Leela's nausea receded sometime around midday, for which she was thankful. Maybe it wasn't the flu after all. She went through the freezer just in case, and threw out anything which looked like it might be going off. Then she risked a little dry toast and some Slurm, to keep her fluids up.

She padded through the empty house aimlessly, half-expecting the nausea to come back. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to keep moving - why she couldn't just sit down and watch daytime television like a normal person – but she felt restless and unsure, and it seemed to help.

The empty house felt almost creepy. It was funny, she thought dimly, how you could build a whole life around someone and then lose it so quickly. The house was still here, and all Lars's stuff, and it all seemed exactly the same. Which didn't make any sense, because surely it should look different, now that she knew it was all built on a lie.

And before she knew it she was searching, turning the house upside-down in a crazed hunt for proof of what she already knew. If Lars was really Fry then surely, surely, he'd left some evidence of it somewhere?

He was good, she had to give him that. It took her all afternoon to find what she was looking for, and in another time, before she knew, she might have overlooked it completely and dismissed it as just a box of junk. It was an old cookie jar, buried beneath a load of real junk in his desk drawer. Last year's tax returns, a fistful of old pens, some books about head maintenance . . . and a cookie jar full of junk. Leela opened it curiously. There were some printed-out pages of newspaper articles about a narwhal washed up in Old New York, and an ancient catcher's mitt encrusted with dust and what looked like soup. A fridge magnet saying I'm With Stupid (On The Moon). A crumpled-up snapshot of Calculon, with a metallic gray thumb blurring the shot. And there at the bottom, a computer stick filled with ancient, low resolution video files.

Leela selected the first and hit play.

The resolution was awful, the picture grainy and yellowy, flickering every few seconds like it was about to shut off completely. It was ancient. Watching it, Leela was suddenly, disconcertingly aware of how far out of time Fry was. She was so used to him saying odd things or making off-handed references to the 20th Century that she didn't really think about it anymore. But a thousand years was ancient. It was another world, this overgrown back yard in Old New York, and she didn't recognize anyone in it.

Leela put on her monocle and leaned in more closely, scanning the faces for Fry. There was a middle-aged guy with dark hair in the center of the frame. He had a ramrod-straight bearing and incredibly precise crew cut, but his muscle was thickening into fat, and there was the beginning of a paunch creeping in around his gut. Still, he looked imposing – kinda like a drill sargeant. He was being saluted by a small, equally dark-haired boy, standing at the start of a makeshift obstacle course.

"Ready, son?" the man growled.

"Yes, sir!" the kid squeaked back. He pulled on an old-style military helmet and raised a small red flag.

"Alright then. First one to the end of the course wins a bag of potato chips, and the respect of your commanding officer, me. Got it?"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh!" The kid jumped up and down, squirming in excitement.

"Alright – hold on, soldier. Where's your brother?"

The camera wobbled, and a female voice sounded somewhere close at hand.

"Over here, honey. He's eating the lens cap. Philip, spit that out! Oh, for Pete's sake . . . that had better come out the other end."

Her husband shrugged. "I wouldn't count on it. Now Philip, you get over here."

Rather than wait for this order to be followed, however, he simply crossed the grass and picked up -

Oh, my god, Leela thought. That's Fry.

The plump, red-headed baby was chewing on his fist, drooling like a tap. When his father set him down by his brother he toppled backward right away. Fortunately it didn't seem to do any lasting harm. He just babbled happily and started to chew one of his own feet.

His booties were blue with tiny red rocketships. The little detail jumped out at Leela and made her smile, despite herself. She had to admit, the baby was disarmingly cute. Leela could take or leave babies normally – it was animals in distress that really melted her heart – but she had a bizarre urge to coo over the baby Fry. Her face had turned strangely soft, and it took her a minute to realize the someone sighing wistfully was her. What the hell? She shook herself violently, and resolved to think about something weird and creepy instead, like how in a thousand years she'd be having sex with Fry, not cooing over his baby booties. That ought to do it.

