Behind Closed Doors: Life without Leslie, Part 1/2
My contribution is Ben's POV from right after "I'm Leslie Knope" to the reunion scene in "Smallest Park." I hope you enjoy!
The Morning After I’m Leslie Knope
Ben Wyatt did a double take when the alarm clock went off, the local pseudo-alternative radio station blasting Green Day’s “Warning.” The display read 6:30 a.m. Ben was puzzled, wondering how he had slept so late.
Then he remembered that he used to always get up at 6:30, in the days he now had to think of as B.L.-Before Leslie. During the weeks they dated, Ben hardly slept past 5 a.m.; he was awakened by the sounds of Leslie writing down ideas in her ever-present padfolio, or by the smell of coffee, or, most enjoyably, by Leslie reaching into his pajama pants and stroking his quickly erect cock. Depending on the method Leslie chose, getting up at 5 a.m. didn’t necessarily mean getting to work early.
But now there was no reason for him not to sleep till 6:30, no reason for him to linger in bed and watch Leslie perform her morning rituals or tangle with her in a languid pile of limbs. No reason to do anything but go to work and hope he could avoid seeing her today. It was just too soon.
Ron and Tammys
A week had passed since the breakup, and Ben had skillfully arranged his schedule so that he didn’t have a single one-on-one meeting with Leslie. To Ben’s surprise, Chris didn’t think it odd that Ben was scheduling meetings with nearly every other department in City Hall and keeping his distance from the Parks department.
Leslie and Ben were both painfully polite when they ran into each other in the hallways or the cafeteria. Too polite, Ben thought; would anyone notice that they hardly spoke to one another after months of joking and eating lunch together?
Getting the chance to leave the office for a day and experience the insanity of the Entertainment 720 headquarters was a huge break for Ben. Even though Tom and Jean-Ralphio were arguably the worst businessmen in history, it was a great relief to know that he wouldn’t have to run into Leslie.
“So how’s Tom doing, roomie?” asked Andy as he, April, and Ben sat down for a dinner of canned tomato soup and Andy’s surprisingly good grilled cheese sandwiches.
“He seems really happy, though I don’t think his company will last long, sadly,” Ben replied, taking a long pull of his Miller Lite. “How was City Hall?”
“Dude, it was crazy! Leslie got sucked into this crazy drinking game with Ron’s mom and first ex-wife. She was totally wasted, I’ve never seen her like that. You should’ve been there.”
“Yeah, Ben,” said April, staring steadily at him. “You should have been there.”
Ben blinked self-consciously. April knew. Of course she knew, she paid attention to everything. But there was no sign that she had told Andy, or anyone else for that matter. Ben felt comfortable in her discretion, but it was still unnerving to know that another person had discovered his and Leslie’s secret.
“Well, I hope she’s doing OK now,” Ben stammered.
Ben found it hard to sleep that night. It was one thing to no longer be Leslie’s boyfriend, but April’s comment reminded him that he wasn’t her friend any more, either. Now they were just friendly acquaintances, as the relationship they had built for months, even before Indianapolis, had started to unravel already. If nothing else, as her friend Ben should have been there to stop Leslie from getting trashed in the workplace, just days after she had announced her candidacy.
He thought back to one of their first dates. They had snuck off to a bar several towns over, where Leslie got delightfully trashed on strawberry margaritas while he downed whiskey sours. Too soused to drive home and too antsy to wait for a cab, they stumbled down the block to a Motel 6, where Ben paid for a room in cash. After napping for a couple of hours, the still-buzzed but not quite as drunk pair made love on top of a drab beige comforter while Ben thought, for the first of many times, that Leslie might be it for him.
But now she had gotten drunk, and he-he had no right to do anything about it.
Born and Raised
“Here’s your suit, Mr. Wyatt,” said Clyde Yang, proprietor of Pawnee Deluxe Cleaners (motto: “Possum Poop? Raccoon Rankness? No matter the smell, we’ll clean it well.”).
