Author's Note: Invader Zim is the property of Jhonen Vasquez and Nickelodeon. This ficcy is a sequel to "A Tale of Two Tallest." And a really big thank you goes out to Apricot the Gerbil for giving this fic a name! For the longest time I was calling it Currently Untitled. And even more thanks go out to all the folks who've been beta-reading this sucker. You all rock!
I've mentioned this before, but here it is again. I've set up a board for all IZ fic authors in an effort to cut down on non-fics here on ff.n. Everyone is welcome. ^_^ Tis at http://pub96.ezboard.com/bzimfics
Warning: This is a Red/Purple slash fic! Rated R for violence, language, and ummm... Irken nudity.
Prelude to a Nightmare
Dark lids lowered over lavender eyes. The Almighty Tallest Purple pulled a coverlet stuffed with feathers of creatures found only on the planet Goosia Downis up to his neck. Purple lived for these quiet moments; no rushing about, no politics - just himself, the velvet darkness, and a cozy bed with a warm body to lean into. Fingers brushed against Purple's supple chest and he grabbed onto that wandering hand. "Oh, Ptor," came a sulky voice from right behind Purple's head.
The barest whisper of a smile touched Purple's face at the sound of the half-forgotten name. "Ptor doesn't exist any longer, Red," he reminded his partner. And, indeed, in a very real sense, Ptor did no longer exist, for that identity had to be given up when he assumed the mantle of Almighty Tallest. Purple rolled over to stare into Red's penetrating crimson eyes. Even in the dimness, those eyes stood out, bright and amused; twin pools of fire Purple could drown himself in.
Red reached out and ran a finger along one of Purple's antenna. The intimacy of the gesture sent a shiver down Purple's spine. "You're cold, Purple," Red murmured, drawing the other closer. There it was again. Touch. Before he'd become the Tallest, Purple had rarely known of touch. Now the feel of warm silken skin against skin was a pleasure he drunk in nightly like a fine wine.
Purple's relationship with Red dwelled in the realm of unique. Once upon a time they'd wanted each other dead. Now, though, if Purple thought about it, he might almost say he loved Red. Certainly he found comfort and companionship in his other half, but there was something more in their relationship - a need he had not yet placed a name to.
A buzz sounded from the communication system, startling both of the Tallest and destroying the mood. The palace Drones had orders not to disturb the Tallest at night. Heads would roll for this indiscretion, Purple decided as he flipped the switch that turned the intercom on. "What is it?" His voice was a guttural bark.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, my Tallest," came the quavering response. Purple bared his teeth in a grim smile. The little Drone had better be afraid. The voice continued, "But-" An explosion sounded in the background and the connection was lost to a sea of static.
"What in the name of the Holy Green Monkey just happened?" Red didn't shriek. He controlled his fear well, but Purple could feel his partner trembling against his bare chest. Neither had to guess, though. The answer was as obvious as the antennae on their heads. In the distance, deep rumblings could be heard. Sirens began wailing their piercing warning. Purple's squeedily spooch sank all the way down to his knees. Irk was under attack!
Tossing aside the covers, Red and Purple were out of bed in an instant. They had no time to lose! Dashing down the halls while buckling their armored robes into place, a sight which caused various Drones to look twice, Red and Purple made their way to what they'd unofficially dubbed the War Room. A large table dominated the center of the room, surrounded by chairs and hovering vid-screens. From the walls, great leaders of Irk's past glowered down in solemn disapproval from their portraits. "Red, take crowd control!" Purple called as he flipped on the tabletop holo-computer. Red nodded and latched onto one of the floating vid-screens, dragging it to a corner where he would be out of Purple's way.
As Purple began dialing up various military officials, he listened in on Red's soothing address. "My people," Red began, falling into a confident and calm posture, which would translate well over the emergency broadcast system. "We, your Tallest, are taking steps to deal with the situation at hand. We ask that you do not panic..."
Though he would have loved to continue listening to Red, for the other Tallest's words were soothing even his panic, Purple turned his attention to his own task. The terror-stricken faces of various commanders in the Irken armies met Purple's intense gaze. "Status report!" Purple demanded.
