Another weekend, another chapter...
Treycied and DontStealMyKitten: Thank you for your reviews; it's so motivating to know there are people "out there" waiting to read more. :)
***Disclaimer: I do not own Zim, Dib, Gaz and/or any other characters of "Invader Zim". I do not make money with this.***
Chapter 3: Sugar, Cream and ... more Sugar!
Early in the evening, Dib's computer displayed the first results of the analysis of the samples gained from Zim's body. Dib was pleased with the amount of information, but since he lacked Irken standard values there was no reliable way of interpreting the data. Dib programmed the computer to cross-reference with earth pharmaceutical listings and databases. He had already made an educated guess as to what had happened in the white tiled lab: What had the paramedics seen as Zim was dragged in? A "boy" with a sickly hue, throwing some kind of tantrum, thrashing about and screaming abuse. They treated him accordingly, administering relaxants and sedatives to stop both, the "seizures" and the infernal noise. Of course, Zim had felt that he was under attack. And something within his system had reacted, releasing chemicals that countered the paramedics' efforts. So they tried something else. And again, Zim's internal defense mechanism kicked in...
'The war of Irken versus humankind has found a new battlefield,' Dib said, his voice boding with meaning. 'Your body, space boy.'
He paused. He just couldn't help himself. He added, 'You could've stopped making a fuss and simply told them you were feeling okay again, "thank you - good riddance". But nooo. You are Zim. You're a genius. You never take the simple way around the cesspool, if you can wade right through it. I wouldn't mind, but I have one question: If that's the normal Irken mindset, then why haven't you guys gone extinct by now?'
Even as he ranted, Dib realized that he was on to something that concerned them both. He'd seen Zim in trouble, hurt and unconscious, before: The Irken's spaceship had crashed, sending the pilot through the front screen, knocking him out as he hit the ground. Another time, Zim had broken his back, hanging upside down from his garden fence. He'd been hit by rain, raw steaks, all kinds of food and violent ball games the kids played at skool. Dib had stood by and watched, sometimes taking down notes, sometimes hovering over the green boy's face to taunt him on awakening. It had been serious business, every single time. And it had also been a game. Dib now realized that he had always known – or at least most positively assumed - that Zim would recover and go on being a pain in his, Dib's, neck.
Dib wondered. Was that, why he suddenly felt like he might actually start to care? You didn't die from stray footballs, and the rain – well, somehow it was hard to imagine that that would finish somebody off, even if they screamed and writhed and smoked.
But never, never before had Zim's features seemed so expressionless, so void of the mind that made them smirk or rant or frown, so - lost in sleep.
The computer finished printing new data. Dib was glad to have something to divert his attention and bring back the professional air. He looked at the datasheet and clucked his tongue. 'If this reading is equivalent to a human's blood sugar, we need to do something about your glucose level - and fast. I should've thought of that. Twenty-four hours of stress, without food or drink. You must be one hungry Irken by now.'
Zim, of course, did not comment. Dib reached over, shaking him gently. 'Zim? It's me, Dib. Listen, I want to get you something to eat. What do you want?'
'nnthng.' Zim tried to end the unpleasant conversation by pressing his face into Dib's mattress.
Dib continued to shake Zim's shoulder. 'Come on, I know you feel terrible. This is going to require time. And food.'
Zim squinted. 'I'm still in your bed, Dib-stink?'
'Um, yes...?'
'Then you'd better not speak about – bhlllwaark! – human food!' Groaning miserably, Zim curled up again. He clutched his midriff and in doing so, passed out again.
'I'm not talking about human food,' Dib said as if Zim could still hear him. Silently, he prayed for patience. 'I have been able to pick up a thing or two about Irken metabolism, you know. Of course, I'll get you some stuff your squeedly spooch can process. And you are going to ingest it, space boy, if I have to spoonfeed you!'
He had not meant it as a threat. But he knew that it had sounded like one. It even might become one.
Zim had vexed him more often than not, and his patience was wearing thin.
By the time Dib reached Zim's base it was almost dark. He stood under a streetlight, hollering and waving at the robot he knew to be in the house. The blue reflections of the TV screen flickered through the bolted windows. In the distance a silly rhyme was sung by silly cartoon voices.
'It's no use,' Dib told himself. 'He won't come out.'
He likes music. He likes silly figures dancing to silly nursery songs!
Come on, Dib. You know, what to do!
Dib groaned, burying his face in his hands. Then he picked up the beat of the ditty, put on a crazy grin and started to tap-dance madly in the pool of light.
The door of Zim's house burst open. Zim's robot, clad in its green dog outfit, stood on the threshold, bobbing up and down and clapping its hands in delight: 'You's are dancing! Me's dancing, too!'
'Er...GIR? GIR is it, right?' Dib stopped, wiping his brow. 'Can I come over? I need to talk to you!'
'Daaance!' the robot demanded.
'Yes, er...okay.' Dib resumed his exercise. 'Dub-dee-dub-dee-dubbety-what about the gnomes-dubbety-dub? Won't they fire at me, dub-dee-duh?'
