A/n: Wow, thank you, again, everyone, for your positive feedback. It makes me happy, also, to see reviews from some new people. Hooray!

Reference time:

--The reference was both to Steve's cornflower blue tie and to the fact that, when complimented on it, he announces that it's Tuesday. This refers to my favorite book/movie—Fight Club, where Jack (the narrator) only really realizes that it's Tuesday because his boss is wearing a cornflower blue tie.

However Invader Sneakyonfoota's guess that it was a JTHM reference was a good try, and receives a BLUE gel pen as a consolation prize. Or something.

In response to Chatwyn's question about Lust and whether or not I'm a ZADR shipper, I'll tell you this: in writing this, I'm making an attempt to look at the Sins in a way that it's normally used. This chapter (Gluttony) is an example of that, as will be the Lust chapter. With Greed and Wrath and a few of the other sins, I really don't have much room to work, because their definitions are pretty strict, however, when the definition gives me some leeway, I'm intending to take it. Therefore, I'm sorry to say that the Lust chapter is not going to be a hardcore lemon/lime/whatever other fruit one may think of to describe a sex scene. I have a very specific plot for that one in my notes, and sex really has very little to do with it. There will be sexual undertones in the Envy chapter, (and now that I think about it, in this chapter as well, even though all of the sex in here is 'straight' and not explained in any sort of graphic detail what so ever) in which some ZADR may be hinted around, but nothing too graphic. Not because I don't enjoy Slash, because I do, when it's well written, however, I don't think that I'm up to the task of doing it any justice. I don't think that I could write any kind of graphic sex scene without making it horribly lurid, and the thought of putting the word "cock" in my writing, other than using it as an insult, really just makes me giggle. (Maybe I'm immature, but that's just how it is.) So sorry to disappoint, but there will be no hot alien on human action.

There is, however, some ZAGR stuff in this chapter, if only for a plot device, because, as much as I love Dib, I thoroughly enjoy torturing him, and that's one thing that is guaranteed to piss this Dib off. I'm just a bad person like that. (Though, really, why would we, as authors, put the kid into the positions we do if we didn't get some kind of twisted pleasure out of it? We can all bitch about how shitty Gaz is all we want, but in reality, none of us are much better. As they put it in the DVD commentary, "America hates Dib". I think that rings pretty true.)

At any rate, I've rambled long enough, and I'm sure most of you just skipped that part, anyhow, so I'll go, now, and give you what you want. Without further ado, here is the next chapter.

WARNING: Contains reference to sexual situations and alcohol/drug use. Also, some strong language.

You Only Live Twice

PART FOUR: In which Dib has a drink.

Main Entry: glut·tony

Pronunciation: 'gl&t-nE, 'gl&-t&n-E
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural -ton·ies
1 excess in eating or drinking
2 greedy or excessive indulgence

Is it weird that I can remember my first ever drink? It was at the reception for my Aunt Nora's wedding. I was six. Sitting at a table with my father and some of the other men in my family I felt distinguished; grown up. My four year old sister was on the dance floor with our mother and aunt, twirling pirouettes, the women gushing over her adorableness, and I was at the table with the men, listening with rapt attention as they told dirty jokes and congratulated my new uncle, ribbing him about the "good time" he was going to have that night. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

I tugged on my father's sleeve, motioning for him to lean down to my level once I finally got his attention.

"Daddy, I'm thirsty." I told him.

He frowned for a moment and then patted me on the head, "Alright, Son, I'll see if I can find you a soda." he answered, smiling.

"Soda?" My uncle repeated, incredulously, his face red and his voice slurred from too many glasses of wine, "Dib, here, is a man! Men don't drink soda! Here," he thrust a glass of cold, amber liquid in front of me. It took both hands for me to hold it, "drink some of this. It'll put hair on your chest."

When given the option of whether or not I wanted hair growing on my chest, in reality I defiantly would have picked not. However, seeing the amused looks on my family members'—including my Dad's—faces, and the way my new uncle was nodding for me to take a drink, I decided to suck it up and take my chances with the hair. I wanted to be a grown up after all—I was sitting at the grown up table instead of playing on the dance floor with my baby sister, wasn't I? And if this bitter smelling liquid was what grown ups drank, than by golly, I was going to drink it.

I took a deep breath, raising the frosted mug to my lips and allowed the liquid to pour down my throat. It was strong and bitter and I almost spit it out, but held my ground, swallowing and forcing myself to grin up at the adults. A warm feeling drifted down my throat and spread through my belly as the men laughed and patted me on the shoulders and back, proclaiming that I was now a man.

My belly growing even warmer with pride, I took another sip, this one being much easier to swallow. As was the next. And the next. Soon the glass was empty and I found myself laughing loudly with my older relatives, seemingly over nothing.

Not too long after, my mother approached the table, a very sleepy Gaz in tow. I jumped from my chair, tottering a little as I landed and then threw my arms around my mother's waist. She smiled and pet my hair, leaning down to give me a kiss, and then stopped, a frown marring her perfect features. She kneeled down in front of me, holding me by my shoulders and looked me very sternly in the eye.

"Dib, sweetie, do me a favor and blow for a minute. A good strong blow, like you're the wolf trying to blow down the piggies' houses." she ordered, keeping her voice gentle, even though her eyes were dark with rising anger.

I gulped, knowing that something was wrong, and then did as she wished. She closed her eyes, moving her head backwards slightly as the smell from my breath stuck her.

"Whoosh. Wow." she released me and stood, gently pushing me towards Gaz. "Alright, sweetheart, go take your sister and sit down over there. Daddy and I will join you, soon. It's time to go home."

I grinned, still feeling silly, and nodded. I took Gaz's hand and led her half awake form to a bench near the table where I had been sitting with the men. She climbed up on the bench next to me and curled into a ball, snuggling into the warmth of my side. I wrinkled my nose at her, but she didn't notice, instead opting for putting her thumb into her mouth and closing her eyes. I stared at her for a moment in distaste, both for the fact that she was sucking her thumb like a baby, and because I knew that I would have to take a bath when I got home in order to get rid of her girl cooties. If there's one thing I hated more than girl cooties, it was baths. However, the warm feeling in my belly was making me sleepy, as well, and I really just didn't have the energy to push her away.

I focused my attention on my parents, watching as my mother tapped my dad on the shoulder and then whispered something in his ear. He looked up at her, annoyance in his eyes, before sighing and standing up to join her. After exchanging handshakes with the other men at the table, he made a little "after you" gesture to my mother and they walked back over to where my sister and I were sitting, neither or them speaking to the other, both with matching masks of agitation as they made a conscious effort not to touch.

When they reached us, my father stooped down, taking the sleeping Gaz into his arms, and my mother took my hand, pulling me gently down from the bench.

