Just one more fanfic to add to the library of The Sting episodes.
Leela's POV
You just need to wake up.
"Leela," a familiar voice gasped. It was slow yet surprised, familiar but different, smooth to me, but a choking, gravely sound to anyone else who happened to hear it. I looked around but saw nothing. I saw no one, but felt my heart drop.
I was transmuted into pastures of long, unconfined green grass at that moment, before I could so much as blink. The sky was azure with no cloud in sight and the modest breeze carried over the horizon made the grass flow as if it were mimicking an ocean rather than a field. I felt warm, like a bright noon sun was shining down on me, kissing my skin in the softest touch. But it seemed the sky was frozen in its place, moving, although more likely dripping, melting away. It was like a dream, I mean, nothing was this perfect in my life, not to mention there was almost no places like this in the future (maybe on other planets, but I don't remember landing on one recently). But a daydream, not even close to a dream, had ever been this clear, or remotely close. It was as if I was stuck in a picture, everything was so surreal. I couldn't really explain it. The further you looked, you would expect bushes and trees to blur into shapes, but no, at least, not in this universe, or planet, whatever this was. Instead, everything stayed the same. You could still see a bug flying whether it be inches in front of you, or miles, and it goes the same for the lines carved into a tree, which there were few in this meadow, but still, my point proven. It was magical. The setting sun looked like an orange fireball cascading into the ground, casting long purple shadows that stalked trees, but before I could pick up every detail, my legs cramped, and I realized was sitting, clutching my knees up to my chest. My purple hair was hanging down in front of my eye, no longer in the high ponytail I had kept it in, and my hands were grimy and sweaty. My breath was short, lungs begging for air, my muscles throbbing as if I had just ran a marathon and I was struggling to see, search for something-someone-I knew was there, like I was afraid until I saw him.
His red hair was spiked into the hair horn I've invariably loved and known, and his flaring green eyes were gleaming, the bouncing light of the sun reflecting off them. His skin was pale, though, very ashen and probably hinted anemic. That was the first thing that worried me. His jeans were ripped and frayed, and his no-longer-white shirt had stains of dirt smeared on it, while his signature red jacket lay over his shoulder. But when he dashed closer to me I released my knees and stood up, noticing stubble stemming along his jawline while his lips pulled back in a grin. Although his smile couldn't cover that he wasn't doing good, and the fear and angst that left me due to heartache and loneliness, was then replaced by remorse.
I had made him this way.
And then my stomach was churning. I could physically feel the blood pulsating through my veins. My legs gave out and I was on the ground again, my vision failing on me, screams echoing and bouncing inside my head due to pain, although I could not physically make any noise, so much as cry out, let Fry know I was happy to see him. I sucked in a breath through my clenched teeth, preparing myself for what was about to come, for I knew it would be big, then over. I couldn't think straight. My stomach seized, cramped, wringing a cry from me before the feeling ceased into nothingness.
"Leela!" He sang out again, arms extended, the jacket riding the wind behind him before dropping to the forgiving ground. He didn't seem to catch the moment I was hurled over in pain, but I didn't care. My hands shook while I pushed them onto the dirt, forcing myself up, no longer in angst. I regained balance and blinked, peering at Fry, a feeling of warmth starting in my chest, threatening to burst.
Feet away from each other, I couldn't suppress my ecstasy and capered into his arms.
He was alive!
He caught me with ease and whirled me around blissfully, and as my feet touched the grass, his hands fell to my waist and our foreheads touched. He was heaving for air, but I didn't care the least bit as his teasing warm breath tickled my ears, his head buried in the crook of my neck as he spoke, voice still raspy. He embraced me into a tight hug swift and nimbly before I could smile, much less react with his mouth right by my ear, whispering something I couldn't make out before he gazed back at me longingly, our lips scarcely inches away. His eyes read me, peering down at me fondly in what seemed wonder, or something somewhere along the lines of that. But before I knew what he was searching for, Fry's face dropped into melancholy, and dejection for some reason.
