How It Ends
Part: 1 of 1
Content: Nothing to speak of
Cannon: Post "Robot Devil.."
Characters: Mostly Leela and Fry
Summary: So: How does it really end?
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Disclaimer: All characters owned and created by Matt Groening and owned by Curiosity Company/Fox. It is not meant to reflect on the sexuality of the actual involved parties. This piece of fanfiction is not intended to misrepresent actual events and bears no resemblance to any event that has ever occurred in reality, past or present. It is not meant to disparage the used character trademarks or used persons. No copyright infringement is intended, and the author is not making any money from the publication of this story.
Notes: A little one-shot that continues the end of the show a wee bit further.
His fingers clasping the solid, metallic weight of his holophonor, Fry slowly opened his eyes as his last note rang through the Opera House. He gently lowered it to a comfortable position on his lap. He needed his hands free; this would take more strength than his ordeal with the Robot Devil. It would be worse than having them chopped off.
He turned to the empty hall, to Leela.
She wasn't there. Shaken, he peered into the gloom; nothing. He felt blackness closing in: he had literally gone to hell for her, and she had left him alone with his stupid fingers anyway.
Then he was startled out of his dark rumination by a soft hand pressed against his shoulder. She was here! Leaning into the welcome touch, he looked up into her affectionate gaze.
"So," she said, her tone unusually muted. "That's how it ends."
He swallowed and nodded. "Pretty much."
She thought over what she had seen this evening: what soaring music and magical play of images he had created! But, truthfully, this hadn't touched her as deeply as the waveringly-accompanied, crudely-rendered image of her and Fry, walking hand-in-hand into the sunset in their matching tee shirts, that he had made with his human hands.
She slipped her gloved fingertips down his arm, gently appraising the fingers of his left hand with her touch. They fanned out instinctively as she stroked them. When she pressed her own against his open palm, they met with a very human embrace. That connection startled her with its odd comfort; this was what she had wanted before, when she had shuddered at the icy touch of the Robot Devil's hands.
Fry was human. Almost too human.
He could feel her breath at the back of his neck, whispering along the line of his collar. He turned to her as their fingers laced together.
"Leel-umph!" Her name was butchered on a garbled note as she slammed her lips onto his. It was the sort of kiss a warrior might give, without compromises. But suddenly it melted, her hard pose tumbling down like her hair across the nape of his neck. The softness inside emerged when she looked into his eyes.
"Fry..." She smiled. "Did you say something, during the opera? About wanting to date me?"
"Yes." He breathed it carefully, as if a mistake would destroy it.
She pulled him off the chair and toward the wings. "I think we've both been too busy giving parts of ourselves away."
Fry stared at her in wonder, allowing himself to be led outside, into the sarcastic congratulations of his friends. Bender would never let him hear the end of it...even if he got over his current preoccupation with irony.
She walked close beside him, her total faith clear made clear by her musical laugh, the easy sway of her hips. They negated the words of his friends with true clarity. Their friends went their separate ways on Sullivan Street, and Fry found himself escorting Leela back to her apartment.
She was silent, but he felt an almost palpable heat from her. They mounted the stairs together. At her doorstep, he found himself tongue-tied.
"So...I'll see you at work," he said lamely, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"And Friday night." She smiled warmly.
"Friday - what?"
"Eight O'Clock. I'll be the one in the cocktail dress." He scarcely heard as she said, "Fry, it's taken me a long time to get over being a prudent, justified fool. Give me a little slack. I may end up an irrational, wrong supergenius."
"I'm okay with that...if that's how it ends up."
"Well..." She closed the distance between them. He realized, in a heated daze, that for once she was truly listening to him. "I don't think that's how it ends."
"How does it?"
Her kiss was scorching. When they separated, she smiled and wiped her lower lip rakishly. In silence, he watched her disappear, and he understood.
This was how it would end. Not with a whimper, but in fire. With a bang.