"Come on, darling," she cooed, "it's way past your bedtime."

I opened my mouth to protest that I was a man, now, and didn't need to have a bedtime, but something in her eyes and voice stopped me. Something told me that now was not the time for whining.

The car on the drive home was filled with a quiet tension; something that, even at such a young age, I recognized as the quiet before the storm. Something was very wrong and I couldn't help but feel that I was the cause. Mom had seemed happy before she made me blow into her face. Something about that grown up drink I had tried had made her upset, and I was filled with guilt for wanting to grow up so quickly. I knew that hair growing on my chest was a bad thing.

I lay in bed that night, watching the clock, waiting for the storm to begin. It started slowly, thunder rumbling in the distance, voices drifting softly though the vent that separated my room from that of my parents. The wind began to howl as my parents' voices rose with agitation and anger, strained with the force keeping their emotions in line.

"So I let the boy have a drink, what's the big deal?" My father was asking, his voice gruff with irritation. The boy. Son. Even at such a young age, my father never called me by my christened name. At that age, my father's nicknames for me caused me joy—it was something that Gaz didn't have that I did. Dad didn't call her anything besides her boring ol' name. As I grew older, however, I realized that my father didn't call me "Son" as any sort of term of endearment, but rather because he really just couldn't remember what else to call me.

"What's the beg deal? Honestly, Travis, do you really think that it was a good idea to give our six year old son a beer? You're a scientist—you know better than anyone the effects of alcohol—who knows how much it takes to depress the system of a child so badly that it's dangerous?" My mother answered, her voice shrill with rising emotion.

"You're overeating. The boy is fine."

"No thanks to you. Honestly, how could you be so irresponsible? For some world famous scientist, you're not the sharpest tool in the shed."

"Damn it, Amber, it was one drink! You're acting like I gave the kid arsenic or something! Nick and I just thought—"

"Oh, don't even get me started on that imbecile that my sister married." my mother interrupted, "That man is perpetually sloshed. Just the person I want as a role model for Dib. Honestly!"

"Look, Amber, it was a joke. We gave the kid a drink, had a couple laughs over it, he's fine. No harm, no foul. Now can we just go to bed and forget about it? If you want to nag on me some more it can wait till morning. I'm tired and I want to go to bed."

"Fine. We'll discuss it in the morning. However, I don't know where you're planning on sleeping, because it sure as hell isn't going to be in here with me."

"What? But—"

There was a silence, and the sound of my parent's door opening. "Go. Now." My mother commanded.

I heard my father pad out of the room and the door to their room closing once again with a definitive click. My father's voice followed him as he walked past my door towards the stairs, mumbling curses under his breath.

I lay in bed for a long time, after, my arms crossed beneath my head, my eyes trained on the glow in the dark star stickers that I had placed on my ceiling. This was not the first time that my father had had to spend the night on the couch after one of their arguments, nor would it be the last before Mom just got fed up and left. However, this was the first time that I knew I was the cause and I was filled with immense and powerful guilt at the notion. That night I vowed that I would never again drink that bitter liquid that had made my tummy feel so warm and good.

But then, I never was very good at keeping my promises.

Oops.

-

"Damn it, Dib, if you're not down here in five minutes, I'm going to come up there, drag you out of bed by your stupid hair and kick your ass so hard you'll wish Mom had had that abortion Dad always talks about!" My sister's voice made its way from the base of the stairs, down the hall, and into my ears, cutting into my hangover induced dreams like a knife. I groaned and rolled over onto my back, rubbing my face hard with hands that still smelled of cheap beer, cigarettes, and girl. Man, what had I done last night? Thinking hard, I cringed and let out a moan. Oh, yeah. That.

Through the haze that was once my short term memory, I recalled that last night had been Zita's back to school party. I had gone alone, had a beer or seven and somehow ended up naked in Zita's bedroom with the hostess, herself. This in itself wasn't really that big of a deal—Zita and I had been casually dating (read: having sex) for the past three months or so—my stab of humiliation came from the fact that after seven and a half beers, one's stomach isn't really up for participating in the naked Olympics with the hottest girl in school, and therefore rebels, causing you to vomit. A lot. I distinctly remembered making my way to the bathroom, first, which I supposed was better than nothing, but still, the fact remained that I had spent the night vomiting in a girl's toilet instead of what any normal drunken 17 year old would be doing, being fucking the girl's brains out.

Somehow I must have made it home, because here I was, in my own bed, with the hangover from hell, and the sister who hailed from roughly the same area threatening me from downstairs. Ah well, just another morning in the life of Dib, I supposed. Same ol', same ol'.

I rolled out of bed, standing and then immediately sitting back down again as the world spun nauseatingly around me.

"Dib!" Again my sister's voice invaded my pounding head, causing every muscle in my body to tense and clench.

"I'm COMING!" I shouted, flinching at the volume of my own voice. 'I'm never drinking again,' I thought, 'never. Never, ever, ever.'

I stood, again, this time keeping my footing and blinked repeatedly, trying to force some moisture into my eyes. I must have passed out in my contacts again. Blah. Every muscle ached, my eyes burned, my mouth tasted like something had died in it. I needed a shower, an aspirin, and a thirty hour nap. Only two of these were feasible, however, and I made my way to the bathroom, shedding clothing as I went.

Fifteen minutes and a change of clothes later, I was downstairs, digging though the fridge for something, anything to take the edge off my hangover.

"We're going to be late," Gaz stated from behind me, anger and irritation evident in her voice.

"They don't take attendance till half way through first period and you know it." I answered, addressing my words to the carton of orange juice on the top shelf of the fridge, "So just calm yourself down, alright? It's not a bid deal. Ah ha!" I found what I had been searching for, and pulled out the cold brown bottle of almost instant hangover relief. Straightening up, I stretched and then kissed the bottle's dewy side, grabbing the magnetic bottle opener from the side of the fridge before making my way to the counter to open it.

"That's Dad's beer." Gaz announced.

"Your point?" I fumbled with the opener for a minute and it slid off of the cap, jabbing into my hand. "Fuck," I muttered. Frowning, I stuck the injured side of the appendage in my mouth for a second, and then tried again.

"It's eight o'clock in the morning."

"Again, your point?" Ah. Success. I held the bottle to my lips and took a deep chug, wincing and then sighing as the familiar warmth coursed through my body. I smacked my lips and raised the bottle in a mock salute to my sister. "Hair of the dog, Gaz, hair of the dog."

She glared at me from across the room. "You're an idiot. I'll be outside." That said, she spun on her heels and left the room, her anger following her like a cloud. I gave her retreating form a look at my favorite finger and finished the rest of the beer.

