Parks Fic: Chris Traeger’s Ugly Sweater Party (1/2)
Title: Chris Traeger's Spirited Ugly Sweater Party
Characters/Pairings: Ensemble, April/Andy, Ben/Leslie UST
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 8200
Setting: Season 3's lost Christmas. Post-Fancy Party, pre-Soulmates timeline wise.
Summary: A series of misadventures throughout Chris’ Christmas party-festive sweaters required.
A/n: This started out as a short, fluffy Christmas piece and mutated into this bit of insanity. Merry (early) Christmas!
One: Leslie’s Sweater Collection
On Friday night, Leslie shows up with a collection of sweaters piled so high in her arms that only her eyes peek out. It’s surprising in the way most things are with Leslie: an initial moment of shock followed by the inevitable hindsight that of course Ann should have expected this since it is Leslie, after all. The moment she received Chris’ party invitation, in fact, she should have seen this coming-Leslie and an insane number of terrifying sweaters.
“Ann!” Leslie teeters into the house, finding the couch blindly and dumping the monstrous collection on the sofa. Immediately, she snatches up the nearest sweater, a blue backdrop with red and green snowflakes raining down, and holds it up to her chest. “What do you think?”
“Um…It’s vibrant?”
Leslie glances down at the sweater and then back at Ann. “No-Well, yes, it is, but I mean, isn’t it perfect for Chris’ ugly sweater party?”
“Ugly sweater party?” Ann thinks of the invitation she has pinned to the fridge: the glossy photograph on the front of Chris, grinning like a fool, both thumbs up, wearing a hideous red sweater with a large reindeer knitted over the chest (the picture she may have defaced with a sharpie by adding a villainous mustache and eye patch). The invitation that Leslie now pulls from her coat pocket, and shoves in Ann’s face, tapping her fingernail against the loopy, cursive text where Chris has advertised: PARTY AT MY PLACE! PRIZE FOR THE MOST SPIRITED SWEATER!
“Yeah,” says Ann, “it says spirited sweater. Not ugly.”
“That’s just Chris-speak.” Leslie pockets the invitation again, dropping her sweater and shrugging out of her coat. “You know-positive spin. ‘Spirited.’”
The air quotes are a bit much, although Ann can see where the misinterpretation is apt. After all, there are much better adjectives to describe the sweater Chris is wearing: nightmarish; lame; unattractive; stupid. And, despite Chris’ love of the word, it’s not like he understands the meaning of literal.
So maybe it’s not at all surprising that his party theme has been perverted.
“And the best part is that I finally get to help you pick out an outfit,” says Leslie, grabbing another sweater and tossing it at Ann. She catches it loosely and shakes her head.
“I’m not going, Les.”
“What are you talking about? Of course you’re going. It’s a Christmas party, Ann! You love Christmas. And parties.”
“It’s a party at Chris’. I’m sorry, but I can’t put up with a whole night of Chris Traeger’s finger pointing and confusing enthusiasm. It’s been bad enough still running into him all the time since we broke up.”
Leslie starts to groan before Ann even finishes speaking, turning and falling face-first into her large pile of sweaters. Her legs hang comically over the arm of the couch, but Ann is too stunned by the overreaction to laugh. She knows as far as embarrassing breakup stories go, hers is far from the top of the list compared to Leslie’s, but she thought Leslie got it: how hard it is to still have to see and hear about Chris; how annoying it is that he’s making overtures of friendship that she doesn’t want; how awful it feels to be continually reminded that she was much more into him than he ever was into her. Okay, so maybe she’s been a bit hung up on the breakup, but this party isn’t the occasion to suddenly get over it. The wound is still too fresh.
Leslie flops onto her back like a fish, a few of the sweaters slithering to the floor as she does so. “Sorry,” she says. “I just feel like you’ve been missing everything lately.”
“Everything? Leslie, I’ve seen you four times already this week. We went out last Saturday night-“
“Yeah, but everything else. Andy and April’s wedding-“
“I wasn’t invited to that.” Thank god.
“-Thanksgiving in the park, the tree lighting, and now this.”
Has it been that much, really? It feels like that disastrous camping trip just happened. “Okay,” she acquiesces. “Yeah, I guess listed like that…Maybe you have a point.” She sighs. “Sorry. But look, Leslie, this party is different. Chris is hosting it. I can’t go. But I promise, no more skipping stuff without a real reason.”
