I really could pump out chapter after chapter when I was between jobs; so now it feels like I'm never getting anything done lol. I take my time to write these chapters since it's a 'mood' I'm not familiar with, and it's been difficult with mental exhaustion hitting me lately, but I'm still trucking! Getting close to the end of the planned chapters of this fic, there's only one more after this, so let's gooooooo!

Enjoy!

Chapter 10: In Working Order

Zim flicked at the sprouting leaves of the gardens. The crop was growing at the expected rate, sprouts having begun the previous day. Perhaps if he made a sort of food for them he could accelerate their growth. He flicked on the artificial sun lamps, stepping out of the warmth before it could start to lull him into a stupor. He'd made over a dozen more farming plots, filling them with various seeds he'd managed to create.

He wasn't entirely sure, as of yet, if they'd work was well as the initial crop. Converting human food to something edible for Irkens wasn't hard, necessarily, but it was a field of science he hadn't bothered to put much thought into. He'd yet to figure out how to make meat edible, despite the years. Though, he had been preoccupied.

A loud crash sounded off to his right, his antenna perking straight towards the noise immediately. Zim sighed, standing straight. "Gir!"

Another crash and then Gir was zooming into the farming lots on his rockets. Zim caught him in his arms, cradling the giggling robot. "Gir, what was that crash?" Zim asks tiredly.

"I was trying to reach the peanut butter!" Gir said.

Zim's antenna flicked. Of course, he'd tried to climb the shelves for the peanut butter. And here he'd thought he'd hidden it better than that. If it weren't for Gir wailing and throwing a fit when there was none in the house, Zim wouldn't have another jar of the infernal food in the house ever again. He wasn't keen on seeing the mess Gir must have made toppling the shelf.

Zim sighed and let Gir go. Gir dropped to the ground, bouncing up and trotting after Zim into a neighboring lab. The replacement PAK was on the work table, parts and bits strewn about the surface, chords overlapping one another across the table. Gir grabbed the edge of the table, swinging on it like a bar. Zim caught the edge of the table as it rocked, growling down at Gir. The little robot stopped swinging, dropping to the floor with a giggle. Zim reached out, snatching him up.

"Mastah, I want peanut—" Gir powered down, his speech droning out as his eyes dimmed. Zim sighed, sitting Gir up against the wall. He didn't want to leave Gir offline forever.

But… he needed the silence for now, and he could do to upgrade him again. Now that he was less concerned with what the Tallest or the Empire would think of it, he popped open Gir's head cover. Inside was the empty space, and a small flat surface at the very bottom. Zim reached in, hooking his claw at the end and sliding the sheet of metal back about halfway until it stopped short. He could see the tiny AI chip sitting underneath, protected by almost anything that Gir put in his head as storage. Still, flakes of dried peanut butter were scattered around it.

Zim sighed, digging it out carefully with the hook of his claw. It resisted for a moment before popping it out. He cradled it, setting it aside, and set Gir back against the wall again. He locked the AI chip onto the computer's board. The code encompassing Gir's entire make up started to scroll across the screen.

Suddenly, Zim was reminded rather bluntly why he kept putting this off. But, this was something he could do while he waited for his crops to grow and the PAKs diagnostics to run. He rubbed at his eyes, cracked his knuckles, and got to work reviewing the code.

It was a mess.

That was being polite about it, in Zim's opinion. Gir's coding followed most of the standard base functions for SIR units, but it was jumbled. Bits and pieces were scattered across the entire coding interface. Zim knew this already, of course, he'd done coding checks and modifications in the past. But he'd never tried a full overhaul of Gir's code to make him more like a SIR unit. Finding all the personality-geared code alone was going to take hours, perhaps days. Where to even begin, he wasn't entirely sure.

He didn't have forever.

He set to work opening another screen and sorting it out by hand. He tuned out the noise of the computers, the thrum of electricity in the base, the buzz of the lights (no matter how silent), until he couldn't hear hardly anything. His focus was entirely on the code. Finding each portion and sorting it in the new document window. Moving entire sections, tweaking line after line, finding a piece of code that was disrupting the entire flow of the programs—it was like he was back in the labs on Irk.

