The next day was painfully slow. Zim continued to sleep, and was still passed out when Petra got home from school. I can't really take care of him if he's not awake, she thought. Besides sit and watch him sleep, there wasn't a ton to do around the base, and if she just watched him she'd feel really creepy.

"If I'd have known that he'd sleep for this long I wouldn't have told Dib not to call me today," she sighed to herself. Every project was done, all of Zim's missed work was long completed, there wasn't a speck of dirt in sight… instead of being relaxing, the lieutenant almost found the absence of work nerve-wracking.

While she desperately tried to think of something to do, she found herself standing in the doorway of Zim's room. Great, now I'm a creeper. Maybe I should just get out of the house, she mused. I've been so caught up with the living phthalo sponge over there that I haven't really gone anywhere lately. But where should I go?

The question seemed to answer itself, though, as the piano in the corner somehow caught Petra's eye. "Computer, monitor my invader while I'm out, please," she called, and the computer replied with an almost lighthearted series of blips. She knew exactly where to go.

While Petra readied herself to leave the base again, the computer turned on its motion sensors and began to monitor the brain activity of its owner. The AI, happy to be doing something other than take inventory, allowed itself to drift into an oddly unfamiliar stream of thought. Petra had brought many positive changes since her arrival, but her behaviour was beginning to seem a bit odd. The transmissions she had been receiving couldn't be recorded or monitored, meaning it was on a non-empire network. In addition, she seemed to have received access to a network of cameras that she watched quite often, although the faces of those that showed up in it were blurred. All of this was becoming seriously suspicious.

There was always the option to send a report to the Massive, but there were a few roadblocks. The Tallest had disconnected all but a few connections from Zim's base to the Massive, hoping that this freedom would encourage him to assist some Resisty-esque organization and give them a more fun reason to kill him besides "everyone hates him". On top of that, there was the fact that there was no recording of Petra on a call or watching the cameras, since the AI was not allowed to record the personal chambers of the base, only monitor them. It didn't really matter in the end, because even if it did have the ability to send a report, the AI didn't really feel like exposing Petra. After all, who else around the base would say "please" and "thank you"?

If I know one thing, it thought as it watched the lieutenant in question leave the base, it sure wouldn't be Zim.


Knock knock.

"Why hello, Petra. Is Zim still sick?" Mrs. Mayer asked, smiling warmly and welcoming her inside.

"No, he's just getting some good rest now. His fever's passed," Petra replied, shrugging off her jacket. "It sure is cold outside today."

"Is it? It's barely even November, dear, winter's hardly even begun. Are you sure you're from Amsterdam?" the teacher joked, and Petra was only barely able to mask her shock. It got colder? This wasn't even winter? She had read past temperatures in the area before, but it was hard to understand when the empire didn't use degrees Fahrenheit.

"Anyways, I was hoping you would come over today," Mrs. Mayer said cheerfully, shooing Donner off of the player's bench to take a seat at the piano. The little dog let out a very indignant yap, but decided against arguing further when he heard Alphonse barking in the living room. After the pup had skittered off to join his proportionally mismatched brother, the teacher continued, "I had a good idea for a lesson. Have you ever played a song that you'd never heard played out loud before?"

"Well," Petra thought for a moment. "No, I don't believe I have."

"I didn't think so! It's called sight-reading. I'd like you to sight read this piece- it's called Doll's Dream," she explained, scooting over on the bench to give her student a spot to sit. Petra immediately obliged, and once Mrs. Mayer set the metronome she began to play.

She read the page carefully and made sure that she didn't make one mistake, and found that it was surprisingly easier than she expected. While the whole sight-reading thing was a little strange, it wasn't difficult. She thought she had been doing fine when suddenly, halfway through the song, the metronome stopped.

Petra peeled her eyes off of the music and turned to see Mrs. Mayer with one slender finger holding the metronome's needle in place. On her face she wore a very slight frown, a sight as unfamiliar as it was disheartening. "Did I mess up?" Petra asked, an unexpected sliver of anxiety slicing through her squeedlyspooch.

"No, no, you did perfectly fine. I knew you'd be able to play this song easily, even while sight-reading, and it you did everything right. It wasn't really about sight-reading though," the teacher sighed, and folded her hands in her lap. "I noticed that your style of playing, while very good, sounded oddly familiar. It wasn't until last night that I realized what it was. My husband mentioned that you play exactly like I do."

