Chapter Text
A 9 hour road-trip from Pawnee, Indiana to Washington, DC to take up an internship was the last thing April would’ve been doing with her time. It’s only because of Leslie’s influence and April’s search of finding a different job away from her annoying coworkers that she reluctantly agreed to Leslie’s antics. After getting out of Ben’s car, (courtesy of Ben after the disaster of the last time they tried to take a road trip together, it led to them pushing the car back into an empty parking spot) April quickly unpacks her baggage in the shitbox of an apartment she’s in and puts on the most what she calls “Knope clothes”, gets back in Ben’s car and drives away to meet with the supervisor of the internship in a busy café.
“Do we really have to go meet up with the supervisor?” April fidgets around with her thumbs, why would they meet beforehand when they would see each other tomorrow at work anyway?
Ben turns around to face the brunette with fear struck into his eyes, “April I can’t stress this enough on how scary Jen Barkley is” he exasperates. “Let’s just make sure you have a first good impression on her and—“ before April could shut down whatever gibberish was spilling out of the man’s mouth, a familiar voice rang through both of the other person’s ears.
“Are you two just gonna stand there dumbfounded? cause I don't have all the time in the world.”
Ben immediately gave April a light push forward towards the caramel haired woman already seated drinking what looks to be a cappuccino. Jen lets them both take their respective seats before introducing herself.
"Hi! I'm Jen Barkley! I'm your new supervisor for the next few months you'll be here."
"Jen, you don’t have to, I told her alrea—"
"Oh, I do. This is how it’s gonna go: You either keep up or you get left behind." Jen asserts, making sure Ben doesn’t interrupt her once more. She turns to April, reading her and taking all the insignificant features of her face in, for no reason whatsoever.
"Now, how about you introduce yourself? You're bound to."
“I’m April Ludgate.. I’m probably gonna get fired within the first week.”
"God forbid. I like you. You'll do just fine."
"Yeah, sure, if by 'just fine' you mean accidentally setting something on fire.”
Jen lets out a genuine giggle, startling the younger woman slightly.
"Oh, I love a wild-card. Keeps things interesting. Do me a favor though—aim the fire away from me. These heels are new.” Jen points down to where her heels are and gives April a playful nudge to the shoulder, experimenting with how the other would react.
“Okay, no promises, though.”
“Well, Jen!” Ben cuts them off, “You did say you were gonna show April around Washington properly.” Ben reminisces the moment as he talks, knowing that the last time April was here, she was with her ex and her coworker Andy Dwyer. He thought it was a shame that they didn’t work out, but he is grateful to see April be a little more open and happy, even if she didn’t show it.
“Oh did I? Guess I did. Field trip it is then. Of some sorts.”
"Is this where you teach me how to smile and shake hands with rich people without throwing up in my mouth?”
“Oh, sweetheart, if you're already this cynical you’re gonna fit perfectly in here.”
April didn’t flinch under Jen’s gaze, but she could feel the weight of it, like Jen was cataloging every detail—the stubborn slouch in her chair, the bored tilt of her head, the way her arms stayed locked across her chest like she was daring Jen to try harder.
For a second, April thought about snapping back, about saying something snarky just to wipe that amused little smirk off Jen’s face. But she didn’t. Not yet. Because as annoying as Jen already was, April couldn’t ignore the tiniest flicker of curiosity in her chest. (Although, she’d rather set herself on fire than admit that to anyone.)
Jen, of course, noticed. She always noticed. And it only made her grin widen ever so slightly as she leaned forward, with an expression that April couldn't quite decipher, looking like she’d already won this small unspoken game they were playing.
———————
By the time the sun started setting, casting a warm orange glow over the city, April was already questioning every life choice that had led her here. Jen, meanwhile, was practically skipping down the street in her heels, pointing out buildings like an idiot (a tour guide, but an idiot could suffice.) on a power trip.
They stopped in front of yet another massive, overly impressive (Was it really? It was just a tall pillar, but that was just April’s thoughts on it.) structure, its shiny exterior glowing in the fading light. April stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and stared up at it like it had personally offended her.
"Alright, uh, Ludgate. Welcome to Washington, D.C. This place is a monument to power, to politics, and to… well, people who can actually get things done."
