Fic: The sweetness of escape (Parks and Rec; Leslie/Ben)
Title: The sweetness of escape
Fandom/Pairing: Parks and Recreation; Leslie/Ben
Rating: PG
Words: 4,900
Summary: When Ben finds out there’s a National Parks and Recreation Department conference in D.C. the last weekend in June, he registers for two before he remembers he should probably ask Leslie if she wants to go with him.
**
When Ben finds out there’s a National Parks and Recreation Department conference in D.C. the last weekend in June, he registers for two before he remembers he should probably ask Leslie if she wants to go with him. Which, yeah, is maybe a little presumptuous, but it is a three-day government conference, so Ben figures he's not exactly taking a leap by assuming that Leslie would be into it.
The only thing he’s worried about is getting Chris’s approval, which is why he swings by the City Manager’s office right during what he knows is the tail end of Chris's pre-run workout, during the cool-down lunges, when his endorphins are at what Chris calls their “ultimate peak.”
“Hey Chris,” he says.
“Ben Wyatt!” Chris is dressed for his run, wearing a pair of black running shorts and a skin-tight, bright blue running shirt, the kind that wicks moisture away. Which Ben doesn't quite understand the need for, since he doesn’t think Chris has produced even a single drop of sweat in his lifetime.
“Hey Chris,” Ben says again. Chris smiles at him and starts doing some kind of squatting exercise. “So, there’s this conference this weekend in D.C. I think it’s a really good idea that, uh, I go there, with -- with Leslie, actually -- because it’s a Parks department thing and there’s a couple of panels on eliminating obesity in small towns and one about organizing city-wide 5k runs and, I just…I think it would be great for me and Leslie if we could, you know, attend this thing. Together.”
“That sounds fantastic!” Chris says, beaming. He kicks his left foot onto his desk and stretches, and his expression shifts to serious and intense. “Do we have the money for that?”
“Yes,” Ben says, as Chris swings his foot off the desk and starts doing jumping jacks. “Yes, we do have the money. Uh, the only thing we’re not budgeted for is travel, but I have some thoughts about that. If you’ll just sign the approval forms for the conference fees we can discuss the logistics after you get back from your post-work-out run?”
“Great!” Chris says, clapping his hands together once. Those endorphins must be pretty peak for him to not even argue about it, which is just fine with Ben. He grabs a pen off his desk and scribbles his name on the form before moving towards the door in a slow, deliberate jog. “Let’s do that.”
“Okay,” Ben says, following him out the door. Chris gives him a little salute on his way out, jogging backwards down the stairs and out of the building.
Ben watches him go and clutches the signed papers in his hand, smiling a little to himself.
*
The whole travel-budget issue turns out to be an easy fix once Ben figures out that he and Leslie can rent a car and drive over to D.C. for about the third of the cost it would take to fly.
It’s only a twelve-hour trip. Which means if they leave before dawn and split driving duties, each taking two three-hour shifts, they’ll be in D.C. in time for the first late-afternoon panel of the conference. Ben’s got the whole thing planned out, right down to the professional-yet-possibly-romantic restaurants they can go to that fit within the necessary budgetary restraints.
It's going to be perfect.
*
Once he gets all of the necessary forms signed and in order, he makes his way over to Leslie’s office, feeling incredibly pleased with himself.
“Oh my god!” she says when he tells her, jumping up from her desk. “The NPRDC? Ben! This is so amazing. Okay, we’ve got to get Chris’s approval, which I’m not sure how easy that’s going to be because of the whole budget crisis, but we’ll think of something. Maybe we can bribe him? And, yes, I know, that's terrible, but I'm not talking about money, I'm thinking more of a fitness thing...Oh! I've got it! He’s been talking about this mandatory city-wide 10k run and --"
“Already taken care of,” Ben interrupts, holding up the forms. He grins at her and she smiles back, bouncing a little on her toes in excitement and looking as happy as he’s ever seen her.
“Ben!” she says, stepping towards him and throwing her arms around him. “You’re amazing!”
“Oh,” he says, hugging her back in what he hopes is a professional manner. Is there a way to hug professionally? Ben really hopes so, because otherwise this might be weird. Which it actually kind of is, but in this kind of amazing way. "We're going to have to drive because of this whole budget thing," he adds, because apparently he's got some kind of horrible inability to shut up about the budget for five seconds and just enjoy what is, honestly, the best thing that's happened to him all week.
“A road trip!” Leslie says. She steps back, which sucks, but she's still grinning at him, so. “I love road trips.”
“Good,” Ben says, suddenly very conscious of the camera guy standing not ten feet away from them. “Great."
"Great," Leslie repeats, voice soft. His body feels bizarrely warm in all the places that Leslie's body touched his. He swallows hard and isn't really sure what to do next. He clenches his fists, not really sure what to do with his hands. She's just standing really, really close to him, is the thing.
They both just stand there for a few seconds, smiling at each other like a couple of complete idiots, until Tom walks in and starts raving about the new line of silk-cashmere blend sweater vests at Brooks Brothers boys and Ben has to leave before he rolls his eyes right out of his head.
*
On Wednesday morning, he carries his suitcase out to the front of the house, being as quiet as he can so he doesn't wake up Andy and April. Which turns out to be a complete waste of time, since the two of them are sitting in lawn chairs in the middle of the living room, playing some kind of shooting game on the Xbox.
"Hey," he says, putting his bag down and glancing down at his watch to make sure that it is, in fact, four-thirty in the morning.
"Ben!" Andy beams, squinting a little at the tv. "What up, bro?"
"Uh, nothing," he says. "I'm on my way to pick up Leslie for this conference thing."
"Oh right," Andy says. "Your boring government road trip." Andy glances at him, taking in his button-down shirt and tie and shakes his head a little. "You know, dude, you should wear something more comfortable. Like, when I do road trips with the band, to like Muncie or Eagleton or whatever, I just wear my boxers and nothing else. It's a ton more comfortable, you know?"
Ben nods, trying to imagine Leslie's face if he showed up at her house in just his underwear.
"I always go with a dopey skinny tie and a Members Only jacket," April says, glancing at him sidelong. "That's the coolest."
