Author's Note:  I know *I* really hate long cliffhangers, so I thought I'd be kind and get the next chapter out as quickly as possible.  J

Again, many thanks to those who have reviewed.  I understand that fanfiction.net has been having glitches in their review system (as in, it won't let some people leave reviews).  If this happens to you. . .please, send an email.  You don't know how much I appreciate it.  (And thanks to all those who have done that already – hi, hereticlamprey!)

Oh yeah. . .I've already written the next chapter, but I don't think I'll post it untiiil. . .sometime this weekend.  Just to be mean ;)

Chapter 10

            His head on his hands, Dib sat at the counter in the infirmary, studying his still not-quite-born children.  The clear plastic incubators in front of him held two long rows of eggs, each about six inches high with green translucent shells.

            He could see into the eggs – the tiny beings inside were perfectly formed versions of their 'mother', green skin, antennae, and all.  They didn't have those weird spotted things on their backs, but other than that they weren't even remotely recognizable as human.  His dad has explained it as something to do with alien genes being more suited to the alien birthing process.  Out of over a million possible genetic combinations, these were the ones that survived – Dib couldn't help feeling a bit resentful, as though Zim's bias against humans had somehow resulted in all of the pink-skinned little feti that were piled up dead in cryogenic storage. 

            Dib frowned – his alien children really would be alien.  All of the disguise stuff that Zim had had to go through would be his problem now, too.  His father was already working on a portable holographic device that would allow them to emulate human appearance seamlessly, but there would be other considerations.  Like the fact that Dib would have to cut ties with the Swollen Eyeball Network – contact with them would bring about too much risk of exposing this little secret.  And all the. . .stuff that went along with taking care of kids that Dib couldn't even bring himself to think about.

            The Professor would be arriving soon – he'd finally decided to return to his lab and attend to the growing chaos that was the result of his absence, but he wouldn't stay away long.  He'd estimated that it would still be a few weeks before the alien-children were born, and any unforeseen problems could prove fatal if they were left unattended for long. 

            For now it was just Dib and the eggs.  The bed in the corner held the remains of former Invader Zim, covered in a sheet and awaiting cryogenic freeze.  Professor Membrane wanted to study the 'specimen' – possibly even keep him in a jar for further reference, in order to 'facilitate an understanding of his offsprings' development.'  Dib shuddered.  He knew plenty of others who would give their big toes for the same opportunity.

            There was an odd sound from the corner of the room – like the sound of an electric charge, and a strangled choke.  And then the rustling of sheets. 

            Dib turned.  Zim was sitting up, rubbing his eyes, with creepy little plumes of smoke rising off of his body. 

"Aaaah!!  Zim!!!" Yelped Dib, pointing towards the once-dead body.

            Zim looked over at Dib in annoyance. "Yes, it's a horrible to see your ugly face again too, stink-meat."

            Eyes wide, Dib shook his head in disbelief.  His mouth made little gaping fishy motions. 

            Zim looked behind him, then around at the walls and the bed.  "What?"  He demanded.

            "You. . .you were dead!!"  Dib gaped still.

            Inspecting himself limb by limb, Zim shrugged.  "I guess so.  There's been a bit of tissue damage."  He sniffed his hands.  "Ugh – I'd say about six hours.  I'm going to need an abrasive scrub.  I wonder why my pak took so long to reactivate me."

            Dib lowered his still-pointing finger.  He shook his head and closed his eyes.  Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down – after all that had happened in the past few weeks, what was one more bizarre occurrence?  Why should he even be surprised at all?

            "Zim. . ."  Dib gulped and took another big breath.  He looked over at the alien sitting on the bed across the room, that only a few moments ago he'd thought was dead and gone.

            Zim raised a brow.  "Yeah?"

            Dib smiled hesitantly.  "I'm glad you're back."  He said, still a bit in shock despite his best efforts to calm himself.  He nodded – his words did seem right somehow.  

            Zim looked at him blankly.  Once again not quite sure where the words had been directed, he looked around.  Returning his gaze to Dib, his eyes narrowed and he snorted.

            "Okay." Replied Zim with a defensive shrug.  Uncomfortable under Dib's gaze, he seemed to shrink a bit.  He looked away and found other things to occupy himself – his pillow, blankets, patients' gown, and the fact that he found that dreadful sleepiness returning to him. 

            Zim propped his pillow up so that he could sit back.  He looked lazily around the room.  "What are those?"  He gestured to the countertop contents that Dib had previously been studying.

            Dib shook himself out of the remnants of his shock.  He looked over at the clear incubator. "Those are your kids – or at least they will be." 

            Zim looked down and noted that his abdomen was no longer swollen with the parasites that had been so ailing him.  He noted too the relative stability of his body temperature – he could feel his feet again.

            "Doesn't look like a million."

            Dib coughed.  "Most of them didn't survive.  How did my Dad put it. . .some aborted spontaneously because of the discrepancies between human and irken genes, some made it all the way to being birthed, but didn't have an 'ovum shell' to see them through the rest of their development – and, um so on. . ."  Dib looked away.  "Dad was wanting to know what you do with your dead – they're in cryogenic storage now.  On earth we usually just bury them, or burn them. . ."  Dib trailed off.

