A /n : Futurama is now officially over. For now? Forever? Who the hell knows anymore? Either way it's pretty depressing. Have a new chapter to ease the pain, and remember - you still have Zoidberg. You ALL still have Zoidberg!
Thanks to ATHPluver, Kaci, Anna, cartoonlover27, LadyBender, saffronraymiecorinna, and Forgotsurname for the reviews! It's really great to see people stick with the story through all the twists and turns, and more than one person has told me how much they connect with the story on an emotional level - which, let me tell you, is some of the best praise a writer can get. The point of this story was to really dive into the complex emotions that would have resulted for everyone if Lars had lived and kept his secret. Relationships are messy and complicated, and emotions are confusing - and poor Fry, Leela, and Lars get to experience all of that, with a side serving of accidental baby and mysterious cosmic DOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM. I do sometimes feel incredibly evil.
The rain fell hard and fast, drumming off the top of Lars's head. It was warm and it tasted like tin. He guessed that was a side-effect of the city smog, but didn't pay it any more thought as he hurried up the path to what had – until recently – been his own front door.
It wasn't anymore. It was Leela's now, but apparently she hadn't told the security system yet. When Lars put his hand on the door it scanned his fingerprints immediately and sprang open. He pulled it shut again and knocked loudly.
"Leela? Leela, it's me. Lars. Uh. You know what I mean."
"Lars?"
Leela moved into the hallway and pulled the door open. She looked the way she always looked these days – tired and defensive – but when her gaze fell on him, her face melted unexpectedly. She moved aside to let him in.
"I don't mean to bug you," Lars said awkwardly, as he stepped across the threshold. "But-"
"You don't," Leela interrupted. "You don't bug me."
She touched his cheek ; lightly, like she was checking to make sure he was real. Seeing his puzzled expression, she dropped her hand and looked away.
"Come in," she said.
"No-one's seen you in days. Are you okay?"
Lars couldn't help asking. Something seemed weird about Leela. She wasn't meeting his gaze, and there was a tiny tremor in her voice, like she was trying to squash some overriding emotion. In its own way, it was worse than when she'd found out he was Fry and thrown a plate at his head. At least then he'd known what was wrong.
"I'm fine," Leela said shortly, shrugging off his concern. "I've been busy."
"You don't seem fine. I don't know, something seems . . ."
"I'm fine," Leela repeated, in the same impatient, distracted way.
She let him follow her into the lounge, the sight of which pulled Lars up short.
It looked like it would if he'd moved back in and given his inherent laziness free rein. There was an exercise bike in front of the TV, and a stack of pregnancy magazines on the floor, with three crumpled-up Slurm cans on top of them. The coffee table was covered in books and magazines, each left open, face-down or with pages folded over to mark Leela's place. Lars almost put his foot in a tub of ice-cream when he sat down. He knocked it over when he tried to edge it out of the way, and a trickle of melted Strawberry Supreme soaked into his sock. One of his own shirts was lying on the couch, unbuttoned and tossed there carelessly, as if Leela had been wearing it and thrown it off when she got too hot. There was something poking out of the top pocket too - a pressed yellow flower. It was dried-out and old, but when Lars crushed it between his fingers a faint sweetness rubbed off.
He knew that flower, he realized. He'd given it to Leela, years ago. She'd been on a bad date with some aide of the mayor's, and she'd been so pleased when he - Fry - gave her the flower. Pleased enough to kiss him, even if he hadn't really understood why.
Lars pushed the flower back into his pocket while Leela wasn't looking. It was strange to think she'd kept it. After a moment's thought he pushed his shirt out of sight too, under the cushions of the couch. This evidence of Leela's loneliness felt private somehow, like a diary left open in public, and Lars was sure it was something she would normally hide. The fact that she hadn't was as unusual as the mess. Leela's surroundings were usually sparse to the point of spartan, so Lars couldn't help but think the mess must reflect a dramatic shift in her frame of mind.
"Is it the baby?" he asked worriedly. "Is that it? Is something wrong?"
Leela threw herself into the armchair opposite him. She crossed her legs in the lotus position and twitched a blanket around her shoulders, pulling nervously at an unraveling thread.
"I don't know," she said at last. "There might be." She met his gaze. "It's a mutant, Lars. I'm a mutant."
"So?"
"So . . . there's a chance it could be . . . mutated."
Lars frowned. "You mean it might have one eye, or a tail, or tentacles?" He wiggled his fingers, tentacle-like, and tickled Leela with them, trying to make her laugh. "Does it matter if it does? Fry won't care. He'll probably think it's neat."
Leela pushed him away. "I don't mean that kind of mutation," she said.
"What other kind is . . . oh."
There was a long, drawn-out silence. Lars was thinking. Unfortunately he was also nervous, which meant that he was thinking out loud, and babbling to boot.
"In my day they used to talk about cancer. They used to say it was caused by cells that mutated. I mean, that was what they-"
"It was." Leela's voice was icy.
"Oh." Lars scratched his cheek. Something else struck him, rearing up unpleasantly out of the mists of memory. "Uh. Do you remember the first time we went to the sewers, and they dipped that rat in the toxic lake? And it-"
"Yes." Leela shuddered.
"But – I mean – you don't know that it'll be that kind of mutation. I mean, you're a mutant, and you're perfect." A ray of hope shone through, and Lars seized on it. "The mutants might know. They could do a test, or . . . something . . ."
Leela's voice became, impossibly, a few degrees colder.
