A/n: First and foremost, thank you, thank you for all your kind reviews. Your words and the Honestly within them, to the few of you who told me "this isn't your greatest, but…" mean a lot to me. Thank you so much.

This was, by far, the hardest chapter to write, hence why it took so long to get up. I'm sorry, everyone. Seeing as how I have a very good picture in my head of the next few (and final, I'm thinking three more after this, not including a final epilogue/author's note like I did with FPL) chapters, I figure I should have this whole epic done within the next month or so. But don't quote me on that. Really.

References:

Talking Bathroom Stall: Daria, of course.

Dib's email address being at "Question sleep (dot) com.": This, if no one knew, is the address of Jhonen's site (and consequently where his new email is hosted). The site under construction, but is still rather cool to look at so far.

There was another reference, I thought, but I really can't figure out what it was, now. Strange.

I know I said that this was originally going to be a slash chapter, but I changed my mind from my original idea, and therefore, killed the slash. Sorry to disappoint. I guarantee that this chapter is better than the one I had planned tho, 300.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own IZ.

You Only Live Twice

Part Eight: In which Dib gets an upgrade.

Main Entry: en·vy
Pronunciation: 'en-vE
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural envies
Etymology: Middle English envie, from Old French, from Latin invidia, from invidus envious, from invidEre to look askance at, envy, from in- + vidEre to see -- more at WIT
1 painful or resentful awareness of an advantage enjoyed by another joined with a desire to possess the same advantage
2 obsolete : MALICE
3 an object of envious notice or feeling his new car made him the envy of his friends

The park was unseasonably cold that night, whether from the storm that had just passed, or, because there was no moon, it just seemed that way. A wind a bit too forceful to be called a breeze pulled and tore at my trench as I walked the familiar shortcut home. Home. What a strange thing to be calling my father's house. Finals were over, and I decided to take advantage of the small break before the next semester by visiting my father and sister, although I ended up spending most of my first few days back either in my room—perfectly preserved the way I had left it, not so much out of any sort of remembrance, but more so out of lack of thought to do anything else with it—or out wandering around the town, taking in the sights that I hadn't even realized that I had almost forgotten. While two years wasn't really that long of a time to be away from the city one grew up in, considering the way I had been treated and the events that had taken place, it wasn't that big of a surprise that I really wanted nothing to do with it once I was gone.

As I walked through the gate that marked the exit to the park, I paused, looking down the street in the opposite direction from home. I had deliberately kept myself from going that direction the past few days, not wanting to accept or acknowledge what lie in wait there. The House. That tall, green and magenta structure that had haunted my dreams in the six months since I had left. Its occupant and I had never been on good terms—we were mortal enemies, after all—but he still lingered in my thoughts; the unnatural obsession that he was. Zim. That stupid alien that had walked into my sixth grade classroom and turned my entire life upside down. For seven years, all I could think about was him. His mannerisms, so foreign, but eventually, so familiar, his skin tone, his eyes, the way his skin seemed to have no pores, the fact that what made up eighty present of my body was the one substance that could harm him the most, how what made him, well, him, was not the brain in his skull, but rather the one contained in the mechanics of his backpack, everything, everything about him I would observe and record and obsess over till I eventually had to get a prescription sleep aid to turn off my brain for eight hours a night so that I didn't kill myself by shear exhaustion. I had deliberately kept myself from walking down that street so as to not indulge in that obsession any longer. I was a new person, now: older, different, more mature, more…normal. I had left all my paranormal information at my father's house when I moved out and that was where it was going to stay—safely locked in a box under my bed and behind the keypad locked doors of my closet that I had almost, but not quite, forgotten the combination to. I was my own person now, the Dib that Could Have Been had I decided to pursue Real Science like my dad requested. I had friends, a good job at the campus paper, and peers who respected me. What did I need those old files for? What did I need that old obsession for? I was my own man, now.

But still, even as I was reminding myself of how much I didn't need to go see if The House was there for myself, I noticed that my body had already turned in that direction, my feet already moving me down to that cul-de-sac towards…what, I wondered? Even before I had left, Zim's attempts at World Domination had become few and far between, and rather half-assed at that, perhaps he had just packed up and gone back to Irk and his Tallests to eat snacks until he exploded the way his insane little robot minion had kept threatening to do. Yeah, that was it—The House probably wasn't even going to be there when I got to the end of the street, Zim had probably left a long time…

But there it was, just as I remembered it: hideous and glowing like some sort of holy satire of normality. I felt a strange, but nostalgic twinge as I looked up at it, and found myself starting to walk towards the front gate, my mind coming alive all at once to remember the easiest way to circum navigate the gnome field.

I was so enthralled with my thoughts that I almost didn't notice the dark figure that was sneaking its way past the lawn gnomes much the way I had been planning to. My curiosity perked, I hid behind a neighbor's trashcan to watch what would come about.

The figure moved quickly and efficiently through the gnome field, making use of the blind spots that I had discovered a year or so into Zim and I's "relationship". I could see that the figure was male and cloaked in a black trench much like my own, but those were the only details I could make out as he made it past the gnomes to the front door. Slowly, carefully, he slid something into the crack of the door (I assumed it was a credit card or something similar) and then turned the knob, allowing himself access to the base. I had to admit I was impressed, yet something was tugging at me, deep inside. Some hot white flash of…something. I couldn't really place my finger on the emotion, but it was there, none the less.

A loud explosion distracted me from my musings and I looked up to see the figure bolt from the house, narrowly dodging the gnomes' lasers as he leapt past them to the safety of the sidewalk beyond the gate. There he stood, panting and heaving, his hands on his knees to help him better catch his breath, staring at the front door of the house, which had been left wide open. Slowly it swung shut again, as if pushed gently by an unseen hand, and the street resumed its previous quiet state.