“Thanks, Clyde,” Ben replied, taking a furtive sniff of his suit. Good, the horrible mixture of Tom’s cologne and Joan Callamezzo’s powder had vanished. “Have a great evening.”
It had been three days since the fiasco over Leslie’s birth certificate, and Ben still felt bitter over what had happened. Leslie did not deserve to be raked over the coals like that by the Pawnee media for such a mundane non-controversy. She had given her heart and soul to writing this book, and anyone who thought she wasn’t Pawnee through and through was a moron.
But there was another thing that gnawed at Ben. He had been by Leslie’s side through much of the book-writing process, making her coffee to fuel her late-night spurts of fact-checking, giving her back rubs when she had sat too long at her computer, editing contributions when she needed a fresh eye. And yet, all she could write in his copy of the book was some vague “Thank you for all your help” crap. He could understand why Leslie wouldn’t want to say too much, in case someone else grabbed his copy. But it felt so impersonal.
And then-to send him off with Tom and Joan, instead of letting him help her. Ben liked Tom-that wasn't the issue-, but Leslie’s actions made him feel like she didn’t want him around. She had looked at him once or twice in a way that got his heart pounding a little faster, but Ben was feeling that he was slowly being pushed out of Leslie’s inner circle.
When he arrived home from the dry cleaner, Ben changed into an old t-shirt and jeans. He had the place to himself-Andy and April were out to dinner to celebrate one of Andy’s brother’s birthdays, and Dwyer celebrations tended to last into the early morning hours. He heated up some leftover chicken parmesan and took the plate into his bedroom.
The bedroom: Ben’s now least-favorite place in the world. Within a few weeks of meeting her, Leslie had found her way into the bulk of Ben’s fantasies. He couldn’t count the number of times her face, her laugh, her ass, all of her, had made him come. And then, for that brief wondrous time, those fantasies had been real-and the memories of those times came in handy even when Leslie wasn’t around. But now, Ben felt weirdly guilty when he tried to jerk off to thoughts of Leslie. Like he wasn’t being respectful to her needs, to her goals. But there was no other woman who made him feel the way Leslie did, even now.
With a sigh, Ben returned to the kitchen and placed his plate in the sink. He grabbed the still-unopened copy of that day’s Pawnee Journal from the dining room table and took it back to his room. On the front page of the local section was another story about the “Leslie Knope Scandal,” this time an analysis of how the media had gotten things wrong. Ah, media wankery, nothing more fun to read, thought Ben sarcastically. The story was accompanied by a small picture of Leslie in one of her plaid jackets, giving a campaign speech.
Ben thought back to one of his and Leslie’s many political role plays. This time she was German chancellor Angela Merkel and he was French president Nicolas Sarkozy. Leslie had been wearing that very jacket, and nothing else, and was standing in front of her bed, giving a speech about the European Union.
“I’m a big fan of European unions,” Ben had said that night, as he had worn nothing but a beret (Leslie had a disturbingly impressive collection of hats). “Come on, Ms. Merkel. Let Germany and France become the most intimate of allies.”
Leslie had begun to take off her jacket when Ben stopped her. “No,” he told her. “I want you to think of me every time you wear that.”
Now, Ben pictured that night, the way he had held onto the jacket as Leslie rode him, moaning about his impressive “wurst.” His cock twitched at the memory, but when he unzipped his jeans and pulled them and his boxers to his ankles, he suddenly lost all desire. He wanted so badly to feel again, but until he could replace Leslie with another woman-even just in his fantasies-he feared it would never happen.
Pawnee Rangers
“Come on Ben, it’s two-for-one night at the Snakehole Lounge! That means you can impress two ladies for the price of one,” exhorted Tom as he pulled a reluctant Ben toward the bar’s front door.
“I don’t know, Tom. I don’t think I’m up to it.”
“Nerd! You can’t pine over your ex forever. You gotta get out and find another woman who thinks Batman is hot.” The two guys entered the bar and found an empty couch near the dance floor. Tom signaled to a waitress and ordered a lemon drop martini for himself and a Miller Lite for Ben. Scanning the dark room, he directed Ben’s attention to two young women dancing nearby.