On the video, Fry's father was telling him to straighten up, as the baby gurgled contentedly. When he blew the whistle Fry's brother shot off like a cork from a bottle, battling his way through a homemade tire course and a paddling pool full of mud as the woman off-camera screamed "Yancy! Whooo! Come on Yancy, make Momma proud!"

With their eyes glued to the course, Fry's parents couldn't see what the camera could – namely, that the baby had finally rolled over and begun to take an interest in Yancy's discarded can of cola. At first he seemed happy just to watch the shiny surface, but pretty soon it occurred to him to do with it what he did with everything. He put it in his mouth.

"Oh no," Leela whispered to herself, as though the people of a thousand years ago could hear her. "That's really not a good – oh, lord."

Fry's eyes snapped open, wide as coins, and he sat up straight for the first time. He sneezed, coughed a little, and began to vibrate with excitement.

Then the sugar kicked in.

A high-pitched, keening scream escaped him, like the whine of a rocket shooting straight into space, and Leela instinctively covered her eye.

"Oh, god."

By the time it was over everyone in the frame was covered in baby sick, Fry's mom was trying to get him out of a nearby tree, his dad was yelling about emergency protocol, and Yancy was screaming and stamping his feet, because he'd won the race and no-one cared.

Leela hit the stop button and stared again at the video files. There had to be fifty there, at least. Fifty segments of ancient video. Fifty snatches of Fry's life. Was it intrusive to watch them? Okay, so Lars had hidden them pretty well, which would suggest he didn't want her to see them . . . but on the other hand, Fry had never hidden anything from her. It was one of the things she'd always liked best about him. He was completely open. A little too open, sometimes – he could really benefit from ending his stories his sentence earlier – but always, always open. And Lars wasn't. Was that her fault? Had she done that? Leela had a sudden flashback to Fry's hurt face, desperate to know why loving her wasn't enough, and realized she wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything, anymore.

She decided to watch the videos.

The early ones weren't so bad. Some of them were funny, like the ice-fishing trip where Fry got smacked around by a fish, and Yancy laughed so hard he fell through the ice. Some of them were cute, like the one with Fry in hospital for the first time, drawing superheroes on his plaster cast. But as he got older, it started unravelling. Yancy graduated. Fry didn't. After that he appeared in the videos a lot less. Mainly he showed up in the background, watching tv or asleep on the couch. The last video this Fry appeared in was some kind of Xmas party. He was tugging at Michelle's elbow, trying to divert her attention from the blond hunk on her other side. Eventually he gave up and slumped in his seat, nursing his beer with a despondent expression. Leela couldn't help feeling sorry for him. Part of her wanted to nag past-Fry into being more pro-active (Dump Michelle! Get a decent job! For crying out loud!) but another part wanted to yank him out of that party and tell him about all the crazy things they'd have done by the next Xmas, just to see his goofy, Stupid-Ages excitement.

She sighed, hit play on the next file . . . and sat up straight, staring.

The video wasn't important. Fry was kneeling on the bare boards of a tiny one-room apartment, building a fort out of red aluminum cans. He was being watched by a small mongrel dog, which looked as though it could really use a bath. It was lapping up spilled cola, stopping occasionally to lick Fry's sticky fingers. Off-camera, Yancy was laughing : "You are such a nerd."

But . . . it was her Fry.

Leela stared at him, wondering if the people of the past really couldn't see it. He was . . . well, okay, he was pretty much the same, but the difference was . . . the difference was . . . now that she thought about it, Leela wasn't sure what the difference was. But there was one. There was a Fry who'd never met her and a Fry who had, and Leela could tell them apart instinctively. It was like the difference between a dead length of wire and a gently humming electric fence. Like he was broadcasting something on a frequency only she could hear.

Leela traced the outline of his face on the screen. She had a horrible, sinking feeling.

She'd been such an idiot. That sense of instant connection was exactly what she'd felt with Lars. The 'oh, there you are' feeling. And she had thought it must be love, when really it was just Fry.

Which was not the same thing, obviously.

Uh.

