Author’s note: This is a (short) Piece’o’Fiction. This is in no way related to ‘Bender’s Big Score’, and no serious attempt to fit it accurately into canon should be made without large amounts of headache medication being available. The characters in it are not owned by me (I’m just borrowing them), so please don’t sure me/hurt me/kick me and throw me down the stairs. I’m only posting this to a small number of sites; anyone that wants to post it elsewhere should ask my permission and credit me accordingly. No hablo espaneol. (sic) Stays crunchy even in milk.
My sincere thanks to Red_Line, who was a great help in beta-reading this. Thanks!
It had taken a lot of effort to get this done; finding the stuff, figuring out how to use it – not to mention getting Bender (and anyone else) to go and stay gone long enough. Overall, this was one of the more expensive and time-consuming things he’d done in a long while, and it had taken every last ounce of his concentration to get it finished. And there was no guarantee that the whole thing wouldn’t just blow up in his face; they were a lot closer now, after the opera, but that didn’t preclude her slapping the taste out of his mouth if she thought he’d crossed the line – this was dangerously close to Zapp Brannigan/Alkazar-type behaviour, and he knew her position on that. And had witnessed the after-effects firsthand, too. The key was trust, something he knew that she saw as very precious. It had taken a long time before she’d talked about what she’d experienced when she was in the coma (what she could remember of it), and if she thought he was making fun of that, or her, that’d be it – for everything between them. There was no going back from abusing her trust; certainly not from something as definitive as this, if she took it the wrong way.
And that scared him more than even her worst rage. Her giving him a black eye and the cold shoulder for a while over an offensive screw-up (like the ‘time-proof room’) was one thing; her tearing him to shreds with words, and then cutting all ties…that’d hurt more than any blow she could ever land, no matter what body part she hit, and he did not want that to happen. It would kill him to hurt her like that.
Of course, it could work. It could turn out all right, she wouldn’t be mad, and she’d enjoy it. Man, would it be worth it if she did.
Coming back from running an errand, she found the note in her locker. ‘Come to the lounge’, she read, so she did. She knew it was Fry; nobody else would be either this personal or impulsive, for one. (Though that looked like fancy paper the note was written on, which likely meant that he’d actually planned things out in advance – a pleasant, if somewhat worrying first.) That, and the fact he’d signed it.
‘Come to the lounge for something sweet’.
What could that mean? He was always surprising her with the spontaneous things he did, so she never really knew what was coming down the pipe next. (And now that they were pretty much an item, a lot of those things were directed on romantic lines, which she had to admit she really liked.)
And it might be freaky or odd or inappropriate (though her definition ofthat had softened somewhat lately), but if it was for her, it’d be from a genuine place in his heart. It could be utterly bonkers, but it’d be heartfelt, at least. And with all the heartfelt things he’d done for her, that was something she could appreciate and look forward to.
Even if she had no clue what it could be.
But it was big, because the office was deserted, and it was barely 3PM.
Stomach tingling (a little? or more) with she wasn’t sure she wanted to call anticipation or not, she took the elevator upstairs, walked through an empty conference room, and through the sliding doors.
“Fry? You there? How come the lights are dimmed? And the shades are drawn? And….candles?”
“Over here; on the couch.”
“Ok. (Whoops! Stupid coffee table.) …Fry, are you…glistening?”
“Uh huh. Wanna find out why?”
“Okay…Mmm. Waitaminute; so you’re –”
“…Oh…Mmmm…Heh. Honey glaze; now that is a taste sensation.”
“And you know, I am feeling pretty hungry…”