In the glare of the artificial lights Planet Express looked hyper-real. Had it always looked like this? To Fry's tired eyes the colors seemed too bright. The textures seemed to pop off every surface. Amy's sweatshirt was too pink. The walls were too yellow. Had they always been yellow? The corded cushion covers on the couch were too stripey, striating under the lights in an eye-watering haze.

Only Leela felt fixed at an appropriate level of realness. She was still holding his hand. He could feel the blaster calluses on her fingers, where her hand had molded over the years to the shape of her gun. The rough edges gave him something to focus on.

Fry rubbed his thumb over the callus on her palm, tracing the shape of it. Trying to ground himself.

"Was it always this bright in here?"

Leela blinked.

"Probably," she said. Then, "Maybe."

She tipped her head up, squinting into the harsh white buzz of the strip light above her head.

"I'm not the best person to ask. I've been living in the sewer. I'm still adjusting myself."

Her gaze shifted sideways to Fry.

"Maybe you should sit down."

"It's too bright."

Leela turned off the overheads, so that the only light was the glow from the kitchen spilling in through the doorway, and the red-gold pop of fireworks through the window.

"Better?"

"It was too bright," Fry mumbled.

"I know."

"Sorry."

"I don't mind."

Leela touched his cheek, frowning as she stared into his eyes.

"How hard did you hit your head?" she asked suddenly.

Fry shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm fine. I saw a doctor. A vet. Practically a doctor. And a nurse. I think." He frowned. "She might've been a dream."

Leela seemed less than reassured by this.

"I see. When was the last time you ate?"

"I had coffee. On Mars." Fry frowned again, remembering. "I spilled it."

Leela sighed.

"I'm gonna find you something to eat, and then you're gonna get some rest. I need to talk to you, and it's important. You can't be this out of it."

"I'm not out of it," Fry protested. "I'm in it. On it. With it."

Leela snorted.

"Barely. Just . . . rest."

"But I need to talk to you."

"We'll talk when you wake up."

She made to stand up. Panicking, Fry tightened his grip on her hand.

"Don't go!"

"I'll just be in the other room."

Leela tried to pull her hand away. Fry hung on tighter.

"If I go to sleep, you'll disappear."

Leela sat down again. She stroked his cheek with the ball of her thumb.

"Fry," she said softly. "I'm not a dream."

"You're not?"

"No. I'm real. And I'm not going anywhere."

Fry swallowed. There was a lump in his throat.

"Promise?" he said hoarsely.

Leela stood up, then bent down and kissed him on the cheek.

"I promise, Fry."

Fry blinked. He was lying on the couch at Planet Express, and there was weak winter sunlight spilling through the window onto his face.

Something felt wrong, in his body. It took a long minute to understand what it was.

Nothing had woken him. He wasn't in pain. No-one was trying to kill him. He wasn't even hungry.

For the first time in a long time, he felt . . . rested.

He could even hear Leela's voice, somewhere close enough to make out the words.

"I thought you'd be happier," Amy was saying. "You got what you wanted, Leela. The mutants are free. You did it."

"I am happy."

"You don't look it."

He heard Leela sigh.

"Maybe I'm not happy. Maybe too many people have died for me to be happy."

She paused.

"I'm glad," she said at last. "I'm glad it's over. I'm glad they're free."

There was a little lull of silence.

"You want breakfast?" Amy said suddenly. "I could do eggs. Or pancakes."

"Pancakes," Leela said. "Thanks."

The refrigerator door went, and the conversation was subsumed by kitchen sounds - weird, normal sounds like the coffee pot being filled and the toaster dinging, and the clatter of forks in a drawer. Fry lay still and listened to them, fighting the urge to flinch at each one. It felt wrong, to find himself back in a world where people took naps and made eggs. He kept waiting for the fire and gunshots.

Something poked him in the shoulder.

"I know you're awake. I can tell. Get up, I need to talk to you."

Fry was vertical before he'd made the decision to sit up. Moving so fast had left him feeling faintly motion-sick, but the action had been out of his control. He was breathing fast, the blood roaring in his ears, and he had a white-knuckled grip on the barrel of a . . . gun . . . no, some kind of stick . . .