He'd spend days compiling programs and operating systems of new weapons. Irkens didn't need to eat nearly as consistently as other species. The PAK could ensure that. Plugging into the main base's systems could do the same. Sleep was rare on any given day regardless. He hardly looked at the clock.

A loud slam shocked him out of his focus. Zim jerks in his seat, his brain racing and his hand lashing out. The PAK's legs jutted out as well. They were sluggish. Faulty. Completely missing their mark, arcing far overhead instead of straight and level. The sudden motion threw his chair entirely off balance, the wheels skittering on the floor rather than rolling. The source of the noise, his PAK very late to notifying his conscious brain that it was just heavy weight and fabric on the table, not metal to metal, stilled and a limb shot out.

Limbs—a body—intruder—what the hell was Computer doing?!

Dib caught Zim's arm by the wrist, ducking back a little from the force of Zim's swing, with a yelp. He gave a shaky breath. Everything had stilled as Zim just stared. Gaz was standing not far off, at the edge of the computer desk, frozen in place. She didn't seem scared. At least, she looked like she was gauging the scenario, not taking her eyes off Zim. Dib flitted his eyes between Zim's gaze and his hand.

It was gloved, but he'd been scratched and scarred by those very gloves before, so that meant nothing. Zim's claws were inches from his eye. Dib slowly lowered Zim's hand.

"You weren't responding at all," Dib says.

"I was working."

"You were unreachable for days," Gaz cuts in.

Days?

"No—"

"YES," Dib stressed. "I tried calling you a dozen times. Computer had to let us in."

Zim paused a moment. A quick run through his PAK confirmed Dib had tried to dial him for the past four days. Four days. Zim pushed away from the computers, rubbing at his eyes. Dib shared a quick glance with Gaz.

"What were you working on?" Dib asks.

"Gir. Trying to overhaul his coding," Zim sighed. He quickly reached over and scrolled through the spare screen. He'd almost finished, as it were.

"You're finally fixing him?" Gaz asks. She dragged a spare chair over with her foot and slumped into it, dropping her bag under the counter. Zim kicked back her way, knocking it against her legs.

"It's not your concern."

"If this is what was keeping you so busy for days then I guess we can let it slide," Gaz says idly, swirling her hair around her finger.

Zim glared at her. He turned to Dib to gauge his reaction as well. Dib was pouting a little, looking at the screen of code laid out in front of him, studying it. Right. He wasn't going to get a good read on the boy when he was distracted like that. It was annoying, to a degree, that Dib seemed to be able to read him somewhat well even when he was distracted with something, yet the same didn't apply the other way around. He'd have to work on that.

"You're not here just to check I'm not dead," Zim says flatly. Before either sibling could make an argument against him—he wouldn't hear it regardless—he turned back to the computer monitor. "So state your reason for coming. Your other reason."

Dib ignored the hasty addition and sighed. He dragged his bag over the edge of the counter and laid it out. "We were going to take you on a hike or something to get you outside."

"…There is more."

"But… well, this does look kind of cool," Dib admitted, turning back to the screen.

"I wasn't that excited about the whatever it was, anyway," Gaz admits.

"Hiking."

"The whatever."

"That's it?" Zim asks. Dib turned to him, scoffing.

"Well, excuse us, we were trying to be your friends, remember?" Dib asks, laying it on thick.

Zim's antennae twitched. He saved what he'd managed to get done and exported the microchip. A PAK appendage dragged Gir over to him. He started to fit it back into place, ignoring Dib's hovering body and Gaz's unwavering gaze. Once he'd gotten it secure again, he sat Gir up against the monitor, and flipped him on. Gir's eyes powered on and he sat straighter. There was a brief pause. Gir's eyes seemed to focus—Dib hadn't ever noticed the small lenses behind the glass covering—right on Dib.

"MARY!" Gir cheered. Loudly.

Zim groaned, his forehead hitting the desk. Gir giggled, hopping up and jumping onto Dib immediately. Gaz snorted from her acquired spot. Gir's head spun like an owl to zero his gaze in on her.

"Mary!"

"What."

Gir jumped off Dib, the power of the kick off making Dib stumble, and rocketed right for Gaz. She managed to catch the robot, barely, in her arms with a huff. Gir giggled, squirming around in Gaz's arms until he was upside down. Gaz struggled to hold him.

