Many thanks to both lizwontcry and csinut214.

Author's note: Alright kids. I'm still trying to find my footing in this fandom; comments and concrit are most welcome. I am literally having the most fun in the world with these two.

Many thanks for reading.

It's very rare that Ben Wyatt presents problems for the solving to Chris Traeger; it is almost always the other way around. Chris presents problem, they formulate ways to solve problem, ideas are generated and somehow amidst all of the discussion on the matter, Ben becomes the scapegoat.

Thus, he's not exactly prepared for what he's about to present to his boss, a man so by-the-book that he actually may very well have (and not in an hyperbole sort of way) written the book. Ben doesn't allow this fact to get to him; he can't. If he lets this get to him, his hands will start to sweat and his throat will become tight and he may very well end up choking on his own tie.

Because that's the sort of thing that happens to Ben Wyatt when he lets his nerves get the best of him. Choking on ties and waxing poetic about calzones. Both equally as embarrassing. And his tie is skinny enough to actually cause a choking hazard.

For a moment he considers scooting out to purchase a tie clip before he goes into this meeting. It would be bad decorum to show up late to a meeting that oneself made, however, and he flicks the end of his tie one last time before rounding the corner to Chris's office.

It's a cliché, now, to expect to walk into his office and not see him engaged in some sort of exercise. Whether strengthening the mind with a little mid-morning tai chi or strengthening his core on a medicine ball, there's very little chance of entering his domain and not being subjected to a workout.

Ben peeks through the doorway and catches sight of his boss's legs, stretched out on a yoga mat. Every three seconds Chris's head pops up from behind the side of the desk. Crunches. Great, this means he'll be on an endorphin high.

It's nearly impossible to deal with Chris fresh off of an endorphin high, but they're both nothing if not prompt, and so, Ben will just have to face this thing head on. He considers jogging in place for a moment, maybe creating a rush of his own endorphins.

The butterflies in his stomach threaten to send him into a fit of vomiting (because he knows the answer he's going to get, he knows it, but he's not defeatisteither, so…) and so jogging in place isn't the best idea.

He raises a hand tentatively, and knocks.

"Ben! It's twelve-thirty already! Fantastic!" Ben takes a few hesitant steps into the room. "Toss me that towel, if you will." He does, and the older man shifts to stand, wipes down his face and settles his body into his ergonomic desk chair.

And somehow, Chris melds seamlessly into work-mode. It's such a strange transformation, and something that no one still understands. Chris is a character, that's for sure. (Ben hates him, hates himfor just one second.)

It's very rare that Ben Wyatt presents problems to Chris Traeger. And yet here he is, presenting a problem, one that has a very low chance of being resolved to his liking. Surely, there will bea resolution, but it won't be the one Ben desires.

"Sit! Would you like a BrillWater? It's infused with extra oxygen and electrolytes. It's absolutely changed the way I do cardio!"

"Uh, no, but thanks. What I needed to discuss with you," and for a second, he fumbles with the notepad that's in his hand, wonders how it got there, wonders why he brought a notepad to this in the first place. What is there to take notes on? How to casually tell Leslie that he's interested, that he took the job to stay close to her and now that he has taken he can't actually see her outside of said job?

…actually, that isn't half-bad, maybe he should write that down-

But no, he's not defeatist, and though he's ninety-nine percent sure what Chris's answer is going to be, he's an optimist. Call it a flaw if you will, call it Pawnee rubbing off on him, but Ben won't accept that his fate is not to... date Leslie.

Optimism. Seeing the best in things.

…this is going to go terribly.

Still, he has to ask. He has to. If Chris is Mr. By-the-Book, then Ben is really a By-The-Book apprentice. He likes rules, he needsrules, rules and regulations keep things tidy and orderly. He understands why the rules are the way they are.

That doesn't mean he feels they're fairin this case but...

Ben thinks for a moment about eating his tie out of spite, right there in front of Chris, but doesn't think that would be a successful way to express his issue in the slightest, so he refrains.

There's a deal breath, a swallow of nothing because he can't seem to force saliva into his dry, dry, dry, mouth, and he begins. "Recently I've been getting to know the people of Pawnee, the people in the Parks Department, the uh, the uhm, the local business owners and the, the…"

He's floundering. He's become a flounder. And he's out of water and he cannot breathe. Awesome.
"I may be interested in someone, anyway," he redirects, better to be vague. "In a capacity that has superseded… friendship." Okay, so that was the worst, and in no way was it eloquent but at least he's put it out there, into the universe.

