Author's note:
Okay, once again thanks to everyone for all of your lovely reviews! It really does motivate me to write faster when I know think of all the people waiting for the next chapter. J (this one took so long because I lost the original file and had to re-write the whole thing. sob)
In response to those who were wondering (deady, AnEchoOfTime, and Kippixin to name a few), this story will contain both ZADR and ZAKR, although I will refrain from commenting on the proportion of each. Don't worry – Dib doesn't just go away. He's got an even bigger role in the third part of the story arc.
Oh yeah, and the legal stuff: Zim, Dib, Keef, etc, don't belong to me. All hail Jhonen Vasquez and ptooey on Nickelodeon. Blah blah blah don't sue me I have no money.
Chapter 1
By modifying the sub-phase metaphyllaxionalharmonic transmission pattern of Berlmanhoff's spectral transduction quantifier mechanism to a rate of L=437x10 -29833 per cubic inch of the manifestation and reintroducing the Meldantio-Vechs Pattern (v.3.6) test results to the induction loop via the spectral reintegration unit coordinate analysis mechanism with the sub-modifier indicated by his earlier meta-quantum string/wave experiments, Dr. Ansil-Freizennord produced the first reliable (5.32%) method of determining trans-sub-spectral flux coordinate variations within a class 3 Ingma-Pralenn Manifestation. (see tables 2.4a -14.3d)
Dib took off his screen-goggles and rubbed his eyes. The text and tables were starting to swim in a haze of numbers and complicated theories. He'd read them all before anyways, but he was still no nearer to completing his end of term research paper than he had been when he came out here yesterday. His dorm roommate was a total waste-of-space jock studying on a sports scholarship who'd decided to have an impromptu party over the weekend. Not wanting to deal either with the party or the resulting mess and hangover groans, Dib had fled to his old room at his Dad's to get some peace and quiet.
He had to get this done by Monday. He'd given himself the whole weekend to finish it because Theory of Spectral Physics was his hardest subject, but he had four more essays to hand in over five days next week, and he couldn't ask for an extension because the week after that was nearly as bad.
He'd gotten permission from the Dean to take an overload of courses again this term. If he played his cards right he would graduate in July after taking a few summer courses, and his early acceptance letter into graduate studies had already been framed and hung over the faux-fireplace mantle by his Dad. At the rate he was going he'd be a Ph.D by the time he turned twenty-two.
The past six years had been nothing but a blur of schoolwork to Dib. After graduating when he was seventeen he'd gotten advanced standing at the state University of Science and buried himself in year-long studies. By then paranormal studies had been nominally legitimized by a group of Swedish scientists and consequently been introduced as a field of study in his university by a handful of over-zealous physics professors sick to death of teaching their usual shlock to their usual shlock-students. When the end of his schooldays finally came Dib would be able to call himself Dr. Dib, expert in Paranormal Studies – his reward after only five or six short years of slavish toil.
It's strange how the mind can bend and twist itself to avoid snapping altogether in times of stress. Dib hadn't seen Zim in six years, had barely even thought of him, except in the most peripheral of ways.
One day, when Dib was still fourteen, Zim had packed up his base and disappeared, smeets, GIR, and all. Dib had spent weeks trying to find him, but wherever he was he'd actually taken pains to hide himself well this time, and couldn't be traced. For all Dib knew he had left the city, possibly the country or even the planet. On his last night of searching, Dib had wandered for hours on the outskirts of town in a wide-eyed stupor. He'd already half given up, but some terrible fire inside of him refused to let him admit defeat.
He could still see that horrible smirking face, that strange, lithe body underneath his uniform, the skin that felt like nothing else on earth ever could. His own desires, at that point, were still unnamable to him, but they burned inside of him with a terrible force, chaotic and uncontrollable. He felt as thought he were being immolated from the inside out.
There was nothing in the world he'd ever wanted more than he wanted Zim. And after eighteen hours of desperate searching, body and mind sick with pain and exhaustion and the memory of all that had happened, Dib realized in a moment of clarity that more than anything else in the world, Zim was the one thing that he would never, ever have.