"Damn it, hold still!" Gaz snapped.

"Catch meee!" Gir screamed, hopping off Gaz and rushing around the table. Dib jumped away with a yelp.

"Gir, what are you holding?!" Dib asks.

"A knife!"

"GIR!"

Zim lunged for Gir, taking the one moment of hesitation at the name, to grab him. Gir was still laughing, and flailing, and the knife snagged Zim's top. Zim hissed, tearing the knife out of Gir's hand.

"No fair! Mastah, that's my –"

Zim flipped the switch, Gir going slack in his hands, and he growled. He stomped over toward the computer and set Gir harshly down on the desktop. He shoved the knife in Dib's direction, keeping his eyes on Gir, in a glare. Gir was lolling to the side, like a doll. Dib fumbled with the knife—a pocket-knife—closing it and holding it out cautiously to Gaz. Gaz snatched it out of his hand and shoved it into her backpack.

"Why are you carrying that?" Dib asks.

"Why do you think? A bat is way too obvious," Gaz says. Zim snorted, taking his seat and nodding.

"Smart."

Zim pulled up the copy of the code. He could port it over to the actual chip later when he'd finished more of it. For now, his focus was on fixing Gir. He'd gotten a lot done, but clearly he'd been optimistic to think he'd grabbed all the defunct code. It wasn't too hard to see that he had. Most of the personality-based coding, if not in the designated section, was scattered haphazardly throughout the lines of code. It was no wonder no one had tired to sift through this before.

Perhaps there were safety protocol issues as well.

"I can see why you were so distracted," Dib admits. He pulled up a chair to get a closer look at the screen. It was nonsense to him. Not just because it was in Irken, but because of the sheer amount he was seeing. He pulled out his laptop, plugging it in, and kicking his feet up on the edge of the desk. Zim immediately shoved his feet off.

"Hey!"

"You can use your device; but keep your filthy feet off my things."

"Ok, ok, deal," Dib sighed.

He sat cross legged instead. Gaz had already started playing her Game Slave. The occasional noise of Gaz tacking her Game Slave's buttons and Dib writing away on his laptop was… steady. It put a slight buzz in Zim's brain. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, in fact Zim would say he somewhat enjoyed it.

He wasn't sure how long he had spent like that. Working on the code as the background noise kept the rest of his brain occupied. He, similarly, wasn't sure when the pressure had started to build in his throat. There was a fogginess in his brain, making it harder to concentrate. He could feel himself start to sway, or feel like he was starting to sway, and lose his balance despite remaining seated.

Is this… nausea..? Zim wondered.

Suddenly the feeling tripled. Zim pushed off the desk, covering his mouth, his antennae flat against his skull. Dib jolted in his seat when Zim's sudden movements caught his eye. Zim shoved him, chair and all, out of the way to reach the small trash bin under the desk. He only put it there because of Gir. He was grateful he'd bothered. Dib stood, discarding his laptop onto the table. Gaz hovered to his left, her Game Slave left on the desk, as well.

Zim was left retching into the bin. His PAK's upper slot was trying to slide open, sticking and getting stuck partially opening and closing jerkily. A PAK limb was trying to stretch out, just as jittery in movement, knocking on the rims of the PAK's slot.

Stab—stab—protect—protoc—stabstabstab

STAB WHAT?!

Zim knew the PAK wouldn't stab Dib or Gaz, neither registered as a threat, not anymore. It wouldn't on purpose, anyway. There was no threat. The Computer would've taken care of anything. It would have interrupted his work—if nothing else—if someone had entered the base. Even if they'd burrowed through the walls. he had sensors set up throughout the base, inside and outside, within the walls, and even the floor. But there was no threat to find.

Zim grimaced. He'd stopped retching, but his head was pounding. His PAK should have prevented this. He was not meant to feel sick—unless he was gravely injured. Was it not filtering his systems? He hadn't slept. He hadn't eaten. He hadn't even rested—he hadn't checked his PAK status.