I stood and stretched my legs, shaking out the numbness that had crept into them from the time spent behind the trashcan, and approached the figure, who had now apparently caught his breath. He was so enwrapped in his staring at the house that he didn't hear me approach, or react when I cleared my throat in an attempt to make him notice me behind him. Taking the initiative, I reached out and gently placed a hand on the stranger's shoulder, to which he finally reacted, spinning around to face me, his body poised for combat. I retracted my hand quickly, raising both in a gesture of surrender, showing him that I meant him no harm. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, waiting for me to speak first.

This close I could see that he was a boy slightly younger than I—17 or so—though with his slight build he could be older and I didn't realize it, with unruly blond hair and square framed glasses. If he were the age I thought him to be, he was probably in my sister's class, and for that I pitied him.

"Hi." I greeted. It was stupid, but I really couldn't think of much else to say at this point.

"Hey," he replied, more of a grunt than an actual acknowledgment. It was obvious that he wasn't used to people willingly speaking to him. I winced, inwardly, knowing how he felt.

I nodded towards the house, "I take it Zim still lives here."

The boy's eyes widened at my arch nemesis' name, and I could almost see the inward struggle behind his eyes. Should he reveal to me what he so obviously knew? Should he take the risk, knowing that, more than likely, his revelation would be met with ridicule? He seemed to come to a decision, because, looking me straight in the eye, he answered, "He's an alien, you know."

I nodded, a small grin forming on my face, "Yes, I know."

The boy's eye's widened, again, this time with obvious pleasure, but it dimmed, quickly, fearing that I was playing a joke on him, "Yeah, sure. Like you actually believe me."

"No, I do! Really!" I insisted. I sighed and held out my hand, "I'm Dib. I used to live around here. I went to school Zim. I knew him for what he was the moment he walked in the classroom."

The boy looked at my hand, still wary. "What did he call you?" he asked.

To anyone else, this would seem like an odd question, but I knew the answer and what it would prove without even thinking. "Dib-Stink." I answered, inwardly chuckling at the memory of the old insult/nickname.

The smile once again brightened the boy's face, and he took my hand, shaking it. His grip was surprisingly hard, "I'm Stan."

I had to laugh, "Stan-Stink?"

He shrugged, and I laughed again, but there it was, again: that white hot flash of emotion. This time there was a half formed thought attached to it. Something about the sharing of the nickname; something I had thought was just for me. While Zim had referred to all humans as "stink beasts", the insult attached to my name was something that had been reserved just for me. At least up until now. I halfway recognized the feeling as something akin to jealousy, but that was just silly. There was no way I could be jealous because my enemy had taken to calling someone else by my "specially reserved" insult…right?

I decided to take my mind off of that train of thought and turned my attention back to Stan. "So how long have you known?" I asked.

"Since we moved in last month. I saw him walking his dog-robot thing, and it just…clicked."

I nodded, understanding, but something was nagging at me. "You've only been here for a month? And you already figured out how to get past the gnome field?"

Stan shrugged, "Yeah. How long did it take you?"

That feeling, again. I decided to change the subject. "You at the high school?"

Stan's eyes narrowed, again, behind his glasses, a bit off guard at the sudden subject change, but it passed, quickly. "Yeah. I'm a senior."

"You know a girl named Gaz?"

The boy shuddered, "Yeah. She's scary."

I had to laugh. That was putting it mildly, "She's my sister."

"I'm sorry." Stan replied, his voice full of sincerity.

"So am I."

We both had to laugh. After a few moments, Stan looked at his watch, "I have to go. Homework and stuff. Maybe we could meet, tomorrow, say around 4? Bloaty's? Exchange information?"

I nodded, "Sure. Though I researched Zim for seven years, almost. I'm sure I have a bit more than you."

A smug smirk formed on the boy's face. Something about it made me uneasy, and for some reason, want to strangle him, "Don't be so sure." He answered, "I'll see you at Bloaty's around four." Then, waving his hand in parting, he turned and starting walking down the street, away from the cul-de-sac.

I watched him go for a few seconds and then turned back towards the house. Looking up towards the upper level window, I thought I saw the curtain parted, and a pair of reddish eyes looking out. For some reason I found myself lifting my hand in greeting, and the curtains closed, again. Puzzled by my own actions and the reaction to them, I stood a few seconds longer, and then turned, making my way back towards the road that would take me home.

oooIIIooo

I was greeted, as I walked in the door, by angry rock music being played just a little too loud. I covered my ears, and shot a glare towards the couch, where my sister sat with another girl, both enthralled with whatever hackem-slashem videogame they were playing. Making my way to the stereo, I cringed as I removed one hand from my ear to turn down the music to a tolerable level.

No sooner had my hand left the dial, did the game pause and I noticed Gaz's eyes from over the back of the couch, glaring at me, angrily.

"What did you do that for!" She demanded, her voice the angry monotone it had always been.

"You're going to burst your eardrums." I answered, turning my back on her and starting to make my way to the kitchen.

"You know I'm just going to turn it back up, so why even bother?" Gaz's voice followed me. I shrugged.

I could hear my sister start to get up from the couch to turn back up the stereo, more out of spite than for aural stimulation at this point, when I heard an unfamiliar, but somehow recognizable voice say, "Gaz, don't worry about it."

