fic: three's a crowd 1/?, leslie/ben/ann, pg13
title: Three's a Crowd (1/?)
author:
shornt
pairing: Leslie/Ben/Ann... honestly it'll be this weird exploratory thing that'll eventually deal with Leslie/Ben, Leslie/Ann, and Ben/Ann. And the three of them as a group.
rating: Early chapters PG13, later chapters will have higher ratings
words: ~4000
notes: So this is a huge experiment on my part, and it's gonna take a lot of willpower for me to finish a chaptered fic. But I'm determined! So this fic does explore Leslie/Ann/Ben, though it's starting out slow. I'm aiming for between 5 and 7 chapters. Each chapter will have a section of each of their POVs. Thanks to Caitlin and Sylvia for the encouragement and what not.
Ben
In some ways, this is one of the first normal milestones they’ve arrived at as a couple. For two people who flirted for nearly a year, kissed when it was against the rules, dated secretly, broke up, pined for months, kissed again in a tiny park, said “I love you” through a court stenographer, and then embarked on a political campaign together, this should pretty much be easy as pie.
If it weren’t for all her stuff.
“Leslie, I do own some of my own things.”
“I know, I know! But Ben, you don’t understand, I’ve kept my collection of the Pawnee Journal from 1980 through 1989 in this closet for years.”
They’d talked about this. Leslie wanted to make sure they had all the talks, because after all, this had been her crazy idea, blurted in a moment of joyous celebration after taking the last seat in City Council. Live here so you never have to leave! she’d slurred into his ear, breath sickly sweet after too many cocktails. Okay! he’d yelled back, embracing her to the point where April got Andy to make the spitball for her (and really, getting hit in the ear with those is disgusting).
The next day had been a mess, a flurry of activity and interviews and Leslie hadn’t even remembered her drunken idea until they got into bed that night. And they’d talked all night, Ben throwing out ideas of where he could keep his (admittedly few, but enough to fill and entire car and a pickup truck, it turns out) possessions. Leslie had nodded, pressing her lips to his in agreement, and the night veered off in a different direction from there.
After that, their plans became about time and dates and help from friends, and Leslie conveniently forgot her promise of space and was having a little trouble letting go.
So naturally, everyone they worked with was milling around the yard and house, unloading boxes of Ben’s old Doctor Who books and the one armchair Andy and April would let him get away with. And as Ann tried to wrestle several unnecessary decorative wicker baskets filled with fake plastic fruit out of Leslie’s hands, Ben managed to sneak in some dvds and his tiny television.
Moving in felt like a huge step to Ben, but it was an even bigger one for a pack-rat who’s lived alone since graduating college.
“I want to give you the closet, Ben, I do, but--”
“Leslie.” He sighs, trying to ignore the look of sadness on her face. “I know you’re used to living one way, but if we’re gonna do this, there have to be some changes. And I’m gonna have to hang up my coats somewhere if you’re going to keep all fifteen of yours downstairs.”
He nudges her in the ribs and is rewarded with a lopsided grin.
“I can move the newspapers to the attic.”
“No more room up there,” Ron grunts as he passes the room, carrying a box of antique lamps.
“Ohh, my lamps!” Leslie exclaims, her face lighting up. She reaches her hand out to them, but Ben fixes her with a stern look. “Okay, fine, I’ll get rid of some lamps.”
Ann’s quick behind Ron, arms littered with junk drawer fillings to dispose of. She catches Ben’s eye and smiles an understanding secret grin, sharing in what it means to be close to Leslie Knope. Ben’s heard the horror stories of Leslie’s dinner party and the woman hired to clean up the whole house. What on earth happened here since then?
He wants to be annoyed, but just as he saw Ann do earlier that day, he can’t help but smile. Leslie is truly enthusiastic about every little knick-knack in her house; even if it’s something she’s seen once in the past ten years, everything has a story and emotional value, even if in the smallest way. Back issues of Time connect with important college experiences, little figurines of owls remind her of her father, her collection of salt and pepper shakers are her own little tribute to a long-deceased aunt who over-seasoned her food.
Despite moving into her house, Ben finds himself having to reconnect with her throughout the day, between hauling boxes inside and out, indulging Chris in talk of the cardiovascular benefits of heavy lifting, and consoling Andy, who’s acting like a petulant child losing his nanny.
“I still don’t get it, man. Do you hate us?”
“I’ve told you a million times, Andy,” Ben struggles to say, clearly being crushed under the weight of the armchair that Andy is barely helping move. “I can’t live with you guys forever, and Leslie and I--”
“If you tell us how much you and Leslie love each other again, I’ll have Andy drop this chair on your foot.” April’s appeared over his shoulder, staring him down with an unsettling menace, and Andy giggles.
“That would hurt so bad, hon!”
Out of nowhere, Ann shows up to help carry the chair, since Andy’s just started faking-out Ben by tipping it in his direction. He shoots her a relieved smile.
“Thanks. Are we the only ones getting work done around here?”
