Something cool dripped down his forehead. A gentle hand was smoothing back his hair—it felt so good. The cool liquid trickled over his forehead, and a rivulet wound its way over his brow and into his eye. He squinted, lifting his hand to wipe it away. As he removed his hand, he froze. Peering anxiously down at him was Red's face, and his head was cradled in the Tallest's lap.

Dib yelped and sprang to his feet. "Wha… who… where… ow…" He rubbed his forehead, wincing.

Red grinned. "You were found unconscious at the end of the hall. I suppose you forgot the difference between a closed door and an open one?"

The boy gently moved his bruised nose around, grateful it wasn't broken. He had a vague memory of hitting something hard. He'd been running and screaming about something. He absently scratched his chest—and froze. He felt silk under his hand. Glancing down, he saw he was dressed in the most flamboyant, garish Irken outfit he'd ever seen. The top flamed with shades of orange, red, gold, and pink. The bottom was a vibrant clash of black, yellow, neon green, jagged blue, and a deep shade of violet that put Gaz's hair to shame. But that wasn't what disturbed him the most.

"I'M WEARING A SKIRT!"

"Actually, it's the traditional royal mating attire."

"I'M WEARING A SKIRT!"

"Hm… perhaps that's the earthen word for it, but here, it's called a phlamka."

"…!...!...!" Dib's outrage was swallowed up in humiliation. "Why am I wearing this skirt? Is it some sort of punishment for screaming?"

Red eyed him curiously. "No, it's for the forevermate ceremony, don't you remember?"

Dib stared at him, blank-faced. "Huh?"

Red grinned. "It doesn't matter, it's about to happen, and you have to be there on time. Quickly." He stood and herded Dib out of the room and down three different hallways, pushing him into a massive, lushly carpeted room. The tapestries and murals depicted various scenes in his life—and Zim figured prominently in most of them. He glanced around, taking in the couches, chairs, holovid-devices, bed, bizarre looking gadgetry, atmosphere controller—he froze, forcing himself to look back at the piece of furniture dominating the room.

Massive and intimidating, the bed was easily three times a king-sized mattress. The polished teakwood frame stretched to the ceiling and spilled down flowing red and black curtains. Dib realized that the entire room was color coordinated to cater to red and black—his and Zim's colors.

He opened his mouth to protest, or be sick, but before he could do either, Purple escorted Zim in.

Dressed in the same type of… what had that word been? Phlamka that Dib was, Zim approached boldly, with a smile on his smug green face. His eyes flickered over the room, and he seemed to stand taller. "Excellent, these accommodations will do well for our purposes."

Dib fought to keep his throat from closing. "Our… purposes?"

Zim chuckled. "Please, stop playing the fool. You're embarrassing yourself."

His vision swam again, and he stumbled back. "C-can't we discuss this? I d-don't think I'm r-r-ready for this kind of comitt-itt-ment."

Red caught his arm. "Now smeet, we understand you're nervous, but this is tradition."

Purple's eyes glossed over. "My smeet… Dibbeh-le-kun… getting mated…"

Red seized Dib's hand and laid it on top of Zim's claw, trumpeting, "You two are now bound. Go have fun."

Dib blinked. "What? That's it? That's all? No pomp and ceremony?" Though part of him was relieved.

Purple smiled dreamily. "Oh there doesn't need to be any of that. We wouldn't want to keep you two apart that long." He waved, giggling behind his claws as Red towed him out. Dib realized his fate two seconds before the door slid shut. His mouth opened, then closed in an attempt to keep down the bile that clawed at the back of his throat. He raced over to the door and yanked at it, pulling and tugging. Locked.

A set of claws grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. He was facing Zim, eye to eye. The Irken had a hungry look on his face, and his mouth pulled up in a smirk. "What are you waiting for? Let's have fun."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

A rough, wet cloth was jammed down on his forehead, and a female voice was grumbling as it was dragged back and forth across his face. Spluttering, he opened his eyes to see Gaz bending over him. A hateful glare glowed under heavy purple bangs. She stopped and put her hands on her hips, the wet rag still in her hand and dripping on the floor.

"When you get better, you do realize you're in for the beating of your life, right? I don't babysit sick people, especially my stupid older brother. How dare you get a fever! Dad threatened to take away my Gameslave if I didn't make sure to wipe your forehead every ten minutes." She paused her tirade a moment, a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. "But I might be persuaded to spare you the beating if you tell me about your dream."

Hoarsely, Dib croaked, "Dream? What dream?"

The scowl returned. "Don't play dumb. You were tossing and turning for three days, mumbling all sorts of things, mostly having to do with aliens and skirts. I want to know."

Dib took in the room at a glance. It was his room, with his Bigfoot posters and alien charts and glow-in-the-dark stars… it had been a dream! A nightmare, nothing more! He relaxed against the pillow, grinning widely. "You wouldn't believe—" he froze. In the doorway stood Zim, with a wrapped box. His eyes flew wide open and he pointed, silently screaming.

The alien looked at him oddly, as if he were exhibiting odd behavior. "Relax filthy beast of meat and hair, this is a get-well gift."

A gift? From Zim? Maybe it hadn't been a dream… Oh please let it have been a dream!

Zim stomped into the room and deposited the rather heavy box onto Dib's chest. "There. Now get better and get well so I can destroy you already!" With that, he turned on his heel and walked out.

Shocked, Dib called, "Wait, Zim." The Irken paused, glancing back. "You… you don't want to mate, right?"

Zim's face twisted into a comical portrait of horror and revulsion. "You… disgusting… filthy…" He covered his mouth with his claws and ran from the room, the sounds of retching following his exit.

Dib laughed long and hard, as Gaz regarded him with raised eyebrows. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?" She asked sardonically.

He shook his head, pushing the box aside. "Where do I start…"

Note: Told you it would make sense. Many thanks to Lord Slappy on DeviantArt for helping me brainstorm.