Leela kneaded her forehead with the heel of her hand.

The low buzz of her headache hadn't faded with Kif's departure. Her parents hadn't reappeared either. Either they were avoiding her, or someone had come looking for her father, to tell him about Raoul's resignation. He and Munda were probably down at Undercity Hall, arguing over whether or not he should take the job. Leela only hoped Raoul would spare them the full truth behind his decision to resign.

Not because it was horrible – though it was – but because, in some oblique way, she felt he owed Skreem that. The mutants were the only people little Skreem had ever had, and Lord knew she hadn't had much. To take away that one small shred of belonging – to say she hadn't truly been one of them, after everything she'd suffered . . .

Even if she was dead, it would be cruel.

Leela lifted the scrap copper kettle from the stove top and poured herself a glass of water. It was lukewarm – not fully cooled yet – and tasted flat and metallic, but it was clean.

She sipped it slowly, trying not to taste it. Once upon a time, she'd been a lifelong New New Yorker, and had avoided even opening her mouth in the shower. But bottled water was now a luxury best reserved for people who weren't at risk of hideously mutating if they drank tap. The bottles under the sink were carefully rationed between Lars and Amy, and everyone else in the sewer treated their water with a triple combination of filtration, boiling, and purification tablets.

And they were running low on tablets. Like everything worth having in the sewer, those had always come from the surface.

Leela sighed. It was yet another sign the siege couldn't drag on much longer.

She dropped her empty glass in the sink and headed to her room, intending to get some rest.

It didn't work.

As bone-tired as she felt, sleep eluded her. She found herself pacing the floor instead, her heels rocking into the groove in the boards, where the wood had warped over time. Had she done that, in all the months she'd lived in this room? Or had someone worn this pattern into the floor years before, pacing the same caged-animal route from the bed to the door?

Leela had a sudden image of her mother, tracing the same path as her. Watching her husband feign sleep at night, wondering about the daughter they'd left on the surface. Wondering if they'd done the right thing, in letting her go.

Her father hadn't wanted to give her up, Leela knew. Her mother had had to talk him into it.

Had they ever been tempted to take her back? Had they fought about it, in all the years after?

Of course they had.

In a way, that was marriage, Leela thought. It was retreading the same old arguments, biting your tongue and pretending not to see the things the other person needed you not to see. For the sake of their pride; for the sake of peace; for the sake of waking up the next morning to face the world together. It sounded crazy, and that struggle for compromise was unromantic, sure . . . but it was love. In its barest, ugliest form, it was love. It endured, when the romance didn't.

In that respect, she'd felt more truly married to Lars in the last few months, than she had in the whole two years they were married. Marriage to Lars had been easy, before, when it should have been hard. It should have been . . . work, that same stubborn refusal to let go her friendship with Fry had become, by the end. Not all the time. But some of the time. They should have tried harder, fought harder, felt harder.

Leela buried her hands in her hair, pressing the pads of her fingertips into her scalp. Searching for a pressure point, something to ease the ache in her head. Someone was singing out in the street, raucous and drunk. It wasn't helping.

Two people were singing, Leela realized abruptly. One of them was Amy, warbling off-key, and the other, shouting more than singing, slurring on the words . . .

Was Lars. He had one arm wound around Amy's waist, in that easy, unwittingly flirtatious way Fry had always had when drunk.

" . . . baaaa-by I've been here beee-fore, I know this room, I've walked this floor . . ."

Amy was holding him up, singing too loudly for the silent street.

" I used to live alone before I knew ya -"

Lars lapsed into a forlorn humming, his attention wandering from Amy as he tried to watch the placement of his feet.

"And maybe there's a god above . . . but all I ever learned from love," he sang softly, "was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you . . ."

They stumbled against the Turangas' back door. No – Amy had stumbled, Leela realized. Lars was still semi-upright, and caught her with unsteady grace.

In the dark, Amy was staring at him.

"No more sad songs," she said decisively. "Phil-ip."

She pushed on the unlocked door, and they tumbled through.

Lars groaned. It could have been the light hitting his eyes, after the dark of the street, or it could have been Amy's use of his old name.

"Where are we?" he mumbled.

"Leela's. Leela's parents. Es. Parenteses." Amy waved an elaborative arm. "Where they live."

Lars was out of her field of vision, so Leela couldn't see his reaction to this. Maybe he hadn't had one.

"You said you wanted to go home," Amy said uncertainly.

Lars had gone quiet.

"I know," he said at last.

On the other side of the door, Leela hesitated.

"Did you mean . . . home home?" Amy babbled on. "But – bu – Lars, they're all dead."

"I know."

"Did you mean . . .?"

Amy didn't say anything, but she must have made some gesture. Pointing up, maybe. For the surface. For Planet Express, for Bender.