'Not if you dance!' GIR screamed.
Dib danced his way up to the bizarre green house. Miraculously, the lawn gnomes did not move as he jived and waltzed and tap-danced past them. He made a mental note to repeat the experiment later.
'Master's not in,' GIR informed him, as Dib reached the doorstep.
Dib nodded, a little winded. 'I know. Your master is over at my house and - '
The robot started running in circles, screaming: 'YAAAYY! Pyjama-party!'
'Um. Yeah. – Listen, I need to get something to eat for Zim.'
'Pyjama-' GIR rose onto his tiptoes and yelled in Dib's ear. 'Paaarty!'
'For the party,' Dib agreed, sticking his pinkie in his ear and trying to get rid of the beeping sound. 'Is the kitchen over there?'
GIR skipped ahead, singing to himself and swinging his arms. Dib followed him to a giant fridge.
It was so ludicrously oversized for a household of two, it simply had to be a fake. Another requisite in Zim's ongoing effort to create and keep up an appearance of normality.
But was plugged in and turned on.
And the stuff inside was – familiar.
Tacos. Burritos. Stuff to make more tacos. And burritos. Waffles. Whip cream. Waffles and whip cream. Smoothies and slushies by the dozen, flavored strawberry, stracciatella, caramel, chocolate.
'No wonder Zim is always so hyped up.' Dib held a cup and checked the ingredients. 'This is basically sugar, cream and... more sugar.'
Dib grabbed the cups and flung them into a plastic bag, which he had brought for that purpose. He had no idea how much Zim would need, so he took them all.
GIR flipped open the upper part of his head and, hollering a great demand for 'Burrrrritooos!', started packing his own supplies for the "party".
As Dib left the base, the robot skipped and danced after him.
On returning to his room, Dib found everything just as he had left it. The computer was busy, its screens protected with passwords Dib had hurriedly come up with. He still did not entirely trust Zim to be as helpless as appearances wanted him to believe, and this research was a paranormal investigator's dream come true.
But the crumpled little alien had not so much as twitched an antenna.
Dib arranged the slushies on the bedside table and set to the task of waking his patient up. It took a certain amount of slapping and some shouting to get Zim to notice Dib's presence. Eventually, Zim turned his head away from the nuisance and mumbled something under his breath. Dib held a slushie in front of Zim's face and waved his hand, fanning the chocolate smell in his direction.
Zim's antennae quavered and perked up slightly.
Dib waved the slushie in front of the strange limbs. 'Zim? Zim? That's a good Irken, just waggle your appendages over here!'
Zim's cross-eyed glance searched for and fell on the cup.
'Slushie,' he breathed.
'Well observed, Zim. It's a slushie. Can you sit up and - hey! Easy!'
'Give Zim!' the alien demanded, going for the drink with both hands. 'Give to Zim! Zim NEEEED!'
Dib jumped back and lifted the cup out of reach. 'Gee, you are thirsty, aren't you, Zim?'
Zim clutched the edge of the bed and strained to reach the denied cup. 'Thursday? Nooo. Feed to Zim NOW!'
'I promised, I would. Didn't I?' Dib sighed. 'Let's give it a try, shall we?'
He sat on the edge of the mattress, holding the cup away from Zim. As expected, Zim immediately reached for it, leaning on Dib's leg. Dib grabbed him, turned him over and propped him up against his shoulder. The boy grunted a little with the effort, but Zim seemed too perplexed to put up a struggle.
Dib used his chance to work the slushie cup between the zipper teeth. The Irken gave a surprised sound, then accepted it.
This is easier than I expected, Dib thought triumphantly. Now, go slowly. Tilt the cup, make some slushie go into him...
Zim gagged.
Dib tried again.
Zim appeared to choke.
Dib adjusted their position. But the attempt to force the sticky liquid down into Zim's squeedly spooch merely triggered another fit of spluttering and coughing.
'Sorry. I give up.' Disappointed, Dib shook his head and put the slushie down. 'A human might have the reflexes and drink in his sleep. Your species obviously don't.'
'Yes, they do,' crowed GIR.
Dib stared, as Zim's robot joined him on the bed. GIR had kept himself busy practising cool dance moves in the far corner and using Dib's surveillance cameras to film himself from different angles. Dib had completely forgotten about the robot, but now he look at it with hope rekindled: 'You know something that will - er, excuse me?' Dib blinked as GIR leaned over and pressed his metal lips on Zim's mouth.
GIR looked up. 'It's first aid, you fool-ie – whoopee – doodie! YAAAY!'
And he continued to do what, to Dib, looked strangely out of place, not only at this crucial moment, but, well, had he missed something?
When GIR lifted his head, Dib saw that the robot had wrapped its tongue around Zim's, pulling it out, pulling it tight. It was wormlike and wiry, and it was probably long enough for Zim to catch cattle with it, should he discover a passion for ranching.
'That's an Irken tongue?' Dib slapped his forehead. 'It's begging to be swallowed even on one of Zim's more collected days. We need to get it out of the way.'