“Jerry’s admiring the excess birdhouses and trying to pick one for Gail,” she grunts, as they both heave the chair into a corner of the living room that’s been cleared out. “Ron’s started making bacon in the kitchen, Chris went on a run, Tom probably left and will show up in an hour as if he did work, Donna’s probably with him, and Leslie is caught in a Sophie’s Choice between a drawer full of decorative soaps or one full of potpourri.”
“Why doesn’t she just take a few of each?”
“Do you want a drawer in the upstairs bathroom?”
He laughs despite himself.
“She’s quite a hoarder,” he muses, reaching his finger up to a shelf and poking at a photo frame of Leslie and Ann in front of Lot 48, when it was still a pit.
“She just cares about a lot of stuff, you know how she gets.”
“I do.” He can’t wipe the smile off his face, and Ann seems to catch it.
Leslie bursts into the room, brow creased in worry as she holds out a bag of weird dried berries.
“Ben, does this smell good? Would you ever use it?”
He pulls her close and kisses her.
They manage to re-fill the pick-up truck with some of Leslie’s things, boxes of old clothes for charity and some things destined for the city dump. Leslie forces a box of things on each person helping, giving Andy some stupid Halloween decorations and making Ann promise to give at least one basket a good home. The day’s winding down and Tom checks in pretending to wipe his brow, and Ben looks forward to his first night as the official roommate and hopefully permanent bedmate of Leslie Knope.
They collapse into the couch, his arm around her shoulders as she lets out a huge sigh. Ann and Ron are still doing things in the kitchen, cleaning up from the massive breakfast-for-lunch everyone shared. Ben kisses Leslie’s forehead and looks around, seeing his furniture next to hers, his photographs on her side tables, his Batman comics on the same shelf as her Batman comics.
He could get used to this.
Just as he’s about to slyly suggest they start to usher out the remaining people in the house, Ann’s phone starts ringing, some shrill alarm noise that beeps loudly through the house. And it must be set to something specific, because Leslie sits up rigidly next to him.
“Aw, crap. I’ll be right back.”
She pats his knee before disappearing into the kitchen, and the voices he hears through the door are laced with concern. He goes to investigate.
---
Leslie
To say it’s been an overwhelming day would be an understatement, but if she didn’t face it head-on, then you wouldn’t be able to call her Leslie Knope. You’d call her Wimpy Knope, or something. But you’re never going to call her that because she’s tackling this day like gangbusters, alright?
She knew that Ben moving in would mean unlimited couch-time cuddling, eating actual home-cooked meals every night, lots of co-ed baths and showers (to save time and water; it’s only practical), and never having to leave each other off with simple goodnight kisses before retreating to their own houses again.
She just kind of forgot about the part where she gets rid of her Cherished Teddies collection so he can fit in his childhood baseball cards. And, well, Leslie’s never been good at letting things go.
Thank God for Ann, who knows the way her mind works, who shows up every time Leslie considers hiding something she’s supposed to get rid of. That’s how the bejeweled glass grapes ended up in the garbage along with her firecrackers from the bicentennial.
And Leslie revels in days like this, when she can seamlessly move between the people she loves, when Ann holds her hand in difficult moments and she can move to the next room and be in Ben’s arms. It’s comforting, to be surrounded by friends and loved ones as you gut your life and rearrange to make room for someone else. And as she collapses on the couch with Ben in the aftermath, she thinks yes. Yes, this is something I want to do.
Of course, she hears the emergency beep of Ann’s cell phone, the one that usually means there’s an emergency at the hospital and they need extra hands. She bristles, startled that Ann will probably have to leave.
“Aw, crap. I’ll be right back.”
She pats Ben on the knee to see what’s going on, only it’s nothing like she expected.
Where she’s holding her breath for Ann to gather her things and fly out of the house in a hurry, her best friend’s rooted to the ground, mouth parted like she forgot how to work her jaw. Her pretty brow is knotted, she’s nodding weakly in response to whoever’s on the phone, and even Ron looks wary of the urgency.
“Ann?”
Ann holds up a hand to stop Leslie from speaking, replying to the call with stilted okays and yes I cans. She just keeps nodding, pacing in half-circles, walking over to Leslie before walking away again. And then she’s ending the call and steeling herself against the counter.
“My mom got into a car accident,” she says simply, voice devoid of emotion.
Leslie doesn’t even think before she’s hugging her, because a world where Ann Perkins has to hurt like that isn’t a world Leslie enjoys. But that’s what friends are for, right? Without giving a second thought to what day it is, what messes there are to clean, who’s waiting for her in the living room, she grabs Ann’s shaky hands.
“I’ll take you to the hospital.”
It’s like Ann can’t even speak, she just nods again, so much nodding. And Leslie starts rushing, fetches Ann’s purse and her own, throwing in some Nutri-Yums and Mad Libs for the waiting room, makes sure she has a pen and paper for jotting down notes, grabs her cellphone charger and is back in the kitchen in a flash.
“I’ve got this,” Ron insists, resuming cleaning up the kitchen and eying the extra plate of bacon he’s already prepared for himself.