Lars sat down heavily.

"I forgot," he said sadly. "Where I was. When I was."

Leela swallowed.

"Lars," she said gently.

Amy shrieked and jumped back, knocking over Kif's abandoned coffee mug.

"Leela! Spleesh!"

Lars looked up from his chair. His gaze was bleary-edged but strangely steady, on her.

"How long were you outside the door?" he said quietly.

"Not long."

Amy stared from one of them to the other, like a child caught between her parents. Trying to read them.

"You're drunk," Leela pointed out.

Lars snorted.

"Barely."

"You don't drink," Leela pointed out.

"I know." Lars smiled, without any humor. "I think I remembered why."

"Where would you even find alcohol, down here?"

Lars shrugged.

"Bender left some." There was that sad smile again. "He's a good friend."

"I should go." Amy fumbled her way to the door, smiling her own bright, fake smile at Leela. "I'll go find your Mom and Dod. I mean, Mom and Dad. Goops! I'll be okay. You two should talk."

"No," Lars murmured. "We shouldn't."

"Yes, you should." Amy looked hard at him. Was she trying to glare? Leela couldn't tell. "You should," she insisted.

And then she was gone.

Leela crossed to the door – to follow her, to demand an explanation. But -

"Leela," Lars said softly.

"I – what?"

"I'm sorry."

Leela turned around slowly.

Lars was watching her, quiet and intent.

"I'm sorry," he said again. His voice wobbled, but stayed even, despite his intoxication. "For lying to you. For marrying you. All of it. Everything. I . . . I needed you to know."

"Lars . . ."

"I'm sorry."

Leela held out a hand, to help him up.

"I know." She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. "I'm sorry too."

"I still love you."

Leela flinched.

"Lars . . ."

"I know. I know. But I do. No matter where I am. No matter who I am. I always do."

Lars stood up, off-kilter without his crutch. When Leela offered her hand again, he held gratefully to her forearm.

He held still, gaze locked on her.

"Just . . . promise me you'll remember that."

Leela frowned. He's drunk, she told herself. This is just the earnest stage Fry gets to when he's drunk. You just haven't seen it in Lars before, that's all.

She knew that. Logically, she knew that. She had seen all these flavors of drunkenness in Fry over the years. Grumpy, homesick, gregarious, body hungry. And this one : the earnest, truth-telling drunk, when Fry said things like I miss you, and, I love you, and, I'd marry you for real.

When he sobered up he'd be back to himself, and most of the time wouldn't remember he'd said anything.

Lars would be the same. In the morning, he'd forget about this.

Leela swallowed.

"I'll remember," she promised.

Lars seemed to relax, slightly.

"Good," he said. "I wanted you to know that. You should know that. Even if you never forgive me, I -"

Leela frowned.

"I do forgive you," she said. "Lars . . . I forgave you a long time ago."

She gestured between them – at the sewer, the baby, her parents' house. The life they'd been sharing for months now.

"I thought you knew."

Didn't he know?

Lars shook his head, a tiny motion of uncertainty.

No, Leela realized. He didn't.

"I need to tell you something," he blurted out, before she could say anything else.

Lars opened his mouth, staring at her in the wavering light of the gas lamp.

"I –"

He fell silent again.

"Lars?"

"I'm - " He shook his head, still staring at her. A long moment passed. "Selfish," he murmured at last.

This time Leela felt it coming. This time, she could have stopped it, when Lars dipped his head and pulled her in. When he captured her lips, in a kiss that was soft but strangely unfamiliar. There was something sorrowful in it; a kind of grief. Or regret. Was that what it was?

Leela held the moment for one fragile instant, drinking him in. The sour-sweet taste of liquor on his tongue, the worn-down muscles in his arms.

Then she put a hand to his chest, and pushed him gently away.

"You're drunk."

Lars shrugged.

"So?"

"So." Leela took a deliberate, settling breath. "You shouldn't do something drunk you'll regret sober. And you'll regret this when you're sober. Take it from me."

Lars merely stared at her, intent even through the alcoholic haze.

"Maybe I would." He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb, slow and thoughtful. "Maybe I wouldn't."

This time, when he moved to kiss her again, Leela ducked away.

"Then we'll find out when you're sober," she said firmly. "Get some rest, Lars. It's been a long day. You need it."

Lars sighed, but he let her lead him to bed, unprotesting. He flopped face first onto the mattress, wincing as the springs groaned under him. He mumbled something into the pillow. "I can sleep when I'm dead", it sounded like. But he didn't repeat it. When Leela sat down on the edge of the bed he started to snore, and she realized he'd fallen asleep, without so much as rolling over.

Dead tired, like her.