'It eefth now,' GIR reminded him. 'It'th firth aithe!'
First aid, a whim, an unexpected lucid moment on the robot's part - Dib didn't care. He grabbed the slushie and carefully tilted Zim's head. This time, the drink went down smoothly. Dib silently counted to ten, then let a second cup follow. Counting again, and then a third. In the midst of feeding Zim the fourth slushie, the Irken tried to pull his tongue in.
Dib paused, measuring Zim's slim body with his eyes.
'Mwaah?' GIR asked, his tongue still intertwined with Zim's despite his master's vigorous attempts to free it.
'No,' Dib decided and put the fourth slushie down. 'Not unless he asks for it.'
GIR let go of Zim's tongue, which, quickly and snake-like, curled back into its cavity. As Dib moved to lay Zim down, Zim's eyes opened just wide enough to let the fake blue irises show. They moved to the left and up, groggily meeting Dib's glance.
'Zim?' Dib leaned forward, excited. Did the slushies, liquid and sugar, take effect so quickly? 'Zim, do you hear me? We've given you something to drink. Slushies, from your own fridge, so it should be okay. You should be okay. Are you still thirsty? Do you want more?'
'Zim slushied all right,' slurred Zim, laying a hand on his stomach. 'Zim no more thursday Tuesday.'
'Oookay,' Dib said. 'So you are full. I already thought as much. And you're missing a day. Which is not really a surprise, either.' He climbed off the bed and began to gather the left-over slushies and empty cups. 'This is a strange situation. Usually, when I start talking, you point your finger and yell insults at me. Jump on some table, too.' He looked around for more waste to collect. 'You're so much easier to be around, when you're asleep. But maybe Gaz is right and I should rather say - '
Zims eyes snapped open. He jumped to his feet, pointed his finger and, mouth gaping widely, accusingly yelled, 'LIES!' on top of his lungs and, 'IRKENS DON'T SLEEP!'
And he collapsed, untroubled by the crashing and splashing of slushie cups.
'...s-sorry?' Dib said, his face white with shock.
Then he looked about, taking in the mess on the floor. He held out his arms before him.
Drip. Drip.
Sticky and sweet; this trench coat had become a "drenched coat" and was quite ruined. Dib glowered.
'Forget what I said before, Zim! I can't stand you, no matter what state you're in!'
GIR started running in circles, laughing and kicking an empty cup around.
The next half hour Dib spent cleaning away the mess and checking his computer. The analysis was still in progress. Dib really turned the samples of Zim's fluids inside out. He wished he could extract more – maybe even obtain an itsy-bitsy scrap of Zim's tissue.
But his most recent experience with Zim's bionic limbs restrained him. As much as Dib was vexed at himself, he had to admit that it was not a matter of squeamishness. Those spider legs seemed to have a will of their own, acting to protect their owner, whether Zim was aware of it or not. Unless Dib found a way to disable them, he'd better make a point of demonstrating his harmlessness.
The more, since he saw no alternatives to spending the night in the same room with Zim. Or rather - of all his alternatives, it was the only one that left him with at least one half mattress and only an alien's self-defense system to heed. He really didn't need another run-in with Tak's spaceship or his father's latest inventions. And only the creatures of the night knew, what happened in Gaz' room while darkness ruled the sleeping city.
Zim, on the other hand, seemed like an acceptable neighbour. Being filled to the brim not only with narcotics but also with food, the little alien was pretty near comatose - in a happy way. He lay in his corner, his arms and legs arranged protectively over his squeedly spooch, looking quite dead, except for the faintest trace of a smile and an occasional hiccup.
Dib leaned closer. 'Zim? Zim, it's me, Dib Membrane. I broke into your base and took photos of everything.'
Silence.
Dib raised his voice. 'They'll be printed by each and every scientific magazine. When I'm done with you, they'll put you in a test tube, filled with goo. How would you like that, space scum?'
Zim's already slack antennae relaxed a little more. He smiled in his sleep, revealing the upper row of pearly white teeth. Obviously, for an Irken, the idea of test tubes was not necessarily connected with unpleasant images only.
Dib changed his voice to sound deep and commanding. 'Irken invader! State your name and your mission!' He waited, then rapped his knuckles on the PAK. 'Hello-oh? Zim? Is anybody home? That was the perfect cue for your favorite catchphrase.'
Silence.
Dib crawled onto his side of the bed and tucked himself in. Burrowing into his pillow, he reached over and turned off his bedside lamp.
'Good night, Zim,' he said.
Silence, deep and glorious...
Dib sighed and had already started to drift off to sleep, when Zim's voice came out of the dark. Dib instantly went on red alert, sitting up and groping for his glasses. Then he sat, listening.
'Sssim...right, thass' I,' Zim slurred peacefully. 'I'm Zim, me is, destroy Dib-stink-planet Doomsday, no thursday, nooo...'
'Boy, Zim, your sense of time really is messed up. As is your grammar.' Shaking his head, Dib laid down again. 'But at least you seem to have pleasant dreams...'
And he went to sleep.
*End of Chapter 3 *