“Check out those ladies. I think that brunette is eyeing you, Ben.”
“Come on, she barely looks old enough to be out of college.”
“Is she old enough to drink? Yes? Then that’s all that matters. Go up to her or I’ll make more fun of you than usual.”
Ben sighed and got off the couch. The song the women were dancing to was winding down. He asked the brunette a couple of questions and she giggled in reply. Ben strode to the bar and a few minutes later returned with drinks for both of them.
The two of them went to the couch-Tom had gone off and was now flirting painfully with a bachelorette party-and started chatting. The brunette’s name was Karen, and she was working as an aide for a first grade teacher while taking classes toward her master’s degree in education. She was cute and cheerful and hopeful and it made Ben think of what a 24-year-old Leslie must have been like.
“Do you want to get some fresh air, Ben?” asked Karen, putting down her drink. “I’m getting really stuffy in here.”
“Yeah, sure, let me grab my coat.”
He and Karen had hardly stepped outside before she pulled him down for a kiss. In shock, Ben put his hands firmly on her shoulders and pushed her away.
“I’m so sorry. I recently ended a relationship that meant a lot to me, and I thought I was ready to meet other women. But I’m not. And you’re really cute and nice and don’t need some grumpy guy like me. I gotta go.”
Ben turned and headed down the street, texting Tom to let him know his night was over (he’d deal with Tom’s questions in the morning). He had rejected a perfectly nice girl because she reminded him of Leslie but wasn’t Leslie-her lips were too rough, her hands grabbed his hair the wrong way. Ben knew there wasn’t another Leslie Knope, but couldn’t anyone come close?
Meet and Greet
Today had been an especially bad day at work. Ben saw Leslie for the first time since he'd broken Andy’s nose, and her accusatory look stabbed him in the gut. Even after Andy told her that everything was cool between the two men, Leslie still looked at him like he had kicked her pet dog. Yeah, Leslie also said she wished she could have been at the Halloween party, but Ben wondered if it was so she could have punched him.
A headache came on shortly after lunch, so Ben decided to make an early exit. Taking a warm shower sometimes relieved his headaches, but then Ben spotted the bottle of bubble bath sitting on the edge of the bathtub.
What the hell, he thought, stripping off his clothes and filling up the tub. When the bath was full of cherry-scented bubbles, he stepped in and rested his head against the back edge. Closing his eyes, he wondered what it would be like if Leslie were there with him. The bubbles clinging to her curves, his hands swirling through the warm water, touching her until she started squirming with pleasure. He started to get hard at the image, stroking his cock slowly as he visualized Leslie settling on to his lap, positioning herself in just the right place. He was so close, and she felt so good-no woman had ever fit him that perfectly, on so many levels. With a groan, Ben came.
And then he opened his eyes, and Leslie wasn’t there. Before he realized what was happening, Ben was sobbing harder than he could ever remember. When the crying had subsided, Ben grabbed a towel off the rack and wiped his face.
“Dude, are you in there?” said April. “I need to use the bathroom.” With a push, she opened the door.
“Goddamnit April, don’t you knock? I thought Ron had fixed the lock over the weekend.” With the bubbles rapidly dissipating, Ben barely had a chance to cover himself.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asked. “Your eyes are all weird and puffy and you think baths are stupid. You tell me and Andy that all the time.”
“I wasn’t feeling good, so I took a bath, and now I feel worse,” Ben replied evenly.
“Leslie?” asked April, in a slightly softer voice than usual.
Ben nodded. “Don’t tell her, please. I know she’s probably over me, but I’m not over her, and I really miss her sometimes.”
“I don’t think she’s over you, but whatever, dude. But if you’re going to take another one of these sadness baths, wait until the lock is fixed, OK? I don’t want to walk into this scene again.” She stepped out of the bathroom long enough for Ben to rinse off and wrap the towel around his waist.
“And you’re in charge of cleaning the bathroom this week!” April called out after him.