It was the end of Lars's crutch. Fry stared at it in blank incomprehension.

Lars himself was standing over him, wobbling slightly as Fry refused to loosen his grip.

"Let go. I need that to stay upright."

Fry pried his fingers off with an effort.

Lars wobbled again, leaning on the wall for support, then swung the crutch back under his arm and steadied himself.

He stared down at Fry as if sizing him up.

"Listen to me," he said at last. "Some things in life you only get to do once. You only get one chance to have the right reaction. This is one of those times. If you say something dumb or selfish now, Leela won't ever forget it. So don't. Don't screw this up."

Fry stared.

Lars frowned, impatient.

"Are you listening? This is important. You can't screw it up. Leela's counting on you. It's time to grow up. Do you understand?"

Fry considered this, turning it over from all angles. He shook his head.

Lars made a sound of frustration.

"You need -"

He didn't get any further than that, because Fry stood up and punched him in the face.

"You stole my life!"

The fury burst out of nowhere. All these months Fry had been miserable, but the anger must have been there too, a silent passenger waiting to rip its way out of him and make itself known.

He hadn't meant to punch Lars. He hadn't known he'd be so angry. But something about the sight of Lars standing over him, calm and all-knowing, lecturing him about how best to love Leela . . .

It was too much.

His hand was shaking. His knuckles were bleeding where they'd caught the edge of Lars's teeth, but he couldn't feel it.

Lars seemed to be feeling the pain just fine. He was slumped against the wall with a hand over his mouth.

"It wasn't your life," he mumbled. He spat out a mouthful of blood. "Ow. It was my life too."

"Liar! It was my life first! My apartment, and my dog, and my family, and you stole -"

"I didn't steal anything. Your apartment?" Lars laughed. "It was a room above a pizza place you used to camp out in when Michelle dumped you. The furniture was just crates and stuff Mr Panucci found on the sidewalk. You never missed it once when you came to the future, don't pretend -"

"I missed my dog!" Fry cut across him, blazing with fury again. "I missed my puppy, and I could've saved him, I could've brought him back to be with me, but I didn't! Because I thought he grew old with some new owner, with a real family like he deserved, and a bowl with his name on it and a shiny collar, and maybe some swanky lady dog he fell in love with and had puppies with -"

"That's the plot of Lady and the Tramp," Lars interrupted.

"I don't care! It's what he deserved! I thought he was happy, I thought he forgot about me, but all that time he was living with you and he didn't miss me at all!"

Lars wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was still bleeding.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It makes perfect sense!"

"No, it doesn't. Not even to me. And that's saying something."

"Oh, because you're such a genius. Mr Big Man Lars, who knows everything about everything and always says the right thing because he stole my life -"

"That's not it at all. You're just mad and lashing out because -"

"Because you stole my life!" Fry shouted. "My puppy didn't miss me and my family didn't miss me because you were there the whole time, the better, boring responsible version of me! I bet they never missed the real me at all. I bet they never even thought about me, except to say what a loser I was before I turned into the new, beardy bald wonderful Lars -"

"I had hair then, moron. And I wasn't Lars. You don't know what you're talking about. You don't have a clue."

For the first time Lars sounded angry too.

Fry pushed on, relentless.

"Oh, sure. Sure, you weren't Lars then. Lars was just a person you made up to steal Leela -"

"I didn't steal Leela. She's not your seven-leaf clover -"

"Yes, she is!"

"What?"

"Yes, she is. That's exactly what she is! She's my luck and she turned my whole life around, she made it magical and wonderful and incredible, just by being there, because that's what she does! And she made me feel like I could do anything, just like the clover, because if she believed in me then nothing else mattered!"

Lars said nothing.

"And you stole her!" Fry charged on. "You made her love you and it was a fake marriage, you were a fake person and you made her miserable -"

Lars hit him so hard he was knocked off his feet.

"It was not a fake marriage."

