A/n: Wow. So it's been a while since I updated this story, but finishing up FPL defiantly took top priority. (FPL is complete, by the way…and yes, this is a shameless plug saying that you should read it cos it's awesome. Man, I'm modest. )

Time to list the references in the last chapter:

-Down Town Café…this is a reference to the movie Monkybone. The main character is in a coma and sent to a place called "Down Town", which is basically limbo. If you haven't seen that movie, you should. It's based on a graphic novel and is directed by Henry Selik, who is the guy who directed Nightmare Before Xmas and James and the Giant Peach.

-Dib thanking the table for being so cool—a random reference to an old Bill Cosby standup. Cosby is really talking about thanking the toilet bowl for being so blissfully cool after throwing up after a long night of drinking, but that's what it reminded me of.

-"Heaven isn't this clean." Of course, this is a reference to JTHM where Nny goes to heaven and it's prolly the dirtiest place on earth. No one bothers to keep the place clean because everyone is too busy sitting in chairs being completely content.

-The movie that Dib saw on HBO—of course this is referring to the movie Se7en. Dibsthe1 gets an Oreo for that.

As for the Ghost thing that Dibsthe1 pointed out…if that was a reference, I didn't pick up on it. I've only ever seen the pottery scene from Ghost, so I wouldn't know. I was really just playing off of the automatic assumption that spirits are intangible. (Shruggy).

So now a warning: I guess I've done a pretty good job thus far keeping the characters, well, in character. This kinda stops, now. I'm going to try my best, but everyone now are different people. They're all the same, but in a different reality, so there will be some personality changes. I'm going to try and keep it to a minimum, but still, things are going to be a little different. Ages may change from chapter to chapter as well. The Dib we know, who's spirit is taking the tests is 15, but the Dibs he will become in each test may vary in age. Not much, but still, I'm clearing it up now so that there isn't any confusion.

Thank you all for your great reviews. 3

On with the show.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Zim. If I did, I wouldn't have to wait tables for a living…or would I?

You Only Live Twice

PART THREE: In which Dib comes into money.

Main Entry: greed

Pronunciation: 'grEd
Function: noun
Etymology: back-formation from greedy
excessive or reprehensible acquisitiveness AVARICE

I don't think that I will ever know what woke me up that day—the ringing of the house telephone, or the explosion that shook the city, causing the books that I kept on the shelf above my bed to fall, hitting me on the head one by one.

Either way, the result was the same. I was now conscious and about to receive some earth shattering news.

"You're father is dead." the detached voice of the officer who had called me informed, "He must have miscalculated on one of his experiments because it exploded taking most of the lab and your father with it. I'm sorry for your loss."

For the next week my normally empty house was full of chaos. Relatives coming and going, the media knocking down the door and causing the phone to ring so much that we eventually just unhooked the damned thing. Our fridge was full for once, home made casseroles and pies lining the shelves and it amused me, not for the first or the last time how everyone seemed to think that food would make everything all better. "You're an orphan, now, kid!" the dishes seemed to cry every time I opened the refrigerator door, "Eat up! A full belly will counteract an empty heart!"

My sister and I were both in a state of shock, it seemed. We neither spoke about it, nor shed a tear, instead allowing our family to grieve for us. We were no strangers to death, having watched our mother die of cancer years before, and, while we both loved our father dearly, it was very hard to mourn someone whom you had really only communicated with through floating transmission screens and post it notes. While the world cried for the loss of the creator of Super Toast, Gaz and I sat in the background, watching the scene with the detached indifference of someone watching a rather boring television program.

Finally the seemingly ongoing train of relatives ceased and the media found someone else to hound for the moment and Gaz and I found ourselves in the office of my father's lawyer. He was a short, mole-like man who couldn't seem to keep his glasses from sliding off of his tiny nose.

"There are two main points of concern here, kids," Mr. Snipes stated, folding his hands over the papers of my father's will, "The first being who will gain legal guardianship over Gaz, the other being who will take your father's place as the head of Membrane Labs, Inc."

"What about the money?" My sister asked, her voice a robotic monotone. She was always the blunt one.

Mr. Snipes raised an eyebrow and took a glance at one of the papers beneath his sweaty palms, "Each of you have been put aside half of your father's estate; trust funds to be made available when you turn 18. Dib, yours is already active, seeing as how your birthday was a few months ago, correct?"