The confusion was too much to deal with, so Leela pushed it to the back of her mind. She'd been putting a lot of stuff there lately. Like the part of her that felt sick and crappy, and was knocking like crazy for her attention. Or the part that felt hollowed out and alone, and told her she'd feel a lot better if Lars was here. Or the part which felt empty and restless, and wanted to be back in that moment when Fry kissed her, when her heart ached and her mind was a perfect blank, and she couldn't remember why it was wrong. She'd had to push that one to the back of her mind and stomp on it a few times to stop it swimming back up.

Watching this stuff was starting to hurt, but she couldn't seem to stop. She hit play again.

At first she thought something was obstructing the lens. The screen was dark and someone she couldn't see was giggling and making the camera lurch up and down. Then her eye adjusted, and Leela realized two things – first, that the lens was fine, it was just that the lights were out, and second – more importantly – that it was a girl giggling. A girl.

A girl. A dark room. A video camera.

The jealousy rose like bile in her throat. Now she really wanted to stop watching, but her hand wouldn't obey her. It wouldn't move.

Blond hair fell briefly against the screen, and a voice that sounded like Fry whispered : "This is a weird date, huh?"

"I don't mind," the girl whispered back. "It's fun. I feel like I'm part of your family."

The other person laughed, and Leela's breath left her in a sudden whoosh of relief. It was Yancy laughing. It wasn't Fry she was watching at all. She unfroze, and laughed unsteadily.

There was the sound of a key fumbling in the lock, the lights clicked on, and a room full of people yelled "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Fry rubbed his eyes blearily as the camera panned up to a homemade banner – HAPPY 26th BIRTHDAY PHILIP! - and then back down to him.

He was drunk. Leela noticed right away, but it seemed to take the party guests a little longer to work it out. They crowded around him, clapping him on the back. Fry swayed drunkenly with each blow. His eyes were completely out of focus.

"'m not," he mumbled incoherently. "'s not . . ."

Yancy shouldered his way through the crowd and grabbed his brother's elbow. He threw an apologetic glance back at the camera and grabbed Fry's elbow, holding him upright and pretending to smile as he muttered furiously into his ear. Fry looked like he was trying to argue, but Yancy ignored him.

" . . . seriously, what is with you lately . . . Hey everyone! Well, I guess Phil had a couple other surprise parties to attend before he got here, am I right? Don't worry, he – what?"

"Get off!" Fry struggled free at last. "Don't worry," he gasped, "I'm not gonna ruin the party or anything, but I think . . . I think you guys should . . . ask for your money back. 's all a lie, see?"

"No-one paid anything, doofus. And what's a lie? What are you talking about?"

"All of it!" Fry snapped. He pointed at the banner. "I'm not 26! I'm not Philip!And since when am I happy? It's garbage. It's all garbage. It's . . . it's . . ." He swayed on the spot, and then he doubled over and gagged. When he straightened up again, he was crying.

The blond girl pushed through the crowd and grabbed one of his arms, the camera pressing into the fabric of his jacket as he slumped against her. Yancy must have taken his other arm, because when the camera swung into focus again the three of them were in another room, and Yancy was helping his brother into bed. He looked lost.

". . . don't know what's wrong with him," he was saying. "He's been really weird lately."

"What's he saying?" the girl asked. The scene swung sideways as she dumped the camcorder on Fry's bedside table.

"I dunno . . . something about a bender, I think." Yancy forced a laugh. "Yeah, like we couldn't figure that one out. We know, Phil! You went on a bender! Sheesh. He really picks his moments, I'm telling you."

"No," Fry mumbled from the bed. "Said I . . . miss . . . Bender. And – and . . ." He hiccupped, trying to scrub away the tears even as his eyelids began to droop. "Leela . . . miss Leela most . . want . . . go home now . . ."

He started to snore.

"Who's Leela?" Yancy's date whispered.

He shrugged. "Never heard of her. He's drunk. I don't think he knows what he's saying." He dropped his gaze self-consciously. "Listen, uh . . . thanks. For tonight. You were really . . . I'm sorry my brother's such a moron . . . I, uh, meant this to be a lot more fun. I'm really sorry."