            Zim shrugged.  "On Irk, dead soldiers are fed into the furnaces that power the smeet facilities.  Or thrown into space with the rest of the garbage, depending on specific location.  It doesn't really matter.  But tell me - how many left?"

            Dib wrapped his arms around himself.  He hasn't expected Zim to be so blasé about the topic – frankly it bothered him a bit. 

"Seventeen."  Dib said in reply to Zim's question.

            Zim closed his eyes.  "Seventeen.  Factor in six percent chance of pak-spinal connection failure – sixteen, and standard eighty-eight percent survival rate of military training – makes it fourteen.  Fourteen new soldiers for Irk – that's good.  My Tallests will be pleased.  Good.  How long until they come out of those. . .things?"

            "About three weeks, according to Dad, but – what was all that about survival rate. . .?  And since when are *our* kids gonna grow up to be soldiers for Irk?"  Geez – Zim was talking about those eggs like they were boot camp recruits.  And Dib sure would have something to say before *his* kids were turned into enemies of Earth. 

            "Since when were they *our* children?  They're mine, stink-monkey!"

            Dib's eyes narrowed.  "They're ours since we traded body fluids and created them.  They're ours since. . .since you pointed out to me that they were ours, and asked me for help."  Two minutes ago, Dib would have given up any and all of the possessions he's accumulated in his fourteen-odd years of life to have Zim alive and well, to be with him and share this responsibility that had been dropped onto both of their heads.  Now here he was shooting him dirty looks and calling him 'stink-meats' and just being. . .so. . Zim.

            Zim's eye twitched at being reminded of his moment of weakness – he gritted his teeth.  "And a fat lot of help you were, stink-meat.  Seventeen out of how many eggs?  This stupid backwater planet!!!  I should never have ask you!  I was sick, that's all. . delirious.  IN FACT, I was so sick that I don't even remember what you're talking about. . .you're probably making it up.  Why would I ever ask you for help?!"

Dib lifted his chin.  "Oh no!  You did ask for my help.  And I. . .I tried!  I really tried to help you!  I called everyone in your co-ordinate list.  Even your stupid leaders just said that. . .that. . ."

"That what?"  Zim crosses his arms.

Dib frowned.  "That. . ."  He looked away.  "That the transmission was breaking up. . .that your stupid equipment wasn't working right.  You should. . .you know, update your machinery once in awhile."

"You stupid. . !!!  Can't even even get a simple trans-galactic call right!"  Zim's voice became high and reedy.  "My offpring!!!!"  He pounded his fists against the bed, glaring murderously at Dib.  Chest heaving from the effort, Zim was forced to lean back down against his pillow.  Affixing Dib with as cold a stare as he could call forth, he waited a few moments to catch his breathe. 

"Get out, Dib-stink."  Zim finally stated.  "I never want to smell your oily hide in my vicinity again.  You'll never get near my smeets.  I don't want them to be exposed to your hideous ineptitude in any capacity."

Dib clenched his fists.  "We'll just see about that, Zim.  They're my kids too and if I have any say about it they'll never know what a horrible mother you might have been – because you'll be spending the rest of your life in a government lab!"

With that Dib stormed out and Zim was left alone with his thoughts.  And his eggs.  He looked over to where they sat in their incubators.  He wished that he could go over and take a closer look, but he felt so hideously sleepy that he doubted he could even stand up. 

His pak seemed to still be a little dysfunctional – he'd never had to sleep a day in his life before he'd arrived on earth, but now he could feel his energy levels dropping like the great cow-pies of Zantha III.  Zim laid back down on his back.

"Hmmph."  Zim speculated groggily towards the ceiling.  "I wonder where Gir is."

            "AHM RIGHT HEEEEEERE!!!"  Gir popped up from under the covers near Zim, a thermometer poking out of his mouth. 

            "Ah, excellent, Gir.  I want you. . ."  Zim yawned.  ". . .to go back to the base.  Tell the computer to contact smeet factory 307 on Irk with a priority one order of seventeen new paks."  Zim yawned again.  He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open.  "And send Minimoose back with a clean uniform – you can take his place watching the base.  I think I need a little more. . . . . zzzzzzzzzzz"

            Gir spit out his thermometer and saluted Zim, who was now passed out.  "Yes, Master.  I obey."  Then he reached under the covers, pulled out the other thermometer, and stuck it into Zim's slack mouth. 

            *****

            About three hours later, Gir returned with a very dirty piggy which he'd mysteriously picked up, having wandered the neighborhood, gotten lost, and returned to Zim for further instructions. 

            The second try yielded similar results, only this time some very interesting used women's underwear (where did he get this stuff?) being the result. 

            The third try he actually made it to the base and sent Minimoose back with a clean uniform, but forgot what he was supposed to order from Irk and ordered a bag of salted cheese instead.  This Zim found out when he contacted Gir to confirm his order, and wisely decided to put off requesting the new paks until three days later, when he was able to get up and do it himself. 

            Zim had to pull the last few strings he had on Irk, but the paks arrived about three weeks later, just in time for the first smeet to fall, slimy and limp, out of its shell.