Fry was too dizzy to speak. So he kicked out instead, the sole of his army boot smashing into Lars's shin. Lars went down instantly with a satisfying scream, but he lashed out with the crutch as he went, walloping Fry in the stomach.

Fry howled.

"Fake!" he yelled. "Fake, fake, fake!"

"You don't know what a fake marriage is," Lars growled. "You don't know what a real marriage is! Leela married me because I grew the hell up, but you don't know how to do that! You don't know how to step up! All you know how to do is ruin everything and run away!"

Fry lunged at him again.

"You take that back!"

"Make me!"

"Are you out of your minds?" Leela shouted from somewhere behind him, but Fry was too lost in the red haze to turn and look at her.

He was busy pummeling every inch of Lars he could get his hands on. Lars aimed a barrage of blows at his ribs and Fry crumpled, gasping for air.

"Fake," he wheezed. "Liar! Beardy . . . handsome . . . liar . . . handsome Lars and his fabulous jars . . . and your stupid flashy car . . . Leela only liked you because -"

Lars hit him again, his fist smashing into Fry's face.

"SHUT UP!" he roared. "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! YOU KNOCKED UP MY WIFE!"

There was a ringing silence. Lars had gone still, the color draining from his face. He looked horrified.

"Leela," he choked. "I didn't mean . . ."

"Don't."

Leela cut him off, her voice terse.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

Fry stared. Leela was still wearing that bulky sweater, but she had taken off her coat and now that he looked at her properly . . . The image shifted and rearranged itself in his brain, and suddenly he knew what he was looking at.

He stared.

"I don't understand."

Leela sighed.

"It's not rocket science, Fry."

Was it his imagination, or did she seem to soften a little?

"We need to talk," she said. "Alone. All of you, get out."

Dimly, he registered that Amy had followed Leela in from the kitchen. And Hermes had appeared from somewhere. And Zoidberg. And Cubert and Dwight, who were both a foot taller than he remembered but so terrified of Leela they fled as soon as she turned her glare on them. Amy slapped Hermes and Zoidberg on the shoulder and dragged them both away.

That only left Lars. Leela kicked his crutch up into her hand then held it out to him, arm first. It took a lot of effort for Lars to get to his feet again, but Leela didn't help him, beyond offering him the crutch, and Lars didn't ask her to. Still, she watched him as he made his painstaking way out of the room, and followed him with her gaze before she sealed the doorway after him and plunged them into silence.

She sat down on the couch, watching him now, and Fry realized he was still sprawled on the rug. He grasped the edge of the coffee table, wheezing, and hauled himself into a sitting position.

Leela laced her fingers and rested them on top of her knees.

"That wasn't how I wanted you to find out."

"But -" Fry stopped. "You can't - that's a -"

He gestured, vaguely.

Leela didn't seem to be expecting eloquence from him. She just nodded.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"It's not a big lunch, Fry."

"No. I guess. I guess not."

Fry lapsed back into staring. His brain felt like soup, sloshing around uselessly between his ears.

Say something, moron, he told himself, but the right words wouldn't come.

"How?" he managed at last.

Leela arched her eyebrow.

"I know you know the answer to that," she said mildly.

"No." Fry shook his head desperately, trying to shake his water-logged brain into some semblance of function. "I mean . . . how . . . you-and-me how. How do you know? We were . . . y'know."

"Careful?" Leela guessed.

"Yeah!"

Leela winced.

"We really weren't. Eighty per cent careful isn't careful. We were sloppy." She sighed. "I'm not blaming you. It was just as much my fault as yours. I let myself get caught up. It seemed more important to feel something at the time. And it seemed so unlikely anything would come of it. I'm a mutant, and you're human, and I'm not exactly at peak fertility any more, let's face it. The odds -" She stopped. "It doesn't matter. I wasn't thinking about the odds. I wasn't thinking, period."

Fry frowned, searching back through his memory.

"Wait . . . you mean, the thing at Amy's party?"

"Yes."

"But . . . but . . . that doesn't count! That was barely anything! I was mad at you! And you were mad at me! It was a stupid dumb fight in Amy's weird pink closet, and I didn't even tell you I loved you! That can't count!"

