Any other day, Mayfield would've loved to listen to Kif's war stories, on both the battlefield and behind the lines.
Though the planned greetings went off without worries, he couldn't help but bleed nerves as his 'client' and her date boarded her hoversine. For the 'tough guy' who'd seen it all, he just couldn't sit still, as the sparkling starlit skies, bright lights, and taste of finer things swirled in his head… Amy had to keep signalling across, out of Kif's eyesight, for him to focus.
At least already lukewarm receptions grew cooler; he stuck to his script and gave those grunts and "shut-ups", making his disdain rather clear. Made the green one stop cold—his head was buried in his hands by the time they arrived at Elzar's.
Besides acting like an asshole, Mayfield had been far too worried of failure to leave anything to chance. Not helping matters was the glance towards the restaurant's weekly special… Five-Finger Filet Mignon. Couldn't help but really knock his knees hard, enough for Amy to hiss in his ear.
Of all the places to go, it had to be the one serving the rarest 'cuts' of meat…
Left his hands deep in pitch-black pockets, as Amy asked for their reservation. While they got led to the table, he noticed the slews of diners wining and yukking it up; highly-esteemed sorts from the Mayor and his wife, to those you'd expect more at a gas n' greasy spoon than gourmet eatery.
Noticed all the framed photography, large chequered tables and leather-padded seats; to his complete surprise, he even found the back of that world-famous TV chef, handing out some menus. That, among most other things, had him shut his eyes as they sat down.
"Get the hint, get in the zone, get it together, and get it done… Get the hint, get in the zone, get it together, and get it done…"
The mantra led Amy and Kif to exchange uncomfortable side-eyes, and only Amy's whispered shout of "Hey!" snapped him out of it. For Elzar stood at their table, curious or contemptuous towards the stranger upon fixing eyes.
Poor Mayfield had to stuff a fist inside his mouth; His Highness of haute cuisine looked to cross multiple arms, wore an odd-fitting chef's jacket, had grape jelly in place of skin, and wore a head to feature a piggish snout and hi-topped haircut. A humble façade to drop, in the moments of being looked over.
"Hello folks, how we doing this evening? Looking exquisite tonight, I must say! And to treat this bum to a hot meal, might I say, BAM!"
A small head-shake to re-focus: "Speaking of bums, who's the one crapping on, pal? Now you gonna feed us your big mouth, or help us order some food?"
"Taurean meat pie was last week, but believe me, I can help you order. Leg of salmon, Jamaican Jerk Platter, our classic Fish n' Chimps, and of course"—his fingers made a kissing sound—"the Neptunian Burger. I'd take them all as recommendations… They've got amazing profit margins, and they taste fine too."
"Jamaican Jerk Platter it is thanks; that must be your specialty. And if I taste spit in there, I'll shove those four arms up your arse and make you my puppet."
"Okay then… And what can I get the lovely couple?"
Amy was immediate in picking the garden salad, but poor Kif kept poring over the menu, sweats and stammers for his first outside experience in years. SO many options here, but of course, the 'detail' got impatient…
"Listen green skin, I get the worst of moods when I'm starving, so hurry up already!"
"Oh odds and bodkins… J-J-Just surprise me, I can't decide."
Mayfield slid a little closer to Amy, before he cradled his chin and gave a derisive look.
"Oh what a brilliant move, squishy… You realise he's just gonna stick the most expensive thing on YOUR bill, right?"
"Oh jeez! I didn't even think of that… And I thought we agreed to split it!"
"Please… You're her sweetheart, aren't you? Last time I checked, this was a date. Just hope you hit the ATM before you came here."
Kif could only sigh, stare around and mutter for why he agreed to take Mayfield along; such precious magic moments had already begun to snowball courtesy of her obnoxious guard.
For Mayfield, another distraction, another chance to slide until he got about a foot or two away. For Kif over time, chances to strike up and have his conversations. Couldn't help but think that Mayfield had been discarding him on purpose, but didn't dwell for long as the scents of food began to waft about.
Moments later, their dinners had arrived.