"They could," she said. "But they won't. They won't do a thing unless Fry tells them to."
Lars blinked. This sounded crazy.
"Why does Fry have to tell them what to do?" he asked, bewildered. "He'll just get you to make all the decisions anyway. That's what I always did. And he doesn't know the first thing about babies."
Leela kicked off the blanket in a fit of rage and sat up straighter, hugging her knees.
"Because he's human," she snapped. "He gets a say because he's human. He's human, you're human, I'm not human! Do I have to spell it out for you? I have no rights!"
"Oh." Lars had forgotten the whole illegal-mutant-living-on-the-surface thing. "You should have told them I was the father," he mused.
"I wish I had. After all, genetically-"
"I know. I am." Lars nodded. "Do you think that counts?"
"No." Leela grimaced. "I floated that idea - "what if Fry had a clone?" I even took it to the mutant court. But they're scared of what the surface will do if they decide in my favor. So they're insisting the father is Fry. He was physically there so it's his permission they want. And even though it's my baby, no-one cares what I think. I don't have rights. No mutant does."
She grabbed a book off the coffee table.
"Listen to this," she demanded. She cleared her throat and began to read.
"In 2894 a cholera epidemic struck the mutant population. Hundreds of men, women, and children died as a result of drinking contaminated water. The epidemic was not the first of its kind, but it was surely the worst, and for a time it seemed nothing could stop it. It would ravage our settlement, leaving nothing living below ground but the flies. However, 2894 was the year brilliant mutant minds devised a solution : the sewer, or sub-sewer, as it is known today. This feat of mutant engineering prevented us contaminating our own water supply and successfully eliminated the deadly cholera epidemics of centuries past. Not only that, but the industry of our forefathers so impressed the surface administration that soon afterwards they founded the modern sewage system, ushering in a new age of prosperity for the mutant population."
She flung the book away from her. Her eye was blazing with fury.
"That's a textbook from the mutant high school," she spat. "Every mutant child learns this garbage. They're taught that the people on the surface are wonderful and responsible. They're taught to be grateful for every crumb tossed their way." She clenched her fists. "We've had a cholera vaccine for a thousand years, and they don't even know! The surface could have saved every mutant who died in those epidemics, and they didn't lift a finger. They let them die! Less disgusting mutants below ground, right? Who cares! And when the mutants fixed things themselves, the surface found a way to make their environment a living hell all over again. They turned it into one big sewer, and they don't even pay the mutants for working in it! You know what they do? They give them medical supplies. Out-of-date leftover crap, so they can stitch themselves up again when they get crushed by collapsing pipeways or get hepatitis from dirty needles, or – or . . ."
She broke off, spluttering for breath.
"It's barbaric. And we can't do a thing about it because we don't have rights. We're not even people to them."
"Them?"
"Politicians," Leela snapped. "Lawmakers, and – bigots! Every single person on the surface who thinks mutants are sub-human, just because we're genetically . . . not human!" She was shaking now, white with rage, and her voice kept rising. "It doesn't matter! We're still people!"
"I know," Lars said nervously. "I know you are."
He had never seen Leela so angry. He put out a tentative hand. Leela stared at it for a long moment and then wove her fingers through his. The gesture belied her uncertainty.
Lars sighed.
"You're going to do something crazy, aren't you?"
He could tell. Leela had that look – apprehensive but defiant, and really, really stubborn. It was a look that meant she was about to paint a bunch of placards and chain herself to something, or sucker-punch Zapp Brannigan, or go after Robot Santa with an ax. When Leela got that look, everyone else got out of the way, fast.
"You don't have to get involved," she said quietly. "They're not your people. I'd understand."
"They're your people though," Lars pointed out. "You were right. You're a mutant, and the baby's a mutant." He swallowed hard. "You and the baby are all I have, Leela. You're my family. You're . . . my people, I guess."
It was awkward and stumbling, but he needed to say it and Leela needed to hear it.
"That's just the way it is," he went on. "If it was the other way round – if it was my baby, if I was gone and Fry was here – he'd do the same. Blood is thicker than water, right? That's what Yancy used to say. Ha. He used to say I was thicker than both." He smiled. "You and Bender were my family from the day I came to the future, Leela. More than the Professor, even. You were there for me when I had no-one. I can't forget that. You were . . . I don't know. You were like a family I chose." He shrugged. "I can't let you do this on your own. It's not right."
Leela's grip tightened on his hand. They stared at each other, and something changed in the air. Neither of them seemed able to breathe. Lars could see himself reflected in Leela's eye – tired, weary, old-looking - and for the first time in a long time his reflection didn't seem to fit. He saw himself leaning in, felt like he was falling forwards, and he was going to kiss her, he knew he was going to kiss her even though they were divorced and she was pregnant and it was a bad idea on so many levels . . .
The holophone rang, and they sprang apart.
"Sorry," Lars said automatically, at the same time Leela said "We shouldn't-" and stopped herself self-consciously.
She covered the moment by smiling awkwardly and scrambling for the holophone handset. When she hit the button a grainy, translucent version of Amy's face was projected into the air. She looked nervous but excited, and when she saw them she broke into a smile.
"We found Fry!" she cried.
Leela jolted out of her seat like she'd been zapped with a thousand volts. Lars stared up at her through the fuzzy distortion of the Amy-image. He stared at her expression and felt hollow and far away.
"Great!" he heard someone say, sounding assertive and relieved. It wasn't until Leela smiled shyly at him that he realized the person had, inexplicably, been him.