A squat, green-eyed lieutenant snapped to attention. "Sir! A giant mech unit is rampaging... One of our's!" Purple's antennae pressed forward in alarm. A saboteur? Behind the safety of the screen, the lieutenant cringed. "Sir!" he continued reluctantly. "We believe that an Invader is getting an early start with Operation Impending Doom. This particular mech is issued to an Invader Zim."
In a screen to Purple's left, a different Irken, one with a wonderfully tall head, piped up to give the lieutenant a break. "Sir!" he said, flashing a disk before the screen. "I'm sending you the information we have on Invader Zim now!" Purple nodded, and with quick two-fingered typing, brought up the transmitted file.
'Ah, yes,' Purple mused as he skimmed through the file. He recalled which Invader was Zim from the Great Assigning. Purple had wondered about giving such a short Invader such a crucial role in Operation Impending Doom, but Zim's testing results had been in the top three percentile of all the training groups - ranking particularly high in loyalty.
Red, meanwhile, finishing up his broadcast and setting it on a loop, crossed the room to the holo-computer and brought up a visual on the emergency outside. Static crackled through the image, but still the Tallest could make out the twisted bodies of glass and metal that had once been buildings. Purple spent a long moment staring in utter awe at the destruction before turning his attention back to the file on Zim. "Find me an engineer," he commanded. "One that knows a weakness in that damned robot!"
*~*~*~*~*
The power! The power! Never before had Zim known anything like it! That the diminutive Irken had been given a role in Operation Impending Doom at all was nothing short of amazing. Being placed in control of a mech unit was beyond his wildest dreams. Even the pounding that was starting up in the back of his head as the celebration drinks began taking their toll couldn't diminish Zim's joy.
Drunk on euphoria, Zim issued orders to the Drones serving under him. Yes, the Tallest were wise to choose Zim for this assignment. He would rain doom down upon the enemies of the Irken Empire! "But sir!" one of the Drones exclaimed. "We're still-"
"Silence!" Zim shouted, using sheer volume to drown out the Drone's protest. How dare these lowly Drones try to question him. He was an Invader, no matter how small, and as such he was superior to any Drones. He commanded, they obeyed - that was the natural order on Irk. "You! Twist those knobs! Twist those knobs!" The poor singled-out Drone did as commanded, albeit with much reluctance.
Wild laughter erupted from Zim. Yes! Starting his part of Operation Impending Doom early had been a stroke of brilliance. The Tallest would surely reward him for his initiative. Spotting a Drone starting to slack off, Zim pointed an accusing finger. "You! Pull some levers! Pull some levers!" That the Drones did not respond with proper alacrity, Zim decided, would be noticed when he made his final report.
*~*~*~*~*
Red and Purple stared out the palace windows in complete dumbfounded silence. The mech's path of destruction had at last taken it to where they could establish visual contact. They'd not, however, been able to reach the mech's diminutive driver as he was apparently maintaining radio silence.
The two Tallest had accomplished much in a short time, but nothing that yielded satisfactory results. A damage control squad had been scrambled to try and stop the situation from deteriorating further. Citizens were being teleported to ships waiting in Irk's upper atmosphere. Irken medical staffs weeded through the wounded, seeking those who needed immediate attention first.
Nothing yet could be done about the rampaging mech, though. Its designer had assured his Tallest that the machine was quite impregnable, made to tackle any conceivable off-planet obstacle. Red looked helplessly down at the reports establishing Zim's last known location, a bar where the young Invader had been celebrating his assignment in Operation Impending Doom. Most likely, the Invader's judgment was warped with drink and euphoria. His initiative had to be applauded, though. If only he wasn't attacking his home planet...
Crashes and shouts erupted in the hallway. Red straightened, smiling grimly. At last! In the midst of the chaos an enemy was coming that he could fight. The last thing he expected was a Drone to come barreling into the room with a contingent of guards hot on his heels. "My Tallest! My Tallest!" The small creature dropped to the floor, trembling in the awe-inspiring presence of his leaders.
