Author's Note:  Usually I'm annoyed when people do this, but I was so tickled by the reviews I got I think I'm going to take the opportunity to make a hypocrite of myself. . .Thanks to October Bride, ninkira, Tinselcat, ShadowElfBard, Nieni Woodland, blood-raven49, Taleya, PuNkRoCkBuNnY182 (thanks x 4), Silver Neko, DibMagician, Bella12, Celestial Star Mali, firebird5, Raina1, aaand Nastyface.  You don't know how much joy each of your reviews brought to my sad little film student world.  Even the ones that said my story was sick. . .maybe especially the ones that said my story was sick ;)  Hope you like the rest of it. 

Yet another Author's Note:  Watch out, here there be Mpreg. *gasp*

Chapter 5

Dib awoke up to poking; the poking of a sharp knee in his thigh, actually. Zim was curled up against him, attempting to press against his torso. The alien was rather chill. Dib studied him for a moment before Zim's eyes opened lazily to meet his own.

"Get me another blanket, earthenoid slave."

Dib blinked. He unlatched himself from Zim and got up. The sight of the alien curled there, clutching the blanket and nuzzling into the warm spot he'd left, almost compelled him to obey. For once, Zim was completely off his guard. Dib hesitated, stepped back. Zim opened his eyes and glared.

"NOW, slave. I require another blanket." Dib edged closer to the control panel near the door. Zim narrowed his eyes.

"I don't think so, Zim." Dib flicked a switch on the panel. Cage doors rose up from each side of the bed. Awoken sharply by his predicament, Zim slipped over the doors before he could be enclosed.

"WHAT is the meaning of this? You are my SLAVE! OBEY ZIM!!"

"What do you mean 'your slave'?"

"We had sex. You are my slave now."

"That's . . . not the way it works, Zim. Is that . . . is that what this was all about?" Dib gaped for a moment. Then he burst out in loud and ecstatic laughter.

"Stop that laughing! You are my slave and I order you to stop this instant."

Dib laughed even harder.

"That's. . . *snort*. . . the stupidest thing. . . *chuckle*. . . I've ever heard. . . *gasp*!"

Pride mortally wounded, Zim grabbed at the nearest thing he could reach and hurled it at Dib with all the force he could muster. It turned out to be his underwear, which landed in Dib's hair. Dib, if possible, laughed even harder, nearly falling over as he clutched his aching stomach. Seething, Zim grabbed the rest of his clothes, ran downstairs to collect Gir, and fled back to his base.

* * * * * * *

Seven days later. . .

Zim hadn't shown his face at school for the last week or so, and Dib could detect no more plots to take over the world. At least, none that had been put into motion yet, but the boy was sure that Zim must be deep in the planning of something even more hideous than any of his previous bids.

Presently Dib was putting some finishing touch clean-up on one of the few pictures he'd managed to gather from the cameras he'd set up for Zim's 'visit.' He'd cursed himself for his choice of angle - of the cameras that hadn't been knocked down by their pre-'sex' wrangling, the one most prominent shot captured had been of Dib himself. Though it was clear that the body wriggling beneath him wasn't human, he wasn't particularly eager to have the first concrete evidence of extraterrestrial life feature his naked butt . . . especially doing what he'd been doing at the time. Saving the world is all well and good, but there are just some things a fourteen-year-old boy can't show on national television. So he'd pulled a few stills of Zim's face and - just barely - resisted burning the tapes in favour of burying it in a steel lockbox in a lone corner of the backyard.

This picture just needed a bit more cleaning - its quality had really suffered from being blown up many sizes, and Dib wanted to make sure that Zim's antennae were nice and clear.

There was a scratching noise at the window. Dib ignored it - probably a bird or something. He didn't see Zim's shadow on the wall until the alien had already put a deathly sharp spatula to his neck.

"What have you done to me, human?" Dib turned slowly.

Pale and wasted (save for his bulging stomach) Zim was leaning heavily on the spider-legs protruding from his pak. Bundled sloppily in several layers of blankets, his every breath was labored and erratic. His arm drooped every few seconds, and it seemed as though he was making a valiant effort to stay awake.

Dib stared.

"What are you talking about? I didn't do anything! Well, other than . . . what I did. But that was all!"

Zim scuttled around and grabbed Dib's collar, pulling him close enough to feel the alien's ragged breath. "You're lying. You injected me with poison, or some hideous earthenoid disease. Something you did to me that night has made me . . . like this. My computer doesn't know what's happening, but I'm going to find out if I have to crack open your oversized skull and rip the memory cells out myself."

"I swear I didn't do anything. . ."

While trying to figure out what to say to placate the alien, Dib suddenly became aware of the giant bulge in Zim's midsection pressing into him. Even through his own clothes and the blankets and rags Zim had wrapped around himself, he could feel a tremendous heat eminating from the area, as well as a slight . . . squirming movement that couldn't possibly be muscle. Into his mind crept a ghastly, unspeakable thought.

"Um, Zim, you don't happen to be carrying a heater right here, do you?" Dib pressed his hand lightly into Zim's stomach. Zim swatted the hand away and backed off a few steps.

"Don't be thick, human."

Dib began to sweat.

"Zim . . . Irkens, can't get . . . pregnant . . . can they?"

Zim pulled his blankets a little tighter around himself. "Pregnant? What is this pregnant - some horrible, infectious disease?"

Dib wiped his brow. "Almost. It's - it's when you've got a . . . baby, inside you. It's what happens when you have sex, sometimes."

"Ridiculous!" Zim snorted. "Irken Smeets are born from tubes, not stomachs. . . arkk!" Dropping the spatula, Zim keeled to the floor and lay there in a twitching, blanketed heap.

For a moment or two, Dib could still do very little but stare. He picked up the spatula and poked Zim a few times. Out cold. Still breathing, though. Gingerly, Dib bent to lift Zim from the floor and deposit him on his bed. He eyed the mechanical legs warily, but they remained limply hanging from Zim's pak. Then he stepped back and flipped the switch that raised the cage doors around the bed.

Then he did a little happy dance.

This was it. Having nicely delivered himself and passed out on his floor, Zim was finally his to capture. He'd contact the Swollen Eyeball Network™ right away - they'd be here within the hour to take him to a secure lab. There would be officials, and reporters, and dissecting - oh such dissecting. Who cares why Zim was so sick - they'd find out one way or another. They'd cut him open and put it in a big jar of formaldehyde . . .

Even if it was the next member of the Membrane family.

Dib stopped his dancing. The anxiety that had dissipated at the brief thrill of having finally caught Zim had returned. There was a chance, though maybe a small chance, that Zim was somehow, bizarrely and horribly, pregnant. He had said that he wasn't really male - that he wasn't human. Who knew how these things worked on his home planet. If he was pregnant, then there was a more than good chance that it was a result of . . . what happened . . . a few nights ago, that . . . whatever was born would be half his.

Dib kicked Zim's cage in utter frustration. Why did he always have to go and ruin everything? He couldn't just turn him in - either his potential kid would get killed outright, or they'd wait until it was born and subject it to a horrible life of horrible experiments. And he couldn't tell them that it was his because, well, he just couldn't tell them that. After a few more moments of fuming, Dib turned and headed out of his room. There was one person who might be able to help.