Gaz shifted in the bed, pulling the blankets tighter around her, annoyed as she found herself drifting out of dreamland. She squeezed her eyes tighter in an effort to fall back asleep, irritated that she was waking up in the middle of the night. Well, she assumed it was the middle of the night, but since she was underground, there was no real way to tell. She opened her eyes, and squinted at the digital clock on the nightstand. 4:32 am. So, not technically the middle of the night, but definitely still dark outside. She sighed, and buried her face in the pillow. She had to admit, it was so nice to sleep in a real bed again. Sleeping in a sleeping bag on the cold hard forest floor was not comfortable.

In her inability to sleep, she reflected on the weird occurances of the night before. After they had drunk their tea, Phil had declared that it was late, and said it was time to sleep. Of course, Gaz immediately pointed out that there was only one couch and a chair, and just as she was offering to sleep in the chair so Zim could get the couch (completely ignoring Dib), Phil laughed, and said that she and her brother could sleep in his guest room, and Zim could take the couch. This led to another subsequent freakout from Dib, questioning why Phil had a guest room, but their gracious host just brushed it off. However, another problem arose from that confrontation.

Zim quickly objected to sleeping alone, and in front of Dib and Phil, professed that he wanted to 'sleep with Gaz.' Phil somehow regained his calm composure, but Dib yelled for a bit before Gaz was able to calm him down. After some vague explanations, and a raised eyebrow from Phil, Zim got his wish, albeit with a stern warning from Phil about "Keep it to just sleeping, okay?" and the two of them settled down to sleep in the comfortable queen sized bed that Phil had set up in his surprise guest bedroom.

They didn't have much time to explore Phil's bunker apartment before he shooed them off to bed, but it looked quite normal, and was decorated tastefully. Their guest bedroom had a nice persian rug, framed paintings of nature scenes, and even spare sets of slippers. Gaz had to admit, it was a bit odd that he had a guest bedroom, but she didn't want to upset Phil. He did save them, after all.

She sighed, and rolled over, absentmindedly scooting towards the middle of the bed, hoping to catch some of the warmth that radiated off Zim, but her sleepy, hazy mind became increasingly disappointed as she reached out to find that he wasn't there. She furrowed her brows in frustration, and reached out, her hand grasping for his hoodie, but she only met more empty sheets. Opening her eyes, she sat up to finally look. The only illumination in the room was from the clock on the nightstand, but in the soft red light, she could see that Zim wasn't in bed, and he wasn't in the room. She glanced to the door that led to the adjourning bathroom, and frowned at the fact that the door was open and the light was off. He wasn't there either.

Gaz sat up in bed, and leaned back on her hands, her sleepy mind trying to put together the pieces of where Zim might have gone. She wasn't able to get far on her train of thought, before the sound of a cabinet closing interrupted her thoughts. Her fight or flight began to kick in, as she worried about a burglar or someone in the apartment, before the logic part of her brain pumped the brakes. They were several stories underground, in a secret nuclear bunker that was owned by the Mothman. Not only could a burglar not find this place, they probably wouldn't dare to break into it!

With that in mind, she realized that it was probably Zim in the kitchen. Gaz sighed to herself as she decided to get up from the warm bed to see what he was up to. She folded the blankets back, and slipped her feet into the spare pair of slippers that Phil provided her, and padded softly towards the door. When she opened the door, the soft light from the kitchen melted into the hallway, and Gaz turned to follow it, wrapping her arms tightly around herself to feel warmer. She squinted her eyes against the bright light of the kitchen as she rounded the corner, and saw Zim, sitting at the small dining table, the container of granulated sugar in front of him, and a spoon in his hand. She frowned slightly. She knew that sugar was some sort of comfort for him, so he must be upset.

She took another step closer, and his antenna snapped upwards as he turned to face her, the alarm on his face quickly melting away into relaxation. He lowered his hand down against the table, the spoon he's holding gently clinks against the wood.

"Gaz." He says, shifting in his seat to face her more. "Why are you awake?" Gaz closes the distance between her and the table, and quietly pulls out a chair to sit down.

"I just woke up… I was cold, I think, but I heard you here, in the kitchen, so I came to investigate."