Sisters.

-

"So, Dib, I heard about your BRILLIANT performance last night at Zita's party," Zim sneered, taking a seat across from me at the lunch table, leaning over so his face was only inches from my own.

I glared up at him through my bangs. My hangover had returned full force and his presence wasn't helping the situation any. Neither was the cafeteria food, if you wanted to be specific, but it was more fun to blame my discomfort on Zim. "Did you, now?"

"Mmmhmm," Zim answered, smirking, stealing a French fry off of my plate and flicking it at my head. I cringed and then glowered at the irritating alien, "Zita's made it pretty well known that the toilet got more action than she did. I thought you humans made your PRIMITIVE mating rituals top priority, no matter what. What kind of man lets a queasy stomach get in the way of physical satisfaction?"

"One that probably would have died if he hadn't, considering the amount that he drank," a voice answered from behind me. Zim looked up at the voice and glared as Zita slid into the seat beside me. "Hey, baby," she greeted, kissing me on the side of the neck.

I smiled wanly through the nausea that the smell of her perfume was causing, and then went back to poking at my meatloaf with my fork, "Seven beers isn't that many." I justified.

"Ah ha! See? The worm baby admits to being defeated by fermented grains!" Zim stated, rising a bit in his seat with the force of his words, "The grains are stronger than the Dib creature! Fear the grains!"

"What are you still doing here?" Zita scoffed. Zim sat back down and glared at the purple haired princess.

"He was just leaving." I stated, giving Zim a meaningful look. His brow furrowed in an expression that I couldn't read, but he caught my hint and rose to his feet.

"Yes, yes I was. I shall speak with you later, Dib. Remember: fear the grains!" That said, he stalked away, moving much like an insect on his long, thin legs. Zim had decided sometime around the 7th grade that he should go through a type of puberty like the rest of us to keep up his whole 'being human' act. After chemically altering himself so much that a giant praying mantis showed up on my doorstep begging my help, we managed to level him out so that he was merely taller than the average Irken, and not overly evolved. The result still made him vaguely insect-like, however, and he had confided in me one night after both of us had exhausted ourselves by fighting and were laying, spent, on the ground—the only time when he and I took advantage of the strange friendship that we had and could actually talk to the other—that he found himself strangely aroused by the sound of chirping crickets. The weirdo.

"Honestly, I don't know why you still bother with that kid," Zita was saying, bringing me back to the matter at hand.

I shrugged, a non-committable answer. There was no way in hell I was going to explain to Zita that, while I enjoyed my relatively newfound popularity, I couldn't let go of the person I used to be. Zita, who shed her skin like a reptile every few months, once who she was had become too trendy, wouldn't understand. It was moments like these that reminded me that she and I were only together because of some strange physical chemistry we shared. It was hard to speak intellectually to someone who's biggest worry was what shoes to wear the next day. I decided to change the subject, "So I heard that you're telling everyone about last night."

She had the grace to act shocked, at least, "What? Me?" I raised an eyebrow at her and she blushed a little. "Ok, so maybe I told Melissa, who might have told Julie, who may have told Sheila—"

"Who probably told the whole school." I finished, brutally mutilating my meatloaf with my fork.

"No, no, Sheila probably just told Torque. Torque was the one who told the whole school."

I shot her a look, which was met with her 'I'm cute, you can't be mad at me' smile. Sighing, I dropped my fork into the beefy mess that lay on my tray and ran my hand through my hair. "Great, that's all I need is for Torque to know. He's not going to let me live it down at practice tonight, and I'm way too hung over to deal with it. Ugh."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Baby," Zita cooed, putting her arms around me, "it's not that big of a deal. Tell you what," she took my chin in her hand, turning my face to hers. She ran an index finger lightly over the skin of my cheeks and lips. I closed my eyes, almost purring at her touch, "my parents are going out of town again this weekend. I'll have another party and you can get Torque back by drinking him under the table."

I opened one eye, "How am I supposed to do that? He has a good hundred pounds on me."

Zita winked, "I can pull a few strings, make sure that he's drinking a little more than alcohol, something like that."

"Drug him? But that's wrong!" I stated, feigning shock.

She smiled, seductively, leaning forward so that our noses almost touched, "It's only wrong if you want it to be." She whispered, her lips gently brushing mine with every word.

I smiled against her lips, "Oh, Baby, I like the way you think."

She giggled as I pulled her into a kiss, completely oblivious to the other hundred or so kids in the room, my hangover completely forgotten.

Mmm, Girls.

-

Torque waited until we were all in the locker room after practice to start his tirade. While, for all extensive purposes, I was now popular, and a part of the football team, my life of chasing after Zim training me to be a pretty formidable running back, Torque, for some reason, couldn't seem to understand that I was no longer bully fodder.

"Hey, Membrane!" He called, ambling his way towards me, naked and imposing except for a towel that was wrapped around his waist. He also couldn't understand that my last name wasn't Membrane, even though the name did belong to my 'esteemed ' father, and my sister. I opted to have it changed to my mother's around the time that I realized that my father didn't even remember my name a good portion of the time, so what was the use of keeping his?

I busied myself with putting my clothes on. "Yeah, Torque?"

"Heard you bailed out on gettin' down and dirty with Zita last night. What happened; couldn't get it up?"

Finding his question to be the finniest thing he had ever heard, Torque began to laugh harshly, the pack and a half of cigarettes he smoked a day becoming evident in his voice. The rest of the locker room joined in shortly after, if only because years of conditioning had taught them that, when Torque laughs, you laugh, unless you want to cry.

Glaring at him with one eye over my shoulder, I continued to dress. "I had drank too much, Torque, I wasn't rendered incompetent."

Torque looked confused for a minute at my words, obviously not knowing what "incompetent" meant, but caught himself quickly, plowing on, "Maybe Zita needs to stop playing with little boys like you and focus on a reaI man. Someone who knows how to get her all wet."

Oh, alright, so that's why he was making a big deal out of it. Two could play at this game. "You mean someone like you?" I was dressing quicker, now, wanting to be able to make a quick escape if necessary. Knowing my smart mouth, lately, it was going to be necessary.

Torque smiled and gave me a 'friendly' smack on the shoulder. "Now you got it, Membrane! Someone like me—someone who knows hows to treat a lady, someone who's experienced enough to know hows to make her come so hard her head almost explodes, someone who—"

I had just finished tying my shoes, it was time for action. Pulling my messenger bag and equipment duffel over my shoulder, I interrupted Torque's little speech, "Someone who still wears He-Man underpants?" Quick as lightning I reached out and snatched his towel away from his waist, revealing his cartoon jockeys.