Leslie is quiet. She lies there, staring at the ceiling, a little flushed from being smothered in a pile of wool in the warm house. Ann is fluent enough in Leslie by now to know that silence is an indicator that she’s building up to something-something probably only marginally related to what Ann thinks the problem is. She walks around the couch, sits down on the coffee table, and waits.
“Do you remember Ben? Ben Wyatt? Newly appointed assistant city manager Ben Wyatt?”
“Uh, yes.”
In a rush, Leslie exhales, “IthinkmaybeIhavefeelingsforhimandIkindofdefinitelywanttomakeoutwithhisface,” so incomprehensibly that Ann’s left reeling.
“Huh?”
“I think-maybe-I might like him. Like a lot. Especially his…face region, which I’d really kind of like to make out with.”
“Oh.” Ann leans forward and braces her arms on her legs, wondering if this is a supposed to be a new or surprising development. Given how much Leslie talks about Ben and the slightly moony look on her face when she does, it’s not that shocking. “And that’s a problem…?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.”
“I’m not seeing the down side here, Les. I mean, he decided to stay. You like him. Ask him out.”
“I said I think I like him,” says Leslie, less than convincingly. “And what if he doesn’t like me? What if I ask him out and he says no and then it ruins our work relationship and every time I see him it’s an awkward mess until finally he has to quit and move to Germany?”
“Germany?”
“That’s how much distance it’ll take to get past the awkwardness.”
“Wow. Okay. That’s not going to happen.”
“How do you know?”
“Leslie…”
“Okay. Fine. Maybe not Germany. But the rest.”
“Why wouldn’t he say yes? And I swear, if the next words out of your mouth are ‘Why would he?’ I’m going to hit you.”
“No. No. I know.” Leslie sighs, picking up the cuff of one of the sweaters and playing with a loose thread. “I just don’t want to ruin everything. I really like working with him, Ann. It’s like there’s finally someone at City Hall who cares almost as much as I do, and he’s smart and organized and he has great ideas…I don’t want to lose that. I don’t know if I want to risk that.”
“What if he says yes and it’s amazing and everything works out?”
“The odds are stacked against that scenario, Ann.” She turns her head, chewing on her lip, brow furrowed. “I thought maybe if you came to the party, you could help me figure it out.”
“Figure what out?”
“If he likes me.”
“Oh. Oooh.” Just like that, everything clicks into place: how antsy Leslie’s acting; her impatience; her insistence that Ann come to the party. She tries to think back over the last few months, gauging a hazy picture of Ben’s behavior around Leslie, but it’s not anything she’d been paying particular attention to. Not when Leslie had never said anything directly about liking Ben before this; not in the middle of her breakup nightmare, a situation that, if she’s honest, has left her more than a little distracted.
God, she really owes Leslie a million times over for the last few months. And the fact that Leslie would never lay it out in those terms-probably would never even think of it that way-pretty much seals her fate.
She shuts her eyes and suppresses a sigh. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay, I will go to the party with you. I will help you figure out if this is a good idea or not. Although I’m going on record right now and say that if you do ask him out and he says no, he’s a total bonehead who doesn’t deserve you.”
Before Ann can blink, Leslie half-falls, half-rolls off of the couch, tackling her in a hug so hard that they both nearly topple onto the floor. “Thank you, Ann! I promise you can have first choice of ugly sweaters to wear to the party.”
“Great.”
In the end-the end being after hours of Leslie making Ann model every sweater, followed by Leslie modeling every sweater, and then an absurd deliberation over which is prize-winningly ugly (because of course, Leslie actually wants to win this)-Ann ends up in a green sweater with a snowman on the front. It’s actually probably the least offensive one, but Ann generously considers it more in the vein of “spirited” than “ugly.” Whatever the case, Leslie declares her so beautiful that she can make any ugly sweater look good, and then offers her condolences that Ann is definitely not going to win.’
Ann has a feeling that will be the least of her problems.
Two: Brown Sweater
Ron arrives at Chris’ party on Saturday night with a tray of deviled eggs and a bottle of whiskey. Although he staunchly disagrees with the idea and practice of sucking up, Leslie had made the faintly coherent point that Chris is their boss for the foreseeable future and attending would make an impression (followed by a lot of flowery nonsense about forging friendships and bonding that Ron has chosen to ignore). He plans to stay for one hour and fifteen minutes or until all edible food is gone, whichever comes first, and then he will leave. Standard Swanson party etiquette.