"Yeah." I answered, glancing downwards. He was right, my birthday had been about two months ago, but I wasn't really 18, yet. There had been a mistake on my birth certificate, and therefore the rest of my records, stating that I was born a year earlier than I really was. My father was always too busy to get around to changing it, and I had forever, it seemed, lost a year of my life. But there was no use correcting it, now. For once my dad's carelessness proved to be to my advantage. Being legally 18, whether or not I really was chronologically, I now not only could access my trust fund, but, as a legal adult, I didn't have to worry about guardianship issues. Gaz, however…

"Wait, what's this whole 'guardianship of Gaz' thing all about?" My sister was demanding, finally realizing what had been said before, "I'm 16 years old. I've been taking care of myself since I was 7. I think I'm fully capable of legal emancipation."

It was true. She had been taking care of herself since she was a kid. We both had. However, I felt a twinge of annoyance that she hadn't acknowledged the fact that she had not been fully alone throughout her childhood. She had had someone to cook her dinner and tuck her in, whether she admitted it or not.

"That may be the case, Miss Membrane, but in order to be emancipated you need the signature of your parent and I'm sorry to say that that is one thing you seem to be lacking."

Maybe it was my annoyance a few moments earlier; maybe it was the cold and emotionless way that Mr. Snipe had used my sister's new found orphandom against her; maybe it was the way that Gaz's eyes grew hard and her face contorted in an expression that I knew all too well—one that showed she was hurt and angry and now out for blood. Whatever the reason, even I was surprised at the words that decided to come out of my mouth before she could leap across the desk and rip out our lawyer's throat.

"I'll do it."

Two pairs of eyes turned to me, both sets full of surprise, and in Gaz's case, a little mistrust.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Snipe managed.

"I said I'll do it. I'll take over legal guardianship of Gaz. I mean," I continued, talking quicker in an attempt to ignore the daggers that were shooting from my sister's eyes. Man, I was saving her from getting shipped off to some relative or foster home somewhere, you would think that she would be a little grateful, "if it's just for legal purposes, why not? It's only for two more years, and this way she could finish school here in town and it's not like she and I haven't been taking care of each other our whole lives. Why uproot her and possibly cause more emotional distress? I think that the best place for her would be in her own home, with me."

I finished my little speech and let out a determined breath. Mr. Snipe raised a bushy eyebrow at me, and then cleared his throat. "Yes, quite. A very good argument, Dib. I will represent you, then, at the guardianship hearing on Wednesday. Now for the next order of business."

Gaz was glaring at me, an unreadable expression on her face. Finally she just turned away, letting out an annoyed breath and shaking her head. That familiar annoyance crept up into my stomach. Man, some people.

"The spot for the head of your father's company, " the lawyer was still speaking, "in this case, I actually have very specific instructions. This seat is to be given to the Professor's son, Dib."

I was shocked. "W-what?!" I stammered. On the other side of me, Gaz mirrored my open mouthed expression of shock.

"That's what it says, here," Snipe explained, picking up a paper from his desk and reading aloud, "'I, Professor T. Membrane, leave the position of President of Membrane Labs, Inc. to my son, Dib.' See?"

He handed me the paper. I could feel Gaz's hair brush my neck as she leaned closer to read over my shoulder.

"Huh. Well would you look at that?" I breathed. Gaz snorted and straightened back up in her seat. As I handed the paper back to Snipe, something stuck me, "But…isn't there someone more capable of the position than I am? Some CEO or something?"

"Probably," Snipe answered, not hiding his distaste on the issue, "but your father's wishes are clear. You are to assume title and duties of President of the company. That's all there is to it." He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. He looked at his watch, then, and stood, shuffling the papers back into a neat stack, "Well, there really isn't much else to do, here, and I have another meeting that I must attend." Gaz and I both rose to join him, "The guardianship hearing is set for Wed, so I will speak to you again before then." He shook both our hands over the desk and then sat back down, obviously dismissing us, leaving us to see ourselves out. Which we did. Quickly. That man gave me the creeps. Part of my brain was nagging at me that he was probably one of the mysterious Mole People, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Gaz was on edge enough, and bothering her with my paranormal observations was a sure way to get punched in the stomach.

-

"What the hell was that all about?" My sister demanded, shrewdly as I drove us home from the lawyer's office.