Part 2: http://sullen-stories.livejournal.com/3338.html
The Morning After I’m Leslie Knope
Ben Wyatt did a double take when the alarm clock went off, the local pseudo-alternative radio station blasting Green Day’s “Warning.” The display read 6:30 a.m. Ben was puzzled, wondering how he had slept so late.
Then he remembered that he used to always get up at 6:30, in the days he now had to think of as B.L.-Before Leslie. During the weeks they dated, Ben hardly slept past 5 a.m.; he was awakened by the sounds of Leslie writing down ideas in her ever-present padfolio, or by the smell of coffee, or, most enjoyably, by Leslie reaching into his pajama pants and stroking his quickly erect cock. Depending on the method Leslie chose, getting up at 5 a.m. didn’t necessarily mean getting to work early.
But now there was no reason for him not to sleep till 6:30, no reason for him to linger in bed and watch Leslie perform her morning rituals or tangle with her in a languid pile of limbs. No reason to do anything but go to work and hope he could avoid seeing her today. It was just too soon.
Ron and Tammys
A week had passed since the breakup, and Ben had skillfully arranged his schedule so that he didn’t have a single one-on-one meeting with Leslie. To Ben’s surprise, Chris didn’t think it odd that Ben was scheduling meetings with nearly every other department in City Hall and keeping his distance from the Parks department.
Leslie and Ben were both painfully polite when they ran into each other in the hallways or the cafeteria. Too polite, Ben thought; would anyone notice that they hardly spoke to one another after months of joking and eating lunch together?
Getting the chance to leave the office for a day and experience the insanity of the Entertainment 720 headquarters was a huge break for Ben. Even though Tom and Jean-Ralphio were arguably the worst businessmen in history, it was a great relief to know that he wouldn’t have to run into Leslie.
“So how’s Tom doing, roomie?” asked Andy as he, April, and Ben sat down for a dinner of canned tomato soup and Andy’s surprisingly good grilled cheese sandwiches.
“He seems really happy, though I don’t think his company will last long, sadly,” Ben replied, taking a long pull of his Miller Lite. “How was City Hall?”
“Dude, it was crazy! Leslie got sucked into this crazy drinking game with Ron’s mom and first ex-wife. She was totally wasted, I’ve never seen her like that. You should’ve been there.”
“Yeah, Ben,” said April, staring steadily at him. “You should have been there.”
Ben blinked self-consciously. April knew. Of course she knew, she paid attention to everything. But there was no sign that she had told Andy, or anyone else for that matter. Ben felt comfortable in her discretion, but it was still unnerving to know that another person had discovered his and Leslie’s secret.
“Well, I hope she’s doing OK now,” Ben stammered.
Ben found it hard to sleep that night. It was one thing to no longer be Leslie’s boyfriend, but April’s comment reminded him that he wasn’t her friend any more, either. Now they were just friendly acquaintances, as the relationship they had built for months, even before Indianapolis, had started to unravel already. If nothing else, as her friend Ben should have been there to stop Leslie from getting trashed in the workplace, just days after she had announced her candidacy.
He thought back to one of their first dates. They had snuck off to a bar several towns over, where Leslie got delightfully trashed on strawberry margaritas while he downed whiskey sours. Too soused to drive home and too antsy to wait for a cab, they stumbled down the block to a Motel 6, where Ben paid for a room in cash. After napping for a couple of hours, the still-buzzed but not quite as drunk pair made love on top of a drab beige comforter while Ben thought, for the first of many times, that Leslie might be it for him.
But now she had gotten drunk, and he-he had no right to do anything about it.
Born and Raised
“Here’s your suit, Mr. Wyatt,” said Clyde Yang, proprietor of Pawnee Deluxe Cleaners (motto: “Possum Poop? Raccoon Rankness? No matter the smell, we’ll clean it well.”).
“Thanks, Clyde,” Ben replied, taking a furtive sniff of his suit. Good, the horrible mixture of Tom’s cologne and Joan Callamezzo’s powder had vanished. “Have a great evening.”