For Mayfield, chicken wings, medium steaks and sticky pork ribs, mixed and rubbed in a marinade to leave flecks of spit on his lips. Amy's salad of greens, tomatoes and vegetables, an oldie but goodie. And for that lime-flavoured sucker, both the Big Kahuna and short stick…
A double extra-large King Crab; crown of actual, edible gold, and its body and pincers stretching beyond the table-wide plate it could've sat on. To watch Elzar's need two waiters just to set it down, Mayfield could only groan, unsure whether to mock or show mercy towards the would-be General.
From what Amy advised him, Elzar's had an established reputation for overpricing everything. King Crabs were already rare in his time, and thus expensive, so Mayfield could only dread for and pray towards Kif's bank account tonight.
"Well everybody? To borrow an old phrase… Two four six eight, dig in, don't wait."
For his money or otherwise, Mayfield could guarantee that, unlike Zapp, Elzar had absolute proof behind his arrogance. Upon nibbling the wings, all he knew was tender, juicy explosions of flavour, a New Year's parade of sorts inside his mouth.
Glad he kept his aviators on, for not only did it hide that immense pleasure, but also allowed him to peek over at Kif. For an alien who'd generously be half his size, the way he ripped apart those crab legs, leaving not even a moist slither of meat, left him rubbing his skull.
"Good grief, and I thought I had an appetite… They really starve them THAT bad in Zapp's military?"
No time to ponder about Kif's fortunes, for he had taken a break to begin a conversation.
"So, uhm… You know I've…" He had to sigh. "Don't mean to be rude but, how do you earn your keep, Mr. Mayfield?"
"Can the mister, green skin. As for me, I'm Ms. Wong's security detail, and an occasional mercenary and bounty hunter. Not the safest living, but a lucrative one."
"Strange, I saw you seated at that gala… Weren't you the Planet Express delivery boy?"
"Everyone thinks that, everyone hears the same, that's why it's the perfect cover. And Army or no, you'd do well to keep that under wraps."
"So you help her deliver all those packages, yet your true role's to protect her?"
"You're a credit to your species… But yes, lots of practice making sure that no thief, monster or disaster puts her in harm's way. If you're lucky, it just takes pieces of you. In fact, even against a fourth lieutenant, I'd argue that I fight for, protect, and serve her better than you do."
"I'm sorry, but I'll have you know that I'm second only to our Presidents and Brannigan in—"
"On paper, you are. For what I've seen though, could've fooled me. Zapp's personal wine steward, his 'assistant' to be nice about it, and hell, I saw nothing of you back at Chapek-9…"
"That's not true, and you—"
"Oh yeah, Zapp made quite a scene about you. Didn't hear much, but your incompetence and disobedience really stuck out to me. That's rather quite pathetic; had I led the army, you'd have got your marching orders pronto."
Such a statement had Kif ready to rise and protest his piece, but as he found himself camouflaging from nerves, he sat down quicker than he stood. Knew those words described Zapp over him, but his General had always made the loudest noise in saying otherwise.
In red-faced resentment, he just snatched Elzar's check without saying anything, before he quivered and palmed his face. A several thousand dollar figure, two-thirds alone from the crab, had struck out, and he knew how often Zapp took any opportunity to keep his assistant by his side.
That under oaths of 'Brannigan's Law' he couldn't tell anybody—not even Amy—of the punishments he'd suffer, mostly due to the General's mistakes. Always corrupt power trips to keep him from affording these R&Rs…
Any other creature might've already been court-martialled, but Kif simply asked to be excused as he trudged to the bathroom, tears evident in his eyes. Behind his back, Mayfield could only deflate & crumple, the act gutting him to the point that Amy had to slide HIS way.
"Now's our chance, Thomas… How 'bout we make things a little steamy in here?"
"Ohhh, I don't know Amy. Just when I thought that poor bastard's suffered enough… Why make it worse?"
"Because he'll die under that bloated boor instead of under me, and I'll NEVER let that happen. I get the cold feet, I get the sympathies, but now you gotta work with me."
