"I think we should talk to Swanson."
"Wait, what? Why?"
Ben sighs into his phone, a hand reaching up to rub at his brow. "Just… maybe he knows something about Shauna."
He can practically see Ann rolling her eyes at the other end of the line. "Just because he's a teacher doesn't mean he knows every single student."
"Yeah, but he knew Leslie pretty well. And if Leslie and Shauna are connected—"
"You don't know that they are. You don't know that—"
"I'm pretty damn convinced, Ann." It's almost obvious, isn't it? The way Shauna freaked out when he and Tom confronted her, it couldn't be a coincidence. There's something more at play here, and Ben is more determined than ever to find out. "And I feel like to get the bigger picture, we need to talk to more people that know Leslie. And that includes Mr. Swanson."
"Ben, are you sure Shauna wasn't just… freaked out because you dropped the bomb on her about Leslie being missing? I mean…" she sighs, pausing for a moment. He's not surprised that she's fighting him like this— Ann has been very stagnant lately. Almost like every single day, she seems to lose hope, while Ben just wants to fight even harder. "What's your plan here? What do you think talking to Swanson will accomplish?"
"Listen… even if we don't learn anything about Shauna, even if I'm completely wrong there, what if we still learn something new about Leslie? It's worth a shot, don't you think?"
"I think you're just desperate."
"And I think you're going to end up coming with me despite that."
And he's right— of course he is. Ann comes to pick him up and the drive to Pawnee High School is a quiet one. But that's where Ben and Ann have been recently, as friends: comfortable silence. A quiet understanding of each other and what they're going through, knowing that words aren't enough anymore, words won't fix a thing, speaking won't make them feel better. Just the presence of being with someone that Leslie knew— that's enough.
It's honestly a comfort more than anything when they're standing in front of Ron Swanson, who looks as if he doesn't even want to be here in the first place. He's not even supposed to be, really— school is over, it's summertime, and Ron is supposed to be deep in his cabin with his guns and his whiskey, hidden so well that nobody would be able to find him.
But it seems Chris Traeger has taken this whole investigation thing to heart, even more than the actual police have. He's asking lots of the staff to come in, apparently, not just to work on next year's curriculum, but as a sort of look-out to see if Leslie might just return to the school, of all places.
No one ever said Chris Traeger made any sense at all. He's just very… enthusiastic.
"What the hell makes the two of you think that I might actually want to see you when you're not required to be here?" Ron snaps, leaning back in his chair. They've found him in his classroom, all the way at the back of the school next to the history wing, a bottle of whiskey out that he's definitely not supposed to have on campus. "Especially you, Wyatt."
Ben bristles at this comment, his eyes fluttering shut briefly. "I didn't do anything," he defends himself, unable to help it. "You should know that. The police know that."
"The goddamn police don't know anything," he insists. "It's pathetic. They're nothing but a bunch of whack jobs walking around thinking they know things because they have a uniform on. It's a pointless program that needs to be defunded—"
"Okay, great, thanks. We get it, you hate all programs under the government ever." Ben sighs, rubbing his brow. "But I swear to you, I didn't do anything. I actually agree with you, that the police aren't doing anything. And I… we, Ann and I, we want to do something."
Ron looks at them for a long time, his whiskey glass swirling gently in his hand. He surveys them, studies them, as if testing their resolve, or perhaps how genuine they're being. If he should even trust them. "What do you want to do, exactly?" he finally asks.
It's Ann that answers this time, with a rush of breath. "Find Leslie," she gasps. "We want to find her. If they can't, we will."
He arches a single brow at this, before nodding his head once. "So you're investigating. Talking to people. And I'm just next on your list?"
"You could say that."
"Bully for you," Ron mumbles, and he even raises his glass— just a little, never enough for them to actually start to think he respects them. "God knows you'll find out more than these idiots will."