Ann hasn’t moved; she’s rooted to the spot, eyes wide but unreadable, looking lost. Leslie grabs her arm, squeezes, and starts directing her to the front of the house.
“I know the fastest route to the hospital, we can get there in under twenty -- should we stop at your house? Do you need anything? I can do that after we get there, we should really -- did you eat enough? Are you hungry? I can run to JJs too, your hospital food sucks, no offense, although I suppose the jello isn’t bad -- is she alright? Or do you know? Crap, Ann, I’m so sorry--”
And it’s such a flurry of motion that Leslie doesn’t take a breath until she’s opening the front door, car keys in hand, and another hand reaches out to her own shoulder.
“Les?”
Oh, right. Ben.
“Ann’s mother -- I have to get her to the hospital, Ben, I’m so sorry --”
“Hey, hey,” he says quietly, moving his hand to rub circles on her back. “I get it. It’s alright. Go, help her.” He briefly rests his lips against her forehead.
“Yeah,” she whispers, and man, this is the worst timing. But it’s Ann who’s in trouble, not her, and she hopefully has many nights living with Ben ahead of her, and he understands. “I’ll call you when we know more.”
“I hope everything’s okay. Want me to stop by with some JJs in a few hours?”
Bless him.
Once she finally gets Ann to the car, it’s like she’s on autopilot, taking the often-traveled route to Pawnee St. Josephs, well worn into her memory from all her times visiting Ann on her breaks. But this is more urgent and she’s laying on the gas pedal harder than normal. They’re nearly there before she realizes that Ann hasn’t said a word.
She thinks; Ann rarely mentions her family. Leslie knows Ann’s father passed away not too long before she met Ann for the first time, leaving Ann’s mother alone somewhere on the far side of Eagleton, which was technically unincorporated county land. And Ann has an older brother who left Indiana the second he graduated college, and rarely visited from his current home in Boston. And she doesn’t think Ann’s ever mentioned bad blood with her mother; only that she grew up and grew away, and they see each other at holidays but aren’t particularly close.
Maybe that’s why Ann’s reaction is so strange, she thinks. But she reaches over to grab Ann’s hand anyway, and the shaking has subsided a bit, but its still clammy in her hand.
“Hey, are you alright?”
Ann shakes her head a little, eyes watching something far-off outside the window.
“I don’t really know.”
Leslie doesn’t press the issue, even though it’s absolutely killing her not to.
It takes a minute to find a spot in the small parking lot at the hospital, and she lets Ann lead the way as they weave around to reach the ER. Leslie feels lost, like she should be supporting, like she should be leading the way. But she was so young and frantic, just a wide-eyed college student, when her father passed away. She doesn’t know how hospitals work, or what she can do in this situation.
“Hey, Ann,” the nurse at the front desk greets, her voice laced with concern. “Your mom’s in 305--”
She barely gets the sentence out before Ann shoots off down the hallway like an arrow, the soles of her flats echoing on the tile. Leslie follows, has to work a little hard to keep up on her short legs, and nearly topples into Ann just outside the door.
“Leslie, is it alright if...”
Ann trails off, her hand on the doorknob.
“Yes, of course, Ann. I’ll just be . . .”
“The waiting room’s that way.”
“Right. I’ll be there.”
“Hey, Les--” Ann reaches out and grabs her hand. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course.”
Waiting, to nobody’s surprise, isn’t Leslie’s forte. Especially not in stuffy waiting rooms full of Pawneeans in pain and outdated issues of Good Housekeeping. She gets in several intense rounds of Words With Friends with Ben, learns that playing Mad Libs on your own is way less fun, and starts drafting a proposal for Harvest Fest 2012 in her notebook.
She’s doodling pictures of ferris wheels and cotton candy when Ann finally surfaces. She looks exhausted, but still pretty and together. Always Perfect Ann. Leslie just wants to make sure she’s happy.
“Ben says he can bring us some food, if you want some?”
Her best friend seems grateful for the company.
By the time Ben shows up, three containers of JJs in his hands, Ann’s curled up asleep with her head in Leslie’s lap.
“Just pass them here,” Leslie says, reaching for the waffles over Ann’s head. “Sorry this isn’t the first night in we wanted.”
“Friends are the most important,” he assures her with a shrug, settling in the seat next to her. His fingers thread through hers, and she feels like things can only go up.
---
Ann
Living in the moment has always been Leslie’s thing. Ann can write out a whole list of times where she’s been fascinated by Leslie, just watching her react to the present. Leslie has her eye on the future, but she doesn’t forget where she is. She propels herself forward and looks toward what’s ahead, but she can also slow down and turn a day of shifting boxes around her house into the most important thing in the world.
Ann can’t always do that; sometimes she feels bowlegged, with one leg behind her and one forward, and where does that leave her right now?
Leslie’s intent on keeping these things, the years of crazy build-up in her house, assures Ann she needs them right now. Or she can use them in the future. Or they held some sort of meaning in the past. It’s a part of Leslie that Ann can connect to, that feeling of losing yourself in time, the confusion over what to hold on to.
