A/N: Wrote this to fill a drabble request on tumblr for "April and Leslie; loneliness."
It's been a loooooot of fluff, and namely kidfic, lately (which I am obviously all for) but let's do something a little differently to switch things up for at least today.
"You wanna come over for dinner?" Leslie offers out of the blue one day. "C'mon, you should get out of the house."
There are some things that are easier to deal with. Even at work, when life is supposed to make sense for Leslie and April is supposed to be the dour assistant it's hard to just look at and deal. Then selfish thoughts like that creep in, and Leslie has to remind herself that what's difficult for her is thousands over for April.
April doesn't respond, at least at first. When she does, her voice is dry and slow and she says, "Fine."
It's as good an answer that Leslie might ever get. Sometimes she invites April over, and most of the time she visits. The state of disrepair everything is in, over at April's place, is a little too familiar to Leslie. Newspapers with specific dates and headlines, books she's probably already read but doesn't want to see suddenly disappear, and pictures. So many pictures that Leslie loses count, and they're all next to where April sleeps on the couch in a stack just within arm's reach.
This is her friend, and in many ways, practically, her daughter. It hurts to see. Leslie's been there before, and she doesn't think an Ann is going to come swoop in and help her move on from those articles and pictures. Leslie isn't even sure April can let alone if that person exists at all.
At the dinner table at her house, April pokes absentmindedly at some pasta. "I think I overcooked it a little," Leslie says quietly, trying to focus on something to talk about. "I think I was just excited to see you again and forgot."
April doesn't answer.
"Do you want me to get you some parmesan? I know you said you liked that," Leslie tries, but still no answer. Sighing, she continues, "I think there might be some garlic bread in the freezer. How 'bout that?"
April says nothing.
Leslie opens her mouth to speak again, but instead eats. She watches April's plate and notices nothing changes at all on it. Not a single morsel is gone by the time Leslie's finishing up. When Leslie went over to pick her up, because there was no way that letting her drive would be a good idea, she was poring over a sheaf of newspaper that always sits on the coffee table. Always in that same place, like April reads and rereads it every single day. So, yeah, it hurts Leslie to watch her refuse to eat, speak, or do anything.
"Where's Ben?" April says hoarsely.
"He's in D.C. and you know that," Leslie answers. "You could have gone with him."
"Yeah," April mumbles, and her eyes water up instantly.
"April," Leslie stands up but April shakes a little and the wetness is gone as quickly as it came. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"
"Just… call him, okay?" April says, getting out of her chair with a sigh.
Leslie takes a moment to answer, only nodding when she does. Noticing April fidget, standing at the other end of the kitchen with wide, shifty eyes, she stands up and lets the dishes lay for a moment.
"You wanna go home?" she asks and April jerks back just barely at the word, but then nods.
Yeah, it hurts to watch April go back there and sleep in the same clothes from the previous three days. It hurts to see her so alone and lost; and in the sheets between the pages of a newspaper with a headline she can't stop reading, hopeful that she's been asleep the whole time. But, and she has to remind herself, if she's in pain, the hurt has to be unbearable in April.
Leslie calls Ben after she gets back.