"So we wanted to ask you some questions," Ben says, Ann rocking nervously on the balls of her feet beside him. "We just want to see if you might know anything. We've gotten a little bit of leeway—"
"He thinks we've gotten a little bit of leeway," Ann mumbles, and Ben just rolls his eyes, ignoring her.
"We know you were close with Leslie, Mr. Swanson. And the last time you saw her was directly after school, right? On the last day?"
Ron shifts a little, as if deeply contemplating something. "Normally… I would refuse to engage in any sort of questioning. Or I would make it harder on you by answering your questions with another question. However, since this is for Leslie…" His voice softens at the end, the most humane Ben has ever heard him. "Yes, that was the last time I saw her. She was a nervous wreck, so I told her to go home. Get some rest before graduation."
"And then she ran into me on her way out," Ben thinks out loud. "She did look like a nervous wreck. And we know I was the last one to see her." He wrings his hands together, trying to think. "Mr. Swanson, do you know Shauna Malwae-Tweep?"
"Tiny little thing that wrote for the school paper? I think she was in one of my classes before she left school. Didn't care to know anything about her."
Ann scoffs. "There goes your lead, Ben."
"Okay, listen, just because he doesn't know her, that doesn't mean—"
"Quiet," Ron snaps, and Ben and Ann instantly shut up, standing at attention. "Clearly, what you two need is more information. You don't have enough. You have a lot of feelings and no evidence, and you won't get anywhere living on hope alone, do you understand?"
"I'm trying," Ben pleads. "I really am trying—"
"I have a request," Ron interrupts. "I want you to come back to me if you learn anything. When you get new information, you tell me, do you understand?"
Ben wonders, then, if when it comes down to it, he should really trust Ron Swanson. It's a big thing that he wants in on, something huge for Ben to commit to, and for a moment, he's just scared. Scared that he's making the wrong moves, walking down the wrong paths, befriending the wrong people. If it's possible that every step he feels is closer is actually just a step further away.
But at the end of the day, is it really about him? Does it really matter who he trusts? Leslie trusted Ron, trusted him with so much even before she came to high school, and that has to count for something, right? That he's like a father to her where she has none.
Can he really afford not to trust him anyway?
"Okay," Ben says slowly, his exhale shaky. "Okay. How will I—"
"I'll give you something that has been granted to very, very few people in my life, something not even Leslie has— my phone number. For emergencies and information only." Ron writes it on a piece of paper and slips it to Ann, who pockets it with a look of wonder on her face. This feels like a small miracle. "And listen to me," Ron says, his voice dropping. "If you do find anything, do not go to the police with it. Do you understand me? Come straight to me, not to them."
"Wait, why?" Ann asks. "I mean, we know they're incompetent, but—"
"Just don't," he snaps. "Trust me. And get out of my office."
As much as they want to, they don't question him, not this time. Ron looks even more serious than before, a dark look crossing his features, and Ben doesn't want to stick around to find out what he has to say if they disagree. So they leave, Ben pushing open the classroom door with Ann right on his heels.
"That did nothing," Ann hisses as soon as the door shuts, and they're alone once more. "We seriously didn't learn a thing. This is hopeless."
Ben grimaces, leading them through the empty hallways, their footsteps echoing in their wake. "I mean, at least we have an ally, right? I don't know, it feels kind of good to think he doesn't totally hate me, and that someone thinks we're doing the right thing here."
"So you're measuring success based on gaining a sense of validation?" She scoffs. "We keep talking to people, Ben, and everytime we learn nothing at all or too little to be of any use. The police have no information at all—"
"And we had to tell them about Mark," he finishes. "Who they let go. And he told us he didn't do anything to her, when we talked to him."
"And he might be right about that. Technically, the possibility is still up in the air, but it feels very, very slight."
"Right. Very slight. Just an asshole, but not necessarily a kidnapper. And we've talked to all our friends. Tom and Andy, Jean-Ralphio and April—"
"Jen," she says, with a hint of a blush. "And Donna."