Red and Purple looked at each other and shrugged, both clueless as to what this intrusion was about. At last, Purple waved the guards off. One mere Drone was no threat to the Tallest. "What are you doing here?" Red asked, squinting at the Drone.
Rising to his feet, the Drone saluted smartly, heels clicking together as he brought a gloved hand up to his brow. Magenta eyes peered out over the high collar of his oil-blotched uniform. "Sirs! Drone Tric, Mech Unit Mechanic, reporting!"
Moving like a well-oiled machine, Red dropped into a low crouch, eye level with the mechanic, and bared his teeth in a dangerous smile. No Drone would dare disturb the sanctity of the Tallests' quarters without good reason, and Red had a suspicion as to what that reason might be. "You know how to stop the mech?"
The Irken Drone averted his gaze and backed away, tripping over his feet and crashing to the floor. "Yes! No... That is... Maybe," the flustered Drone stammered. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he managed to squeak out a full sentence. "I have an idea that might work, my Tallest!"
Red grimaced, starting to think that the mechanics drew straws to see who would come and this little guy lost. Laying his antennae back slightly to appear less threatening, Red reached out as though he were going to stroke Tric's cheek, but never quite made contact. Now was the time to be encouraging, not intimate, after all. "Go on, go on," Red purred.
Tric flinched away from the hand instinctively, knowing that such closeness was both a great honor and a great danger. Should he displease his Tallest, he doubted he'd leave the room alive. He took some small measure of confidence from the fact that Red had not yet ripped out his throat. "The maintenance hatches in the mech's heels!" Trick blurted, wishing only to leave. "They use the Solarius B-53 opening mechanism."
Puffing his chest out proudly at having delivered his message, Tric looked up at both of his Tallest knowing they would understand the importance of his words. He was greeted with a pair of blank, uncomprehending stares. With a long-suffering sigh, Tric began explaining in layman's terms. "My Tallest, the Solarius B-53 opening mechanism freezes up when it's supposed to open the maintenance hatches. We've put in requisitions to get better systems, but does anyone ever listen to the mechanics? Of course not!"
Red cleared his throat in a wordless warning for Tric to get to the point. "My Tallest, because we, that is mechanics like myself, are still stuck with the B-53's, we've had to come up with an alternative way to get the hatches open. If someone can get close enough to run a strong electrical current through the hatch, the B-53 will reset itself and open up automatically. Then that someone can get inside the mech's leg and shut off the motor systems, effectively stopping the mech. That is, it should work... in theory."
Straightening up, Red ran a finger up and down his cheek in deep thought. So all they needed to do was get someone into the mech through the maintenance hatches, eh? The Drone stood still, waiting. "Anything more to report?" Red asked. Tric's head shook in a silent negative. Red paused in his cheek rub to wave a hand at the Drone. "Dismissed, then." Tric saluted and all but dashed out of the Tallests' presence.
Red crossed the room to the window, his footsteps silent in the plush carpet. He could feel Purple's eyes on him. Too long had Red been stifled by tradition. Now he had a chance to break free, if only for just a short time. "I could do it, Purple," he murmured, his breath stirring up a slight fog against the windowpane. Cloth rustled as Purple made his way to Red. 'Even his robes sound agitated,' Red noted to himself wryly.
Purple's thin fingers closed around Red's arm. From any other Irken, Red would have taken such a gesture as an attack. Purple was an entirely different matter, though. Growling low and soft to warn Purple that just this once his touch was not appreciated, Red turned to face his partner. Purple tried to put up a bold front, but at the sight of the grim look on Red's face, his antennae fell back. "You can't go out there, Red!"
"I can't!?" Red shrieked, flinging his arms in the air and breaking loose from Purple's hold. "I can't!? And just who are you to tell me what I can't do? When did you suddenly become my superior?" Red's fingers jabbed out in sharp angry strokes, thumping against Purple's chest plate with a dull clang.
Faced with Red's outrage, Purple took an involuntary step back. "Our people," he blurted. "We have a responsibility to-"
"Don't bring that up!" Red roared. "You know very well that you do everything around here! You were made for this kind of life. All I ever do is smile for the cameras and warm up the crowds! And I hate every minute of it!" Purple opened his mouth to attempt once again to reason with his partner, but Red never gave him the chance. "You may have stopped being Ptor when you became Tallest, Purple, but I can't bring myself to commit that kind of suicide. Let me be Dak again one more time!"
