A/N: Apologies, forgot to upload here yesterday. Was busy and didn't have access to my computer long enough to upload both here and Ao3. Happy belated Valentine's Day!
And with a final bash, his code was essentially locked in for good, as the terminal itself was made inaccessible. With a sigh, Zim relaxed, the sound of Irken soldiers on the opposite side of the door no longer concerning. With a grunt, he managed to stand up onto his feet, although Dib tried to step over and help. The action giving way to calm and quiet, the group could finally take a breath. That did, however, mean that Zim was starting to feel his injuries even more, so he was eager to get going to the transportation system. So, with a brightly lit hallway in front of them, its end clearly visible, they began down it.
This hall was starkly opposed to the rest of the Massive and to the whole atmosphere of Irken architecture or to Irken aesthetics. It was warmer than expected, pleasantly so, in fact. The light itself was of a warmer quality, looking more like daylight that the cool, near-incandescent Dib was starting to get used to. The walls were white and the hall itself was rather wide. Dib, unsure why this hallway was different, was uncomfortably comfortable. Zim didn't particularly like it, comfortably uncomfortable.
And at the end were doors, similar looking to sliding doors back on Earth. Two of them, glass embedded in them that allowed one to look through it, and made out of some sort of metal, although it looked just as white as the walls. Next to it was a button, not unlike an elevator call button. There was what looked to be a sleek train behind the doors; one that was white and embroidered with the Irken insignia.
Zim reached over and pressed the small button only a few centimeters to the side of the door. Near immediately, the doors slid to the sides with a whooshing sound, and Zim began to limp in. After a moment, watching Zim and ultimately concluding that Zim knew what he was doing, Dib followed. GIR was struggling to carry Dib's briefcase; he was leaning back and holding it on top of himself, using his upper half as a sort of surface for it to sit on. Dib had offered to take it back, but GIR was excited to defend it, as Dib had quietly instructed only a few minutes ago, so Dib dropped it and let him go ahead with it— it was cute, after all. And finally, without a sound or much of an initiative, Minimoose floated past the doors. After a second, the doors clicked closed, and Zim stayed stood right by them.
Zim felt around against the wall of the train, as Dib elected to call it, unless Zim gave him its actual name, of course. It was devoid of life other than themselves and was extremely clean and sleek. Zim's hand, the uninjured one, got hold of a small divot, from which Zim flipped out a hidden terminal, in one swift, smooth motion. Dib watched on, intrigued, as Zim typed on it, one-handed. GIR struggled to pull himself up onto a seat against the walls of the train as he held onto the briefcase. Dib grabbed the briefcase, which GIR held onto, and pulled him up, plopping hom gently down on the seat. There, he sat, swinging his legs. Dib looked up from GIR sitting happily when the train started to move— fast. Zim was typing furiously, and after he slammed one final key, the train slowed down immensely, hardly feeling like it was moving now. With that, Zim limped over to the seat Dib and GIR were sitting at and collapsed into it.
"What was all that for?" Dib asked after a silent moment.
"Got it moving," Zim reached into his PAK, "slowed it down," he pulled out some sort of gadget, "and isolated it."
"Why'd you slow it down? And what do you mean by 'isolating?'"
"Slowing it down gives me more time to repair myself. And to take a moment before more fighting." Zim felt around in his PAK some more. "And I isolated it, as in, there's no way for someone, for example, in the bridge, to interfere with where we're going or how fast."
"How long until we arrive?"
"Um, slightly more than half of an hour." Zim pulled his hand back. "Do you have a large strip of fabric or a small object that won't break if immense pressure is put on it?"
"Uh," Dib thought. "no? I don't think so. Why?"
Zim sighed. "It would have been helpful for this." Zim quickly began to undo the bandages he had wrapped onto his damaged hand as he kept a firm grip on the device he just got with his other hand. Dib got a good look at it. He wished he hadn't. It wasn't red and gory as it might be if a human was in the same position, but pink and gory wasn't much better. The base of what Dib would call a thumb was immensely impacted, with its insides exposed and, for lack of a better, less uncomfortable word, scrambled. Other parts of the hand had received similar treatment, with burns and skin simply exploded off. His thumb even seemed to have bone, or something analogous to it, exposed at the tip. It was a gruesome sight, indeed.
Zim struggled to keep from instinctively tightening his grip in the injured hand, and kept it relaxed as he finished taking off the bandages. When done, his right hand passed the device to the left, and it held it rather firmly; certainly firm for a hand which could potentially have its insides simply fall out. Dib shuddered and looked away, done with the viscera and whatnot for the time being. He didn't think seeing his enemy's insides would be such a problem.
"Uh, so," Dib looked to Minimoose bouncing around from wall to wall, slowly, "what are you doing right now? With the, um, hand?"
"Well," Zim grunted, pained, "bandages are a temporary solution. So is this, but less so. I won't be able to heal completely until I'm back at my base. So for now—" Zim strained and muttered something in Irken, nearly hissing the words out. "For now, this will suffice."
One of the PAK's legs extended out and its end was at Zim's damaged hand. Dib still wasn't looking, and only saw it out of the corner of his eye. "What's happening now?" Dib asked.
"Same thing."
The PAK arm sounded nearly like it was welding something, and Zim was tensing up and groaned roughly, very nearly stomping his foot. Dib saw his free hand fervently gripping the seat in vain. "Did you want fabric or whatever so you could squeeze it in your hand?"
"Yes," Zim strained.
"Um," Dib debated what he had thought just a moment ago. Zim was clearly in extreme pain, and while squeezing the heck out of something wouldn't exactly make it go away, it could help. And Dib didn't like seeing Zim in such pain… because Dib would be relying on him during the fights. He was an alien— one who wanted world domination at that. Dib couldn't have empathy for someone like that. But to assist him through his operation, Dib could— "here." Dib offered his own hand.