"And they gave us some information."
"But again, like I said, very little. We know she was anxious all day and she didn't take sugar in her coffee. She didn't raise her hand in class and she barely talked to anyone. That isn't exactly a lead."
As much as Ben hates to admit it, she's right. They're like tiny little clues that all add up to some kind of foul play, without the actual missing piece they need to start their hunt. They're running in circles, finding nothing at all, only reinforcing the idea that Leslie didn't feel good at all on her last day of school, and then disappeared altogether.
"Shauna felt like a lead," he says dejectedly. "I'm serious, she did. She still does. I seriously think there's something there."
"You scared her half to death, Ben. She just got up the strength to get out and start walking around again, and you instantly tell her about Leslie. I mean, how did you think she was going to react?"
He wants to tell her it's different. Ann didn't see Shauna, not the way he and Tom did, she doesn't know. She didn't see the fear in her eyes, how quickly she backed away, locking every lock on her door to create a barrier between them. Ann didn't hear her when she said…
"She said we wouldn't find her," Ben says suddenly, the image coming to him. "When I went to see Shauna, and she found out about Leslie. She told me I wouldn't find her."
This makes Ann pause, stopping in her tracks to turn and stare at Ben, brows furrowing. He can see the gears working in her head, trying to find some kind of reasonable explanation for this without giving Ben the satisfaction of winning. "I…" she mumbles. "Why would she say that? Are you sure you heard her right?"
"Oh my god, of course I'm sure—"
"Excuse me?"
It's a new voice, one that freezes Ben and Ann to the spot. His hands are up in the air but still, he doesn't dare move them, only flinching as heavy-set footsteps make their way towards them, pounding on the hall floors. Ben isn't sure how they missed someone in the school— they were certain they were alone, it was the only reason they were speaking so freely about Leslie and the investigation. To think that someone heard…
"Pardon?" the voice says again, clearly trying to be polite, and Ben and Ann slowly turn, as if expecting to see the devil himself standing before them. But it's not— not even close, actually.
One of the school janitors stands in front of them, clutching his broom very tightly in his red-knuckled fists. He's a heavier man, and an older one, with graying hair and wrinkles near his frown, looking anxiously between Ben and Ann. He's clumsy— he nearly trips on his own broom as he faces them.
"Um," Ben chokes. "Hi."
"I'm so sorry," the janitor insists, pressing a hand to his heart. "I really didn't mean to eavesdrop, I just… I… I'm Jerry. Gergich. Jerry Gergich. I was just cleaning, because I work here, and I heard the two of you kids talking about Shauna Malwae-Tweep, right? And, well… I kind of know something, I think."
A chill runs down Ben's spine, but he's not sure if it's out of fear or excitement. "You… know something? About Shauna?"
"And Leslie," Jerry whispers, not that he's very good at keeping quiet. The man is stumbling over all his words, trying to find solid ground, trying to get everything out as if any minute now someone might stop him from speaking and he'll lose his opportunity. He clearly doesn't have the chance to talk very often. "When you're the janitor, you hear a lot. People kind of overlook you, and they say things in front of you. As if I'm not listening. No one ever really cares about me or if I'm there—"
"Cut to the chase," Ann snaps, and Jerry insistently withers and obeys her command. "What do you know about Leslie?"
"Oh gosh, okay, I…" he stares at the floor and takes a deep breath. "A month before school was out, maybe, Shauna and Leslie were talking in the hallway when no one else was around. I didn't hear everything they said, but Shauna looked pretty upset. Leslie looked upset. And Shauna, you know, she was just begging Leslie to help her. I don't know with what, but she kept asking her, over and over again, asking for help. That's… that's all I've got, but it feels like something. I hope it's something."
