A / n : Woo, reviews! Thank you so much, guys!
Darknight Squire – As Bender would say : Dooooooomed! And he is gonna come clean about being Fry in the end, but only when he has to. Remember as far as he's concerned, Leela could never love Fry, no matter what he did. Twelve years extra maturity might have meant as little to her as everything else he did, if she'd known it was Fry that had done it. Also, he wasn't expecting that Fry would turn up again at his memorial. Telling her he is Fry if Fry is still around is confusing to her and cruel to his old self, so he'd rather let it be.
"So, Leela, did you patch things up with Fry yet?"
"Dad!" Leela cried.
One of her mother's tentacles disappeared under the table, and her father winced.
"Don't you pay any attention to your father, Leela," Munda said sharply. "He doesn't mean anything by it, do you, Morris?"
Morris shifted uncomfortably, shedding skinflakes. He brushed them off the tablecloth and smiled hesistantly at his wife and daughter.
"What would I mean?" he asked, bewildered. "He just seemed like such a nice boy. You never talk about him anymore."
Leela blushed. "Dad, I'm married now. I have more important things to talk about than Fry."
She squeezed Lars's hand across the table. Munda shot him an apologetic glance.
"I'm sorry about this, Lars," she said. "Morris is going to stop talking about Fry now, aren't you, Morris?"
Morris nodded timidly. "Yes, dear. But I was only going to say -"
"Now, Morris!"
"Yes, dear."
Lars cleared his throat. "I really don't mind."
Munda smiled. "You're very sweet," she said, in a tone that nonetheless suggested this particular avenue of the conversation was now closed. "More toilet clams, anyone?"
"No thanks, Mom. Actually, I have to pay a visit to the little girl's room."
Leela excused herself and wandered aimlessly through her parents' rundown shack. She inhaled the smell of her mother's pillow and her father's discarded sweater. It was something she did every visit, as a sort of reassurance. Some childish part of her always seemed to need a minute alone to drink her parents in, to revel in the fact that they were real. She ran her fingers over the yellowed newspaper cuttings tacked up in the hall, and smiled at the memories. There she was at graduation . . . with her first martial arts award . . . drunk at Space Mardi Gras with Fry and Bender . . . smiling on her wedding day . . .
"Hey, honey."
Leela spun round.
"Lars! You scared me. What is it? Was I gone too long? Is dinner getting cold?"
"No, no," Lars assured her. "I just thought I'd come see how you were doing. I mean, I figured you weren't on the can or anything. Obviously. Uh, you know what I mean. I'm just gonna quit while I'm ahead here . . ."
Leela laughed. "I know what you meant."
There was silence as they stood and looked at the wall.
"I never knew your parents liked Fry so much," Lars said awkwardly. "I guess they were kinda hoping he'd get his act together and win you over, huh?"
Leela reddened. "Maybe. He did stop me shooting them once." She smiled at the memory. "But they were probably just used to him. I mean, he's in most of these pictures. And half this junk probably came from Fry. He's the biggest slob I ever knew."
"I bet," Lars said absently. He picked up a page of sheet music and smoothed one of the corners with a far away expression. His forehead wrinkled. "He threw out your opera? I thought – I mean, it seems like the kind of thing he'd keep."
Leela pulled it from his fingers and hastily put it back on the shelf.
"It's nothing," she said quickly. She didn't want to think about the opera. Or the holophonor, or anything else Fry had done to make her think that maybe it – him, them - wouldn't be such a disaster. "It's better that he threw it out." She tugged Lars away, careful not to look back. "We'd better get back. Mom's making soapcakes."
Lars watched her in confusion for a moment, and then seemed to disregard whatever was bothering him. He squeezed her hand.
"Mmm. Can't miss those!"
TWO YEARS AGO ;;;
"Leela! Are you okay?"
Fry's words entered the room before he did. Leela looked up just in time to get out of the way as his sneakers skidded on the hospital floor and he flew headlong over the threshold. After a moment he untangled himself from the cubicle curtains, panting.
Leela stared at him.
"Fry? What - what are you doing here?"
Fry shrugged. "Oh, I heard Lars was in hospital and I thought hey, can't miss that . . . I'm joking, I'm joking!" he protested, as Leela glared at him. Then he grew serious. "I heard Lars was in hospital," he said quietly. "I heard he saved your life."
Leela sniffed. "He did."
"Is he going to make it?"
Leela swallowed hard. Don't cry. Don't cry.
"We don't know," she whispered. "Why are you here, Fry? To try and unplug a couple of machines?"
"What? No!" Fry rocked awkwardly on his heels, avoiding her eye. "I came to see if there was anything I could do. You know, to help. I even gave blood, see?" He held up an arm, rolling up his sleeve to show off an Incredible Hulk band-aid. "They gave me a cookie. Did you know me and Lars have the same blood type?"
"Huh? Oh . . . no. I didn't know that." Leela shook her head to clear it and reached across the bed for Lars's hand. It was limp and unresponsive. She dragged her thoughts back to Fry. "I don't understand. Why would you do that?"
"Because. Because . . . I got to thinking, and maybe me and Lars aren't so different after all. I'm not saying you should have chosen me!" he cried, holding up his hands as Leela turned to stare at him in disgust. "I meant that . . . if some creepy nudist went nuts and tried to shoot you, I'd do what Lars did. I don't know why Nudar thought Lars had the code, but it sounds like he was crazy anyway, and Lars did the right thing. He saved your life, and he makes you happy. He's a good guy and I finally figured it out, Leela . . ."
He swallowed.
"You were right. It's not about what makes me happy. It's about what makes you happy."