"Oh." Zim's antenna droop against his head with shame. "I am sorry I awake you."

"No! No you didn't." She reaches a hand forward, covering his hand with hers. "I woke up on my own, it happens sometimes, so it wasn't your fault. You didn't wake me."

"Okay…" He turns his attention back to the nearly empty canister of sugar, dipping his spoon in for another mouthful of the stuff. Gaz watches him eat it, with mild disgust and intrigue, as she gently rubs her thumb against the side of his hand in comfort. It was eerie how quiet it is down here in the bunker. No sounds of crickets, or passing cars, just the sound of her own heartbeat, and Zim's breathing. She scoots in a little closer to him, and she can almost smell the sweet sugar on his breath. He flicks his eyes up at her occasionally as he eats, but doesn't look at her for long.

"Zim?" His eyes flick back upwards, meeting hers. "Did… Did you have another nightmare?" He immediately looks back down at the sugar canister, tightening his grip around the spoon.

"Yes." He mumbles. Gaz sighs, and rubs her thumb comfortingly over his again, and takes a deep breath.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." He says firmly, digging his spoon into the sugar, the metal scratching against the glass at the bottom.

"That's okay, Zim. It's okay. You don't have to if you don't want to. We can just sit here, and hang out, okay?"

"Okay." He murmurs. Gaz smiles reassuringly, but he doesn't look up to see it.

"Hey Zim?"

"Yeah?"

"Marco." Gaz says softly, making sure to smile as he looks up to her.

"Polo." He whispers. She rubs his hand again, and he looks back down. The two of them sit there, comforted by each other's presence, almost melting into the background of the still night. As the minutes go by, Zim seems to relax a bit, slouching in his seat, occasionally humming a note or two to himself, as he finishes off the canister. He sighs disappointedly as he eats his last spoonful, and gently deposits his spoon into the empty glass container. He leans back into his chair, but doesn't pull his arm away from Gaz, letting her continue to hold his hand. His chest rises and falls as he breathes languidly, and he rests his free hand in his lap, his fingers twitching every so often as if he were dreaming. His skin is cool to the touch, but not incredibly so, as if he stepped outside on a winter's night for only a moment. As Gaz rubs her thumb against the side of his hand, she can feel the small, criss crossing scars across his knuckles, one of them arching up the side of his hand.

Suddenly, his antenna snap up, and he looks past Gaz in alarm, down into the darkened hallway. Gaz turns, confused as to what could have drawn his attention, when Phil quietly stepped out of the shadows, into the dim light pouring out of the kitchen. He wore a thick and comfortable looking wool dressing gown, reaching almost down to his ankles, and Gaz had to bite back a laugh at the silly bunny slippers he had on his feet. The dark colored pajama pants he was wearing almost touched the ground, and although she had to squint, Gaz could see the slight plaid pattern on them. Phil folded his arms in disapproval, and tilted his head at the pair.

"What are you two doing up?" He asked, a touch of humor and parental scorn in his voice.

"Oh, well, I woke up and-"

"I do not sleep good." Zim said, already looking back down at the empty canister. He reached a hand up to fiddle with the spoon, the quiet tinking sound of the metal hitting the glass filling the air. Phil sticks his hands in the pockets of his robe, and takes a few steps closer to them, getting a better look at the empty container of sugar.

"I'm sorry to hear that Zim." He says politely. "But you two realize that Dib is sleeping just over there? You could wake him."

"Are you kidding?" Gaz says sardonically. "He sleeps like a rock. I could slap him and he would just roll over. Trust me, I've done it."

"Well, in that case, I suppose all I can do is suggest to you that it's quite early, and you should try to go back to sleep." He walks into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water, making sure to give Zim a wide berth as he walks. Gaz watches him as he sips from the glass, he's looking at Zim, almost studying him, but his face almost reads as concern rather than intrigue. He must have noticed Gaz's staring, so he looks away from Zim, almost shamefully, his round red eyes landing on her.

"Why are you awake?" Gaz asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, to be perfectly honest, I heard the two of you talking."

"Oh." Gaz laces her fingers together. She normally wouldn't care about disturbing someone's sleep, but this guy did save their lives…

"Gaz?" Phil says, drawing her attention back up to him.

