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It's too quiet out here. Granted, Pawnee is not exactly a bustling metropolis, but it is always bursting with activity regardless of the hour. It could just be that Ann has become accustomed to her erratic schedule since taking on her position at City Hall and her biological clock is still tuned to the emergency room's late night shift; it could also be that Tom's snoring, though quite faint by the time it echoes down from the top bunk, is just enough to keep yanking her back from the sweet edge of sleep every time she draws near. Whatever the reason, the silence that falls on the lake house after midnight leaves Ann feeling uneasy. Even with — or maybe especially with — her eyes closed, the air around her feels thick and heavy, as if weighed down by all the troublesome thoughts that come out to play at the precise moment when one has decided to try and rest. She opens her eyes and chooses a fixed spot on the wooden bed frame above to stare at, her elbows outstretched and palms tucked behind her head. Tom's breathing grows louder by the second. She takes a deep breath and releases it with a sigh, collapsing even deeper into the mattress as she does. Nope, still not feeling relaxed.
Eventually, she waves her imaginary white flag and gives up on chasing sleep. She climbs out of the bottom bunk as quietly as is humanly possible in an unnaturally quiet old house where even the window treatments creak. At the door, she spares a final glance back to make sure that Tom is still fast asleep behind his Sleep Therapy sleep mask from Sharper Image, which he boasted about for a full five minutes after lights out before finally dozing off. It's chillier out in the hall and Ann, still groggy from non-sleep, didn't have the presence of mind to grab a pair of socks or sandals. In an effort to remain weightless and silent, she balances down the hall on the balls of her feet, relaxing only when she's reached the common area. Dark as it is, she can still make out Leslie fast asleep on Jerry's sweater vest and wonders whether it's her duty as best friend to wake the blonde up. Maybe later; right now she just looks so peaceful.
In the stillness, she can make out few distinct sounds, but one that travels softly from somewhere in the house is the unmistakable hum of an appliance hard at work. It's not the dishwasher — she's standing just outside the kitchen now — and Ann can't remember whether Donna mentioned a washing machine. She did, however, mention a Meagles-only hot tub, and although she was disappointed when denied usage earlier in the day, now it represents the possibility of someone else in this house being awake. Hanging out with Donna always makes her feel more awkward than she should, but it's someone to talk to, and she's not in a position to be excessively picky. So, she ventures out onto the porch, furiously rubbing her arms against the sudden chill, and circles the house until she finally comes upon the hot tub deck. None of the outdoor fixtures are turned on, but the underwater lights are enough that Ann can make out exactly who is in the tub, and that it is definitely not a Meagle.
"Shouldn't you be sleeping off, like, a bottle and a half of champagne?" questions Ann. In response, April performs one of her trademark gestures, simultaneously rolling her eyes and shrugging. Ann wonders why she asked in the first place, what sort of response she was expecting. "Okay, whatever, I'm going back inside," she says, assuming that April wants to be left alone. "But you should get out of there before Donna sees you and throws a fit."
Another Ludgate™ eye-roll. "Ooh, I'm so scared," she says in an almost sing-song voice, shaking her hands wildly in the air for emphasis. Then she sits up and attempts to look stern, or perhaps just constipated. "I'm Ann, head nurse of St. Boringsville's Hospital for Boring People and I always follow the rules! Say, doctor, how long 'til I can finally get that personality transplant I desperately need?"
In return, Ann snaps, "What the hell is your problem? Are you seriously gonna hate me forever just because I dated Andy four years ago? For the last time, I do not want him back!" Almost as an afterthought, she adds, "Besides, I'm dating Tom now."
"Don't remind me," April scoffs. She doesn't make eye contact once, instead choosing to stare down at her hands and chip away at the paint on her fingernails as she speaks. "I don't hate you because you dated Andy. I hate you because you're boring and you're everywhere."
"I'm not boring," says Ann. She's not sure what April means by saying that she's everywhere, but she's convinced it's nothing good, which just pisses her off further. "I was trying to be nice; I didn't want Donna to tackle you like that time she thought Leslie shot her car."
April manages to cleanly peel off half a nail's worth of polish at once. "Well, stop looking out for me. It's annoying."
"You're annoying." Ann barely registers how childish and indignant she sounds, she's too busy actually feeling childish and indignant. "And rude."
"And you're boring."
"Stop saying that!"
"Why? It's true."