Ben sighs and scrubs a hand across his face. He really needs to find his own place.
“Oh hey, we’re out of that cheese in a can stuff,” Andy says, staring intensely at the screen. “Would you mind picking some up while you’re out?”
“I’m going to be gone for five days,” Ben says as he opens the front door. The early morning air is cool and sweet and Ben can't wait to get the hell out of here.
Andy turns and stares at him. “So, is that a yes on the cheese?”
“Actually, I’m going to be pretty busy with this whole work conference thing. So, it’ll be kind of hard to make it out for canned cheese,” he says. Andy just looks at him, tilting his head a little in this way that reminds Ben of this golden retriever his parents had when he was a kid. He sighs again. He’s pretty sure by the time he gets back, Andy and April will have, at the very least, burned down the house. “Yeah, sure. I’ll pick some up while I’m out.”
“Thanks, dude,” Andy says, grinning at him and turning back to the screen. “You’re the best.”
“Yeah, Ben,” April says, voice flat. She’s staring blankly at the screen, slowly pressing the same button on the controller, over and over again. “You’re the best.”
*
When he pulls up outside of Leslie’s house, it’s still dark, the streetlamps making the block look kind of eerie and mysterious. Which is insane, because it’s Pawnee, Indiana at five o'clock in the morning and nothing about Pawnee is particularly eerie or mysterious.
Leslie’s sitting on the steps of her front porch, like a kid waiting to get picked up from a sleepover, and she grins and waves when she sees him. Ben can’t help but grin and wave back, even though it makes him feel like as big of a dork as everyone says he is.
“Hey Leslie,” he says, getting out of the car.
Leslie has two bags -- a rolling suitcase and one of those reusable shopping bags -- sitting next to her on the steps. Ben gets out of the car to help her and she bounds towards him, leaving her bags on the steps.
“I call first shift!” Leslie says, walking fast out towards the car. Ben follows her, the rolling suitcase bumping loudly behind him. The shopping bag is filled with snacks, mostly candy necklaces and Sweetums bars. There are already a few empty NutriYum wrappers in the bag, which probably explains Leslie's early-morning enthusiasm.
“Oh,” Ben says. “Okay. Um, I mean, I thought I would take first shift because, you know, it’s so early and driving is kind of a pain and...” he trails off as Leslie just looks at him, her eyebrows raised. He sighs. “Yeah. Okay. You take first shift.”
Leslie grins at him and he can’t help but smile back.
Ben shakes his head and starts to put her bags in the trunk.
"Wait!" she says, taking the shopping bag from him. Her fingers brush against his for just a second and he shivers a little. Leslie gives him a strange look as she takes the bag from him and he stares intently at the trunk of the car as he makes his way over to the passenger side, crossing his arms over his chest in the cool, pre-dawn air.
In the dim interior light of the car, Ben notices Leslie’s wearing the same kind of skinny braid in her hair that she did a few weeks ago, when the whole thing with Jerry’s painting went down.
Looking at her makes him think about the painting of course, which is probably not a brilliant thing to be doing when they’re about to spend the next five days together. Alone and fifteen hundred miles away from Chris and his stupid government no-dating rules, where it's just going to be him and Leslie and her shiny hair and her probably-perfect breasts and, wow, it is kind of insanely warm in the car all of a sudden.
Ben reaches out and starts fiddling with the air conditioner, concentrating hard on getting the car down to perfect temperature, a temperature where his palms aren't sweating quite so much and where he can stop thinking about half-naked Leslie and doing something incredibly stupid like reaching over and brushing his fingers through her perfect blonde hair and telling her why he arranged for this whole trip in the first place.
*
By the time Ben takes over for his shift at the wheel, he and Leslie are already two hours behind schedule.
An hour outside of Pawnee, Leslie insisted they stop for breakfast at a Waffle House, where she ate what was literally largest plate of waffles he’s ever seen in his lifetime and drank like six cups of coffee. Which, of course, meant that they had to make eight bathroom stops before they even made it through Muncie.
Normally, it's the exact kind of thing that would annoy Ben beyond belief, but Leslie's still got that little braid in her hair and every single stop she makes means they'll spend just that much more time together and, well. Running a little behind schedule isn't the worst thing that could happen.
*
By nine o’clock that night, they’re still four hours outside of D.C. Ben’s practically falling asleep at the wheel and Leslie’s been passed out in the passenger seat for the last forty minutes, in what he's pretty sure is a post-sugar-high crash. She ate a lot of candy and waffles today.
They end up stopping in at a crappy Super 8 motel right off the interstate, which is only slightly more upscale than the Pawnee Super Sweets Motel.
The lobby's empty except for a bored-looking teenage girl sitting at the front desk, staring at a cell phone, her thumbs tapping away on the screen.
She sighs heavily when they walk up to the desk, like they're rudely interrupting whatever important conversation she's in the midst of texting. "How many rooms?" she asks, sounding like she could not possibly care less about the answer.
Ben feels a moment of complete and utter panic way beyond what is appropriate for answering a simple question from an apathetic teenage girl. “Um, uh,” he says, eloquent as always.
He can feel Leslie looking at him and he squints down at the guest book sitting open on the counter, concentrating hard at all of the names scribbled there.
“You know, one room would save money,” Leslie says suddenly. Ben hazards a glance in her direction and she’s looking right at him, the corners of her mouth turned up in a half-smile. He thinks she might be teasing him, but he’s not really sure. For some reason, it’s getting harder and harder to tell with her.
“Yeah, um, uh. Yeah, that’s -- that’s true.” And he wants to say, yes of course. One room, please. But his mouth feels kind of dry and his palms are weirdly sweaty and what he says instead is, “Uh, I think two rooms might be better.” The girl nods and starts typing something into the computer. Leslie’s still looking at him and he turns to her. “You know, with Chris and his rules and the whole, like, fraternizing thing…” Ugh, what is wrong with him? Why does he care so much about stupid Chris and his stupid, ridiculous rules?
“Oh,” Leslie says, sounding possibly a little disappointed. “Yeah, totally.” She’s still smiling that little smile, but she looks down at the check-in counter and shakes her head, a little ruefully. “I was just kidding anyway.”