It had been three days since the fiasco over Leslie’s birth certificate, and Ben still felt bitter over what had happened. Leslie did not deserve to be raked over the coals like that by the Pawnee media for such a mundane non-controversy. She had given her heart and soul to writing this book, and anyone who thought she wasn’t Pawnee through and through was a moron.
But there was another thing that gnawed at Ben. He had been by Leslie’s side through much of the book-writing process, making her coffee to fuel her late-night spurts of fact-checking, giving her back rubs when she had sat too long at her computer, editing contributions when she needed a fresh eye. And yet, all she could write in his copy of the book was some vague “Thank you for all your help” crap. He could understand why Leslie wouldn’t want to say too much, in case someone else grabbed his copy. But it felt so impersonal.
And then-to send him off with Tom and Joan, instead of letting him help her. Ben liked Tom-that wasn't the issue-, but Leslie’s actions made him feel like she didn’t want him around. She had looked at him once or twice in a way that got his heart pounding a little faster, but Ben was feeling that he was slowly being pushed out of Leslie’s inner circle.
When he arrived home from the dry cleaner, Ben changed into an old t-shirt and jeans. He had the place to himself-Andy and April were out to dinner to celebrate one of Andy’s brother’s birthdays, and Dwyer celebrations tended to last into the early morning hours. He heated up some leftover chicken parmesan and took the plate into his bedroom.
The bedroom: Ben’s now least-favorite place in the world. Within a few weeks of meeting her, Leslie had found her way into the bulk of Ben’s fantasies. He couldn’t count the number of times her face, her laugh, her ass, all of her, had made him come. And then, for that brief wondrous time, those fantasies had been real-and the memories of those times came in handy even when Leslie wasn’t around. But now, Ben felt weirdly guilty when he tried to jerk off to thoughts of Leslie. Like he wasn’t being respectful to her needs, to her goals. But there was no other woman who made him feel the way Leslie did, even now.
With a sigh, Ben returned to the kitchen and placed his plate in the sink. He grabbed the still-unopened copy of that day’s Pawnee Journal from the dining room table and took it back to his room. On the front page of the local section was another story about the “Leslie Knope Scandal,” this time an analysis of how the media had gotten things wrong. Ah, media wankery, nothing more fun to read, thought Ben sarcastically. The story was accompanied by a small picture of Leslie in one of her plaid jackets, giving a campaign speech.
Ben thought back to one of his and Leslie’s many political role plays. This time she was German chancellor Angela Merkel and he was French president Nicolas Sarkozy. Leslie had been wearing that very jacket, and nothing else, and was standing in front of her bed, giving a speech about the European Union.
“I’m a big fan of European unions,” Ben had said that night, as he had worn nothing but a beret (Leslie had a disturbingly impressive collection of hats). “Come on, Ms. Merkel. Let Germany and France become the most intimate of allies.”
Leslie had begun to take off her jacket when Ben stopped her. “No,” he told her. “I want you to think of me every time you wear that.”
Now, Ben pictured that night, the way he had held onto the jacket as Leslie rode him, moaning about his impressive “wurst.” His cock twitched at the memory, but when he unzipped his jeans and pulled them and his boxers to his ankles, he suddenly lost all desire. He wanted so badly to feel again, but until he could replace Leslie with another woman-even just in his fantasies-he feared it would never happen.
Pawnee Rangers
“Come on Ben, it’s two-for-one night at the Snakehole Lounge! That means you can impress two ladies for the price of one,” exhorted Tom as he pulled a reluctant Ben toward the bar’s front door.
“I don’t know, Tom. I don’t think I’m up to it.”
“Nerd! You can’t pine over your ex forever. You gotta get out and find another woman who thinks Batman is hot.” The two guys entered the bar and found an empty couch near the dance floor. Tom signaled to a waitress and ordered a lemon drop martini for himself and a Miller Lite for Ben. Scanning the dark room, he directed Ben’s attention to two young women dancing nearby.
