Yay! Wake up calls and hospital visits. Funnnn.
"No, it was dumb! You know the stupid doctor-gown tie-thing that you're supposed to tie around your waist to keep the damn thing on?"
"Yeah. What about it?"
"The thing was like, hella small!"
"Ha, what'd you do?"
"I got it to tie, but this is one of the only moments in my life I've acknowledged and been thankful of my tiny waist. -_-"
-I hate doctors and their gowns! They can be peed on!
Enjoy.
Chapter 4
"Investigation"
Gaz woke up and glanced up to once again see Zim, eyes shut, looking completely at peace in sleep.
This was the second time he'd ever done this and she still didn't believe him.
"Why do you do that?" She demanded, scrutinizing him.
Zim's eyes, as she'd known, were open immediately, like he'd had a prolonged blink. He seemed to be in a considering mood. "I'm not sure."
She smirked. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to be human."
His face contorted into such a look of horror and disgust it was difficult to suppress a laugh. "EWWWWWWW! No, of course not! Ugh, no offense to you, since you're the exception to almost everything I do, but humans are disgusting and unappealing. I think one human in this relationship is more then enough."
Saying this, he lifted her chin to look at him and get a better angle, if he decided to kiss her.
Gaz rolled her eyes. "This planet is just begging to get itself enslaved."
Zim smiled a cruel, evil smile, "I think, between the two of us, we could probably do it. Easily."
"Probably." She gave him a look of consideration before changing the subject. "What time is it?"
"7am," Zim informed her, still smirking, but less now. "Your odd sleep schedule is back. I'm almost positive now that the more stressed you are, the earlier you wake."
"Well woopty freaking doo for you," Gaz hissed, sarcastically, sitting up so she was no longer lying partially on Zim. He scowled a bit but hid his dislike to her separation from him. Gaz was lying on her back then, staring up at the ceiling. It was still dark in the room, as there were no windows to let any light it. Thanks to the stars, though, she felt like she'd woken up in the middle of the night. "Why is it when there's trouble, regardless of our social status, I end up at your house?"
"Because trouble would not dare mess with Zim," he said, knowing well that he was playing with words, as humans sometimes did. It wasn't a literal sense. "Especially when it is aware I am protecting someone such as you."
"I'm sure you have some type of repelant somewhere," Gaz assured him, sitting up, facing the headboard, and stretching her arms behind her. "Ugh, I'm starting to feel the after-effects of running after people in the rain. I'm sore as Hell."
"I was unaware Hell could be sore," Zim teased, kissing her on her neck, a move she hadn't expected. "I'm still wondering what advantages a bed has over a couch."
Gaz's brow rose as he continued to kiss her, slowly, razor-sharp teeth grazing skin so frail in comparison. Zim was careful like a shark would be with a newborn lamb, if sharks and lambs ever became attracted to one another. "What if I'm not in the mood to show you?"
"Then I'll get you in the mood to show me," Zim replied, plainly, as if this should have been obvious. And it really was, actually.
As Gaz inhaled, Zim moved himself so his legs were on either side of her, as both were already sitting down on the bed. He went right for the quickie instead of gradually leading her up to being 'in the mood', to put it plainly. Zim's hand simply pushed her hair aside, immediately capturing the back of her neck, right about where her spine was, in his mouth. Gaz stiffened immediately, gripping the sheets at the shot of adrenaline.
He must've been really curious to skip the foreplay, so to speak.
Gaz kept herself under control enough to roll her eyes, turning in Zim's arms to straddle him. She then shoved him on the pillows with narrow eyes. "Impatient."
Zim was surprised at the action. This was still relatively new to him. But he smirked, pertaining his dignity, even if he was frightened. Like himself, Gaz wasn't exactly predictable when it came to their intimate moments and could basically do anything when she was in control. Well, not anything, because Gaz was much more teasing when initiating. She barely touched him but drove Zim crazy to an irritating extent nonetheless.
He eyed her t-shirt that was opposed to her normally fitted clothing. But somehow the mystery of where her body was underneath only made him all the more curious and confused as to the situation. "I can hardly be blamed with so much skin exposed." To demonstrate this, his hand slip up her thigh, making her squeak in surprise, which he smirked viciously at. "Still a bit tired, then?"
She growled at him, angrily. "If your insinuating drowsiness has anything to do with-!"
Zim, however, wasn't in the mood for an argument. Instead, he roughly grabbed his little (terrifying) human and pinned her underneath him in a move so quick it probably would've made someone weaker rather dizzy. Gaz, however, only jostled slightly on the weird bed, glaring up defiantly at Zim with a growl still in her.
He smiled, apologetically, but still antagonizing her purposefully.
Thus pinned, Zim forced her back to arch with a hand slipping under it and pressing her to him, locking his mouth onto hers.