Trying to straighten out her priorities has led Ann to leave things behind. She has to be the assertive one for Leslie now, she has to be the one to toss the moldy wicker shelves into the garbage can. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t jealous. When Ann moves forward in life, she packs lightly; she doesn’t bring an excess with her. Leslie’s house almost makes her wish she had.
The phone call brings back something she regrets leaving in the past.
Ann had just passed into her thirties when she lost her father. She had always been her dad’s little girl; even in her surliest teenage years, those awful days full of mood swings that had her mother slamming doors, her father could make her laugh. It was his commitment, she learned later in life, that got to her. He’d do absolutely anything for a smile, anything for a reaction. He’d fall on his face if it would make Ann and her brother James laugh.
In retrospect, it’s definitely what drew her to Andy. And when her father passed, when she had to face life without that smile, it was Andy holding her hand -- not her mother. While she bid goodbye to James as he headed out on his own, her mom shut herself in, and Ann took it personally. She threw herself into her work, earned permanent residency at Pawnee St. Joseph’s, and moved as far from her mother as she could while still living in Pawnee.
She has no idea how to react when she’s told, “Ann, I’m so sorry, but your mother’s been admitted to the ER.”
The doctor is a friend, of course, but Ann almost yearns for the detached politeness of the usual call to a loved one. Because the voice is laced with concern that Ann doesn’t feel she’s earned.
That doesn’t stop it from feeling like the air’s been punched out of her gut, though.
And Leslie, of course Leslie, picks up on things right away. Reads her like a book. And while Ann’s mind moves forward and skyrockets into worry over hospital bills and visiting hours before backtracking to the years she barely spoke to her mom, Leslie anchors her to the now and gets her butt out the door.
The commitment reminds her of her dad.
But once they get to the hospital, it’s like she has to separate the compartments of her life. The sunny side, the one filled with Leslie’s reassuring hand squeezes and her father’s laughter, that has to go in the back pocket. And usually when she thinks of her mother, she thinks of stoic Christmases.
She loves her mom, truly. And she knows her mom loves her. Just neither one of them worked hard to show it.
Even though it’s visiting hours, her mother technically isn’t supposed to take visitors. But the staff lets her in anyway, offer her sympathetic glances and shoulder pats.
Evelyn Perkins is weaker than Ann’s ever seen. She’s always been a strong woman, proud, and now she’s pale with an IV sticking out her arm and tubes to help her breath, her arms bruised and cut. It’s like the breaking down of everything Ann’s ever known her to be. She has no idea how to interact with this woman, but thankfully she’s asleep, and Ann pulls up a chair to her bedside and prepares to wait it out.
Every part of her wants to go back to the waiting room, wants to hide under Leslie’s optimism and smile, but she knows she has to stay here. She calls her brother, who’s barely kept in touch since leaving Indiana behind, and he starts looking for flights out. Good. She owes her mom that much.
Though, of course, her mother’s first thought is elsewhere.
“Does your brother know?” Evelyn asks weakly, two hours later when she’s finally stirred. The beeping of the heart monitor slightly accelerates, but is still lower than Ann would like.
“Yeah, I called him, he’s trying to come out.”
The conversation is stilted; Evelyn can only talk so much, and Ann’s already learned from the chart that she has a cracked rib that’s possibly poking her lung. Either way, it makes it hard for her to breathe, so Ann doesn’t want to stress her to begin with.
“I really think you should rest, Mom, I’ve seen people pass out from much less.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle; you should see the other driver’s car.”
Ann half-smiles, only because she knows the other driver walked away from the accident with a few scratches. But this could be more serious, and she knows the doctors have rough things planned for her mother, and she’s still jogging to catch up with it all.
Evelyn drifts in and out, the drugs keeping her in a hazy state. Yet even in this situation, they maintain their usual relationship. They skim the surface, assure one another they’re glad they’re here, thank higher powers for it not being worse. But it’s not entirely there; they’re still holding back.
It’s driving Ann crazy, but she still can’t take the plunge.
When the nurses bend under hospital rules and finally ask Ann to leave her mother for the evening, it’s a welcome relief to collapse under the fluorescent lighting of the waiting room. She’s never been more thankful for Leslie, so willing to be there for her every second.
“Ben says he can bring us some food, if you want some?” Her eyes are cautious, and Ann wants to put her at ease.
“I’m starving, actually. That sounds really good.” This seems to perk Leslie up.
“I’ll let him know! And your mom? Is she alright?”
“It’s not the greatest, but you know... they’re working on it.”
Leslie offers her arm out and Ann easily curls into it, settling against the softness of Leslie’s cardigan and the ever-present smell of vanilla on her skin.
“Good,” Leslie coos, patting Ann’s hair. “Beautiful Ann. It’ll be okay.”
Ann takes a deep breath, and feels relaxed for the first time that day.
“Les, thanks for being here.”
“I always will be.”
When she wakes, feeling both lighter and heavier at the same time, it’s to find herself in the lap of a sleeping Leslie, who’s curled around Ben’s arm as he sleepily messes around with his iPad.