"I'm so sorry," he said. His voice cracked somewhere in the course of the way.
"For what?" I breathed, incompetent to secrete the delight that dripped in my voice. I didn't think he had a cause to be sorry, for anything. I was the one who had nearly gotten him killed, so why would he be apologizing? He was alive! And that was all that mattered. Feeling responsible for his death was driving me mad.
"It should've been me," he started, breaking eye contact. He jerked his head away, arms cascading from me defenselessly. I made a move, a flinch, towards him, but a gentle voice inside my head told me otherwise.
I stood there, rendered speechlessly, mouth dry, heart pounding, confounded at his actions and words as he went on. I didn't have time to brace myself again for what was to come, much less understand.
"I wish I had died instead of her." (Familiar?)
"What?" I asked, thrusting out my hand and placing it on his arm. I spun him around and made him look at me, or at least try. His eyes were glazed over, colorless and unfocused, dead, it seemed; the humorous light had vanished from them. His lips were tugging downward into a depressed frown, and his stare seemed bore right through me. "Fry, I'm not-"
"I'm so sorry Leela," he gasped. "I tried, tried to save you but I couldn't." He fumbled over his words negligently and tears were now streaming incoherently down his cheeks. He sniffled repeatedly, shutting his eyes and recoiling at something before degrading into soft hiccups.
"It doesn't matter," I started. But my voice was so tiny, so insignificant compared to the steady pressure inside my chest. I raised his chin, but even inches apart with his eyes unsheltered and open, Fry's gaze wouldn't fall on mine.
"Why?" He abruptly asked, voice fuming convulsively. He turned his head away from me, and a second later aimed it to the perfect sky above. It didn't grow darker or get lighter in the time I wasn't paying attention. He was looking for something, maybe someone. Somehow in the back of my mind I knew the question wasn't directed at me, but still, that wasn't an excuse for the enragement in his voice.
"Why her?"
He was talking about me; the tight anger in his expression remained.
"Why not me?" He paused, swallowing hard, eyes narrowing. "My love, m-my life . . ."
I saw the fear dawn on his face, righteous anger surrender to fear. He crumbled to his knees, no longer bothering to hide or stop his fractious sobbing. It hurt me to see him like this, because again I knew I was the cause of his pain. I was the one to blame.
I let my legs go numb and fell beside him, for another reason despondency and woe striking me. Although trying to disdain the feeling, I seized the back of his head and felt my fingers run through his red hair desperately. I knew he could not feel me for some reason, but tried to get to him still.
"I'm here!" I cried, but my words fell on deaf ears. He was slipping away, not physically, but in another form.
I was absent, oblivious to him for some reason. "I'm here, Fry." I fell against his chest, still feverishly running my hands through his hair, obviously not caring that I was messing it up. Tears were withdrawing from my eye without my allowance, and that just made me cry more. "I'm here," I begged. My spirit broke and I swear I could hear it crack, just the same as my heart was doing at this very moment.
He still remained motionless, though, unconscious to the fact that I was now sobbing, physically powerless to stop, against him. He was just clenching and unclenching his fists, an abiding grimace stuck on his face as tears failed to stop racing down his cheeks. They splashed onto my forehead when I glanced up at him, but I didn't care. He was on his knees, doubtlessly willing himself to get up every now and again because I would feel his muscles shift, tightening and tensing randomly.
"I'll get to you, Leela."
I forced in a breath, still shaking uncontrollably against him.
"Somehow, some way, I promise," he said earnestly, wholeheartedly.
But I am here Fry! I thought. I'm right here, right against you . . .
And for the first time since I was transformed to the meadow, he hugged me, grasping me in his brawny arms, and I couldn't help but cry, brake even more. Because somehow, I knew this would be the last time I would see him, here, at least, again.
"I don't know if you can hear me, Leela, but there's something I want to tell you."