I turned, a bit surprised that, not only had someone stood up to my sister, but, by the lack of loud noise, it seemed she had listened. Looking towards the couch I could see that the other girl—one about my age with long brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses—had her hand on my sister's shoulder. Gaz glared at her, menacingly, but the stranger only raised her eyebrows in some sort of hidden meaning. After a second or so of battling wills, Gaz, amazingly enough, grumbled, "Oh, fine." and settled back onto the couch, unpausing the game. The other girl turned back towards the tv as well. I shook my head, and made my way back to the kitchen as I originally planned.

Weird.

oooIIIooo

There was something in my bed that night. Some small, microscopic thing that made the sheets feel too itchy and my skin feel too tight and made it impossible for me to get comfy and sleep. My mind kept wandering, in between fits of agitation, towards earlier that afternoon when I had run into that Stan kid, and the figure at the window. I had seen the reflection of red eyes in the glass, but, if the figure had been Zim, why didn't he acknowledge me? We would never be friends, but even as enemies, there is a honorable sense of duty and respect that, once seeing I was that close to his base, should have sent him flying out the door to personally and immediately kick me off the premises.

Unless he didn't care that I was that close to his base…but no, that was just silly. The only way he wouldn't care that I was around his base would be if he didn't see me as a threat, so that couldn't possibly be it. Just because I had been gone for two years didn't mean I was any less of a threat to him than I was before…or any less than that kid, Stan, for that matter.

No, I decided, turning my pillow over so that I could lie on the cool side, hoping that would calm my thoughts—no, the only logical reason was that it wasn't even Zim at the window. It was probably Gir locked on duty mode or something.

Yeah, that was it.

oooIIIooo

When I went downstairs the next morning I was greeted by the back of a strange, but familiar figure rooting through the fridge. As the stranger straightened back up, I could see that it was the girl that had been playing video games with Gaz the night before. She must have stayed over.

She noticed me in the doorway and paused, her fingers locked in the motion of opening the juice container. Her eyes widened for a moment, almost as if she had been doing something wrong, but more likely in surprise.

"Catch you trying to drink from the carton?" I asked, an amused grin on my face. She looked confused for a moment, so I decided to clarify, "You look like I just caught you with your hand in the cookie jar."

She smiled, relaxing a bit, and shrugged, "I wasn't expecting anyone else to be up this early. You startled me." She closed the door to the fridge and moved to the cupboard where the glasses were kept, "Though I really don't see the point in dirtying glasses unless necessary," she poured some of the orange liquid into a glass, and closed the carton, "though if it makes you feel any better, it's my own juice."

"I was wondering where it came from. Mostly my sister just drinks pop for breakfast—"

"—And lunch, and dinner," the girl finished for me, grinning good naturedly. She hopped up only the counter behind her, and picked up the carton of juice, offering it to me, "Want some? Backwash free, I swear."

I had to laugh, and took the carton from her, "I live in a dorm room with three other guys, I'll take girl backwash over theirs, any day." I poured myself a glass and then replaced the carton in the fridge.

Leaning against the sink as I drank, I asked, "So I'm guessing that you're friends with my sister?"

She shrugged, sipping her juice, "She and I post on the same gaming forum. We've been passing emails and such back and forth for a while, and I had to come into town for business, so she offered up the spare room so I didn't have to worry about hotel costs and such."

I was taken aback. Gaz? Do something nice for someone? "Doesn't sound like the Gaz I know." I stated.

Again, the girl shrugged, seeming a bit uneasy, "The business that I'm here for has to do with someo…something close to her. Once I explained the situation, she was more than happy to help." She looked me in the eye then, "She does care about things other than videogames, you know."

"Couldn't tell." I scoffed.

One of those awkward silences descended, and she and I both focused on out respective glasses of juice.

"So what type of business are you on?"

Again that uneasy smile as she answered, "Top-secret."

I had to chuckle, "So you're a secret agent?"

Her demeanor was calm, but her eyes reflected something completely different as she laughed, "Just call me James Bond."

I then realized something, "What is your name, anyhow?"

"Oh, yeah! Sorry about that," she answered, "I'm Error."

"Error? Odd name."

"It's a nickname, really, but it's what everyone here calls me." she clarified.

"A nickname, huh? So what's your real name?"

She hopped down from the counter, and rinsed her glass in the sink, seeming to ignore me. I was about to repeat my question when she walked past me, pausing at the doorway to look over her shoulder, "Top secret."

With that she was gone, up the stairs to the extra bedroom, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

oooIIIooo

It is a well kept, and well guarded secret of mine that I happen to abhor pizza. Oh, I liked it as a kid—I don't think that there's a ten year old in existence who doesn't think that grease topped with cheese and loaded with more grease is just the greatest thing in the world. I knew some kids in my school who had tried to convince the school board that pepperoni and mushroom pizza was the optimum healthy lunch because it contained something of each of the five food groups (allowing that tomatoes are a fruit, that is). Their request was, of course, denied because creamed corn and mayonnaise was decidedly cheaper, but the effort was there.

But at any rate, while, like any normal child I grew up in love with the stuff, come adolescence, after eating it just about every day (one of the hazards of living with my sister, who went through phases of wanting to eat nothing else), I really couldn't stand the stuff, which didn't make dating (Bloaty's was the number one after movie hot spot) or later, college (a local restaurant offered a "Boxcar Willy" special: a slice roughly the size of your head and a Pabst beer for three-fifty—cheapest meal in town) any easier.

So while I didn't even think of it at the time, Bloaty's Pizza Hog was possibly one of the most uncomfortable places I could have agreed to meet Stan. However, not one to break my promise, and not knowing how to get in contact with him to change the meeting place, I had to go.

