"Huh," said Dib. "Interesting."
It was more than that. It was exciting and confusing, insulting and borderline erotic? On the one hand, killing Zim had been, no is (right?), Dib's raison d'être, and it would be relatively easy. In fact, there had been several opportunities when it would have been so simple, when Zim was seizing from withdrawal, or when he was entranced by his own hands, which, by the way, was something Dib still wanted to get back to. Dib scanned the room, wondering if there was a camera. Are they watching now? Are they going to record me killing him? Am I doing them a favor? Was he okay with that? With being used and discarded like so much trash?
He glanced at Zim. The alien was still plopped on the floor, legs sprawled in front and hands scrabbling against the floor. He was watching Dib, uncertainty saturating his features. Dib pulled at the neck of his shirt, aware of how warm he felt. When did it get so hot in here?
"What do you think?"
Zim blinked. His tongue darted across his lips.
"What do you mean?"
"Well," Dib shifted into a cross-legged position, leaning forward, ignoring the dizziness it caused.. "If I am right and you aren't actually dying, that still means we're trapped here, right? Unless you've been lying about being completely useless at getting me out, and let's face it, Zim, you are definitely not a good liar."
Zim hissed softly.
"I'll take that to mean 'yes, we are trapped here.' So that leaves us with two options: A, starving to death together after running out of rations or B, one of us killing the other and then slowly starving to death over twice as long a period of time. Irkens are supposed to die in battle, right? Your whole 'You shouldn't be here, this is so degrading' vibe makes that pretty clear. What I'm trying to say is, do you want some kind of final epic battle to the death?"
Soft scratching of nails against the floor. The omnipresent hum of lasers. Dib twisted his fingers around each other, not sure what answer he was hoping for. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs and pulling them close.
"I don't know," Zim whispered, so softly it was almost unintelligible.
Something twisted in Dib's chest. Relief? Anxiety? He couldn't tell.
A few weeks ago and sure, he'd have gladly leapt to his death as long as his hands were wrapped around Zim's slender, green neck. He'd have been saving the human race from an alien invasion, and that was a pretty badass way to go. But finding out you were literally a lab experiment gone wrong and that your own father felt your most useful output was dissection had a funny way of changing how you viewed the world. His father had been an ass, sure- distant, unhelpful, utterly dismissive of anything in the crypto- or xenological fields- but Dib had still felt like there was something there, love or paternal instinct. Revealing Zim to the world, and to his father, was all it would take to unlock that connection; saving the world would make everyone look up and see him, understand who and why he was in the world.
Turns out, no, not at all, and that one, relatively small discovery made Dib feel a whole lot less enamored with homo sapiens. Were they really doing anything Dib cared about overall? Between the overwhelming chasm of mass extinction and planetary ecological failure and the interpersonal and international ethnic, racial, and resource-hungry violence, was humanity something Dib really wanted to be a part of?
Was creating a whole new life without Zim to delineate him something he wanted?
"Yeah," he rasped. "Me neither."
He watched Zim, saw the fingers dig into the floor again. Those fingers were acutely compelling; before he'd been sealed in here, Dib had never seen them. Zim had always worn gloves, always, and Dib was enthralled with the long, green digits he'd seen during the last few hours (days? who knew anymore).
Dib remembered looking down at Zim's face as he'd brushed his own fingers across it, as he caressed his own thin lips. He pictured Zim's slender, delicate index finger sliding between those lips. For the second time since he'd been stuck in Zim's lab, Dib felt like he'd been encroaching on a private moment. Dib slid off his coat, the heat in the lab seemingly increasing with each minute. He rested his chin on his knees and studied Zim.
How much of what he thought of as "Zim" was real and how much of it was the result of the drugs that had been pumped into him his entire life? Dib thought about the efficient, cold bureaucracy that must have existed, however long ago, that had decided its agenda would be best served via involuntary mental capitulation.
Who have I been fighting for over a decade?
Dib licked his lips, painfully cleared his throat, then croaked, "The lab results should be done soon. They should tell us if I'm right."
Zim nodded absently. Dib's forehead itched, and he ran his knuckles across his brow. His fingers came away smeared with blood, a reminder of the cut Dib had neglected to clean. He patted at his forehead more gingerly and found it alarmingly wet for what he had assumed was a small cut. It was again time to employ the services of the lab's medical cabinet and sink.
Over the sink, he ran the dampened bandage across his forehead and examined it. There were only a few, pinkish streaks of blood. Dib swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. Sweat? It's definitely getting hotter in here. Dib remoistened the roll of bandages and ran it over his face and down his neck as he looked up at the ceiling and down where the walls met the floor. Vents were scattered throughout, and he remembered the gas that had poured into the chamber and rendered him unconscious. Sweat dripped slowly between his shoulder blades, and Dib flapped the bottom of his t-shirt, fanning his lean, pale stomach.
"Hey Zim," he called, leaning against the wall, overwhelmed with heat. Zim was where Dib had left him, sitting on the ground and running his fingers along the floor. The alien looked up at Dib and widened his eyes, antennae perking up.
"Do you think," Dib paused, his mouth and throat feeling parched. He sucked his cheeks and tried again. "Do you think your leaders might try to do stuff to, uh, speed up the process of us killing each other?"
