Fic: Two Hearts Are Better than One (4/4)
Title: Two Hearts Are Better than One (4/4)
Pairings/Characters: Ben/Leslie; ensemble
Word Count: 1200
Rating: PG-13
Setting: Post-Jerry's Painting
Summary: Chris decides to interfere in Ben's love life. Shenanigans ensue.
A/n: Huge thanks to angelica_rules for reading through this last part for me. You are the best! I also want to thank everyone who commented on this story, (particularly the last part, as I just realized I never responded to comments) and everyone who encouraged me to keep going with this. I never would have posted this fic without you guys.
Part One || Part Two || Part Three
He finds Leslie in the kitchen, back to him, cell phone pressed to her ear. Even from here, he can see the tension in her shoulders, and he imagines her face, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed-the same irritated look she used to give him on a daily basis. Unfairly, he used to think.
This morning, it feels like she has every right in the world to be mad at him.
"He didn't say anything,” Leslie says into the phone. She sounds like she’s trying to whisper, and he realizes too late that he’s eavesdropping on a conversation she doesn’t want him to hear. “What if he doesn't remember, Ann? Am I supposed to pretend it didn't happen?"
Does she want to pretend? His stomach rolls at the thought, and he leans against the door frame for support. This is definitely a conversation he'd prefer to have when he's not hungover.
It's also one he wishes he hadn't initiated when he was drunk.
"I don't know!" shouts Leslie, and Ben winces. Tentatively, he raises his hand and raps his knuckles against the door frame to get her attention, and she whips around to face him. For a second, her eyes widen, and then she holds up a finger and turns back around, as if not facing him will afford her more privacy. "I have to go, Ann," she says quietly. "Yeah. I'll call you later. Bye.
“That was Ann," she informs him as she turns and leans against the kitchen counter; despite her body language, it's too labored an attempt to seem casual. "You know, Ann Perkins, my best friend in the universe."
"Yeah, I know Ann."
"Right."
Leslie bites her lip, her eyes questioning him as they dart around his face, and he can feel the tension between them filling the room. It’s atypical of them, built from her uncertainty and confusion and his regret and anxiety, and Ben has no idea how to fix it. Right now the five feet between them might as well be a mile.
It's one of the few truly awkward silences he's known with Leslie. The fingers of her right hand fidget against the counter, and he has to resist the urge to indulge any nervous ticks of his own. Belatedly, he realizes he has no idea how to begin this conversation, which might have been a better thing to figure out before walking into her kitchen. But considering what happened and the fact that she has no idea if he even remembers, standing here staring at her probably isn't the right course of action.
"How are you feeling?" she blurts out, her words rushed in that feverish way she gets sometimes when she's nervous or excited. "Do you want something to eat? I haven't been to the store in awhile, but I still have some NutriYum bars that Ann didn't confiscate. And marshmallows. I have a lot of marshmallows. We could probably make s'mores if you want."
Good lord. And he thought Andy and April were bad at grocery shopping. "It's okay," he says, forcing himself to stand up without the aid of the door frame. "I'm not sure food is the best choice right now anyway." At least not food whose primary ingredient is sugar.
"Okay. Well-"
"We should probably talk, right?" The words come out abruptly, a showing of courage he doesn't exactly feel, particularly when Leslie flinches. "About last night?"
"Probably."
"Look, Leslie…" He steps toward her and then stops, jamming his hands into his pockets. "I'm sorry. I acted like a jerk, and I-" He sighs. "I'm just really sorry."
"Are you?"
"Yeah, I am. I shouldn't have…"
He trails off as she stares at him, apprehension creasing her brow. A blanket apology lies on the tip of his tongue, ready to write off the entire night as a drunken mistake. An easy fix for a problem he’s complicated with the truth. It would be the right thing to do for both their sakes.
But he can't help but wonder if Leslie is as tired as he is of doing the right thing.
"I shouldn't have done it like that," he finishes quietly, and across the room, Leslie visibly exhales. "I-I've been thinking about it for so long now. How I would tell you. And that wasn't even close-I didn't even use my own words."
"What?"
"It's a long story. Chris…" He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. The important thing is that I meant it. I meant every single word. And I shouldn't have done it like that, but…I'm glad you know."
"Oh god." Leslie paces toward him, stops abruptly, and then circles around her kitchen back to where she started. She glances at him, as if to reaffirm that he's still there, and shakes her head. "This is not good."
"I know."
"We could get into trouble. We could get fired. We could ruin our reputations and end up bereft of everything we ever worked for. Alone. Destitute. Exiled."
"Exiled?"
"Yes, Ben! Exiled! Banished! Run out of town!"
"Okay,” he cuts in, stopping her before she guts him completely. It’s not like he didn’t expect the rejection on some level. You know, deep down. Where all of his insecurities lurk. “I get it. I do, Leslie." He swallows, hard, already dreading his next words. "We don't have to take the risk. If you just want to remain friends I-I understand."
"Of course I don't want that!" Her pacing, which resumed as she began to lament the risks of a relationship, abruptly halts. "But I don't want to lose everything either. And I really don't want to keep pretending that I don't want to make out with your face."
Wait. What? "You do?"
"Yes."
"That's…" That's beyond words, actually. Possibly beyond basic human comprehension. So much so that Ben can't seem to do more than grin rather stupidly.
“Oh god,” Leslie groans, dropping her face to her hands. After a second, she peeks out at him from between her fingers and shakes her head.
"Screw it," she mutters, and before Ben can even register the words, she launches toward him, hands skating along the back of his neck as she pulls him down into a kiss.
Even though she catches him off-guard, he responds instinctively to her, one hand moving to cup her cheek, his other arm wending around her waist to pull her closer. It’s every kiss they’ve never had: sweet yet fervent, tentative yet passionate, everything and nothing he’s imagined, and it’s perfect.
“Sorry,” breathes Leslie. She’s leaning into him, pressing him back into the door frame, her eyes darkened as they flit across his face. She kisses him again, briefly, and then sighs. “I had to do that.”
“Had to, huh?” He’s smirking, and she slaps his shoulder lightly.
“Yeah, had to. But it’s your fault. You and your stupid mouth.”
He puts his stupid mouth to good use then, fingers sneaking under the hem of Leslie’s shirt as she parts her lips against his. It is his fault, he thinks. His confession. His intent. His refusal to pretend he’s not crazy about her.
And Chris’ words.
The irony isn’t lost on Ben. Chris Traeger finally set him up with the woman of his dreams, and it will break his heart if he ever finds out. And that’s Ben’s fault too.
“Come on,” says Leslie, fingers gripping his shirt and pulling him backwards. He stumbles, still trying to kiss her as they move, and she laughs. “I want to show you my bedroom.”
He’s never been happier to take the blame.