His words were slow and weighed carefully, true, and meaningly. I could hear when he paused to draw in breath, when his voice was on the verge of breaking, and when his chapped lips were meeting each other to form a word that meant the world to me.
"I can hear you, Fry," I moaned.
"I love you."
I felt him fall into me, grasping me tighter with each word.
"Just wake up Leela, please," he paused abruptly. "Just wake up," he begged. I was lost again. Wake up? Wasn't I awake? This . . . This was a dream, supposedly?
A flicker of hope sparked deep within me, only to be met with the sadness that controlled my mind.
"I don't understand, Fry!" I wailed helplessly.
"Just wake up," he said again.
Fry's POV
She just needs to wake up.
I hurtled into the room, not minding the glares that burned me as I shoved and thrust past doctors and patients. Some people tipped up their heads back, pinching their noses due to my stench more than likely. I hadn't showered in two weeks. Not that I cared, or even noticed realistically.
I forced my feet to stop in the doorway of the room.
The air was clean, the aroma covered with the smell of hand sanitizer, not like the perfume she wore, while a big window at the end of the room allowed sunlight to pour in, shining on her.
I just about had a heart attack right there.
There she was, the only thing, the only person, that I cared about.
My love. My life. Lying on the hospital bed, lingering, stuck, in a coma. I shuffled towards her, but at that moment my guard broke and I sunder to my knees, letting my hand melt into hers as I choked on my own breath. Her hand was cold, like it had been numb for hours. Now I of course don't know a lot about comas and life and stuff like that, but I know that her hand, being cold and all, wasn't a good thing. It was always warm, not hot and sweaty, but a nice warm, comforting, and good-smelling and soft due to her lotion, too. I liked her lotion, it made her smell like fresh picked flowers plucked from the most romantic place on Earth, maybe even in the universe, somehow in some way. Okay, more like oceans and honey, but still. And she'd always have smooth, soft skin that just made me melt whenever I brushed up against her.
I moaned in frustration and agony, taking her other hand in my own and squeezing it, helplessly trying to get the bloodflow back in it, back in her, so she could wake up. I longed for her to slap me away, scolding me for something that didn't make sense, like maybe holding her hand right now, but she didn't. She didn't wake up.
Wake up.
The air got all thick in a matter of seconds, like I was at the bottom of the ocean, the pressure only getting worse as I gaped at Leela.
She looked so peaceful, almost, well . . . dead.
You've got to stop thinking that way.
But she wasn't, thank God. The constant beeping of the machine next to her let me know she was still alive, her heart still beating, not tranquil. Her purple hair was down, tumbling over her shoulders uncombed and around her fragile frame. Her eye was closed, and although I couldn't see it, I could hear her sucking in breath after breath, steadily, serenely. Her stomach rose ever so slightly as tears made my vision hazy, obscured. I blinked them away. The rise and fall of her stomach was one of the last things telling me she was still alive.
"Leela," I said frantically, out of breath.
She didn't stir, she didn't take in breath any faster or slower than before, but remained the way she was. I tried to keep from breaking down at that second. So I stood still, taking her in, reflecting on what I could've done to avert this in order to distract myself.
It didn't work.
But she was alive, I was reminded by no one but a small voice in my head. And that was all that mattered right now. It seemed to just hit me, (not the first time) though, that she was okay with the deviation of the coma she was astray in. Once again I choked on my breath, this time because of ecstatic and bliss, but the air was not the reason, just my crappy lungs. The air became more forgiving, spacious, so that once again, I didn't have to struggle so much in order to breathe.
"Leela," I said again, pressing my voice to be felicitous and radiant for the sake of her. My throat burned and I couldn't hide that my voice was hoarse and giving up on me easily. I had been talking to her every chance I got, leading to a dry mouth every time I opened it, chapped, blood-dried lips, and a voice so raspy you'd think it was just gravel rubbing on sandpaper somehow. Sometimes it would just give out, and I would only have to hold onto Leela, wordlessly reassuring her everything would soon be fine.