Zim looked at Dib's hand. Then back at his own disfigured one. "I'm okay. I have painkillers in the PAK."
Dib rescinded his hand with a quiet huff. Why did he bother? "Well, why aren't you using them?"
"Can't right now." Dib looked away as Zim started to tinker with his hand in a way that made Dib squeamish.
"Why's that?" Dib saw Minimoose hovering beside GIR as he sat politely. They were squeaking and GIR was watching as if he was paying attention to a conversation.
"It would interfere with—" Zim practically shouted several sentences worth of Irken out as a stomach-turning squelching noise came from his hand.
"Are you alright?" Dib asked, concerned.
"I will be okay." Zim dodged the question.
"Well, what about right now? Do you need me to do something?"
"No. I don't need help." Zim was being obstinate. But as Zim continued to patch up his hand, and later his antenna, he and Dib talked about what had happened and how Zim's injuries felt— mainly out of Dib's curiosity. But when it was all said and done, with Zim having completed his patch jobs, which, Dib had to say, were very advanced and realistic for current human standards, he flipped a switch or something inside of his PAK and it started administering the aforementioned painkillers. He relaxed visibly, and his pained, withheld speech transformed into his normal amount of verbosity.
After ten minutes, Zim seemed, somehow, perfectly fine. Sure, his lower arm was a slightly different hue and texture than the rest of his arm, his antenna was simply patched over, and there was a puddle of Irken blood between his feet, not to mention the several other puddles elsewhere in the Massive and the trail he created walking in here, but he was fine. He probably needed more blood inside of him, but he would have to make do for now.
Dib watched GIR happily run back and forth on the empty vessel, Dib having convinced GIR to let Dib hold on to the briefcase while he played. It reminded him of very young children giving their parents their juicebox or their toy as they went out and played on the playground. GIR was certainly enjoying the open space and the presence of Zim and Minimoose. Zim, in fact, was watching from the right of Dib, with Dib's head turned away from him. Dib smiled somewhere between a proud parent and someone looking at a cute animal. Zim's smile, much the same, although leaning more towards 'proud parent', gave way to a more thin smile. Then a neutral, concerned look. Then, nearly a frown.
Suddenly breaking the silence, or at least, as silent as something could get with GIR shouting, Zim spoke. "What are we even doing here?" Zim's tone was something approaching… sardonic indignance?
Dib looked over. "...In what sense?"
"I mean, are we— am I going to kill my Tallest?" Zim was concerned.
"That was the plan, I thought?"
"Well, yes. But I don't know if I can."
Dib was taken aback. "They… tried to kill you. They, like, banished you, or whatever. They nearly destroyed Earth! Twice! They're conquering the whole universe! "
"Those aren't their faults. It certainly would be easier for them if I wasn't ruining everything for them and for the empire." For a moment, Dib was expecting Zim to go into another self-deprecation fit— one that would not be appreciated right now. "Besides, they're the Tallest! They're my leaders! How could I kill the leaders of my empire and still call myself an Irken?" Zim remembered Miyuki and Spork. Oh, no. "On, um, purpose, that is." Zim paused and looked down at the small blood pool on the ground. In it was a murky, muddled, and dim reflection of himself. "How can I justify that?"
Dib honestly didn't expect that from Zim. From what he'd heard, Zim had destroyed his leaders and immense parts of the Irken Empire several times before. What made this time different? Zim wasn't that complex, was he? "Well, are you still really a part of the Irken Emp—"
"Yes! Of course I am!" Zim interrupted, "I'd do anything for the empire." He looked out into space for a moment, then put his head in his hands. "At least, I think I am. And I think I would."
Dib looked at Zim's form. He'd taken severe damage in his endeavor simply to preserve his own life. His leaders did this to him. And yet, he still couldn't find it in him to kill them. Dib couldn't help but feel pity for him. Within Zim's mind, it was a paradox that, as Dib could start to see, didn't have a good solution. And it wasn't like Zim had been dealt a good hand to begin with. "They'll kill you if you don't kill them first."
"I know. Of course I know that. But do I have the right to do that in the face of Irken leadership?"
"Well, no, but you—"
"You don't understand." Zim sternly declared. "You probably never could."
Dib didn't, not fully. And Zim was probably right; Dib might never completely get it. But he could see what Zim meant. And Dib felt terrible, seeing this all come to the forefront in Zim's mind, his disheveled body hunched over a puddle of his own blood within enemy territory. Dib couldn't help but empathize with him, despite his convictions. "Maybe not. And I guess I can't decide for you. So, I mean, I'll leave it up to you; whatever you decide I guess we'll go with, even if I have my own, uh, opinions."
Zim looked up, seemingly almost confused. Then, with an almost entirely neutral expression, save for the subtle smile that Dib didn't catch, "Alright, Dib human." Maybe Dib could trust Zim. Maybe he wasn't as bad as Dib made him out to be.
The secret terminal Zim had used earlier beeped quietly. Zim got up and walked, no longer seeming to be injured, over to it. Upon flipping it open and looking over it, he said, "We're approaching our destination. Slightly under five minutes until arrival." Zim walked back and sat down.
Dib, preparing for what was to come, urged, "So, tell me what comes next again?" There wasn't much more to travel before they reached the teleporter room, and from there, it would be a clean shot to the bridge and back home. Just a little bit more fighting, surely; the Tallest wouldn't make it easy for them, most likely.
The train arrived, locking into a braked position with the sounds an overworked motherboard made and quiet hissing like a bus coming to a stop. Slotted into its place, the doors opened and the group steeled themselves. Dib and Zim side by side, guns drawn, with GIR and Minimoose, ready to follow and to abide by orders.
The Tallest ought to be afraid of what was coming their way.
