about so much. Tom’s having the party of his life with Jean Ralphio, and April texted her something cryptic about a road trip with Andy. Donna’s probably with Tom and Jerry went home to his family for the night. Everyone’s happy. That’s good.

But she thinks about Ben. About how much she genuinely enjoys hearing from him. How she wants to be around him without it being a chance encounter. They haven’t even sat down and really talked since getting back in touch.

She’s always been able to stay friends with her ex’s. Ben’s not even an ex. He was hardly even a “maybe.”

If the world was ending, she’d want to still be friends with Ben.

She’d ask him to come back to Pawnee.

---

“Hello?” Aw crap, he sounds asleep. Groggy. Gravely, too, and wow that kinda reverberates through her. Focus, Knope.

“Hey, Ben, it’s Leslie. Sorry, I know it’s early--”

“Wow, I haven’t gotten a Knope wake up call in almost a year.”

It sounds like he’s smiling over the phone. That’s a good thing. But still, she probably should have waited until after 8am or something.

“I can call back?”

“No, no, I’m up now. What’s up?”

She bites her lip before continuing.

“Would you want to get lunch sometime? We could meet halfway, and just catch up in person?”

---

Ben does her one better. He insists on meeting her in Pawnee that day.

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” she tells him, as the waitress leads them to her usual booth at JJs. “And we could have eaten somewhere else.”

“Someone called me early,” he teases, sliding onto the padded bench. “I figured I was already up early, so might as well make a day trip out.”

She orders her usual waffles and he gets a midday omelette (“You’re learning!” she exclaims happily) and they’re off and running.

They talk about everything, even what they’ve already discussed in emails. It just feels better, somehow, to say the words out loud, to see his face react to her story of Tammy 1’s battle with Tammy 0 over Ron, to see the light in his eyes as he talks about his little niece starting to laugh. She keeps resisting the urge to reach over the table and just touch his arm, feel that he’s real, tether him here. She’s so involved that he finishes his plate before her waffle’s gone, which he points out in wonder.

“That’s probably never happened before,” he deadpans, eying the whipped cream pile still on her plate. And then his face breaks out into a small smile, that one she felt was hers but isn’t sure so more, but it still makes her feel warm inside.

“Hey,” she starts quietly, unsure if this is okay territory. “I like seeing you around here again. In Pawnee.” He looks at the table shyly, but his smile gives him away. “I feel like I should have told you to stay.”

She she says it in a goofy way, like she’s ribbing him, like it’s silly. But there’s no denying her sadness behind it, the little tinge of regret.

“Maybe you should have,” he answers, his voice low as his fingers tear apart the wrapper of his straw. But he looks back to her with a silly grin, and they laugh it off and move on.

But it feels different. It’s more vulnerable, and she feels like she’s presented some secret part of herself, the one that second-guesses the past and wonders if she made the right choices. The part that’s just realizing how badly she wants him back.

And he was never hers to have, really. Whose fault is that, though?

---

She stands awkwardly near his car in the parking lot as they say goodbye, not ready to give him back to the world yet. It’s crazy, how she took his time in Pawnee for granted. How much it feels like she’s giving up every time she lets him leave.

But the afternoon finally comes to a close with another awkward hug, and she’s not sure how tight to squeeze. So she pats his back because maybe that’s all friends do in a hug, but when he pulls back, their faces are close. Too close.

For the first time, Leslie consciously wants to kiss him. Her eyes even dart down to his lips, and god, her heart speeds up a little and she just needs to--

She clears her throat loudly and steps back.

“Well, bye,” she offers lamely. “Don’t be a stranger.” His eyes linger on her face before he gets in his car, waving slightly before pulling out of the parking lot.

---

“Leslie,” Ann scolds from over desk. “You just let him leave without trying?”

“There’s not going to be kissing, Ann! I’ve already established this.”

“Sure.”

Leslie feels her cheeks get hot.

---

They slip into frequent emailing again, and he even calls her on the phone a few nights after their lunch. And she can’t help it; she likes hearing his voice and knowing that if she opened her inbox, there’d be ten emails from him since they last saw each other.

She happens to mention helping out the local high school with their Model U.N., and Ben’s voice over the line gets excited.