And thus Zim learned the PG13 advantages of a bed:
1) It was much larger then a couch, allowing room to "play", so to speak
2) It was much more comfortable then a couch
3) Allows the option of immediate kissing upon waking
There were more, but he was too busy to really think about them at the time.
Thus, we move onto our villains.
"Did you get him?" He asked. His voice was one that was the prime example of lingering puberty, refusing to give him either his grown voice or let him keep his child voice. So the menace intended to be shown through it was rather weak sounding, like a child demanding a cookie from his parents with a nasty cold.
The man replied back, "Don't know. You'll have to wait to see on the news."
"Well where did you shoot him?" The boy said, impatiently.
The man pointed to his left chest, right where his heart was. "Here."
Thus seemed to please the boy immensely. "Good job, then, Marshall. Good job."
"Thanks," Marshall replied, uninterested. And really, Marshall wasn't even his real name.
This kid's step-dad had just introduced them like that, to keep him at least a little out of the real business he'd established. One step at a time when it came to introducing your son to your crime family, especially when he wasn't even your real son. They both acted like it though, like they were really family. Besides real names and a few major funds, the kid had access to almost everything and everyone already.
"I'll have my dad pay you the rest of the money when it's confirmed that he's dead," The boy replied, waving him away and turning back to the large-screened television and chuckling to himself as the doors shut, signaling 'Marshall' had left the room. "Ha. If only mom knew what I was doing."
His mother, a former prostitute, was dying of an STD she'd picked up in her line of work. She'd only recently got out of the business about three years ago, when she found out, and married rich after winning the lottery and pretending to be rich for her son's sake. His mother hadn't aimed for a good business man, though, she'd gone straight to the mafia-type after she had cleaned up. His mother was attractive, just tired looking.
But by now, she was almost always incoherent and rarely recognized anyone, let alone form sentences. But the boy could always hope. And soon he could let her rest knowing he'd got his revenge on the one person who'd ever crossed him.
It was what he'd always wanted and had been planning since his mother said, "I do".
It was about noon when Dib heard the door open, peeling open tired and depressed eyes (because no one likes being in a hospital, no matter how much morphine you've been knocked up on) to see the intruders, expecting a nurse or his doctor.
However, he brightened upon seeing his sister, choosing to ignore Zim, who immediately went over, sat in the corner, and pretended as if he wasn't there. And Dib was more then happy to pretend he really wasn't and doped up a bit on morphine, he actually really did believe it a little somewhere in his mind.
"Hey, Dibshit." She greeted, reluctantly smiling as she sat down beside his bed. Still, Dib was in the hospital. Gaz had decided she had to be at least a little nicer to him. As for the nickname, however, Gaz had always wanted to call him that*.
He either ignored her, or was too high to notice. "Hey, Gaz! How're you?"
Her brow rose at his perky attitude, wondering just how drugged he was, exactly. The smile was now one of amusement, at his expense, though she doubted he'd realize that. "Fine. And yourself?"
"Oh, psh!" Dib waved a hand, swatting at the air like there was an invisible fly, an action meant to disregard his condition. "Never felt better!"
"Excuse my interruption," Zim said, also looking just as questioned as Gaz, though not quite as amused by it, more confused (and somehow irritated) by it. "But what exactly is wrong with the Dib-monkey?"
"He's high off of morphine," Gaz answered, wrapping that protruding strand of Dib's hair around her finger before releasing it, watching it bounce. Dib giggled. "Geez, and I thought he couldn't possibly get any weirder."
"High?" Zim questioned, looking at the amount of height Dib's bed was allowing him as he lay there. "I fail to see how much height he's gained. In fact, by lying down, he's probably actually lost-."
"It's a slang term for drug-related effects on a person," Gaz interrupted with an eye roll at how literally Zim still took some things. "The morphine, in laymen terms, is making my brother a bit uncharacteristically loopy."
Zim snorted in disdain at the playful little version of Dib that was reminding him too much of Gir. "I think you overestimate the effects this is having on him. To me, at least, he's always about this stupid."
"Hey!" Dib shouted, starting to sober the longer he looked at Zim. "I am not stupid!"
Zim smirked. "Of course not, Dib. Of course not."
Gaz recaptured Dib's attention with a wave of her hand in front of Dib's face. "Hey, injured freak. What's the doc saying about your condition?"
"Um," Dib considered this with difficulty, struggling to get the words to form correctly (and make sense) in his head. "To . . . To not get stressed."
"No, I meant-! Ugh," Gaz shook her head. "Never mind. I'll ask the guy on the way out. And you sure you're feeling fine?"
"Most definitely," Dib assured her, squeezing her hand in his, worried now. His mood switches weirded Gaz out but she didn't say anything, guessing it was the meds. "You're okay though, right? Nothing happened to you while I was gone?"