I almost vomited from the smell the minute I walked in the door to the restaurant, and in the five minutes it took me to order a pop and find a booth, I already felt like I needed to take three showers to get rid of the feel of grease on my skin. All I could think was that this kid better have discovered something interesting that I didn't already know about Zim, or that he at least had better be damned grateful for the information that I was bound to be providing him. That, and that, next time, I was going to choose the battlefield. Wait…battlefield? Was I really thinking this as a battle? I mean, sure, the kid had me at a disadvantage by picking, to me, the most disgusting place in town to meet at, but he was my ally, wasn't he? He was the first and only person to believe me and be interested in Zim's alien-ness, so of course he was…he had to be…right?

My thoughts were interrupted as Stan slid into the booth seat across from me. I had been so wrapped up in my own inner argument that I hadn't noticed him come in. That smug smirk played on his lips as I met his cold blue gaze.

"Sorry I'm a bit late, got held up." He explained.

I shrugged, trying to not make my discomfort obvious. "No biggy, I haven't been here for very long."

He nodded, but that stupid grin didn't leave his face as he pulled out his laptop and sat it on the table in front of him. As he turned it on, I did the same, opening my computer's screen and typing in the correct password. Looking up, again, I noticed him staring at me, obviously waiting for me to be finished, his computer already logged in and ready. He had a faster processor than me. Go figure.

"Ready?" he asked. I was beginning to hate that stupid grin of his. I had to keep my hand from forming a fist under the table.

"So, how do we go about this?" I asked him, trying to ignore my irritation.

"Well, I think that the best way would to be for you to go through my computer and me to go through yours to see what the other has by way of information." he responded.

I was appalled. This kid? Go through my files? He had to be kidding me! "You're joking, right? There's no way I'm letting you just peruse through my hard drive!"

"Why not?"

"Well, to start with, I have a lot of important information on here that I'd rather other people not pick through if I can help it, and besides, you've been studying Zim for a month. I did it for seven years. I think that it would be a little unfair for me to just give you all of my hard work, when I don't even know if I'm going to benefit from what you have."

"You think that I'm going to provide you with faulty information."

"I never said that, I'm just not accustomed to trusting people right from off the start."

His eyes narrowed behind his glasses, then, "Well, I'm not really that eager to trust you, either, you know. I mean, how do I know that you're not some asshole who's going to make fun of me like everyone else has?"

I felt a pang of guilt and pity for the kid. As much as it bothered me how alike we were, I never really stopped to think about what that meant for the kid's social life. This was as big a thing for him to be trusting me with his findings as it was for me to be trusting him—perhaps more so, considering I had outgrown years ago that innate teenage need for approval from my peers, whereas he obviously hadn't. I sighed and relented.

"Alright. We'll trade computers. Just…let me go through and password some things. It's not that I don't trust you, it's just that some things I like to keep private and you may accidentally stumble into my journal or something if you use the search options. A lot of my earlier entries mention him. You understand."

Stan nodded, and shrugged, his eyes softening, again, but still retaining a bit of irritation, "Yeah, I guess that's a good idea. I should do the same."

Agreed, we both took the next few moments to password protect anything worth protecting in our notebooks. Again, I looked up to find him staring, waiting for me to finish. Either he had less to protect, was faster than me (which I doubted), or had already thought to protect his computer before I had even mentioned it. The thought that he might have been one step ahead of me made my stomach form a strange little knot, but I ignored it, choosing to believe the first option rather than acknowledge…whatever it was that I wasn't acknowledging.

"Ready?" He asked, that stupid grin seeming to get larger and stupider by the second.

"Born that way." I answered, meeting his smug smirk with one of my own as we pushed our respective laptops across the table to each other.

It was all I could do to keep the emotion from my face as I looked through Stan's notes. These were incredible! House and lab maps, ship schematic, Gir blueprints…it had taken me years to get this much information, and he was able to do it in a month? What gives? There was no way that he could have possibly gotten this much information in such a short period of time! I snuck a glance at him over the top of the screen. He seemed to be intently searching through my notes, but every so often his irritating smirk would widen as if amused by something, and I could feel that white hot emotion crawling up my throat from the bit of my stomach. Dare he laugh at my life's work? How could he laugh at me while his notes were so far under mine? I mean, sure, he had discovered a lot in the short time he had been here, but that was nothing compared to—

"This is some good stuff." Stan announced, closing the top of my laptop. Startled, I did the same. "Sorry my notes aren't as good, but—"

"Don't be ridiculous, these notes are awesome!" I stated, forcing my emotion down and plastering a smile on my face. I took a large gulp from my pop, washing out the bad taste in my mouth, "Really, I'm amazed at how much you've observed in such a short time period."

Stan's grin grew wider at my praise, and I could tell that he was slightly embarrassed, not used to anyone making any sort of fuss over him. Something about that made me feel bad about thinking poorly of him and I internally decided to make it up to him.

"Hey, I have an idea: why don't we team up? With both of us, there's no way that we can't stop Zim!"

"I was just about to suggest that!" Stan answered, "All we need is a fool proof plan."

I nodded, encouraged by his enthusiasm. Before we could figure out what the "fool proof plan" would be, however, Stan's watch beeped. He glanced at it, and then turned off the alarm, shrugging.

"I have to go get ready for work, now. Why don't we meet again, tomorrow—that will give both of us some time to think of a plan and all."

I nodded, "Sounds good to me."

He stood and gathered his laptop from the table, "Alright, then. I'll meet you tomorrow afternoon at the skool. I have a late club meeting, so it will be easier to just meet up there, around five, alright? Bye!" And he was gone, before I could get in another word, edgewise.

