Disclaimer: I will probably never own Invader Zim
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Darkness. That's what I open my eyes to. Sitting up in bed, I look at my alarm clock, shining the only light in my room. It's 2:38 am. Ugh. I slump back into bed, willing myself to go back to sleep. The sounds of wind and cars drift through my cracked window, and I feel myself being lulled back to dreamland, when I hear something else. Somebody is talking, quietly, I can't make out what they're saying, but it doesn't sound like English. It's not coming from the window, it sounds like it's coming from the living room. The momentary rush of fear that runs up my spine wakes me up completely, and I sit up in bed like a rocket and listen intently.
God, I'm an idiot. Of course it's just Zim. He's muttering to himself, in Irken, of course, but I can't make out what he's saying. I'm not going to be going back to sleep anytime soon, so I guess I might as well go see what he's doing. Making the initiative to get out of bed, I fumble in the darkness for slippers and a robe, and open the door.
It's dark in the living room, which is not what I was expecting. Idiot, obviously if the light was on it would have come in under the door… Maybe Zim is doing something that needs to be done in the dark? I want some light, so I close my door almost all the way and turn on my bedroom light so the living room is barely illuminated. Now, I can see him.
The air mattress he sleeps in arrived three days ago, and during the day we lean it against the wall, but at night we put it on the floor behind the couch, in front of my door. He's asleep, facing away from me, curled into a fetal position. His antennae are twitching, and his muttering hasn't stopped. I look over at Gir, who is powered off into sleep mode. When Zim told me that was a possibility I was happy, but now I would like his help. I have no idea how to turn Gir back on, so I guess it's just me and Zim.
I gently kneel on the ground and scoot closer, just to see what's going on and if I can make out what he's saying. I can't see his face, but his shoulders are hunched together with his hands clenched tightly in front of his chest. His voice was getting louder and his head turned more into the pillow.
"...ú shi kaí. Kaí mipta'ú. Kaí mipta'ú fin gach giʻot." I can't. I can't… Can't what? "Rith." Please. "Kaí pa kaorkúzh al." He's having a nightmare. I can't help the sorrow that swells in my chest, I know there's something that's happened to him in his past, and he's still suffering from it. Not rationally thinking at all, I grab his shoulder and gently shake a few times.
"Zim… Zim, wake up!" I try to sound as gentle as I possibly can, wishing I knew how to say it in Irken.
"Kaí pat'ú…"
"Zim, please."
"Finú daz kaí, al túyod kaos!" All at once, he yells and whips around, grabbing me before I can process what happened.
"Zim!" I yell in surprise. His eyes snap open, and he lets go and falls back against the back of the couch. The air is tense, with the sound of his panicked breathing echoing all around me. "Are you okay?" I slowly scoot towards him, lifting my hands up to try and calm him. He looks like a wild animal, cornered and on the verge of attacking.
"It's okay. You were just sleeping, there's nothing here." He blinks, seemingly seeing me for the first time since waking, and takes a deep breath.
"That is wrong." He chokes out, defeat dripping in his words.
"No, look, it's just me, I promise. No one is going to hurt you." His breath catches in his throat, almost like he's about to cry.
"I hurt you." He whispers.
"What? Zim, come on, you would never hurt me." As soon as I say those words, I can feel it. My cheek is stinging. Gently touching my face, I can feel a scratch on my left cheek, doesn't seem to be too deep, but I pull my fingers back to see blood. He must've accidentally scratched me when he woke up. I look to Zim, and he looks devastated.
"It's okay Zim! It was an accident, okay?" I reach out to comfort him, but he covers his face in his hands, and… cries. I didn't know he could cry.
"Woah, woah, hey, it's okay." I crawl awkwardly over the air mattress to sit next to him. I don't really know how to do this, but I'm going to give it my best shot. Gently, I place my hand on his shoulder and rub my thumb in a soothing manner, I think. Like what they do on TV?
"It's okay, I forgive you."
"Kaí kho z̀eír leyú." I am a… he drops his hands and leans his head back, staring at the ceiling. His antennae are drooping lifelessly at the sides of his head, I've never seen them do that before.