“Right, yeah," Ben says, hating himself. "I know.”
*
They end up with adjoining rooms, which Ben is pretty sure is because the desk clerk is screwing with him.
If nothing else, Leslie seems happy about it, insisting that they leave the door unlocked just in case one of them has some kind of weird late night emergency. What emergency one of them is going to have in a Super 8 motel in Nutter Fort, West Virginia, Ben has no idea, but he's not about to argue with her, since agreeing to adjoining rooms is clearly as brave as he's going to get tonight, Leslie-wise. Because he is apparently the biggest coward on the planet.
Not that it matters much, since they leave the door between their rooms closed, which gives Ben plenty of time to regret his stupid rules-following decisions. He's got a pretty good streak of self-loathing going right up until ten o'clock that night, when Leslie suddenly busts into his room, wild-eyed and dressed in her pajamas.
“A rat!” she shouts, like he’s still on the other side of the cinderblock motel wall and not three feet in front of her.
Ben just stares at her. She’s wearing a black tank top and red plaid pajama pants, that little braid still in her hair, and she’s got a kind of manic glint in her eyes that he hasn’t seen since Lil’ Sebastian disappeared.
“I’m sorry?” he says, trying to play it cool. He was about to take a shower so he’s just wearing his boxers and a white undershirt and he feels incredibly naked and vulnerable.
Leslie rolls her eyes like she can’t believe how much of an idiot he is. “There is a rat in my room and it is big and hairy and disgusting and it stared at me and ran over my shoe and now I’m going to have to burn my shoes.”
Ben blinks at her. “You’re not wearing shoes,” he says dumbly.
“Damn it, Benjamin!” she says. She sighs dramatically and sits down, right in the middle of his bed, right where he was lying not three minutes ago, thinking about her and her braid and that three-second glimpse he caught of Jerry's painting. “There is a rat in my room and he ran over my shoes and then my suitcase and he’s probably laying eggs in the bed right now!”
“He?” Ben asks.
“Or she,” Leslie says, settling back against the headboard. She grabs one of the pillows and clutches it tightly against her chest. “I didn’t get a good look. Maybe it was a girl rat. Maybe I shouldn’t be so sexist. I don’t know. But Ben, LISTEN. A rat ran over my shoes and it’s living in my room and it probably has friends and a wife and baby rat babies and now I can never go back in there. I’m going to have to buy all new clothes and get a new toothbrush and a new computer and --“
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ben says, holding up his hands to stop her. “Leslie. Relax.”
Leslie looks at him, biting the corner of her lip in this way that’s pretty much the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. She’s still got a death grip on that pillow and she’s slunk down a little so that it’s covering most of her face.
“How about I go over there and get your clothes and your computer and then the rat and his…baby rat babies can’t get them. Is that -- would that be okay?”
“And my toothbrush,” she says, lowering the pillow a little so that he can make out what she’s saying.
“And your toothbrush,” he agrees, trying hard not to smile.
“Okay.” Leslie nods and chews a little on her lip. “Close the door behind you,” she says, pulling up the pillow again to hide the bottom half of her face.
Her room looks pretty much like his, one big bed and ugly cheap motel artwork and hideous shag carpeting. The suitcase is on the floor over by the window, sitting open next to a pair of less-than-sensible high-heeled shoes.
When he gets over to the suitcase, he can see that there’s something kind of black and lacy on top and, okay, wow. He is not looking in there. He’s just going grab the computer and the toothbrush and then zip up the bag, ignoring whatever sexy, black, lacy thing is in there and then he’ll bring them to Leslie. Simple and completely and totally appropriate, right? Right.
The computer and the toothbrush take about six seconds to get and then he makes his way over to the suitcase. He’s kind of glancing at the bag sidelong, concentrating hard on not looking directly at whatever's in there, when something scampers across the carpet, not two inches from his foot.
“Holy shit!” he says, grabbing her bag without zipping it closed and bolting for the door. Leslie’s sexy black whatever is pressed against his chest and he can feel the lace, soft but a little scratchy, through the thin fabric of his undershirt.
He makes it across the room and through the adjoining door in record time, slamming the door to his room behind him.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, running his hand through his hair and looking behind him. The door is shut, right? And locked? Because that rat was, ugh. That rat was huge and disgusting and he thinks it might have had glowing red eyes and, just. “That was disgusting. Why the hell did you let me go in there?”
“You offered!” she points out, and yeah, he did, but that’s because he wasn’t actually expecting there to be a rat in there. He was expecting maybe a stray sock or a very large dust bunny or, hell, he doesn't know. Something other than King Rat over there.
“Yeah, well,” he says and then stops, because he doesn’t have much more of a defense for going in there. She did warn him, after all.
“Besides,” Leslie says. She lowers the comforter and leans forward, gesturing for him to put her stuff down on the bed. “I figured you’re a Ben, and he’s a Ben, and, I thought maybe you could talk to him or sing to him or communicate with him and I don’t know, okay? I don't know.”
“Sing to him?” he asks, incredulous. He puts her suitcase and shoes on the bed, and then sits down heavily next to her, still cringing a little in what he hopes is manly fashion. “Why the hell would I sing to him? And how is he a Ben?”
“Ben? Michael Jackson?” Leslie says. She starts rustling through her suitcase, grabbing the lace thing (which he can now see is a bra; that’s…uh…that’s good to know) and shoving it under the rest of her clothes. Her ears are kind of bright red, but she’s still focused on the bag, like she’s concentrating incredibly hard on moving stuff around in there.
“Michael Jackson?” he asks, just to say something.
“Ben,” she says again, sitting back and sounding kind of relieved. Her ears and cheeks are still red, but she’s looking him in the eye now that the bra has been hidden under a pair of jeans, which makes this whole conversation somehow much, much easier. “The movie? With the rat? And the song?”
Ben just blinks at her. She raises her eyebrows and he shrugs.
“Ugh, come on!” Leslie says, sounding absurdly annoyed. “I thought you were a nerd! You should know this!”
“I haven’t seen every movie ever made, Leslie,” he says.