"Your piano skills are amazing, so isn't that a good thing?"

"Well, it's both a good thing and a bad thing. You pick up on little things that took me years to develop just by hearing me play it, and that's a skill I only find in people who have played the piano for a lifetime. But…"

"But?"

Mrs. Mayer exhaled softly and laid a hand on Petra's shoulder. "Just now, what you played sounded like it was coming from a robot. If it was a test, you would have aced it, and the technique was all there, but I couldn't feel the song. That's quite common among newer learners and new sight-readers, but I don't expect that from you. I didn't realize that the only reason you played with feeling before was because you were imitating me."

Petra shifted uncomfortably in her seat. It felt as though she was letting the teacher down- being a disappointment was not a feeling that she was accustomed to. Somehow, she couldn't meet the adult's eyes without feeling a tight, painful squeeze in her throat.

"It's nothing to feel bad about, Petra. This is just an opportunity to learn!" Mrs. Mayer's pensive expression melted into a much brighter one. "How about we do a little exercise?"

"... You want to run?"

Mrs. Mayer let out an amused chuckle. "No, not right now. I do this with students that have a hard time playing with emotion. Just look at the keyboard and play the first thing that comes into your head. Not an already existing song, mind you. It doesn't have to sound good, it just has to sound like how you feel!"

That doesn't make any sense at all, Petra criticised internally, but still she placed her hands on the keys. Play how I feel?

In the living room, Lucas happened to overhear his mother's lesson. "Finn, let's go watch, she's doing the 'play how you feel' thing! I hope she sucks," he giggled devilishly, dragging his twin to secretly peer into the lesson room. He watched as his mother stood up to watch from the window, and eagerly awaited what he thought would be that weird Dutch girl's horrible failure.

Petra gingerly plunked out a few weird notes, only exciting the boys further, and the sounds bounced around the room. She reached out and played a chord. It was one of those weird ones that you could feel in your throat and lingered the air like fog, and Petra winced. What on Irk did play how you feel even mean? The girl squirmed under her mentor's watchful gaze. The feeling of not knowing how to do something was not a pleasant one, to say the least. Mindlessly, she began to play a very simple, childish melody. It sounded like something that you'd hear while turning the crank on a jack-in-the-box. Mrs. Mayer watched in idle interest at her student, having seen the same situation play out a hundred times before, and the twins began to lose interest.

It seemed that the lieutenant herself was unhappy with the tune, and the song was getting more complex. It was nice, but she was becoming stressed and it was beginning to show. Petra slowed the melody down to a near halt, and the notes were sharp and spaced out. Play how I feel, play how I feel… wait, this song sounds familiar.

"Come on Lucas, I don't wanna watch anymore, I'm bored." Finn complained quietly, tugging softly on his brother's arm. Just before he caved in and walked away, though, something strange began to happen. Petra's face went completely blank, devoid of any feeling, and started to play again. It was the same as before, but something felt eerily different.

It was unlike any song that any of the onlookers had ever heard before. While the notes themselves combined into a cheerful tune, the undertones were full of dread. The combinations of notes and chords were strange and new, but oddly beautiful. It was beautiful in the way that dark, dead forests look on a foggy day. The melody turned the air into a bittersweet, melancholy stew that made everyone involved almost feel lonely. The first thought that popped into Mrs. Mayer's head was that it felt like a song played by someone mourning a loss. Finn had memories of being lost come to mind, and Lucas could only think of the one time he had experienced sleep paralysis. In the nursery, Mr. Mayer could barely hear the song floating up the stairs as he sat in a rocking chair. To his own surprise the tune brought memories of the war. And baby Emma Marie, who knew nothing much at all, continued to toy with her wooden block with a new sense of dread in the back of her head.

If you'd have asked them how they described it, every single one would have said it didn't feel like a song that could be played by a human being.

Abruptly, Petra stopped. The piercing final note hung heavy in the air, so weighty that even Alphonse let out an uneasy huff. Mrs. Mayer blinked to rid herself of the trance that had befallen her.