"Nothing," Gaz informed, patting him on the hand to reassure him. "I stayed at Zim's house, just like you told me too."
"Good," Dib said, sighing as his eyes drifted closed, lips smacking as he began to fall to sleep. "That's . . . good . . ."
And then he was asleep.
Gaz sighed, "The doctor said this might happen."
"He's still your annoying, crazy big brother Gaz," Zim insisted, standing as she did to leave. He was sure they'd be coming back later, when Dib would probably be awake again. "It's nothing to worry about."
"Maybe," She mumbled, eying his calm and sleeping face.
"Eh?" Zim asked, unable to hear her. "Did you say something?"
"No," Gaz said at once, with finality. And Zim didn't pry. She turned to look at him, "Come on. We should go clean up that glass I mentioned, see what we can find."
"Alright," Zim said, slowly, cautiously. "Come on then."
They had driven his "motorcycle" (the transformed Voot Runner) out of convenience, to avoid traffic. Zim opened up the small trunk that held an infinite amount of things, tossing Gaz her helmet while slipping on his own. Gaz, having changed, not wore black skinny jeans and a dark purple short sleeved shirt. Ever since the LEECHY incident though, Gaz had really found a disliking to bracelets. In fact, she had a special place in her heart for the people that wore them, with the intention of hating them for no other reason but that.
She also shoved her hands through a black, leather jacket that kept the wind off of her. Ever since Gaz had started being particularly fond of Zim's 'motorcycle' after that first incident where she'd almost run him over on it, Zim found they were using it more and more. On a couple occasions they'd even just gone on a joy-ride to get away from people, mainly Dib or even Dr. Membrane but once, Zim had simply told her to meet him at the park and drove with her for hours on end. Thinking about that now as she got on behind him, holding Zim tightly around his middle, Gaz realized he had never explained why he just needed to run with her for a while. But, really . . . she guessed it didn't matter much.
Gaz directed him on where to go once they reached his house, remembering the run and which routes the gunman had chased. As they got closer she stiffened more and knew that Zim knew how angry she was getting. He made no move to calm her down though.
After all, Gaz did her best work when she was angry.
"Pull over," She ordered then, through the helmet, that had a little microphone in it so she wouldn't have to shout over the wind like normal people on motorcycles did.
Zim did as he was told, slowing to a stop and pulling over a few yards from the glass and fence, that had a bullet hole in it. Looking at it in disbelief, remembering where she'd crouched, Gaz realized then how close she'd come to getting shot in the head. Shaking the fear off as her tongue had a bitter, acidic taste at her overwhelming anger, Gaz looked around a few moments, pulling on some gloves she'd shoved in the jacket pocket for evidence. She'd seen it on TV. She didn't know, but hey, it couldn't hurt.
Gaz also had a few plastic bags in her pocket, also something she'd seen on television. It only took about five minutes, with Zim watching her every move as he perched on the motorcycle, if the need came for a quick escape. It didn't take long for Gaz to find the bullet on the edge of an Open House's grass. She picked it up, carefully, dropping it into the back. Gaz guessed maybe Zim could do better then the cops, trace directly to the sender. With his technology and her ideas, a lot was possible.
"Okay," she muttered, shoving the used cartridge back in her pocket and heading a few yards more. "Glass time."
"What glass?" Zim asked, through the helmet.
Gaz didn't answer as he followed her slowly on the bike, along the sidewalk, stopping and parking in front of the mess. Even Gaz herself was a bit surprised, thinking she'd done less damage then the mess of glass that covered a part of the sidewalk and the bikers portion of the street. "That glass."
Zim let out a low whistle. "Well . . . this was unexpected."
"Ditto," Gaz agreed, picking up a shard of glass. Carefully though, to avoid slicing her hand open. She dropped it into a bag and then, after some though, put that bag in another one, just in case. She then examined the mess. "We should probably clean this up."
"I don't see why," Zim insisted. "Your species is ignorant and forms too many assumptions about coincidence. I doubt anyone will assume anything of the events of last night."
Gaz considered this before deciding she didn't have time to really consider it, or someone might see them. She quickly shoved her helmet back onto her head, zipping the pockets of her jacket up as she swung her leg around the motorcycle.
"Go." She ordered, clinging on tightly.
Zim's only response was a quick rev of the engine before shooting off down the street, disappearing in neighborhood traffic.
Unfortunately for Gaz, she wasn't quick enough. Someone did see her and recognized her well.
But that's a later topic.
For now, let's let them pretend that nothing happened.
Oh, I'm listening to Sexyback while writing this. A timeless, delicious song.
Hope you enjoyed this rather annoyingly short chapter. Yay for make-out-ness, I think. :/
Ah well. Till next chapter!
