The days dragged on, with no visitors and no word of Leela. The only way to tell the time was by the shifting of the light outside, and the changing of the guard. Lars watched for the shadow of their boots under the door, and learned to tell them apart by the sound of the weapons they carried on their hips.
NNYPD guards carried batons. They liked to trail them across the wall, dragging them over the water pipes and the radiator just to hear the clatter it created. DOOP guards were quieter. They clicked instead - clicked as they unfastened the guns from their belts, clicked as they checked the magazine, clicked as they took the pieces apart to polish them. Click, click, click. They would disassemble and reassemble their weapons over and over again, clicking them together and apart like a rubik's cube out in the corridor.
None of them ever talked to the prisoners. Maybe they weren't allowed to. Food came in through the hatch in their cell door, but as soon as Lars or Amy had grabbed onto the tray on the other side, the hatch slammed shut again. The faceless people outside were deaf to any attempts at conversation. It didn't matter if they yelled at their guards, threatened them, sweet-talked them or even flat-out begged for information. It lead nowhere. All they ever got back was stony indifference.
By the end of the first week Lars and Amy had run out of things to say to each other. Amy napped, and joked about catching up on her beauty sleep. Lars brooded, and chipped at the paint on the wall. He was aware that they were both slipping into apathy. It was hard to remember why he should care.
"Is it night time already?" Amy asked blearily.
She'd been napping again. There was nothing else to do.
Lars glanced out of the window.
"No. It's still day. But it's snowing. I think there's a stormfront moving in."
The sky outside was gray as steel. Low and heavy, it promised a blizzard. On the other side of the bars, fat white flakes were already beginning to fall.
"It's cold," Amy whined.
"I know."
Lars smiled wryly. When it snowed like this, it took him back to that boat on the Arctic Circle, and Leelu's narwal horn cresting the ice. He could almost hear her singing again, free and proud as she surged through the waves.
It was a good memory. A happy memory. Lately Lars found himself digging up memories like these, brushing off the dust and replaying them like an old favorite record. He felt he owed it to his old life somehow, to give the memories one last rerun. To really appreciate them.
Or maybe he was just trying to hold on. Sometimes he felt as if he pulled out the memories like evidence in a court case, laying them out in front of an uncaring universe as a way of pleading, see, I'm real! I'm not a mistake. I'm a real person! I have a real life! You can't take me yet, I'm not done!
But no-one was listening. If Amy was right, the universe just didn't care. He might as well be a snowflake begging not to melt.
And now he was feeling sorry for himself again.
He picked up Amy's free hand and huffed on it to warm her.
Familiar noises filtered in from the street outside. Shutters slamming down and people nailing up boards. Carol songs floated in from a distance.
I wish I had a river I could float away on . . .
Lars saw his own frown mirrored in Amy's face.
"Is this Xmas? Already?"
"I guess it must be."
They sat in silence for a moment, discomfited by the way the holiday had snuck up on them. Lars felt a brief pang, thinking of Leela alone in the sewer.
Maybe her parents could make her smile. There was nothing to make an Xmas dinner with, but maybe her mom could knit her another sweater, or something. Maybe it could still be a kind of family Xmas.
Deep down, Lars knew that an Xmas where half her friends were locked up and the other half were missing wasn't the kind of Xmas Leela would want. But at least she was safe from Santa's missiles in the sewer. That was something.
Footsteps stomped outside their cell, and then the door was flung open without warning. Two young DOOP guards poured in, pointing their guns.
"GET BACK AGAINST THE WALL!"
Lars frowned.
"I am against the wall," he pointed out. "We both are."
Amy snickered.
"We were looking out the window, genius. Don't you goons have eyes?"
There was a familiar sigh.
"Yes, they do. I'm trying to convince them to use them."
Kif stepped out from behind the guards, looking weary.
"Corporal, we've talked about this. Assess the situation before you act. Anything else makes you look like an idiot. Do you want the enemy to think you're an idiot?"
"No, sir."
"Do you want the enemy to think you're unprepared?"
"No, sir!"
"Then let's try to avoid giving them that impression. You have eyes, corporal. Use them."
"Uh . . . yes, sir. I'll try to do that, sir."
"And there was really no need to shout."
The young officer had turned red.
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
Kif sighed again.
"Just try and remember it for the future." He turned to Lars and Amy. "I'm sorry. It's a new unit. They have a lot to learn."
"No kidding." Amy smirked. "They're like a bunch of baby Zapps."
Kif winced.
"Yes. He created most of our DOOP training materials. I've been trying to implement changes, but it hasn't been easy."
Lars eyed the corporal, who kept raising and then lowering his gun as if unsure whether or not he should be pointing it at them. It was hard not to laugh.
"I bet."
Kif followed his gaze and sighed again.