"No, you're not." I don't know what he said, but I can use context clues. "Look at me, Zim, look at me!" He looks away, gasping for breath, his hands shaking. I soften my voice, and reach forward with my other hand to guide his face back towards mine. His eyes look so dark and aimless, and filled with shame.
"I am." He whispers, pushing my hand away from his face. It's hard to see in this light, but his tears are almost unrealistically blue, like tiny drops of a tropical shore on a sunny day.
"I… I don't believe that. I think you have been-"
"You do not know me." He hisses, glancing at me for a second before turning back away.
"Sure." I sigh. "Maybe I don't know anything about you, but I think I know enough about judging character to tell that you are not a bad person. Irken. Whatever." He doesn't say anything, and continues to stare silently into nothingness. I scoot the last few inches to fully sit next to him and recline against the back of the couch so we sit side by side. He's shaking, with every deep and rattling breath he takes I can feel the couch vibrate. He's rubbing his hands together with such fervor I'm worried he'll rip one of his fingers off, so I reach over and place my hand over his. Gently, I'm able to actually hold his hand and rub my thumb against the back of his hand, and he slowly begins to calm down. Deeper and slower breaths, and the shaking subsides as we sit together in the dim light of the living room.
"I am sorry." He says, so quietly I could mistake it for the wind outside.
"Why? There's no need to be sorry."
"I have… scare you. All day and night."
"No you haven't." His hand squeezes tighter around mine, and he takes a deep breath.
"I near kill you." His voice cracks.
"No." I lean forward so quickly it's almost as if the couch was on fire. "Listen to me." His eyes slowly lock onto mine. "That was an accident, and I forgive you. I forgive you, do you understand?" He nods. "Look, I know that you have obviously been through… something, and I don't know what it is, and you don't have to tell me, but it's not your fault. It's just not."
"How do you know that."
"I just do." I lean back against the couch and relax my posture. "My mom died when I was thirteen. She had breast cancer."
"What is that?"
"Oh, it's when… your body is made of little things, right? We call them cells."
"Yes?"
"Yeah, cancer is when those cells grow without ever stopping. The cells are… wrong."
"Oh. That is chiz̀eídoízhoílaolkeí on Irk. It is old chiukh."
"That's one hell of a mouthful." He laughs softly.
"Yes."
"Anyway, she was sick for a long time, and near the end she had so many procedures and drugs and she was so sick… She just wasn't herself anymore, and I was so tired of the constant stress, and all the times that I was told to say goodbye to her, that I wanted it to be over. She wasn't my mom anymore, her brain didn't work right. Then, I told my dad that I wanted her to die. He said he understood, and my therapist said that that was normal, but when she finally did die… It was awful. In the days following her death I felt so regretful." I can feel the tears coming to my eyes, but I know I have to continue.
"I missed her, and I realized I was wrong and how could I say such a horrible thing? I felt like a monster. She was my mother, and I loved her." Now I can feel Zim's hand tightening around mine.
"I felt so guilty. Like it was my fault, like I got what I wanted."
"But it was not your fault." He says.
"Obviously. Of course it wasn't. That's where I'm going with this, Zim. My childhood
was traumatic. It wasn't my fault that she died, but it took me years of therapy to stop feeling like such a monster that wasted my last months with my mother still alive. I still feel guilty, and I don't know if that feeling will ever go away, but I have to tell myself that my trauma was not my fault." I can feel my energy draining away with all of these emotions, and I find myself leaning on Zim's shoulder.
"My feelings towards her when she was sick was not my fault. Your reactions to being scared are not your fault. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. You are a good person, Zim. Whatever happened before now, it is in the past."
"I am not, though,"
"Oh, for God's sake, I'm too tired for-"
"I kill my father. That was my fault." Somehow it is quieter in this room then it ever has been, and Zim stiffens against me as he continues to talk.
"I kill him. He is dead, because of me. I did that."
"Why?" I whisper.
"He was bad."
"Did he hurt you?" Silence. "Zim, did he hurt you?"
"He hurt my mother." Oh. "Git khí'oízh chiz̀eídoízhoílaolkeí mí chuch veírnaoʻit." He was cancer in our family.
"Do you feel guilty?"
"No. That is why I am bad, too."