She scoffs. “Yeah, well,” she mutters under her breath. “You’ve probably seen every sci-fi movie ever made.”
Ben rolls his eyes and hands her the toothbrush. As she takes it from him, their fingers brush a little. Her skin is warm and dry and Ben can’t bring himself to move his hand.
“Anyway. Thanks for rescuing my stuff,” she says softly.
“Yeah, well.” He flicks his eyes up, suddenly self-conscious. He’s just a little worried there’s going to be cameraman there, hovering right behind Leslie, waiting to film him being a complete dork. “No problem.”
They just sit like that for a few seconds, staring at each other, holding on to her toothbrush.
The silences stretches on long enough so that it starts to get awkward, and then Leslie glances at the TV and makes a face.
“What are you watching?” she demands.
Ben sighs, because he knows what’s coming. “Battlestar Galactica.”
“Dork.” Leslie rolls her eyes and settles against the bed, her hip nudging up against his.
Ben looks at her and she’s smiling at him, the corners of her mouth turned up a little in this way that makes his stomach flip a little. Even though she’s under the covers and he’s not, he swears he can feel the heat of her body against his.
They watch a few more episodes, Leslie at turns mocking him for his taste in television shows and asking him questions about the Cylons. By midnight, the show's over, replaced by a movie where a giant Sabertooth tiger seems to be on the loose in Manhattan, eating cars and fighting a hairy elephant or something? It’s a little confusing, especially since Ben's having a hard time focusing on anything other than Leslie sitting so close to him. Her skin just looks very white next to the dark green paisley of the cheap motel bedspread and she smells amazing, like candy and waffles.
“This is terrible,” he finally says, sitting up and reaching for the remote. He has to reach over Leslie to get it and he tries exceptionally hard not to brush against any…parts of her chest. Finally, he grabs the remote and settles back in next to her, sighing a little. “There’s got to be something better on at --, ” he looks at the cheap alarm clock next to the bed, “-- twelve-fifteen on a Wednesday night, right?”
“Oh!” She says, sitting up straight and clapping her hands together. “Let’s order a movie!”
“Leslie, I don’t know, we’ve got to get up early and the budget’s already kind of shot --“ he says, but she’s already grabbed the remote from his hands and she’s just pressing a bunch of buttons. A couple of seconds later, the TV screen goes black and then Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows starts up.
Leslie smiles and snuggles down into the comforter next to him. Over in the corner, the air conditioner kicks into high gear. Ben shivers and wraps his arms around his chest. The whole left side of his body is nice and toasty, but other than that he thinks he might freeze to death.
"Get under here," Leslie says, sighing a little and pulling back the covers.
"Oh, uh," Ben says, staring in what he hopes in a not-creepy way at her bare arm. He knows he should probably stay on the outside of the covers, but the air conditioner in the corner is just whirring away and he is really, really cold. "Okay, yeah."
Leslie smiles a little as he slides in next to her, their sides pressed together warm and close. Their bare feet touch a little, and it’s weird, how nice her ankle feels against his.
By the time all the fake Harrys get to the Weasley’s place, Ben can barely keep his eyes open. Once Harry and Ron and Hermoine appear in London, Ben finally gives up, closing his eyes letting his head drop back against the cheap plywood headboard.
*
The next thing he knows, Leslie’s making these low, kind of sniffling noises and, on the TV, the credits have started to roll.
“Hey,” Ben says, scrubbing a hand across his face and blinking a little. He can’t believe he just slept through that entire movie. The room’s really dark and he can barely make out Leslie’s face. Her hair’s curling a little, these soft waves that brush up against her jaw and Ben has to clench his fist to stop from reaching out and touching her. “You okay?”
She sniffles a little, shaking her head. “Poor Dobby,” she says, sadly.
He has no idea what she's talking about, but she looks kind of amazing in the glow of the TV.
“Hey,” he says, tapping her lightly on the wrist. She gets really still when he touches her and Ben knows he should move his hand, but he just keeps touching her, brushing his thumb over her soft, soft skin. Which is maybe a little creepy, but he can’t bring himself to stop.
Leslie looks down at his hand and makes this kind of breathy, gasping noise that makes his heart feel like it’s beating a little too fast. “Hey,” she says, giving him a crooked smile.
When she kisses him, Ben feels like he can’t breathe, his whole body humming and alive. He rolls over so that he’s on top of her and Leslie opens her mouth under his, sliding her tongue into his mouth and biting a little on his lower lip.
After a couple of seconds, she pulls back a little, breathing heavy, and Ben reaches out and brushes his finger across the braid, right in the place where it’s tucked behind her ear.
Leslie inhales sharply and then smiles a little, biting down on her lower lip.
“This is nice,” he says. “Very…goddess-y.”
Leslie laughs, her breath puffing warm and sweet against his lips, and Ben grins back at her, reaching up to run the tip of his finger across the braid again.
“I like you,” Leslie says, which is maybe the most amazing thing anyone’s ever said to him. Ben smiles, his lips brushing hers. “And I think you like me and I know that Chris has all of these rules about dating and not dating and, believe me, I know that governments needs rules and regulations, but I just, I like you, Ben, and I hate Chris’s rules because they’re stupid and dumb and I hate them.”
“I hate them, too,” he says. He’s smiled so much tonight, he feels like his cheeks might crack.
Leslie kisses him again, pressing her knee between his legs. Ben gasps and moves closer to her, so that he’s touching her pretty much anywhere that he can. She's soft and warm and pretty much everything he'd imagined, every time he'd imagined her like this. Which has been almost embarrassingly often over the past seven months.
When he slides his hand up under her shirt, she makes this noise that makes his stomach flip. He pushes her shirt up over her head and she's completely amazing. The painting really didn't do her justice.
"I'm really glad you signed us up for this conference," Leslie says, pressing these soft kisses against his mouth.
"Yeah," he says. He feels like he's never going to stop smiling. "Me too."
Ben slides one hand around her waist, pressing his palm against the sharp bones of her hip, and tries to think of ways he can convince Leslie to skip out on the conference and just stay here with him, in this too-small bed in this crappy motel room in a town he's never heard of but he's pretty sure he never wants to leave.