“Check out those ladies. I think that brunette is eyeing you, Ben.”
“Come on, she barely looks old enough to be out of college.”
“Is she old enough to drink? Yes? Then that’s all that matters. Go up to her or I’ll make more fun of you than usual.”
Ben sighed and got off the couch. The song the women were dancing to was winding down. He asked the brunette a couple of questions and she giggled in reply. Ben strode to the bar and a few minutes later returned with drinks for both of them.
The two of them went to the couch-Tom had gone off and was now flirting painfully with a bachelorette party-and started chatting. The brunette’s name was Karen, and she was working as an aide for a first grade teacher while taking classes toward her master’s degree in education. She was cute and cheerful and hopeful and it made Ben think of what a 24-year-old Leslie must have been like.
“Do you want to get some fresh air, Ben?” asked Karen, putting down her drink. “I’m getting really stuffy in here.”
“Yeah, sure, let me grab my coat.”
He and Karen had hardly stepped outside before she pulled him down for a kiss. In shock, Ben put his hands firmly on her shoulders and pushed her away.
“I’m so sorry. I recently ended a relationship that meant a lot to me, and I thought I was ready to meet other women. But I’m not. And you’re really cute and nice and don’t need some grumpy guy like me. I gotta go.”
Ben turned and headed down the street, texting Tom to let him know his night was over (he’d deal with Tom’s questions in the morning). He had rejected a perfectly nice girl because she reminded him of Leslie but wasn’t Leslie-her lips were too rough, her hands grabbed his hair the wrong way. Ben knew there wasn’t another Leslie Knope, but couldn’t anyone come close?
Meet and Greet
Today had been an especially bad day at work. Ben saw Leslie for the first time since he'd broken Andy’s nose, and her accusatory look stabbed him in the gut. Even after Andy told her that everything was cool between the two men, Leslie still looked at him like he had kicked her pet dog. Yeah, Leslie also said she wished she could have been at the Halloween party, but Ben wondered if it was so she could have punched him.
A headache came on shortly after lunch, so Ben decided to make an early exit. Taking a warm shower sometimes relieved his headaches, but then Ben spotted the bottle of bubble bath sitting on the edge of the bathtub.
What the hell, he thought, stripping off his clothes and filling up the tub. When the bath was full of cherry-scented bubbles, he stepped in and rested his head against the back edge. Closing his eyes, he wondered what it would be like if Leslie were there with him. The bubbles clinging to her curves, his hands swirling through the warm water, touching her until she started squirming with pleasure. He started to get hard at the image, stroking his cock slowly as he visualized Leslie settling on to his lap, positioning herself in just the right place. He was so close, and she felt so good-no woman had ever fit him that perfectly, on so many levels. With a groan, Ben came.
And then he opened his eyes, and Leslie wasn’t there. Before he realized what was happening, Ben was sobbing harder than he could ever remember. When the crying had subsided, Ben grabbed a towel off the rack and wiped his face.
“Dude, are you in there?” said April. “I need to use the bathroom.” With a push, she opened the door.
“Goddamnit April, don’t you knock? I thought Ron had fixed the lock over the weekend.” With the bubbles rapidly dissipating, Ben barely had a chance to cover himself.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asked. “Your eyes are all weird and puffy and you think baths are stupid. You tell me and Andy that all the time.”
“I wasn’t feeling good, so I took a bath, and now I feel worse,” Ben replied evenly.
“Leslie?” asked April, in a slightly softer voice than usual.
Ben nodded. “Don’t tell her, please. I know she’s probably over me, but I’m not over her, and I really miss her sometimes.”
“I don’t think she’s over you, but whatever, dude. But if you’re going to take another one of these sadness baths, wait until the lock is fixed, OK? I don’t want to walk into this scene again.” She stepped out of the bathroom long enough for Ben to rinse off and wrap the towel around his waist.
“And you’re in charge of cleaning the bathroom this week!” April called out after him.
Part 2: http://sullen-stories.livejournal.com/3338.html