"It's okay." From this angle, Leela couldn't see the expression on the girl's face, but her voice was tender. "You know you're really part of the family when someone's kid brother pukes on you," she joked.

Yancy started to groan, but stopped short when she leaned over and kissed him. She kissed him again at the sight of his dazed expression, and then she took his hand.

"Come on," she whispered, and she led him from the room.

With no-one to stop the tape, it ran on unheeded. Fry slept while the sounds of the party wound down in the next room. He woke up at one stage, puked into his pillow case, and pushed it over the side of the bed. Then he stared up at the ceiling, groaned, and buried his head in his hands.

When he started to cry, Leela stopped the video. Her hand was shaking so badly she skipped a few minutes into the next file. At first she thought this was what had disoriented her, but no . . . Fry had jumped a few years in age, that was what felt so strange. There were frown lines on his forehead and his eyes were noticeably more serious.

Still, at least he was sober this time around. He was wearing frayed jeans and a faded New York City Zoo sweatshirt, and was leaning on the edge of what looked like a big fish tank.

"Hey girl," he called cheerfully. "C'mon . . . come get the fish. I know you're hungry. Come say hi to my brother and his girlfriend."

He threw an apologetic glance at the camera.

"She's not normally this shy, I swear."

"Yeah, right," Yancy's voice scoffed. "Anyway, Phil . . ."

"Oh, right, you wanted to axe me something," Fry said vaguely. He leaned a chair against the side of the tank and stood on it, straining precariously over the edge. "Come on girl . . ."

"Ask you something," Yancy snapped.

"Yeah, that. That's what I said." Fry wobbled dangerously. "Oh, I know!"

He beckoned to someone off-camera, and Yancy's blonde girlfriend came into view. She looked older too, and had changed her hair. As she moved closer the sunlight sparkled off a diamond on her finger.

"Hey, Lana," Fry called, in an exaggerated indifferent tone, "Leelu doesn't wanna talk to me. Mind if I talk to you?"

Lana smiled indulgently. "Sure. Hi, Philip. How are you today?"

"I'm good," Fry told her, in the same tone. "I ate a whole pound of mackerel for lunch. It was great."

Something in the pool whined unhappily. Fry pretended not to hear. He grinned.

"So anyway, how's my brother's prettiest ever girlfriend, who is, by the way, way too good for him?"

"Dumbass!" Yancy called, but Fry just laughed, and Lana shot the camera a quelling look.

"I'm good," she said peaceably. "I'm great, actually. That's kind of the reason we came down today. We wanted to tell you something."

The way she was talking to him was weird. It was the kind of voice you would use on a beloved family pet you didn't want to spook.

Fry frowned.

"I thought you came to see all the stuff I taught Leelu?"

Lana shook her head. "No-oo . . ." she said slowly.

"She can do a double backflip now."

"That's really great – we'll have to get that on tape, right, Yancy?"

"Oh, yeah," Yancy muttered. He gave the whistle universally recognized as meaning "cuckoo" under his breath.

Fry smiled. "You should. You could show it at dinner parties. Dinner parties are a thing you guys do, right?"

Lana nodded. "Yeah, they are. We're having one this weekend actually. To celebrate."

"Celebrate wha-?" Fry cut himself off mid-sentence, because Lana had just thrust her engagement ring-encrusted hand under his nose. "Oh," he said limply.

"We're getting married, Philip."

"Oh."

"What do you think about that?"

"Um . . . oh, yeah. Uh, congratulations, I guess."

There was a sudden thunk and the viewpoint dropped to waist height. Yancy had slammed the camera abruptly onto a picnic bench.

"Gee," he said sourly. "Don't knock yourself out, Phil."

"I'm not," Fry protested. "I'm happy."

"Yeah, you look real happy."

A narwhal – which could only be Leelu – swam up and begun butting her head against the side of the tank. Fry dipped his hand into the water and let her bump up against his fingers.

"I am happy," he said blankly. "I'm happy for you."

