Leela peeled away from Fry with difficulty. It had been a long day, and there was only so long either of them felt comfortable standing.

But it was hard to pull away from him. There was a rightness to being wrapped in Fry's arms. Something that eased her breathing and made her feel settled, for the first time in a long time.

"I was planning on sleeping here tonight," she said. "Your hammock is probably still up, but the bed in here is more comfortable. If you want -"

Fry smiled faintly, as if he found her funny.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Leela, I'm not going anywhere."

He kicked off his boots and crawled onto the bed. The side she never slept on, Leela noted, absurdly touched that he knew her so well.

"You can change if you want," he offered. "I don't have any other clothes, but if you wanna put on a nightshirt or something . . . I'll be a gentleman and cover my eyes."

He clapped his hands over his eyes in demonstration.

Leela wavered.

"Well . . . alright. But no peeking."

There was a nightshirt in her locker. It still fit mostly respectably, though the hemline now finished high up on her thighs. But Leela felt strangely exposed in it. She couldn't remember the last time she'd bared this much of her body to anyone. The sewer had been so cold, she'd been bundled up in layers since the siege began, just trying to keep warm. Over time the extra clothes had started to feel like a layer of armor. Hiding her pregnancy. Hiding the changes in her body she still hadn't adapted to yet. It had been months, but this new version of herself felt almost as strange to Leela as she knew she must look to Fry. Every morning she woke up and some other part of her had shifted beyond recognition.

Maybe she should have stayed dressed. Maybe -

"Still fits," Fry said casually.

Leela blinked.

"I thought you were covering your eyes."

"I was!" Fry protested. "I heard you stop moving and I figured you were done."

Leela sighed.

"It doesn't fit exactly," she said dryly, tugging at the hem of the shirt. "But it'll do."

She climbed into the bed. Fry was giving her that funny look again.

"Um," he said. "Maybe it's none of my business, but . . . what's with the no looking anyway? I've seen you naked. Up close and personal naked." He winked at her. "I liked the view."

"Well, I was in shape back then."

Fry frowned.

"You're not out of shape now."

"Fry, I'm pregnant."

"So?"

He genuinely didn't seem to see the problem.

Well, maybe it wasn't his fault. He didn't have X-Ray vision, after all. He couldn't see through the shirt, and that hid most of her. Leela hesitated, wondering how to explain the softening of her body. The thin pink brush strokes of oncoming stretch marks. And the weirder changes. The way her nipples had darkened and swelled to the size of saucers six weeks in, or the way her veins suddenly stood out clear and dark through the skin, in places she had never noticed them before - on the backs of her legs, or spanning the top of her pelvis, or webbed across the swell of her breasts. Apparently the increased blood flow was normal, but it didn't feel normal. She couldn't imagine it would ever look normal to anyone else.

Leela had never thought of herself as vain, but the thought that Fry might look at her and not feel attracted to her made her stomach twist.

"Pregnancy causes a lot of changes," she said eventually, because Fry was still staring at her in utter bewilderment.

"Yeah, no d'oy," Fry laughed.

When she didn't laugh with him, his frown deepened.

"Leela, you're acting like you mutated in the sewer."

Leela sighed.

"Oh, fine. I'll get it over with. But don't say I didn't warn you."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and then pulled the shirt over her head.

Fry made a noise like a miniature heart attack.

Leela sighed again.

"I know. It's shocking."

Fry shook his head vigorously, and made a weak attempt to cover his eyes again.

"What? No! It's not that, it's . . . Leela!" His voice cracked. "You can't just get naked in front of me with no warning! You said - You said - Slow! Taking it slow!"

"I guess it was a little forward. But I thought you deserved to know."

"B-uh?"

Fry boggled. He seemed to be struggling to get his breathing under control.

He shut his eyes and breathed heavily for a few minutes.

"Okay," he managed at last. "Okay-okay-okay."

He took a deep breath, followed by a long exhale, and opened his eyes again.

"Leela," he said at last. "I don't know why you don't know this, because I thought you knew everything, but . . . you're the hottest woman I have ever known. Ever. You have to warn me before you start taking your clothes off because if you don't my brain could explode. Or shut down. Or catch on fire. Or maybe all three at once, like a fire-shut down-explosion. I don't know! But that's what you do to me so you can't just . . . bust out your body, all 'surprise!' and expect me to be okay!"

He shook his head.

"Thinking. Hard. When you're naked," he finished weakly.

He steadied his breathing some more. It seemed like he was trying to gather his thoughts - which, this being Fry, could take a while. Leela waited as patiently as she could.