He rings the doorbell.
“Ron Swanson!” Chris grins at him, and then steps back and ushers him into the house. There is a miniature pond with fish in the foyer, and it strikes Ron as even more obnoxious than his apartment in Indianapolis. “May I take your…refreshments?”
“No, thank you.”
They stare at one another for a minute, and then Chris claps his hands. “Well allow me to take your coat, won’t you? I have set the temperature for ideal sweater-wearing conditions, since it is a spirited sweater-Oh. Oh Ron.”
Ron finishes taking off his jacket, folding it and handing it to Chris, who is agape. It’s more pleasant than the constant grinning. “Ron Swanson, is this your most spirited sweater?”
He has no idea what constitutes a spirited sweater; he has steadfastly ignored the office scuttlebutt on the matter all week. The fact that he is wearing a sweater at all tonight was not planned.
“Yes.”
“Why this simply won’t do! There’s not even a hint of Christmas-a cheery red! A merry green!”
“Brown is the color of wood.”
“Don’t worry,” says Chris, with all the classic signs of someone who has stopped listening. “I have many sweaters! We’ll find one that works!”
“That’s unnecessary.”
“Nonsense! It’s my pleasure!” Chris wraps an arm around his shoulders, holding him, and starts to direct him through the house. “No one else is here yet. We have plenty of time to pick something out.”
Ron has the ability to black out horrifying situations, a skill perfected over two unbearable marriages. It is often advantageous in the moment, but returning to the present can be a nightmarish hellscape. This is one such instance. One minute, Ron finds himself pulled into Chris’ bedroom, and the next, he’s standing next to table of food he would never eat, wearing a too-tight red sweater with a Christmas tree knitted on the front.
“Carrot stick?” Chris offers, holding out a tray. Ron cringes. “You look fantastic in that sweater! Very merry!”
“I need a deviled egg.”
Chris nods. “I put them in the fridge. They’re already so unhealthy, and if they went bad…Well, I’d hate to think what that would do to your colon. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a banana? It’s nature’s colon cleanser!”
Ron glances at his watch. He’s still the only one at the party, but that could just be because no one else was foolish enough to come. Maybe he’s lost an hour of his life and it’s nearly time to go.
Ten minutes.
Fuck.
He turns to go to the kitchen, sensing more than hearing Chris follow him, but stops short as the music changes. A familiar saxophone rings out from a speaker, and Ron feels his gut lurch. Slowly, he turns to Chris. “This music…”
“Do you like it? It’s a local musician. This delightful woman at Grain and Simple was telling me about him. Duke Silver. This is his Christmas album. I must say, though, it’s unlike any Christmas music I’ve ever heard. I was hoping for a rousing rendition of ‘Jingle Bell Rock.’”
Ron looks at his watch again.
Twelve minutes.
“Let’s find those eggs,” he says.
Three: Homemade Sweater
Christmas is Andy’s favorite time of year for a lot of reasons. Presents. Snow. Snowmen. Snowball fights. Sled riding. Santa. Reindeer. Elves. Christmas songs. Christmas movies. Christmas trees. Christmas lights. Christmas cookies. Christmas parties.
Parties are a big one, actually. Everyone has parties at Christmas. There are even, as Andy discovered last year, parties at work. So basically, the entire month of December is a festival of free food. “And free food,” he told April as she groaned at the number of invitations, “is the way of life for the starving rock star.”
It had been a fair point to sway April to his side. They also had to come up with a list of ways to survive the less entertaining parties. This one tonight, at Chris’, had been particularly hard to convince her to attend. It wasn’t until Tom explained to everyone that it was an ugly sweater party and then April got her super awesome idea that she agreed to come.
He’s pretty sure April’s going to win the sweater prize. Although, he’s giving her a run for his money with this amazing sweater he found at his parents’ house. He’s pretty sure it was his grandma’s or something, and it’s three sizes too small and made out of this thick, chunky yarn that’s actually super soft, but also really ugly. April had given it a nod of approval before they left tonight.
They start at the food table, like always, because all they’ve eaten today is an old box of Twinkies and the rest of Burly’s girlfriend’s yogurt. April picks through some of the vegetables and then declares it gross. Andy eats a little more, and then starts looking for Leslie because chances are she brought cookies or something, but she’s not here yet.
“This place is weird,” says Andy, looking around the living room. “It’s like super clean. Suspiciously clean. And this Christmas tree has no smell.”