Leela watched him sleep. Her eye traced the bruises on his neck, the new lines on his forehead, the wasted set of his muscles after months on a starvation diet. The unnatural twist in the bone beneath his knee, where the break had set wrong.

The sewer had not been kind to Lars.

But then, it hadn't been kind to her either. It had made her harder, harsher – thinned her out, even as it cost her her own hard-won muscles. Even as her body softened and stretched in ways that felt utterly alien to her.

Unexpectedly, she found herself thinking of Fry. Of the way he had been, when she last saw him. Immature, and sweet, and boiling over with frustration. For the first time, she wondered what he would think of her, if he ever saw her again. Would he still want her, like this? Would he notice the changes in her? Would he care?

Maybe he wouldn't. On Kif's video call he had been battered and thin looking, and it seemed the world beyond the sewer wasn't being kind to him either. I miss you, he'd said then. I still love you.

Had he meant it? Would he still mean it, if he could see her now? Or did he only miss the version of her he'd never really had?

Would she ever know either way? If Fry couldn't fight his way back to her . . . if the Brainspawn or the DOOP or his own weaknesses got him killed before he ever got to see her again . . .

Could she live the rest of her life like this? Searching for his face in Lars, or the baby, or her own imperfect memory? Carrying around forever all the words she'd never felt sure enough to tell him? At least with Lars Leela knew what her regrets were. She knew what she'd lost.

She was pacing again, Leela realized. With an effort, she willed herself to stop. She sat down on the bed, her back against the headboard, and watched Lars frown in his sleep.

Yes, she knew what she had lost. And in some ways, that didn't make it easier.

Lars slept for hours – the deep, deadened sleep of the emotionally exhausted. Leela lay beside him, watching the light turn from impenetrable black to the bleak gray that passed for sunrise in the sewer.

In some strange way, it was almost peaceful.

Lars groaned when he stirred at last.

"Leela? Is that you?"

Leela nodded, but said nothing. It was probably better to let Lars piece together the fragments of his memory alone.

"My head," he said hoarsely. "It feels like someone beat up my brain. What happened?"

"You got drunk," Leela reminded him. "With Amy. Remember?"

"No." Lars rubbed his forehead – and then his eyes slammed open. "Yes."

Leela frowned.

"Lars?"

He had gone rigid, staring up at the ceiling as some memory played itself out in his mind's eye.

"What did I say?" he asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Last night. What did I say? To you. I don't . . ." He stared around, panicked. "Oh no. Did we – did I - ?"

"No," Leela reassured him. "Nothing happened."

"Nothing?"

Lars stopped frantically patting himself down, but he still seemed dubious. Whatever memories the alcohol had erased from last night, it was clear kissing her was still in there somewhere.

"You really don't remember?" Leela raised her eyebrow. He hadn't seemed that far gone. "What were you drinking?"

Lars groaned again.

"Bender's private stash. With the crazy high proof."

He rubbed the bruises still yellowing on his neck, and sighed.

"I remember what I was thinking," he explained. "I just don't remember what I actually did." He hesitated. "Or said."

Leela handed him a bottle of water. And a toothbrush. (She could still smell the liquor on his breath, even from here.)

"It's nothing we need to talk about."

Lars stared at her, as if trying to read something in her face.

"I kissed you," he said at last.

"Yes."

Lars digested this.

"You stopped me."

Was that a guess, or a memory? Either way, Leela nodded, confirming it for him.

"You were drunk," she said.

Whether she meant that as a justification for his actions, or hers, even Leela couldn't say. Thankfully, Lars didn't ask.

He seemed to have bigger things on his mind.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But . . . but that was it, right? That was all I did? I didn't say anything, uh . . ."

You told me you still love me, Leela thought. But that wasn't news, and it wasn't a healthy path for either of them to go down. So . . .

"Nothing that made any sense," she lied.

Lars sagged, visibly relieved.

"Oh. Good. Good." He tore his gaze away from her face. "I should brush my teeth. My tongue tastes like 2004."

"Where's Amy?" he asked a few minutes later, through a mouthful of froth.

Leela shrugged. Right now, Amy was the least of her concerns. Amy would be safe enough on the surface, and only too happy to leave. As grateful as she was for Amy's help, Leela could survive the sewer without her.

She couldn't say the same about Lars.

"Leela?" He was frowning at her, toothbrush in hand. "What is it? What's wrong? Is it Amy? Did something -"

"No." Leela shook her head. "Kif was here."

"Oh. Then it's Fry."

Lars's expression flickered, the way it always did when he said Fry's name. It was there and gone so fast Leela wondered if he was even aware of it.

"It's not Fry," she told him.

"Then -"

"He wants you," Leela blurted out.

"Fry?"