He could have banged his head into the desk if it wasn't already in so much pain. He could hear Gaz's game sprite die, and the simple sound byte in the otherwise utter silence seemed to snap Gaz out of her statue-esque state. She hurriedly grabbed the chair Zim had carelessly let roll away, pulling it up close behind him. Dib had stilled, kneeling beside him, hand hovering over Zim's shoulder. He lightly touched Zim's shoulder and leaned him back. Zim groaned, closing his eyes from the light. The lights dimmed a little.

"Computer," Zim droned, much like an irate parent.

"Don't lecture me," The Computer says.

Dib stared into the trash bin.

"I'll do as I please," Zim spat. He made to stand, having to brace against the desk to haul himself up. Gaz's hands were waiting to catch him if he swayed.

Dib stood, still staring into the bin.

"I thought Irkens didn't get sick," Gaz says, pulling the chair a little closer, trying to get Zim to at least acknowledge it was there.

Zim remained standing, watching Dib. Finally, Dib turned to him. His eyes were a little wide and he gave a small, disbelieving gasp.

"What…" Dib gestured to the bin. "W-What's wrong with you…?"

Gaz leaned past Zim to peer into the bin. Clear-ish pink blood was in a shallow pool at the bottom, and splattered up the sides, of the bin. It was shimmery. She leaned away, clenching her fists. Zim just stared at him for a while. Dib was looking at him, searching for an answer, and Zim couldn't be sure if he could find it or not. Either way, he had other things to do.

Zim turned on his heel, ducking past Gaz towards the hallway. He could hear the siblings coming after him. First priority: get a new shirt on. He had gotten some blood on this one, and combined with the knife tear, that made it a complete loss. He'd check the gardens afterward. The Computer should have taken up waterings and tilling while he was busy with the code, but he knew he should still double check.

"Hey!"

Ah, yes. The headache on legs.

"ZIM!"

"Stop with your infernal SHOUTING! Zim screeched. "It is making my head pound!"

"Yeah, you yelling isn't contributing at all," Gaz says dryly. Zim had to resist the urge to whip around and shout her down. The sudden movement would only serve to make him feel worse, and he knew it.

He didn't slow his pace until he'd reached the massive walk-in closet. A spare room he'd set up as the new and permanent closet space, not too far from the main hall of labs he primarily used, for easy accessibility. Gaz was first to catch up to him as he started picking out a shirt. She glanced around the room, spotting the half full laundry basket and seemed to ease up a little in her overall intensity. Unseen was the crumpled and neglected Irken uniform top that Zim had discarded and never bothered to actually clean afterward.

Zim tore off the ruined shirt, throwing it off towards a random corner. If he ever felt the need to patch it, he would do so later, when he literally nothing else to do with his time. Dib and Gaz were stuck in the doorway. Zim's PAK was flickering. But more than that, there were prominent veins stemming from the base of the PAK. Gaz gently nudged Dib's arm with her own, more out of shock than any attempt to actually be gentle, he was sure.

Dib cleared his throat, getting Zim's attention briefly. Dib pointed to the veins first, and then paused. Criss crossing over Zim's body were scars. Dib stepped closer and Zim looked him up and down quickly like he was trying to assess just what Dib was doing. He almost looked a little panicked when Dib finally reached him. Dib cupped Zim's nearest arm in his hand, holding it higher to look at it. Zim's antennae shot upward for a moment before falling back down and he grabbed at Dib's wrist to yank it off.

"Did I give you those…?" Dib asks.

Zim halted; his hand still curled around Dib's wrist. Gaz stepped up behind him. Zim gripped his wrist enough that Dib let go of his arm. He took a step back, just enough room to put the shirt back on, and huffed. Just a tinge of pride slipped through his voice when he spoke.

"Some of them you had," Zim admitted. "Sure enough, I've given you a few myself."

Dib clicked his tongue. Zim had, in fact, given him almost all of his scars. He could probably make an entire timeline of his life based off the ones that he could still see. His scars tended to fade with time, so some of the very early ones were much lighter than they used to be. He absently ran his fingers over his left side, where one of his many scars from Zim's own claws had been sat for years. Dib nodded, thinking about all the times he probably had left a scar on Zim. It was a little harder than he'd thought to really count them up when he had an idea of how fast Irkens healed.

