Fic: Puzzle Pieces
Title: Puzzle Pieces
Author: ryeloza
Recipient: craponaspatula
Pairing: Ben/Leslie, Marlene
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2200
Prompt/Summary: "Holiday fun/horrors with Marlene." Ben and Marlene during the Christmas season in season 4.
Puzzle Pieces
Considering that Leslie was suspended in the home stretch that led to the annual Christmas tree lighting at Ramsett Park, the event went off rather seamlessly. There was some slight confusion about who was playing Santa at what time that somehow coalesced into Andy playing Santa all night, and Ron purposely cancelled the fireworks display Leslie had been planning, but other than that, there were no hiccups. The tree lit up as scheduled, the snow fell like it was planned, the concessions were plentiful and people showed up in droves. You could practically feel Christmas in the air.
It was too much, too soon.
Once the tree was lit, Ben skulked away quietly, slipping into the shadows like a phantom and lingering on the periphery of the park. Everyone else was caught up in a whirlwind of activity, Leslie most of all, and no one would notice if he took a few minutes to himself to just breathe. He’d expected this, coming here; part of him had wanted to avoid it a little longer-being thrust back into the mayhem of the Parks Department after resigning-but the truth was there was no way to ease back into this. It was a plunge into freezing cold water that he had to take sometime: to come back and watch and remember that he was not in the center of this world any more, but an outsider-one who didn’t belong.
Melodramatic wording aside, it was the defining idea of his adult life. He wasn’t malleable like Chris, transforming to fit in wherever they went; it took time-it took Pawnee and Leslie-to mold him until he finally felt like he fit into a puzzle, a corner piece perhaps, but important nonetheless. But in the past six months, he’d been jostled loose and broken, first by losing Leslie and then by losing his job. However well he fit with her, everything else was unformed now, ripped apart so he again remained without really being a part of something. And it was hard-harder than he’d thought it would be when he agreed to come here tonight--so he needed a minute to process. A minute away from everything to relax.
It sounded like self-pity, even to him, but it wasn’t. Not really. More of it was born of frustration, because he was slowly realizing that his destiny was either personal happiness or professional happiness, and never the two would meet.
Well, never again. There was the one brief moment of cohesion where he felt like he had everything, though even that had been sullied somewhat by the secrecy of his and Leslie’s relationship. Now he could hold Leslie’s hand in public, kiss her in the light of this ridiculously large tree, and no one could imply that there was anything unethical about their relationship. And that...that meant a hell of a lot. It meant more than his job, certainly (he hadn’t even had to think twice about that), and if he had to do it all over again tomorrow, he would. It was just this tiny, selfish part of him that wished he could have both. The same part that didn’t want to be here, reminded that this was no longer his world. The same part that had declined to help when he’d heard that the Parks Department wanted to relaunch Leslie’s campaign.
So he leaned against the fence, hot chocolate in hand, and watched the night unfold from a distance.
Last year, he’d been in the thick of it. At Leslie’s side throughout the evening, helping things run like clockwork; he’d even had a shift as the most malnourished-looking Santa in the world-an hour of lifting kids on and off his lap and listening to them confess their most intimate Christmas wishes. An hour that had been entirely worth every runny nose and crying baby just for when Leslie had come up at the end and leaned in to whisper her own Christmas wish in his ear. She’d had a hot chocolate waiting for him after he passed off the suit to Jerry, and he’d spent the rest of the night wondering what it would be like to kiss her in the snow.
He sought her out now, eyes finding her bright red coat and shock of blonde hair with no hesitation. She had her arm linked through Ann’s, and it looked like they were half-singing, half-laughing their way through some Christmas carol. It was hard to remember that he didn’t have to pine for her anymore. He could walk over to her right now and take her in his arms if he wanted; kiss her senseless on this snowy night and forget all the ugliness in the world for a minute. Leslie was warmth and springtime, undoubtedly, but Ben thought that in some way, she belonged to winter. Born in the dead of it, she made everything a little less dreary and infinitely more cheerful, bending the season to her will instead of being bogged down by it.
God, he was so stupidly, hopelessly in love with her. He’d give her the moon if she asked.
Of course, she wouldn’t. She wasn’t selfish enough. But what she did want, the only thing she’d ever wanted, he’d helped her destroy with one kiss and the vow to never let her go again, and there was nothing he could do to fix that. Maybe she didn’t regret it-he could see that every time she looked at him-but somehow that hurt even more than everything he’d lost. As much as he wished he could have everything, he wanted it even more for her.
“Are you sulking? I hate a man who sulks.”
Ben tore his gaze from Leslie, startled, and found himself face-to-face with her mother. He hadn’t heard her approach, despite his cautious avoidance of her all evening. It was a confrontation he wasn’t in the mood for-seeing Marlene for the first time since everything had gone to hell around him and Leslie-and except for a brief greeting when she’d arrived tonight, he’d managed to duck her. He realized now that even hiding in the shadows, he’d stayed still too long; a moving target was harder to hit than a still one.
“Hi, Marlene.” He stood up a little straighter, trying to command some type of confidence he certainly didn’t feel, and resisted the urge to indulge any of his nervous ticks. It was significantly harder when she was staring him down.
“Well? Are you?”