The skool. Another place I would rather not go. It was almost as if he were choosing meeting places that he knew would make me uncomfortable and on-guard. But, no, that couldn't be the case. I was just being paranoid, I told myself. But still, even as I gathered up my computer and finally made my way out the door of the grimy restaurant, the uneasy feeling wouldn't leave. There was something about that kid; something that I couldn't really put my finger on, but was there all the same; something that made me both want to throttle him and run away all at the same time.

Ah well, whatever it was, it couldn't be that important.

oooIIIooo

I found myself, again, in front of Zim's house without even realizing it. There was a faint movement at the window, but I turned away, berating myself on my stupidity at still being bothered by the lack of response my appearance here the day before had caused, before turning back again, and sneaking through the gnome field to the front door without even realizing what I was doing. Hesitantly I knocked, and, receiving no answer, reached for the door knob to just let myself in, when the door opened of its own accord, and I found myself face to face (or rather, navel to face, seeing as how the tiny green menace hadn't grown at all since elementary school) with Zim.

"Yes, yes, what—" he began, before stopping in mid sentence to glare up at my face, "Oh, it's just you." he grumbled, "Well, what do you want? I'm very busy trying to take over the world, here."

I was taken aback. This was not the way that I had imagined myself greeted. "Um, hey, Zim," I answered, not even knowing what I was doing here, anymore, "surprised to see me?"

The alien shrugged, and then let go of the doorknob, crossing his skinny arms across his chest, "Actually, I am, a little. I thought you had gone and gotten yourself killed or something when you stopped barging in and foiling my plans."

I chuckled, "You thought I was dead? I'm touched by your concern," Zim rolled his contacted eyes at my sarcasm, "but no, I was just at college, You know that." I explained.

The alien shrugged, again, "Oh yeah, I forgot about that. I've been busy lately, with that Stan kid nosing around here all the time." His eyes narrowed and his voice took on a whole new level of venom as he said my—his—new rival's name. Somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice reminded me that that was the way he used to say my name, but I pushed it away.

"He giving you trouble?"

Again, that glare, "You have no idea." He glanced around me, as if expecting Stan to jump out and ambush him at any moment.

Something about Zim's actions bothered me. His entire demeanor changed while talking about Stan, becoming once again the irritated and paranoid alien that I knew while growing up, while, conversely, he was standing here talking to me as calmly as if we were discussing the weather. Like we weren't even enemies. Like we never were to begin with.

"Surely he can't be as bad as I was," I joked, trying to get him to admit…what, I wondered? Why was I even bothering to worry or care about all this?

Zim looked up at me with an expression of sarcastic amusement, "Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Dib." he answered, and I felt my stomach drop into my feet and the blood rise to my face in a mixture of embarrassment and anger. So Stan was that much more of a threat to him than I used to be, was he? Well, fine! What did I care what Zim thought, anyhow? He was just a stupid alien. Screw him.

"Look, I have to go," I stated, excusing myself from the conversation, "it was nice to see you, again." I didn't know why I was saying it, but I did know that my voice was dripping with a venomous sarcasm that I didn't even know I could produce.

Zim didn't even seem to notice as he answered, "Ok, sure. See ya, Dib." and shut the door.

Fuming, I stormed down the front walk and back out to the sidewalk. I kicked one of the slats on the fence, dislodging it and stubbing my toe inside my boot before I realized one crucial detail:

I hadn't needed to sneak through the gnome field to reach the front door, after all.

Zim hadn't bothered to turn on the security system when he noticed me coming up the walk.

oooIIIooo

I slammed the door as I entered my house. Not even acknowledging Gaz and Error's matching looks of surprise at my entrance, I stormed past them—even going so far as to walk between them and the television, before stomping up the stairs to my room. What did I care if I screwed up their game? Didn't matter to me one bit.

As I unlocked and opened the door to my room, I could hear a snatch of conversation floating up the stairs.

"I think you should go see what's wrong." Error was saying.

"Me? What the hell should I go check on him?" Gaz replied, indignant at the thought of leaving her game for one second to see what was the matter with me. Typical.

"Well, a) because you're his sister, and I'm not, and b) because you agreed to help me out with this project as much as you could, and last time I checked, not being a total bitch, and keeping an eye on him would defiantly help me out quite a bit."

There was a tense silence, and for a moment I wondered if Gaz had killed her friend for daring to call her a "bitch".

"You know that I've doomed people for calling me lesser insults than that," my sister finally answered.

"And you know that I'm completely out of your dooming jurisdiction, so it really doesn't matter what you do to me."

Another silence.

"Fine," my sister conceded. I could hear her voice getting louder as she approached the stairs, "I'll go talk to him, but don't blame me if it doesn't do any good."

I rolled my eyes and closed the door to my room, throwing myself face down onto my bed. Of course Gaz would know that her talking to me wouldn't do any good. I had years ago stopped caring what she thought about me, knowing that she really didn't care to think much. Part of me kind of wanted to pour my problems out to her when she made it to my door out of spite, just to see her reaction, but the rest of me just didn't have the energy. I was too irritated to deal with any repercussions that would occur from talking to Gaz.

There was a knock at my door. I ignored it.

Another. Still, ignored.

Finally, there was a kick and the door shook on its hinges, but still held fast. "Damn it, Dib, what the hell is wrong with you?" My sister's voice shouted, muffled by the wood. Still, I ignored her, pressing my face further into the pillow in an attempt to drown her out. Finally, I heard her footsteps clomp away and the sound of her stomping down the stairs.

"See?" her voice faintly called as she descended the stairwell, "I told you that wouldn't work."