A lump rose in Purple's throat, choking off his words. Outside, people were dying and all he could think about was how alone he'd be if he lost Red. The two could have stood in a frozen tableau until all of Irk was rent apart, but Red shoved past Purple, heading for their sleeping quarters.
Left with little other choice, Purple followed. He watched in silence as Red shed the traditional garments of the Tallest, changing into a robe slit all the way up the hips for greater mobility. Leaning against the doorframe, Purple drank in the sight of Red's slim form. Though almost avian in its apparent delicacy, the Irken body held a wiry strength and tenaciousness few other species could boast. Purple only hoped that would be enough. "Promise you'll come back to me, Dak," he whispered.
Red looked up at Purple as he removed his cumbersome gauntlets in favor of elbow-length gloves. "Of course I will."
*~*~*~*~*
Red slid among the rubble-dotted landscape, teetering haltingly at first, but steadying as he became reacquainted with his backpod's leg extensions. For too long he'd been dependent entirely on his levitation belts, a mistake he resolved not to make again.
Lifting his face to the sky, Red scented the air, sampling the taste of dust, ash, and the searing heat of fire - the taste of destruction. His pulse thudded in his throat, pounding like the breath of a cornered beast about to make its last stand. The ground rumbled menacingly beneath Red, and he smiled. The blood of Irk's past flowed through him. He was a hunter and his prey was close.
Ducking into an empty doorway, Red eased off his levitation belts, which he'd carried slung around his shoulder. If he could have used his backpod's Reactivation command from a distance, he would have made it his weapon of choice. Alas, the Reactivation command only worked when a cessation in the Irken's life functions was detected, and Red didn't have the time to rig up a bypass for such a complex bit of machinery. The levitation belts, however...
With a quick mental command, one of the backpod legs was converted into a laser. Red swung it around and started cutting a hole into the hull of the belts. Soon the belts' powerpacks lay exposed. Red worked as quickly as he could, sliding his lithe fingers among the wire and circuitry innards of the belts until at last, even through the vinyl-like gloves, he could feel the belts giving off a tingle of electricity.
The time had come to take the offensive. Using his leg extensions to propel him, Red leapt out of the doorway, retracting the metal cylinders in mid-air and landing in a crouch. Several building-lengths away, the mech unit was firing away with its destructive laser cannon. An ominous rumble sounded, and Red rolled to the side as the doorway he'd been standing in only moments before was now obscured by debris. "Such destructive talent," Red murmured to himself in admiration of the young Invader.
Keeping low, Red closed the distance between himself and the mech, scanning the legs for the maintenance hatch. There! The circular outline was almost invisible against the metal, but it was there! Reaching the hatch would have been a difficult task for any of the shorter Irkens, but Red realized he could probably succeed fairly easily - provided that he could avoid being crushed by the mech.
The complex dance began. Red sent out his leg extensions again, and twined around the mech's feet, wishing it would stand still. Every time he thought that he could reach the hatch, the mech took a step and Red had to scramble to get into position to try again. After what felt to Red like an eternity, though in actuality was only a few minutes, the mech paused to unleash another volley of fire from its laser cannon. Red shot upwards, balancing on three of his mechanical spider-like legs. The fourth he used to turn up the power output on the belts just as he slammed them against the hatch. He swore a vile Irken oath and dropped the belts as he felt his gloves melting and burning his hands.
The brief shot of power proved to be enough as, with a mechanical whirring, the hatch slid open. The mech began moving again, and taking a desperate lunge, Red hooked his leg extensions on the bottom of the hatch. His body slammed against the giant metallic leg, and Red nearly fell to the ground. Red sent two of his leg extensions upwards, hooking against the top of the hatch. Once securely braced, he hoisted himself up into the mech.