"Make a decision and stick to it, please, corporal. But please also consider that I am your commanding officer and I am now standing directly in your line of fire."
The corporal turned tomato red again and hastily lowered his gun.
Amy gave him an encouraging smile.
"Don't worry, Kif. They'll get it eventually. They have a good teacher."
Kif flushed a noticeably darker shade of green.
"Yes," he said. "I hope so. I - I try."
He coughed. Amy had always had the power to make him stammer. After a minute of looking dazed and lovelorn he recollected himself and stood up a little straighter.
"And the men are trying too, of course. I have great hopes for them. They're my first real command. I'm sure they'll do me proud."
The soldiers saluted in unison.
"Yes, sir!"
"Absolutely, sir!"
Kif looked embarassed by the enthusiasm.
"Um," he said, then caught himself and coughed again to cover it. "Very good, men. Now, leave us. I want to talk to the prisoners alone."
The soldiers looked alarmed.
"But, sir . . . it's Xmas Eve! This facility is due to be placed under lockdown in one hour. If you're still here by that time, you'll be locked in, sir. With the prisoners, sir!"
"Yes, lieutenant. I'm aware."
"But . . . but, sir, protocol dictates -"
"I'm familiar with protocol. It doesn't apply here. This is a personal visit."
"But . . . but, sir, these are dangerous criminals!"
Kif pinched the bridge of his nose.
"They really aren't, lieutenant. And even if they were, I'm armed and they're not. They're handcuffed, and I'm not. I'm sure you're not implying that I couldn't handle the situation." He raised a hairless eyebrow. "Me. Your captain. I'm sure that's not what you're implying."
The lieutenant gulped.
"No, sir. Of course not, sir! Never, sir. You're the only soldier to have survived more than two years under the command of Zapp Brannigan, sir! You're a legend and an inspiration to us all, sir!"
Kif looked as if he was suppressing another sigh with immense difficulty.
"Very good, lieutenant," he said at last. "But I know we've had the conversation about brown-nosing."
"It's not brown-nosing if it's true, sir. With respect, sir!"
Kif groaned.
"Just . . . leave us, please."
The soldiers saluted and backed away obediently, slamming the door behind them. Lars heard the key turn in the lock.
Kif flashed them a wan smile, as the footsteps faded away.
"Hello," he said softly. "Happy Xmas."
He seemed as surprised as Lars when Amy dove over from the window and flung her arms around him.
"I can't believe you're here," she cried.
Kif squeezed her waist. He had turned an unmistakable forest green.
"Yes," he stammered. "Well, it's Xmas and I . . . I've been so busy but I thought . . . today of all days . . . and Leela seemed to think it was a good idea . . ."
"Leela!" Amy yelped. "You've seen her?"
Kif nodded.
"Every day. The negotiations are still ongoing. They're what's taking up most of my time. That and training the men, of course." His mouth twitched. "They need a lot of training. As you can see."
Amy grinned.
"They like you. You're good at this, Captain Kroker."
Kif smiled before he could stop himself.
"I am, aren't I? I know it's only temporary, acting captaincy, but I feel so invigorated, Amy! I feel like this is what I was always meant to be. I can see what the DOOP should be, how we could be better. How I could be better. Does that make sense? I'm sure it doesn't make sense. But it's so clear to me, suddenly, the man I'm supposed to be -"
Amy mirrored his smile.
"It makes sense. I understand. I really do, Kif, and I'm so proud of you."
Lars massaged his shoulder. Amy had nearly yanked his arm out of its socket when she hurled herself across the room at Kif. It was a miracle any of them had kept their balance.
"You know what I don't understand," he grumbled, before they could forget his existence again, "is what's taking so long. Why aren't the mutants free yet? You said people are on our side. Other planets. People on the surface, even. If that's true the mayor has to cave. Or Nixon will make him cave, won't he? Leela said he needs to save face."
Kif dragged himself away from Amy's smile.
"Hmm? Oh, yes. That's true. Earth's non-terrestial trade partners are threatening an embargo. And Nixon can't afford that. It puts him under significant political pressure."
"You say that like there's a big ugly 'but' coming."
Kif sighed.
"There is. Leela is still very much the face of this resistance. She always has been. I think Nixon believes that if he can settle things with her, the rest of the mutants will go back to life as before."
"Settle?"
Kif nodded.
"He's offering to give her permission to live on the surface. A one-time only visa, in recognition of her special circumstances. You know. Being raised on the surface, believing herself to be an alien . . . and procreating with a human, of course."
"They know about that?"
"I'm afraid so. It didn't take them long to notice. Although Leela won't answer any questions about the pregnancy, so I think they all assume the baby is yours."
"I mean, genetically . . . " Amy pointed out.