She had been quiet the majority of the drive and I knew that her silence had been too good to be true. Gaz keeping quiet about something always meant that she was just stewing in her own anger, waiting for it to reach the point where she would be able to inflict physical pain if necessary and her conscience wouldn't interfere. If she even had a conscience that is. I looked at her with one eye, keeping the other trained on the road. "What the hell was what all about?"

"That. That whole volunteering to be my guardian thing. What the hell? I'm 16 years old, Dib, I don't need a fucking babysitter."

I sighed. I loved my sister, honestly I did, but sometimes I really just wanted to slap her silly. I mentally cursed Dad for never being around to teach her some manners. "What would you rather I did, Gaz, huh? Sat there and let him ship you off to some relative?"

"I would rather have been left alone." She sneered.

"Well that wasn't going to happen. You heard Snipe—the only way that you could become emancipated would be if a parent signed the paper. In case you hadn't noticed, we're fresh outta those. I'm all you have left, Gaz, unless you want to go live with Aunt Nora and her cats. Or maybe Gramma Jane—she could always use someone to scrape her bunions."

We were pulling into the driveway. As I shut off the car, I could feel Gaz's eyes burning a hole into the side of my head. "I hate you." she stated, spitting the words out through clenched teeth. She unbuckled her seatbelt angrily and exited the car. I followed her example. By the time I shut the car door, she already had unlocked the one to the house.

"Do your homework!" I called to her as she walked into the house.

"You're not my father!" She screamed back, slamming the door.

"Thank God for that!" I shouted after her, even though I knew that the only person who could hear me was the neighbor, "If I were I would have slapped the doctor for giving me such a bitch as a child!" I ran my hand through my hair, ignoring the stare of Mr. Harrison next door who was watering his front lawn. "Fucking ungrateful brat," I muttered under my breath as I made my way up the walk, "I should just let her go to Gramma Jane's. I don't have to put up with this shit."

But I knew I would. In the end, I always did.

-

My first day as president of my father's company was a hard one. No one seemed to appreciate my being there, going so far as to completely ignore me and even giving me wrong directions whenever I asked, so I wound up lost and late for every one of my meetings. I could understand their hostility, though. I mean, how would I feel if I were in their shoes and some punk kid straight out of high school became my boss, solely because his father kicked the bucket?

I felt almost embarrassed to hold this position of power and really wondered what my father had been thinking (or smoking) whenever he had written his will. Did he think that putting me in charge of his company would finally make me interested in "real science"? That I would follow in his footsteps purely by default? If this were the case, than he wasn't nearly as smart as everyone seemed to think.

Six o' clock found me in my office, my head on the desk, wanting a cigarette, even though I didn't smoke. What I wouldn't give to, at this moment, be getting my ass kicked by Zim's gnomes or something instead of being here, in my father's old office, despised and ignored by everyone around me. A little voice in my head told me to stop feeling sorry for myself. I told it to go to hell.

There was a knock on my door. Raising my head from the desk, I sat up, straightening out my dress shirt and tie. The last thing I wanted was for the enemy to see me at a moment of weakness.

"Come in," I called, after I was fully situated.

The door opened revealing a strongly built man wearing a cornflower blue tie that matched his eyes. He had stylishly spiked black hair and looked to be in his early 30's. He smiled as he entered, standing in the room as if he owned the place. Immediately alarms went off in the back of my mind, but I pushed them away, attributing them to my treatment thus far.

"Hi," he greeted, waving a little, "Dib, right?"

I nodded.

"Hey, I'm Steve. Steve Richmond. How are you?" He introduced himself, walking over to my desk, hand outstretched.

I took his offered hand and shook it, "I could be better. This has all been kind of overwhelming." I admitted.

He nodded, smiling while retracting his hand, "I figured as much, which is why I thought it would be a good idea to come by and introduce myself and see if you wanted to go to the bar downstairs and grab a drink. Take the edge off a bit."

I smiled, "Thanks, but I'm not really old enough to drink, yet."

"You think that they're going to card the son of the famous Professor Membrane? Nonsense. No excuses. If you want to fit in around here, you're going to have to show the common man that you're not out to get them. You may be the boss, but you're still just an Average Joe underneath. Best way to do that is over a beer. What do you say?"

I thought for a moment. He did have a point. And it's not like I had anything else to do at the moment. I nodded, agreeing. "Alright, sure, why not?"