I tried to see past the fact that she might never wake up, or she would and it would be too late, her memory gone. I tried to see past that and envision that she did wake up. I would hug the living crap out of her, and I'm sure she would do the same to me.
A thin smile crossed my lips.
We would embrace and I would kiss her and once again profound my immortal love for her. And then we would live happily ever after, working together, living together, and so on and so forth. We would be together, a couple, an actual thing.
"She's so great," I murmured, staring at her in awe. Even in this predicament she was truly amazing, beautiful. I didn't know if she was fighting for her life or it was up to me, but again, I looked past that, and focused on what we would have when she woke up. I knew she would be fine, I could see it now, her waking up and me grasping her in my arms. I touched her hand, melting due to the future I could see now.
I found myself nodding, grinning as my palms started to sweat at the mere thought of it, and I could tell my eyes were glittering dangerously, mind spinning due to the happy thoughts before it struck me.
If she woke up.
If, my mind repeated silently.
This was all my fault, all my fault, I realized for what seemed the hundredth time. I gulped, hoping, anticipating she wouldn't be mad at me if and when she woke up.
I realized finally that I would be okay if she refused to speak to me ever again if she woke up. It may drive me to suicide, but as long as she was awake and okay I would be too, in some sort of concept. It was my fault I hadn't stopped her, been smart enough to realize that bees all sting. I had not been able to fight it, I hadn't been able to save her.
"I'm so sorry," I said, my vocal cords giving out. I clung to her slacked hand, letting my head bow in indignity and my eyes close.
It should've been me.
I looked up at her conceivably before dropping my arms and head. My heart pounded through my ears. My whole body shook and trembled with each beat. It was again difficult to take in air.
"It should've been me," I admitted to everyone and no one but Leela. "I wish I had died instead of her." I blinked and looked up at her alluring face. So harmonious, so comely, so . . . still.
I made myself stop thinking by chewing the inside of my lower lip, welcoming the pain inflicted on me.
She wasn't dead yet but she might as well be.
I didn't bother to stop the whimpering that shook my body relentlessly. My now numb lower lip quavered, and my eyes would go in and out of focus arbitrary.
"I'm so sorry Leela," I said in between breaths. "I tried, tried to save you but I couldn't," I stammered, no longer daintily hiccuping and having my lungs control when I got to breathe. I jerked when the machine that signified life showed her heartbeat somehow get faster, causing the machine to grow louder, blaring to me, as it beeped hastily, then go back to normal pace again.
It all happened in a matter of seconds.
But it left my stomach in my toes, my heart in my throat, beating so hard that I wouldn't be all that surprised if it showed through my skin and bones like in the ancient cartoons back from my day. And then suddenly my agony was replaced with fury. Pure hatred towards no one in particular I could think of at the moment. I didn't want to think.
"Why?" I yelled, hurling my head up to the heavens. "Why her?" I demanded, my voice growing softer. People passing in the halls knew better than to stare. In the back of my mind I cussed myself out for not shutting the door. "Why not me? My love, m-my life . . ." I trailed off, then knowing who I was livid at.
Myself, once again.
I had let her get stung by the space bee. I was the one who didn't stop her when she brought it on the ship. I was the remissed and immature one, just as Leela had said so many times before.
I was deranged without her. She was my sanity, my stability, my rock.
Leela was suppose to be mine.
After many moments of attempting to cool myself off before succeeding, I allowed my mind to amble through my thoughts, feeling like I was the one sleeping now, like this was all a dream, anything but real.
It wasn't your fault.
I felt myself starting to sway back and forth, depending on Leela for what little balance I could muster otherwise.
Yes it was, a voice sneered. It was as if an angel and demon jumped off my shoulders and buried themselves deep in my head.
You tried to stop it, tried to save her.
My head was now empty, filled with nothing but air that made me feel light-headed, distantly focusing on Leela, but the rest of my mind going back to the voices.
But you didn't! And now she might never wake up because of you!