Leela definitely softened this time.

"You did," she said gently.

"Did what?"

"Tell me you loved me." She held out a hand to help him up off the floor. "It was very sweet of you."

"Oh." Fry took her hand, shivering a little at her touch. "Then I guess I did one thing right. But why couldn't it be one of the other times, when I did it properly? Like when we were here -"

He stopped, cutting off the memory out of habit. Even with Leela here in front of him, it hurt to remember loving her that much. Leela's hand twitched in his and he knew she'd done the same thing. Some memories were too raw to look at up close. But he thought he might live until he died and never try to pour as much of himself into another person as he had that night.

He'd felt like half a person ever since.

"It should've been a time that mattered," he mumbled.

Leela gave him a small smile.

"That's a nice thought. But it doesn't work like that."

"It should," Fry said stubbornly.

"Maybe. But for what it's worth, that night mattered to me. It scared me half to death. It made me realize my feelings for you wouldn't stay in a neat little box like I wanted them to. They were out of my control, and sooner or later I was going to have to face them."

Fry glanced at her stomach. The sweater still hid most of it, but the rounded shape underneath was unmistakable. It made him feel weird.

"When did you find out?"

"You were already gone. I tried to find you, but by the time we tracked you down to Mars it was too late."

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault."

Fry shook his head.

"No. Captain Glottus running into me wasn't my fault but I meant . . . I'm sorry I left the first time. I ran away, like Lars said. I was a coward. You deserved better."

Leela frowned.

"You didn't know what you were leaving behind."

"I knew I was leaving you." Fry tore his gaze away from the mysteries of her stomach and looked her dead in the eye. "I never should've left. I should've stayed and fought for you. I left because I was scared of my feelings and because . . . because I knew it would hurt you. I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me. I was stupid and selfish and you deserved better."

Leela blinked.

"Well, you deserved better from me too. If I'd been honest about my feelings long ago, none of this would have happened."

"You don't know that."

"Don't I?"

"No!"

"I've been in love with you for years, Fry. Maybe if I'd stopped making excuses and taken a good hard look in the mirror -"

"I've been a moron for years," Fry interrupted. "Even if you'd loved me back, there's a million ways I could've screwed it up. You can't know it would've been better. I hate Lars but he's right. I needed to grow up, and it wasn't your job to show me how. I needed to get there on my own."

There was a silence and then Leela's hand brushed against his, almost shyly.

"You're right."

"I am?"

Leela laughed.

"Don't sound so surprised. It happens more often than you think."

Fry inched his fingers through hers.

"Leela?" he said tentatively.

"Yes?"

"When you . . . when you . . . did you ever . . ." It was hard to say. "It was mine. Why did you . . .?"

He left the question hanging at last, gesturing at her stomach.

It took Leela a long moment to work out what he meant.

"You mean why did I keep it?"

Fry shrugged.

Leela was quiet.

"I wanted to," she said at last. "She was mine." She squeezed his hand. "And she was yours."

A lump swelled in Fry's throat.

"It's a girl?"

Leela smiled.

"Yeah. Wanna see?"

She pulled a picture out of her pocket and passed it over to him.

Fry unfolded it.

It was black and white, like a moving Rorschach ink blot, but the more he focused on it, the more he started to see. The curve at the top became the back of a baby head and in the top left hand corner, curled up, he could see a tiny kicking heel. Her arms were cloudy, dense white, and they coiled strangely. It took him a minute to understand what he was seeing.

"Are those . . .?"

"Tentacles," Leela said carefully. "Yes."

"Wow." Fry tapped the surface of the picture, timing it to the unfurling of the baby's tentacles, so it looked like she was reaching up to touch him. "She's really a mutant."

"Yes." Leela's voice was quiet. "Does that bother you?"

Fry touched the picture again.

"ET, phone home . . . no, why would it bother me?"

A laugh bubbled out of Leela. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stop it.

"No reason. Forget about it."

Fry continued to stare at the sonogram, enraptured.

