Lars had been gone for a week.
He wasn't sleeping in his office anymore, and he hadn't showed up for work either. Leela tried to tell herself this was a good thing, given Dr Cahill's eagerness to get him into what she called "a really good facility", but she was starting to think that might not be such a bad idea after all. At least in the nuthouse she'd know where he was.
Then again, maybe Cahill had tipped him off. Maybe she was hiding him from her. That's possible, right? The doctor certainly had no love for Leela. And she had pretty much admitted to being in love with Lars herself. She might be pouring poison into his ears even now, trying to steal him away . . .
No, Leela told herself. That's your paranoia talking.
She could have called the NNYPD after 24 hours and reported him missing, but they'd see through it in a heartbeat. Leela knew her husband wasn't really missing, just avoiding her. He'd been sneaking in to eat and shower while she was at work, until she had stopped going out completely and taken up position by the front door, living on Slurm and instant coffee as she watched the street. Lars hadn't come near the place after that.
The longer he stayed away, the more the fight drained out of her. She comfort-ate disgusting quantities of pizza and ice-cream and burned them off relentlessly pacing the floor. She organized Lars's shirts by color and thread count and then threw them against the wall in a fit of anger. She stared out at the blank empty street from the blank empty house until night fell, and presented her with a blank empty bed.
It was almost impossible to sleep in that, so Leela wasn't surprised to wake up on the couch one day and find it dark already. The last thing she remembered was watching Linda and Morbo on the midday news. Her neck was bent at an angle, her stomach was growling, and to cap it all off there was a weird metallic taste in her mouth. Still, she felt better for the rest, and she couldn't deny she'd needed it. The cyclops forced herself up, grumbling. Food. That was a good idea. And maybe a Slurm to wash it down.
As she stood up her jacket slid off her and her boot caught on something snagged in the rug. She skidded and almost went flying, regaining her balance at the last possible second.
Fry's stupid toy, she realized, bending down to pick it up. She must have knocked it out of her coat pocket as she slept. Leela had always been a restless sleeper. She threw the cube onto the coffee table, yawning, and made her way to the kitchen. Once she had a frozen meal revolving in the microwave, she began to root through the fridge. No Slurm, she thought, shivering in the cool air . . . and then she froze. It had been chilly on the couch, sure, but before she fell asleep, she'd just been watching tv. She could have turned on the heat with a word if she'd wanted. It made no sense to go get her jacket.
The microwave dinged, but Leela ignored it. She hadn't got her jacket – someone had gotten it for her. Someone who thought she looked cold.
Lars was here.
She crept forward, nerves jangling . . . and there he was, straightening the cushions on the couch. The sight was so ridiculously ordinary she almost laughed.
Her heart was hammering and she realized to her dismay that she had absolutely no idea what to say to him. But Lars spared her the bother. When he saw her he froze, wearing an expression the guilty, nervous twin of her own.
"Uh . . . hi."
Leela bristled, despite herself. "Hi? You've been missing for a week, and that's what you say to me?"
Lars rubbed his neck awkwardly. "It sounded better than 'Honey, I'm home'. Hi," he said again, like he was trying it out. "Yup. You know what I like about it? It covers all bases. No room for awkwardness. Like this. Hi." He gave her a little wave, smiling uncomfortably.
Leela stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head. When Lars was nervous he tended to talk a lot, cramming words into the silence like he needed a distraction. He usually let her do all the talking in company, to disguise this, but it was a habit that was harder to cover up when it was just the two of them.
"I think you just managed to make it awkward," she informed him – but gently. She had just got Lars back, she didn't want to scare him off again.
Lars grimaced. "I guess I did. Sorry." He sighed. "We need to talk, Leela. But first you should eat. You need to look after yourself better. You didn't even have lunch today."
"I was – hey, wait a minute. How do you know I didn't have lunch? Have you been spying on me?"
Lars raised his hands to pacify her. "No! Only a little. Just this afternoon. But I knew you'd be okay. I told Nibbler to look after you."
"He's a foot high."
"Well, yeah," Lars conceded, "but most of that foot is stomach. And speaking of, you should really eat something. I don't want you to face this on an empty stomach. You might go into shock or something, I don't know."
You're leaving me. The thought was like a punch in the guts, but what else could he mean? Leela nodded numbly and crossed to the kitchen. She returned a moment later and stood in the doorway, forcing down mouthfuls of lasagne as she studied her husband's face, searching for a hint he'd forgiven her, a suggestion he was angry with her . .. anything. She couldn't really see either. Mainly she was just picking up anxiety, which didn't make a whole lot of sense.
