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Another day brings another hundred meetings, and Leslie is never freed from the shackles of Ben Wyatt’s presence.
It’s not that she hates it. They are four seats apart, on the same side of the table, and have barely interacted with one another. If she were being more honest, they haven’t even interacted at all: she throws in a few ideas, then another person bounces off one of those ideas, then he does, then she nods, then she gives her thoughts on these new and improved ideas, then he nods, and that’s that.
There are times she thinks that perhaps he doesn’t like her that way anymore—doesn’t like her in any way, even—and maybe her constant badgering made something in him snap and now he wants nothing to do with her anymore. He finds her presence in his life a nuisance and simply tolerates her for the sake of his job, that’s all.
The moments in between work hours are worse; when they see each other in halls they used to race around and instead ignore each other like coworkers who aren’t friends—which, maybe, is the most accurate description of what they are to each other at the moment—or when he appears at her door wordlessly to drop off a few papers, and leaves as swiftly as he came with not even a “Hey, here’s whatever-the-fuck-these-papers-are, some person told me to drop these off here, so yeah.”
This lack of interaction might be why she reads into those nearly inconspicuous nods during department meetings, why she feels giddy whenever he indirectly bounces off one of her ideas, why she always perceives the slightest smile on his face when she goes on about her newest pitch—but surely she merely imagines it.
She ignores these thoughts and stores them in the backs of her mind; doesn’t dare acknowledge them until she’s home and has time to actually think without bearing an inexplicable feeling of guilt.
It’s also why she pinches and nearly embarrasses herself when Ben approaches her in the hallway the next morning.
It’s not the first time he’s approached her since they broke up, of course. They tried being friends—or as close to friends as exes can be—but many of their conversations have been brief and business-related. And the remaining ones have been . . .
Awkward, embarrassing conversations she never wants to have with him again. She’d take back all she’s done in the past few weeks if it would drive away the tension between them and the guilt she feels every time their eyes lock, and if it would get him to stop looking at her like he’s wronged her in every life.
All the other times they’ve talked, his face held either serious I mean business stares, or disappointed you’re shitting me stares. No in between.
But this time—and maybe she’s reading too much into it again—is different. He approaches her with an anxiousness and vulnerability she isn’t used to seeing anymore, but he masks it well nonetheless.
One “hey” is enough for the tension to drift from her body. It isn’t enough to make her speak yet, though.
He takes the lack of a response as a sign to continue. “How have you been?”—the question you’d ask that coworker you have to tolerate.
Leslie is tired, and doesn’t have a clue what he’s come to talk to her about. If it’s business, he might as well have gotten to the point. If it’s once again about the night of the “end of the world party” and how weird she’s been acting after it, then why bother? Why make it harder for both of them?
“Just don’t,” she says, not in exasperation, but exhaustion. It’s a chore to deal with this on the daily, and yet . . .
“Fine, here’s the thing: I was thinking it might be time for me to leave Pawnee.”
She would have dropped her drink had she been carrying one.
Her shock is evident either way.
“W- really? Like, when? Why . . . whe- uh, sure?” Because how else can Leslie respond to that?
“Within the next month, probably.” His voice is calm still. “I don’t know yet. I just wanted to give you a heads up, I guess.”
“Why?”
“I’m giving everyone here a heads up, just so people don’t think I disappeared out of nowhere if I go through with it,” he explains like it’s a fact but uncertainty still lies beneath his voice, negligible to some but notable to Leslie. It’s not the answer she’s looking for, but she’s had too many terrible encounters with him lately that she’s given up trying to be friends (or even work acquaintances who occasionally talk and eat at the same lunch table) with him.
“Thanks for telling me, I guess,” she says, not knowing how to carry on the conversation at that point. “Good luck.”
Despite already giving him a way out of the conversation, Ben manages to continue: “So . . . it’s fine with you?”
He truly has a way of fucking with her mind.
“Why do you ask?” She remains confused—with breakups, the signals become mixed, and that’s always the hard part. He made it clear that what he wants is distance while what she wants is . . . the opposite, yet now he’s seemingly asking for her permission to go. Permission he doesn’t need, but simply wants to hear.
And it’s—she hates to admit it—an honor. A sign that he maybe doesn’t hate her despite all that’s transpired these past few months, and it’s such a fucking relief that it almost makes her melt and tear up and smile from ear to ear.
“I just need a second opinion,” he replies nonchalantly.
She attempts to press further. “Why me? There’s always Chris, or I don’t know . . .” Shauna, she almost says, but resists. If he’s asking Leslie of all people, then she must be doing something right, and she’d hate to risk ruining that. “Other people.”
Finally, he gives in. Slightly. “Maybe I just value your opinion.”
She smiles and tests the waters. “Do you now?”
It seems to make him more anxious than comfortable, so Leslie follows it up by answering, “No, it’s fine, I get why you’re leaving. I know I’m terrible to work with. There’s really no need to sugarcoat it.”
Ben is stunned for a moment. “Oh, that’s not— that’s really not the case at all. I think you’re a great person to work with, it’s just—”
“I meant it’s terrible having to work with your ex, but I’m glad you think I’m great to work with,” Leslie clarifies with a chuckle.
The atmosphere shifts, and Ben plays along. “I take it back; you’re horrible.” He laughs despite himself as he shakes his head in faux disappointment. It’s almost as if they’ve returned to the days they were still friends, when things were good.
“You can’t take it back. I know how you really feel about me.”
“Do you now?” He mimics her previous words. “Anyway . . . you haven’t answered my question.”
“Go if you must.” She makes a dramatic shoving gesture, but he levels her with his usual I’m being serious look.
Leslie sighs. “What do you want me to say? Do what your heart desires, follow your dreams, whatever makes you happy?”
“But what do you advise I do?” asks Ben, still choosing his words carefully. It’s obvious already that he simply wants to know whether she wants him to stay or go, but he asks like she’s some kind of guidance counselor.
“Like I said, whatever makes you happy.” He still isn’t satisfied with her answer.
She can’t—she doesn’t want to—straight up say, Don’t go; I still need—no, want—you here. She can’t let her personal feelings dictate his future—that’s not what she wants for him—but it seems like it’s what he wants her to do anyway.
She settles for this: “Fine. Here’s what I think: don’t go; you’re still . . .”—she has to pause and think—“needed. You know, by the town and all.”
They don’t say anything more after that, and Leslie can’t get a read on whether her answer will actually hold any bearing on his decision.
She tries to accept their potential new reality: Ben Wyatt and Leslie Knope, separate entities whose paths crossed for a time but who are now about to part again.
Maybe in a few years they’ll find each other again: in a state government meeting, when another budgeting crisis strikes Pawnee, or even in the unlikeliest of places like a stopover during a road trip at the convenience store of a gasoline station, when they’re old and married to other people. There would be the mandatory five-minute conversation where they catch up on each other’s lives, the “we should set a playdate for our kids sometime” talk that never comes true, and they’ll laugh about their fleeting romantic encounter like it was merely a tale before parting ways again, not knowing if or when they’ll ever see each other another time after that.
In any case, he smiles like he’s content with her answer. It’s the first time in months she thinks that maybe, their relationship—even if that never goes beyond friendship again—isn’t beyond saving.