I had spotted them lining the floor of his room one day when I had to go to his house to tutor him in Bio. He had informed me that they were all his mother would buy, still seeing him as her little boy, and the only thing that had kept me quiet so far was his threat to beat me into a bloody pulp if I said anything to anyone.

But that was back in the 9th grade. That was when I was deemed 'loser', unclean and unfit for human interaction. Now, however, now I was dating the most popular girl in school. Now, I was on the school football team. Now, I was somebody. And not only somebody, but somebody who had just pissed off and humiliated his childhood bully. Now, I was somebody who needed to run for his life.

And so I did.

Laughing.

-

The next week belonged to me and me alone. Torque, properly humiliated in front of his peers and put in his place, had stopped his rumors about my supposed inability to perform, neither Gaz nor Zim seemed to be around, which didn't really bother me all that much, for various reasons, everything was the way it should be. Everything was perfect.

Until that Friday night. Then, everything went wrong. Then, I killed my sister.

-

The game that night had been fantastic. After twenty minutes of overtime with a score of 17 to 17, I caught an amazing pass by Torque (whatever our relationship off the field, while on it, we were an unstoppable team), running it in for the winning touchdown. The fans stormed the field, lifting Torque and I up onto their shoulders, and carrying us from the stadium. Looking down, I caught a smile and a blown kiss from Zita, who looked amazing as usual in her green and white cheerleading uniform. I was a hometown hero. It was time to celebrate.

Zita's parents ended up staying in town, and so the party had been moved to The Letter M's place. Beating Torque in a drinking contest was no longer necessary after the locker room incident, so I was able to spend the entire time accepting congratulatory pats on the back and making out with my girlfriend in between beers. Around 2am, people started to make their way home, and Zita and I decided to head over to my house, since hers was occupied by her parental units.

We stumbled through the front door, hands groping at clothes and body parts, our lack of coordination a mixture of alcohol and pure teenage hormones. We haphazardly made our way to the couch, knocking over a lamp or two in the process, and spent a few minutes lost in our hormonal frenzy before Zita pushed me gently off of her, needing to come up for air.

We sat there for a minute, breathing hard and grinning at each other like a couple of idiots, and then Zita got a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Ever have sex while high?" she asked.

I felt my grin grow wider. "Why, are you holding?"

She winked at me as she pulled a sandwich baggy out of her pocket, "Would I have asked if I wasn't?"

I laughed and pulled her closer to me, kissing and nipping at her neck as she pulled a bud from the baggy and began separating it out onto a piece of paper on the coffee table. After a moment, she sat up straight, a bothered expression on her face, and began patting at her pockets.

"Shit." She swore.

I reluctantly moved away from her neck, where a small red mark was forming, "What?"

"I forgot my pipe. Do you have anything? Papers, a bowl, some aluminum foil?"

I thought for a moment. Weed wasn't exactly my substance of choice, so I didn't own my own piece, and I knew that Gaz wasn't into the whole drug scene, the way that she made comment on my drinking habits every chance she could. However…

"My dad keeps cigars in a box in his room. We could roll a blunt." I suggested.

Zita grinned and kissed me hard on the mouth, "I knew you were a genius. Go fetch."

I stood and gave her a little playful glare as she patted my bum, "Yes, Mistress." I answered. She winked and waved me away.

Chuckling to myself, I made my way up the stairs and down the hall to my father's room. The upper level was dark, as was to be expected, considering my father spent most nights either at the lab or at one of his sleazy girlfriends houses, however a small flicker of light from under my sister's door caught my attention. Walking a bit closer, my vision still blurry from the alcohol, I heard muffled whispers and…was that a moan? Who did Gaz have in there? She wasn't seeing anyone as far as I knew, so who could be causing her to breath so heavy that I could hear it from the hallway?

Some self righteous brother instinct rose inside of me and I found myself with my hand on her doorknob. Who ever was in there with her was about to get a big surprise. Either that or I was about to embarrass the hell out of my sister by catching her watching porn. Either way, something inside of me was grinning like a freaking maniac as I pushed the door open with all of my strength, letting loose a cry similar to the Jihad screams I heard I television.

The door crashed loudly into the wall, leaving a little indent from the knob, and the good natured, drunken grin that I was wearing fell from my face in an instant at the sight of who it was in bed with my sister.

"Zim?" I breathed, barely able to get the name out as he and Gaz struggled with bedding and discarded clothing, looking for something to cover themselves up.

"Um…hi, Dib." He muttered, embarrassment and shame causing his skin to take on a darker shade of green.

"Damn it, Dib, what the hell do you think you're doing?" My sister screeched, having managed to untangle herself from both Zim and the sheet enough to pull the black piece of cloth up to her chest.

"I…err…well…" What had I been doing? It seemed like a good idea at the time, what with the whole being drunk thing and all, but the sight of my sister naked in bed with an alien had shocked my senses into sobriety pretty quickly. Still, that brotherly self-righteousness rose up inside of me, turning to anger. I focused on that emotion, milking it for all it was worth, rather than admit that I had made a drunken mistake, "What am I doing? What the hell do you think you're doing, you little slut?!?"

Zim must have noticed that angry fire growing behind my sister's eyes, because he stood from the bed and quickly began pulling on his pants, "Now, Dib—" he began, shuffling towards me with a hand outstretched to ward off any attacks. He gave a pointed look towards my sister's face. I was too enraged to pay attention.

"He isn't even the same species as you!" I continued, undaunted, "What's wrong, you couldn't pick up any human guys so you decided to just give it up to the alien?"

"Dib, c'mon, I really don't think—" Zim had his shirt on now and was struggling into his boots.

I cut him off, again, "You can't honestly have deluded yourself into thinking that he loves you! He's only using you for his own pathetic purposes. I thought you were better than that." I chuckled, bitterly, "And you call me a moron. I'm ashamed for you, Gaz, I really am."

My sister, at this point, had obviously had enough. She rose from the bed slowly, deliberately, rage making her amber eyes seem to glow. The sheet fell from her as she moved, but she ignored it, her urge to kill me stronger than her sense of decency.

"You're ashamed of me?" She seethed, spitting the words out between gritted teeth, "At least I'm not some alcoholic, pig-headed, drunken jock!" She took another step closer, anger emanating off of her small, naked form in waves. I felt my own anger lower, crawling back to hide behind the larger emotion I was feeling at the moment: a healthy fear that my little sister was about to rip my eyes out with her bare hands.

"At least I'm not banging some dirty cheerleading whore!" Gaz continued, stepping closer. "Who the fuck do you think you are, calling me a slut?! Huh? Who, the FUCK do you think you ARE?"