"Also," he said at long last. "I don't care if you're pregnant. I still think you're hot. Smoking hot! Am I supposed to think you're hideous now? Because of . . ." He made a broad, sweeping gesture over her abdomen. "Because, uh, I don't. And maybe that makes me a freak, but I don't think it does. If it did I'm pretty sure my dad would have mentioned it, when he gave me that talk about the birds and the bees and the commies." He shook his head, staring at her in blatant incredulity. "And if I am a freak, I don't even care, because no-one with eyes could look at you right now and not see you're a total knock-out. You could tie me to this bed and say anything you want to me and I would do it, I would be your love slave, I would -"

Another deep breath. And another. He seemed to need a minute.

He settled down at last and made eye contact with her.

"Leela," he said steadily. "You're beautiful."

"Oh, come on."

"I'm serious."

"That's very sweet, but you don't have to go overboard."

"You are," Fry insisted. "So what if your body looks different? It's supposed to! And it's not that different. If you think you're not hot it's all in your mind."

"Fry -"

"No." Fry shook his head firmly. "Leela, you're incredible. You're growing a whole person inside you! So what if it means you get weird marks sometimes and you can't bounce quarters off your abs anymore? Who cares? Anyway, look at me. I look like a piñata at a kid's birthday party, after they knocked all the candy out."

Leela opened her mouth to argue with him, and found she didn't have the words.

"I love you," Fry said.

His gaze roved over her body - slowly, deliberately. Taking her in.

He lifted her hand and kissed it.

"I love you."

His lips brushed the swell of her breast. Then the curve of her hip.

"I love you."

Cautiously, he swept his thumb along the stretch mark blooming on her belly. Spanned her thighs with his hands.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of one thigh and Leela shivered.

Fry stilled, then bent to kiss the other.

The shiver was stronger this time, but just as involuntary.

"Fry -"

What she intended to say was a mystery even to Leela herself.

Fry stilled again, and studied her. He dropped off the edge of the bed and pulled her forward - then kissed her again, open-mouthed this time, at the apex of her thigh.

Leela felt her mind slide blank.

"Fry -"

Fry raised his head again, his hands still resting on her thighs.

"Leela," he said softly. "I can stop. If you want me to." He swallowed. "Tell me to stop and I will."

Leela took a deep breath, letting the edge wear off her need. Fry was watching her, deadly serious.

"I . . ."

Should she tell him to stop? Leela was so used to denying herself it almost felt wrong to let him proceed. But was it wrong?

It didn't feel unhealthy, or out of control.

It felt the way it had when she'd seen him in the crowd on New Year's Eve. Like a miracle she hardly deserved; like a homecoming, like simplicity, in the sweetest way.

She touched his cheek.

"Don't," she whispered.

Fry nodded.

He moved her forward a little more, studied her again, then tugged out one of the pillows from the head of the bed and settled it behind her back.

"Um," he said, as if something had just struck him. "Uh . . . can we . . . you and me . . . is it okay? With - ?"

He gestured at the baby.

Leela flushed.

"No, we're good. Some things are out, and I shouldn't be flat on my back for too long, but this could work, if you were thinking standing -"

Fry had a disarmingly innocent smile, sometimes.

"That's not what I was thinking."

He peeled off her underwear and dropped to his knees. He kissed her thigh, just above the knee, then crossed to the other side and mirrored the kiss. Then crossed back again. A fraction higher this time, mouthing at her a little more . . .

He jinked her legs up over his shoulders, and laughed when Leela gasped.

"That's what I was thinking."

"I . . . Fry -"

Leela couldn't form a coherent thought. Fry was laughing quietly, smiling against her skin, a balm to her heart . . .

And then the heat of his mouth seared onto her core and whited out everything else.

"Oh," Leela gasped.

She buried one hand in his hair and grasped out blind with the other, until Fry's fingers found hers. He let her crush his hand without any sign of discomfort - just wound his fingers through hers and held on tightly. As if his touch could keep her rooted to this moment, to this feeling, to this bed.

Leela lost herself in the motion of his tongue. It was languid, steady in a way Fry had never been before, and it built like waves on a shore. Leela felt the tension drain from her, felt it melt out of her muscles. She hadn't realized how hard the knot in her chest was, until it started to loosen. How rigid her body had been. How had she lived like this so long? Pretending not to notice, pretending not to feel it, pretending not to need . . .

The sweep of Fry's tongue became deeper, firmer, pressing hard enough that the lazy glow of relaxation faded and her hips rose to meet him, following the motion, feeling it build.