She can’t remember the last time she felt so comforted.
author:
shornt
pairing: Leslie/Ben/Ann... honestly it'll be this weird exploratory thing that'll eventually deal with Leslie/Ben, Leslie/Ann, and Ben/Ann. And the three of them as a group.
rating: Early chapters PG13, later chapters will have higher ratings
words: ~4000
notes: So this is a huge experiment on my part, and it's gonna take a lot of willpower for me to finish a chaptered fic. But I'm determined! So this fic does explore Leslie/Ann/Ben, though it's starting out slow. I'm aiming for between 5 and 7 chapters. Each chapter will have a section of each of their POVs. Thanks to Caitlin and Sylvia for the encouragement and what not.
Ben
In some ways, this is one of the first normal milestones they’ve arrived at as a couple. For two people who flirted for nearly a year, kissed when it was against the rules, dated secretly, broke up, pined for months, kissed again in a tiny park, said “I love you” through a court stenographer, and then embarked on a political campaign together, this should pretty much be easy as pie.
If it weren’t for all her stuff.
“Leslie, I do own some of my own things.”
“I know, I know! But Ben, you don’t understand, I’ve kept my collection of the Pawnee Journal from 1980 through 1989 in this closet for years.”
They’d talked about this. Leslie wanted to make sure they had all the talks, because after all, this had been her crazy idea, blurted in a moment of joyous celebration after taking the last seat in City Council. Live here so you never have to leave! she’d slurred into his ear, breath sickly sweet after too many cocktails. Okay! he’d yelled back, embracing her to the point where April got Andy to make the spitball for her (and really, getting hit in the ear with those is disgusting).
The next day had been a mess, a flurry of activity and interviews and Leslie hadn’t even remembered her drunken idea until they got into bed that night. And they’d talked all night, Ben throwing out ideas of where he could keep his (admittedly few, but enough to fill and entire car and a pickup truck, it turns out) possessions. Leslie had nodded, pressing her lips to his in agreement, and the night veered off in a different direction from there.
After that, their plans became about time and dates and help from friends, and Leslie conveniently forgot her promise of space and was having a little trouble letting go.
So naturally, everyone they worked with was milling around the yard and house, unloading boxes of Ben’s old Doctor Who books and the one armchair Andy and April would let him get away with. And as Ann tried to wrestle several unnecessary decorative wicker baskets filled with fake plastic fruit out of Leslie’s hands, Ben managed to sneak in some dvds and his tiny television.
Moving in felt like a huge step to Ben, but it was an even bigger one for a pack-rat who’s lived alone since graduating college.
“I want to give you the closet, Ben, I do, but--”
“Leslie.” He sighs, trying to ignore the look of sadness on her face. “I know you’re used to living one way, but if we’re gonna do this, there have to be some changes. And I’m gonna have to hang up my coats somewhere if you’re going to keep all fifteen of yours downstairs.”
He nudges her in the ribs and is rewarded with a lopsided grin.
“I can move the newspapers to the attic.”
“No more room up there,” Ron grunts as he passes the room, carrying a box of antique lamps.
“Ohh, my lamps!” Leslie exclaims, her face lighting up. She reaches her hand out to them, but Ben fixes her with a stern look. “Okay, fine, I’ll get rid of some lamps.”
Ann’s quick behind Ron, arms littered with junk drawer fillings to dispose of. She catches Ben’s eye and smiles an understanding secret grin, sharing in what it means to be close to Leslie Knope. Ben’s heard the horror stories of Leslie’s dinner party and the woman hired to clean up the whole house. What on earth happened here since then?
He wants to be annoyed, but just as he saw Ann do earlier that day, he can’t help but smile. Leslie is truly enthusiastic about every little knick-knack in her house; even if it’s something she’s seen once in the past ten years, everything has a story and emotional value, even if in the smallest way. Back issues of Time connect with important college experiences, little figurines of owls remind her of her father, her collection of salt and pepper shakers are her own little tribute to a long-deceased aunt who over-seasoned her food.
Despite moving into her house, Ben finds himself having to reconnect with her throughout the day, between hauling boxes inside and out, indulging Chris in talk of the cardiovascular benefits of heavy lifting, and consoling Andy, who’s acting like a petulant child losing his nanny.
“I still don’t get it, man. Do you hate us?”
“I’ve told you a million times, Andy,” Ben struggles to say, clearly being crushed under the weight of the armchair that Andy is barely helping move. “I can’t live with you guys forever, and Leslie and I--”
“If you tell us how much you and Leslie love each other again, I’ll have Andy drop this chair on your foot.” April’s appeared over his shoulder, staring him down with an unsettling menace, and Andy giggles.
“That would hurt so bad, hon!”
Out of nowhere, Ann shows up to help carry the chair, since Andy’s just started faking-out Ben by tipping it in his direction. He shoots her a relieved smile.
“Thanks. Are we the only ones getting work done around here?”
