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The bullet moves as if in slow motion.
She stands so far away from him, too far away for him to save her, and he wonders what choices led him here, to letting her go in the first place, to leaving her with so much room to get hit.
Leslie doesn't even look at him as it comes for her, closer and closer. She doesn't close her eyes, or cower, because she's never been the type to shy away from danger. No, she faces it head on, knowing what's about to happen, and knowing there's no way for her to stop it either.
The nameless man who shot the gun is gone, spinning and running away before Ben can grab him, before he can kill him for doing this, as if taking his life might somehow erase what’s happened to Leslie. Leslie.
Ben’s wife. No, scratch that. His fiancée. He’ll never even get to marry her, now.
And then just as suddenly, time speeds back up, and the bullet hits Leslie square in the chest with such force that her body is thrown backwards, collapsing to the floor, looking so much smaller there than she did standing up. She doesn't make a sound, but Ben screams enough for the both of them.
He screams until his throat is raw and it takes him too long to find the strength to move his legs. He's standing and useless while she's laying there, her blouse staining red, and Ben can't even avenge her, can't even catch the guy who did this to her, can't take the bullet out of her and make this all better.
She whimpers, soft and so unnatural on her. “Ben,” she says, nothing more than a whisper, as if she's calling him to bed. “Ben?”
He doesn't remember gaining control back in his legs but suddenly he's running, quicker than he ever has in his life, but she seems so far away. It takes too long to get to her, every second not spent touching her is agony. He doesn't cry, not yet, but he wishes he would, just so he can feel something, anything.
He crouches down next to her, his knees resting in the blood pooling around her body. It's not long before his hands are coated in it, gripping her and turning her over, pulling her closer to him. He cradles her in his lap, uncaring that she's staining him red and it's on her face and spotting through her bright hair. She's trembling, and her hands are cold as he grasps them.
“I almost thought you weren't going to come,” she whispers, and Ben chokes. It's all he can do to look in her eyes, only her eyes, because anywhere else and all he’ll see is her blood. “Are you okay?”
Ben gasps, because of course she would say that. Of course bright and selfless Leslie Knope would ask him if he’s okay while she's lying on the floor and dying. “How could you ask me that?” he manages to get out.
“You're not okay,” she says, and her hand reaches to cup his cheek. “Are you?”
And that's when the dam breaks, something snapping inside Ben. All he needed was her touch and her gentle words to remind him exactly what he's losing, and the tears come so quickly and forcefully that he finds them difficult to speak through. “You can't go,” he begs her, holding her tighter. “You can't go. I… I never got to marry you.”
“Then marry me,” she says, and somehow she's still smiling. “Let's get married. Right now. Doesn't that feel right?”
“None of this feels right.”
“Marry me, Ben.”
It's foolish, maybe, and it doesn't mean anything. Of course they can't actually get married. There's no one here to officiate, there are no rings besides her engagement ring, and she's covered in red instead of white. The words don't come to him. There's a million things he wants to say, about how he's always been lost without her, how he always felt like he was wandering until he found her, but he can't say them. Because he knows in just a few more minutes he’ll go back to wandering, and he will be even more lost than before.
“Leslie—”
“Here's what I'll say,” she interrupts him, as if she knows he can't do it. “The things that you have done for me… to help me, support me, surprise me, to make me happy, go above and beyond what any person deserves. You're all I need.”
“Leslie, please—”
“I love you and I like you.”
He can't breathe through his sobbing, but Ben would sooner die than let her words go unrepeated. “I love you and I like you.”
She holds him, and pulls him closer, just whispering, “You may now kiss the bride.” And he does, of course Ben does. He can't kiss her enough, doesn't want it to be their last. He holds her shaking hands and cups the back of her head to keep her steady, pressing his lips to hers with a kind of desperation he's never felt before. If he lets go of her, if he pulls away, that’ll be it, and it will be over, and he’ll never see her again, never kiss her again, and he's not ready for that moment to come yet.
Ben is gasping by the time they finally pull apart.
She smiles again, and he wants to scream at how positive she is, even now, when there's nothing to be positive about. Can't she see that the whole world is crumbling down around them? Can't she see that he can't live without her? She's always been the one to keep him going, to get him to settle down, to help him find a home. She's the one that chipped away at all his harshness and found the nerdy, optimistic Ben Wyatt that he thought he lost when he was eighteen years old.
Who will he become when she's gone?
“Please don't go,” he says, but he knows it's useless. “Please don't go. You're all I have.”
It's selfish to say. Her smile finally falters, her brows knit together, and her next words are laced with emotion. “I'm sorry,” she tells him. “I'm so, so, sorry.”
“You don't… you can't…”
“I only have one regret,” she says, tracing his brow with her thumb. “Everything else… every bad thing I did, it just led me to you. To our life together. I can't regret that. There's only one thing.”
“What do you regret?”
She takes a deep breath— maybe her last. “Leaving you.”
He wants to scream, scream that she doesn't have to leave him. That she can stay, if she just holds on. Don't leave me, then. Stay here. Stay here, in my life, and help me build something. A house, a family, a real wedding, all of it. You don't have to leave me.
It's the last thing she says, and he's still watching her as she goes. His sight is blurred by burning tears as her blue eyes fade to something dull, something so decidedly not her, something too far gone now to be saved.
She falls limp in his arms, and Ben doesn't let go of her for a long, long time.
***
It's years before Ben sees her again.
His hair had been turning gray and everyday was a struggle, everyday he remembered her. He kept a picture of her in his wallet that he looked at when things were getting tough, and at night he would hold his pillow to his chest as if she was still here.
But he lived, for a long time, just for her. He climbed the ranks, politically, and he built her a park. The Leslie Knope Memorial Park. It's beautiful and he wished she could see it.
And then one day he goes to sleep and he wakes up feeling younger, his hair brown again, and there are gentle fingers on his wrists, pulling him up, wrapping him in her arms.
“Hey, you,” she whispers, and she's more beautiful than ever. Her hair is gold and her face is sparkling, blue eyes so bright he can't look away.
“Leslie,” Ben gasps, her name being the only thing he ever wants to say. “Leslie.”
“I missed you,” she says, and Ben just holds her, holds her tightly enough to remind himself that she's real and here and— not alive, but here. “That park you made for me… I really wanted to kiss you when I saw it.”
“Can you… can you now?”
“Of course I will. We have all of eternity to kiss each other, now.”
So he does. He kisses her. And with his lips finally pressed to hers after years without, years of holding on just because it's what she would have wanted, his vows finally come back to him. The words he should've said while she was lying in his lap, waiting for him to speak. They're crystal clear in his mind and he figures now is as good a time as any to give them life.
He pulls away and he stares at her, searches her face, and he smiles at her. Presses his lips to the ring on her finger that he gave her so long ago. His fiancée— no, his wife.
“For these last several years,” he whispers, choking. “I've been lost. I've been trying to find something to live for, something to keep me going in the morning.”
“Ben…”
“I built you a park in your name and I tried to live in a way that would make you proud, but something still felt missing.”
“I'm so sorry—”
“Don't be sorry, honey.” And now it's Ben’s turn to smile, kissing her forehead. “Because then I came here. And I realized that… this whole time, I was just wandering around, everywhere, just looking for you.”
Leslie blinks away her tears, and gives him another kiss. “You have me,” she mumbles against his lips. “You found me.”