Ben waits. He watches a shadow pass over Chris's face and he… waits.

"Ben Wyatt! It's fantastic to hear that you're interested in someone! That's just great news!" He wants to believe that Chris is genuinely excited for him, he does.

"And I just, Chris, see, the thing is that this person who I happen to possibly be interested in works in Pawnee... government."

"That's great!"

Ben's shocked by Chris's reaction, so it takes him a moment to respond. "Oh, okay, so it's fine if I-"

"It's great that she, or he-"

"Not he-" Ben assures.

"Works for Pawnee.-"

"Definitely a she. A female-"

"-Pawnee is lit'rally the most charming city in this entire country. I can't think of a better city government to work in!"

There's a weight lifted off of his chest for one, brief moment. "Great, well-"

"But unfortunately your current position puts you in the direct supervisory line for ninety-percent of city government and that's just out of the question."

"…well, what if-"

"Unless you wanted to date the mayor! Ha!"

"You're technically the mayor at the moment."Ben reminds, his throat is dry. So dry, he feels faint. His hands aren't sweating, but they areitchy.

"That would be just awkward. And out of line."

"So yeah, Chris, I was thinking-"

"Ben! It's wonderful that you took the initiative to bring this to my attention! It shows real trust, but no, this is out of the question! Took real courage to bring this to be though, good for you!" His bright spirit betrays none of the true finality that the moment calls for. But, Ben knows Chris and Ben is aware that for now, this is the end of the road.

He stands, he smooths out the creases in his pants, and he thanks his boss. "Well, okay, and uhm, thank you for your time and, yeah. So… bye."

"Hey, have a wonderful rest of the day, okay!" Chris says, and even though he's already got a stack of paper in his hands and his laptop is booting up. Ben has his full attention, everyone has Chris's full attention when they're talking to him and wouldn't this just be the perfect moment to flip him off?

But no, he's an adult and damn the rules are there for a reason (he's sure of it, they have to be) and so he half-smiles and retreats.

The end of the road…

Well, really, it's the end of this particularroad, but there are other options. There are other avenues to explore and he's nothing if not creative. He bids Chris goodbye and meanders the short distance back to his office, scuffing his shoes on the linoleum as if deep in thought. Though really, the solution to this is fairly simple.

There's no reason they can't see one another on city hall property and there's absolutely no reason that they can't socialize as part of the larger group.

Ben makes a mental note to sucker Tom into hosting an event at the Snakehole, and just to prove to himself that he doesn't harbor any resentment, he'll even be sure that Chris is on the list.
Optimism.

He sees the appeal.

It's easier than he thought, planting the seed in Tom's mind. A quick suggestion of, "Oh, hey, so, I thought Andy's birthday was coming up?"

"Maybe dude, what, do you keep this info in your 'Berry? Who still has a 'Berry anyway?" Tom is in the midst of fiddling with his own iPhone.

"Right, anyway, so Andy's birthday is coming up and is there anything going on, or like, at the Snakehole…" He wonders if he's being too eager, if he's coming off as searching or as sketchy.

He hopes for searching.

"Damn, I should talk to her about that. She had some hot young lady friends I wouldn't mind seeing again, if you know what I mean." Tom's brows waggle as though attempting to express what he's trying to say. Not that his expression make things any clearer. Or less sketchy.

"I have no idea what you mean, no." Ben is trailing next to Tom but falls back, lets him get swept up in the idea of "hot young lady friends."

Tom rolls his eyes, turns on him. "What I meanis that the ladies were totally down to chill with Tommy H. Would have been inappropriate though."

"…what?"

"Macking on the chicks at April's wedding. Manners, dude, manners."

Ben has no idea where this is going, but it's best to remain on track, focus on his target, his end , he feels so stealth, so clever. "Right, so, Andy's birthday. There's nothing going on with that or…"

The two mean continue to stare at one another. And just like that, Tom smiles, making up his mind.

"Alright man, well, I'll be… I will be talking to herabout that."

The Facebook invites basically write themselves.

Ben has to wait a grand total of eight days until he allows himself to socialize with her outside of the confines of City Hall. Those eight days are surprisingly excruciating; there are two lunches in her office, one late night strategy session in his and a chat on the back steps, when they get into something too deep on the way to their respective cars.

