Work Text:
The answer to the question is fuck the Home Depot. Ron let Leslie in his workshop one time and she managed to run off with every last nail he had, for no discernibly good reason. The usual haunts don't have the kind he needs, thin and bendable, but sturdy if worked the right way. Lowe's does, but Ron refuses on general principle to shop at the place where Tom buys orchids, so he ends up at Home Depot, explaining to a retired war vet that he doesn't need any help, thank you very much. A man knows a fellow woodsman when he sees one and the vet trots off toward the paint.
"Isn't this, like, sacrilege for you?" Ron looks up and Ann Perkins is at the end of the aisle, purse slung lazily over her shoulder, watching him like you watch a beached whale scramble for the sea.
"I am out of nails," he supplies, and turns back to the display. She nods and joins him, standing far enough away to merit another question, "Why are you here?"
"I need outdoor furniture," she says, bored with the nails already. "Andy broke what I had ages ago, I've just been lazy. I made a to do list, but so far this is the only thing I've managed to do." She holds it up.
-buy a dog?
-outdoor furniture yeah
-leslie's birthday jesus christ
-chicken
Ron looks from the list to Ann, then back to the nails. "Anyway." She pockets the list and hitches up her bag. "I'm gonna go see if they have anything worth buying here."
"Something nice and wickery," he suggests, and Ann just looks at him like he's crazy, laughs like he's made a terrible joke.
Ann Perkins says, "Wicker is for pussies," and Ron falls a tiny bit in love.
There isn't anything special about what he's doing. Wooden furniture lasts longer, looks better, and says something about the owner. Something like, "I sit outside, assholes, and I sit on the highest quality shit that money can buy." Or something like that. Ron doesn't even know how much Ann needs, so he just makes a few basic pieces, surrenders to the Home Depot again and buys covers because Ron does not sew pillow covers, and loads it into his truck.
"You...made me furniture?"
"Wicker is for pussies," he intones, and Ann busts out laughing.
"Yeah, okay. Let's bring it to the back I guess." She grins and slips on her shoes. She lets him carry most of it on his own, because Ann knows Ron a little better than he thought she did, but she draws the line at the longest piece, and picks up the end with ease. "Wow. This is really nice furniture."
"It is."
"How much?"
"Hmm?"
"For the furniture. How much?" She's opening the back door from the yard to go into the house. Ron holds up a hand. "Ron, seriously. The work and the wood, those bendy little nails you bought. Come on, it has to cost something."
"It doesn't."
Ann rolls her eyes and pulls out her wallet. "Like, what, two-hundred?" Ron frowns because she's ruining a moment he didn't realize he'd created.
"Perkins. I made some furniture. You needed furniture. I brought it here."
Ann raises an eyebrow. "So you didn't make this for me."
"No," he lies.
"So it's just a coincidence that I run into you, at Home Depot of all places, and I tell you I need furniture, and you bring some by my house."
"Yes."
Ann nods then, putting away her wallet. There's a flush crawling over her neck that Ron is not noticing. Not at all.
Ron smells bacon.
There is definitely, right now, bacon somewhere near his office.
"Oh. There you are." Ann is standing in the doorway to her office, holding a plastic baggie full of what is definitely bacon layered between a thin paper towel. "I have this bacon here. I thought you might like it."
"You brought me bacon."
"Nope." Ann reaches into the bag and pulls out a piece. "This morning I cooked an entire package to bring to work and then I just, you know, happened to remember how much you love bacon and I thought, I wonder when I'll see Ron." She takes a bite. "And here you are."
She passes him the bag, their fingers brushing as she does so. Maybe on purpose, maybe not, but she's disappearing into her office again before he can thank her, and Ron realizes with an unfamiliar jolt that this is a bizarre, disproportionate thank you.
But a thank you, nonetheless.
"I just wanted to try it," she says after. Her face is curled in a goofy smile as she gets in her car, pleased and sated and watching Ron collect himself carefully.
Kissing him. She just wanted to try kissing him.
He invites himself over to cook for her.
"Is this a date?" she asks, no preambles necessary. Ron raises an eyebrow and leaves, but he still shows up at her house, platter of steaks in hand. "I thought that's what we'd be having." She lets him in, tells him she's making herself a salad, but there's potatoes in the oven if he's inclined to eat them. "Make my rare," she adds, disappearing into the pantry for spices.
They eat on the edge of her new furniture, Ann making him tell her about butchering cows and where the best cuts are and he knows she's only asking because she wants to hear him talk. Or he's made that up. He isn't sure what's real and what's fantasy when it comes to Ann Perkins anymore.
He helps her wash the dishes and when they go outside again to have a few beers, he kisses her. She's in his lap in a second, beer dangling between her fingers as she brushes his jaw with her lips, licks her way into his mouth.
"Is this a date?" she asks again.
"Yes."
Leslie presses her hands to her thighs, attempting to keep herself from flying off the edge of the world. "Ann and Ron are dating, so let's all try to be civil and not ask a lot of questions."
"Bullshit," Tom mutters.
"Called it," April says from her desk. No one asks her to explain.
"I think we make Leslie uncomfortable." Ann has her feet in Ron's lap, something he has historically not allowed, but can't seem to stop from happening whenever they're on her couch.
"She's worried about you." They haven't spoken all night, content to be silent together, Ann reading a book, Ron whittling into a handkerchief spread across his lap.
"She's always worried about me," Ann murmurs. She turns another page, but drops the book onto the table behind her. "She shouldn't be though. I know you'll be good to me." Ron steals a glance at her, feels one of her hands drop onto the top of his head and curl there. He shouldn't be this comfortable around her. He should let himself be that way, but he doesn't really want it to stop.
Leslie thinks that Ann is happier than she's ever been, and whatever doubts she had about Ann and Ron together melt away when she catches them sharing a silent lunch in the courtyard, Ann shoving the crust of her sandwich onto Ron's plate, him tossing her the apple he swears the commissary made him take.
Whatever makes Ann happy, makes Leslie happy. She gets an email from Ben, who is forwarding her an email from some lackey in Obama's office and she's pretty sure it's illegal but it's definitely a picture of Ben getting a hug from Obama and Leslie can't think about much else except for the fact that she's happy, she's bursting with it.
And she completely misses the no-holds-barred epic make out session happening in the courtyard behind her.
Probably better that way.