As she ate, Lars picked up the cube and began to toy with it. His fingers tugged at the little colored squares, but he looked a million miles away. Red, blue, white . . . as the sides took shape, Leela pushed a wad of pasta to the side of her mouth and risked a question.
"How did you do that?"
"Huh?" Lars blinked. He looked down. "What, this? It's just a Rubik's cube. I had one as a kid."
"Huh." Leela swallowed. "What does it do?"
"Nothing. Aside from this, I mean. It's just a toy. You never had them in the Orphanarium?"
"I've never even seen one," Leela admitted.
"Oh." Lars flicked a red square over. "Everyone had them when I was a kid. Must have been an Eighties thing."
Leela frowned, watching his brow furrow in concentration.
"You were a kid in the 2980's?" she said, confused. "You're not that young."
Lars froze, his fingers fumbling for the next square. He turned away quickly, but it was too late – Leela had already seen the look on his face.
She knew that look.
She did. She'd seen it a thousand times. It was Fry's look, the one that meant 'oh crap'. By now, she'd seen it so many times, she could practically read his thoughts through it. (They went something like this : Oh crap, what do I say? Lie. No, don't lie! You're not smart enough to think of a good one, and she's looking at you now. She's onto you! Tell her something! Like . . . a lie? Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap . . . .) Fry wore that look when he'd forgotten to top up the fuel tank and they were drifting in hyperspace. He wore it when Bender had something stashed at the apartment and he'd only just figured out it was illegal. That look was as much Fry as the Slurm cans and the slouching. Hell, it was No. 17 on Leela's List.
And Lars was wearing it.
Her mouth was hanging open.
"But," she stuttered. "But . . ."
Her husband's eyes darted towards her again. "Oh," he said. "Crap."
She knew that too. The way he avoided looking at her, like a naughty child, when he was feeling guilty over something. The crooked little bump on his nose. The way he chewed his bottom lip when he was annoyed. The way he babbles when he's nervous.
The more she looked, the more she could see.
"Oh my . . but . . how? I don't . . . how?"
Even Leela wasn't sure if she was asking how her husband had turned into Fry, or how she hadn't noticed.
Not-Lars-After-All held up his hands defensively. "I can explain."
"You're Fry."
"I was going to tell you . . ."
"You're Fry."
"I'm really sorry."
"To hell with your sorrys!" Leela hurled her fork at the imposter's head. He gulped, and ducked just in time.
"Leela, I can exp-"
The only weapon she had left was her plate, but Leela saw no reason not to throw that too. So she did.
"What have you done with Lars? What did you do to my husband?"
The man who looked like her husband sighed, wiping tomato sauce off his forehead.
"Nothing," he said tiredly. "I'm right here. Leela . . . I am Lars. You married me."
"No."
Lars groaned. "You don't believe me?" He sighed. "Okay, I guess I deserve that. But what can I say to convince you?" He scratched his cheek, thinking. "You like your eggs sunny side up. You let Nibbler sleep in the bed when I'm not here. You never got your pilot's license. You spent your whole life looking for your parents, but now you've found them and sometimes you still feel like you're looking for something. You told me that, remember? And I said I felt like that too, until-"
"Until you married me." Leela's mouth had gone dry. "Lars?" she whispered.
Her husband smiled nervously, and gave her that little wave again. "Hi."
"But . . . but . . . then, you're not Fry," she said, confused.
Lars grimaced. "I was." He hesitated and then took her hand with one of his own, the other coming up to cup her cheek. "Do you remember the first Xmas we ever spent together?" he said softly. "I got you that stupid parrot, and you saved my life, remember?" He smiled. "I was lonely, and you were lonely, but together, we were . . ."
"Lonely together." Leela finished the sentence automatically. "I remember," she whispered.
If she closed her eyes she could still see Fry standing in a boarded-up street, his hand in hers. Santa was about to blow them to smithereens, Fry was babbling about not seeing it coming . . . and then he'd looked up, and his face had changed. "Hey," he'd said. "We're under the mistletoe." And Leela had suddenly felt that if she was about to die, there were worse ways to go than kissing Fry.
Leela felt her face grow hot, and she yanked her hand away.
"You lied to me," she said hotly. "It was all a lie! Were you ever really Lars? How could you do this to me?"
"I didn't! I'm not Fry anymore," her husband protested. "I'm Lars. I'm still the same person you married. I just used to be someone else, that's all. Think of it like . .. oh, I don't know. Plastic surgery or something."