"Kif. He wants you, and Amy. And that cop, the one who mutated. He's still around here somewhere, I don't know. I don't care." She leveled her gaze at Lars. "He wants you."

"Me?" Lars frowned. "Wait, start over. Kif was here? When?"

"Last night," Leela explained. "The DOOP put him in charge here on Earth. Temporarily. It's a long story, but that's not important. He thinks we have a window, to make a deal. He thinks if I give the surface something now, they'll listen."

"Why would they listen now?" Lars furrowed his brow. "Because we took out their kill-bots?" When Leela stayed silent, it hit him. He tensed. "Because their kill-bots killed Skreem."

Leela nodded. There was another silence, as she watched the magnitude of her choice sink in, watched Lars's face change as he comprehended it.

"You have to do it," he said at last.

"Lars -"

"No." Lars cut her off with a forceful shake of his head. "Leela, you have to do it. They killed her." He made an angry arm motion, indicating the surface. "She was just a kid, and their robots killed her. They – they owe her."

"Lars -"

"They do," Lars insisted. "But that's not the only reason." He frowned, and plowed on. "You can't stay down here. It's driving you crazy. Maybe you can't see it, but I can. You're like some kind of caged animal. You don't sleep. You don't stop. Some days I think you're okay, and then some days I think there's so much crammed down inside you you're just gonna explode. And that's not right. You have to get out of here."

"It's not that simple."

"What? Yes, it is. Give them me, I don't care."

"You should care," Leela snapped. "You have no idea what they'll do to you, Lars. They'll toss you in a cell, if you're lucky. They'll - "

"So they lock me up." Lars shrugged. "It's not the end of the world. And I'll be with Amy. It's not like Kif would let anything happen to her. I'll be fine, Leela."

"You can't promise that."

"I -" Lars stopped. A shadow passed over his face. "No," he said quietly. "I can't promise that."

"Then how can I let you go?"

There was something in her own voice – a vulnerable note Leela knew she had utterly failed to keep out – and it stilled them both. The moment hung between them, with nothing – not alcohol, not grief, not blind panic – to blame for it.

"Leela . . ." Lars shut his eyes. "You have to." He opened them again. "Come on. We both know how this ends."

"I don't."

"Yeah, you do. Fry comes back and I . . . go."

"Go," Leela echoed.

Lars grimaced, but he didn't take the word back.

Leela frowned.

"You really think I'd choose him over you," she said. "You really think it would be so easy for me?"

Lars stared at her, his gaze steady in the half-light.

"No," he said at last. "But I think I should make it easy for you. I had my shot, Leela. And I blew it."

Leela opened her mouth, but Lars shook his head, cutting her off.

"Don't say you forgive me."

He sat down and leaned back against the headboard, staring at the patch of mold that climbed the opposite wall.

"There's this thing," he said suddenly. "Back in my time, when I was really . . . Yancy made me go to this thing. It was in this back room in a church. We all sat in a circle and talked about what kind of crazy we were." He paused. "There were steps. Ten. No, twelve."

He stopped again, and Leela remembered who she was talking to.

"Alcoholics Anonymous?" she suggested.

"Yeah, I think that was it." Lars nodded. "Yancy wanted me to quit drinking. It didn't work. I bailed after a week." He rubbed the bald dome of his head, the way he would once have run his fingers through his hair. "You were supposed to talk about what was messing with you. You know, whatever the thing was you kept trying to forget. One guy watched his girlfriend OD, and there was this old lady that never saw her kids anymore, and this other lady who was trying to get her kids back from the DCFS. Anyway, I couldn't do the steps, because I couldn't tell them what really happened to me, or I'd wind up in the nuthouse. So it didn't work for me. But there was this thing they used to say, and maybe they said it so many times it stuck, because I keep thinking about it. It was about . . . how you should change what you can change, and accept what you can't change, and be smart enough to know the difference." He smiled sadly. "I think I get it now. I think I finally figured out which is which."

Leela swallowed. There was a lump in her throat.

Because she knew where this speech was going. She had made it herself, once.

And, oh, she had thought it hurt from the other side.

Lars reached out and squeezed her hand.

"We're a thing we can't change," he said. "I . . . I have to let you go." He kissed her hand, and then he stepped away. "I'll be where you need me to be, tomorrow. With Amy."

Leela nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak.

Lars smiled at her, and this time there was something else in it. Real, quiet happiness. It shone through, making him seem strangely calm, even through his grief.

"We made it work though," he said. "Didn't we? You and me. We were good together. We were even in love, for a while."

Leela felt her vision blur. She blinked rapidly.

"We did," she whispered. "We were."

Standing in the doorway, Lars nodded.

"Then I don't see what else I could have asked for."