"Oh, my, Petra, that was wonderful! Why did you stop in the middle?" Her words knocked the twins out of the trance themselves, but Petra still didn't move. Her arms were still slightly raised, long fingers outstretched and perched on the keys as though someone had pressed pause. She felt a hot, burning, painful sensation building up in her throat and found herself completely unable to fight this new, unexpected enemy.

Petra began to cry.

It was slow at first, like the way the tides roll in deep before a tsunami. Hot tears that had no hurry to go anywhere at all leaked out of the corners of her eyes, but they were quickly pushed aside by tears that seemingly had an agenda. Even as the wetness streamed down her cheeks, she stayed perfectly silent and still, like a statue in the rain. She in truth, didn't even known what was upsetting her. Petra had been stabbed without ever knowing what a knife was.

Mrs. Mayer wasn't exactly quick to respond to her student's plight, as while she had guessed that a kid like Petra was probably doing some serious repression, she didn't exactly expect a situation like this. The moment of surprise passed quickly, and she rushed to cradle Petra in her arms. "I'm so sorry, darling, I wouldn't have done this exercise if I knew that it would upset you so much, oh dear-"

Once the shock wore off, Petra was quick to pull her sweater over her face, but the tears just wouldn't stop. Something about that song made her feel so absolutely exposed, but Petra couldn't think of many things she had to hide in the first place. She felt sick to her stomach, her head was absolutely throbbing, and it felt as though her very bones were burning up. Am I sick? What's wrong with me?

Lucas's stomach tied itself into empathetic knots, and Finn grabbed his hand and successfully yanked him away from the doorway. "I don't wanna watch this anymore." Hesitantly, Lucas followed his brother outside where they climbed up into their treehouse and sat. Something felt heavy, even out of the house.

Back in the piano room, Mrs. Mayer was guiltily apologizing to her student and her motherly instinct was at a high. Petra could only painfully wait until the waterworks ended, and it was a few minutes before the pipes ran dry. Her head was dully throbbing with a subsiding pain when Mrs. Mayer asked, "Petra, did something happen?"

Did something happen? Her head hurt horribly, so maybe it had something to do with the brain lock. Yes, of course, nothing was wrong. It was just the brain lock. The brain lock.

Somehow, that explanation failed to satisfy the ravenous pit of anxiety that planted itself in the bottom of her squeedlyspooch. But what else could it be? Life was fine here, while challenging, so what was the issue? It had to be something about that song, but where on Irk had she heard it before? Is this part of the past that got locked away?

Mrs. Mayer donned another unfitting frown as she mistook Petra's pensive silence to mean something sinister.

"I don't know, Mrs. Mayer. It must just be the stress of living in a new country, is all. I'm sorry." Petra sniffled quietly.

New country my ass. There's more to this, and I'm going to do something whether the district listens or not, the teacher seethed internally, but easily masked it. "Petra, dear, I know that usually our lessons last longer, but how would you like me to walk you home?"

"Uh, sure, that sounds fine." She didn't really want to be in the house, but she also didn't want to be alone, so it sounded like a fair enough compromise at the time. The lieutenant picked up her jacket and slipped it on before leaving.

On the way, they made small talk about the weather and television programs, and the easy flow of conversation lulled Petra out of her anxious shell. While she was significantly more guarded than normal, Mrs. Mayer could have sworn that she looked like nothing had happened. By the time that they reached the house, Petra felt as though her head was much clearer than it was before.

Just as they approached the front step, the door opened. Standing in the doorway was Zim, fully disguised with GIR on a leash. "Oh, you've woken up! How do you feel?" Petra chirped, quickly dashing up the steps to address the boy.

"I was just about to come and get you- why is the teacher of musics here?" Zim cut himself off to ponder why on Irk Mrs. Mayer might be standing in his front lawn. Meanwhile, Mrs. Mayer was plotting to herself and observing every move the children made.

"I'd like to talk to your parents for just a moment, if that's alright," she said, but noticed the uncomfortable glance the pair shared. "Is that alright?"

"You can speak to my perfectly human parents but um, not right now, because… um…" Zim trailed off, unable to think of a suitable excuse.

"They're out for the night! Yeah, they're out for some, uh… pottery thing. With ceramics and music and stuff." Petra interjected.

"Oh, the couple's ceramic's class down at the mall?" Mrs. Mayer asked.