Oh, he was good at this.

Oh. Oh.

His name was falling from her lips, with who knew what else, who cared . . .

Why hide what she felt for him? Why pretend, when he knew it all now anyway?

I love you, she thought, but all it emerged as was "I . . . I . . . Fry," as pleasure crashed over her; a breaking wave, slow and sweet and forceful.

Fry followed her through it, and held onto her, breathless, as she came back down to earth.

"Oh," Leela breathed. "That was . . . I

. . ."

Fry gave a muffled laugh, his forehead resting on her thigh.

"Taking it slow," he mumbled. "I like taking it slow."

Leela chased his thumb with hers, squeezing his hand. She carded her fingers through his hair, feeling him catch his breath as she recovered hers.

"Fry."

Leela sat up a little straighter, stroking his cheek.

Fry blinked up at her, smiling muzzily.

"You like it too," he teased.

Leela laughed.

"Oh . . . I do."

She touched his shoulders, tilting his chin up to meet her gaze.

"Fry."

"Uh-huh?"

Leela swallowed.

"I want you," she said simply.

Quiet. Then Fry nodded.

He stood up, reaching for the hem of his sweater. Leela folded her fingers on top of his and helped him ease it over his head. She kissed him lightly and ran a hand over the front of his suit.

"I always liked you in this."

"Really?"

Fry seemed surprised.

Leela shrugged.

"I like a man in uniform."

"Oh, yeah. You said before. But I thought you meant a sexy uniform. Like Captain Yesterday."

"That wasn't a uniform. That was a costume," Leela corrected. She stopped to consider. "You still have that?"

Fry grinned.

"Maybe. Clobberella."

"Oh, don't remind me."

"Hey, Clobberella was hot."

"I was getting through a can of hairspray a day."

"It was worth it." Fry's grin widened. "So worth it."

Leela pulled the zipper of his jumpsuit down and pushed it gently off his shoulders. He was still black and blue underneath.

She evaluated the damage as he stepped out of his clothes. It was a sobering sight.

"Here," she said at last. "Sit. And if this starts to hurt, for Pete's sake, stop me."

"It won't hurt. You wouldn't hurt me."

"Don't be a masochist, Fry."

"I don't know what that is."

Leela sighed.

"I don't want to see you in pain. Okay? I don't know how well you're healing. Don't push it."

Fry waved her off.

"I'll be fine. I just won't move a lot. And I'll put these pillows behind me. See? Problem solved."

"Well, that's one solution."

"Hey, I'm full of solutions. When it comes to getting your body on my body, I'm a lean, mean, solution-finding machine, baby."

"I see that," Leela hummed, climbing carefully into his lap.

She touched his chest again, leaning into him a little, and watched Fry wince.

Not a good idea then. She leaned into the wall instead, gripping the headboard, and rested her free hand lightly on his shoulder.

Fry took a sharp breath.

"Did that hurt?"

"N - no," he managed. "Not. That. I'm good."

Leela studied his face. He was probably telling the truth. He was flush against her now, anchored by her hips, and that was a lot of skin on skin for someone who hadn't been touched that way in months.

Sensory overload, she decided. His breathing had gone ragged, his heartbeat erratic. Maybe it was best to give him a minute.

Fry buried his face in the nape of her neck - breathing in the smell of her hair, Leela realized. One hand settled in the small of her back, his thumb tracing the divot in her spine, and Leela shivered.

Fry kissed her neck - a hot, instinctive response. He mapped the curve of her ear, the hollow of her throat, the dip of her collarbone. He reached her breasts and Leela bit her lip, white-knuckled on the headboard as she tried to keep herself still.

"Sensitive," she gasped out.

"Um . . . bad sensitive?"

Leela shook her head tightly.

Fry palmed one breast, curious. The sound it tore from her throat was almost savage. Leela dragged him forward and kissed him, hard.

"Huh," Fry mumbled, when she let him go. He seemed too dazed to say anything else. Leela didn't blame him.

He kissed the swell of her breast, watching her squirm, and then - pulled her nipple into his mouth.

Leela swore, which only made Fry laugh.

He sucked experimentally, testing the motion of his tongue, and Leela felt her hips roll forward involuntarily. Fry switched his attention to her other breast and her hips pitched forward again, grinding down on the hard heat of him.

Fry made a strangled sound. He pulled her in for a sloppy, desperate kiss, teeth clashing, and on the next roll of her hips he pulled her down onto him.

He kissed her again, bucking up into her as Leela ground down.

