"You and me, Leela! You and me!"
She was curled up on the couch with Lars, and Fry's words were eating away at the inside of her skull more effectively than any brain slug.
You and me.
That was the problem, wasn't it? Nothing had ever happened between them, but that wasn't the same as saying there hadn't been anything there. It just wasn't anything she'd been able to give a name to, and Fry was so . . . so . . . Fry. He was her closest friend, he was flattering, in a goofy way, and, well, her love life had never been much to boast about. It had been one big lull really, punctuated by a series of embarrassing encounters. She'd been starved of sex and romance, and Fry was male, after all. It wasn't so surprising that she'd flirted with the idea on occasion, that she'd had to squash certain . . . impulses. It was understandable. And of course, Fry was a boy, and a friend, and in hindsight, Leela might have allowed the line between boy friend and boyfriend to blur a little. She might have flirted. She might have nagged. She might have treated him like a surrogate boyfriend, when dating just seemed too much of a headache to face. But there had always been a line, hadn't there? She had never hesitated to shoot down his romantic aspirations, she had rarely intervened in his relationships . . . Okay, so she'd nagged and comforted and stopped just short of flirting at times, but she had never taken it any further. She'd been lonely and sex-starved and he would have been more than willing, but she'd never slept with him. She'd never taken advantage of his feelings for her. It wouldn't have been right. She had been looking for a serious relationship, not to fool around with some kid from the Stupid Ages – and as fond as she was of Fry, there was no denying what he was.
And then Lars had come along. If she could have dreamed herself a man, it would have been Lars. He was the man she'd been searching for her entire life, half-knowing that she'd never find him, that her standards were set too high. He was so perfect he might have been designed for her.
A half-flirtation with a friend didn't stand a chance against a real-life Mr Right.
So why – why – couldn't she pull away from it? She had thought that once she found love, the extras she'd attached to her relationship with Fry would disappear, and he would just be a friend again. But it hadn't quite worked out like that.
Lars shifted uncomfortably.
"Are you okay, Leela? You're awfully quiet."
"Hmm? Oh. Oh, I'm fine. Just replaying the mental image of you punching Zapp Brannigan in the face for me. I wish I'd seen it."
Leela pressed the ice-pack more firmly against his hand and kissed her husband's bruised knuckles. She felt him smile.
"Oh, I don't know. I think you had more effect – you practically scalped the guy! That was some particularly impressive flying, Mrs Filmore."
Leela forced a smile. "It was pretty . . . co-ordinated," she said guardedly.
Fry had kept quiet about his role as navigator, and while it wasn't exactly a secret, it somehow felt like one. It had been between the two of them, a moment of co-ordination so right he might as well have read her mind. It felt private and unnerving, something she was still trying to process. She and Fry had been so perfectly co-ordinated, and then, when it was over, so unco-ordinated, falling against each other in sloppy, ill-timed excitement. Being so close to him had left her unbalanced, after two years of distance.
Leela yawned hugely and closed her eye, feigning sleep to fend off further questions. Lars chuckled lightly and stroked her hair.
"Well, I'm just glad to have you back in one piece," he said softly.
Leela thought about Fry, the way her heart had ping-ponged in her chest as she breathed him in, and her face burned.