"Yes, yes! That is the thing they are doing, normal human pot things. With clay. At the mall." Zim spewed confidently.

"I was under the impression that those classes had been cancelled last week after that dreadful kiln explosion," the teacher scrutinized. Petra smiled nervously and cleared her throat.

"They must have gone to get dinner or something, then. They'll probably be back soon enough. Who knows!" Mrs. Mayer's suspicious eye laid heavily on the children and she smiled.

"Well, I'm sure you won't mind if I came in for a minute to ask a few questions anyways. I won't be long, really." She took a careful step forward, and Zim visibly bristled. Mrs. Mayer winced internally at the obvious guards that he (and earlier, Petra) had clearly put up, but it seemed to be a necessary evil in their home. One way or another, she was going to get inside that house.

Suddenly, GIR (who had been rocking gently back and forth through the whole exchange) saw a squirrel hop across the rooftop of a neighboring house, and let out a horrible mechanical screech, pulling sharply against the leash. The force of the pull yanked Zim off the step, and he tumbled onto the concrete and landed face first at the feet of Mrs. Mayer.

"Oh no, are you alright, love? Let me clean that up for you," Mrs. Mayer said, and before Zim could protest he was lifted onto his feet and ushered into the front door of his base. "Petra, could you bring me some hydrogen peroxide?"
The lieutenant nervously shut the front door as her teacher pushed Zim to the sink. Petra was never happier that she'd gotten rid of the toilet in the kitchen than she was at that moment. "We don't have any hydrogen peroxide."

"What? Don't you have a first aid kit in the house?"

"Of course not! First aid kits are for the most minor of injuries, and the great ZIM needs not tend to such tiny matters!" the invader exclaimed, pointing one declarative finger in the air. The lieutenant attempted to make a comment, but she was promptly interrupted by her mentor who had tried to turn on the tap in the sink. Instead of the familiar slightly tainted water flowing out of the spigot, the sink remained dry as ever.

"Oh my, what on Earth is going on with the water supply?" Mrs. Mayer pondered aloud. The above-ground parts of the base were disconnected from the water supply because GIR had left the tap on too many times and once flooded the entire first floor, leaving Zim with some badly blistered feet after stepping out of the secret elevator without thinking.

"Well- I-" Petra began to try and lie herself out of the situation when a very loud series of noises erupted from the hallway and GIR came skittering out while chasing a fly.

"I'm gonna getcha! I'm gonna getcha!" he cried, desperately trying to jump up and catch the fly in his mouth. In his chase, he scrambled past Petra and into the kitchen, deciding to jump up extra high and use his master as a springboard. The impact sent Zim tumbling to the floor, where he slammed his head into the countertop on the way down. GIR managed to catch the fly in his mouth, crash into the dining room table and roll off the side, giggling manically.

Petra, mortified, could only stand and observe the hellish scene before her. Zim was in fetal position on the kitchen floor, clutching his slightly askew wig and cursing his robotic minion. GIR continued to roll until he gently tapped against Petra's shoes, still laughing at a piercingly shrill level. And worst of all, Mrs. Mayer stood at the sink, hand still on the tap, taking the entirety of the situation in. "Is there something wrong with your little green pet?" The question made Petra feel like she was going to vomit.

"He, uh, has allergies." The lieutenant frantically scrambled to pick up the robot before her and hurriedly lifted her invader to his feet. "Do you mind if I have a sidebar with my dearest family friend and dog for a moment?" She could feel Zim stiffen at the word "friend", but pushed the thought aside.

"Sure, go ahead," Mrs. Mayer replied, and Petra quickly dragged GIR and Zim across the living room and into the bathroom, where she locked the door. Before she even said a word, she took a deep breath and walked over to the window, opening it just wide enough to stick her head out of it. Then, quite loudly, she proceeded to exclaim every curse word and offensive phrase she knew, in Dutch, English, and any other language she had happened to overhear. Zim watched in slight uneasy awe, but hesitated to stop her. He kind of got it, honestly.

"First last night, and then the song, and now this! And you!" Petra exclaimed, picking GIR up by the scruff of his costume and growling into his face. The bot writhed nervously.

"Aren't I too cute to stay mad at?" he inquired, striking a very Lisa Frank style pose and batting his eyes.