"That's the spirit, kid!" Steve exclaimed, slapping me on the back with enough "friendly" force to almost send me flying across the room. He motioned for me to leave the room ahead of him and I locked the door behind us.

Conversation lapsed as we made our way to the elevator and I scanned my mind for something to say. "Uh…I like your tie." I managed.

Steve grinned, and held it out, inspecting it a little, "Yeah? Huh. Well it is Tuesday."

I nodded my head in agreement, as if I understood what the hell he was talking about. In reality, I hadn't a clue.

-

"You see, what your problem is, kid," Steve was saying, one hour and four beers later, "is that you have no appreciation for the finer things in life."

"Excuse me?" I slurred. Maybe four beers was a little much, considering that I had really only drank twice before, once as an experiment with Zim to test his tolerance as apposed to a "normal" human, and the other after my first girlfriend, Meredith, had broken up with me. Both had ended with my head in the toilet and Gaz blaring obnoxiously angry goth metal the next morning.

"Look at yourself. Where did you get that shirt and tie?"

I looked down at my apparel. What was wrong with it? I had bought both for Homecoming junior year from Structure. Steve laughed at this answer, drunkenly.

"Structure? Kid, do you know how much you're making right now?"

Honestly, I had no clue. I shook my head.

"What? You mean you never took a little sneaky peek at your father's tax statements?"

I shook my head again. Steve sighed and motioned for me to lean closer. The number he whispered in my ear almost made my head explode. Wow. That was…a lot. Just think of all the paranormal investigation equipment I could buy with that! And I could easily put both myself and Gaz through college, maybe even help Zim fix up his house…

"And I saw that hunk of junk you call a car. Honestly, Dib, a Cavalier? What are you thinking?" Steve's voice brought me back to the matter at hand.

"Hey, I happen to like my car!" I stated, defensively, motioning to the bartender to bring me another beer.

"Yeah, well, still. It's a kid's car. Something for someone who doesn't seem to realize how good they got it. You're president of the company, now, my man—it's time for something with a little more style, a little more pizazz. I know," Steve slapped his hand on the bar with the force of his idea, "let's go car shopping."

I nearly spit my beer out. "Now?"

He shrugged, "No time like the present."

"But it's almost eight at night! No where's going to be open!"

He shrugged again, "I know a place. Come on, kid, what are you afraid of?"

I searched my mind for more excuses why I shouldn't go with this man and trade in my Cavalier (lovingly christened "Eliza") for something new and "stylish". "I don't even have any money on me. We don't get paid till Friday!"

Here Steve gave a little chuckle and reached into his pocket. He slid a small, square piece of plastic to me across the bar. The Visa insignia stared up at me, seeming to almost wink. My name was embossed in gold. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Somewhere in the back of my mind, part of me was grinning like a freaking maniac.

"What…what's this?" I stammered in awe, almost afraid to touch the card. Choirs of angels were singing in my head.

"It's a company credit card. More specifically, your company credit card. With this baby, you can get whatever you want. Cars, clothes, chicks, booze. The power is there in that itty bitty piece of plastic. You want something new? Buy it and write it off as a business expense. Nothing to it."

I picked up the card, holding it in front of my alcohol infused eyes. A strange sense of power washed over me. Whatever I want, huh? I never thought anything like this could ever happen. I felt Steve place his hand on my shoulder and I looked up to see him grinning, mischief sparkling in his blue eyes.

"So how about it, kid? Ready to go get some wheels?"

I glanced at the card, back to him, and then back at my ticket to financial freedom. I felt a grin stretch my lips, one that matched both my new found friend's, and the small, manic part of my mind that was doing the watootsie in the back of my head.

"Hells yeah," I breathed, "let's do this shit."

And we were off.

-

I pulled into my driveway feeling pretty damned good about myself. Turning off my car, I sat for a minute, reveling in the new car smell. Trading in "Eliza" had been hard, but my new acquisition—a brand new Dodge Viper convertible—was defiantly worth it. I got out of the car, locking it with the remote, smiling at the sound the little beeping thing made.

Whatever good mood I was in was shattered as soon as I entered the house.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Gaz demanded, pausing her video game.

I sighed and rolled my eyes, locking the deadbolt as I closed the door. "I went out with a friend from work. What do you care?"

She snorted, "You don't have friends, Dib, especially from work—you've only been there a day."

I shrugged, making my way towards the stairs, "So? I am capable of relating to other human beings, you know. Unlike some people."