“No. Just thinking. I needed a minute away from…all of that.”
She eyed him knowingly, a more calculating version of the way Leslie assessed him. For whatever ways they were different, Leslie held a lot of Marlene in her, softer around the edges maybe, but no less powerful. “You’re feeling sorry for yourself.”
“No.” A useless lie. “A little. Marginally. I’m feeling sorry for a lot of things.”
“Derailing Leslie’s campaign?” Marlene waved a dismissive hand, as if none of it mattered. The absurdity almost made him laugh. “Don’t be such a martyr. It was Leslie’s choice.”
“I know.” Did she honestly think he was unaware of that? Of everything he questioned and every uncertainty facing him right now, the fact that Leslie chose him was the one hope he carried in his heart. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad about it.” He let out a sigh, his breath forming in the air for a second before disappearing into the night. “I want her to have everything she wants.”
Marlene laughed hysterically, unnerving him. He wasn’t quite she what he expected (for her to agree?), but derisive laughter wasn’t on the list.
“No one gets everything they want,” said Marlene, too pragmatically. It was true-Ben knew better than anyone-but the broad nature of the statement didn’t seem like it should apply to Leslie. Especially not coming from her mother. “I like to believe that Leslie, whatever lofty dreams she has, knows that deep down.”
Did she? Ben wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t quite believe that as stubborn as Leslie had been during their breakup, she didn’t actually believe that she’d get everything she ever dreamed of, someday. And as infuriating as it had been at a time when he’d been certain he’d never get what he dreamed of, it was also something he loved about her.
“Leslie thinks this campaign is going to rise like a phoenix from the ashes,” Marlene continued. “Tell me you think this makeshift campaign team is actually going to make that happen.”
“They’re going to try.” He winced, hating himself a little, because he knew as well as Marlene did that he’d just given her the answer she wanted. He backtracked a bit, feeling a sting of betrayal even though he wasn’t sure he’d actually stabbed anyone in the back. “Leslie is determined. And that gets you a long way.”
“Determination only gets you so far. Though I won’t argue that Leslie has more than her fair share of it.”
“If it doesn’t work out this time, she’ll try again.”
Marlene gave him a quizzical look and then turned, glancing back at the activity around the tree for a second before refocusing her gaze on him. “You know, when Leslie was six, an older boy at school told her there was no such thing as Santa,” she said, not so much reminiscing as making an observation. “She beat him up. Can you imagine? I was called down to the school because my tiny, spirited daughter beat up a third grade boy.”
Ben smiled. It felt like a gift, so different than when Leslie spoke about her childhood if only because it told by someone with as much affection for Leslie as he felt. A moment they could share because, for whatever insane reason, Marlene trusted that he cared about Leslie as much as she did. “The point is,” Marlene continued, “that she never once asked me if that boy was telling the truth. She went on believing in Santa for another two years after that.”
“That’s Leslie.”
“Yes. She doesn’t believe in defeat. So yes, this campaign probably won’t work out. Maybe she’ll never hold an elected office. But that doesn’t mean she’s going to stop being Leslie. She’ll dust off her wounds and keep going because that’s who she is.”
Without thinking, Ben sought her out again. Found Leslie in the crowd, smiling and carefree and certainly not worried about the future. At least not right now.
“It’s an admirable quality.”
Ben nodded. Across the lot, Leslie caught his eye and somewhat abashed, Ben looked away. “Yeah. It is.”
“So stop worrying so much. Lick your wounds and pull yourself together. You haven’t ruined anything for Leslie, but you’re going to ruin things for yourself if you keep acting like a maudlin child.”
“I’m not-I just-” Ben sighed. This was not the conversation he’d expected to have when he finally saw Marlene again. He wasn’t sure this was the conversation he wanted to have either.
“Making excuses is weak. Don’t do it.”
“Fine.”
“And stop feeling bad for yourself. You’re quite a capable young man.”
There was no response for it, partly because he was shocked to hear the praise, but mostly because Leslie approached, wrapping her hand in his and giving him a quick kiss. “Hi,” she said, all smiles and bright eyes. “Hey, Mom. What are you two doing over here?”
“Just talking, sweetheart.” Marlene patted Leslie’s cheek and then gave Ben a shrewd look. “I was just saying that you made a good choice by holding on to this one.”
Something inside Ben snapped, a little piece of him breaking off and loosening the tightness in his chest. It didn’t make anything better, solve any of his problems or fix Leslie’s campaign, but it felt like approval. And he realized, belatedly, that as much as Leslie’s makeshift family might have accepted him as part of her life, he’d been holding his breath about her actual kin doing the same.
“I did, didn’t I?” Leslie beamed at him, and he dropped her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders, hugging her tightly. “Come on,” she said. “Andy wants to start a Santa sing-along. It’ll be a lot more fun than standing out here in the dark.”
“Much more fun.” Marlene shot him another pointed look, and impulsively he stepped forward and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. When he pulled back, she looked startled, and he felt strangely amused by throwing her off her game.
“Let’s go,” he agreed, finding Leslie’s hand again and smiling at her suppressed laughter. Maybe he didn’t belong the way he used to, but he wasn’t completely adrift either.
There were a few places he fit perfectly.