**
end
Fandom/Pairing: Parks and Recreation; Leslie/Ben
Rating: PG
Words: 4,900
Summary: When Ben finds out there’s a National Parks and Recreation Department conference in D.C. the last weekend in June, he registers for two before he remembers he should probably ask Leslie if she wants to go with him.
**
When Ben finds out there’s a National Parks and Recreation Department conference in D.C. the last weekend in June, he registers for two before he remembers he should probably ask Leslie if she wants to go with him. Which, yeah, is maybe a little presumptuous, but it is a three-day government conference, so Ben figures he's not exactly taking a leap by assuming that Leslie would be into it.
The only thing he’s worried about is getting Chris’s approval, which is why he swings by the City Manager’s office right during what he knows is the tail end of Chris's pre-run workout, during the cool-down lunges, when his endorphins are at what Chris calls their “ultimate peak.”
“Hey Chris,” he says.
“Ben Wyatt!” Chris is dressed for his run, wearing a pair of black running shorts and a skin-tight, bright blue running shirt, the kind that wicks moisture away. Which Ben doesn't quite understand the need for, since he doesn’t think Chris has produced even a single drop of sweat in his lifetime.
“Hey Chris,” Ben says again. Chris smiles at him and starts doing some kind of squatting exercise. “So, there’s this conference this weekend in D.C. I think it’s a really good idea that, uh, I go there, with -- with Leslie, actually -- because it’s a Parks department thing and there’s a couple of panels on eliminating obesity in small towns and one about organizing city-wide 5k runs and, I just…I think it would be great for me and Leslie if we could, you know, attend this thing. Together.”
“That sounds fantastic!” Chris says, beaming. He kicks his left foot onto his desk and stretches, and his expression shifts to serious and intense. “Do we have the money for that?”
“Yes,” Ben says, as Chris swings his foot off the desk and starts doing jumping jacks. “Yes, we do have the money. Uh, the only thing we’re not budgeted for is travel, but I have some thoughts about that. If you’ll just sign the approval forms for the conference fees we can discuss the logistics after you get back from your post-work-out run?”
“Great!” Chris says, clapping his hands together once. Those endorphins must be pretty peak for him to not even argue about it, which is just fine with Ben. He grabs a pen off his desk and scribbles his name on the form before moving towards the door in a slow, deliberate jog. “Let’s do that.”
“Okay,” Ben says, following him out the door. Chris gives him a little salute on his way out, jogging backwards down the stairs and out of the building.
Ben watches him go and clutches the signed papers in his hand, smiling a little to himself.
*
The whole travel-budget issue turns out to be an easy fix once Ben figures out that he and Leslie can rent a car and drive over to D.C. for about the third of the cost it would take to fly.
It’s only a twelve-hour trip. Which means if they leave before dawn and split driving duties, each taking two three-hour shifts, they’ll be in D.C. in time for the first late-afternoon panel of the conference. Ben’s got the whole thing planned out, right down to the professional-yet-possibly-romantic restaurants they can go to that fit within the necessary budgetary restraints.
It's going to be perfect.
*
Once he gets all of the necessary forms signed and in order, he makes his way over to Leslie’s office, feeling incredibly pleased with himself.
“Oh my god!” she says when he tells her, jumping up from her desk. “The NPRDC? Ben! This is so amazing. Okay, we’ve got to get Chris’s approval, which I’m not sure how easy that’s going to be because of the whole budget crisis, but we’ll think of something. Maybe we can bribe him? And, yes, I know, that's terrible, but I'm not talking about money, I'm thinking more of a fitness thing...Oh! I've got it! He’s been talking about this mandatory city-wide 10k run and --"
“Already taken care of,” Ben interrupts, holding up the forms. He grins at her and she smiles back, bouncing a little on her toes in excitement and looking as happy as he’s ever seen her.
“Ben!” she says, stepping towards him and throwing her arms around him. “You’re amazing!”
“Oh,” he says, hugging her back in what he hopes is a professional manner. Is there a way to hug professionally? Ben really hopes so, because otherwise this might be weird. Which it actually kind of is, but in this kind of amazing way. "We're going to have to drive because of this whole budget thing," he adds, because apparently he's got some kind of horrible inability to shut up about the budget for five seconds and just enjoy what is, honestly, the best thing that's happened to him all week.
“A road trip!” Leslie says. She steps back, which sucks, but she's still grinning at him, so. “I love road trips.”
“Good,” Ben says, suddenly very conscious of the camera guy standing not ten feet away from them. “Great."
"Great," Leslie repeats, voice soft. His body feels bizarrely warm in all the places that Leslie's body touched his. He swallows hard and isn't really sure what to do next. He clenches his fists, not really sure what to do with his hands. She's just standing really, really close to him, is the thing.
They both just stand there for a few seconds, smiling at each other like a couple of complete idiots, until Tom walks in and starts raving about the new line of silk-cashmere blend sweater vests at Brooks Brothers boys and Ben has to leave before he rolls his eyes right out of his head.
*
On Wednesday morning, he carries his suitcase out to the front of the house, being as quiet as he can so he doesn't wake up Andy and April. Which turns out to be a complete waste of time, since the two of them are sitting in lawn chairs in the middle of the living room, playing some kind of shooting game on the Xbox.
"Hey," he says, putting his bag down and glancing down at his watch to make sure that it is, in fact, four-thirty in the morning.
"Ben!" Andy beams, squinting a little at the tv. "What up, bro?"
"Uh, nothing," he says. "I'm on my way to pick up Leslie for this conference thing."
"Oh right," Andy says. "Your boring government road trip." Andy glances at him, taking in his button-down shirt and tie and shakes his head a little. "You know, dude, you should wear something more comfortable. Like, when I do road trips with the band, to like Muncie or Eagleton or whatever, I just wear my boxers and nothing else. It's a ton more comfortable, you know?"
Ben nods, trying to imagine Leslie's face if he showed up at her house in just his underwear.
"I always go with a dopey skinny tie and a Members Only jacket," April says, glancing at him sidelong. "That's the coolest."
