We need to talk, my dear. You and I...we need to discuss this...relationship of ours.
I use that term carefully, and in the vaguest possible sense---frankly I do not know what to call this...thing we have, this unusual way of being together. You were supposed to be my servant. You were supposed to be my slave, my helper, but secret assistant. Instead you've become...something else. An...acquaintance. A companion. A---
Oh, fine, I'll just spit it out. My friend.
...There, I said it. We're friends. We have a real friendship, not a fake one like I first envisioned, when I was luring you to my side and tricking you to be my spy. At first, you just seemed useful. I needed information, and you...well, that's your specialty, isn't it? You're very good at finding things out. And so wonderfully stupid too, my dear. You never even knew what you were doing, the betrayal you passed on to the ones you call your greatest friends. Yes, you see, all those talks---those weren't idle questions, I needed that information. And with it, I managed to stymie them again and again, and keep them from stopping me in my plans for taking over this pathetic world.
You see, I've been keeping a secret from you, my dear, many secrets, in fact. And I can't help but wonder how you'll react to find out.
...Oh, what am I saying? I don't wonder at all, or barely. I know how you'll react, I know you too well, and you're ridiculously predictable, as lovely as that can be. What I don't know is how you'll react when you fully understand it, when I tell you the whole truth about your position, the things you've done...and the fate I have in store for you.
I know you wouldn't mind if I were to reveal my true identity to you. Anyone else would care; anyone else should care, it is not exactly an insignificant little fact, something as basic as species. But you would never mind that, you, you who sees the entire world in one uniformly bright tone, eternally blind to all of its problems and concerns. So your best friend turns out to be from an evil race of cyborg aliens. I really can't see you caring. Nor do I think you'll even mind when you realize I've been manipulating you. You are not of the kind to think about yourself. I would be furious, anyone would be furious, but you? You, my dear, will forgive me. That's the kind of thing you do.
Until, perhaps, you truly realize what I've had you do.
I stop sometimes and wonder why it is I keep all of this a secret from you, and in the end it's that conclusion that I'm always forced to come to. It would hurt you to know what I've had you do, how my innocent little questions and assignments to you were all the time helping to bring your planet to its knees. That my questions about those you love were actually part of my secret war against them, that all those times I had you sneak into their houses (to the extent that you can "sneak" without announcing yourself loudly) were actually reconnaissance missions, all the time helping me to undermine their plans and helping to save my own.
I imagine you'll forgive me for that as well. But I still don't want to tell you about it. I like you too much to reveal that.
And then, of course...there's the ultimate plan.
That will be the hardest sell, and I can't imagine that I could ever get you to go along. Because you see, I'm not here on some peaceful mission. I'm not here to spread love, joy, or any of those myriad other things you are the messenger and avatar of. I am here to conquer. Enslave. Destroy.
But not you, my dear. Oh no...you see, I've decided: when the rest of the Earth is vanquished, I'm keeping you with me.
You'll be happy to know that I might keep the others as well, all those people you love so well. Killing Zim has never been a necessity---I could be satisfied with him humiliated, broken, and perhaps sent off to Dirt to take up a fifty-year shift with the broom in my stead. Dib and Gaz too, they might be spared, though there would be much more danger in that, I could keep them, if only to make you happy.
But will you be happy, when I take you from this ball of dirt? Will you be happy, when you look down at your planet and see it burning to the ground?
...No. As I said, you live for others. I don't want to break you by causing them harm.
And that's why I keep this a secret from you, my dear. I do not like the situation. But I am an Invader, and your race is the Invaded. It's just the way it has to be.
But then, I consider: I don't have to destroy the Earth completely. The Tallests have no particular hate for the humans, and perhaps your puny species can be of some use alive. Not every planet in the Empire is annihilated, and the humans, with their love of stupidity, may be quite useful with a much lighter form of slavery. Your species loves snacks, even though they are junk food to you and not nourishing as they are for us; perhaps we could put you to work as a race of snack-makers, rename this place Frycookia, and let you continue on more-or-less as normal. Then you wouldn't be sad.
But that doesn't solve all of our problems, my dear.
Because, you see, I have another secret. A secret that you know, but which must be hidden from everyone else.
You.
From the beginning, you've called me your friend, and I was willing to use that term, if only to get you under my sway. But I know that to you, there has long been something more going on. You didn't just want me as your friend---you wanted something more, there were romantic overtones to the gestures you gave me. I won't say I was too upset by that at first---indeed I was willing to use it, use that as another way to play on your emotions, and for that, I must admit, I feel...some regret. Not that you'll mind, of course. You never do. But I can't return those feelings. You and I, you see, cannot work.
Will you still feel that way for me, when you know my secret? Again, the answer is obvious---you will, you'll still love me if you were to see me without my disguise, if I allowed you to actually remember anything about that or notice it when it was right in front of your face. You would be surprised for a moment, but you wouldn't care in the long run. And what's even stranger, there would be nothing wrong with that. It wouldn't be creepy, your love for me, the way it would be if any other human felt about an Irken in that unorthodox way. Because you, my dear, are so totally, utterly, stupidly innocent. There would be nothing perverted about your love---you're even more asexual than I am, and most of my species are gestated in tubes. Your love would come straight from your disgusting human heart, right from your soul, without any of the lusts or desires that characterizes every other member of your disgusting little species.
But most people aren't like you, my dear. And no one else would be able to understand this...thing that we have, this mix-matched relationship that not even I comprehend.
Very few Irkens take mates nowadays---few can reproduce naturally, so it's not strictly necessary, and all those annoying urges have been removed from our genetics, the better to focus on more important and logical goals. Those who do take mates are thought eccentric---it's not wrong, exactly, but strange, like an odd hobby, one that those not involved in it do not understand. And those who take mates from another species...
...Well, again, you're just not normal, my dear. Not among your race, nor among mine. I think I'm the only one who understands the way you work, the way you can love any being in your pure, innocent way. I do not love you, nor do I want the situation confused that we are some sort of xenophilic pair. Or even our friendship...it's just not normal, my dear, for an Irken to have a friend of the race she destroyed.
So you will have to become my secret as well.
I will carry you with me, whatever planet or ship or quadrant I am assigned to, but not as my friend, oh no. I shall call you my servant, my helper, my pet, a companion like MiMi, meant to serve and not love. I will snap at you, smack you, degrade you whenever others are around. Everyone will think that I hate you, because I will tell them so straightly, even as I tolerate you the way everyone hates and tolerates Zim.
Not that you'll mind that. We will still be friends; you're useless to me otherwise. But we will have to be friends in secret. And I know you hate secrets. That will hurt you more than being captured, more than being smacked, having to keep your love hidden when you've always been one to shout it to the world.
But it is necessary, my dear, it cannot be any other way. I am going places in this Empire, and nothing is going to drag me down. When I am the mighty and powerful Invader Tak, the most elite of all the Elite Soldiers, no one can know that I am willing to love or cherish anyone or anything other than myself. Not another Irken, and certainly not a human.
Not even you.
It stinks. It stinks for me, and more than that, it stinks for you.
I'm sorry, my dear Keef. But that's just the way it has to be.
The characters Keef and Tak are copyright Jhonen Vasquez, the only mind crazy enough to possibly invent them. The idea of pairing them together comes from FluffleNeCharka, the only mind crazy enough to devise such a couple. Special thanks to both, and to you for reading.