“Jerry’s admiring the excess birdhouses and trying to pick one for Gail,” she grunts, as they both heave the chair into a corner of the living room that’s been cleared out. “Ron’s started making bacon in the kitchen, Chris went on a run, Tom probably left and will show up in an hour as if he did work, Donna’s probably with him, and Leslie is caught in a Sophie’s Choice between a drawer full of decorative soaps or one full of potpourri.”
“Why doesn’t she just take a few of each?”
“Do you want a drawer in the upstairs bathroom?”
He laughs despite himself.
“She’s quite a hoarder,” he muses, reaching his finger up to a shelf and poking at a photo frame of Leslie and Ann in front of Lot 48, when it was still a pit.
“She just cares about a lot of stuff, you know how she gets.”
“I do.” He can’t wipe the smile off his face, and Ann seems to catch it.
Leslie bursts into the room, brow creased in worry as she holds out a bag of weird dried berries.
“Ben, does this smell good? Would you ever use it?”
He pulls her close and kisses her.
They manage to re-fill the pick-up truck with some of Leslie’s things, boxes of old clothes for charity and some things destined for the city dump. Leslie forces a box of things on each person helping, giving Andy some stupid Halloween decorations and making Ann promise to give at least one basket a good home. The day’s winding down and Tom checks in pretending to wipe his brow, and Ben looks forward to his first night as the official roommate and hopefully permanent bedmate of Leslie Knope.
They collapse into the couch, his arm around her shoulders as she lets out a huge sigh. Ann and Ron are still doing things in the kitchen, cleaning up from the massive breakfast-for-lunch everyone shared. Ben kisses Leslie’s forehead and looks around, seeing his furniture next to hers, his photographs on her side tables, his Batman comics on the same shelf as her Batman comics.
He could get used to this.
Just as he’s about to slyly suggest they start to usher out the remaining people in the house, Ann’s phone starts ringing, some shrill alarm noise that beeps loudly through the house. And it must be set to something specific, because Leslie sits up rigidly next to him.
“Aw, crap. I’ll be right back.”
She pats his knee before disappearing into the kitchen, and the voices he hears through the door are laced with concern. He goes to investigate.
---
Leslie
To say it’s been an overwhelming day would be an understatement, but if she didn’t face it head-on, then you wouldn’t be able to call her Leslie Knope. You’d call her Wimpy Knope, or something. But you’re never going to call her that because she’s tackling this day like gangbusters, alright?
She knew that Ben moving in would mean unlimited couch-time cuddling, eating actual home-cooked meals every night, lots of co-ed baths and showers (to save time and water; it’s only practical), and never having to leave each other off with simple goodnight kisses before retreating to their own houses again.
She just kind of forgot about the part where she gets rid of her Cherished Teddies collection so he can fit in his childhood baseball cards. And, well, Leslie’s never been good at letting things go.
Thank God for Ann, who knows the way her mind works, who shows up every time Leslie considers hiding something she’s supposed to get rid of. That’s how the bejeweled glass grapes ended up in the garbage along with her firecrackers from the bicentennial.
And Leslie revels in days like this, when she can seamlessly move between the people she loves, when Ann holds her hand in difficult moments and she can move to the next room and be in Ben’s arms. It’s comforting, to be surrounded by friends and loved ones as you gut your life and rearrange to make room for someone else. And as she collapses on the couch with Ben in the aftermath, she thinks yes. Yes, this is something I want to do.
Of course, she hears the emergency beep of Ann’s cell phone, the one that usually means there’s an emergency at the hospital and they need extra hands. She bristles, startled that Ann will probably have to leave.
“Aw, crap. I’ll be right back.”
She pats Ben on the knee to see what’s going on, only it’s nothing like she expected.
Where she’s holding her breath for Ann to gather her things and fly out of the house in a hurry, her best friend’s rooted to the ground, mouth parted like she forgot how to work her jaw. Her pretty brow is knotted, she’s nodding weakly in response to whoever’s on the phone, and even Ron looks wary of the urgency.
“Ann?”
Ann holds up a hand to stop Leslie from speaking, replying to the call with stilted okays and yes I cans. She just keeps nodding, pacing in half-circles, walking over to Leslie before walking away again. And then she’s ending the call and steeling herself against the counter.
“My mom got into a car accident,” she says simply, voice devoid of emotion.
Leslie doesn’t even think before she’s hugging her, because a world where Ann Perkins has to hurt like that isn’t a world Leslie enjoys. But that’s what friends are for, right? Without giving a second thought to what day it is, what messes there are to clean, who’s waiting for her in the living room, she grabs Ann’s shaky hands.
“I’ll take you to the hospital.”
It’s like Ann can’t even speak, she just nods again, so much nodding. And Leslie starts rushing, fetches Ann’s purse and her own, throwing in some Nutri-Yums and Mad Libs for the waiting room, makes sure she has a pen and paper for jotting down notes, grabs her cellphone charger and is back in the kitchen in a flash.
“I’ve got this,” Ron insists, resuming cleaning up the kitchen and eying the extra plate of bacon he’s already prepared for himself.