In the suburb park where he found himself he dropped to his knees and vomited, and for awhile his mind went blank and soon he was back at home, cleaned up and tucked into bed, and the last few years seemed like just a bad dream.
When he woke up the next day he realized that he'd been neglecting skool very badly. He had a number of assignments due and by golly, he'd better get them done. He had a lot of catching up to do, and the prospect of getting a good grade was suddenly very appealing to him.
And on it went.
Dib had been up to his hairline in homework ever since. He didn't even have the inclination to think about anything else. When he found out from Gaz that Zim had been bringing the smeets over regularly during school hours for a checkup with Dad, he never tried to stay home and see them. When his father mentioned in passing that Zim had set up another base on the southernmost edge of town, he never even considered going out to look for it. He'd even been caught in his room during a few check-up visits – heard Zim's voice downstairs once: Alright, smeets! Line up for medical examinations. Zoon first. . .'
And Dib had thought to himself, calmly, I think it's time to go for a walk. Out the window, past the yard, down the street and into the nearest library to bury himself in research. It really was best to avoid all the fuss and commotion that followed Zim and his offspring like a cloud. You could hear the ruckus they made from more than a block away. If Dib stuck around Zim would just get mad and start insulting him and the smeets probably wouldn't even know who he was and Zim wanted it that way and it's not like Dib really cared anyways. . .he was busy, and stuff.
Like right now. He was so busy with his assignment that he didn't even notice the sound of Zim's monstrous van pulling into the drive. It was actually some sort of souped-up spacecraft badly disguised as a van, and it made a whirring, hovering sound instead of the sound that normal earth vehicles make. It was pretty distinctive if you knew what you were listening for, but Dib wasn't really paying attention. His mind was so engrossed in contemplation of metaphyllaxionalharmonic transmission patterns and Ingma-Pralenn Manifestations that he didn't notice that the Earth taskforce of the Irken Armada was upon him until he heard a loud crash (probably the television being destroyed) and a telltale chorus of evil giggles. And Zim's voice.
"Don't start trying my INFINITE patience now, offspring!!" It came from downstairs, but even that was still too close for comfort.
Yep – it sure is time to go for a leisurely stroll. Dib calmly closed his file, stacked his infopads, and tucked his slender computer into a nook in his shelf. His hands had started shaking a bit after he'd heard Zim's voice – the same thing that had happened last time, although Dib couldn't imagine why.
Going out the window wasn't so strange, really. Dib used to do it all the time when he was a kid. What else was he going to do if he didn't want to use the front door? He could use it if he really wanted to, but it would be. . .inconvenient just now. And using the window was easy, really, it only hurt a little bit on the last jump down onto the lawn.
Dib had one leg out on the ledge when his bedroom door swung open with an ominous, unnatural creak.
Why can't you just leave me alone, Zim? Thought Dib, as one of his eyes twitched. He turned to face the invader with as straight a face as he could muster. Hopefully he could get out of his quickly and just leave. . .
But as it turned out it wasn't Zim – it was just some kid. Or, at least it looked like just some random kid. Logically, Dib realized, this was one of his and Zim's unholy offspring. He'd heard that his father had invented some kind of holographic disguise for Zim's kids to use, but he. . .actually. . .hadn't. . .seen them since they were born.
The disguise was surprisingly good – anyone else, even upon close inspection, would have assumed that it was just a regular human boy standing there in Dib's bedroom doorway. He was engrossed in his Gameslave 3000TM, earphones on so that no outside noise dare interrupt his game. Dib thought he must just be looking for a quiet place to play his game, when the smeet reached over with his thumb to pause it.
With a belaboured sigh, the smeet tore his eyes away from his game to look up at Dib, his lips drawn into a sour line.
The kid lifted one eyebrow slowly, and Dib realized how silly he must look, one leg out the window, ready to jump out. With an embarrassed cough, Dib lifted his leg and brought it back onto the carpet.