"Yeah?"

"You uh, you have a little something…" He makes a vague gesture to his face, and Gaz knits her eyebrows in confusion.

"What?" Phil shifts to the side a bit, and then tries again.

"You… You have a little makeup-"

"Oh!" That old mascara she was wearing must have smudged. "Thanks, I have a makeup wipe in… in the car. Damn!"

Phil frowns, and opens his mouth to speak before Zim interjects.

"Car?" He asks.

"You know, the car?" Gaz mimics a steering wheel, and then the realization hits him.

"Aokh zadkhoj! Eg ngaongíoízh aokh zadkhoj!" He looks alarmed, and almost falls over from standing up so quickly.

"Zim! Zim, it's okay! What's wrong?" Gaz slowly stands from her seat, and raises her hands in a reassuring manner. "What is it?"

"My… my…" He moves his hands, miming a box in the air. "We leave it… we leave it!"

"Your… oh shit! Your briefcase!" Fuck! Gaz knew how attached he was to that thing. It was possibly his most prized possession, besides maybe Gir.

"I need it!" Zim cried out. "I need to get it!"

"Zim, you can't just go-"

"I'll get it." Phil says calmly. Zim snaps his head up at Phil, and narrows his eyes.

"You do not touch Zim briefcase." He hissed, straightening himself out as much as he could, rising to his full height. Phil kept his cool, besides the initial surprise on his face, but he takes a calming step back, and tries again.

"It's okay, Zim. I know these woods, I can-"

"No." Zim growls. "I will get."

"Zim." Gaz reaches out to gently touch his shoulder. "It's okay. It's not safe for you to go out there."

"I need it."

"I know. But you can trust Phil to get it, okay?" Zim's lips press together into a tight line, as he glances from Gaz to Phil, and then back to Gaz, and then he sighs.

"Phil, you will get it?"

"Yes. I promise you'll have it by the time you wake up. What does it look like?"

"Oh." Gaz takes the lead for this, because she knows that Zim doesn't know many descriptive words. "It's about the size of a regular briefcase, although a little thicker, and it's made of this… silverish metal. It's got this insignia on it, I can draw it for you, if you'd like."

"That's alright, Gaz." Phil says. "I doubt the army has many alien briefcases on hand, so I think I'll be able to find it." He chuckles softly to himself, and places the glass he was drinking out of into the sink. "Now, I really do think you should be going back to bed."

"Alright." Gaz gently pulls on Zim's hand. "Come on then, you heard him. Let's see if you can get any more sleep, all right?"

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Dib rolled over on the couch, burying his face into the soft pillows, breathing in the smell of the fabric, and sighed. He was waking up, and he could see the light through his eyelids, so somebody else was awake, which led him to assume that it was morning. He rolled back over to face the coffee table, reaching out blindly for his glasses, so he could gain the precious gift of sight. Fumbling with the thin metal frames, he finally gets the glasses on, supporting himself up on his elbow, and throws the blanket off him. He swings his legs off the couch, grabbing his trenchcoat from the coffee table and puts it on as he stands. He notices the shadow of someone moving around in the kitchen. He gives the entryway to the kitchen a wide berth, his paranoia always acting up this way when he's in a new environment. Finally, the kitchen comes into view, and he relaxes slightly, seeing that it's Phil. He's wearing yet another tan suit, although it's definitely different than the one he was wearing the night before. His suit jacket is slung over the dining room chair, and his tie has yet to be tied, but Dib chalks that up to it being early.

"Good morning, Dib!" Phil says cheerfully, as he digs through the kitchen cabinets for something.

"Uh. Good morning, Phil." He mutters back, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen.

"I would offer you some tea or coffee, but I'm out of sugar. I'm afraid that Zim has eaten it all."

"Shocker." Dib rolls his eyes. "I mean, I guess I'll have black coffee, that's fine."

"Nonsense! You're a guest!" Phil reaches a hand into his pants, and pulls out a simple black leather wallet. "Here, I'll trust you with this. Go into town, and get some sugar and coffee for yourself, okay?" He reaches into the wallet, and pulls out a credit card, and holds it out for Dib to take.