The floor seems to crumble away from under Ben, and he holds a hand to his chest, trying to put all the pieces together while his mind is still so scrambled. And it ignites something in him, Jerry's tiny story, reminds him of a memory he forgot about, maybe even buried because it ended up painful, something so goddamn important now, and how has he been such a massive fool this whole time to have not remembered it?
"Oh god," he mumbles, heaving over, staring at the hallway floor. "Oh god, I remember this. Kind of. I remember something like… I saw Leslie with Shauna once. About a month before graduation. Oh my god. Oh god…"
Ann winces, watching Ben as he holds himself up with his hands on his knees. "Well," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "I hate to say it. But I think you might actually be onto something here, Wyatt."
SENIOR YEAR
ONE MONTH BEFORE GRADUATION
They were doing alright.
They were doing more than alright, even. They were doing good. Ben and Leslie were all tentative smiles and soft laughter and some quiet understanding of each other, and it really and truly looked like they would make it out of high school unscathed, in one piece, and without feeling like they still had an enemy they were leaving behind.
Her eyes were starting to shine a little differently, when she looked at him. Sometimes she would reach out to touch his arm, or he would playfully bump her, and neither would get mad about it. And he didn't want to jinx it, but it truly felt like they were becoming friends. As if they could finally put this rivalry to rest.
But somehow, he did seem to jinx it.
It wasn't anything either of them did, not really, but maybe it was Ben's reaction to it. He shouldn't even be surprised, and it shouldn't even matter to him— it was just a dumb speech for graduation. Leslie was President, so of course she would say it. And Ben was never exactly fantastic in front of crowds anyway.
But he couldn't fight the feeling that he really just wanted to prove himself. He wanted to stand in front of the crowd and show that he'd gotten better, that he could do the speech if he really wanted to, and make Leslie see that he was more than capable. He wanted Leslie to see, and to be impressed. He wanted her to come up to him after graduation and congratulate him on a job well done. Maybe shake his hand, maybe even smile.
It was possible her praise was the only reason he truly wanted it.
But now it was useless, because it was her speech. Ben left Ron that day in a hurry, knowing with absolute certainty that Leslie couldn't have left school to go home yet, and by God, did he have a bone to pick. He was angry, for something out of either of their control, and she was always the easiest to take it out on.
He strolled down the empty school hallway, footsteps echoing, listening for any sounds, any sign of someone else. And he was close to the history wing all the way at the back of school when it happened— hushed voices, scattered footsteps, the soft but unmistakable sound of crying.
"Shhh, shhh," Leslie whispered, but it was just loud enough that Ben could hear. He rounded the corner, fully prepared to tear Leslie away from whatever she was doing to pick a fight, when he fully caught sight of the scene and stopped in his tracks.
Leslie was holding the shoulders of Shauna Malwae-Tweep, who was weeping softly into her hands. She held the girl close, running a hand down her back, checking over her shoulders, through the windows, up and down the hallways. Ben was only just out of sight, and too far away to hear the words they were mumbling to each other, but one thing was for sure— this was painfully serious.
Shauna looked up with red eyes, mascara down her cheeks, her bottom lip jutting out as if she was begging for something that Leslie just wouldn't give. Leslie kept shaking her head, actually, working herself up until she had to back away from Shauna, hands curled into fists.
"Don't do that," Shauna cried, much louder this time, and Leslie jumped, looking around one more time. "Please don't, you can't do that, don't do this—"
"Shut up," Leslie hissed, and she pushed Shauna further back, away from where Ben stood, talking quickly and quietly into her ear. And Ben could only watch, completely transfixed by the scene, because no part of it made any sense. Neither girl ever particularly got along, not really. Leslie would scoff and roll her eyes at Shauna, and Shauna would very pointedly ignore Leslie at every turn, shooting each other looks, the worst of it during their sophomore year.
Shauna was Ben's ex-girlfriend, for god's sake, and Leslie was… well, Leslie was his rival. They weren't supposed to get along at all, let alone comfort each other while they cried.