"And the veins?" Gaz asks, crossing her arms. Zim flinched. He stood still as a statue—it was rather unsettling, if Gaz were to actually be honest—because she couldn't tell if he was actually breathing or not. Gaz raised an eyebrow at him when he huffed a sigh and tried to wave her off.

"Not something to concern yourselves with," Zim says.

"Like how when you kept disappearing wasn't a concern?" Dib asks. "Or your base when I found you? Or you walking off during the convention?"

Zim glowered at him. "Yes. Those were not concerns."

"That's a fuckin' lie," Gaz drones.

"Why must you care?!" Zim snaps. Dib suddenly snatched the collar of his top, yanking him closer.

"Because you still have blood on your face, that's why!" Dib shouted. Before Zim could try tearing himself away—or scratching at Dib to make him let go—Dib released his collar. He ran his hands through his hair with a groan. Zim absently swiped at his chin, looking away from the two, his antennae drooping.

"And that keeps happening," Gaz says, pointing at him.

Zim blinked at her a moment before she motioned for him to spin around. His breath caught in his chest. His eyes flicked to the side, where he could see the faint glow of the PAK rising and falling on the line of shirts. There was a moment of silence before he shoved himself through them.

"Wh—hey!" Gaz shouted after him. She ran towards him, zagging to the side to snatch the discard shirt. Dib rushed past her, cutting Zim off in the hall, skidding to a stop in front of him to block his path. Gaz took up the space behind him, holding the shirt up. "You're not going anywhere until you explain this!"

"If you're sick—"

"It is not your business to know!" Zim shouted. "COMPUTER!"

"What?"

"Zim—"

"Show them out," Zim ordered. Dib bolted towards him, wrapping himself around Zim's arm like a determined koala. Gaz dropped the shirt and tackled him around his middle, taking both of them to the ground. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

"If you think you're kicking us out, you're losing an arm," Gaz growled.

"M-Maybe not an arm," Dib muttered. Zim stood, carrying both of them as he trudged towards the elevator. "Wait! Wait, come on!"

"You can't hide forever," Gaz threatened. Zim snapped his head towards her.

"Is that a challenge?"

"I am literally begging you not to," Dib says.

"Beg harder—"

"Zim, I'm not joking!" Dib shouted.

He planted his feet on the tiles, getting dragged along regardless. He could hear Zim starting to breath heavier, exerting himself more and more as he dragged their combined weights. His heart skipped a beat, and in that moment, Zim staggered and looked at him, one antennae perked up to listen in on the rate Dib's heart was beating. Dib gulped, steadying himself and readjusting his grip around Zim's arm.

"Please?" he asks. "We can sit on the roof?"

Zim studied him a moment. He sighed and shrugged him off, and reached down to lift Gaz off his midsection, plopping her down on her feet again. He kept his hand firmly on her shoulder to keep her in place. He looked tired. Bags were more prominent under his eyes in the harsher light of the hallway, as compared to the dim lights of the closet or the lab.

"Fine," he conceded.

Both siblings seemed to relax. He knew Dib wasn't completely off guard just yet, though. He was going to be stuck to his side until he was certain this was happening. But, if they were going to be going to the roof for one of "those" discussions, he was grabbing a heating blanket.

"Computer."

"What."

"Heating blanket," Zim says dryly, marching for the elevator.

A limb from the ceiling dropped down as they reached it, depositing the massive clump of fabric into Zim's arms. He leaned against it on the elevator, fumbling around for the extension chord as the siblings piled in after him. Dib operated the elevator, readjusting his jacket around himself as they ascended. It was going to take them all the way to where the Voot was parked in the launch bay, and from there it was just a ladder climb to the flat bit of roofing at the very top of the house, normally hidden from view of the street.

While they passed each floor, Dib recalled their Junior year trip to the beach. It was their only class trip of the year that wasn't academically based. Zim had stayed as far from the waves as possible, waving people who bothered asking off with the simple and unprovable excuse that he didn't know how to swim. Dib couldn't, even at the time, blame him for being cautious. He doubted Zim had tested how many layers of paste would be needed to stave off the effects of a body of water that large and that salty. He had, briefly, thought of splashing Zim before logic kicked in. A massive electrical source like a PAK and water just didn't mix well—skin burning aside—and a full splash of water was different than drops of rain. Dib also hadn't really been keen to the idea of possibly melting or electrocuting anyone, especially not on a school field trip, after just the briefest thought.