Ann hasn’t moved; she’s rooted to the spot, eyes wide but unreadable, looking lost. Leslie grabs her arm, squeezes, and starts directing her to the front of the house.
“I know the fastest route to the hospital, we can get there in under twenty -- should we stop at your house? Do you need anything? I can do that after we get there, we should really -- did you eat enough? Are you hungry? I can run to JJs too, your hospital food sucks, no offense, although I suppose the jello isn’t bad -- is she alright? Or do you know? Crap, Ann, I’m so sorry--”
And it’s such a flurry of motion that Leslie doesn’t take a breath until she’s opening the front door, car keys in hand, and another hand reaches out to her own shoulder.
“Les?”
Oh, right. Ben.
“Ann’s mother -- I have to get her to the hospital, Ben, I’m so sorry --”
“Hey, hey,” he says quietly, moving his hand to rub circles on her back. “I get it. It’s alright. Go, help her.” He briefly rests his lips against her forehead.
“Yeah,” she whispers, and man, this is the worst timing. But it’s Ann who’s in trouble, not her, and she hopefully has many nights living with Ben ahead of her, and he understands. “I’ll call you when we know more.”
“I hope everything’s okay. Want me to stop by with some JJs in a few hours?”
Bless him.
Once she finally gets Ann to the car, it’s like she’s on autopilot, taking the often-traveled route to Pawnee St. Josephs, well worn into her memory from all her times visiting Ann on her breaks. But this is more urgent and she’s laying on the gas pedal harder than normal. They’re nearly there before she realizes that Ann hasn’t said a word.
She thinks; Ann rarely mentions her family. Leslie knows Ann’s father passed away not too long before she met Ann for the first time, leaving Ann’s mother alone somewhere on the far side of Eagleton, which was technically unincorporated county land. And Ann has an older brother who left Indiana the second he graduated college, and rarely visited from his current home in Boston. And she doesn’t think Ann’s ever mentioned bad blood with her mother; only that she grew up and grew away, and they see each other at holidays but aren’t particularly close.
Maybe that’s why Ann’s reaction is so strange, she thinks. But she reaches over to grab Ann’s hand anyway, and the shaking has subsided a bit, but its still clammy in her hand.
“Hey, are you alright?”
Ann shakes her head a little, eyes watching something far-off outside the window.
“I don’t really know.”
Leslie doesn’t press the issue, even though it’s absolutely killing her not to.
It takes a minute to find a spot in the small parking lot at the hospital, and she lets Ann lead the way as they weave around to reach the ER. Leslie feels lost, like she should be supporting, like she should be leading the way. But she was so young and frantic, just a wide-eyed college student, when her father passed away. She doesn’t know how hospitals work, or what she can do in this situation.
“Hey, Ann,” the nurse at the front desk greets, her voice laced with concern. “Your mom’s in 305--”
She barely gets the sentence out before Ann shoots off down the hallway like an arrow, the soles of her flats echoing on the tile. Leslie follows, has to work a little hard to keep up on her short legs, and nearly topples into Ann just outside the door.
“Leslie, is it alright if...”
Ann trails off, her hand on the doorknob.
“Yes, of course, Ann. I’ll just be . . .”
“The waiting room’s that way.”
“Right. I’ll be there.”
“Hey, Les--” Ann reaches out and grabs her hand. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course.”
Waiting, to nobody’s surprise, isn’t Leslie’s forte. Especially not in stuffy waiting rooms full of Pawneeans in pain and outdated issues of Good Housekeeping. She gets in several intense rounds of Words With Friends with Ben, learns that playing Mad Libs on your own is way less fun, and starts drafting a proposal for Harvest Fest 2012 in her notebook.
She’s doodling pictures of ferris wheels and cotton candy when Ann finally surfaces. She looks exhausted, but still pretty and together. Always Perfect Ann. Leslie just wants to make sure she’s happy.
“Ben says he can bring us some food, if you want some?”
Her best friend seems grateful for the company.
By the time Ben shows up, three containers of JJs in his hands, Ann’s curled up asleep with her head in Leslie’s lap.
“Just pass them here,” Leslie says, reaching for the waffles over Ann’s head. “Sorry this isn’t the first night in we wanted.”
“Friends are the most important,” he assures her with a shrug, settling in the seat next to her. His fingers thread through hers, and she feels like things can only go up.
---
Ann
Living in the moment has always been Leslie’s thing. Ann can write out a whole list of times where she’s been fascinated by Leslie, just watching her react to the present. Leslie has her eye on the future, but she doesn’t forget where she is. She propels herself forward and looks toward what’s ahead, but she can also slow down and turn a day of shifting boxes around her house into the most important thing in the world.
Ann can’t always do that; sometimes she feels bowlegged, with one leg behind her and one forward, and where does that leave her right now?
Leslie’s intent on keeping these things, the years of crazy build-up in her house, assures Ann she needs them right now. Or she can use them in the future. Or they held some sort of meaning in the past. It’s a part of Leslie that Ann can connect to, that feeling of losing yourself in time, the confusion over what to hold on to.
