Three months later
Zim was used to pain. It was drilled into every Irken at the instant of birth. They crashed to the ground and were zapped into life – the first thing they ever knew was a burst of white-hot agony.
Life was painful. Smeethood was filled with cuts and bruises and broken bones. Every ounce of pain in the known universe, the Irkens knew it all. It was in their very history.
Oh yes, Zim was used to pain. But nothing like this.
His head pounded beyond recognition; with each sound his whole world shuddered, and threatened to see Zim scream. Searing fire burned his head and travelled all the way down to his stomach. It was there the pain lingered.
Nothing stayed down. Breakfast had long since boiled up to the surface, and still it hurt! It twisted his spooch like a mad thing, writhing this way and that. He groaned once, hand resting upon the source of discomfort.
"Zim! Class is dismissed. You can go for lunch."
He glanced up. There his teacher stood over the desk. Such a common, empty face, one that Zim didn't care to remember. "Yes sir." He stood up, and with him rose the pain. Lunch . . .The term was both utterly delightful, and also horrifying. Irk almighty . . . I should have stayed home . . .
"Zim?" Mr Stokke called after him. "Are you okay?"
He heard the words, but the sounds were all blurred into a jumbled mess. Zim stepped out into the hallway and his world started to spin.
The school bell's cry ripped throughout the building; a harsh, shrill echo, aggressive as an angry bulldog. Yet it sang to the sweet melody of freedom.
"Homework! Read pages one hundred and five to seven of your textbooks, and make notes on the pros and cons of c-section v.s natural birth. Class dismissed." Dozens of chairs scrapped against the floor as began the surge towards the hallway. Dib stretched out the aches in his shoulders and rose to his feet, keen to escape the classroom and find Zim.
"Dib, wait up!" Someone called and grabbed onto Dib's arm, linking through his. Dib blinked, and quite quickly, his shock folded into a smile.
"Oh, hey Gretch," he ruffled her thin locks of hair. "Did you find the lecture any easier?"
Gretchen nodded, her ponytail swinging to and fro. "Uh-huh! Thanks again for tutoring me, I'd never be able to pass this semester without you!"
Spots of red tinted Dib's cheeks. "Don't be silly," he said, touched, "you don't give yourself enough credit." The lockers were in sight; Gretchen untwined her arm from Dib's, and glided chicly to collect money for lunch.
"I do, you're just really good!" Gretchen countered. She pushed the locker closed and returned to Dib's side. His own locker was crammed with important studying materials; textbooks, notepads, pens, even a spare IPad, but nothing that gave any indication to Dib's personal life. Empty-handed he shut his locker, and Gretchen frowned. "Hey, don't you have anything for lunch?" She noted that Dib carried no money for food, nor a pre-packed lunch. Excitement brewed in the pit of her stomach. . .
"Not on me," Dib said. "I'm gonna meet with Zim, he's got both our lunches." Zim. The name alone held such power over them both. To Dib, the name filled him with joy, such delight he might have danced all the way to the arms of his love. To Dib, Zim made him forget Gretchen, and all the troubles of the world, and filled him to the brim with glee. To Gretchen however, it was a curse; the barrier that would forever keep her apart from her beloved. Despite this, she forced a smile onto her face.
"O-oh cool . .." She averted her gaze, lest Dib should see her pain. "I-it's still hard to believe that you guys are an item."
"For nearly three years. And three months since we started living together." Dib touched his cheek, bright red and hot, and plastered with a goofy smile. "It is, sometimes, but I wouldn't change anything." The world refocused from Dib's sweet daydream; it morphed into a cluster of shouting, swearing students, all crowding about a door. "Damn, what's going on here?" Dib stopped dead in his tracks; he saw nothing through the crowd, just a mismatch of swaying bodies. He backed away some; Dib was one never to be fond of crowds. As he stepped away so did Gretchen, and she gave his arm a gentle squeeze.
"We should go," she whispered. "The nurse is here anyway." She pointed through the crowd; At the source of chaos the school nurse stood up, stressed, and wiped sweat from her brow. "C'mon," Gretchen encouraged. She led Dib away.
"Hey! Mr Membrane!" The call ripped over the crowd and dragged Dib's gaze to the frantic nurse. "Come here! Your boyfriend's sick."
The world around him froze in place. "ZIM!" Gretchen was forgotten, nothing existed anymore. Dib elbowed his way through the crowd. "Zim, you okay?!" He fell the the ground, down beside his stirring Zim, moaning, clutching at his belly in pain. "Zim, it's me, Dib!" Dib cried frantically. "What's wrong? Talk to me babe!"
Slowly, Zim's eyes pealed open. The contacts were still in place, thank God, but his wig was twitching, antenna yearned to appear and find his mate. "I-it hurts, Dib-worm," Zim whined like a frightened child. A trembling hand reached forth and clutched weakly at Dib's shirt.
Panic gutted him in a moment's notice. Dib turned to the nurse. "What happened?" Only to be met by a mirage of confusion and shrugging shoulders.
"No idea. Mr Stokke said he just collapsed. I can't find a problem but he's definitely got a temperature." By now a flood of teachers arrived to steer the crowd onwards like cattle and away from the show. "I think you should take him home, Dib. I can write you both notes to excuse you from classes, okay?"
Dib nodded at once. "Thank you, ma'am." he swept Zim off of the ground like a small child. "Gretchen!" he pushed through the few lingering students to find his friend. "Listen I have to take Zim home. Can you do me a huge favour and collect my note from the nurse, and show it to our teachers?"
"Um . . . S-sure."
"Thanks hun, I owe you big time." Dib smiled. He turned away and forgot all about Gretchen and the school. Only Zim mattered; the heartbeat that kept him alive.
"Hang on baby," Dib cooed. "We'll be home soon, I promise." He stroked Zim's antenna through the wig. They twitched once, twice, beneath Dib's deft fingers, and Zim clutched again for his mate.
" . . . Dib . . . Help me . . ."
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