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Futurama Fan Fics
This FanFics were inspired by Futurama, but for no reason that means that TFP wants you to stop watching the show. Please, if you wanna use these at your website, as permission from the respective authors.
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.
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.
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.)
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