There was more muffled voices, but I tuned them out, deciding to focus, instead, on suffocating myself in my pillow, hoping to take all the self defeating thoughts with me. Still, I wondered why I was so upset. So what if Zim had replaced me with Stan as his mortal enemy. I mean, why wouldn't he? The kid was obviously far more advanced than I ever was in that respect, and therefore much more dangerous to Zim's mission. Plus, I had been gone for the past two years! What was it they said? Out of sight, out of—

There was another knock on my door, this one softer than Gaz's were, before. Still, I chose to ignore it.

"Dib? Come on, open up, I want to talk to you." Error's voice floated through the wooden barrier.

"I'm not in the mood." I called back, the understatement of the century.

I could hear the door open as the girl let herself in. Irritated, I rolled over, sitting up, determined to give her what-for for her intrusion.

"What the hell? I told you that I wasn't—" I had to stop, confused as I was by her appearance. The girl was standing there, in my doorway, one hand over her glasses, the other held out in front of her to ward off any objects as she slowly made her way into my room. "Why the hell do you have your hand over your eyes?" I demanded, determined not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

She stopped her movements and gave a one armed little shrug. "Well, I figured that, if I was gonna just barge in here, I might as well be prepared in case you were naked or something." The hand moved slightly, uncovering one lens of her glasses, "You're not, are you?"

Determined to continue to be pissed off, I refrained from laughing. "No, I'm not. You can move your hand."

She complied. "Good." she stated, moving towards, and taking a seat in the chair by my desk. Crossing her legs, she made an irritated noise, and took off her glasses, holding them up so that she could look through them in the light, "I really need to remember that I can't touch these stupid things. I always end up getting them all smudgy. Maybe I should just suck it up and spend the money to get new contacts." she grumbled, wiping off the lenses of her glasses with the bottom of her shirt. I continued to glare at her.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded.

She looked up from her rubbing, squinting to make me out. "I came to see if you're all right. You wouldn't talk to Gaz, so I figured I would give it a try."

I sighed and rolled my eyes, "I'm fine, alright? I just had a bad day."

She replaced her glasses on her face, blinking as her eyes adjusted to being able to see, again, "You wanna talk about it?"

I lied back down, burying my face, once again, in my pillow. "Not really."

"Wanna talk about something else?"

I leaned up on one elbow, giving her my best grumpy look, "Why are you so insistent on getting me talking?"

"Why are you so insistent to keep quiet?" she countered.

I opened my mouth to counter attack, but found myself at a loss. I shoved my face back into my pillow, instead, "You wouldn't understand."

I could hear her moving around, and then felt a light pressure on the bed beside me. I looked up with one eye to see that she had moved the chair closer, and had leaned back in it, making herself completely comfortable, her legs stretched out so that her feet were propped up on the bed at my side. She was wearing two different socks.

"Try me." she offered.

Once again, rolling my eyes and sighing at her persistence, I relented and rolled over on my back. Once I started talking, I found it hard to stop, my mouth seeming to just vomit the information out straight from my brain with such a force and speed that it was almost as if a dam had broke somewhere. After it was all out, we sat in silence for a few moments.

"Sounds like you're jealous." she observed, finally, breaking through the quiet that had settled.

I turned my head to glare at her, "I am not jealous." I stated.

"Oh, really, now?" she asked, raising one eyebrow, "Well, it certainly sounds that way to me."

"Well you're wrong. I mean, what do I have to be jealous of? He's just some kid. Just because he completely replaced me as the only person who can stand up against Zim doesn't mean—"

"Uh huh." Error interrupted, unimpressed, "Dib, didn't you decide to leave this town, knowing that it would leave Zim unguarded?"

"Well, yeah, but Zim's kind of a moron. If he hadn't taken over in that long, then—"

"Exactly. Zim is an idiot when it comes to his job, so why do you care so much this Stan kid replaced you as his adversary?"

"I don't!" I insisted.

"Ugh!" Error threw her hands in the air, rising to her feet, "You are so stubborn! Leave it to J to—" she cut off, quickly, a strangely guilty look on her face.

"What?"

"N-nothing, forget it, it doesn't matter." she insisted, a little too quickly.

"No, no, what were you going to say?" I asked, intrigued, "Leave it to who? J? Leave it to him to do what? What are you talking about?"

"Nothing!" She insisted, again, making her way to the door, "Look, forget I said anything. It doesn't matter. I-I have to go. Just…be careful, alright? Keep your emotions in check, right now, no matter what. This is an especially dangerous situation. You have to keep yourself from acting on your jealousy and doing something stupid, alright? Promise?"

"Look, I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Just promise me!" she insisted, again, her eyes reflecting some kind of frightened determined emotion that I had never seen before.

"I—alright, I promise, but—"

"Good." she interrupted, and then left. I could hear her running down the stairs and out the front door. I moved to my window and watched her as she pulled out a cell phone and stood at the end of the walk with it up to her ear, waiting, it seemed, for the other party to pick up. After a few seconds she started to talk avidly, gesturing wildly with her free hand. After a moment or so she looked up towards my window. She must have seen me, because she suddenly started walking away from the house, down the street and out of sight, leaving me more confused than ever.

oooIIIooo

I must have seemed distracted the next day when meeting up with Stan, because, ah hour or so into our planning, he stopped, put down his pencil, and just…stared at me.

"What?" I asked, slightly unnerved by his gaze.

"What's wrong?"

I bushed him off, not really wanting to get into it with this guy that I barely trusted. "Nothing, let's just get back to work."

He didn't listen, still staring at me with is pencil on the table, "No, there is something. Your concentration is completely non-existent. We both need to be in complete mental control if we're gonna defeat Zim, so really, what's wrong?"

