A scarred, scabbed fist is thrown out of temper and the rest is history. The tiny alien named Zim dodges, ducks away from the certain blow. With a war cry only an irken elite whose experienced death can manage, he flies at his opponent.

It's rough, raw. It's split knuckles, bloody noses and grunts of pain. It's nothing but a primal domination game.

And it's wonderful.

They fight to the death (or more likely until they end up exhausted and broken on the black pavement). It's a dance made out of searing intensity, fast swirling heated gazes, steps that have been memorized and hatred strong enough to rival any love.

Dib sees every move his enemy makes. He could easily move out of the way of sharp teeth made for cutting through tough meat, and deadly accurate claws. He does not.

The razor edges cut deep into his ivory flesh. It stings like salt in open wounds. Like being kicked when you're down. And it disturbs the pool of numbness that surrounds Dib. That's what he'd been searching for. It's perfect. Perfect and personal on a level so great, that no one else could ever hope to comprehend .

Maroon blood is seeping into the earth and Zim knows it's just returning to its source. Dib IS Earth. The only thing worth having, taking, possessing.

Their battle lasts only as long as one of them can keep their heads from touching the black top.

The human is grabbing at any form of weakness; antenna which are hidden as usual underneath a black, itchy wig, and even below the belt. Of course it all ends up with Dib getting bitten and the hook like claws digging in deeper. Blood spills.

Azure as the moonlight, almost clear with a scent that would almost be indescribable if it wasn't for sugar. And there's the scarlet that pools and drips like thickened water. The kind of rusty, incredible salty smell mixes together with the sugar to create a aroma that is unlike any other ever known. It's theirs. The scent of their war.

It's over a lot sooner than either of them would most likely prefer. The two enemies lay bleeding, broken, bruised on the cooling street in the middle of it to be precise. The street lights flicker in the near dark of a amethyst evening, as if afraid to stay on too long and invoke their wrath.

It's silent but for heavy breathing and course curses from Dib. And despite the fact that he would be completely worthless for a few days as his body healed itself, Dib had never felt better. There was a deep seated relish in these battles. The fact that no one else could match him so perfectly in everything there was to be matched in. Their fists and harsh words spelled out everything that would ever need to be said.

Notes:

I know that a lot of people hate ZaDr. It's understandable considering that many authors make it OOC and Mary-Sueish. I know that it seems impossible and a lunatic idea at best. But, it's my opinion that it's all one big circle for them. Complicated. It's a big knot of hatred, loyalty, companionship...ect.

I know for a fact that IF such a thing between them were to ever happen it wouldn't be kissing and hugging. It wouldn't be cute and perfect. The very idea is ridiculous. If anything of that level were to happen between them it would be complicated, twisted, confusing, and interspersed with hatred.

And any relationship needs TONS of character development. Especially one as wonderfully stupid, so great and improbable as Zim and Dib's.

So, here...I give it to you. Character development of the mind. Of personalities and based solely on what I've predicted on what they could be. Continuing rivalry. A possible friendship. And the impossible partnership.