"Shh, shh," she chided, with a long, slow roll of her hips.

Fry nodded, panting.

Leela waited until he was still and trembling before she rolled her hips again.

Fry made a keening sound, his head whipping back against the headboard.

"Oh, mama," he babbled. "Jesus, Jehovah, Captain Janeway . . ."

Leela smiled. You idiot, she thought fondly. My idiot. She rewarded him with another languid, full-body roll of her hips.

Fry surged into her eagerly. Leela let him, let him kiss every inch of her he could reach, let them fall into a brief rhythm . . .

Hands on his shoulders, she stilled him again. This time Fry strained against her, pleading.

He made an inarticulate sound, something that wasn't words, but seemed like it might have been an attempt at speech.

Leela waited for him to still again and then . . .

She rocked her hips instead, a short, easy movement. And another. And another.

Fry moaned. He grasped for her hips, her thighs, the small of her back . . . anything to bring her closer.

The next time Leela stopped, he gasped.

"Ah . . . ahh . . . Lee - la -"

She kissed him, tugging at his lower lip with her teeth.

"Leela . . . Leela, I can't . . . I love you, I love you, I'll go crazy . . . I'll die, Leela -"

"No, you won't."

"I will, I will, I'll die of sex, and then you'll be sorry -"

Leela fought the urge to laugh.

"No-one dies of sex, Fry. Crushed pelvises, maybe, but not actual sex."

"I will. I'll be the first. You can put it on my grave, Philip J Fry, died of - of -"

"Of . . ?"

Leela gave him a true, deep sweep of her hips, and Fry cried out.

"I love you," he blurted out. "I love you so much, you don't know . . . you don't . . ."

Leela settled into a steady, even rhythm, building to a driving pace. Faster, deeper; feeling Fry wind tighter and harder underneath her, sobbing . . .

He broke, hips snapping up into her as his release rushed through him. Leela held him, feeling him convulse against her, until he shuddered and fell back, boneless, to the bed.

She watched him as he fought for breath, until . . .

He was crying, she realized suddenly. Sobbing, real tears coursing down his cheeks.

She reached out to wipe them away.

"Hey, hey. Are you okay?"

Fry nodded, wordless.

"Are you sure? If that hurt -"

Fry shook his head, forcefully.

"No," he said. His voice had cracked. "It's not you," he managed. "I don't know what it is. It's . . ."

"Everything else?" Leela said softly.

It was a guess, but it seemed to be the right one. Fry nodded.

Leela sighed.

"Scoot over."

She climbed off him and tucked herself into his side.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Fry mumbled.

Leela squeezed him in a gentle hug.

"There's a lot in your head," she told him. "That's what happens when you try and force emotions to go somewhere else, Fry. They find a way out. Trust me, I know."

"When does it stop?"

"I don't know."

"So I'm gonna cry about dead people every time I . . ."

Fry looked disturbed.

"Well, I hope not," Leela admitted. "But maybe. For a while."

Fry said nothing. He probably didn't have the words.

"It'll pass," Leela assured him. "Give it time."

"What if it doesn't? What if every time I feel good I . . . I melt down like a crazy person? What if every time I -"

Leela propped herself up on one elbow, to look him in the eye.

"Then at least you'll be letting it out," she said evenly. "That's healthier, trust me."

Fry absorbed this. He still looked conflicted, but his sense of panic seemed to be fading, which could only be a good thing.

"Besides," Leela reminded him. "I'm the only person who'll know. And I understand, Fry. I really do. Okay?"

Fry considered this. It was funny, Leela thought, that she could read him so well. She could pinpoint the moment he accepted her argument, the moment her words permeated and he relaxed.

"Okay," he said simply. The same 'okay' he'd given her before. The same absolute trust behind it. The same sense of relief.

Leela smoothed his hair back.

"We can lie like this for a while," she told him. "And then we'll clean up, and I'll find something to wear that doesn't send you into a frenzy of lust."

Fry snorted.

"There's no such thing."

"I'm sure there's something."

Fry thought about it.

"Pig slime. Maybe," he decided at last. "Unless it was too clingy and you were naked underneath. Then it would probably still be hot."

"Pig slime," Leela said drily.

"Hey, you asked."

"I regret it already."

Fry laughed. Then it petered out and he turned quiet again.

"Leela?"

Leela felt her eye drifting shut. It was too nice, lying here in the afterglow.

"Mmm hmm?"

"Can we spoon?"

Leela cracked open her eye again.

"Sure."

"Can I be the little spoon?"

Leela smiled.

"Okay, Romeo."