"What's happening? Why have we stopped? Tell me! Tell me!" Zim shrieked angrily, his tone brimming with unspoken accusations. He leapt out of the commander's seat, wobbling unsteadily. Instinctively, Zim's leg extensions thrust out of the backpod to prop him up until he could balance properly, before retracting again. Then, using the control panel in front of him as a springboard, Zim dropped down, landing roughly on his butt in front of a hapless Drone. Zim glared around to find the Drone responsible for his sudden descent. "Who was responsible for that?" he demanded at the top of his voice.
Since the beginning of the mission, the Drones had been far too slow about responding to his orders, and Zim just knew that one of them had done something both to make the mech stop moving and to trip him up so that he looked like a fool in front of his troops. For their insolence, they would pay! The Drones exchanged glances, none wanting to draw Zim's attention to themselves. Zim waited, lifting up onto his leg extensions like a predatory spider. Someone had to answer and soon, because they'd been asked a direct question by their commander. At last, the green-eyed fellow at the laser controls spoke up, dropping his antennae overly low in an attempt to curry some small bit of favor. "We don't know, Sir!"
Zim's countenance twisted into a monstrosity of anger. "Don't know!? Don't know! You lie! Lie!" In his drink-sodden mind, the mission once again asserted itself as a priority. His fingers curled in anticipation, twitching at the thought of mass destruction. "Now get us moving again! I want this planet conquered by sunrise!"
"But-!" the Drone started to protest, only to be cut off by Zim.
"Silence! You are not here to ask questions! Now, obey me! Obey me before you make things worse!" As ordered, the Drones began trying to get the mech mobile again, each and every one wishing that Zim would only listen. They'd all given up on that hope, though. Zim laughed wildly as the mech started forward again, but his laughter turned to a shriek as the forward motion became downward.
Zim's leg extensions skittered and slid on the metal, having nothing to take purchase on. He fell to the floor of the Drone's control area, bumping his head on one of the control panels. None of the Drones took any notice of their commander's sudden silence as they hastily worked to correct the mech's overbalance. Realizing that they were too late to prevent the mech from going down, the Drones immediately went into the Emergency Crash Procedure, activating forcefield generators. As soon as the control areas were encased in their protective bubbles, the Drones hunkered down on the floor. Zim's unwilling bubble-mate grimaced at the strong smell of alcohol rising from his unconscious commander. 'Hopefully I'll be out of this nightmare soon,' the Drone thought to himself.
The mech hit the ground with much jarring to its small occupants. As soon as the world settled, the Drones stood and shut off the forcefield generators. Without even giving their sleeping commander a second thought, they exited the mech in a neat and orderly fashion, all with plans of petitioning for a transfer.
Curls of smoke blew in through the cockpit. Zim began hacking and coughing as he breathed in the first tendrils to reach him. Eyes gumming up and head throbbing, he started to sit, only to stop as his stomach churned in protest. With another jagged breath, Zim again attempted to rise, making use of his leg extensions this time even though the swaying in the air sent him into a spasm of dry heaves. He tried to concentrate on the exit, which swam double before his eyes.
Step after wobbly step, Zim made his way out of the mech, collapsing to the ground and taking long breaths. The outside air, though hot and thick, tasted sweet after the smoky cabin of the mech. Blinking quickly in an attempt to clear his vision, Zim stared at the destruction he'd caused. Oh how pleased the Tallest would be, for surely the planet's defenses had been weakened enough to make it vulnerable to the Armada. Zim could just imagine the Irken symbol stamped all over this planet, kind of like the one on the building right in front of him.
The building right in front of.... Zim gasped, icy waves of shock cutting through the fuzzy pain of his hangover. This was not Planet Monarchia, home of the Carnivorous Butterfly People! Zim shook his head, trying to clear away this horrible nightmare vision. But still Irk burned before his eyes. He had to stop this!
Because Irk was a planet heavily dependent on computerized systems, electrical fires cropped up often enough to be a minor nuisance. Fire Extinguishing Devices, known as FEDs, were found all throughout Irk. Surely one was close by. Aha! Zim's gaze settled on a hose and nozzle attachment. If he'd happened to glance up, Zim might have seen the Voot Cruiser Refueling Station sign. He never turned his gaze in that direction, though, as he rushed as quickly as his stomach would allow, to grab the hose.