She stood in front of me, now, on her toes, her face mere inches from my own. Her words made my anger come out of hiding, the alcohol coursing though my veins fueling it into a dangerous rage. Something inside of me snapped, realizing that my entire life I had been berated and beaten by this petite creature, this girl-woman who shared my blood. The adrenaline running through my system and the booze made me brave and I did the last thing I thought I ever would do.

I backhanded Gaz across the face.

Her hand rose immediately to her cheek, where a large red stain was forming, branding her pale skin. She stayed that way for a second, the shock having caused her aura of anger to disappear almost immediately, and as she turned her head, slightly to look at me, I noticed both the hot, betrayed tears forming in her eyes, and how very small she was. It was funny how this tiny thing had been the bane of my existence for 15 years. I felt a tight knot of guilt form in my stomach and I reached out to touch her, wanting to erase that red mark that proved my guilt.

"Gaz, I—" I didn't get to finish my sentiment, however, because I was caught from the side by an angry green blur. Zim had finally managed to put his boots on and was determined, for some reason, to defend my sister's honor.

His first punch caught me square in the jaw, and as I rose to my feet, wiping the blood away from my lip, I saw an emotion in his eyes that hadn't existed when he and I had fought before. I sensed that this time it was different. This time he seriously hated me. Funny what girls can do to a man.

"I may not be human, Dib, but even in my culture it is wrong to strike a female," the alien growled, his eyes angry slits behind his contacts.

"Yeah, and in mine it's also wrong to fuck your friend's sister, so what's your point?" I countered, moving forward quickly to attack, the force of my blow knocking him backwards into the hallway.

He let out a pained sound as his pak hit the wall behind him, but caught his breath and was up and circling me in an instant. I kept my eyes trained on his body, as he did the same, both of us watching for the briefest flinch that would tip off the other's next move.

There—an almost unperceivable twitch in Zim's left leg. The moment he lunged, I stepped to the right, allowing him to fly past me with the force of his jump, landing with one foot halfway off of the top stair. He teetered there for a moment, his arms flailing as he tried to regain his balance, but ultimately, gravity had the final say and he topped over, rolling down the stairs to a chorus of 'thump's and 'oof's.

"Dib? What's going on up there?" I heard Zita slur from downstairs, just as Zim crashed onto the final landing. I ran halfway down to see Zim picking himself up off the floor—sans wig and one contact which lay on various steps he had hit on the way down.

"Zim? What are you…" Zita trailed off as the alien looked at her. "Holy shit. Holy shit. You're…you're…" She stammered, backing away from the stairs, her eyes wide and frightened. She backed up until she hit the coffee table and then allowed herself to drop to the floor, eyes still trained on Zim.

Zim looked at the girl as if she were a moron, "What are you blathering about, female? Have you finally realized the greatness that is ZIM?"

"You're an alien…" Zita stated, her voice light and airy. I began to worry that the revelation had somehow broken something in her mind.

"Eh?" Zim made a confused noise and placed a hand on his head, feeling his antenna. A panicked look crossed his face and he searched manically for his wig. I walked slowly down the stairs towards him, scooping up his wig and contact as I walked and handed them to the frantic alien. He took them, his eyes showing confusing and mistrust, and I shook my head, not wanting to fight any more. In truth, I didn't have the energy at the moment. All I really wanted was a stiff drink and a nap, and to wake up to find this night had all been a dream.

"An alien…" Zita was repeating from the floor of the living room.

I gave her an irritated look, "Oh, so now you believe me. Maybe I should have thrown him down the stairs at you when we were 12 and you would have shut up with the 'crazy' comments."

Zim smirked and then his eyes grew wide, focusing on something behind me. I turned to see what he was looking at and was met by my sister's small hand pushing me out of her way. I fell backwards a step and ran into Zim who was also caught off balance, causing us both to land in a heap.

Gaz had decided to dress herself and was rummaging through the hall closet for her sneakers and a jacket. I managed to disentangle myself from Zim and reach my feet as she was pulling on her coat, headed for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" I demanded, using my best stern older brother voice.

"To Mom's" She answered, reaching for the doorknob.

I was there in an instant, my arm thrown across the door to block her path. "You're not going anywhere." I stated.

She glared up at me, her violet hair still in sex-caused knots, a perfect imprint of the back of my right hand on her cheek. "You can't stop me, Dib. I'm going to Mom's. Get out of the way."

"How do you think you're going to get there? You don't have your license, yet. You're staying. Now go back upstairs like a good girl and go to bed. You know where it is—you've been there most of the night, haven't you?"

That last comment caused my sister's eyes to flash and I found myself doubled over on the floor from the force of her knee coming into contact with a very sensitive area.

"I'll walk." She said, opening the door. It hit me on the head, causing a new pain for my mind to focus on to distract me from my aching balls. The sound of the door slamming behind her caused a vibration of sound, and I had to hold myself back from vomiting all over my living room floor.

"An alien…" Zita repeated, her voice still full of wonderment and horror.

I lay there on the floor a few minutes longer before pushing myself to my feet, using the door as support. Zim came over and helped, grabbing my arm, but I pushed him gently away, stating that I was fine. He looked at me worriedly for a moment but backed away, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. After standing there, bent over, hands on my knees for a few moments to catch my breath and put my mind in order, I straightened up, and walked over to the coffee table to grab my keys.

"Where are you going?" Zim demanded, using much the same tone of voice that I had tried on Gaz a few moments before.

"I'm going after her. There's no way she's walking all the way across town by herself." I answered, grabbing my jacket from the arm of the couch.

"She's not going to like that very much. I highly doubt she's going to go with you willingly."

"No shit, Sherlock, but what do you want me to do? She's only 15, and it's four in the morning. Something could happen to her and it would be my fault. I'm going after her."

I found myself with Zim's hand on my arm, impeding me from both finishing putting on my jacket, and walking any further towards the door. "You're still highly intoxicated, Dib. That impedes your species' motor functions. You're in no shape to be driving. Give me your keys, I'll go after her."

I laughed in his face, "You? Zim, last time I let you drive my car you drove the damned thing straight into a lamp post. I don't have an extra five hundred dollars just hanging around in case you crash it, again. Forget it, you're not going."

Zim's grip tightened on my arm as I tried to move, "Better I crash it than you kill yourself because you insist on putting poisons into your FILTHY body. Just give me your damned keys."

"An alien…" Zita reminded us from the floor.

"Shut up!" Zim and I chorused, both focusing our glares on the dazed cheerleader before raising them back up to meet each other's. It was a test of will, and I was determined to win. It wasn't as if I had never driven while drunk before. In fact, I probably did better then than I did while sober. I knew that there was nothing to worry about, and there was no way the alien was going to stop me from going after Gaz and attempting to fix my mistake.