"That's a whole baby in there. A real baby."

He felt dizzy.

Leela nudged his knee with hers.

"I'm sorry," she said. "This is a lot to dump on you in one go. I was in shock for days when I found out. It's okay to feel . . ."

"Freaked out?"

Leela smiled wryly.

"Let's say, overwhelmed."

Fry nodded.

"I don't know what happens now," he admitted.

"Neither do I, if it makes you feel any better."

"I feel like we should get married. But you're already married."

A shadow passed across Leela's face.

"Not anymore, actually."

"Oh." Fry blinked. "Then maybe I should go down on one knee? But I don't have a ring. Maybe we don't need a ring -"

"Fry."

Leela tugged on his elbow, yanking him back into his seat.

"We don't need to get married," she said. "We don't need to do anything. This really is a lot to adjust to. For both of us. Maybe it's better if we just take things slow for a while."

Fry frowned.

"You won't feel like I'm being a deadbeat?"

"No."

Leela fidgeted with her fingers, staring at the empty spot her wedding ring had once belonged in.

"I'm not saying not ever," she said at last. "But . . . I had a husband. And I still think of him as . . ."

"Oh." Fry shook his head. "I get it. It's too weird."

"Too weird," Leela agreed. "Too soon. I'm sorry."

It made sense. Even Fry still thought of Lars as Leela's husband. It had to be even weirder for her. Even if Lars was technically him. It was still weird and confusing, and maybe Leela was right. Maybe that was the last thing either of them needed when they were still trying to get their heads around a baby.

"It's okay. I get it," he said. "It's the 31st Century anyways. It's not like we have to be married. We could, y'know . . . share custody. Or something."

Leela coughed.

"We could," she agreed. "But I . . . Fry . . . Marriage is a step too far. And I do think we should take it slow. But that doesn't mean I don't want us to move. I'm not averse to us taking . . . other steps."

"Baby steps?" Fry hazarded.

Leela smiled.

"If you like."

She reached out and smoothed his hair, then let her fingers drop, tracing the burned skin on the shell of his ear.

Fry swallowed.

"If I kissed you, would that be a baby step?"

Leela flushed a warm, heated pink.

"It would probably count."

"Oh, I'll make it count," Fry murmured, as he drew closer and let himself fall into her gravity.

There was nothing like the heat of Leela's mouth. Nothing like the perfect softness of it, except the place between her legs, except -

Shut up, shut up, he told himself, because burying himself there would be the exact opposite of taking it slow, even if it was all he wanted to do. And this was heaven anyway, this was a bliss he'd never dreamed he'd have again. Who needed air, who cared about anything when he was here, alive, with Leela . . .

He broke the kiss with effort, resting his forehead against hers as he fought to catch his breath.

"I missed you," Leela whispered.

Fry surged forward to kiss her again on instinct, trying to fight the convulsive shudder that had run through him at her words. There was a wall he'd been building in his head, and everything he'd run from on Erosh strained behind it. Leela would knock it down soon, he knew. Her voice alone chipped cracks in it. And the way she looked at him. If he'd tried to play the holophonor in this moment, he would have played wrecking balls on concrete and only half understood why.

But Leela seemed to sense it. She rubbed the pulse point on his wrist, her thumb stroking gently back and forth until his heart rate slowed and the lump in his throat faded.

She pulled away from the kiss, letting him rest against her again and just breathe.

"Hey. Hey." Her voice was soft. "You're at Planet Express. You're safe now. It's okay."

She didn't understand. How could she? She didn't know.

Fry shook his head.

"No-one's safe."

Leela opened her mouth to argue - and then she frowned. Shaking his head had shaken loose the chain around his neck. It caught the light, glinting gold.

"Since when do you wear jewelry?"

Fry tugged the data nugget free.

"It's not jewelry."

He passed it over to Leela, watching her turn it over in her hands.

"Then what is it?"

She hit the activator and holographic light spilled out, bathing her face in a sickly green glow.

Fry watched the list of names scroll. And scroll.

He knew them all by heart now.

"Dead people," he told her.