"I've seen you get more excited about that stupid narwhal-" Yancy began angrily, but Lana interrupted him. She laid a hand gently on Fry's arm.

"I'm not sure happy for us is the same as happy," she said quietly.

She crossed to Yancy.

"Let me talk to him," she whispered. "See if I can't figure out what's going on."

"Good luck with that," Yancy snapped, but he kissed her on the cheek and backed off obediently.

Fry was staring blankly at the ground when Lana returned to him. She sat down beside him and tapped the glass, smiling.

"She's really beautiful."

The narwhal made a happy crooning sound, and Fry smiled back.

"Thanks," he said. "I know Yancy thinks it's weird I spend so much time here, but if he got to know Leelu, he'd see for himself how great she is. She's smart and she's strong, and she's really funny too. I always feel better when I'm around her."

Lana nodded. "Well, she's doing great. I remember seeing her on the Late Cute Animal News – she looked so small, I thought she'd die for sure. You did a really great job with her." She hesitated. "Yancy just worries about you," she said. "You're his little brother, Phil, and I don't think he knows where your head is anymore."

Fry made a non-committal sound, and Lana sighed.

"Okay," she said. "Then I'll just have to ask you straight up. What is it about me and Yancy that makes you so uncomfortable?"

"I'm not-"

"Yes, you are. And I know you like me, so I know it's not Yancy's taste that's the problem. But I know you don't like like me either, so it's not jealousy that's causing this."

Fry chewed his cheek awkwardly.

"I like you," he said. "And you're great with Yancy. I'm not jealous like that – at least, I don't think I am."

"Okay," Lana said delicately. "Well . . . have you thought about dating again? I know it didn't go so well the last few times, but maybe-"

"No."

There was another awkward pause.

"I heard Michelle got married."

"Oh, man." Fry groaned. "Did Yancy tell you that? Jeez. Look," he said, "this is not about Michelle. Okay?"

He climbed up on the side of the tank again, and the narwhal jumped up to meet him.

"Hey, girl," he mumbled. He put his arms around her neck, crushing her in a hug. Leela couldn't see his face from this angle, and the rest of his speech came out sounding muffled.

"Look," he said quickly. "There was this woman I used to know and she was really beautiful, and smart, and she could kick anyone's ass, probably even the Incredible Hulk . . . and anyway, basically . . . I loved her. Like, really loved her. But she didn't feel the same way. I kept thinking maybe she would. Maybe one day I'd find the perfect way to show her how I felt. But I never did, and she never did, and then she found someone she really loved, and she married him. And I never saw her again. So can we drop it, please?"

Lana seemed stunned. Leela didn't blame her. Telling the story quickly hadn't robbed it of its impact, and clearly it hadn't made it any less painful to tell. But the things Fry had said hadn't hurt as much as the one, achingly obvious thing he hadn't. I still love her. It was written all over his face.

A thousand years in the past, his brother's fiancée didn't seem to know what to say.

"Does Yancy know any of this?" she asked at last.

Fry shook his head. "He just thinks I'm going loopy. It kinda runs in the family." He looked up. "Please don't tell him the truth. I'll come to the wedding, and I'll do better at being happy, I promise. Just don't tell him."

Lana sighed.

"You know, he's really worried about you – when he's not mad because he thinks you don't care. He feels like you changed overnight. I won't tell him," she said. "But I wish you'd talk to him, or somebody, about getting over this girl."

"I can't."

Lana groaned. "What am I supposed to do with you, Phil? Honestly."

Fry shrugged. "You could stay and help me with Leelu, if you want. I'm teaching her to predict the World Series, like that turtle in Peru."

Lana shook her head – possibly at the idiocy of this statement, but more likely in simple resignation.

"I'd better go talk Yancy down," she said. "You start work on that best man speech, alright?"

"Yeah."

Lana wandered off, and Fry turned his attention back to the narwhal. Predicting the World Series might be beyond the animal's capabilities, but she seemed to have no problem picking up on his sudden depression. She keened softly, nuzzling up to him as Fry rubbed her nose.