Looking back at it, he might've done it within those first few years of knowing Zim. Before the rooftops and the unspoken treaty between them. Before he'd actually had the time to get to know the green bug standing next to him. If he'd had that opportunity back then, he may very well have tried to throw the Irken into the ocean and be done with the whole thing right then and there.

Dib clutched the edges of his jacket, an uncomfortable twist forming in his gut. He shivered at the prospect. He bit his inner cheek at the sheer fact that he knew he could have. He knew he would have. The elevator ding snapped him back to the present day and Dib walked on numb legs as they stepped out onto the loading dock. Zim led them to a ladder at the far end, laying the blanket out on his arms for ease of carry, and climbing up. Gaz followed suit and Dib climbed after her, his hands feeling numb on the rails.

Once Zim had reached the top and pushed the latch open he was relieved that not only was the rooftop dry, but it was dark. He crawled up to the flattened strip on the roof and found the sliding hatch for the plug-in. He'd installed it post-base construction. Most of his devices could be powered by the PAK, but Dib's devices couldn't be. More than once it had come in handy to charge Dib's phone, at least, and only a few times had Zim used it for the heating blanket. He usually just wrapped it around his shoulders when he wanted to view the sky in winter, but given his PAK was beginning to struggle keeping him warm when it was previously a non-issue, he had figured it best not to chance it.

Zim wrapped the blanket around himself, looking like a weirdly plush pill bug, and sat on the flat strip. Gaz had taken up a space on one side while Dib flanked him on the other. He'd expected it to feel like he was being boxed in, but instead he felt… content. He readjusted to settle into the blanket more, feeling the heat slowly rising around him.

"So," Dib swayed a little in his spot, tapping his feet on the rooftop.

Gaz laid down, staring up at the stars and the moon. Zim side-eyed him in a small glare. It wasn't vehemently, by any stretch of the imagination, but it was steady enough that Dib shot him a reassuring smile. Zim sighed, rubbing his hand down his face.

He still hadn't checked his PAK. His new PAK was still in development. Had he known Gir's reprogramming would take so long he'd have made The Computer set a timer. For now, though, he just wanted rest. And Dib was sitting patiently, silently, for him to begin the conversation, any conversation, if he was inclined to. Zim hunched forward.

"It's called PAK Corruption. Or, in my case, PAK Degradation," Zim says flatly. Rip off like a bandage, as humans would say. He understood the idea behind the phrase, as ludicrous as it sounded to him, and at the moment he wanted to just get past this as quickly as possible.

And Dib, of course, was silent. The single time that Zim would have preferred him to be open and talkative and Dib was silent. It was just his lucky day, wasn't it?

"It means that my PAK was partially cut off. They're not sending me updates or upgrades, or any assistance with the interior maintenance of the PAK. I won't get any, either. Why would they bother."

"You're dying," Gaz says curtly. Her words a knife right in Zim's side. To be said so brazenly was surely within her to do so, but he hadn't been ready for it to be aimed at him. He caught Dib flinch in his peripheral.

Zim huffed, staring down at the rooftop. "Not necessarily."

"But are you dying?" Dib asks quietly. Zim didn't respond. His antennae drooped against his head and he bit his lip. "Zim—"

"Irkens don't give up," Zim says. "I've been working on it."

Dib was quiet for a moment. He turned to Zim. "I want to help you with it."

"You can't," Zim says quickly. He shook his head when Dib opened his mouth to retort. "It's Irken technology, and sensitive Irken technology at that. You're not going to know what to do with it."

"But—"

"And I am not wasting time to teach you," Zim says curtly. "I am handling it."

"…Is this why you're making that garden in the base? Because you're getting cut off with food supplies, too?" Dib asks.

"…No. But I might in the future."

"You're being preemptive," Gaz concludes, speaking quietly. "They just left you here to rot?"

"Gaz," Dib whispered harshly. She sat up suddenly, gripping Zim's blanket hard and shooting Dib a venomous glare.