Ann fumes. Silently. It may not be very effective, but as she hovers over April with both hands at her hips, she imagines that her own narrow gaze is just as deadly as the other girl's, and shoots it out with such force and determination that it's astounding when April doesn't physically feel it. "Fine," she says abruptly, moments later. April spares a single curious glance up from the tub, as if to say, Oh, you're still here?
Yeah, responds Ann. Yeah, I'm still here. Her hands fall below her waist and she begins to furiously untie the drawstring on her pajama pants; her sweatshirt is unceremoniously tossed into the tiny pile not a second later. Soon she's letting herself fall into the tub with a splash and relishing her victory, which is evident in the half-amused, mostly-confused expression on April's face. "Happy now?" demands Ann. "I broke a rule."
April doesn't miss a beat. "Ew, you're half-naked"
This time, it's Ann who rolls her eyes. "Oh, gross, watch out or you'll catch my cooties! Newsflash, smart-ass: so are you."
"I was here first."
"Deal with it." Ann has to suppress the grin fighting its way to her lips as she closes her eyes and leans into the tub, her head coming to rest just above the water. She keeps that position for a moment or two, relieved to finally find some sense of peace tonight, even if it had to come in the form of satisfaction over having won an immature spat with April over her alleged boringness. She'll take it.
Unfortunately, her winner's satisfaction is premature: after a few minutes, April decides that she's had enough quiet and retaliates by positioning her feet dangerously close to Ann's face and kicking at the water. Hard. The result is a sputtering Ann, gasping for breath as she tries to cough the water out of her lungs.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" she shouts, forgetting herself. When she looks up, she finds April calmly staring back from across the tub, looking incredibly pleased with herself. Without a second thought, Ann uses both arms to spike the water's surface as if it were a volleyball, sending a heavy splosh in April's direction. April powers through a coughing fit to backhand a stead spray directly into Ann's eyes, and Ann forgoes all efforts to be creative, opting for whichever move will most quickly and effectively make it rain on her opponent. After a few more rounds of this, April realizes that she can duck underwater to avoid being splashed, and when she comes back up for air, she spits a spout out water into Ann's face.
"Oh, okay, that's gross!" Ann cries.
"Why? I'm not the one who probably has herpes."
"I do not have h—" Before Ann can finish denying that she has any sexually transmitted diseases, the loud sound of a door carelessly slammed finds its way to the tub deck, effectively silencing both women. If translated into words, April's expression would clearly read: Oh shit! Ann's would emphatically concur. "Stay calm," whispers Ann.
"Stay quiet," April shoots back. They don't get a chance to do either: Donna's voice booms from around the porch, demanding to know what the hell is going on out here, and within the blink of an eye April has already liberated herself from the hot tub and is running across the deck for cover. Ann immediately climbs out and chases after April; they both leap behind a rosebush on the far end of the driveway, where it's dark enough to remain unseen. Hopefully. To make matters worse, Ann stubs her toe on a loose pebble just before they reach the bush and topples over, graceless crashing down on top of April.
April heaves. "I think you just collapsed my lung. Get off of me!"
"Shut up," hisses Ann. They both fall silent, just two half-naked, soaked young women lying on top of each other behind a bush as they wait for the telltale sounds that indicate when Donna has gone back inside. April's breath hits directly over Ann's collarbone, and Ann blames any involuntary reaction to that sensation on the fact that it's the only warmth she has to focus on, the rest of her goose-fleshed and freezing. Meanwhile, April lies flat on her back, more than one fallen twig digging uncomfortably into her skin, and tries to focus on everything that she finds annoying about this situation as opposed to acknowledging how shallow her breathing has become. Then Ann shifts, adopting what looks like a standard push-up position so that she's no longer crushing April, and April, who if forced to answer for her actions here tonight would remind the jury of the amount of bottles now missing from the Meagle liquor cabinet, claps both of her palms to Ann's face and pulls her down until their lips meet.
Every muscle in Ann's body tenses then, her eyes wide open in shock, and then her brain ceases all function. And finding herself free of the need to think everything over, however momentarily, Ann relaxes into the kiss, leaning closer to April. She breathes in, sharp, long, and heavy, and releases it in a slow gust when lightly biting at April's bottom lip. April tucks her hand into Ann's hair, pulling her head back and then rolling over until their positions are reversed and she's the one doing the straddling. Distantly, they hear a sliding door roll shut. April exhales.
The next thing Ann knows, she's covered in dirt and leaves watching April's retreating figure — head dipped low, arms crossed over her chest — darting quickly back into the house.