Leela ended the video.

She hadn't expected this. She had thought her feelings would become easier as more of her questions were answered, but they were only becoming more confusing. And the last thing she had expected was the effect Fry's pain would have on her. At every fresh hint of his unhappiness something tightened painfully in her chest, and she momentarily lost her focus. It was horrible. The little spasms were making it hard to keep watching, and yet . . . they were what kept her watching, at the same time. Seeing him so miserable hurt, but every time she clicked on a new video and saw some evidence he still missed her, still thought about her . . . then some tiny personal terror seemed to ebb away and she felt herself relax.

I'm a horrible person, she thought.

Even this thought wasn't as punishing as it ought to be though, because deep down she knew she'd rather be a horrible person and be right than be a good person and be wrong.

I'm a big fat hypocrite, she realized, but as long as Fry still loves me, I'm completely okay with that.

Oh, wow. I really am horrible.

Leela groaned. It seemed like she'd gone looking for answers about Lars, and wound up learning more than she wanted to know about herself.

It was discomfiting, but she carried on watching. She had to. She had the vague idea that watching this stuff was like getting a round of inoculations – something unpleasant but necessary, so she might as well suck it up and get the whole thing over with.

The next few years of Fry's life weren't so bad. Leela sped through Yancy's drunken bachelor party, a house-warming, an anniversary party for Fry's parents and a whole pile of zoo-related stuff. Cook-outs and sports fixtures were a regular theme, and while it was still obvious he and Yancy were falling out a lot, Fry was doing better at 'being happy', as he'd put it. But he was changing too. He hung back a lot, gauging the mood before he started to talk, instead of just saying the first thing which came into his head. Seeing him recorded on a phone or a camcorder made it especially clear. The way Fry behaved when he knew he was being watched, and the way he acted when he forgot the camera was still rolling, were worlds apart sometimes.

As time went on he stopped making slip-ups. There were no more accidental references to Nixon or Morbo. He slowed down, became more thoughtful – which made sense, because he had to be careful all the time now. But thinking had never been Fry's strong suit, and it was starting to take its toll on him. He developed a blank look Leela had noticed a lot in Lars, and he often seemed exhausted in company, or like he was struggling to stay present. It didn't really surprise her. How much pretending must he have been doing, at this point in his life? Pretending he hadn't been away for eight years, pretending he was Yancy's little brother (even though he was actually older than him now), pretending he hadn't seen the future, pretending he hadn't been in love, pretending he didn't feel completely trapped, when he must do, because he had seen the universe and his crummy time couldn't even access the Moon on a regular basis . . . it made Leela's head hurt just thinking about it.

The next big event was a christening party. Of course! Leela had been so absorbed in the elements of Fry's life she didn't know about, she'd forgotten the things she did. And she knew that Yancy had a baby, who would one day be the first Earthican on Mars. Fry must have known it too. How . . . weird.

He still managed to show up late for the party though, which was just typical.

The celebrations were in full swing when he appeared in the open doorway. He was wearing his old red jacket over a lime green Mexico City Zoo t-shirt, and there was a big stuffed animal under his arm. Leela didn't see what it was right away because the camera dipped in shock as the person holding it did a double-take.

"Phil?" Yancy exclaimed incredulously.

"Hey."

They hugged briefly, and the camera swung back up, revealing Fry's soft toy to be (of course) a narwhal.

Fry's dad appeared and clapped him awkwardly on the shoulder.

"Son," he said stiffly.

Fry nodded. "Sir."

"It's good to see you home again."

"It's good to be home," Fry said. He held out the narwhal to Yancy. "This is for you. I didn't know what you're supposed to get for a baby, but I thought this was pretty neat."

Yancy took the toy, but cuffed his brother around the ear as he did so.

"What gives, Phil? I tell you Lana's pregnant and you disappear to Mexico for six months? I needed you! With the baby on her side, it's two against one - I'm outnumbered here! I went cross town for donuts at three in the morning. Six times. And you don't even wanna know about birthing classes. Trust me. You don't." He shuddered. "You owe me an explanation, big time."