"Well, I still forgive you." He scoffed at this and leaned his head on mine.
"I do not know why."
"Because… sometimes in situations like that, you gotta do what you gotta do. I don't know how that all went down, sure, but from what I know about you, if he didn't deserve it you would feel guilty. I don't think you're a monster, Zim."
"Hmm."
"Let's change the subject. Do you want to watch a movie?" I don't know how, but somehow I can sense that he smiled.
"Yes, please."
"Alrighty then, come on, you." I move to get up and help Zim up, but like usual, he's already standing and offering me a hand.
"Thanks."
"Al kha sis."
"So I was thinking, given the atmosphere of tonight that we watch a comedy." Zim settles in his usual spot, on the right side of the couch, leaning against the arm. After I grab the remote, I go to sit on the other side, but given everything that's happened, I sit closer to him just in case he needs a hand to hold.
"What is a comedy?"
"Something funny, you know, 'ha ha ha?'"
"Ah, I understand."
"Yep! I don't own this movie so I'm going to have to rent it." I mumble under my breath as I navigate through all the right pages to get to where I want to be, finally finding, renting, and settling down under a blanket to watch it. 80's style electronic music fills the room, and a montage of machinery appears on the screen, opening credits along the way.
"What does that say?" Zim says.
"A Turman-Foster Company."
"What about that?"
"Short Circuit. That's the title, you'll like it, I promise."
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She was right, I do like it. I don't understand some of the words, of course, but I can grasp the general plot of the movie. I don't know how humans have been able to make robots that look real, but can't make actual robots. Gaz has explained to me that they're fake, some sort of 'movie magic' she says, but I'm still baffled by it. The robot in this film, 'Johnny 5' looks real enough, but even if it was real, It also looks far too primitive to fix anything still wrong with Gir. Unfortunately. I can only do my best with the limited tools I have.
Gaz said this movie was made 'thirty years ago', which is why the technology looks so old. I had the good knowledge not to say that her technology still looks old, but yes, this does look older. I did learn something useful about this though, that this planet has some sort of army or military. Gaz confirmed this was real. I'm making a mental note to avoid them, considering that this planet is apparently pre-contact.
I haven't heard of a pre-contact planet in a long time. Of course I know that they exist, but I suppose that given the all encompassing size of the Irken Empire that such a thing is almost a ghost of the past. That means that this planet is far enough away that I'll never have to worry about them again. Good.
"Mmmm…" Gaz mumbles in her sleep. According to the time-keeping device on the table, she's been asleep for thirty four earth minutes, or a little less than half an hour to me. In her sleep she has fallen against my shoulder, and I don't dare move her. She is unlike anything I have ever seen before, and somehow there is a familiarity around her that is comforting. I can't believe how lucky I must've been for her to have found me, as I still don't feel deserving of her care. No matter what she says, I know I don't deserve it.
For the first time though, I do feel safe and calm. No obligations or missions, or father… Just this house, and this young planet, and Gaz.
She has fur only on her head, long fur, which is strange, and it's a dark purple. The roots of the fur are black, so I have a feeling she has changed the color of her fur as some sort of earth beauty ritual. I must agree it is quite captivating, and soft… Although I am unused to the odd shade of her skin, and her small eyes, I find her face pretty. She is smart, confident, and calm in the face of stress, and I suppose that makes her even more so in my eyes. As I run my fingers through her fur, and watch this silly movie about robots that do not actually exist, I feel that for the first time my life has gone in a better direction.
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"Jesuc Christ this is taking forever. What's next on the docket?"
"Sir, yes Sir! We suggest that we investigate the college in the next town over, sir. There are two hundred and thirty six women that fit our parameters there, sir." The soldier saluted and stepped back.
"Good lord, that's a lot of women. Any way we can cut that number down?"
"I don't understand, sir."
"Shit, private, you know what, find out how many of them have missed a class after the friday of the crash."
"Uhhh…" He types in his computer briefly. "Fifty two women missed at least one class in the next seven days following the crash."
"How about the next three days?"
"Twelve."
"Wonderful! Print out those names, round up the troops, and let's find this girl! Just to be safe, give me the names of everybody else too."
"Yes, Sir!"