Zim wasted no time waking GIR up and probing him with all kinds of questions.
"Are you hurt, GIR?"
"My heart brokeded." GIR sniffed. "I ate all my cheese."
"The hyuman you saw, did he do anything to you?"
"I like the muffin! He's all warm an' cozy. Like a moose."
"You're absolutely sure you're alright?"
"I MISSED YOU MASTAH!" GIR clung to his face like a leech, giggling as Zim flailed backwards.
Eventually, after prying him off, Zim begrudgingly mumbled, "I missed you too GIR. But I need your help now. We have a seriously injured Irken nearby. I'm going to have to leave every now and then, so you have to watch him and make sure he's alright, you understand?"
GIR's head had twisted completely around as he blew spit bubbles at the sky.
"How do you DO that, you don't even have saliv—nevermind. GIR, there's a wounded taco over there." He pointed in the direction of Red. "I need you to—"
"TACOOOOOOO!" GIR screeched, zooming off in Red's direction.
"Right." Zim sighed. "Of course." Zim clambered back up to his perch in the tree, waiting for the Eyeballs to bring the medical pod.
Sure enough, within the hour, two of them came to the spot he'd met with DarkBooty, leaving behind a huge pink pig. They glanced around a bit, then left the device hovering there. One of them pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and taped it to the side of the pig, before turning to leave.
Zim made sure they were long gone before he climbed down. Grabbing the foreleg of the pig, he guided it over to where Red lay.
He wasted no time, tilting the pig to slide out the medical pod. It hit the ground with a terrific crash, but Zim wasn't worried. Irken engineering could withstand a lot more than that. Hurriedly, he connected his PAK to the pod, coaxing it back to a functioning state. He flipped open the solar panels, and watched the dials and displays light up. Rubbing his hands together, he flipped open the pod, then turned to Red.
He didn't look better at all. If anything, he looked worse. His breathing was erratic, and what Zim took to be his mouth kept opening and closing, as if gasping. Zim scooped him up as quickly as possible, loading him into the pod. Once the door was sealed, Zim pressed the large green button by the handle, and stood back.
A viscous, purple goop began to fill the pod. It engulfed Red's body entirely, and for a moment, Red thrashed as he felt the loss of air.
"Come on, Red," Zim muttered. "Don't fight it, breathe it."
Red's limbs slowed slightly, as he began breathing the goop in and out. It was harder work for his body, but the goop was rich in oxygen, nutrients, and nanobots. It would work to heal him inside and out, tirelessly, until his body was completely restored.
Zim glanced over to the pig, and the piece of paper taped to the side. Shivering, he turned to GIR. "Remember, GIR, this wounded taco needs you to watch it very carefully."
Tearfully, GIR looked up, nodding. "Taco…"
Zim turned, snatching the paper, and stalked off toward the Swollen Eyeball HQ.
…
At the edge of the city, in the middle of the dump, Zim found a small manhole with the Eyeball symbol on it. He stood over it for a minute, before working up the nerve to knock on it.
It slid aside, revealing a ladder leading into a chute. The chute lit up with welcoming, incandescent lights. Unwilling to turn his back on the enemy, Zim extended his spiderlegs, using them to climb down the ladder backwards, staring down the entire time.
On reaching the bottom, a good thirty feet down, he found himself face to face with Agent DarkBooty, who smirked a little. "Suspicious?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Zim scowled, laying his antennae back. "Last time I was here wasn't exactly an outdoor meal with friends."
DarkBooty paused, then shook his head. "A picnic. You still don't have expressions right."
"I get them half the time now." Zim argued defensively. "Dib teaches me all the t—" Zim swallowed his words, as DarkBooty's face darkened.
DarkBooty turned abruptly, walking down the hall. "You coming? Time's a'wasting."
Reluctantly, Zim trailed the elderly agent. They walked through winding halls and underground passageways with doors on every side. Muffled screams drifted through some of the doors. On hearing them, Zim straightened, pushing his shoulders back in military posture, and marching down the hall, his bootsteps ringing off the metal grated floor.
