In Practice
The impact to the dumpster proved quite a rude shock.
He surfaced, claws clacking, eyes flashing. "Who dare disturbs the Mighty Zoidberg?"
One eye peered back over her shoulder.
"Leela?"
"Mighty Zoidberg? Since when have you ever been 'mighty'?"
"It's an act I put on to save my tail meat. Zoidberg has nothing!"
He began blubbering, and she sighed. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. It's been a very long day."
"Oh. Perhaps you might like to tell Zoidberg about it, why not?"
She snorted. "Has anyone ever turned to you for advice?"
"All the time! I recommend a flea bath and a neutering in fifty per cent of all consultations, but..."
"It's Fry," she interrupted. "When he plays his holophonor with those hands, it opens up my world; I feel like...I'm the most important thing in the world. That someone cares for me."
"So? Sounds like paradise. When I fell in love, seagulls ate my lady! ATE!"
"You know that those hands aren't real. They're cold as Bender's, and without his thuggish charm."
"If you like, I can replace them! How many fingers would you like?"
"That's unethical."
"Ethics? Pheh! Who needs ethics when you can eat for a day? So what if a person ends up with a nose on their face when it should be on the leg? Zoidberg is HUNGRY!" Her head sagged, and his tone changed. "However...maybe I would do it to please you?"
"I wouldn't want you to, even if Fry agreed to it. I love that music so much, and I want to hear the opera. It's that I feel bad for enjoying it, because it's from Fry...but not from Fry. Do you understand me?"
He scratched his chin with a claw. "Quite a pickle you're in."
"I know."
"Perhaps you could tell me why you care."
Leela's expression darkened. No one questioned her authority, especially not Zoidberg. But she soon recognized that he meant no real harm. "I like Fry. He's a good friend."
"Then what does it matter if he plays for you anything?"
"Because it means so much to him!" The words exploded from her lips.
"And why does it matter? You tell me he's just a friend, like Zoidberg."
"Who said you were my friend?" she asked tartly.
"Would you still be talking to me if I were an enemy?"
Her stance had been aggressive; now it relaxed.
"I wish I knew what to do," she admitted quietly. "I wish I could listen to my heart, instead of my head. But that's what got me here."
"Zoidberg would go to the opera. Enjoy it. There is beauty in Fry's heart, my friend, and is that not what means the most?"
Despite herself, a smile came. "Thank you, Zoidberg. I think I know what to do now."
She walked away from him with purpose, and he felt a streak of pride rush through his body.
Then he heard the banana peels calling his name, and he returned to the trash from whence he had risen.