“Oh my god, senior year of high school, I super dominated as Spain. One of the highlights of my teenage life!”

And he sounds so wistful and happy while reminiscing and trading stories of old proposed treaties that she can’t help herself.

“We don’t have enough students for all the countries. Andy and April are helping me fill them. You could come too, if you wanted?”

“Really?” he asks, like she’s bestowing him with some special award. Her heart breaks.

“Of course.”

---

He meets her at the Parks Department ahead of time, and it’s so strange to see him back in City Hall. He tiptoes in like something’s gonna break, which is silly considering Andy is loudly banging the keyboard of April’s computer against the desk like it’s a musical instrument. And after an initial awkwardness, the gang greets him warmly and it’s like he never left.

“I can’t believe all these flags,” he says in wonder, gazing around. She can’t help but toss her head back proudly. Tom throws out a requisite nerd insult, and it’s like old times, with Ben shedding his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves as if they’re about to start a meeting on the carnival ride budget of the Harvest Festival.

His ease makes her ache; he’s happy and excited to be there. She wonders how things would be different if Ben still worked at City Hall. Where would they stand with each other? How happy would he be there?

And for the millionth time, she wishes she’d asked him to stay. Just to find out.

---

Being back behind a fake UN podium gives Leslie a rush like you wouldn’t believe, which admittedly happens any time she gets to announce something in such a manner. And she looks to Ben when she’s done; Ben, who’s sitting at the end of the table with April and Andy, smiling at her like he’s proud.

And it’s a dangerous fantasy, playing Denmark to his Peru. Being a team again. When their palms slap against each other in a handshake they haven’t done in at least a year but haven’t forgotten a beat of, it’s like she can pretend this is normal. They work together all the time. Maybe they even like each other. Maybe someone made a move.

But he keeps retreating back into himself, standing sheepishly in a corner as Barnes pulls her into a photo op with the high schoolers. And it’s curious, how he can go from being so passionate about worldwide diplomacy but so timid about anything else on the turn of a dime. Even April doesn’t know what to do with him, unsure if it’s okay to poke him in the face with the tip of her aluminum moon (but being April, she of course does it anyway, much to his bewilderment).

And as much as he fit in with everyone, there’s a separation. He doesn’t know her friends that well, not anymore. Does he even know her that well?

In the end, France solves the food crisis after a few hours and Leslie orders a couple pizzas. Her and Ben sit atop a table, talking about how old they feel around the teenagers in between bites of greasy pepperoni. She notices him making sure to sit a respectable distance from her, keeping their plates between them.

And it’s stupid to feel disappointed, but after a day of watching him passionately debate the finer points of world leadership, she misses him more than ever. Even though he’s right here next to her. He’s not in her everyday life, and she forgot what it’s like to talk with someone who loves the same things as her, who doesn’t mind talking endlessly about it. Ann will listen, but she’s not into politics and gets bored with discussing City Hall business quickly. But Ben, he’ll listen to everything and also offer his own opinions, he’ll always have something to say and something to add, and . . .

She doesn’t want that to go away again.

What the hell. No risk, no reward, right?

After the kids leave and Ben and Leslie are stuck cleaning up while April and Andy toss dirty napkins at one another, she sidles up to Ben and tries to go for casual.

“Hey, so, I was thinking. We should hang out more.”

He dumps a handful of Coke-soaked solo cups into her garbage bag and smiles.

“Peru accepts Denmark’s proposal,” he says coyly. And she smiles, a little, and has to fight the urge to reach out and take his hand before continuing.

“When we’re done here we could go out to dinner, or--”

She stops immediately when his face falls a little, and takes a step back. Crap. Bad idea, bad idea, why did she have to--

“I’ve got a bit of a drive back to Indy,” he says slowly, not meeting her eyes. He seems twitchier than before. “Busy and stuff, y’know, I . . . But this was great, and you’re great, and thanks so much for letting me come.”

“Any time,” she answers automatically, and then winces. “Uh. Right. So . . .”

“I’ll email you?” he offers, like a question.

God, what has she done?

He leaves with an awkward half-hug and she spends the night berating herself.

( part two)

parks and recreation, fanfic

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