The anticipation of his plan coming to fruition is making him just the slightest bit edgy.
Not that it's much of a grand scheme, getting to see Leslie out of work, but it feels like he's pulling off the largest blindside in history.

He manages, throughout the course of the week to gauge her likelihood of attendance without outright asking her. He's sly, he's slick; he only manages to walk into a wall oncetrying to be both sly and slick while walking and talking with her. Overall, he'd call that a success.

Ben doesn't obsess over what to wear to Andy's get together; what would be the point? All she's seen him in are his standard work clothes, and that's seemed to work so far. He doubts she harbors any deep-seated hatred towards his khakis, so all he needs to do once he gets to his hotel room is change his shirt.

He doesfuss over his tie, though. Which one did she compliment him on that one time? The purple one?

Ben's hands shake on the steering wheel of his car when he gets in, and after a moment of trying to calm his nerves, he opts to walk the fifteen blocks instead. He meanders, hands in his pockets, enjoys the weather and the stillness of the town.

It's not terrible here and it hasgrown on him. Or perhaps it's the people who've grown on him. The people do, after all, make the place, Ben concedes and smiles to himself the rest of the way to the lounge.

The Snakehole is strung with streamers, though haphazardly. April's half-assed attempt to give a festive flair. For what it's worth, everyone thinks it's very sweet, even though several people have already clothes-lined themselves on the flimsy paper. Music-something poppy and vaguely familiar-blares over the speaker system at a deafening decibel.

Lights flash, drinks are consumed. People laugh and chat and dance, but Ben can't stop watching the door.

"You wanna dance, skinny boy?" Donna asks, martini perched in one hand, the other on her hip. And while he actually wouldn't mind dancing with Donna, wouldn't mind getting to know Donna, he can't seem to move from the bar table and his lukewarm Bud Light.

Ben declines, kindly. "Definitely later!" He nods his head, he smiles, he tries to make her understand with everything in him that 'definitely later' is a promise.

Donna smiles knowingly. "Whatever. Remember what they say about watched pots," she advises before she spins around, in search of another dance partner.

Ben's foot is hammering against the floor; he keeps bringing the beer to his lips, allowing the liquid to slid down and against his mouth, but he doesn't drink. Maybe this is too important, maybe he's too neurotic, whatever. He's not drinking, he hasn't drank, and his mouth is as parched as it was that afternoon in Chris's office.

He hasn't ignored anyone tonight, but he hasn't moved from his barstool either, which is a prime vantage point to the door. The party began forty-five minutes ago and neither Ann nor Leslie have arrived, so he envisions car troubles, hair trouble, clothing troubles? He thinks of anything, other than the possibility that he read her wrong, that she won't actually be showing up.

His fingers pick at the flimsy label on the slick brown bottle; it's been sweating for a half an hour and so it's not hard to peel it all the way off. It hangs limply in his hand and in a moment of blind panic for looking like a fool (or, is it people who are sexually repressed that peel their beer labels? He doesn't remember!) he pastes it back on, a frenzied decoupage.
Ben's thumbs are taking care to smooth the edges of the tattered and soggy label back into place when he sees a flash of blond out of the corner of his eye and tries not to shoot up.

Leslie walks in with Ann, and if he isn't fooling himself, it looks as though she's scanning the crowd for him.

Rather, she leans over to Ann and Ann scans the crowd for him, for her.
It's too much to say his heart leaps, though it does begin hammering erratically in his chest. He tries to wet his lips, can't, takes a few hurried gulps of tepid beer

It's all he can do to wave haphazardly over to them.

Ann smiles a tad shakily and nudges Leslie, who pushes hair out of her eyes and looks over casually. Toocasually.

That'swhen his heart leaps.

She holds up a finger, 'one sec,' and leans over the bar, ordering two drinks that are made quickly. Something pink and fruity with a little umbrella in them. She hands one to Ann, who drains half of hers in a gulp as they make their way over to him.

"Hey, I see April's attempted to decorate, that's sweet." They grin at one another as Ann finishes off the rest of her cocktail.

Ben grins, can't help it. He feels like his face is about to break apart with the strength of it. "Hm, she really tried."

Leslie laughs, "She did."

They stare at each other.

He feels obvious, like it's written all over his face. In Sharpie.