Fry shrugged uncomfortably. "I told you – Leelu came up for that marine animal tour and I really wanted to go."

"Uh, no. I told you and then you signed up for the stupid tour!"

Fry avoided his eye. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just not good with that stuff. Really not good. If I'd stayed it would've got screwed up somehow, and I wanted things to go the way they were supposed to. No complications or explosions or weird stuff like being your own gr- uh, I mean . .. you know. Being . . . in the wrong place at the wrong time. And stuff."

Yancy stared. "No. I have no idea what you're talking about. Literally, no idea. I think you're nuts, Phil."

His father snorted. "I second that opinion. Now quit jabbering and get the baby, son. You didn't even tell him yet."

"Oh, man! Yeah! Hold on – honey! Hey, honey, it's Phil . . ."

Yancy handed over the camera to their father and disappeared briefly – and then the camera zoomed in, and all Leela could see was Fry, staring down at the baby in his arms like he wasn't sure it was really there. He prodded it nervously, and it started to wail.

"Uh-oh . . . um, I didn't mean to do that. No, hey, stop . . ."

Yancy and his father laughed at him.

"That," Yancy declared, "is now the soundtrack to my life."

"How do I make him stop?" Fry asked anxiously.

"Search me! Hey, how did you know it was a boy? Oh, wait . . . the balloons. Duh. Sorry."

"Wha . . oh . . . yeah. The balloons," Fry said distractedly. He bounced the baby gently up and down, making whooshing spaceship sounds. Within about five seconds it had sicked up all over him - but it had stopped crying.

Lana edged into shot, smiling. She gave Fry a one-armed hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Sorry about the mess. He's not so good in social situations," she joked.

Yancy laughed. "And he throws up a lot. So you can see why there was really only one choice when it came to names. We called him Philip J Fry."

There was a long, long pause.

At last Fry grinned, but this didn't disguise the fact that he was tearing up.

"Yeah, right," he said thickly. "You just didn't want to give him your goofy name."

He lifted the baby up and kissed him.

"It's a good name," he said softly. "And one day I bet everyone's gonna remember it."

The baby burbled happily and Fry lowered him again, cradling him awkwardly in one arm as he reached into his jacket pocket.

"I have something for you," he went on. "It means a lot to me, but I want you to have it – so you'll always be safe, and lucky no matter what you do. It's a clover, see? And it's got seven leaves. That means it's got extra luck. Or it's a mutant, maybe. I dunno. Either way, it's pretty special."

He tucked it into the baby's blanket.

Yancy and his wife exchanged looks.

"You didn't have to do that," Yancy said quietly.

"I wanted to."

There was another quick exchange of looks – the kind of marital telepathy that had always freaked Leela out a little – and then Lana put her hand on Fry's arm.

"Are you doing okay?" she murmured.

"Sure."

"Sure?" Lana echoed uncertainly. "I don't know, Phil. You look . . . tired, I guess." She frowned. "Old. How did you get so old?"

Fry shrugged, and she sighed.

"I just . . . when people disappear without warning and they start giving away the things they care about . . . well, you know what they say that means."

Fry blinked. "No."

"It means . . . distancing yourself. Saying goodbye, if you know what I mean."

"We just want to know you're not planning something stupid," Yancy said uneasily. "That you're . . . staying put, now you're back."

"Don't be an idiot, son," Yancy Sr chipped in.

Fry stared from one person to another. He was probably just putting their meaning together in his head, but he was wearing that blank, unreadable expression she'd come to associate with Lars, and Leela didn't blame his family for feeling concerned.

Then he laughed.

"Guys, relax," he said. "I'm not going anywhere. Where would I go, anyway?"

Leela watched him tickle the baby, feeling deeply unsettled. As far as she could tell, Fry really had no idea what his family were hinting at. But she could already see Lars in him, which meant that one day soon, he was going to leave them. He was going to run off without thinking, and they were going to think . . .

Leela touched his face on the screen.

"Oh, Lars," she mumbled. "You idiot. You selfless, noble idiot."