Disclaimer: I don't own Invader Zim.
Gaz leaned against the stop sign, watching the last kids straggle out of the school across the street – most of them were thoroughly bundled in bright yellow rain slickers, galoshes, umbrellas. There were only a few who, like Gaz, could face the weather unaided, letting the fine mist fleck whatever surface was exposed.
Clouds had turned the sky into a dark-gray mass that seemed to hang too closely over their heads. From above, a pervasive wetness billowed downward as a spray instead of falling in drops.
Gaz clenched a fist and kicked at a shallow puddle on the sidewalk. Her shirt was sticking to the back of her neck.
Finally, a figure appeared in the doorway of the school. The figure glanced across at her, then opened a black umbrella. He began carefully picking his way toward her, avoiding puddles and hopping gingerly over the gutters that ran with dark water.
"Talk, small female," said Zim. He held the umbrella closely over his head.
Gaz wiped the hair out of her face.
"You're incompetent," Gaz said again.
"No time for small-talking. Only propositioning will be heard!"
"But," continued the human, "you have access to alien technology."
"I know," said Zim. "Faster; talk faster!" His hands tightened on the umbrella's handle.
"I'll talk at whatever pace I like," said Gaz, leaning against the stop sign again. "Now: you were sent here to take over the planet, right?"
"Yes."
"That means that whoever sent you must have given you the right stuff for the job. Like a spaceship, and that dog, and technology and all that." She glanced up. "Right?"
"Right."
"But as we know, you're too stupid to manage it."
"Only the propositioning will be heard, or else silence!" roared Zim.
Gaz folded her arms:
"Here it is: I'll help you."
The rain picked up. Gaz shivered slightly. Zim glared at her.
"I require no help from a pitiful monkey," he said.
"Clearly, you do," rejoined Gaz, "or else you'd have conquered this stupid rock a long time ago."
The rain continued to tap softly on the umbrella as Zim thought.
"Why?" he asked finally.
"Why what?"
"Why help me?"
"I'm sick of it," said Gaz. "I'm sick of you. I'm sick of Dib and Dad trying to fix the world. But mostly, I'm sick of the six thousand million other people on this worthless planet who think that getting their pants on in the morning is something to be proud of.
"They don't know anything about anything. I'd teach them."
"Hum," said Zim. "You realize that when this planet is conquered I have to hand it over to my superiors."
"That's negotiable," said Gaz, with a wave of her hand. "First things first: walk me home."
Zim stared.
"What?"
"I'm soaked," said Gaz.
"It is no concern of mine that you were unprepared for weather," said Zim.
"Look," said Gaz. She formed her right hand into a fist and held it level with his eye. "If you don't share that umbrella with me, I'm just going to take it. I'm sure that would be unpleasant."
Two figures moved down the sidewalk in the early winter dusk. As rain fell on all sides, they huddled close under a black umbrella made for one.