Finally, an idea crossed my mind. The fact that I had just seen him naked earlier could be used to my advantage. One thing that I noticed that I had always wondered about was that Zim was indeed a male, and that his body, while consisting of completely different organs than a human , was still built very much the same as mine. Which meant for the same weaknesses—one of which my sister had so kindly pointed out only moments before.

Reaching out quickly with my hand that held the keys, I grabbed Zim's shoulder and turned him slightly towards me as I jabbed my knee into his crotch. His eyes bugged for a moment in pain as he groaned and slumped to the floor. I felt a phantom sympathy pain for the green boy, but pushed it away, focusing instead on pulling on my jacket and making my way to the front door.

"Believe me, Zim: that hurt me just as much as it did you, but I really have to do this. Keep an eye on Zita for me, I think she's in shock or something. I'll be back shortly. " That said I, opened the door, drunkenly determined and focused on my mission.

"F-fuck you, Human." I heard Zim groan as I shut the door behind me. There was nothing I could do to suppress my guilty little smile as I walked to the car.

While we sat, much later, in the waiting room at the hospital as my sister lay somewhere in between life and death, Zim would tell me how, shortly after I left, and the pain had receded from his nether regions, Zita had crawled over to him and, reaching out one shaking hand, gently touched his face. For some reason, this small physical contact had snapped her out of whatever loop her mind had been stuck in and she had let out an ear piercing scream and fled from the house.

For some reason I found this incredibly funny.

But then, I'm a bad person like that.

-

Driving while drunk can be describes somewhat as a video game. One is so busy trying not to get pulled over by the cops that you are able to focus on things in the road that you normally wouldn't pay attention to. That night, however, the early morning fog was so thick that I was barely able to make out the road a foot in front of my head lights, and that, mixed with the energy I had displaced—both physically and emotionally—and the large amount of booze I had consumed was making my mind dull around the edges. I really just wanted to go home and crawl into bed, not be out here in the fog, looking for my brat of a sister.

This was all her fault, anyhow, I told myself. If she hadn't been fucking around with Zim—the thought still filled me with disgust—then wouldn't have had any reason to yell at her, and she wouldn't have any reason to yell back, and I wouldn't have gotten so angry that I had hit her, and she wouldn't have insisted on walking to Mom's at four in the damned morning. The fact that, had I not been drunk and on the search for something to pack some weed into, I wouldn't have had the urge to burst in and invade my sister's privacy, thus putting the entire sequence of events into motion to begin with was nagging at the back of my mind, but I ignored it, determined that Gaz was the blame for all of this. She blamed me for every bad thing that happened in her life, so why couldn't I blame her for this?

I was so deep in my own little world that I didn't see the shape coming at me in the fog. The vague outline of a girl. A girl with long, violet hair. By the time I noticed, it was to late, my reflexes too dulled by liquor and lack of sleep to respond quickly enough. There was a sickening 'thump' and I hit the person in front of me, my tires squealing on the wet cement as I slammed my foot on the brakes.

I hurriedly exited the car, not even bothering to put on my blinkers, and crouched beside the fallen figure.

"Shit," I chorused, under my breath, "shit, shit, shit."

I reached out and felt for the girl's wrist, feeling for a pulse, panic forming a nice little knot in my stomach. There. It was faint, but at least it was there. I scanned my mind for any information that may still be there from the first aid classes I took in middle school for anything that could be of use. Don't move the body, check for excessive bleeding, call 911. Ok. I could do this.

Still keeping my fingers on the girl's wrist with one hand, I fumbled in my pockets with the other for my cell phone. Finding it, I flipped it open and dialed 911 with my thumb.

"C'mon, c'mon," I muttered as it rang, meanwhile, checking visually for any blood. There wasn't any. I couldn't tell whether or not that was a good thing, seeing as it didn't mean that she wasn't bleeding on the inside.

"Hello, 911, please state the nature of your emergency." A voice greeted through the phone.

"Thank you! Finally! I—I hit someone with my car! It was an accident! It's so foggy, and I couldn't see, and—"

"Calm down, son, it will be ok," the voice on the other end cut in, taking on a tone of concerned calm, "where are you? We can't trace the signal from your phone."

I looked around for any land marks, street signs, anything to tell me where I was. For a frantic moment, I didn't see anything, and then I spotted a sign, bent and hanging with age and abuse.

"I'm on Spooner Street. Across from the Happy Times retirement home. Please hurry."

"Spooner Street, alright, I'm sending a police unit and an ambulance out there, now. They should be there in about ten minutes. What I need you to do, now—"

"Ten minutes?!" I interrupted, panic rising once again in me, "She could be dead by then!"

"Son, you need to calm down. They will be there as quickly as they can. You panicking is not going to help her any. What I need you to do is to feel for a pulse. Is there any?"

This I already knew. "I already did that. She has one, but it's unsteady and faint. I don't know how much longer she's going to hold on." Tears were coursing down my face in rivers, the adrenaline and the alcohol making me sick to my stomach. God, why didn't I listen to Zim? Why did I insist on doing this myself?

"That's good. The fact that there is a pulse, even though it's weak, is a good sign. Now, can you check her breathing?"

I shook my head, even though the operator had no way of knowing, "I can't tell. She's lying on her stomach and I'm afraid to turn her over."

"Place your hand on her back, gently. You should be able to feel whether or not it's moving."

That made sense. Holding the phone in the crook of my neck, I reached out with my left hand, gently placing it on her back, not allowing my right to move from it's position on her wrist. It was almost as if her pulse was keeping me alive. If it stopped, I didn't know what I would do. I held my breath for a few minutes, focusing my attention on my left hand. For a tense, agonizing moment, I didn't feel anything, but then, faintly and almost imperceptible, I felt her back rise and fall in the rhythm of her breath.

"She's breathing." I told the operator, letting out a sigh of relief. I could hear the sirens faintly in the distance. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that I was going to be in big trouble—I was underage, drunk, and had hit someone who could possibly die. I was going to face at least one night of jail, I knew it, if not more. For some reason, however, this thought didn't bother me. All I cared about in that instant was that this broken girl that lay beneath my hands be ok. All I wanted was for her to live.

The police and ambulance rolled up minutes later and I hung up with the emergency operator. Two paramedics flew from the back of the ambulance and pushed me to the side, gently moving the girl's body to the stretcher that seemed have appeared out of no where. I stood and watched, not knowing what else to do until I felt someone tap my shoulder.

I turned to come face to face with a police officer who looked to be in his late twenty's with shocking red hair and oval glasses. His name tag read "Officer Jonathan V" and he didn't look happy in the least.

"Care to tell me what happened, here, Son?" He asked, his brows knotted in a frown.