"What… how did you get a credit card?" Dib asks as he takes the card, and inspects it. Phillip C. Atlas, the card reads.

"Well, you go into a bank-"

"I know how it's done! I meant you, specifically." Phil laughs at the annoyed expression on Dib's face, and crosses his arms.

"Well, I went to a bank, and I applied for a credit card, and I got one."

"You… went into a bank."

"Yes."

"What bank?" Dib asks exasperatedly.

"Bank of America." He says matter of fact.

"And where was this?"

"I got that card when I was living in Cambridge." He smiles. "Everything can be done online these days, so I haven't had to get a new one."

"Huh. Okay… So… You want me to go into town?"

"That's right."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Dib says, smirking at his clever question.

"With my car." Phil replies instantly.

"Your car? You have a car?!"

"Sure I do. She's a '72 Ford Maverick. Belonged to my dad. She doesn't run the same as she used to, but she does well enough for short trips. You know how to drive stick shift, right?" Phil walks towards the door that leads to the staircase, and Dib follows him, at a loss for what else to do.

"Uh, yeah." He manages to get out. Phil pulls a set of keys off a hook hanging on a wall, and tosses them at Dib.

"Here you go, don't crash my car, okay?"

"Yeah, sure thing." He mutters, just barely catching the keys. "Where is it?"

"I'll show you when we get up to the surface, but first, you can't wear that." Phil says, walking towards the hallway to his bedroom. Dib looks down at his trenchcoat, and frowns.

"What's wrong with this?"

"You stick out like a sore thumb. Wait right there, I'll be right back." He says as he disappears into his bedroom, leaving Dib standing alone, fiddling with the key ring. He takes his trenchcoat off sadly, and folds it over the back of the dining room chair, waiting for Phil to come back. When he emerges, he's clutching a ball of dark red fabric in his hand, and he's smiling nicely, like normal. He tosses the fabric to Dib, who almost drops the car keys in his fumbles to catch it. Dib hooks the ring of keys through one of his fingers, so he can unfold the fabric and get a good look at it. It's a hoodie, big enough to fit Phil, with the wing slits cut in the back. Dib turns the hoodie around to look at the front, and almost drops it in shock.

"Where did you get a Harvard hoodie?" He says, clutching the fabric tightly as he looks up at Phil.

"When I went there."

"You have got to be kidding me!" Dib groaned. "Dad was right! I should've gone to Harvard because apparently that's where all the cryptids are!"

"Oh, where did you end up going?" Phil asks politely.

"Princeton, because the astrophysics department- hey, don't change the subject!"

"I'm not." Phil smirked.

"You went to Harvard!?"

"Sure did! Class of '03." Phil said proudly. "Course I took a gap year to travel Europe for a bit." He said with a wink.

"Wh- How? Did you fly there?"

"Of course! On a plane, that is."

"Agh!" Dib reaches up to run his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

"Careful son, you'll go bald if you keep pulling on your hair like that." Phil says, a gentle laugh in his words.

"How did nobody miss a mothman on the plane!"

"I don't know what you mean?"

"Yes you do! How on Earth did you get on a plane?"

"I bought a ticket." Phil said calmly, leaning against the wall, crossing one foot over the other.

"But, someone must have seen you! D-does the government know about you?"

"No." Phil said sternly, with a tone that Dib hadn't heard from him before. "And I'd like to keep it that way."

"R-right." Dib gulped. He did not want to upset Phil. As gentle and nice as he seemed, he could be hiding some sort of evil, cryptid interior for all he knew. "So um." He lifted the hoodie a bit. "I guess I'll put this on, and then you'll show me where the car is?"

"Yes! Do put it on, don't want you getting cold now."

"Of course..."

"Now come on, cheer up. Why don't you buy some nice coffee and breakfast for yourself, okay? I promise you I can afford it. Who knows, maybe you'll meet a nice girl and calm down." Phil said with a smile.

"I doubt it." Dib mumbled as he slipped the hoodie over his head, almost pulling off his glasses in the process.

"Hey, you never know." Phil said. "I mean, I'm engaged."

"...What?!"