"Those fucks left him here to die, and you expect me to ignore that?!" she shouts. Zim glanced her, surprised. "What? Is it that shocking?"

"That you care?" Zim asks. Gaz smacked him upside the head.

"GAZ!"

"Shove it, he's fine! I barely touched him," Gaz spat.

Zim didn't even feel the need to rub the back of his head, she'd hit him so lightly. He hadn't been aware she could be that gentle, honestly. And here he had been, threatening to bleed Dib out on his base flooring not too long ago just because he'd pressed the issue. Yet, even after she'd smacked him, his PAK didn't even find it necessary to try ripping through the blanket to skewer her. Not even to posit a warning spike. Or perhaps he'd just given up trying to flaunt that kind of warning to them. He knew, deep down, they'd ignore it. They were stubborn like that.

"So," Gaz sighed, leaning back on her hands and crossing her ankles. "Are you going to retaliate?"

"Why bother?" Zim asks. "If I win I just aided in other species killing off my own. If I lose I die. I see no point in it."

"…Wait, have you thought about this?" Dib asks.

"I was quite angry… as you saw," Zim pointed out flatly. He sighed, laying back on the rooftop to look up at the sky. "It wouldn't have worked, though. A single Irken against the entire Armada is suicidal. If I wanted that, I'd just disconnect my PAK."

Dib breathed the briefest sighs of relief. But, his anxiety remained steady. Should I watch him…? Dib wondered. He slid closer to Zim. Zim flicked his eyes onto him. He didn't move, though, only returning his attention to the sky.

"So long as they leave me alone…" Zim began, slowly. "… then I have no reason to retaliate…"

Gaz turned her head to meet Dib's eyes quizzically. There was something in Zim's tone she didn't like.

"…and they will have no reason to come here," Zim says. "Because this planet wasn't even on the map. So, what would be the point."

Gaz pursed her lips. She clenched her fists, her arms trembling a little. Not even on the map… empty space. They really had done that…

She turned away, glaring into the distance. Maybe Tak's ship was still functional. Maybe it had auto pilot and she could set it on a one-way course for the Armada with a little 'gift' inside. Maybe Zim had already thought of that. Maybe had something to make the largest firework anyone would ever see, as a parting gift for them all.

"Dib-stink, I can hear your anxieties," Zim says. Dib choked and Gaz snorted. "I can hear your nails on the rooftop, Gaz, you're not hiding it any better."

"Wh—I'm not worried, I'm angry," Gaz growled. Zim sat up, turned her looking unimpressed, and raised an antennae. Gaz folded her arms. "I was just… thinking."

"Plotting."

"Call it what you want."

"I call it idiotic," Zim says. Gaz shot her hand out again and Zim caught it easily, shoving it back towards her with little effort. "I'd rather just leave them be so that I never see them again."

"Is that really what you want?" Gaz pressed.

"…For now," Zim admits.

Dib hung his head. At the very least, he could keep Zim distracted. Stopping the two from trying to destroy an entire Irken Armada, however? He could try, but he honestly wasn't sure he wouldn't try and help them, instead. Another thought for another day, if Zim ever felt like it. He couldn't blame him for wanting the distance, at this point. If Dib never saw another of his more prominent bullies or harassers again, it would be too soon. He could only imagine how strongly Zim was feeling about it.

"Gaz."

"What, space boy?"

"Why is your hair purple?" Zim asks. Gaz was silent a moment. She looked over to him slowly, eyebrow raised, and looking utterly lost. It was the most obvious expression of confusion Zim had ever seen on her and he couldn't fight back his smirk.

"What?"

"I've always wondered."

"It just is?" Gaz says. She looked up at Dib. He just smiled, chuckled, and shrugged. He'd grown used to this. He half expected Zim to ask him about how he kept his hair scythe so perfectly styled almost every time they joined each other on a rooftop, despite his answer never changing. Gaz looked back at Zim, giving him a brief 'tut'. "Why are you bald?"

"… I see."

Gaz smirked, huffing out a small laugh. She waved her hand. "Well, don't stop asking now. You're never this inquisitive."

"Why are your eyes so weird?"

"Listen here, asshole—"