Gaz glared at me as I passed by the couch, and then sniffed the air, "Have you been drinking? You smell like the bottom of a keg. And what was that beep sound I heard when you came in? That wasn't Eliza. Eliza doesn't beep."

"I bought a new car." I stated, nonchalantly.

"You what?!" She got up on her knees, sitting backwards on the couch so that she could face me, "Why? You love Eliza! Zim and I helped you pick her out! Why would you trade her in?"

"New job, new responsibility, new car. No big deal. Steve suggested it."

"Steve?"

"My new friend at work."

"How did you pay for it? And you drove it home drunk? What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Credit card, and what do you care whether or not I was out on the road? I know how to handle myself, Gaz. You don't have to worry your pretty little head over me." I patted her on the head, patronizingly. She pushed me away harshly. I laughed and started walking again towards the stairs.

"Well while you were off playing drunken executive, that slimy Mr. Snipe came around wanting to talk about the hearing." Gaz announced.

Oh shit. The hearing. I had completely forgotten. "Uh…what did he say about it?" I asked, trying to cover up for my mental miscalculation.

"It's tomorrow, moron, or did you forget?"

"No, I remembered," I lied, "again, what did Snipe want?"

"Just to go over some last minute details. I told him that you would give him a call whenever you got in."

"Thanks, I'll do that. Goodnight, Gaz." I began the long trek up the stairs. Gaz's voice followed me as I walked.

"Wait, you put a car on a credit card?!" She called, seeming to just realize it.

"Goodnight, Gaz," I shouted back, not wanting to get into it. As I opened the door to my room, I heard her voice again, floating up the stairs like smoke.

"We need groceries!"

"Get them yourself!" I yelled back. God, did I have to do everything around here? As I slammed the door to my room I heard the sound of something glass breaking downstairs. Realizing that Gaz probably had thrown something out of anger, I fought the urge to go back down and make sure everything was ok. Fuck her, she could clean it up herself. Instead I went to bed and fell directly into a deep sleep, for some reason dreaming about a killer kitten and Suck-Munkees. Weird.

-

The next year flew by, seemingly eventless. I successfully obtained guardianship of Gaz, became more well liked at work, basically by spending as much time in the bar as I did in the office, bought a whole new wardrobe and new furniture for the house—gone were the Membrane lamps and busts that used to drive me crazy when I was younger. The house was mine now, there was no reason to keep the tokens of my father's ego lying around.

"Any calls?" I asked my assistant, John, one Thursday afternoon when I returned from lunch. He was a tall, thin man with shocking red hair and oval glasses. He looked up from his computer screen and then down at the notes he had made while I was out.

"Umm, yes, Dick down in research called, wanting to know if you had given any thought to his proposal for more funding in that department," He began, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

"Ugh, so like him, always wanting more. Tell him I have it under consideration and conveniently 'lose' his proposal, will you?" I answered, not hiding the distaste from my voice.

John gave me a small disapproving look, but nodded, continuing, "Lana wanted to know if you two were still on for lunch tomorrow."

I snapped my fingers, "Damn, I completely forgot and made plans with Katie. Umm…call her and make some excuse about being in meetings all day or something and send her some flowers to make up for it. Daisies are her favorite…or was it roses…oh well, send her both, just in case, anything else?"

"No, that seems to be it."

"Good. Thanks." I opened the door to my office.

"Oh, wait, I forgot, your sister's school called."

I stopped halfway in the doorway to my office, and turned back to face my assistant. "Why?"

The man looked back down at his notes, "She needed a ride home, wasn't feeling well. I said that you would contact her."

I sighed, "Fine, I'll call her from my office. Thanks, John."

The man nodded and I closed the door to my office. Making my way to my desk, I sat down, took a deep breath and dialed the number for my sister's cell phone. It rang twice before she picked up.

"'Bout damned time."

"Well hello to you, too, Gaz, what did you need?" I tried to keep my voice as civil as possible. She and I hadn't exactly been on the best of terms lately. Something about me becoming a selfish bastard. I told once, after a particularly long night with the guys from work her to look into the mirror, and she hadn't spoken much to me since.

"I'm sick, pick me up."

I sighed, rubbing my forehead, "Can't you call Zim to do it? I'm kinda busy."

"The only person who can sign me out is a guardian. Last I checked, that was you, asshole, so get your ass into that ugly convertible of yours and come do your guardianly duty and pick me up. I want to go home."