“It’s fake.”
“Oh. Well that’s dumb. And why are all of the ornaments white?”
“Because Chris is lame. And this party is lame. I told you it would be.”
Andy turns to her and puts one hand on her shoulder. “We’re just getting started. You brought your big purse, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to find you something great tonight.”
April kind of smiles. “Okay.”
“And you need to go have some fun with your sweater. Freak some people out.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too. Now go!”
Andy dashes away from her, kind of rolling over the couch and Jerry’s lap, and then flattening up against the wall so no one will notice him. He scans the room-a sea of people in terrible sweaters-and tries to focus on the Christmas decorations. Chris has taken a more bare bones approach than most of the other houses they’ve been at this month. He has the fake tree, which is butt ugly, and a sprig of mistletoe above the doorway to the foyer, but April hates mistletoe. There’s not even a nativity scene for April to rearrange inappropriately tonight--another one of her favorite pastimes.
No singing snowmen (too bad, as they’re Andy’s favorite); no Santa figurines; no lights; no reindeer shaped candle holders; no garlands. How the hell is he supposed to find something to add to their decoration collection tonight?
Andy begins to sidle toward the kitchen while taking a mental stock of what they’ve collected so far. April’s mom gave them that box of ornaments and his mom gave them that blanket to keep the tree warm (note: get a Christmas tree); they have that snowman that sings “Jingle Bells” that Andy got from her parents’ house; they’d left Ben and Derek’s party with a box of Christmas lights; and last night April had snagged a stuffed Santa from Orin’s parents. It’s all awesome, but Andy wants this Christmas to be beyond awesome. Like the best Christmas ever.
Not for the first time, he wonders if he can find enough lights to make their place look like that house in Christmas Vacation.
And then-oh ho! What is this? Andy glances around the room, but no one’s paying attention to his ninja-like moves, and he manages to grab the bottle of whiskey without anyone noticing. It’s perfect; April likes whiskey, and if the decorations are lame, alcohol will certainly make up for it. Gleefully, Andy dashes into the kitchen and runs smack into Tom, who takes one look at him and then pretty grossly spits a mouthful of punch all over Andy’s chest.
“Eww,” Andy laughs, brushing at his shirt, and patting Tom on the back as he coughs. “That’s disgusting, dude.”
“Sorry, but Andy, where did you find that?”
“What?”
“The whiskey,” hisses Tom, grabbing Andy’s arm and pulling him away from the door. “I thought this was a dry campus. I was about to call Jean-Ralphio to come hook me up.”
“It was just sitting on a table,” he explains, not sure what Tom’s so excited about.
“Whose is it?”
“I dunno. Chris’? Or maybe Ron’s. It was sitting right next to Ron.”
“Daaaamn. You stole Ron’s whiskey? That is a baller move, my man.”
“Thanks. It’s for April.”
“What? No! Andy, please! I will give you twenty bucks for that right now!”
“Seriously?”
“Ugh-fine! Forty!”
“Deal!”
Tom whips out his wallet, shelling out two twenties, and Andy snatches them and tosses him the bottle. Tom shrieks and catches it. “This is awesome, man. I can totally buy April something awesome for Christmas.”
“…Right. Well I’ll tell you what, Andy. I’ll give you another ten if you stand outside and guard the door. Don’t let anyone in here.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay!” Andy takes the proffered ten and then leaves the room, positioning himself on the other side of the door as acting security guard. It’s a job he takes seriously, practically chest bumping one guy out of the way.
It isn’t until a woman walks by wearing a sweater with a wreath that Andy gets a much better idea and abandons his post.
Four: Santa Jerry Sweater
“Stop looking at my boobs, Ben.”
“I’m not-I wasn’t-” April watches as Ben’s eyes flit all over the room, everywhere but at her, and feels that innate sense of satisfaction that comes from making him uncomfortable. He’s studying a particularly stupid sprig of mistletoe when he takes a deep breath and says, “I was just wondering if that’s Jerry. On your-uh-your sweater.”
“It’s Santa Jerry.”
“Oh.”
“What? Chris said this was an ugly sweater party, right?”
“Spirited, actually…”
“Well this is the spirit of ugly Christmas. Look: his eyes follow you wherever you go.” April arches her back a bit and rocks her chest back and forth-a move that actually makes Ben a little wild eyed.
“Please stop.”
