Title: Double-dog
Info: Parks and Recreation, Leslie/Ann. Prompted myself with this image. Ann and Leslie go camping, and it doesn’t go well.
–
Camping with Leslie was always an adventure, Ann knew that going in to the weekend away from the “hustle and bustle” of Pawnee. In fact, it probably wasn’t the wisest decision to spend her one precious weekend off doing more work than she ever would within hospital walls. But it was the Fourth of July, the local (mini) fireworks show and bandstand had been organized within an inch of it’s life, and Leslie was raring to go.
That is, until their rented jeep hit a complex series of potholes and glass — and possibly upturned nails, Ann hadn’t gone to investigate yet — on the back road Leslie claimed would lead them to their campsite.
The literal snag didn’t phase Leslie in the slightest. In fact, she seemed excited to demonstrate her prowess around a jack and wrench. Ann was happy to watch from a nearby rock, offering a hand if Leslie looked particularly unsteady. What kind of friend — or nurse for that matter — would she be if she let a car fall on her friend?
“Well, damnit.”
Ann caught herself imagining what she would be doing if she had stayed at home — reading, probably. Sitting on her couch instead of this lumpy rock. In air conditioning.
“Leslie?”
“There’s something wrong with the tire. Not the blown one, I mean, obviously that’s down for the count.” She sat back, releasing a frustrated sigh. “The replacement tire has some weird lug nut issue and we should absolutely sue the car rental agency over this.”
“That’s… really not necessary.”
“There is a rental agreement in place! I shouldn’t be paying for faulty equipment!” Leslie hopped to her feet, reaching in through the jeep’s window to dig around. She emerged, phone in hand. “I’m going to give them a piece of my mind.”
“I don’t think there’s…”
“Damnit! No signal!” Leslie squashed up her face, plopping down next to Ann on the rock that really wasn’t big enough for two people to share. “I think our only option is to abandon the wreck and hike to the next town for supplies.”
“Wreck’s hardly the word for it, Les. And it’s getting dark. There is no way in hell I am walking around in the dark. Besides, any place that could service this thing won’t be open until the morning.” Ann spoke with the confidence of someone who knew she spoke the irrefutable truth.
Leslie begrudgingly consented, despite a long tirade about the flashlights she had packed and a quickly derailed suggestion that hiking in the dark would be fun.
“So, what. We just wait in the car?”
“That’s the idea. It’s almost camping, just… in a vehicle.”
Leslie shot her a quick glare. “I hope you understand that, by definition, isn’t camping.” She clapped Ann on the shoulder, gave a quick squeeze, and stood up again, allowing Ann to get slightly more comfortable on her rock. “I’m just gonna make a quick fire and cook hot dogs. Low maintenance.”
Ann was tempted to suggest the dutch oven Leslie’d brought along for brownies, but the quickly deepening darkness quashed that idea like a bug. She was pretty sure that Leslie knew where they were, but Ann — stupidly — hadn’t looked at the map. And it was creepy out here. Ann was left to examine their surroundings while Leslie focused on the task at hand, sweating through her flannel-patterned shirt. The heat lingered even as daylight slipped away. Ann got a flashlight from the jeep and flicked it on, keeping a steady stream of light on Leslie and the burgeoning fire. What had they even driven over — Ann nudged at the road with her toe. Yes, sure enough, those were nails. Who the hell leaves nails on a road?
Except, right. Serial killers.
“Leslie?”
“Mm?”
“I’m actually not hungry. Can… um. There’s trail mix. Can we sit in the car now?” And lock the doors?
“Pish posh, Ann. The fire’s just picking up. And there’s no substitute for a freshly cooked campfire hot dog!” Leslie was smiling, and Ann was hardly one of throw the they’re gonna kill us and eat our flesh card on a good mood. And soon enough, though Ann kept checking her watch and shooting nervous glances at the surrounding tree line, there was warm dinner in her hand and Leslie was gleefully kicking gravel over the embers of her fire.
And soon enough, they’re in the jeep — not even Leslie could look at Ann’s face and suggest rigging a tent — with the windows cracked, because otherwise they would probably use up all the air and suffocate clinging to each other — “Not really how that works,” Ann interjects — and Leslie suggests that they play a game.
“Like what?” Ann sighs. She’s imagining the jeep suddenly rocking, dirty hands on her window, a face leering up out of the darkness.
Leslie’s hand drops gently onto Ann’s thigh. “Something to take your mind off whatever’s going on up there.” She squeezes, and Ann sighs again. “We’re safe. We’re together, and you know nothing can stop the two of us when we’re together.”
Ann’s pretty sure that Leslie just quoted a musical, maybe Sondheim, but that doesn’t change the sentiment — one that Ann desperately needs to hear. “You never said what game,” she says, but is smiling this time.
“Um,” Leslie thinks long and hard, biting her bottom lip in a way that Ann can only describe — to herself — as adorable. “States and Capitals?”
“I think you’re confusing me with someone who could actually play that.”
“Okay. Fine.” She hesitates. “Truth or Dare?”