"I swear on the necks of the Tallest I am going to sell you for scrap metal the first chance I get." Petra sneered, dropping the obnoxious little monster to the ground and looking at her invader. Even though he knew that he ultimately had the final say over her, he still felt a flash of fear run through him as he met her icy gaze. In one swift stride she met him toe-to-toe, and grabbed his shoulders firmly.

"Sir, have your wounds healed?" The question caught Zim completely off-guard, but he shifted his weight and managed to make eye contact when he replied.

"Y-yes, of course! The almighty Zim would never fall prey to such petty wounds!" he explained, scrambling to stay as professional (ie. egotistical) as usual.

"Good, good." Petra paused for a moment, staring directly into his eyes. Then, she reeled her head back and stared up at the ceiling, her grasp on the invader still firm as ever.

"Uh, Petra, what are you-" The lieutenant cut him off by slamming her forehead into his own, letting her lieutenant brand hit him like an arrow at a target, managing to knock one of his contacts out and leaving him completely disoriented and confused.

"Sir, I am authorized to use force against you if the mission is being threatened. If you haven't noticed, the mission is being super threatened right now!" she hissed, baring her very sharp teeth. "What are we going to do if Mrs. Mayer runs back to the district and tells them how weird we're being? She's going to blow our cover!"

Zim frowned and rubbed the now quite sore spot that was blossoming into a bruise on his forehead. She really meant business.

"Aren't you friends with that little boy? Jessica?" he inquired.

"She's not a- what does that have to do with this?" Petra released the invader from her grasp and he was free to pick up his contact and put it back in.

"Isn't her maternal guardian head of the PDA or something? Just ask Jessica to discredit whatever report the music human wants to send in."

"Sir, that's… actually, you're onto something there."

"What do you mean, 'actually'?"

Just then, both Irkens heard a soft cry of surprise coming from down the hallway. I didn't think the walls were so thin, Petra thought, poking her head out of the bathroom. The noise had been Mrs. Mayer, peeking into the room that was supposed to serve as the master bedroom. When she rushed forward to see what was so shocking, she realized what the loud noise GIR had made earlier was.

The room was in shambles. There was shards of decorative glass on the floor, the bed was messy and the lamps were on the floor, unplugged. The vanity mirror was shattered and the curtains were lopsided, and as soon as GIR scampered up behind her to see what all the commotion was about, Petra snatched him up like she would disassemble him right there.

"Oh my," Mrs. Mayer said quietly. "How long has the room been like this?"

"It's nothing, it's nothing. You know parents, they're so… messy." Zim lied poorly. Mrs. Mayer tapped a worried finger on her chin.

"How often are your parents working, would you say?"

"Oh, all the time. They're hardly ever here, so you probably will never see them!" Zim said. "No need to come back and find them, they'll probably be working if you return."

"Ah. And who does the cooking? The cleaning? Who does paperwork and pays bills?" The children shared a confused glance. Who was supposed to do all that, again?

"Petra does that," the invader answered.

"Not your parents? Why's that?" Mrs. Mayer turned her attention away from the room and fully onto her student.

"...Chores?" Petra unsurely replied, as that was the only plausible explanation she could think of. To her relief, her mentor smiled a little and patted her student on the head.

"You are such a hard working little girl. I should be going now, Mr. Mayer is making dinner tonight. You don't have to tell your parents I stopped by, we can keep it to ourselves, okay?" Mrs. Mayer said with a playful wink.

"Yes! Yes, just between us is perfectly fine," Zim said with vigor, and Petra felt immense relief. This whole situation didn't even last twenty minutes and the affair felt like it had taken a lifetime to pass!

With that, Mrs. Mayer said her goodbyes and took her leave, and the house was blissfully quiet after her departure. Petra tiredly shut off her disguise, and collapsed onto the couch, and her invader followed suit and tossed his wig and contacts to the side. GIR, chirping happily, plopped himself right in-between them and turned on the TV to a rerun of the Scary Monkey made-for-television movie, Enter the Jungle. While the program was not her favorite, at least the robot wasn't talking.

Zim pulled a pair of Candy-Stik packages out of his PAK and offered one to his lieutenant. She gratefully accepted his offer, as she desperately needed the energy after the emotional strain that had come from existing in the past day or so.