“What, Ben? It’s just Santa Jerry. Don’t you want to sit on his lap? Whisper your Christmas list in his ear? What is it you want for Christmas, Ben?”
Ben runs both hands through his hair at the same moment Andy walks up to her, hands laced suspiciously behind his back. “Hey babe,” he says, eyes scanning the room. “What’s up?”
“Ben was just staring at my boobs.”
“I wasn’t! God, Andy, I swear-”
“Dude, isn’t it freaky how Jerry’s eyes follow you?” asks Andy, unfazed by her words or Ben’s near panic attack. “It’s like she has eyes in the front of her boobs or something.”
“Um…”
“What did you get?” she asks. She tugs a bit on the sleeve of Andy’s sweater, and he turns to flash the wreath that was on Chris’ front door. “That’s not gonna fit in my purse.”
“I thought you brought the big one.”
“Not that big.”
“What are you two doing?” Ben interrupts, raising an eyebrow at the wreath.
“Top secret. You’re not cleared to know.”
“Are you stealing Christmas decorations?
“What? No!” Andy laughs loudly and then leans into Ben’s personal space, dropping his voice. “Dude, it’s brilliant. We take a couple things every time we’re invited to a Christmas party. It was April’s idea.”
“That’s…horrible.”
“We can’t afford decorations, Ben, okay?”
“Besides,” says Andy, “it’s not stealing if it’s from people you love.”
“What?”
Andy slings his arm around Ben’s shoulders, the bow at the top of the wreath attacking Ben’s face, and adopts an air of wisdom. “I recommend a little movie called The Grinch. It’s April’s favorite. Same concept.”
“No. Not at all.”
“I think maybe you better watch it again.”
“Look, we’re not gonna take the stupid wreath,” says April, taking it from Andy’s hand. She takes extra care to rub the pine needles in Ben’s face as she does so. “Happy, Ben?”
“Yeah…” Ben shakes his head and disentangles himself from Andy’s grip. “I need to not be here anymore.”
April sets the wreath on the table behind her as Ben disappears back into the crowd of people, and then grabs Andy’s hands. “Do you want to go find Jerry and feel me up in front of him? Make him watch you molest his own face?”
“Hell yes.”
Five: Sexy Santa Sweater
“Donna Meagle! Ron Swanson!”
Donna can hear Ron groan under his breath as Chris bounds across the room to them. He has red and green markers in one hand and slips of paper in the other. “Have you had the chance to vote for the most spirited sweater yet? I think everyone has a fantastic chance of winning! Especially Ron!”
Chris winks, and Donna can actually feel Ron shudder beside her. Hurriedly, he shoves his last deviled egg in his mouth and then claps his hand over Chris’ shoulder. “It has been an evening, Chris.”
“Ron, you’re not leaving! The party’s just getting started!”
Chris catches Ron in an awkward half-hug and squeezes, effectively preventing him from fleeing. “Now, I’m staying out of the race for the best sweater since I will be counting the votes, but I literally cannot wait to see who wins.”
“I think Leslie’s got it in the bag,” says Donna, reaching out and plucking a marker from Chris’ hand.
“She does look festive. Although, your sweater is also very spirited, Donna! Who is that?”
“That is a shirtless Ryan Gosling with a Santa hat-the true spirit of Christmas.”
“It is delightful. It reminds me of when I was once asked to pose in only a Santa hat.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes. It was a calendar fundraiser. I was December. Quite an interesting experience.”
“And where might a woman with a keen appreciation for the male form get a copy of this calendar?”
“Oh, it was never finished. Sadly, October dropped out. Self-confidence issues, I fear. Although I do still have copies of my pictures somewhere.”
“You know, Chris, you would make a fine sexy Santa sweater.”
“Thank you!”
“And it’s a real shame that no one ever got to see those photos.”
“I agree, Donna.”
“So what do you say if we take a look at those pictures and see about making a new sweater.”
“Donna. Meagle. That is a fantastic idea!” He turns and throws an arm around Donna as well, a situation she appreciates much more than Ron, who openly grimaces at every word Chris says. “Maybe we could even look into making a new calendar. With pants this time, of course. Wouldn’t want to upset the citizens of Pawnee.”
“No one would complain, Chris. Trust me.”
“I would.”
“Oh, Ron.” Chris grips both of them a bit tighter. “You know, you would make an excellent October. Come, let’s walk and talk. Find those pictures!”
PART TWO