April could feel her own eyes roll to the back of her head involuntarily, hearing Jen say that crap instantaneously filled her with boredom; as someone like her who loved spending her days wasting time, April was already considering quitting the internship to move back to Pawnee.
"That’s great. But does it have a donut shop that serves stuff with more sugar than what I can put on a spoon and eat for breakfast?"
“You’re in Washington now, sweets. We have real things to look at. Like this—“ Jen points out to the inescapable view of the historical landmark, “this is the Washington Monument. It's big, it’s bold, and it’s a tribute to someone who got stuff done.”
For someone who she only met a handful of times through her ex-boss Leslie, April couldn’t help the sensation of her so-called black heart beat just for a bit hearing the name “sweets” roll off of Jen’s tongue. She tried to pay no mind to it and instead bite back with a snarky remark.
"Oh, yeah, that thing looks just like a giant needle. Perfect."
"'It’s the tallest obelisk in the world, you know. A symbol of strength and..something. Leadership."
"Sounds exhausting."
"Well, this whole city might be too much for someone like you. How’s Pawnee? Still, a hole in the ground with a diner and a suspicious amount of raccoons?” The older woman teases, if there’s one thing that Jennifer Barkley would never get tired of, it’s bullying and dragging down everything about Pawnee and its unfortunate citizens.
"Probably. And it's perfect. It's mostly quiet, no one asks questions..well almost no one, and you can pretty much disappear into a pile of leaves and no one will bother you. Unlike here, where it looks like everyone’s wearing a costume and pretending to care about ‘the greater good.’"
"in D.C..” she pauses, keeping April engaged within the conversation, “pretending is practically an art form. The difference is, here, people can actually do things while pretending."
"Yeah, I bet. I can’t wait to see how they’ll pretend to make my day interesting."
"it’s not about making your day interesting—it’s about making your presence known. If you want to stick around here, you’ve got to be like that monument: tall, bold, and hard to ignore."
"Okay. So, just be a giant prick who stands there and refuses to leave until everyone’s forced to acknowledge me?”
April raised an eyebrow, the challenge in her expression clear, crossing her arms lazily like she had all the time in the world to dismantle whatever nonsense Jen was about to throw her way. It wasn’t like she cared—except, maybe she did, just enough to see how far she could push before the carefully composed woman across from her broke her perfect, smug exterior.
Jen, who had been gesturing dramatically toward the Washington Monument like a tour guide (Well she really was a tour guide now.) auditioning for a reality show, froze slightly. She turned to face April, her expression a mix of amusement and mock offense.
"Sweetheart," Jen said, her heels clicking as she took a step closer, "it’s called presence. Owning the space. But sure, if you want to simplify it to ‘giant prick,’ go ahead."
April shrugged, shifting her weight to one foot as she stared up at the monument. "I mean, if the shoe fits…”
April watched Jen with the kind of detached curiosity she reserved for things that were mildly interesting but still probably dangerous, like raccoons (sort of) or unattended fires. Jen was laughing now, loud and sharp, like she knew the whole world was in on a joke she’d written. Everything about her radiated confidence, the kind of self-assurance that only came from knowing you’d always get what you wanted—and probably didn’t even have to ask.
The way she moved was infuriating. Every step, every flick of her wrist, every click of her stupidly expensive heels felt like a performance, but not the kind that tried too hard. No, Jen made it look effortless, like she’d been born with this weird, stupid (which is what April thought) energy that demanded attention. She didn’t talk; she owned the space with her voice, like it was some kind of invisible currency she knew everyone else was too poor to afford.
April hated her a little bit. But only a little.
Because, as much as April wanted to roll her eyes and walk in the opposite direction, there was something about Jen that made it impossible to look away. It wasn’t just the confidence, or the sharp edges of her personality that somehow didn’t scare people off. It was the way she seemed to be waiting for something—like every joke, every smirk, every gesture was a test to see who would keep up and who would fold.
April hated tests. But there was a small, inconvenient part of her that wanted to pass this one. Not because she cared what Jen thought of her—obviously—but because there was something fun about trying to match wits with someone who might actually be sharper than her.
It was annoying. Jen was annoying. And yet, as Jen turned on her heel and strode off like she owned the entire city, April (unfortunately) found herself following without hesitation.