I felt my hand clench angrily on the receiver of my phone. Who the hell did she think she was? I should just hang up the phone and let the little bitch suffer. However, some irritatingly considerate voice in my head stated otherwise, and I gave in.

"Fine." I agreed, through clenched teeth, "I'll be there in 30. You had better fucking be dying."

There was a long, uncomfortable pause, and then my sister finally answered, "Alright, I'll be ready."

A click and silence on the line signaled that she had hung up. I replaced the handset of my phone and ran a hand through my hair. Honestly, sometimes I regretted agreeing to be Gaz's guardian. Things would have been much easier had I just allowed the system to take over. That nagging voice informed me that if I had, I never would have forgiven myself. For some reason I wasn't so sure that the voice was right.

-

Over the next few months, Gaz's calls from school became more and more frequent. Eventually I gave written permission for her to be able to sign herself out and for Zim to be able to pick her up if necessary. Things at the office were becoming more and more hectic and I really couldn't jump up and drive across town every time the girl had a tummy ache.

One day, however, I had a visiter. Zim barged into my office like he owned the place, John close on his heels.

"I'm sorry, sir," John was saying, "I tried to tell him that you couldn't be disturbed, but he wouldn't listen."

I glanced at Zim's narrowed eyes behind his purple contacts and then looked back to John. "It's ok, John, don't worry about it. Zim's a friend. It's all good."

John looked relieved for a moment, though as he closed the door I thought I noticed that same slight expression of disappointment or disapproval, but I could have been imagining things.

Once the door was safely closed I turned to my visitor. "Zim! It's been a while. To what do I owe the pleasure?" I asked, faking enthusiasm and ignoring the death look in his eyes.

"Well, you know, I figured since my best friend hadn't been returning my calls, lately, I would come over for a visit and see how things were going. You seem to be doing well for yourself." He answered, motioning at the office and the view.

I chuckled, "Yes, well, I've been pretty busy. You know, that whole running a company thing. Tends to get in the way of other, less pressing aspects of my life. You understand, don't you?" I walked over to the built in bookshelf where I had my personal bar set up, "Do you want something to drink? Scotch? Bourbon?"

"Your sister is dying." Zim announced, his voice emotionless.

I took in a breath, nearly spilling the drink that I was pouring as my heart dropped into my stomach but quickly regained my composure. "What?"

"She has pancreatic cancer, Dib. It runs in your family, does it not?"

I turned back towards him. He may be keeping his voice level, but his eyes betrayed him. They were shiny with emotion. I noticed slight burn marks trailing down each cheek, tell tale signs that he had been crying. Still I refused to acknowledge this announcement. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"What do you mean 'what does that have to do with anything'?! It has EVERYTHING to do with anything! She's very sick, Dib. She is going to die. Haven't you noticed anything? Her stomach aches, her lack of appetite, or even being able to keep anything down if she does eat, her skin is yellow, her back is in constant pain—are you honestly that blind that you haven't seen it?"

I lowered my eyes, suddenly finding my shoes very interesting. "I…I've been busy." I explained, weakly.

"Psh, busy. Right." the alien scoffed, "This job is ruining you, Dib. You're barely even home anymore, and when you are you're too drunk to function correctly. No one had seen or heard from you in a month! Your sister was right—you are becoming like your dad."

That did it. "I am not like my father." I growled, slamming my glass down on the shelf of my bar, sloshing the amber liquid over my hand.

Zim's eyes narrowed once more, seeming to stare into my soul. "Aren't you?" He mused. He shook his head then, letting out an annoyed breath. "That isn't the point, though. The point is that your sister is very sick and needs medical attention."

"And how do I know that you're telling the truth? If she's that sick, why hasn't she seen a doctor?"

Zim sighed, "You know that she hates hospitals. I had to basically blackmail the girl into letting me examine her and we've all known each other for years. Either way the fact remains—she needs help. Now, I've done a lot of research and I think that I've found a way to create a cure."

"Well then do it!" I stated, "What do you need me for then? Go to it and make her better!"

"It's not that simple!" He answered, exasperated, "I don't have all of the materials necessary at my disposal, nor can I have my computer replicate them. In order to get everything I need, I would have to spend a pretty large sum of money. Money that I don't have. You, however, do."