I sighed and rubbed my eyes under my glasses. He was right, of course. I hadn't been able to stop thinking about the odd events of the night before all day. But how was I supposed to talk him about the fact that Zim had replaced me or that he was somehow better than me? I decided to focus, instead, on one of the smaller worries that had been tugging at the edges of my brain.

"There's this girl…" I started.

Stan rolled his eyes, "You're letting yourself get all distracted because of some silly love affair?"

I blanched. He was taking it all wrong, "No, no, no! Nothing like that! She's a friend of my sister's who's staying with us for a while—"

"Your sister has friends?" he interrupted, completely taken aback by the notion.

I had to chuckle, "That's what I thought, but it seems to be true. She's in town for some kind of business, something that Gaz cares about, so she's letting her crash in the spare bedroom."

"Probably in for some kind of videogame function."

"That's what I thought, as well, but….she refuses to talk about what she does for a living…and went as far to assure me that Gaz cares about things other than videogames, which makes me think that she doesn't work anywhere near the gaming industry, but every time I ask her about her job, she looks uncomfortable and changes the subject. The weirdest thing is…that Gaz actually listens to her. I've seen them arguing and she just…backs down to this girl's will. It's the strangest thing I've ever seen."

Stan's eye's narrowed behind his glasses. I could swear that I could see some sort of…malice reflected in them. "Go on." he urged.

"What is it? What are you thinking?"

"I just have a bit of an idea who your visitor might be, just…go on, tell me more."

I was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable and embarrassed under his stare, but did as he asked, "Well, the weirdest thing happened last night: she and I were talking about…some things, and she got all flustered because she mentioned some guy…some 'Jay' person, and then rushed out of the house, starting to talk on her cell phone the minute she was out the door. It was…what?"

Stan's face had started to become red with some intense emotion and his eyes were narrowed more than ever, pure hate reflected in their cool blue depths. "What did you say this girl's name was?" he asked, barely able to control the level of his voice.

"She calls herself 'Error', but admitted it was just a nickname. I don't know her real name. What are you thinking?" I asked, again.

It took a moment for Stan to calm down and control his breathing before he was able to answer. "I think that she's a spy."

I looked at him like he was crazy. "A spy? For whom?"

"Zim, the Irkens, someone whose best interests would revolve around getting you out of the picture."

I thought about it for a moment, remembering how uncomfortable she seemed while joking about being a secret agent. Maybe…nah, that was ridiculous. "I doubt it, I mean, why would Zim care enough to send a spy to keep an eye on me?" I cringed, inwardly, thinking about how Zim didn't even care enough anymore to turn on his security system when I was around, "And besides, even if she were a spy, how would she be controlling Gaz? I mean, my sister never really cared about saving the world, but she always helped out when absolutely necessary. There's no way she could just be going along with it all."

"Maybe she's under mind control, like that Tak alien was able to do in your notes."

I thought on that for a minute, and then realized the error, "But Gaz was never effected by Tak's mind powers. I don't think that she can by hypnotized."

Stan's frustration was growing, and he stood, throwing his hands in the air, "Either way, how can you just sit there and defend her when she's probably some Irken spy bend on destroying you!"

"She hasn't done anything so far except act kind of strangely and try to be my friend." I stated.

"She's just trying to earn your trust so she can betray you later on!"

I had to admit, what he was saying was starting to make sense. But still, there was that nagging feeling in the back of my mind. Something telling me that this guy wasn't to be trusted. However, my natural sense of curiosity was, at the moment, overriding my sense of logic. "Still, how can we tell whether she's aspy or not? She keeps her room locked at all times."

"And that never tipped you off that something weird was going on?"

"Well, not really. I mean, I lock my door, too—"

"But she's a guest in your house! What should she have to hide from her hosts?"

I sighed, relenting, "Fine. You want to go break into her room and see what she's up to, we'll do it. However, if we get caught, I am not taking the fall for this with my sister. You can be the one she dooms for all this, cos I'm not."

Stan's grin grew the widest I had ever seen it, and his unnaturally blue eyes sparkled dangerously. "Deal."

oooIIIooo

"I can't believe I'm doing this." I muttered for what seemed like the millionth time as I jiggled the paperclip I had found even further into the lock on Error's door.

"Oh, quit your bitching and pick the lock," Stan encouraged from his position at the stairs where he was keeping an eye out for my sister or her friend.

"You're the one who wants to do this so badly, why aren't you the one picking the lock?" I demanded, blowing my bangs out of my face.

"Because I don't know how—I could never master it with a paperclip," he admitted. I felt a small twinge of pride at finally finding something that I was better at than him, "although," he continued, "a credit card is much more effective and quicker, but hey, it's your house, you pick the break in methods." That warm feeling faded as suddenly as it appeared, leaving my insides icy and cold. Deciding to just ignore it, I focused my attention once again on the lock.

Finally, I heard the click of the tumbler falling into place, and the spare bedroom door creaked open. "Yes!" I breathed, standing up and wiping off the knees of my pants.

"Finally!" Stan grunted from behind me as he left his post. He looked at me, expectantly, and made a gesture that I should go first, "After you."

I looked at him like he was nuts, "Why do I have to go first? That was your idea!"

That exasperated look returned. "Cos it's your house, remember? Will you just go?"

I sighed and rolled my eyes at his stubbornness. Then, taking a deep breath, I opened the door to Error's room. I fumbled a moment or so for the light switch and then, flicking it on, gasped at what lie before me.

The walls were covered with diagrams and pictures. Almost every spare inch had some sort of paper covering the surface: movement reports, maps, everything relating to four key people: Gaz, Zim, Stan, and…myself.

"What the hell is all this stuff?" I breathed, staring at each picture and handwritten note in turn.