Ben sighs and scrubs a hand across his face. He really needs to find his own place.
“Oh hey, we’re out of that cheese in a can stuff,” Andy says, staring intensely at the screen. “Would you mind picking some up while you’re out?”
“I’m going to be gone for five days,” Ben says as he opens the front door. The early morning air is cool and sweet and Ben can't wait to get the hell out of here.
Andy turns and stares at him. “So, is that a yes on the cheese?”
“Actually, I’m going to be pretty busy with this whole work conference thing. So, it’ll be kind of hard to make it out for canned cheese,” he says. Andy just looks at him, tilting his head a little in this way that reminds Ben of this golden retriever his parents had when he was a kid. He sighs again. He’s pretty sure by the time he gets back, Andy and April will have, at the very least, burned down the house. “Yeah, sure. I’ll pick some up while I’m out.”
“Thanks, dude,” Andy says, grinning at him and turning back to the screen. “You’re the best.”
“Yeah, Ben,” April says, voice flat. She’s staring blankly at the screen, slowly pressing the same button on the controller, over and over again. “You’re the best.”
*
When he pulls up outside of Leslie’s house, it’s still dark, the streetlamps making the block look kind of eerie and mysterious. Which is insane, because it’s Pawnee, Indiana at five o'clock in the morning and nothing about Pawnee is particularly eerie or mysterious.
Leslie’s sitting on the steps of her front porch, like a kid waiting to get picked up from a sleepover, and she grins and waves when she sees him. Ben can’t help but grin and wave back, even though it makes him feel like as big of a dork as everyone says he is.
“Hey Leslie,” he says, getting out of the car.
Leslie has two bags -- a rolling suitcase and one of those reusable shopping bags -- sitting next to her on the steps. Ben gets out of the car to help her and she bounds towards him, leaving her bags on the steps.
“I call first shift!” Leslie says, walking fast out towards the car. Ben follows her, the rolling suitcase bumping loudly behind him. The shopping bag is filled with snacks, mostly candy necklaces and Sweetums bars. There are already a few empty NutriYum wrappers in the bag, which probably explains Leslie's early-morning enthusiasm.
“Oh,” Ben says. “Okay. Um, I mean, I thought I would take first shift because, you know, it’s so early and driving is kind of a pain and...” he trails off as Leslie just looks at him, her eyebrows raised. He sighs. “Yeah. Okay. You take first shift.”
Leslie grins at him and he can’t help but smile back.
Ben shakes his head and starts to put her bags in the trunk.
"Wait!" she says, taking the shopping bag from him. Her fingers brush against his for just a second and he shivers a little. Leslie gives him a strange look as she takes the bag from him and he stares intently at the trunk of the car as he makes his way over to the passenger side, crossing his arms over his chest in the cool, pre-dawn air.
In the dim interior light of the car, Ben notices Leslie’s wearing the same kind of skinny braid in her hair that she did a few weeks ago, when the whole thing with Jerry’s painting went down.
Looking at her makes him think about the painting of course, which is probably not a brilliant thing to be doing when they’re about to spend the next five days together. Alone and fifteen hundred miles away from Chris and his stupid government no-dating rules, where it's just going to be him and Leslie and her shiny hair and her probably-perfect breasts and, wow, it is kind of insanely warm in the car all of a sudden.
Ben reaches out and starts fiddling with the air conditioner, concentrating hard on getting the car down to perfect temperature, a temperature where his palms aren't sweating quite so much and where he can stop thinking about half-naked Leslie and doing something incredibly stupid like reaching over and brushing his fingers through her perfect blonde hair and telling her why he arranged for this whole trip in the first place.
*
By the time Ben takes over for his shift at the wheel, he and Leslie are already two hours behind schedule.
An hour outside of Pawnee, Leslie insisted they stop for breakfast at a Waffle House, where she ate what was literally largest plate of waffles he’s ever seen in his lifetime and drank like six cups of coffee. Which, of course, meant that they had to make eight bathroom stops before they even made it through Muncie.
Normally, it's the exact kind of thing that would annoy Ben beyond belief, but Leslie's still got that little braid in her hair and every single stop she makes means they'll spend just that much more time together and, well. Running a little behind schedule isn't the worst thing that could happen.
*
By nine o’clock that night, they’re still four hours outside of D.C. Ben’s practically falling asleep at the wheel and Leslie’s been passed out in the passenger seat for the last forty minutes, in what he's pretty sure is a post-sugar-high crash. She ate a lot of candy and waffles today.
They end up stopping in at a crappy Super 8 motel right off the interstate, which is only slightly more upscale than the Pawnee Super Sweets Motel.
The lobby's empty except for a bored-looking teenage girl sitting at the front desk, staring at a cell phone, her thumbs tapping away on the screen.
She sighs heavily when they walk up to the desk, like they're rudely interrupting whatever important conversation she's in the midst of texting. "How many rooms?" she asks, sounding like she could not possibly care less about the answer.
Ben feels a moment of complete and utter panic way beyond what is appropriate for answering a simple question from an apathetic teenage girl. “Um, uh,” he says, eloquent as always.
He can feel Leslie looking at him and he squints down at the guest book sitting open on the counter, concentrating hard at all of the names scribbled there.
“You know, one room would save money,” Leslie says suddenly. Ben hazards a glance in her direction and she’s looking right at him, the corners of her mouth turned up in a half-smile. He thinks she might be teasing him, but he’s not really sure. For some reason, it’s getting harder and harder to tell with her.
“Yeah, um, uh. Yeah, that’s -- that’s true.” And he wants to say, yes of course. One room, please. But his mouth feels kind of dry and his palms are weirdly sweaty and what he says instead is, “Uh, I think two rooms might be better.” The girl nods and starts typing something into the computer. Leslie’s still looking at him and he turns to her. “You know, with Chris and his rules and the whole, like, fraternizing thing…” Ugh, what is wrong with him? Why does he care so much about stupid Chris and his stupid, ridiculous rules?
“Oh,” Leslie says, sounding possibly a little disappointed. “Yeah, totally.” She’s still smiling that little smile, but she looks down at the check-in counter and shakes her head, a little ruefully. “I was just kidding anyway.”