Flames leapt and danced, crackling their song of destruction. One thought alone controlled Zim as he aimed the nozzle at the fires. He had to put the fires out! Pulling the release valve, Zim sent a stream of clear liquid into the fires. The fires rose, becoming stronger instead of quailing before the liquidy onslaught. A tongue of flame lapped at the fuel, trailing along the stream straight for Zim! Zim stared, unable to get over the inconceivable wrongness of the sight. Only when his sense of self-preservation kicked in did he toss the hose aside. Zim dove for the downed mech, using it for cover.
In a single moment, Zim's world came crashing down around his antennae. The sky boiled orange with flame, and only the fact that the mech was built to handle the heat of a sun saved the tiny Invader. The air burned so hot that it burned Zim's skin, raising pale blisters. The pain drove Zim to the edge of consciousness, where he teetered, slipping down into blackness as a dark form rose over him.
*~*~*~*~*
Purple leaned against the window, staring down below at the Irken capital. Somewhere out there, he knew, Red was risking his life. Even though all Purple could see was the metallic back of the mech as it rampaged, he never took his eyes off the scene. When the mech fell, Purple wanted to cheer for Red's success, but all he did was hug his arms to his chest. When Red returned, then they could celebrate.
Then came the explosion. Never before had Purple seen a fireball so gigantic! "Dak!" Purple screamed, pressing against the window. Surely nothing could have survived, and Red was out there... Those two thoughts played themselves through Purple's head, settling into a loop. He refused to let that mental train play out to its final, grim conclusion. 'Duty first,' Purple told himself. 'Our people must come before personal welfare.' Emotions don't snuff out like a candle, though, and even as Purple flipped on a vid-screen to issue orders, his gaze still strayed to the window.
"Sir!" A young commander snapped to attention, drawing Purple out of his revery.
Purple wasted no more time as he began issuing orders. "Get those damned fires out! Then send in construction crews to assess the damage and start rebuilding! I want one doctor and any staff he feels necessary with every crew to treat survivors! Stable buildings are to have first priority as hospitals, and second priority as domiciles. All Irkens to be involved in the rebuilding are to set up camps in areas deemed safe. Is that understood?"
"Sir! Yes, Sir!" The commander saluted, only to be faced with a blank screen as Purple ended the communication.
Now Purple could let himself feel. He set the vid-screen to block all calls, and then set the locks on the doors. He would not be disturbed. His earlier thoughts played out to their grim conclusion. 'Nothing could have survived that blast. And Red was out there. And now Red has fought his final battle.' Purple collapsed to the floor, huddling into a ball. Thick, sticky tears rolled down his cheeks as he began a high keening wail.
When the first rays of morning slid through the window, they found Purple still on the floor. His shoulders still shook with sobs, but he'd cried out the last of the tears an hour earlier. Every movement sent a stab of pain through stiff muscles. Purple relished each physical discomfort, though, for they each momentarily drew his mind from his loss.
Locks clicked softly, and Purple's head jerked up, unable to believe the impossibility of the sound. Only one other Irken knew the combination to those locks. A dark spidery-form filled the doorway, swaying wearily. Purple stared, unable to believe his eyes. "Shit! Purple!" Red exclaimed, then turned his attention to someone behind him. "Wait here."
Red scrambled into the room, the door sliding shut behind him. "Purple," he murmured. "I'm right here, Purple." Purple tried to stand, tried to reach for Red, but every muscle screamed in protest. Noticing Purple's attempts to rise, Red crouched down, offering his partner an arm. As Red helped Purple to his feet, Purple turned on his levitation belts so that Red wouldn't have to deal with his full weight. Red settled Purple on the couch, placing a slim finger against Purple's lips to stifle the million questions he knew Purple was on the verge of asking. Then Red returned to the door. "Ok, bring the stuff in and set it beside Tallest Purple. Then get out!" Red's tone brooked no argument, and the Drone that came scurrying in followed through with Red's commands perfectly.