After looking between them a few times, Ann tips her glass over in her hand, letting them see that it's empty. "I'm... going to get another."

But before she can make her way to the bar, a waitress leans over, a small tray loaded down with shots resting on her upturned palm. "Compliments of Tom," she says coyly, obviously hoping for tips. Ben lays down a five, though he keeps his eyes on the tray. It's clear liquid and so he assumes it's vodka, though he eyes it suspiciously.

"Ann had a chat with Chris," Leslie whispers conspiratorially, moving in too close... maybe. "It was... beyond awkward."

"Oh?"

"And we're supporting her." They make eye contact and there are no bones about it, he's already on board. She says 'they' like they're a team, like she needs him in on this with her. He kind of... loves that.

Ben nods secretly and then tilts his attention towards Ann, who scanning the crowd for her ex. "Hey, shots, yeah, let's... do these!" He says, trying to get the brunette's attention. No, he doesn't want to do them. In fact, that will throw off his non-planned plan, but Leslie is looking at him as though this is the end of the world.

For the moment... it isthe end of the world.

Ann's head snaps around and she shoots a look over at her girlfriend; he doesn't get that, he's not supposed to get that exchange between best friends, but he keeps his attention on Leslie, who reaches over for a glass. Leslie agrees enthusiastically, "Shots! Yay!"

They clink glasses, they drink. Everyone cringes.

It's vodka. It's badvodka but-

"Yay! Free vodka! " Leslie exclaims and stares him down, spurring him to grab another of the glasses, and clink with the ladies.

This will end... poorly.

He envisions a day in bed, a pounding headache, SportsCenter while he retches and prays that he has Lipton Soup and Gatorade in his possession. And yet, he no longer envisions anything PG, anyway, when Leslie dips her pinky into a shot glass and sucks off the vodka.

That... was not in the cards at all.

Without preempt, or meeting his eyes, she reaches over and grabs his beer, sucks down a few gulps. As she swallows, her eyes go wide, because yeah, it's warm and yeahthe label slides off in her hands. But even as she cringes, she's reaching for another shot. "Hooray for Ann!"

Ben agrees, "Hooray!"

"Hooray for shots," she claims importantly and raises hers for another go.

And oh it's awful. It's so awful, akin to drinking Satan's piss but hey, girl power! Or something. Ann slides onto a stool and frowns.

"I'm thinking I should go for purple, this time," she holds out a chunk of her hair and allows it to fall limply back in place.

Leslie shakes her head and grabs Ann's wrist. "Nope, no hair dying."

Just as she's about to argue her point, Tom shows up, a few beers in hand. He places them down on the table. "Hey! Guys! Everyone enjoying themselves? Ann, Ann Perkins, you look great tonight."

"Thanks, Tom."

"I need a wing woman, you down?" And Tom glances over at Ben and something passes between them and it's scary and weird. It's like... yeah, it's like Tom knowswhat's going on.

It's... Tom knows. Ben smiles slightly at the younger man.

"But I'm drinking with Leslie and... Ben..." Ann begins half-heartedly, but Tom has already linked his arm with hers and is whisking her away.

They're left, sitting across from one another, listening to Lady Gaga thud through the speakers. Leslie divvies up the beers Tom has left, pushing two his way and keeping two for herself. She takes a quick sip and swishes it around her mouth.

"Woo, yeah, too much terrible vodka." she eeks out around a small ladylike burp.

"It was terrible," he agrees and takes a pull on his beer. They share another long look and both tear off before it morphs into something else. The vodka swims its way to his head and he feels it. He's tipsy.

Ben bites his bottom lip, tries to form words. "So, I'm... glad you came."

"Hm, me too," Leslie hums with a smile. "Ann looks like she's..."

They both glance over at Ann, who is dancing with a tall, tall, really tallman who isn't too hard on the eyes. Actually, dancing might not be the word. Crumping, she's really crumping, but she looks like she doesn't mind, so they let it go.

"She's something,"comes his assessment.

"I'm just..." he begins again, oh yeah, definitely buzzed. He's a smallish guy and he didn't eat dinner and oh yeah, all of that booze is going to his head. "I'm happy you came. Not that I don't like Ann. Ann is great, but I'm glad that you... came..."