DarkBooty glanced over his shoulder, and chuckled. "That might have been intimidating when you were in uniform, but it loses its effect when you're in bluejeans and an orange turtleneck."
Ignoring him, Zim continued to march. As long as he could keep his mind on the marching, on the ringing of his footsteps, on the measured military pace, then he wouldn't have to hear those tormented screams. He wouldn't have to think about what might happen to him down here, in the enemy's territory.
DarkBooty turned, opening up one of the doors, and gesturing for Zim to enter. Zim did so, surprised to see a bare room, with only two chairs, and an overhead light. In one of the chairs sat a labcoat clad woman with spiky green hair, glancing over at him.
"Ready, Agent Tunaghost?" DarkBooty asked.
Tunaghost nodded, gesturing to the other seat.
Zim took it, shaking his head and muttering, "Tunaghost. Really? DarkBooty? Tunaghost? Mothman? Who comes up with these stupid names?'
Tunaghost glanced at him. "Who came up with your name? It's pretty weird by any standard."
"Your hair is weird by any standard." Zim growled.
A small smile crossed Tunaghost's face. "Touche." She nodded at DarkBooty, who left the room, closing the door behind him.
Zim sat straight up in his chair, arms crossed, antennae flat against his skull, every inch of his posture defiant and, to the trained eye, frightened.
"Relax Zim." Tunaghost pulled out a clipboard. "DarkBooty says there's a seven day truce, and what he says goes. Nobody's going to hurt you during your visits here. You obviously give some sort of weight to the truce, or you wouldn't have come."
Zim shifted. "Get to the question asking."
Tunaghost inclined her head. "As you wish."
….
Zim forced himself not to run back to the forest, keeping his steps measured and even, his breathing steady.
It was all stupid, what was the point of that?
Agent Tunaghost had asked the most ridiculous questions imaginable. Something about whether he preferred puppies to kittens, pine trees to fir trees, and whether he was on team Jacob or team Edward.
Who the flirk are they?
They'd administered an IQ test, which he had finished in half the time allotted him. He suspected he wouldn't do well on the idioms and language section, but the math and science questions were simplistic.
On his way out, Agent Tunaghost had escorted him to the ladder. Once he had reached it, she had asked him one more question.
"What are you so afraid of anyway, Zim?"
Zim's muscles had tensed. He had to answer her question, he'd promised to answer. He reached for a true answer, but an old one, one that was nearly a peripheral fear by this point.
"Dogs." He nodded. "I don't like dogs." With that, he scaled the ladder as fast as possible.
But the question had rattled him. He hadn't thought about something like that before. Fear, it was an emotion he felt so often. Not when he was with his family—no, sometimes even then. There were so many… he hardly even knew where to begin. Her question had stirred up the realization of just how many things sent chills down his spine, froze his spooch, or stopped his heart.
Zim stomped into the little section of the forest he had designated for himself and Red, muttering, "Zim will not be afraid of anything. Zim will not be afraid."
"You scaaaaaaared Mastah?" GIR hung upside down from Zim's head, staring into his face.
Zim started, then pushed GIR off. "No, GIR, I'm not scared."
GIR righted himself, staring up. "Ooooh, cause I gots just the thing!"
Zim paused. "What's that?"
"A blanky book!"
"A…what?"
GIR reached into his head, producing a small book and a pen. "I got dis from…" his eyes spun a little, and he shook his head. "I got dis! It's a secret book, gotta write down all'a scary stuffs in it, makes 'em go away." GIR bounded forward, beaming as he lifted the book up to Zim. "For you, Mastah!"
Hesitating, Zim looked at the book. He picked it up, flipping it open. It appeared to be blank, as GIR had said, with lines to write in.
Of course he didn't believe the book would make all his fears go away, but if he could write them down, perhaps they would lessen. Maybe acknowledging them would make them smaller in his own mind. Glancing at the pod, he noted there were still several hours before Red would be ready to emerge. Seating himself on the grass, he opened to the first page, and pressed the primitive implement to the paper.
What is Zim afraid of?
Everything.
…
Note: I hate having to disclaimer every time, but I really feel I have to. No, there is no ZimXTunaghost.