“Truth,” Ann replies, settling down in her seat. There’s something about the inside of a vehicle that can be really nice for the fifteen minutes you’re testing it out, but then afterward, on long trips, or say, camping, is ridiculously uncomfortable.
Leslie looks confused for a moment before perking up. “Oh! Okay. Ann: Truth. What was your best kiss ever?”
It’s admittedly a weird place to kick things off, but Ann isn’t about to complain. “Probably Chris, actually. That man can do really nice things with his–”
“Penis?”
“Tongue, Leslie. You asked about kissing.”
“Oh, right!” Leslie scrambles in her seat for a moment until she’s upright and sitting cross-legged, facing Ann. “Do me!”
Ann smiles. “Truth or Dare, Leslie?”
“Dare! I mean, Truth! Argh. This is really hard!” Leslie performs some sort of algorithm on her fingertips leading her to shout, “Okay! Truth!” quite loudly for the enclosed space they’re in. And if Leslie really had in mind to distract Ann from whatever might or might not be lurking in the darkness, she’s mostly succeeded.
That’s what Ann loves about Leslie, well, one of the things. “Best waffle you’ve ever had.”
“Pft!” Leslie scoffs. “JJ’s. That was easy.”
Ann’s starting to wonder if there was sugar in Leslie’s hot dog. “Truth, again,” she says preemptively. She’s a little scared (but not nearly so much as she was) that a dare might entail leaving the warm, safe haven of the jeep and dropping trow where a ferocious wildebeest might get ideas.
“Okay, what about your worst kiss?”
Ann knows which it is immediately, but she hesitates. “Definitely my freshman year of college. It was just… I’ve never kissed a dog, but I’m pretty sure they would use similar tactics.”
“You mean he jumped on you, held you down, and slobbered in your mouth?” Leslie’s eyes are wide. Ann can tell she’s got the whole situation mapped out in her head.
“No, not exactly.” See, first of all… “There was just a lot of tongue. And honestly, it was a shame because she was really hot and we were in to a lot of the same stuff and the date went really well and I was about to ask her on another and then it was just–” Eugh. Ann makes a face, hopefully approximating her disgust.
And okay, it’s kind of a shitty way to plow into a discussion about the girls that she’s kissed but Leslie asked, and Ann isn’t a liar.
“She? What? Tongue?” Leslie nearly spins off into talking aloud to herself land, but reins herself back in. “Ann, I’m confused. And if it is within the realm of the game rules, I would like to inflict another truth upon you for clarification.”
“I’ve dated girls. Occasionally. In the past.” She’s heard it called gay until graduation, but that would imply that it stopped once thrown into the “real world.” Which it didn’t. Not really. There were a lot of different people, and then there was Andy, and he was — surprisingly enough — her first real long-term thing.
Leslie has climbed down from whatever non-sugar high she managed to approach. “You never told me.” She frowns, slightly, concentrating. “I tell you everything, Ann. You’re my best friend and you didn’t tell me.”
Ann shrugs. “It’s not a big deal, I swear.” And it isn’t. There isn’t any sort of reason why she wouldn’t tell Leslie about the times when kissing women were good. It’s just… it isn’t a normal topic of conversation. Right?
A loud cracking sound comes from somewhere outside the jeep and Ann jumps, her body tenses and a pervasive chill runs up her spine. “Jesus,” she whispers, scooting imperceptibly closer to Leslie and the center console. She can’t help it. She grabs Leslie’s hand. “You aren’t mad at me about this, are you?”
Leslie’s face softens. “Of course not, Ann. I could never be mad at you.” She squeezes Ann’s fingers and scoots closer herself. “I am, however, going to punish you by skipping another of my turns and give you a dare.”
Ann’s not sure how skipping a turn is punishment, exactly, but nods. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“Kiss me, Ann.”
There’s a panic that flies up, lodging itself in Ann’s throat. “What?” Her voice comes out far too loud. “You?” She coughs out a laugh, pulling her hand away. “I couldn’t. That’s ridiculous. We’re friends.”
“It’s not ridiculous if I dared you, which I definitely just did.”
Ann has one hand on the door; the dark, unenclosed space suddenly becoming appealing. Leslie is everywhere. Ann can smell her, knows that shampoo anywhere. “I can’t, Leslie,” she whispers, unable to look up.
“Then dare me.”
Leslie’s gaze is intense — it always is — and Ann swears she isn’t going to do this, isn’t going to ruin this friendship with something as silly as a dare, but Leslie’s eyes are kind, needy. She reaches for Ann’s hand and draws her closer, inch by inch.
“Ann, I don’t care if you’ve dated girls in the past or the future or robots or frogs — but okay, that would be a little weird — and it’s okay that you didn’t tell me, I mean, there was this one time, and I don’t know if you knew, but you’re so pretty Ann, and. You love me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.” The answer comes easy.
“Then I dare you to kiss me. Double-dog.”
Ann’s so suddenly overwhelmed by all of this that all she wants to do is lean her head on Leslie’s shoulder and hold hands and drink cappuccinos with way too much whipped cream and. Oh. “Okay,” she says, so quietly that she wouldn’t hear it herself if the word hadn’t been pounding her her head.
“Okay,” Leslie replies, smiling. And she leans in.