“Right, yeah," Ben says, hating himself. "I know.”
*
They end up with adjoining rooms, which Ben is pretty sure is because the desk clerk is screwing with him.
If nothing else, Leslie seems happy about it, insisting that they leave the door unlocked just in case one of them has some kind of weird late night emergency. What emergency one of them is going to have in a Super 8 motel in Nutter Fort, West Virginia, Ben has no idea, but he's not about to argue with her, since agreeing to adjoining rooms is clearly as brave as he's going to get tonight, Leslie-wise. Because he is apparently the biggest coward on the planet.
Not that it matters much, since they leave the door between their rooms closed, which gives Ben plenty of time to regret his stupid rules-following decisions. He's got a pretty good streak of self-loathing going right up until ten o'clock that night, when Leslie suddenly busts into his room, wild-eyed and dressed in her pajamas.
“A rat!” she shouts, like he’s still on the other side of the cinderblock motel wall and not three feet in front of her.
Ben just stares at her. She’s wearing a black tank top and red plaid pajama pants, that little braid still in her hair, and she’s got a kind of manic glint in her eyes that he hasn’t seen since Lil’ Sebastian disappeared.
“I’m sorry?” he says, trying to play it cool. He was about to take a shower so he’s just wearing his boxers and a white undershirt and he feels incredibly naked and vulnerable.
Leslie rolls her eyes like she can’t believe how much of an idiot he is. “There is a rat in my room and it is big and hairy and disgusting and it stared at me and ran over my shoe and now I’m going to have to burn my shoes.”
Ben blinks at her. “You’re not wearing shoes,” he says dumbly.
“Damn it, Benjamin!” she says. She sighs dramatically and sits down, right in the middle of his bed, right where he was lying not three minutes ago, thinking about her and her braid and that three-second glimpse he caught of Jerry's painting. “There is a rat in my room and he ran over my shoes and then my suitcase and he’s probably laying eggs in the bed right now!”
“He?” Ben asks.
“Or she,” Leslie says, settling back against the headboard. She grabs one of the pillows and clutches it tightly against her chest. “I didn’t get a good look. Maybe it was a girl rat. Maybe I shouldn’t be so sexist. I don’t know. But Ben, LISTEN. A rat ran over my shoes and it’s living in my room and it probably has friends and a wife and baby rat babies and now I can never go back in there. I’m going to have to buy all new clothes and get a new toothbrush and a new computer and --“
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ben says, holding up his hands to stop her. “Leslie. Relax.”
Leslie looks at him, biting the corner of her lip in this way that’s pretty much the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. She’s still got a death grip on that pillow and she’s slunk down a little so that it’s covering most of her face.
“How about I go over there and get your clothes and your computer and then the rat and his…baby rat babies can’t get them. Is that -- would that be okay?”
“And my toothbrush,” she says, lowering the pillow a little so that he can make out what she’s saying.
“And your toothbrush,” he agrees, trying hard not to smile.
“Okay.” Leslie nods and chews a little on her lip. “Close the door behind you,” she says, pulling up the pillow again to hide the bottom half of her face.
Her room looks pretty much like his, one big bed and ugly cheap motel artwork and hideous shag carpeting. The suitcase is on the floor over by the window, sitting open next to a pair of less-than-sensible high-heeled shoes.
When he gets over to the suitcase, he can see that there’s something kind of black and lacy on top and, okay, wow. He is not looking in there. He’s just going grab the computer and the toothbrush and then zip up the bag, ignoring whatever sexy, black, lacy thing is in there and then he’ll bring them to Leslie. Simple and completely and totally appropriate, right? Right.
The computer and the toothbrush take about six seconds to get and then he makes his way over to the suitcase. He’s kind of glancing at the bag sidelong, concentrating hard on not looking directly at whatever's in there, when something scampers across the carpet, not two inches from his foot.
“Holy shit!” he says, grabbing her bag without zipping it closed and bolting for the door. Leslie’s sexy black whatever is pressed against his chest and he can feel the lace, soft but a little scratchy, through the thin fabric of his undershirt.
He makes it across the room and through the adjoining door in record time, slamming the door to his room behind him.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, running his hand through his hair and looking behind him. The door is shut, right? And locked? Because that rat was, ugh. That rat was huge and disgusting and he thinks it might have had glowing red eyes and, just. “That was disgusting. Why the hell did you let me go in there?”
“You offered!” she points out, and yeah, he did, but that’s because he wasn’t actually expecting there to be a rat in there. He was expecting maybe a stray sock or a very large dust bunny or, hell, he doesn't know. Something other than King Rat over there.
“Yeah, well,” he says and then stops, because he doesn’t have much more of a defense for going in there. She did warn him, after all.
“Besides,” Leslie says. She lowers the comforter and leans forward, gesturing for him to put her stuff down on the bed. “I figured you’re a Ben, and he’s a Ben, and, I thought maybe you could talk to him or sing to him or communicate with him and I don’t know, okay? I don't know.”
“Sing to him?” he asks, incredulous. He puts her suitcase and shoes on the bed, and then sits down heavily next to her, still cringing a little in what he hopes is manly fashion. “Why the hell would I sing to him? And how is he a Ben?”
“Ben? Michael Jackson?” Leslie says. She starts rustling through her suitcase, grabbing the lace thing (which he can now see is a bra; that’s…uh…that’s good to know) and shoving it under the rest of her clothes. Her ears are kind of bright red, but she’s still focused on the bag, like she’s concentrating incredibly hard on moving stuff around in there.
“Michael Jackson?” he asks, just to say something.
“Ben,” she says again, sitting back and sounding kind of relieved. Her ears and cheeks are still red, but she’s looking him in the eye now that the bra has been hidden under a pair of jeans, which makes this whole conversation somehow much, much easier. “The movie? With the rat? And the song?”
Ben just blinks at her. She raises her eyebrows and he shrugs.
“Ugh, come on!” Leslie says, sounding absurdly annoyed. “I thought you were a nerd! You should know this!”
“I haven’t seen every movie ever made, Leslie,” he says.