After a quick breath spray, and a chance to see the lust grow in her eyes & lips, Mayfield found himself caught in an unknown whirlwind of passion. Natural pro to utter rookie; she caressed his shoulder and chest, he rubbed and patted her hand. She leaned in and nuzzled against his cheek, he almost gave a headbutt from leaning too fast.
"Oh shit, I'm so sorry!"
Then came the kisses, where his bad lip timing, wide-open eyes for fears of missing, and lack of variation had left the young lady quite disappointed. Danger signs grew apparent when she began to unbutton his clothes, right as Kif looked to return. Spotting him from several feet away, Mayfield panicked, gripped her dress and ripped it down; the anger and surprise gave him precious seconds to lay her to the booth.
For every pretend kiss and irritated moan of that so-called session, his 'attempt' at seduction had suckered the Fourth Lieutenant in. And if his vicious scowl, ugly eyes and threatening point meant anything…
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I believe, my lime-jellied lackey, that I'm taking over now. Now how 'bout you be yourself, be the egg, and roll over easy?"
"I can't believe this… All those years I wanted R&R, all the hours I counted to this moment, and YOU'RE the one enjoying her lips?!"
"About right, sunshine. Why, was I supposed to believe different, seeing the servile little toad she used to be with?"
"You even tore her dress, you… Last time sir, take your hands off my girlfriend."
"Gimme a good reason to fight, and I'll take it." Mayfield then ripped off his jacket & shirt, his muscles glistening and grin scornful as Kif stared in horror. "Darling, if this dead-set dropkick lies squished in the alleyway, be a dear and vacuum him up."
Following a simple grunt of "after you", both Mayfield and a fuming Kif left out the back. Reaching a most private alley, Kif arguing the whole way, the kid had gloved up and laid in a dirty rabbit punch, leaving him to eat concrete and loose brick.
"Hey, that's hardly sporting!"
"You of all folks should know that life isn't. So, you just gonna lay there?"
Amidst the sounds of yowling cats, they faced each other, nothing but scattered bins and gungy brick walls the only sights now. As Kif took an awkward stance, Mayfield just rolled his eyes.
"Gods give me strength… That's how you plan to win back her hand is it?"
Kif began to back off. "Maybe I'd been a bit too angry… Could we instead discuss this like gentlemen?"
Mayfield closed the distance, and delivered a quick boot to the stomach: "Word of advice, Kif. You can put the 'gentle' in gentleman all you like, but you won't be a man. This city will stomp down creatures like you, long before you get there. Now get up!"
Having done so, Kif got offered a free shot; when he whiffed it, he saw his arm ripped forward, a grab that had him tripped up and kicked again for good measure.
"Fourth Lieutenant, my aching arse… Step it up son, I'm barely sweating here!"
A weak blow to the chin, one Mayfield shrugged off before he grabbed the wrist and yanked down. Having such weight, the force sent Kif smacking his gelatinous face right into the concrete.
"Good Lords man, why do you give me this limp-wristed garbage? No wonder the General speaks so low of you, you believe you DESERVE to be his wine steward, let alone his deputy commander? Maybe you oughta be grateful that he has you paint his nudes, shave his armpits… Scrub his privates."
His secrets out in the open, Kif could only camouflage again: "How do you know of those secret shames? Have you any idea how long I've tried blocking such memories?"
"I've been there squeeze tube, trust and believe that such blocks got me nowhere. How do I know, you ask? In simple terms I'm your life, and so help me, I'm gonna slap you, screw you good, scream at you, and have you serve my every whim. After all, that's all you'll ever be good for."
"Please, just stop already. I hate this…"
"I don't give a FUCK, green skin. Hate me or not, I go on undeterred. And while you wallow in your pathetic misery, I'll keep leaving you behind. I've no time for anybody who refuses to spend any time of every day working towards everything they wanted, deserved, or felt due to them."
The green alien could only stammer as Mayfield squatted over, and got to slapping his face.
"But why do I bother… I speak to one who has no will, no heart, no head and no spine."
"Actually, I lack a spine. I'm supported by a system of fluid-filled bladders…"
"Shut your mouth! Now make a choice, squishy. Take everything that's yours now, starting today, or BE taken for everything you have. You wanna play the role you were meant to play, or the extra you KNOW you're not?"