"I—it was an accident, Officer. I had gotten into a fight with my sister, and she insisted on walking to our mother's who lives across town. I decided to drive out to find her and couldn't see in the fog and hit this person. I didn't mean to—it was an accident." I was crying openly, though it shamed me to do so.

The officer gave me a look a disappointment that looked vaguely familiar for some reason. Moving a little closer to my face, he inhaled and then stepped back, again, his frown becoming deeper.

"Son, have you been drinking?" he asked me.

I swallowed and tried to think of an excuse, but couldn't. Looking down at my shoes, I answered, "Yes, Officer."

He sighed, "How old are you?"

"Seventeen, Sir."

"You know that drinking under the age of 21 is illegal and driving while under the influence is also illegal no matter what the age, right?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You need to come with me, kid. We'll go down to the station and call your parents, alright? Let's go." He took my arm, gently, but firmly and began to lead me to the car.

Something crossed my mind just then. Something about the girl I had hit. I stopped, causing the officer to look back at me, irritation marring his features, "Are you going to make this difficult, kid?"

"No, sir, I just…can I look and ask the paramedics if the girl is going to be ok? I need to know, please?" I gave my best imitation of a hurt puppy and the officer sighed, releasing my arm.

"Fine, go. Don't try anything funny, though. I still have to read you your rights."

I nodded and made my way to the ambulance, where the doors were still hanging open as the paramedics lifted the girl into the back. I sensed the officer behind me as I walked up to the vehicle and stepped up on the bumper to get a look inside.

The girl's face was dirty, but still recognizable. Gaz lay there on the stretcher looking much like she had just decided to take a nap, her violet hair spread out around her. I took a sharp intake of breath that made my lungs burn, and new tears sprung into my eyes. I hopped down and faced the officer.

"Sir, that girl—that's my sister. Please, I have to go with her. I have to make sure she's ok. You can follow the ambulance and arrest me at the hospital if you want, but you have to let me go. Check the records if you want. My name is Dib, I'm the son of Professor Membrane—that's my sister, Gaz. My social is 173-88-9345. Run a background if you want, I'll even give you my license, just please let me go with her. Please?"

The officer raised his hands in surrender. "Ok, kid, get going. I'll see you in the waiting room."

I could have hugged the man. Instead, I gave him a grateful nod and climbed in the back of the ambulance with the paramedics, who slammed the doors behind me.

I rode to the hospital with my sister in silence, my eyes not leaving her face, holding her small hand in mine, which had, only and hour or so before, caused her to run away in the first place. It was funny how these things happened.

Yet, for some reason, I wasn't laughing.

The only sound coming from my lips was prayer.

-

The officer had made good on his threat to meet me in the hospital waiting room, but he had the courtesy and understanding to wait to arrest me and take me to the station until word had come back from the doctors that Gaz was going to be alright. She had, however, suffered extreme trauma to her legs and back and would have to undergo physical therapy in order to walk properly. I foresaw months and months of having to be her slave to make up for it, but for some reason it didn't matter. I was just grateful that she was alive.

Our father was, of course, unavailable when the hospital tried to reach him, but our mother was I the lobby with me in an instant, tears running down her face in streams. After checking to make sure that I was alright and speaking with the officer she barely looked at me, speaking only when necessary, her voice full of pain and disappointment.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Dib," She would say, shaking her head, "I just don't know."

That night, as I lay on the cold cot in my jail cell, I made a vow that had come from my lips many a time throughout my life. One that I had first uttered when I was six years old, after my Aunt's wedding: I was never going to drink again.

This time I was going to keep my promise.

-

Two months later I was sitting on Torque Smacky's couch, Zita hanging on my air, drunkenly nibbling on my earlobe. Torque and I had led our team to the state championships, and now it was cause for celebration. However, by keeping true to my promise and not drinking, I really wasn't having that great of a time. I was beginning to think of excuses to leave Zita there and make my way home when Torque flopped down on the couch beside me, reaching one meaty arm around my neck and giving me a playful nookie that made my scalp feel like it was on fire.

"There's my man," Torque greeted, "Hey, why aren't you drinking? This is a time for celebration! We kicked Middlewood's ass, man! What's your problem?"

"You know I don't drink, anymore, Torque," I answered, becoming steadily irritated by his presence. I moved my arm, forcing Zita away from my ear, causing her to pout a bit before her attention was taken up by someone across the room.

She kissed me on the cheek, "I'm gonna go talk to Julie, Babe, I'll talk to you later." She stated, and then disappeared into he crowd. She had pretty much negated her revelation that Zim was an alien that one night by chalking it up to a hallucination caused by bad weed. I let her think whatever she wanted. Her opinion really didn't matter that much to me, anymore.

Torque and I watched her leave for a moment, and then he turned back to me, slapping me on the back to gain my attention. "C'mon, man, I'll get you a beer." He began to stand and I grabbed him by one beefy wrist.

"No, Torque, I told you, I don't drink, anymore. I'm fine."

"Dude, so you accidentally hit your sister with the car. So what? That was months ago. This is now. This is your party, and I'm getting you a beer. Stop being a pussy." There was a slight twinge of anger in his voice, but it was nothing in comparison to what his words had awakened in me.

"So what? I nearly killed her, Torque, and you say so what?" I found myself on my feet, "You know what, forget this, alright? I need to go home. Tell Zita I'll call her, tomorrow, alright?"

I grabbed my jacket from the back of the couch and made my way to the door. No one tried to stop me. I wasn't surprised.

Once I reached the outside, I realized my mistake. Zita and I had driven in her car. I would have to walk. It was cold and snow was beginning to fall, but, after a glance back towards the music and people filled house, I had my mind made up. Hypothermia was better than those people. I really didn't know why I had put up with them for so long. Why popularity had been so important to me.

I focused on these thoughts for warmth as I trudged my way though the snow. Why had I been so needy for acceptance that I threw away everything I stood for? That I became a completely different person? In the long run, what did it all matter? It defiantly hadn't been worth it, I decided. It was time to cut the strings.

"Tomorrow I'll break up with Zita," I told myself, watching as my words caused clouds in the air before me, "I'll talk to Coach and quit the team and just focus on myself for a while. My grades were so shitty this semester, I need to pull them back up if I want to get my college applications together. Yeah, that's what I'll do. I'll just focus on me for a while. Fuck everyone else. I don't need them, I'll be fine on my own." I grinned to myself, "Well, not completely alone. Zim will support me, as will Gaz, I guess. She has been a lot easier to deal with since her and Zim hooked up—they both have. Maybe I was wrong about him not caring about her. God knows she needs him right now, with not being able to walk and all. Yeah, they'll be there for me. They were all I ever needed before, why should that change now?"

