"Hey, crazy, where do you think you're going?" Peeved, Dib ignored his sister, rummaging under the bed for clothing. He didn't care what Zim said, clothing worn more than a week stank, and he was going to be gone a while.
"Did you hear me? I said, where do you think you're going?"
"Away," Dib mumbled, pushing his head further in. He didn't hear her storm in, but he couldn't miss the searing pain in his seat when she kicked as hard as she could. His head jammed up against a glass display case of a shrunken head. He could have sworn it flinched, but it was probably just the fact that his glasses were wedged halfway through his skull at the moment. Dragging himself out from the darkness, he pried his glasses free and rubbed his head, grimacing.
"Thanks, Gaz. I'll have marks for a week and a headache for days." He glared. "What do you care anyway?"
She bent over him, cold evil in her eyes. "Mom's worried."
He tried to find something else to look at. "So?"
She pressed her face closer. The temperature seemed to drop. "She's never heard of this Camp Sweeter Venge you said you're going to."
He scrabbled backward, trying to put distance between himself and the sibling from hell. "So?"
"So," Her face stayed the same distance from his, despite the fact she didn't move forward, "You don't worry Mom. Got it?"
Sweat beaded on his forehead and clung there, frozen. "Yeah! Yeah, I got it, no worrying Mom."
Satisfied, Gaz turned on her heel and marched out, absorbed in the latest game. Dib shivered, scraping the ice from his forehead, wondering how someone as gentle as his Mom and as absent-minded as his Dad could ever have produced someone as soulless as his Sister.
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"What do you mean, Camp Platterserve? Where's that? Why are you going so soon? What aren't you telling me?"
Zim's antennae pressed flat against his skull, as if to escape the questions.
"Why aren't you answering me?"
"It's just a filthy hyuman camp so I can... better understand the Dib?" He forced a smile, hoping it would work. Della's piercing stare shredded his feeble lie. He sighed heavily. "It is a mission, a secret mission for the Dib and I. Something we have to do."
"And why can't you tell me?"
"Because it's not even my mission, it was his idea, and besides, if I tell you you'll try to stop me from going."
"Ah hah, then it's dangerous," She seized on the slip.
Zim spat something tersely in Irkish, then took a breath. "Maneem, listen. This is important to the Dib and... and for some reasons, important to Zim as well. It needs doing, and once it is done, perhaps there will be less possible danger to myself and the Dib family."
"Then," She deduced, voice lowering, "this has to do with Gloria. Which means your mission has to do with Red." She closed her eyes.
Zim growled, "Stop making your brain-meats work smart! You know none of this, it is a secret mission you know nothing about! And furthermo--"
He was caught off guard by a gentle hug from behind. Bending his antenna backward, he felt smooth, unbraided hair. He melted in the embrace, as Della looked on, tiredly.
"You have to go? To protect?" Mikko whispered sadly.
"Yes," he responded, "Zim must go."
"You'll come back soon? Sooner?"
"As soon as I can, and much sooner than before."
There was a moment's silence before she asked, "What's 'brother' in your language?"
Startled, Zim twisted around to face her. "Why?" His mind scrambled to come up with the equivalent. Familial terms such as that had been buried through years of single-minded training. "I... I think... Bray... Braysh... no, no, Braesur. That's it, Braesur."
"Braser," She tried, uncertainly.
"No, no. Bray-eh-sir."
"Braesur."
"That's right. Why?"
She fixed him with her dark brown stare. "Those words in your language, they have more meaning than in mine." She held him tightly again. "Braesur." Then she released him, and slipped out of the room, leaving him staring after her.
He turned to Della as she cleared her throat.
"Just... just be careful. Yeah?"
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "What? Zim? Not careful? Hah."
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Dib came up behind his Mom, stepping loudly so she wouldn't be startled. She sat on the couch, reading a book. Glancing up, she smiled and patted the cushion beside her. Eagerly, he leaped over the back and plopped down. She laughed, mussing his scythe.
"Dib, how many times have I got to tell you no jumping on the couch?"
He squirmed, grinning as he fixed his hair. "As many times as I tell you not to mess up my hair."
"Oh pff. It's not like you have to work at it, it grows that way."
"Thanks to Dad."
"Oh stop," She laughed. Calming, she asked, "So, you're off to camp tomorrow?"
He avoided her eyes. "Yes."
"With your new friend? Exiz or something?"
"Uh, yeah. We'll be gone for a month or so probably. There's a second month of camp if we want it." A pang went through his gut. Lying to his father was one thing. Lying to his mother...
Her mechanical eyes watched him, sadly. "Well... be careful there, alright? I want you back alive and in one piece."
He smiled. "Okay Mom."
Setting the book down, she lifted one arm. Dib needed little encouragement, and he leaned into her arms, squeezing her back. For a while, neither spoke. They simply sat, holding each other. Dib absorbed every second of it, burning it in his memory. He would need it, he knew, to keep him going for the next two months. He needed to remember who he was fighting this battle for.