Finishing the sentence, the barrage just continued; cutting words, constant strikes, personal insults and worse. 'Facts' that Zapp was the better hero over Kif, 'facts' that Captain Leela knew how much he was Brannigan's bitch, and 'facts' that Amy knew, even lamented, how far he had fallen.
As Mayfield left him there, squatting over his messed body, he spat aside and shook his head. Lots of green spatter over his glove and bare chest.
"Ah, what the hell's the use? Doubt you'll ever save Amy, or even save Earth, if you can't even save yourself…"
The kid stood to dust off and head back inside, but as he turned his back, that was the moment Kif began to get a particular set of eyes. Not pulsing out of anger, nor bereft from sadness, nor even shunned by embarrassment. Rather, they were bloodless, lifeless…
Kif struggled to his feet, wiping as much of himself off as he could, before he called out and left the kid standing still.
"Hey, Mayfield… Catch."
A rather nasty looking towel from a nearby dumpster, but Mayfield got the message.
"A damn shame, but so be it. I'll call my client so she can clean you up."
A few seconds until Kif got face-to-face: "Save the number for the ambulance, and that towel for me."
Before the kid could even comprehend the words, Kif's head had cracked his own. For a creature without bones or muscles to speak of, it carried the force of an iron-gloved heavyweight, one to leave a good gash as Mayfield crashed to the ground.
Going "What the fuck?" as blood oozed from his forehead, Mayfield saw Kif just beckon him forward, no sign of any emotion. The combos that once left the green one sprawling, were now dodged with almost unnatural ease, before a combo of his own sent Mayfield off his feet and into the bins.
Kif then stretched his arms to pepper him full of outside strikes, where even for sacrificing power they still stung like hammers. Fast running out of ideas, Mayfield grabbed a bin lid in desperation, attempts to defend himself before charging forward, hoping to bash his face in.
Following the Fourth Lieutenant's simple efforts to side-step and slap him about more, Mayfield threatened to call the police. Kif, far from standing down, had refused to let up.
"You're welcome to try, but who will they believe between you and me?"
For all the numbers he slapped, Mayfield never saw Kif scale the brick walls, leaving him alone and confused. Didn't have any idea, until he looked up to find a flying boot crashing into the middle of his face.
Even for Mayfield throwing in the towel, the entire decade of pent-up rage had flooded too far to be contained. By the time Kif took some deep, shaking breaths to try and calm down, he'd left Mayfield sobbing amid a laundry list of injuries; a broken, bleeding face chief among them. Such focus given towards grievous harm, that Kif had never seen Amy sneak out and witness the fight first-hand.
That's what he didn't know; far from dialling the police, Mayfield had placed repeated calls to Amy's phone. What he was finding out now, was his girlfriend seeing his new side, feeling her lust go into overdrive.
"Whoa, Kiffy… Since when were you such a fighter?"
"Oh jeez, you SAW that? I-I-I don't know what that was, I just saw Zapp in front of me. My mind just snapped, everything just burst forth…" He stared over at her 'guard', palm over his mouth. "What have I done?"
Amy had the half-bitten lips again. "You've proven a great deal manlier than I've EVER seen from you, that's what you've done Mr. Kroker… How 'bout some coffee, perhaps from my special kettle?"
"Well I guess a hot drink wouldn't, oh… Oh my."
As the exact meaning dawned over him, his face began to crack into an ear-splitting grin. Satisfaction for winning the fight aside, he could've exploded in joy as Amy wrapped him arm-in-arm, and made for her hoversine. On behalf of her grabby 'guard', Amy called the ambulance, thinking Mayfield had been marinated and pasted enough already.
As she arrived home in her General's arms, as they shut everything and giggled beneath sheets, she knew that their plan, despite the screw-ups, surprise improv and nasty ass-whooping, had actually worked. Her and Thomas' parts were over, now there was only Bender's heist and Leela's dinner date to secure that required promotion.
A promotion that, against any conceivable logic after years of disasters, would face heavy opposition in the form of Zapp Brannigan.