Now it was my turn to narrow my eyes, "Oh, I see how it is. You need money and do you come to good ol' Dibby, huh? Well, here, I'll humor you for a minute, my friend: how much do you need?"

Zim looked embarrassed for a moment, and answered in a voice barely above a whisper: "Three thousand dollars."

He was insane. Or kidding me. Either way, he had to be. He honestly thought that I would just hand him over three thousand dollars? "You're nuts." I stated, "No, there's no way. I'm not going to just write you a check for three grand. Go look somewhere else."

"Damn it, Dib!" Zim shouted, anger making his face turn a darker green, "Your sister's life is at stake! Have a little fucking compassion, will you? A little humanity—"

"It really is funny how you're lecturing me about humanity, Zim." I laughed, interrupting him. "Really, just get out of here. I don't even want to look at you anymore. Your presence is making me nauseous." I walked over to my desk and sat down, making it well known that he was dismissed.

The alien, however, didn't seem to take the hint. "But Dib—" He began.

"LEAVE!" I shouted, pointing to the door. I picked up one of the papers that lined my desk, determined to ignore him.

I felt his gaze burning a hole though the paper that I was holding. "Fine." He spit, walking towards the door. Opening it, he turned towards me one final time, "But I'll have you know this, Dib-Stink: your sister's blood is on your hands, now, not mine. At least I love her enough to try and save her, even if you don't."

With that, the door slammed and he was gone.

-

For some reason I couldn't focus for the rest of the day. Leaving a message with John that I wasn't feeling well and to tell Steve and the rest of the guys that I wouldn't be joining them for drinks that night, I left early, hopping into my car and just…driving, trying to both take my mind off of things and concentrate on them better at the same time.

Hours later it was dark and I sat on the hood of my car at the cliff on the outskirts of town, watching the city below me. I wondered why I had been so hard on Zim, earlier. Why I couldn't have just given him the money. I knew he wasn't lying—the scars from his tears was evidence enough of that—so what was the problem? It wasn't as if I didn't have the money to spare; I did; and perhaps Zim's research could even help the company out. A cure for pancreatic cancer would be almost priceless, making both his name and mine famous. So what was my problem? What was holding me back?

"Greed." a small voice in my head answered.

"What?" I asked the air. I had gotten rid of my habit of talking to myself years ago, yet speaking to no one didn't bother me in the least. For some reason it made me feel more like myself than I had in a while.

"You want it all to yourself," the voice replied, "the fame, the fortune. Why let Zim share the spotlight? Why waste money on saving that snot-nosed sister of yours? There are so many better things that you could be using that money for: cars, clothes, chicks, booze," I was reminded suddenly of my first conversation with Steve, " the world is your oyster, Dib. In reality the little bitch is only slowing you down."

"That isn't true," I insisted, "she's my sister. I love her."

"And is she really deserving of that love, Dib?" the voice argued, "Think about it. She's treated you like something that she found under her shoes for years."

"I really haven't treated her much better." I stated, thinking about the last few conversations we had had. Really, I hadn't had anything nice to say to her since Dad died. I wondered why.

"It's because you finally realized that she doesn't matter. Nothing really does. Only you. And that company. And the money. That's all. That's all there really is in this world, Dib. When all is said and done, do you think that she's going to be there for you? Do you think that she's going to care if you live or die? No. The only person that you have that will care is yourself, Dib. Yourself and hundreds of thousands of stockholders. Won't it be nice to be completely self sufficient? To be completely on your own?"

I thought about it. The voice was making sense. Who did I really have to count on besides myself? On the other hand…

"No." I stated, shaking my head, trying to make the voice stop it's argument, "No, that isn't true. I can't listen to you, anymore. I need to think. I…I need to go home." That said, I got back into my car and sped away down the hill, back towards town, away from voices that spoke from the darkness.

-

I stepped into my sister's room, quietly, opening the door only enough to let myself squeeze in, afraid of the hinges squeaking. I sat lightly on her bed, watching her sleeping form, illuminated by the crack of light shining from he hallway. Zim had been right. She looked like hell. Her skin was sallow and yellow, seemingly stretched onto the bones of her face. Veins stuck out on her cheeks, lining them like a road map. Her breathing was ragged and every few seconds she would cough lightly and then roll over, moaning with the effort it took to find a position that wouldn't put pressure on her aching back.

How could I have been so blind that I hadn't seen this? How could I have let her fall into such a state of disarray?

