Ice President

"Vice President or Ice President? Is Ben Wyatt right for America?"

Game of Thrones had just gone to commercial break, and Ben was staring, annoyed, at the television. Negative campaign ads, he knew, were inescapable. He'd brainstormed a few of them for Leslie's various campaigns, but he hated when they were used against him or Leslie. And ice president? Really? That was pretty low.

Before the campaign, he told Leslie a thousand times that if she asked him to run as Vice president, ice town would get brought up. It was inevitable. Yet, she still insisted.

As she put it; "In the first friendly conversation we ever had, you told me that you became a state auditor so you could be seen as responsible, and one day run for office again. Now is your chance. You helped run my city council campaign. You helped run my mayor campaign, and my governor campaign. I couldn't ask for a better vice president, or one with a cuter butt. "

That was typical Leslie. She wouldn't take no for an answer.

And now? Now, only primary election campaigning had started and Ben was already paying the price.

"Before we know it," the ad droned on, "Ben Wyatt will have turned all of Alaska into a massive ice skating rink. Imagine your taxpayer money going to that monstrosity!"

Ben refused to deal with any more of this nonsense. He picked up the remote, and turned the television off. But only for commercial break of course. He couldn't miss Game of Thrones. That would be unthinkable.

"Leslie!" He called. He didn't mean to be a baby or anything. He just hated ice town ads. They brought back abysmal teenage memories, along with the memories of the Harvest Festival fiasco, when he had been dubbed 'human disaster' on live television.

"What is it?" A flustered and pajama clad Leslie stood in the hallway, clasping a disorganized binder in her hands. "I'm trying to plan for next Monday's trip to Chicago, and Ann and Chris haven't emailed me my speech yet because apparently Ann is still editing it for overuse of the word 'literally' and the Iowa caucus is nearly upon us, and I'm still trying to think up a clever name for my environmental sustainability platform, but I can't, and…and…"

Ben got up and put his hands on Leslie's shoulders.

"It's going to be okay. Just take deep breaths and calm down. Chicago's still a week from today, and you know your speech will be here in time for you to rehearse it to perfection. We're doing well in the polls right now, so there's hardly need for panic."

Leslie nodded. "You're right, of course." She gave him a quick kiss and started to walk back down the hall. Then she spun back around. "I forgot!" She exclaimed. "Why did you call me in the first place?"

"Oh, that." He didn't want to add on to Leslie's stress, but it was, of course, best to tell her the truth.

" It was just another ice town ad. They're calling me 'ice president' now, if you didn't know. Also, what are your opinions on Alaska as an ice skating rink?"

"Oh my god, ice president? Are you serious?" Leslie was in amused hysterics.

That was hardly the reaction Ben expected, but he figured some laughter would do his on edge wife some good.

"That's about as bad as most of your accounting jokes, Ben," Leslie continued. "Ice President. And good lord! What person in their right mind would believe that you could or would turn Alaska into an ice skating rink?"

Now Ben was laughing too, because, come to think of it, it was a pretty terrible attack ad. He was a responsible adult now, and he could prove it. Even with pitiful ads trying to bring him down. In fact… He perked up. "Leslie?"

She looked at him intently and said, "You have that look you only get when you have a brilliant idea. So you'd better spill it. Because as you well know, the sooner you tell me what it is, the sooner we start making out."

"You could name your environmental sustainability plan 'Ice Town'. Preventing Global Warming. Saving the polar ice caps. Providing a better home for Arctic and Antarctic wildlife. It's clever, and it would hopefully keep people from bashing my eighteen-year- old self. Double whammy."

Leslie flung her arms around Ben, they collapsed onto the couch, and her lips crashed down on his. "You. Are. A. Genius," she said, punctuating each word with a kiss. "I love you and I like you, Ben Wyatt." He smiled at her. "I love you and I like you, Leslie Knope." Then, at once, his lips found hers again. Game of Thrones, it seemed, would have to wait.