The song morphs seamlessly into a new song and they're once again left staring at one another.
Leslie sways a bit on her stool, the alcohol obviously effecting her a bit, too. She stands and moves closer to him, "These seats are too high, I wanna..." She glances around, "Let's sit over there," she points to a cluster of booths at the back of the club and grabs his wrist loosely, pulling him behind her as she starts off. He quickly grabs his drink and allows himself to be lead.

It's darker back here, further from the dance floor; it almost feels secluded.

Again, there is silence between them as Leslie stares down at the bottle in her hand. It's a moment or two before she begins. "I love my job, Ben. I love it."

"I know."

"I love helping people," she rips a bit of the label off and then glances up at him.

'You have the biggest heart of anyone I know,' he wants to say but instead settles for, "I... know."

There's a sad smile playing at her lips. "And I know you love your job," she adds. "You've always loved public service, even eighteen-year-old you..."

There's a tension, and it's wonderful, but it's nearly too much. Ben attempts humor. "Please, no more about Ice Town. I'm not sure I can handle any more."

She blinks, her smile brightening and then disappearing. "And I know that you've, that we've both done everything in our power to... cultivate lives and careers worthy of public service."

Ben doesn't know what to say to that. Sure, every word she's spoken is true and he wishes upon everything he knows that he was the type of man to toss caution to the wind, consequences be damned. He feels it inside of him, that pulling. Responsibility versus his overwhelming want. Ben takes a long gulp of this beer to try and relieve to tension there. "I'm not..." he begins, falters, begins again. "I'm just..."

And then, Leslie interjects, softly. Perfectly.

"You're Benjy Wyatt, and you were... you are, you're just so cute." And her eyes are sort of violet in the weird (it is weird) light of the club and things aren't going according to plan. She's too charming, and too easy to do this with. Leslie is so receptive to what's going on, and... not that that's a badthing...

Ben takes a breath, slides down into the sticky booth; the plastic pulls against his clothes, but it's difficult to sit up straight. "I am, aren't I?"

She laughs. "Yeah."

Chris walks by the booth in search of someone, but doesn't notice them. The absolute reality of what Ben had discussed with him earlier is suddenly all he can think about. He can't enjoy the moment unless he gets it off of his chest.

He doesn't know how to bring it up, but the words are in his head and in his throat because the vodka is swimming through his veins, and isn't it just so nice to have inhibitions that are out on the town?

"So I talked to Chris-" he begins, but she's off on a run too.

"I did too-"

"And he said-" It's a mess, it's all a mess, talking over one another.

"I know it's pretty awful-"

"It was bad but-"

"I like you-"

"I like you-"

Ke$ha blares in the space between then and they stare at each other, a mixture of amusement, wonderment and insanity. As though to say, "Really? REALLY!" It's past midnight and maybe it's the booze or the music, but he kind of doesn't care if Chris is watching.

"...I feel like I'm fourteen." she's pink in the cheeks, and her voice is slightly tremulous, but she's grinning ear-to-ear and it's so delightful and pleased that he tries it on as well.

"I'm okay with it."

"...something we're going to have to ignore, you think?"

The music morphs into that mix of pop-dance that makes you want to feel when you're drunk, but he's feeling because he feels. And he's hoping that she feels because she feels. Though, this does serve as a fantastically melodramatic backdrop. If this were Gossip Girl...

Ben is sliding down into the booth too, over next to her, until they both look boneless. "I... don't think this is something I can actually ignore."

Chris has disappeared from their vision and he's fairly confident he's not going to be spied.
"Maybe, probably, shouldn't have had all of the Ann vodka," she warbles, and she looks strangely torn between happiness and sadness.

He agrees, but doesn't speak. He can't speak. There's nowhere to go from here, there's no possible place to go other than. "I want to kiss you."

Her frown deepens and he doesn't know how he's made things go from bad to worse when all they've done is admit to each other what they feel. He's cursed, has to be, this has to the worst... the worst...

"You can't," she says he voice breathy and so full of somethingthat it nearly undoes him.

Ben finishes off his beer and places it solidly on the table. He gazes over at her, and makes sure he holds her attention when he says succinctly, "But I wanted you to know. That I wantto. Every day. All of the time. And I'll want to until we figure out how to do this..."

Leslie's face brightens exponentially and it buoys him.

"And I will want to kiss you, every moment, until I actually can."

Ben stands and grabs their empty beers. He begins to walk towards the bar, intent on ordering two more. But he turns back, suddenly.

"And you know what, I'll probably want to every moment, even after I can."