"Petra, you might want to work on some emotional control. It's always all or nothing, I've noticed, and your all is- well, intense is a good word for it." Zim mused, dipping the stick into the sugary powder pouch.

"You think I'm intense?" Petra asked, holding her candy stick in her teeth as she dug into her coat pocket for her phone.

"Yeah, a little bit," Zim replied, rubbing the light green bruise on his forehead. Hopefully it would heal up in a few hours. "I'm telling you this as a… ahem. As a friend."

"Oh." Getting told to work on emotional control by someone like Zim was humbling, at best, but he did make good points from time to time. "You're probably right, sir."

"I know I am. Zim is never wrong."

To this Petra could only discreetly roll her eyes, but something more pressing took her attention. She redialed the last number she had called and waited. On the third ring, the recipient picked up.

"Jessica?" she asked, turning on her accent once more. "Yeah, it's me. Can I ask you for a favor?"


"What's wrong?" Mr. Mayer asked, watching his wife read in bed next to him. He could tell something was up, seeing as she hadn't turned the page in ten minutes and was staring ahead with a pensive expression.

"Well…" she sighed and set the book down on the nightstand.

"This isn't still about Petra, is it? Julia, you've tried this before, you have to let it go."

"Oh, Peter, you don't understand. I visited her home today, and the conditions are disastrous at best. They had no idea where the guardians were when I arrived, and when I looked around it seemed like they were never home. The room I assumed to be the parents' was littered with broken glass and was a total mess, there was nothing in the pantry but sugar, they didn't own any first aid supplies, and there was no water. I simply don't know how those children are clean, but it's no wonder they're so small. And it was bizarre, too. The ceiling was covered in wires and the bedrooms of the children were so clean that it looked as though no one lived there. I can't understand why the district just sits by as their students rot away!"

"Oh, love. Did they tell you anything incriminating?" he inquired, wrapping a comforting arm around his distressed wife. She sighed and nodded.

"Practically everything was. They claimed that the parents were at work all the time, and never home. Petra did all the cooking, and the cleaning, and they even said she did paperwork and bills. When I asked why, she said it was part of her chores. Chores! If that girl is so used to that behavior that she calls it chores, who knows what she had to do when she was in Amsterdam? She just burst out crying during a lesson today while doing the emotional exercise. It makes me sick to think of what she and Zim might be living with day-to-day. The worst part is that after a very chaotic accident involving a pet, she dragged Zim into the bathroom and when he came out, he had clearly been hit. I even heard her screaming the strangest obscenities in frustration. Have you ever heard a twelve-year-old shout the phrase 'suck my wiggly dick' with full confidence before? It's really weird. And just who do you think could be setting such a violent example?" she ranted, becoming quite animated with her gestures.

"Petra didn't seem like someone with a poor temper to me," Mr. Mayer pondered. "These parents get shittier every time you talk about them, don't they?" Mrs. Mayer exhaled loudly and leaned into her partner.

"Also, I think their dog is possessed."

"Really?"

"You'd understand if you saw it."

"You think putting a possessed dog in front of a jury would qualify as solid evidence?" he joked, and his wife couldn't help but let out a soft snort. "If you have the proof, Jules, then by all means submit another referral for a home visit. Maybe you'll get through this time."

"Yeah, maybe." Suddenly, a familiar wail erupted from the nursery. A frustrated cry that was easily identified as Lucas could be heard from the room just beyond the nursery as he struggled to get to sleep. "Em really is fussy tonight, isn't she?"

"It's your turn, love."

"No, I think it's your turn." This bickering continued for only a moment before Finn, on the opposite side of the master bedroom from the nursery decided that he was also unhappy with baby Emma Marie's behavior.

"Will one of you just get the stinkin' baby?!" he cried, knocking once on the wall for good measure. Mr. Mayer sighed and got up to go to the nursery, and the teacher made a mental note to take care of Emma Marie the next two times. Peter was right, it was totally her turn.

(A/N: I'm uploading this a day late, sorry y'all. I know I keep saying this, but my new school really is an adjustment. I have to walk outside so much, and it's still hot here in Yeehawville, so I'm not feeling top of the line. I didn't want to upload this chapter when it was so short, because I wanted to produce quality content, but I'm going to try writing as much as I can to get into the habit of setting a time. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and please leave my a review so I can improve. Thank you all for reading.)