"This isn't even remotely the same thing," Leela retorted. "You haven't changed inside! You even-"
She touched her cheek, shaking her head. Fry had cupped her cheek just like that, when he'd told her he loved her. It was the same hand. He was the same person.
"I have changed," Lars argued, but Leela wasn't listening.
"This is just too weird," she muttered.
Lars at least had the decency to look guilty. "I know," he said, "and I'm really sorry, Leela. I never wanted to hurt you, but -"
"But you married me anyway," Leela snapped. She pushed him away, furious.
Lars stumbled. When he regained his balance, he held up his hands in defeat. "I guess I deserve that too. I'll . . . I'll leave you alone."
Leela folded her arms. "Yes. You do that," she said shortly.
Lars nodded. He made to leave, but hesitated at the door.
"I wanted you to be happy," he said sadly. "That's all I ever wanted."
Leela watched him go, stony-faced. Her head was spinning, and the room was spinning too, no matter how much air she tried to gasp down. She lurched to the sink just in time to avoid getting sick on her shoes. When her stomach was empty again she swilled her mouth out with water and sank to the floor.
"Nibbler?"
"Here," her pet said solemnly. He climbed into her lap, a warm familiar weight, and submitted to her stroking without protest. Gradually the dizziness subsided and the cyclops began to feel something like herself again.
". . . shock," Nibbler was saying. "To be expected . . ."
Leela nodded numbly and scratched him behind the ears. Her pet's antenna eye was twitching distractedly, almost as if he was scanning her. Then again, maybe he was just trying to sniff out a treat.
He cleared his throat warily. "Ah . . . Leela? Are you aware-"
But Leela wasn't listening.
"Did you know?"she interrupted. She'd just had a thought."Nibbler, you said something was wrong. You tried to tell me, weeks ago. I remember. Something wrong in the universe, you said . . ."
Nibbler wriggled uncomfortably in her lap. "No," he said glumly. "Would that I had known. As it is . . . two versions of Philip J Fry . . . one must be a duplicate. An unintended consequence of time-travel, most likely. There is much to consider here."
"Uh-huh." Leela dragged herself back to the couch, still cradling Nibbler in one arm.
They'd betrayed her, both of them. Fry and Lars. They were the same person. She hadn't yet got to caring about how, if she was honest - but that seemed to be Nibbler's main concern. The cyclops couldn't help but find this a little annoying.
"He lied to me," she reminded him. "If I wasn't so tired I'd kick his ass. Both his asses!" She groaned. "I need a drink. I can't get my head around this sober."
"You need rest," Nibbler corrected her. "I have been distracted. I should have been paying more attention, should have watched you more closely. You are human, after all. Have I learned nothing of your species? I was foolish. I should have been more observant, I should have-"
Leela yawned. "You should have a drink."
"No,"Nibbler said sharply.
He gripped her coat in his teeth, tugging it up to her chin, and then sat down square on her stomach, hindering her from getting up. When Leela tried to shake him off, he nipped her gently on the wrist.
"Rest."
Leela frowned. "I'm fine," she insisted. How could she possibly rest with this on her mind?
But she was tired. Nibbler was right – she hadn't been looking after herself.
"I might have a touch of the flu," she admitted grudgingly. "But I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself."
She tickled Nibbler under the chin, one of his favorite spots, and let his rhythmic breathing soothe her to sleep.
When she began to snore, her pet opened one eye, and cautiously rolled onto his back. Leela's arm tightened on him unconsciously, and he sighed.
The human female sought reassurance and stability, even in her sleep. Nibbler was used to this - just as he was used to being misappropriated as a source of comfort. It was the Mighty One she truly longed for, but Leela would rather ignore the evidence of all her senses than admit to it. In unguarded moments, even her own body betrayed her, but still she would not see it, and he would not believe it . . .
If he had not been sworn not to interfere, Nibbler might have knocked their heads together. Humans. When he had been assigned to stand watch over the Mighty One, he had been informed that there were only two things he must keep in mind when dealing with humans. First, that they were more stupid than could generally be believed. And second, as Fiona had pityingly informed him ; "They are more stupid when it comes to mating than you can possibly imagine." It was true. There were precious few situations a human would not consider appropriate to mate in, as The Mighty One had proved in the Roswell incident. Over the intervening years, the rest of the crew had only served to further support this theory. (The Martian girl in particular.)
But the most staggering proof of their stupidity was that for a species so obsessed with sex, they frequently managed to forget what it was all for.
Nibbler chittered nervously. This was not going to end well.