The chicken-shaped steak scraped at her already-sore throat, and she was too congested to get any good taste out of it. Or maybe Fry had fucked up the pan sauce. He was the only one bringing her food at all – the least he could do was make it fucking edible. She was already sick, she needed good nutrition.
It was funny, in a way, to slide back into that state of mind where her feelings for Fry didn't make sense and she was constantly upset to even acknowledge them. They'd been on such good terms for what felt like years now. Granted, it could've only been months, as far as Leela remembered. Every time she tried to figure out the timeline of their relationship, it just aggravated the pounding in her head.
He'd been making her meals for several days now, ever since her second day of quarantine. Because of course he would wait – someone probably had to remind him she was even here. The rest of the crew had forgotten about her easily enough, and Fry could barely remember to change his underwear half the time. He also left the milk out overnight multiple times (and asked her to smell it every time), and left his jacket on the floor (she could slip and break her fucking neck, if she didn't break his first), and ate half of the artisan donuts she bought for herself, as a treat, which she fucking deserved after putting up with the stress of living with him!
Still, it was better than getting food from DomeDash, who were always five minutes late – that had to be deliberate, right? Like they didn't think the sickies in quarantine deserved fresh food. Again, this wasn't her fucking fault. Just put the burger through the slot and quit judging, Glenrique!
And a part of Leela, buried somewhere deep beneath the fury, lit up a bit when she knew Fry was coming, because it reminded her there was something out there besides just her and her cruel, cruel thoughts. It just sucked that he always made her feel worse. Just hearing his stupid nasal voice and seeing his blank eyes and dimpled smile pissed her off now. Didn't it used to make her happy or something?
Why'd he put so much effort into a meal she was just going to tear apart anyway? Stupid cut chicken. Stupid thorny rose. Stupid mushy peas and carrots. Stupid annoying-to-untie cutlery. Why would he give her a knife right now anyway, knowing her state of mind?
She threw a pie back in his face to ensure he would leave sooner than later. Leela then realized, after Fry had already left, she hadn't actually tasted the pie. Maybe it would've tasted okay. Her intrusive thoughts doubted it, but now she'd never know.
She hurled a plate against the dome, shattering it into jagged shards. She'd never clean them up. There was no point.