I reached out and lightly pushed her sweat soaked hair out of her face, allowing my hand to rest for a moment on her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered slightly, and she scrunched her eyebrows together.

"Mom?" She murmured, not opening her eyes.

"Shh," I whispered, stroking her hair, "everything will be fine, go back to sleep."

"Mommy, it hurts," she answered, her voice a whimper.

I felt a sudden pain in my heart, and swallowed to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall, "I know, sweetheart. Don't worry. I'll make everything alright."

I felt her hand grab mine in the darkness, and I gave it a little squeeze.

"Dib's never home, anymore. I miss him. If I die, I won't get to tell him that I'm sorry. I don't want to die, Mommy, I don't—"

"Shh shh shh," I soothed, tears beginning to fall freely, now, "you're not going to die. Your brother's not going to let you. Now go back to sleep. In the morning things will be better."

That seemed to state her for the moment, because she let go of my hand and rolled over onto her side, her breath catching for a moment in pain and then evening out as she fell back into her dreams. I got up slowly and left the room, shutting the door behind me.

In the hallway, I slid to the floor and wept.

-

The next morning I went into the office in my old jeans and Structure shirt and tie, leaving my new clothes in a bag in the hallway at home marked "Goodwill". I had barely even brushed my hair, even. For some reason it felt more right. As I turned the corner to reach my office I noticed Steve standing at John's desk, seeming to give him a hard time about something.

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" I asked, approaching them. Steve turned around and flashed me his hundred dollar smile. I noticed John let out a relieved breath behind him.

"Dib! Just the man I wanted to see. Where were you last night, buddy? We all—"

"I had some family business to attend to." I answered, cutting him off. I pushed past him and leaned slightly onto John's desk. "John, I need you to do me a favor. Call and cancel all of my appointments for the next month. I'm going to be working from home until further notice."

"What? What the hell are you talking about, Dib? You can't work from—" Steve began to protest. I raised a hand silencing him nodding to John to start taking notes.

"Also, call the bank and tell them to transfer three thousand dollars directly into the account of my friend, Zim, the man that was here yesterday. His information should be on the rollo-deck."

"Three thousand dollars!" Steve exclaimed, grabbing my shoulder so that I faced him, "Are you nuts? What has gotten into you?"

I shook off his hand, glaring at him from behind my glasses, "I'm thinking clearly for the first time in quite a while, my man." I answered, my voice dripping with annoyance, "Now if you don't mind, don't you have a job you should be doing?"

Steve glared back at me and straightened his tie. "Yes, sir." He answered, hate evident in his voice as he angrily strode toward the elevator.

I turned back to John, "Inform the research and development teams that Zim is allowed full access to our facilities, and whatever have whatever funds he may need over that initial three thousand sent directly to him. Oh, and tell Dick that he can have his funding as well. And what are you smiling at?"

John had, by this time, put down his pen and was looking at me from across the desk with a giant, shit eating grin on his face. He chuckled a bit and stood, clapping. "You won, Dib. For a moment, I didn't think you were going to, but you did. You passed."

I looked at him like he was insane. "What are you talking about? Have you lost it? Passed what?"

John shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Just know that you did. You passed. Things are going to be ok, here, now. This Dib is going to be alright. You, however, have another test to take."

"Test? What? What the hell are you saying. Maybe you need some time off."

John chuckled and held up his hand, "Believe me, I'm fine, Dib. Now brace yourself, it's time to go."

"Go where—" I started, but before I could finish the thought, John snapped and I became suddenly dizzy, the world fading and swirling around me before falling into blackness.

One down, six to go.

--

A/n. Wow. Crap. These chapters just keep getting longer and longer. I guess it's because they're kinda like mini stories all on their own.

It felt good to write a more assertive Dib for once, even though he did end up getting more abrasive and just plain nasty towards the end. But that was the point. I guess.

There was only one reference in this chapter, and those who get it will receive, umm…a purple gel pen. Or something.

Thank you so much for everyone's kind reviews. Sorry that this took so long to update, but I've been quite the busy beaver. I'm going to try for one update a week, but with the length of these chapters, along with work, classes, and musical type stuff (some friends of mine have me doing vocals for their new project), we shall see. Hopefully I won't make you guys wait too long in between updates.

Man, I should have been in bed an hour ago. Damn my mind for not letting me get away with not finishing this, tonight. Evil.

As always, please R and R.

-j