"Yes," Kif agreed. "I imagine that's why she hasn't said anything. It has no impact on the negotiations and I know it's important to Leela, that she tell Fry herself. But the administration weren't pleased when they realized she was pregnant. It's a PR disaster for them. They're terrified the surface will find out how close they came to murdering a pregnant woman with those kill bots. People have been upset enough about the death of that mutant child."
Lars felt his fists ball. He swallowed back the sudden lump in his throat.
"They should be. They killed her! Isn't that enough for them? How many more kids need to die before -"
Kif raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.
"I understand. I'm on your side," he assured Lars. "But all I can tell you is how the administration thinks. Keeping this hidden hasn't helped Leela, on a personal level. Nixon thinks she's been lying to him. He's furious about the baby. He's fighting mutant emancipation now out of sheer pigheaded-ness. Leela out-played him and he doesn't want to let her win. But he doesn't have many cards left to play, beyond keeping you locked up here. If Leela stays strong and refuses to separate her freedom from the mutant cause, he will give in. He won't have a choice. He's a politician, not a dictator."
Lars kicked the edge of the bedstead in frustration.
"So we just sit here and wait for Nixon to pull his head out of his ass? However long it takes?"
Kif smiled.
"You sound like Leela."
"How is Leela?" Lars felt his heart rate pick up. "Is she resting? The doctor said she needed to rest more."
"I don't know about that. I can't say she ever looks particularly well-rested. But I've been able to get more food sent down to the sewer, and I'm sure that helps."
Lars breathed a sigh of relief. At least Leela would be getting enough to eat now, even if he wasn't there to share his portion of the rations. He'd been worrying about that.
"Did she say anything? Did she give you any message for us?"
Kif shook his head.
"No. I'm sorry. She just asked me to make sure you were both safe."
"What about Fry?" Amy asked. "Have you heard anything about him?"
Kif shook his head again.
"No. Erosh is still a dead zone for communications and our surveillance systems haven't picked up any trace of Fry in the surrounding galaxies. If he is alive, and not on Erosh anymore, we can't find him."
"How can he be such a ghost?" Amy said, frustrated. "It's not like he's an expert computer hacker. Or an intergalactic spy. He's Fry."
"I don't know. But there has been a recent spate of vehicle thefts I think may be connected to him."
"But you don't know for sure."
"No. I'm sorry. We don't know anything for sure. Wherever he is, whoever he's with, they have methods of hiding him I can't explain. Even Captain Glottus couldn't disappear this completely. It's as if he's just vanished into thin air."
Lars shrugged.
"Doesn't seem so crazy to me. That's his special talent. Philip J Fry, the disappearing man."
Amy elbowed him in the ribs.
"Don't be mean."
"It's not mean if it's true. And it is true. I would know. I was him."
"Either way," Kif said hurriedly. "There hasn't been any news. We're still waiting for Zapp's squad to report back with a fuller picture of events on Erosh."
He fidgeted, suddenly awkward again. A green flush was creeping up his collar.
"I wanted to keep you both updated but mostly, I . . . I came to see you. I had to see you."
"Oh." Lars blinked. "Well, uh . . . thanks, I guess."
Amy trod on his toes.
"He means me, goofus."
"Oh."
That made more sense. And it explained why Kif had stopped staring at his shoes and was now gazing at Amy with a fearful, adoring expression that would have been downright weird if it had actually been aimed at Lars.
"Yes," he said fervently. "I did mean you. Oh, Amy. I couldn't fight the urge to see your face anymore. I've missed you so terribly. There are so many things I've wanted to say to you, but I haven't known how. I've written you a thousand letters, but none of them came close to expressing my feelings. I practised all the things I wanted to say to you, all the ways I wanted to apologize, but I . . . I don't know how you could ever forgive me. I know it's too much to hope for. But if there is even the tiniest possibility you might give our love another chance, I have to know. I have to try."
"Oh, Kif . . ."
Amy put a hand to his mouth, shushing him. There were tears shining in her eyes.
"You're not the only one who made mistakes. I hurt you too. But I still love you and if you still love me, then our love always has a chance."
"Oh, Amy . . ."
Kif still had Amy's hand partly muffling his mouth, but she moved it to let him speak and he swooped in to kiss her.
"Oh, Kif . . . " was the last thing Lars heard before their mouths met.
"Um," he said awkwardly, but neither of them were paying any attention to him. Kif and Amy were locked in a passionate, protracted embrace that showed no sign of breaking any time soon.
Lars eased himself onto the bottom bunk, his arm suspended at an uncomfortable ninety degree angle.
"I'll just, uh . . . be gooseberry over here then."
He glanced out of the window, wondering why Robot Santa never aimed a heat-seeking missile at you when you could really use one. Though he had the feeling even an explosion wouldn't be able to break Kif and Amy's absorption in this moment.
"Happy Xmas," he murmured. "I'm happy for you both."
And tried to convince himself he really, truly felt it.