I could hear Stan chuckle behind me, "See? I told you she was a spy." I could tell by his voice that his stupid smug grin had returned and for some reason I wanted to punch him.

"Hey! Look at this!" Stan exclaimed, digging through a pile of video disks. I walked over to where he was standing, looking at the disks' titles over his shoulder: Zim Eats Waffles, Room With A Moose, Future Dib, Gaz Taster Of Pork—all making reference to events that had happened in my childhood. I felt a small chill run up my spine. How long had this girl been watching me?

"What the hell is going on, here?" A voice from behind me demanded. Stan and I both whirled around to face the intruder.

Error stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed behind her glasses.

I swallowed down my first instinctual emotion of fear at being caught and replaced it instead with the indignant anger than had been rising since I walked in the room, "You know, I could ask you the same question!" I stated.

Error's angry scowl faltered, and she shook her head, "Dib, look, this isn't what it looks like."

"Then what is it, huh? Cos it looks to me like you've been spying on me! And for a very long time, as well! Is this," I threw a handful of papers at her, which fluttered harmlessly to the floor, "your 'Top Secret' business that you were sent here for? Huh? To spy on me and my family?"

"Dib—"

"No, I don't want to hear any excuses!' I interrupted, holding my hand up, "What I want to know is who sent you? Why are you here? I want answers."

"Yeah," Stan agreed, coming out from behind me to lean on the edge of the dresser, his voice dripping with amusement, "Why don't you give us some answers, Erin?"

Error's eyes grew wide with surprise, and then narrowed, again, pure hate making them dangerous, "You!" she breathed.

I looked between the two of them, confused about the turn that this conversation was taking, " You two…know each other?"

Stan pushed himself off the dresser, "Oh, we know each other, alright, don't we Erin?"

"Damn it, Stan, do you have any idea how many rules you're breaking by having this much influence in this Test? You're violating every treaty that—"

"I'm breaking the rules!" Stan interrupted, "Says the girl who's been living in the subject's house for the entirety of the Test! You're really funny, Erin, you know that?"

I was becoming more confused by the second. Test? Rules? Treaty? Subject? What the hell? "Uh, can I interject here for a moment—"

"I wouldn't have to be here if you hadn't have put a shield around the Testing area. I could barely make it though last time, you can't blame me for taking a bit of precaution this time around. "

"How is your hand, anyhow?" Stan sneered, " I hope you didn't get burned too badly from trying to get into my club. You should know better than to go where you're not invited."

"Hey!" I shouted. Both heads turned towards me, pausing in their argument, "Do you think that maybe one of you could tell me what the hell is going on?"

Stan's smug grin grew wider as he gestured towards Error, "Yes, dear, why don't you tell little Dib here what's going on?"

Error glared at the blond boy, "You know I can't do that."

"Why not?" I demanded.

"Yes," Stan agreed, "Why not?"

Error whirled on him, her hands clenching into angry fists at her side, "Will you stop trying to make matters worse, here? You've fucked this all up, enough, damn it!"

Stan laughed, good naturedly, "Tsk, tsk, little one, I'm not sure your boss would appreciate such language from one of his trainees."

Error glared at him again, and then sighed, and turned towards me, "Look, Dib, I can't tell you what's going on. Enough rules have been broken here, on both sides, " she directed the last few words towards Stan's direction, "that, while this Test has been essentially ruined, I can't take the risk of screwing up, anymore."

"I don't understand." I stated.

She ran a hand through her hair, "I know you don't. That's the point. And some people," again, the last words directed towards Stan, "like to take advantage of that fact. Jus—"

"Oh, for the love of…" Stan interrupted, and made a flicking motion towards me with his hand. Suddenly I couldn't move. My arms and legs seemed to be frozen in place. I opened my mouth to scream but found that I couldn't do that, either. I was essentially paralyzed.

Error turned on the laughing Stan, "Let him go! You're not helping things, any!" She shouted.

"And you're just wasting my time, and his, by explaining to the boy why you can't explain anything to him. It's pointless. Let's just agree that this Test is default and let him move on to the next. All this talk is useless, seeing as how he's mine there, anyhow."

Error's entire body tensed, as if she wanted to hit him, but then relaxed as she let out a defeated breath. "Fine. The Test is default. He moves on. But I swear, if you do anything to hurt him or betray the set Rules of these Tests—"

"What are you going to do to stop me, Erin, really? You can't get into the final Test—I'm the only one with the correct energy to do so. And if the way this Test was leaning is any indication, well," he le out a smug chuckle and shrugged, "you're screwed!"

I could tell by the way the Error's jaw clenched as he laughed at her that she was trying to hold back angry tears. I tried to struggle against my restraints or call out to her that this wasn't her fault, whatever was happening, but couldn't.

"Now, if you wouldn't mind," Stan was saying, calming himself from his laughter fit, "I would appreciate it if you do that little snappy thing that you people do to send him on. We really should be going."

Error's jaw tightened all the more and she drew in a ragged breath. Turning to me her eyes softened, and she raised her hand, her fingers curled in a snapping position, "I'm sorry, Dib. I thought I could handle it. I'm sorry." She whispered. Then, closing her eyes, she snapped her fingers and my world exploded.

A/n: Well, there, you guys go. Hopefully it was well worth the wait. The next few chapters are pretty much the climax of the story, and therefore will be out quickly (hopefully) and be slightly on the dramatic side, much like the end of this one was.

Thank you so much for your patience and to Dibsthe1 and Lael Adair for reading through my other chapter to give me second and third opinions on what path I should take.

As always, R and R, and thank you, again, for putting up with this long of a hiatus.

j