I was so deep into my own thoughts that I didn't notice the police car coming up behind me until the officer behind the wheel flashed his brights and then pulled up beside me. I stopped and turned, squinting in the dark to make out the driver and the window rolled down, revealing the officer who had arrested me two months ago. Great.

"Little cold to be walking, don't you think?" He called.

"I'm fine, Sir. I'm just on my way home from a party, Sir." I answered, nervousness causing me to shake more than the cold was.

"Have you been drinking, Son?" the man asked.

I shook my head. "Not tonight, Sir, I don't do that, anymore."

The officer grinned and reached over to push open the door, "Get in, kid, I'll give you a ride home."

I shook my head, not wanting to get into the car with that man, for fear that he would recognize me as the drunk idiot who almost killed his sister. I would rather freeze. Aloud I answered, "No, it's ok. It's not that far. Thanks, anyhow."

The officer frowned, "Just get in the car, Dib, you're going to catch pneumonia out there."

I sighed. Shit. He remembered me. Too late for excuses, now, and the warm air from the heater was causing my skin to ache for warmth. Defeated, I slid into the car and shut the door behind me.

We rode in silence for a while, neither of us wanting to be the first to speak. Finally, the officer was the one to break into the quiet, "Saw the game, tonight. Fantastic play you made there."

I was amazed. "You saw that?" I asked, not being able to keep the grin from my face.

"Yup. You've come a long way, kid. Good job."

I grinned at him like an idiot, reveling in his praise. His next sentence, however, would wipe the grin from my face as if it had never been there.

"How's your sister?"

I sighed and looked at my hands. "She's alright. The therapist says that she's making good progress—should probably be able to walk on her own or with crutches by Christmas."

"That's good. That was quite a scare you had there." He looked at me with one eye from behind his glasses, the other focused on the road.

"Yes, Sir." I mumbled. I really didn't want to talk about this, now.

"You know," the officer began, "you keep coming so close to failing these Tests, and then you surprise me at the last moment. I'm afraid that one of these times you're not going to be able to pull yourself up. You need to pay more attention."

I looked at him, not understanding what he was talking about, "Huh?"

He sighed and shook his head, "Yeah, I know, you don't understand what I'm saying. That's the nature of the Tests, after all—that you don't know that it is one, and I really shouldn't even be discussing this with you, but I really want you to succeed, Dib. I really want you to beat this. Just promise me you'll try harder, alright? You have a good soul, kid, I would hate to have it lost forever."

He was beginning to make me uneasy. We were nearing my street, and I was beginning to wonder how much it would hurt to just jump from the car and tuck and roll like in the movies. I didn't however and just decided to play along and do what he asked, "Um…ok, I promise." I answered.

He sighed again and looked at me, pulling the car in front of my house. He put it in park and turned all the way to face me. "I know you just said that to placate me, seeing as you have no memory of who you really are or what is going on, but I hope that somewhere in your subconscious it sticks, because the Tests aren't going to get any easier and you're running out of time—your body can only hold out for so long without a soul. You need to learn what you need to move on as quickly as possible, or else all will be lost, no matter how well you do."

I opened the door to the car, stepping out with one foot, "Right. I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the ride, Officer, I'll talk to you later."

The officer gave a little half hearted wave, and then raised his hand, poised to snap, "Right, kid. I'll see you soon. Good luck. You're going to need it."

Before I could ask him what he meant, he snapped and I felt myself falling, once again, into darkness.

---

A/n: You know, I really need to stop writing these things at night, because then I find myself sitting here, at 330am, when I have to wake up at 9 for class, determined to finish so that my brain will just give me some peace for once. Evil brain. But there you guys go. Part four is up. Only five more sins to go, and they're all kinda doozies. The next chapter is going to be horribly violent, and therefore will not be for the faint of heart or stomach. I'm not sure how far I will take it violence wise, but it's not going to be filled with butterflies and rainbows, I'll tell you that much. I do, however want to keep this at a pg-13 rating (though I wonder how well I'm keeping that, considering my language choice at most times), so it will probably not be too horribly graphic. Probably close to the same level that FPL was. But still, there's your warning.

There were two references in this chapter, one obvious, one horribly obscure, and if anyone can get it than you are awesome and you know your web-comics. If you can't find it, then you're still awesome, cos you're reading this, so it really doesn't matter. Prize a Dib plushie.

I'm amused at everyone's responses to the last chapter and the way Gaz acted in it. You're right—she prolly will go back to being a royal bitch once she's cured, but then again, she might not. Coming as close to death as she has may put the fear of God into her, but we'll never know.

I agree, however, with Kitsune's statement about why Gaz acts the way she does. I agree whole heartedly, yet I can't seem to find a way to express that. That was the original point to the first part of GDB (which I need to work on, by the way, and I apologize that I haven't updated it at all), but once I put myself into her head, though I felt her pain, I couldn't express it in a way that didn't sound contrived or like I was making excuses. Treating her like that is like saying that it's alright that a serial killer mutilates hundreds of people because he was molested as a child, or that it was understandable that Hitler was a fucked up as he was cos his Jewish stepfather beat him as a child. It doesn't work that way. The Ends are what justify that Means, not the other way around. I feel bad that I can't put the girl in a more positive light, but that's just how she writes herself, I can't help it. She is, however, my absolute favorite character to write for, as I can take out all of my frustrations from the day with her words. Though now that I think of it, I've been doing the same thing with Dib, as well, lately, having him grow some balls and stand up to her, even though it's not something that is necessarily healthy or in the right context. Maybe you guys are starting to realize what he's taking the Tests to learn. If not, keep reading, you'll get it eventually. Dibsthe1 is close, but not in such a negative way.

Here's something fun—I'm using the plot of this story as an attempt at writing a real novel. The only reason I'm actually even writing this version of it is to form my ideas and basic plot out and to work on things that I've always had problems with—dialog, character voice, plot development, etc. That's what I think that Fanfiction is all about, really—it gives us good practice for our own writing without having to worry about character development. Everyone who reads this already know and care about the characters, so you can focus more on the story that you want to tell. At least that's what I'm getting out of it. But at any rate, I'm about half way done with the first chapter of the Real version of this story, and will be putting it up on Fictionpress when I'm done. If anyone is interested in helping me out and reading it—giving constructive criticism and input and such, let me know, and I'll put the link up in the A/n of the next chapter. I only ask this because I've noticed that loyal readership/ comments are kinda of few and far between on that site as compared to here, and I would greatly appreciate any input that you guys might have. So let me know on that, alright? It would mean a lot.

But I'm rambling, again (I tend to do that, a lot) and I'm going to stop typing now so I can post this and then get to bed. I dread class in the morning. Ugh.

Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews, everyone. Keep it up!

-j