Note: A reminder that I'm leaving Thursday evening and, for a while after, may not be able to consistently update. So don't lynch me while I'm gone.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The words replayed in his mind, mercilessly tormenting him. He'd had no grasp of the hyuman's language when he'd ordered the child torn from the female's arms, but now every word pounded through his brain in agonizing clarity.
"My baby! Don't touch my baby, leave us alone! Don't any of you speak English? Please, just send us back. We didn't do anything, no! Give him back, my baby! Dib! Dib! DIB!"
The only conceivable explanation Zim could come up with for the difference between his fifty plus years on Devastis, Conventia, and Foodcourtia and Dib's young age was the time shifts and distortions that came from traveling through wormholes. Zim's claws traveled over the controls as he calculated the location of the most likely wormhole. The computer closed off the paths to the dangerous ones and searched for any leading to Irk.
The Dib-stink had fallen asleep already, but had left the Voot computer with strict instructions to break Zim's neck if he did anything but fly them to Irk. Zim scowled as he selected the appropriate wormhole and set the ship on autopilot. Glancing over, he kicked Dib in the ribs. The hyuman yelped and sat up, glaring.
"What?!"
"Tell the computer not to touch me. I have to repair my PAK."
"What? No way. There's no way you're arming yourself, you'll kill me and head back."
Zim hissed, "There's few other things I'd rather do, but if we're going to storm a heavily guarded Irken facility armed only with that primitive excuse for a weapon you carry, this mission will end much sooner than you expect." He gritted his teeth, exhaling slowly. "Besides, I have to work on a holographic disguise for you."
"WHAT?!"
"Are your audio units impaired?" he yelled. "You think you can just walk in and request your parental unit back? You'll be shoved in a holding tube for horrible experiments before you can say 'dissection'!"
Dib's fists tightened, before he barked, "Stand down computer."
Zim turned and slipped toward the back of the Voot where he'd laid GIR. Reaching into the SIR's head, which often doubled as a storage unit for whatever caught the robot's fancy, he groped around for the emergency tools he'd hidden in there years ago.
The next few hours Zim spent taking his PAK off, fixing it, and putting it back on. His frustration at being unable to maintain vital functions for longer than ten minutes without it was evident. Even Dib restrained his sarcastic remarks, watching in fascination. Beads of gooey sweat formed on Zim's head, obscuring his vision. Grimacing, he reached up to wipe them away, when a piece of cloth was shoved in his hand. He glanced up, bewildered, as Dib buttoned his trench coat like nothing had happened. But Zim had seen Dib in his T-shirt nearly every day, and knew the scrap of cloth was from it.
"What is this for?"
Dib rolled his eyes. "To wipe your head, duh."
"And why do you care?"
"I don't. But you're going to help save Mom, so I have to help you."
Zim frowned, but sopped up the sweat and returned to work. A few minutes later, three words loosed his grip on the tools.
"I'm sorry, okay?"
Flabbergasted didn't even begin to describe Zim's state of mind. "What?"
"I was wrong. You were right... it was a breach. I'm not sorry I found out what I did... but I'm sorry for the way I found out." Dib's eyes were fixed on the ground. "Don't get me wrong, I still think you're alien scum, but the way I got the information... it wasn't okay."
Unable to trust his voice, Zim silently picked up his tools and continued repairs.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The nearer they drew to Irk, the jumpier Zim became. The wormhole had transported them to the planet in just over a week. It had driven Dib mad to be forced to wait that long, but Zim had snapped that he was lucky.
"I had to travel the normal way, with GIR singing the Doom song for six months straight!"
Dib had shuddered. "I know... I skipped through that part."
One thing weighed heavily on both. It had been one of the more recent scenes from Zim's memory, and one of the more traumatic.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"How DARE you! I've done everything you asked. I've performed every task, survived every danger. I, Zim, practically licked your boots. How dare you exile me!"
His fists flail as his screams of outrage echo through the room, drawing amused chuckles from his leaders.
Red leans forward. "I do hope you remember who's still Tallest. You're lucky we're not sending someone to finish the job, Zim. Just stay on that planet and never come back to Irk. It's simple. And if you disobey that little task--"
"SPLAT!" Chirped Purple, sucking on a slurpee. "No more Zim."
The transmission cuts, and Zim stares at the blank screen. Then, with an inhuman howl of rage, he smashes his fists through the screen, seizing wires and circuits, ripping them from their places. He repeats the motions again and again, the razor-sharp crystal edges slashing through the gloves and mutilating his claws, but he continues. His rage blocks out all pain. But as his attacks slow, he recognizes a new feeling. The feeling of everything being scooped out and left empty and raw. Unable to process this emotion, he wanders outside into daylight...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"They'll kill you if they catch you, won't they?" Dib questioned.
"And they'll send you to the labs if they find you." Zim returned.
Zim pulled a device from his pocket, the size and shape of a decorative pin. With one swift move he attached it to the lapel of Dib's coat and stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Gone was the hair, sickly skin, and thick glasses. Before him stood a young, wiry Irken with jagged antennae. The newly disguised eyes swirled, clearing slowly to reveal large chocolate orbs. Dib's clothing remained unchanged, but could easily be explained as eccentric taste in garb. The only problem was Dib's limited Irken vocabulary, and Zim fervently hoped he would be able to pass scrutiny.
The last thing he'd done was to add a DNA cloak to his PAK, rendering himself invisible to all bio-signature scanners.
Pulling the ship around to begin descent, he hesitated. During the week, Dib had let his guard down. It would be easy to restrain him and return to Earth. But something felt wrong whenever he considered this. He attempted to translate it into words. I... I didn't know about Dib... when I came... now I know... and I can't ignore. I... have to make it right.
Make it right? What am I saying, I owe this creature nothing!
Your orders separated him from his parental unit.
It doesn't matter. Their bond is only a primitive instinct anyway. Right?
But... Images of Della and the girls flashed through his mind. Could I do it to them?
Eyes narrowed, he pulled back a lever and began the descent.