Trying to straighten out her priorities has led Ann to leave things behind. She has to be the assertive one for Leslie now, she has to be the one to toss the moldy wicker shelves into the garbage can. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t jealous. When Ann moves forward in life, she packs lightly; she doesn’t bring an excess with her. Leslie’s house almost makes her wish she had.
The phone call brings back something she regrets leaving in the past.
Ann had just passed into her thirties when she lost her father. She had always been her dad’s little girl; even in her surliest teenage years, those awful days full of mood swings that had her mother slamming doors, her father could make her laugh. It was his commitment, she learned later in life, that got to her. He’d do absolutely anything for a smile, anything for a reaction. He’d fall on his face if it would make Ann and her brother James laugh.
In retrospect, it’s definitely what drew her to Andy. And when her father passed, when she had to face life without that smile, it was Andy holding her hand -- not her mother. While she bid goodbye to James as he headed out on his own, her mom shut herself in, and Ann took it personally. She threw herself into her work, earned permanent residency at Pawnee St. Joseph’s, and moved as far from her mother as she could while still living in Pawnee.
She has no idea how to react when she’s told, “Ann, I’m so sorry, but your mother’s been admitted to the ER.”
The doctor is a friend, of course, but Ann almost yearns for the detached politeness of the usual call to a loved one. Because the voice is laced with concern that Ann doesn’t feel she’s earned.
That doesn’t stop it from feeling like the air’s been punched out of her gut, though.
And Leslie, of course Leslie, picks up on things right away. Reads her like a book. And while Ann’s mind moves forward and skyrockets into worry over hospital bills and visiting hours before backtracking to the years she barely spoke to her mom, Leslie anchors her to the now and gets her butt out the door.
The commitment reminds her of her dad.
But once they get to the hospital, it’s like she has to separate the compartments of her life. The sunny side, the one filled with Leslie’s reassuring hand squeezes and her father’s laughter, that has to go in the back pocket. And usually when she thinks of her mother, she thinks of stoic Christmases.
She loves her mom, truly. And she knows her mom loves her. Just neither one of them worked hard to show it.
Even though it’s visiting hours, her mother technically isn’t supposed to take visitors. But the staff lets her in anyway, offer her sympathetic glances and shoulder pats.
Evelyn Perkins is weaker than Ann’s ever seen. She’s always been a strong woman, proud, and now she’s pale with an IV sticking out her arm and tubes to help her breath, her arms bruised and cut. It’s like the breaking down of everything Ann’s ever known her to be. She has no idea how to interact with this woman, but thankfully she’s asleep, and Ann pulls up a chair to her bedside and prepares to wait it out.
Every part of her wants to go back to the waiting room, wants to hide under Leslie’s optimism and smile, but she knows she has to stay here. She calls her brother, who’s barely kept in touch since leaving Indiana behind, and he starts looking for flights out. Good. She owes her mom that much.
Though, of course, her mother’s first thought is elsewhere.
“Does your brother know?” Evelyn asks weakly, two hours later when she’s finally stirred. The beeping of the heart monitor slightly accelerates, but is still lower than Ann would like.
“Yeah, I called him, he’s trying to come out.”
The conversation is stilted; Evelyn can only talk so much, and Ann’s already learned from the chart that she has a cracked rib that’s possibly poking her lung. Either way, it makes it hard for her to breathe, so Ann doesn’t want to stress her to begin with.
“I really think you should rest, Mom, I’ve seen people pass out from much less.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle; you should see the other driver’s car.”
Ann half-smiles, only because she knows the other driver walked away from the accident with a few scratches. But this could be more serious, and she knows the doctors have rough things planned for her mother, and she’s still jogging to catch up with it all.
Evelyn drifts in and out, the drugs keeping her in a hazy state. Yet even in this situation, they maintain their usual relationship. They skim the surface, assure one another they’re glad they’re here, thank higher powers for it not being worse. But it’s not entirely there; they’re still holding back.
It’s driving Ann crazy, but she still can’t take the plunge.
When the nurses bend under hospital rules and finally ask Ann to leave her mother for the evening, it’s a welcome relief to collapse under the fluorescent lighting of the waiting room. She’s never been more thankful for Leslie, so willing to be there for her every second.
“Ben says he can bring us some food, if you want some?” Her eyes are cautious, and Ann wants to put her at ease.
“I’m starving, actually. That sounds really good.” This seems to perk Leslie up.
“I’ll let him know! And your mom? Is she alright?”
“It’s not the greatest, but you know... they’re working on it.”
Leslie offers her arm out and Ann easily curls into it, settling against the softness of Leslie’s cardigan and the ever-present smell of vanilla on her skin.
“Good,” Leslie coos, patting Ann’s hair. “Beautiful Ann. It’ll be okay.”
Ann takes a deep breath, and feels relaxed for the first time that day.
“Les, thanks for being here.”
“I always will be.”
When she wakes, feeling both lighter and heavier at the same time, it’s to find herself in the lap of a sleeping Leslie, who’s curled around Ben’s arm as he sleepily messes around with his iPad.
She can’t remember the last time she felt so comforted.