She scoffs. “Yeah, well,” she mutters under her breath. “You’ve probably seen every sci-fi movie ever made.”
Ben rolls his eyes and hands her the toothbrush. As she takes it from him, their fingers brush a little. Her skin is warm and dry and Ben can’t bring himself to move his hand.
“Anyway. Thanks for rescuing my stuff,” she says softly.
“Yeah, well.” He flicks his eyes up, suddenly self-conscious. He’s just a little worried there’s going to be cameraman there, hovering right behind Leslie, waiting to film him being a complete dork. “No problem.”
They just sit like that for a few seconds, staring at each other, holding on to her toothbrush.
The silences stretches on long enough so that it starts to get awkward, and then Leslie glances at the TV and makes a face.
“What are you watching?” she demands.
Ben sighs, because he knows what’s coming. “Battlestar Galactica.”
“Dork.” Leslie rolls her eyes and settles against the bed, her hip nudging up against his.
Ben looks at her and she’s smiling at him, the corners of her mouth turned up a little in this way that makes his stomach flip a little. Even though she’s under the covers and he’s not, he swears he can feel the heat of her body against his.
They watch a few more episodes, Leslie at turns mocking him for his taste in television shows and asking him questions about the Cylons. By midnight, the show's over, replaced by a movie where a giant Sabertooth tiger seems to be on the loose in Manhattan, eating cars and fighting a hairy elephant or something? It’s a little confusing, especially since Ben's having a hard time focusing on anything other than Leslie sitting so close to him. Her skin just looks very white next to the dark green paisley of the cheap motel bedspread and she smells amazing, like candy and waffles.
“This is terrible,” he finally says, sitting up and reaching for the remote. He has to reach over Leslie to get it and he tries exceptionally hard not to brush against any…parts of her chest. Finally, he grabs the remote and settles back in next to her, sighing a little. “There’s got to be something better on at --, ” he looks at the cheap alarm clock next to the bed, “-- twelve-fifteen on a Wednesday night, right?”
“Oh!” She says, sitting up straight and clapping her hands together. “Let’s order a movie!”
“Leslie, I don’t know, we’ve got to get up early and the budget’s already kind of shot --“ he says, but she’s already grabbed the remote from his hands and she’s just pressing a bunch of buttons. A couple of seconds later, the TV screen goes black and then Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows starts up.
Leslie smiles and snuggles down into the comforter next to him. Over in the corner, the air conditioner kicks into high gear. Ben shivers and wraps his arms around his chest. The whole left side of his body is nice and toasty, but other than that he thinks he might freeze to death.
"Get under here," Leslie says, sighing a little and pulling back the covers.
"Oh, uh," Ben says, staring in what he hopes in a not-creepy way at her bare arm. He knows he should probably stay on the outside of the covers, but the air conditioner in the corner is just whirring away and he is really, really cold. "Okay, yeah."
Leslie smiles a little as he slides in next to her, their sides pressed together warm and close. Their bare feet touch a little, and it’s weird, how nice her ankle feels against his.
By the time all the fake Harrys get to the Weasley’s place, Ben can barely keep his eyes open. Once Harry and Ron and Hermoine appear in London, Ben finally gives up, closing his eyes letting his head drop back against the cheap plywood headboard.
*
The next thing he knows, Leslie’s making these low, kind of sniffling noises and, on the TV, the credits have started to roll.
“Hey,” Ben says, scrubbing a hand across his face and blinking a little. He can’t believe he just slept through that entire movie. The room’s really dark and he can barely make out Leslie’s face. Her hair’s curling a little, these soft waves that brush up against her jaw and Ben has to clench his fist to stop from reaching out and touching her. “You okay?”
She sniffles a little, shaking her head. “Poor Dobby,” she says, sadly.
He has no idea what she's talking about, but she looks kind of amazing in the glow of the TV.
“Hey,” he says, tapping her lightly on the wrist. She gets really still when he touches her and Ben knows he should move his hand, but he just keeps touching her, brushing his thumb over her soft, soft skin. Which is maybe a little creepy, but he can’t bring himself to stop.
Leslie looks down at his hand and makes this kind of breathy, gasping noise that makes his heart feel like it’s beating a little too fast. “Hey,” she says, giving him a crooked smile.
When she kisses him, Ben feels like he can’t breathe, his whole body humming and alive. He rolls over so that he’s on top of her and Leslie opens her mouth under his, sliding her tongue into his mouth and biting a little on his lower lip.
After a couple of seconds, she pulls back a little, breathing heavy, and Ben reaches out and brushes his finger across the braid, right in the place where it’s tucked behind her ear.
Leslie inhales sharply and then smiles a little, biting down on her lower lip.
“This is nice,” he says. “Very…goddess-y.”
Leslie laughs, her breath puffing warm and sweet against his lips, and Ben grins back at her, reaching up to run the tip of his finger across the braid again.
“I like you,” Leslie says, which is maybe the most amazing thing anyone’s ever said to him. Ben smiles, his lips brushing hers. “And I think you like me and I know that Chris has all of these rules about dating and not dating and, believe me, I know that governments needs rules and regulations, but I just, I like you, Ben, and I hate Chris’s rules because they’re stupid and dumb and I hate them.”
“I hate them, too,” he says. He’s smiled so much tonight, he feels like his cheeks might crack.
Leslie kisses him again, pressing her knee between his legs. Ben gasps and moves closer to her, so that he’s touching her pretty much anywhere that he can. She's soft and warm and pretty much everything he'd imagined, every time he'd imagined her like this. Which has been almost embarrassingly often over the past seven months.
When he slides his hand up under her shirt, she makes this noise that makes his stomach flip. He pushes her shirt up over her head and she's completely amazing. The painting really didn't do her justice.
"I'm really glad you signed us up for this conference," Leslie says, pressing these soft kisses against his mouth.
"Yeah," he says. He feels like he's never going to stop smiling. "Me too."
Ben slides one hand around her waist, pressing his palm against the sharp bones of her hip, and tries to think of ways he can convince Leslie to skip out on the conference and just stay here with him, in this too-small bed in this crappy motel room in a town he's never heard of but he's pretty sure he never wants to leave.
**
end