Cleansing chalk, antiseptic, various ointments, gauze, a scalpel... Purple raised an eyelid at Red. "What is all this for?" he managed to croak, voice hoarse from his grieving. The cleansing chalk was obvious enough as every inch of Red appeared to be covered in dust. The rest, though.... Red held his hands out in silent answer, and Purple understood. Taking up the scalpel, Purple cut away the remains of Red's gloves, peeling them away from the skin. Red's arms remained whole, untouched; but his hands were covered in burns. Clucking his tongue softly, Purple murmured, "Those are going to scar."
"That's what I figured," Red sighed, hissing suddenly as Purple began dabbing at his hands with the antiseptic. Through sheer force of will he kept from squirming, silently chiding himself for showing any kind of weakness. What kind of warrior couldn't handle a bit of stinging, after all? As soon as the hands were cleaned, Purple carefully applied some burn ointment, the numbing coolness a welcome relief to Red.
Red started to reach for the snaps on his armor, but Purple's fingers closed around his wrists. "Don't," Purple commanded. "You'll only break the blisters. Now, hold those hands back out." Red stuck his lower lip out sulkily, but did as he was told, hating being in such a helpless position. Purple took no notice however, as he looped the gauze around Red's hands. As soon as he finished playing doctor, Purple reached out for Red's armor. A small shower of dirt fell to the ground as the chestplate was opened. Purple grabbed the cleansing chalk and begin rubbing it against Red, peeling away layers of grime. "I thought you were dead," Purple whispered as he worked.
"I thought I was too," Red responded, a contented purr rumbling up from his chest as Purple worked. Silence stretched out between the two Tallest as Purple took the cleansing chalk down the back of Red's head in smooth, circular motions. "When the mech landed," Red continued, sensing that Purple was on the verge of asking him to elaborate, "I couldn't get the hatch to open back up. I was trying to cut a way out with my backpod's lasers when this rumbling started. Then everything started shaking. When I finally got out, there was fire everywhere."
Purple started working his way down Red's back, smiling as he felt Red arch against his movements. The mottled collection of bruises that was being revealed as Purple cleaned attested to the difficulty of stopping the mech. "And Zim?" Purple asked.
A soft moan escaped Red as Purple rubbed the cleansing chalk over the sensitive area around the backpod implants. Red's head lolled back as he coasted on a brief wave of pleasure. "Zim...," Red murmured, the question coming back as a mere afterthought. "He seemed to be in pretty rough condition. I dragged him back here and had him teleported to one of the medical ships. He's to be sent to Food Courtia as soon as he recovers. Wasn't that a good idea?"
'Indeed,' Purple realized. 'It was a very good idea.' Putting Zim into a position of such utter servitude would probably mortify the Invader worse than any honorable execution would have. Purple reached again for the scalpel and cut away the lower part of Red's robes. The kilt was in such terrible shape that no amount of cleaning could save it.
Purple worked in silence, savoring every pleasured grunt and moan of his partner. Down the lower back, over the buttocks, Purple scraped away the dirt of Red's adventure. Once the back was done, Purple swung around to the front. Again he started up and worked his way down. Whenever he reached a spot that Red seemed to particularly enjoy having rubbed, Purple lingered a bit longer.
As soon as the smooth skin between his legs was cleaned, Red slid down to the ground, exhaustion etching his features. "We'll try again, won't we, Purple? We aren't going to let this little setback stop us, right?" Purple nodded as he finished his cleaning job. Though bruised, battered, and burned, Red was still in far better shape than when he'd first come in.
Purple lay his head against Red's side, smiling to himself. "It'll be better next time around. We'll spend more time building up the Armada. Just picture it! A fleet of ships stretching out further than the eye can see!"
Red shut his eyes, curling and uncurling one of Purple's antennae around his finger. "And all the races in the universe will acknowledge us as their leaders," Red murmured sleepily. "And we'll call this new plan, which will succeed, Operation Impending Doom 2, yes?"
Grinning at Red's attachment to that particular name for a plan of galactic conquest, Purple nodded. "Yes, Red, that's exactly what we'll call it." Exhausted from the long, sleepless night, Irk's two leaders drifted off to a well-earned rest, dreaming of what the future held for themselves and for Irk.