Leslie pulled Shauna into a hug, and she stiffened, obviously slightly uncomfortable, before pushing away and running off. Shauna shut the hall doors behind her, leaving it slamming in her wake with an angry Leslie, frustrated and red faced, pressing her forehead into a locker.
Her hands were shaking.
He really, really shouldn't have said anything.
"You alright there, Knope?" he called out, and she jumped again, pressing a hand to her heart. She was heaving as she caught his eye, rolling her own as he got closer.
"So it's Knope again, huh?" she asked, sliding her palms down her thighs. "What do you want?"
Ben shrugged. "Just wondering why you're here so late."
"No you're not. Quit lying. If you want me to—"
"I don't," he interrupted quickly, swallowing hard on the panic that bubbled in his throat. "I don't… I don't want you to do… that."
"Good. Because I wasn't going to. I'm busy."
"Busy with what, comforting my ex?"
Leslie paled, whipping her head back around to look him dead in the eye. "You saw that?"
"I saw that she was crying. But it's whatever, she does that a lot. I'm pretty sure she cried everyday when we dated." That much was true, Shauna would cry at anything. A pretty flower, a cute dog, a news story from across the country, even dropping a spoon on the floor. She was a delicate little thing, really, never exactly the type to speak out or stand up for herself. Just gentle smiles, quiet thoughts, soft tears. "But whatever, I don't wanna talk about her. I heard you get to do the graduation speech."
She winced, her face falling just slightly. "Ah, okay. So you're upset about that?"
"Maybe." He bit his lip.
"You know I had nothing to do with that, right?"
"Well, you kind of did. You did sign up for it, and then auditioned for it—"
She gaped at him, mouth open wide, her face burning bright red. "Oh my god," she exclaimed, rising in volume. "I can't believe you. You are actually completely unbelievable, Ben Wyatt, do you know that?"
"Oh, so now you're going to insult me? I don't think—"
"Just be quiet for just a minute, won't you? I'm just… I'm just kind of lost in how disgusting you are. And I'm not doing this with you."
"So, you'll hash it out with Shauna but not with me? Even after—"
"Yes, I will, because you're nothing but a jerk." Her hands were shaking, eyes looking ready to kill. It was the most angry she had been towards him for months, everything she kept repressed bubbling under the surface and threatening to explode. Her fuse was very short today— something was different. Something was very, very off.
And Ben wasn't sure it actually had anything much to do with him.
Leslie pinched her nose, looking down at the hall floor. He could tell she was fighting tears. "God, and to think that I… that I almost thought we could…"
"Thought we could what?" he snapped, and he knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth that it was a mistake. "That we could be together? That we could somehow put this all aside and even manage to stand each other for more than five minutes? I mean, did you really think that was possible?"
She was strangely calm, all things considered, but that's what was scariest. She didn't break down, or fall apart, or scream at him. She didn't even start to cry. She just bit her lip, refused to look at him, and shook her head, as if resigned to this fate.
"You're right," she said, and there was something so dejected about it, something almost broken. "I was a fool to think we could be anything else."
PRESENT DAY
It's a goddamn miracle Ben gets Ann to agree, but at this point, even she is deadly curious, especially as he recounts his story to her on the drive over to Shauna's house.
"You really saw them together?" she asks him, chancing a glance over at him. "In the hallways, alone?"
Ben nods, staring at his hands in his lap. "God, yeah. And I was an ass. And Shauna was crying, Leslie was more worked up than I'd seen her in a while… I think I kind of sensed at the time that she was okay with taking her anger out on me, that it wasn't just me, and that has to be true, right? Bigger things were happening."
"Don't think for a second you had nothing to do with it. Seriously. Just because something bigger might've been going on, that doesn't mean you were incapable of hurting her."