"Ever noticed how nice it is just to sit on the window ledge sometimes? Heh heh." Remarked Dib lamely.
The smeet's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Riiight. Whatever." He replied.
Pretty cheeky for a six-year-old. Thought Dib. He crossed his arms.
"So. What are you doing up here? Did you get lost or something?" Asked Dib, patience already gone.
Frowning, the smeet took off his earphones.
"I've got a question for you. Are you our biological dad?" The smeet asked point-blank, looking Dib coolly in the eye.
Dib resisted the urge to make a flying leap out he window. Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd been expecting this, but that didn't make it any more of a situation he wanted to be in.
"I. . .ah. . ." It took Dib a moment for his mind to regain functionality. "I. . ."
The smeet stared up at him expectantly. Dib looked down at his feet.
"Yeah. I sort of am." He finally answered.
The smeet nodded curtly. "Let me see your hand."
"My hand? Why - ?" Dib looked down at his hands, but didn't have time to inspect them before the smeet stepped forward, grabbed one of them, and held it palm-up in a surprisingly strong grip. Before Dib could even ask, the smeet jabbed him once in the palm with a pen-like instrument, released the hand, and stepped back to his spot by the door.
"Ow!! Hey, what the - ? I'm bleeding! What was that?" Dib rubbed his palm and took a step back from the hostile smeet.
"Stop whining – it was just a DNA test." Said the smeet as he inspected the side of the instrument, presumably for the results.
"Well, geez! If you were going to take a DNA test, why did you even both asking?"
"To see if you would lie about it." Replied the smeet calmly. Satisfied with the results, he tucked the instrument away in one of his pockets.
"So, was it rape?" Asked the smeet, relentless.
Dib had barely had time to get over the unexpected DNA test attack – this was completely out of left field and his mind reeled with shock.
"No!!!! Are you crazy?" Dib answered after he regains his powers of speech. "I would never - ! Is that was Zim told you?"
The smeet shrugged. "Mom won't talk about it. Neither will Grampy or Auntie Gaz. All we know is that Mom really hates you, and from what we can tell, you really hate Mom too. It was a fair assumption."
Dib shook his head. "No. It wasn't. And I don't hate your mom. It was just. . .it was. . ."
"Save it. There's only so much I want to know." The smeet put his earphones back on and headed out.
"Hey – wait! Where are you going? I just. . .I want to. . .can't I at least explain?" Dib reached out just as the smeet got to the door.
The smeet stopped and took off his earphones for a moment.
"Look." Said the smeet. "If you have anything else to say, save it for someone who cares. I'm only here as a representative of my siblings – I didn't even vote for this, but it was my turn in the crappy errand rotation and the others wanted to find out. So don't go making any grand confessions because I already asked the questions they gave me and there's nothing else I wanna know."
Placing his earphones back on, the smeet left. Dib could hear him muttering 'Geez, who gives a wet squidgy, anyway?' in the hall as he left.
Dib stared after him for a moment before returning to his desk. Dejected, he sat down and put his screen-goggles back on. He looked at a few number tables for a minute or two before ripping the goggles off and standing up to pace the room.
This was outrageous! How could he have sat around doing homework for so long while his kids didn't know whether or not he was his their dad – didn't even know the slightest thing about him. For all they knew he was some slobbering rapist and nobody wanted to even talk about it and tell them different. He could just imagine the impression of him that Zim had given them. . .
He was their dad. To hell if Zim didn't want him around. In fact, to hell with Zim. There was no reason to sit around hiding from him like this – burying himself in homework and running scared every time they were within the same city block. Why should he be afraid of that little runt anyways?
For the first time in six years, Dib let himself think openly about Zim.
Zim.
Dib stopped him his tracks. He was breathing heavily. His face was flush. His fists were balled and he realized that he was angry, and he actually hadn't been angry in a long, long time. It was such a familiar emotion – like stepping into an old favourite pair of shoes, lost for years in the back of the closet.
He was alive again. Bring it on.
With a determined grin, Dib left his room and headed down the hall towards the stairs and the chaos to which they led.