I placed my hands on my temples, feeling my face contort with the heartache and culpability that refused to leave me.
You got impaled, speared, trying to save her.
An expectant pause, a dangerous giddy feeling overtook me.
But you still didn't succeed! my mind bellowed. And now she might never wake up and it's all. Your. Fault.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my whirling mind. But that was of course, a mistake. I began coughing like I was about to hack out a lung, while the voices gave out and my eyes squeezed shut in pain.
Then I snapped out of it, finding my hands ball up into a fist with such exertion I thought my chewed nails would rip through my skin, leaving messed-up little, red, half-moon prints on my white palms. I felt hot, sticky tears fall onto my jeans, scored and shred because I tripped on the way here. I was running too fast. It had only been less than a day that I hadn't seen her, and I was losing my mind because of it. Stupid Bender, making me believe it would be best if I left her alone for a while. In the end he half-carried, half-dragged me to our apartment. It was too long to go without seeing Leela, so I had stumbled straight into dirt thinking about her while racing to the hospital, which does explain the mire and muck on my shirt I had only just noticed. My eyebrows were still knit together and my lips were wrenched back like I was in pain. I was on my knees, and every time I strived to stand, something told me to stop, so I implemented.
"I'll get to you, Leela," I vowed. "Somehow, some way, I promise," I said, sounding far more confident than I felt.
Willing myself to stand up seconds later, I finally did, and lunged for her her limp shoulders, not bothering to hide the tears racing down my cheeks. They landed on her forehead but it didn't faze her at all. In the back of my mind I wished it would. I felt my gaze grow fond as I cradled her, and while drawing her close, I acted like this would be the last time I'd see her, squeezing her due to love surging in my heart like there was no tomorrow. I immersed my head in the bend her neck and let my eyelids fall.
I could instinctively tell she could almost hold back her breath now, so if she wanted to stop breathing at any time, she truly could, which wasn't a good thing, no, not at all, because it meant she was almost finished, her brave heart almost done beating. And that terrified me.
Leela, Turanga Leela, Space Pilot, the girl who could stare danger right in the face and hiss some snarky remark. That's what she's known for, though, so it was weird watching her now, emotionless. I couldn't tell if she was scared or not, but if I was in her situation I'd be petrified. But that wasn't the Leela I had known, no, not even close. She was the brave, beautiful, space pilot who had always protected me.
And now it was my turn to protect her. I was positive I could, she had taught me so well. I would be the one to save her.
I just knew it. I didn't have a choice otherwise. I had to believe it.
I shut my eyes and favored the feel of her soft hair brushing up against my skin, soothing me from mad to calm.
"I don't know if you can hear me, Leela, but there's something I want to tell you." I said to her, my voice stifled as I spoke into her amethyst hair.
"I love you."
My voice was grating and sedated, but it was true, what I had said. I always have loved her, Leela, and I know I'll just never stop. No matter how many times she rejects me, or scolds me, no matter any of that, I would get stung a thousand times just to give her a fighting chance. I would redo anything and everything I ever did to make sure she would be okay, even if she wasn't with me and hated me. Because that's the kind of stuff you do when you're in love.
"Just wake up, Leela, please-" I was stopped, cut off by my throbbing heart. "Just wake up." I felt time was frozen, or moving faster, I was too enthralled in my love to notice or care. But she didn't quaver, or take in breath any faster, and her heart rate stayed the same.
No, no, no! my mind screamed.
"Just wake up," I said simply.
A/N: So this is my first fanfiction, hope you all liked it! This was obviously a twist to the episode The Sting (no big spoilers if you haven't seen it), but to be honest, I wouldn't mind all that much if this was one of her dreams. (Told you I'm not creative.) I tried to capture Fry and Leela's personalities, but neither of them cry that much. Apologies if there were any words I mispelled, or sentences that were just blah. It was really fun writing it and now I'm just rambling . . . sorry. Anyways, please review, constructive criticism helps, thanks! :D