He remembers the look on her face, then, when he slapped the impossibility of them being together right in her face. The way her shoulders slumped, her eyes got wider, sadder. How resigned she was, all the anger seeping out of her into something far more empty when she came to agree with him. It's the one thing he decidedly didn't tell Ann about, but he thinks, for a moment, that it's possible he broke her heart.
And he never even knew he had her heart to break in the first place.
"Maybe you're right," Ben admits lowly. "I… you're right. I was an ass."
They reach Shauna's house and Ben can only think they're way more lucky than they should be— she's in her front lawn again, sitting on a garden chair and staring at the daisies. She's eerily silent, to the point that it's terrifying, and she only stares blankly, almost unmoving, and he can't tell if she's being pensive or if her mind is completely blank.
"Oh god," Ann mumbles, parking her car across the street. "I can see what you mean now. She really doesn't look good."
"Not at all," he agrees. "Do you think she'll be more inclined to talk if you're here? I mean, kind of like a girl talk situation?"
Ann rolls her eyes. "Normally I'd laugh at you, but considering you're also her ex and she's already banished you once from her lawn, you might be right. Let's just… let's just be quick about this. I don't have a good feeling about any of it."
Shauna sees them as soon as they walk up, ripping her eyes away from her tiny garden to gape at them, looking upset that they're here at all. "What are you doing here?" she asks him, looking at him directly while completely glossing over Ann. "Why do you keep bringing your friends here? I want… I need to be left alone—"
"Shauna, hey, I'm so sorry," he tells her, holding a hand out as if to steady them, keeping their distance. "I'm so sorry. We just wanted to talk to you about—"
"Leslie," Ann interrupts, and her voice sounds warbled. Ben looks at her out of the corner of his eye to see her rocking back and forth, sudden tears spilling out of her eyes and running down her face. "We want to talk to you about Leslie."
"I don't… I don't know anything about Leslie." She only glances at Ann, but it's enough to send her spiraling further, her eyes filling with pity and something like pure terror. "I don't wanna talk about Leslie. I'm sorry, but—"
"What did you need her help with?" Ann asks through her tears, and Ben wants to ask her to calm down, maybe take it slower, because Shauna is already a volatile person lately, and adding more emotions and hard questions to the mix is bound to be a nasty combination. "The janitor said he heard you asking Leslie for help. Just before graduation. Why?"
The three stare at each other for a moment, back and forth, the tension thick and the silence deafening. For a moment, Ben thinks Ann's hard approach might actually be working— Shauna looks like she might have something to say, working up the nerve to spit it out, when instead she completely bursts into heartbreaking sobs, throwing her head in her hands and weeping.
"Oh god," she cries, her shoulders shaking, and Ben and Ann are too stunned to move. "Oh god, it's my fault, it's my fault, all my fault…"
There's that feeling again— the feeling of a puzzle piece trying to find its place. "Shauna?" Ben asks, taking one step closer. "What do you mean? What's your fault?"
"All of it!" she shouts, rubbing her eyes. "All of it, all of it, all of it is my fault. You're gonna hate me, you're all gonna hate me…"
"Why would we hate you?"
Shauna collapses into her garden chair, Ben and Ann rushing to her side to make sure she's okay. Her whole face is red, heaving with breaths that are too hard to find when she can't stop crying. She's gasping, really, desperate for air, just desperate to get out. She shakes her head.
"Leslie saw something," she groans, sniffling hard. "She… she… she saw something, and now she's gone, and it's all my fault."
It shouldn't be a happy moment. Not even close. If anything, it's a painful reminder that foul play is to blame here for Leslie's disappearance, and she could be seriously hurt. But at Shauna's words, breaking down in front of her house, right now it can only feel like a breakthrough.
Ben exchanges a look with Ann, and he knows she must be thinking the same thing. It's small, almost insignificant, but it's much more than the police have, a testament to an investigation on the right tracks. A start.
And there it is, that tiny, dangerous little flame of a feeling inside his chest, just enough to ruin him— hope.