"Probable," Zim said slowly, turning his body to completely face Dib. His fingers had stilled, and his antennae were almost completely erect.
"Is that what's going on with the heat?" Dib asked before running his tongue over chapped lips. Zim slowly shook his head and stood up.
"You can't tell me the insane increase in temperature is normal, Zim, there's something-" The world shifted hard, and Dib had just enough time to wonder why Zim was lunging forward before everything went black.
Dib's head ached, and as quickly as he tried to open his eyes he shut them again, wincing against the light shining down on him. He tried to bring his hand up to shield his face and met resistance. He pulled at his arm again and cold flooded his stomach as he realized it was strapped down. Icy metal pressed against the back of his body, and Dib clenched his teeth to smother the scream that tore his way out of his throat. Dib pulled at his arm again, panic rising. He kicked his legs, and his feet flew up easily. Dib stilled, trying to stay calm, and tried to raise his other arm. It easily lifted free of the table. Only one arm was strapped down. Jaw still clamped shut and eyes shut against the uncomfortably bright light overhead, Dib forced himself to take a deep breath. He brought his free arm over to the bound one, feeling for a strap.
"Stop it, you idiot," Zim hissed from somewhere behind his head. Dib felt a tube leading down to an intravenous needle sunk into his forearm and grasped at it, trying to rip it free. A cold, vinyl-clad hand thrust his fingers away.
"Dib."
Dib was trying to keep breathing, trying to keep the fear from spreading from his stomach and chest into his mind, but he heard it in his head, over and over, Specimen 492, you are a corrupted exercise- a corrupted exercise- -the root of the error will be found- dissection - dissection - DISSECTION. He reached for his trapped arm again, grabbing at the first tube he felt and pulling- a slap burned across his face.
"You need to stop," Zim yelled, leaning over and dragging Dib's free arm down against his side. "I do not have the energy to fight you and heal you, so stop struggling or I will kill you."
Dib clenched his hands, nails digging sharp crescents into his palms as he tried to focus, tried to understand what Zim was staying. I'm with Zim. I'm not with Dad. I'm in the base. I'm safe. That last thought was questionable, but Dib forced his body to stop struggling and tried to get his breath under control. He heard a metallic squeal, and the light over him decreased. He barely cracked his eyelids open and looked up at the alien still clenching his arm.
"Zim," Dib rasped, "Why the fuck am I tied to a table? How did you knock me out? What are you put-"
"I didn't knock you out, you ungrateful little piece of meat." Zim was still peering down at Dib, looking directly into his eyes.
One hand left Dib's arm and rested on his forehead, thumb reaching down to retract Dib's eyelid. Dib ground his teeth, but otherwise he was able to keep completely still.
"You fainted of your own accord, thanks to that repulsive wound on your hand." The eyelid was released before the other eye was subjected to the same treatment.
"Wha- the burn?" Dib felt woozy, and stringing together words took far too much effort. Despite his concerted effort to slow his breath, his heart felt like it was going to explode. The strap on his wrist, the cold table chilling his body, and his father's voice echoing in his head were keeping him on the edge of panic.
"Yes, stupid, the burn. You had an infection, causing a fever, causing your pathetic collapse." Done poking at Dib's eyes, Zim's hand brushed through Dib's hair before drawing away to rest on the edge of the table. His other hand was still gripping Dib's arm too tightly.
"I- wait- I had an infection?" Dib hoped his face was conveying the question he was too tired and agitated to fully enunciate.
Zim said nothing, merely reaching over to adjust the needle Dib had jostled out of place in his fight to get free. Dib winced as the needle was wiggled back into proper alignment.
"Can you untie my arm?"
Zim's eyes flicked down to Dib's. His fingers loosened then bore down again on Dib's arm. Dib felt a tremor pass through Zim's hand before his grip relaxed again.
"Will you keep your arm in place?"
Dib closed his eyes. He dragged up one leg so the sole of his foot was resting against the table and exhaled raggedly.
"Please," he whispered. "I can't be strapped down."
He felt Zim release the grip on his arm and heard him shifting around the table. Fingers closed around his bound wrist as the clasp clicked and fell away.
"Do not move it," Zim growled. "I am exhausted."
Dib flexed his fingers and rolled his wrist but otherwise kept his arm stationary. He slid his leg down until it was again parallel with the table. Breathe. It's fine. Breathe. You can move if you need to. His chest rose and depressed with deliberate slowness as the pounding of his heart slowly receded from his ears.
"Unsurprisingly, given how poorly you've been cleaning it, the burn on your hand was well on its way to becoming septic," Zim muttered, turning away from Dib before turning back with a ration bar in his hand. He pressed it into Dib's good hand before turning away again. Dib wrapped his fingers around the block of food and rested his hand on his chest. Something didn't make sense, but his head hurt too much, and the table was feeling so soothing against his too-warm body. Still.
"Why?" Dib croaked, rolling onto his side and taking care to keep his arm extended.
Zim tapped his fingers against the table, looking at the tube running from Dib's arm to a bag of fluid suspended overhead.
"Zim..." Why are you helping me? Why didn't you kill me? How long until you change your mind and try to strangle me?
"Because Zim," Zim closed his eyes, fingers gripping the edge of the table. He exhaled and looked into Dib's eyes. "Because I do not know what to do without you in my way."