Although they couldn't see it, night was setting. Phil had some dimming lights that were set on timers, to mimic the setting sun, as that subconscious cue that night was falling. Zim and Gaz sat on the couch, Dib on the other end of it, a slight scowl on his face as he glanced towards the alien every so often. They were casually watching TV, while Phil read in an armchair next to them.
Another reminder of the evening was their hunger. Gaz had even been feeling quite tired, as she relaxed and watched television with Zim, but as soon as her stomach growled, and she realized she was hungry, she felt more awake. Her first thought was to go to Bloaties and get a pizza, before sadly realizing this was a small town that probably didn't have one. She groaned in frustration, slumping back into the couch.
"Are you okay?" Zim asked, looking at her with slight concern on his face.
"Oh, yeah. Just hungry."
"Ah.-"
"Oh, how rude of me!" Phil looked up from his book. "It's almost six, and I haven't started dinner yet!" He promptly shut the book, setting it down on the side table and rising to his feet. "I apologize, simply too wrapped up in the story!"
"Oh, Phil, it's fine." Gaz said, waving him off. "Relax." She wanted to be more empathetic, to reassure him not to bother, but the thought of doing that gave her some anxious pause, not sure if she would know how.
"Hey, can I help?" Dib asked.
"Of course!" Phil said. "I was thinking of keeping it simple. Creamed corn and chicken? Make a good amount so we have leftovers."
"Sounds good to me!" Dib stood up from the couch and stepped towards the kitchen, but paused to give Gaz a pointed look. Her immediate thought was to roll her eyes, but then she remembered everything that Phil had done for them… It wouldn't hurt to help make dinner.
Zim grumbled as she pulled away from him to stand up, but he didn't make any verbal protests, just looked annoyed.
"Quit it, you sour puss." She said with a slight laugh.
"I like TV…"
"We can watch it later. Didn't you say you wanted to learn how to cook?"
Weirdly, Zim froze up and turned a bit pale.
"Yes… but… ta…"
"What?"
"That is you, only you. Not…"
"You don't want to learn with Phil?" She furrowed her brows in confusion and crossed her arms.
"Yes." Zim's antenna twitched. "I… It is not good."
"Zim. If anything, it's probably better if you learn with Phil. I am really not much of a cook, honest."
Zim didn't look convinced, but Gaz raised her brows, a nonverbal way of asking if he was really going to sit here and sulk, and finally he gave in. Sighing as he stood, he reluctantly followed Gaz to the kitchen, where Dib and Phil were already pulling ingredients out to prep to cook. Well, mostly Phil.
"Wonderful!" Phil said. "Two more helpers. Do you like to cook, Zim?"
Zim looked deeply uncomfortable, but he finally spoke.
"No. Wao, I try… Gaz teach me."
"I see. Well, I'd be happy to show you the ropes!"
"He can cut the vegetables." Gaz offered. "He's quite good, uh, with knives." She finished speaking awkwardly, realizing that didn't sound all that great. Luckily for her, Phil brushed it off quickly.
"Well, that's alright. We can make some fried potatoes and onions as a side, and get you to do that, okay?" Phil handed Zim a cutting board, which he gripped rather tightly, and directed him to the part of the counter where the knife block was. He glanced at the block, and then at the cutting board, and tensely waited for something to happen.
He watched Phil like a hawk the entire time he moved around the kitchin, pulling potatoes and onions from a drawer, and then peeling the onion over the trash can. Dib busied himself with preparing the sauce for the corn (per the 'family recipe' Phil handed him), and Gaz watched Zim suspiciously, confused again about his recent standoffishness. Well, how it was more than usual, and now fully directed at Phil.
"Here," Phil handed him an onion. "I'll demonstrate for you, ok?" He reached forward, and pulled a knife from the heavy wooden block. Zim's shoulders tensed, but he didn't move, barely even breathed. He simply watched and waited.
"This is an onion, and this is how you cut one." Phil positioned the onion in his left hand and readied his knife. "You want to cut the top and bottom off first, and try not to inhale too much… Onions make you cry."
Zim looked confused at the comment, but said nothing, and watched as Phil carefully and slowly showed how he wanted the onion to be cut.
"First, cut down the length of it, like this. We're going to be cutting strips today, so you won't have to worry about dicing. So all you have to do is cut the two halves, and you're done!" Phil made a few of the secondary cuts to show Zim, and then carefully turned the knife in his hand to offer him the handle.
Zim hesitated, glancing down at the knife and then back up at Phil, before finally accepting it. He held the knife with a confidence that pleased Phil, but what made him sad was how he almost held himself in a defensive stance. Phil sighed internally, but smiled, and gestured to the onion.
"Go on, let's see what you've got." He said softly, and took a step back, recognizing that Zim was uncomfortable. The alien glanced back down at the chopping board and took a tentative step towards it… Towards Phil. He looked at Phil one more time, and before he brought the knife down towards the onion, he flipped it in his hand, like he was trying to show off. Phil repressed the urge to roll his eyes at the borderline childish display, but kept his neutral face to observe how Zim did.
With how confidently he held the knife, Phil wasn't that surprised to see that Zim was quite good at cutting quickly and confidently.
"Good job! You're doing great!" He said cheerfully and confidently. Zim looked up at him in surprise, halting his movements, and stared at him. Phil took a deep breath and smiled, taking a step back.
"You're doing good. Keep that up, okay? I'll go work on the chicken. You call me if you need me."
Zim watched as Phil followed through with his word and stepped away to check on how Dib and Gaz were doing. He frowned, and huffed to himself as he turned back to the onion, trying to focus his energy and attention on it instead. His antenna pricked back with annoyance as he heard Dib's annoying voice, but he tried to ignore that. He just wanted to focus on what he was doing…
"...this is fun, it's just like when we used to make enchiladas with dad…" Zim's antennas pricked up as he finally started registering what Dib was saying. "...I kinda miss it a bit, you know? I don't cook that much anymore. Travelling makes it hard, but I try."
Zim looked up at them in confusion. Dib was seasoning the chicken with Gaz's help, the two of them forming a bit of a pass the bucket system. Dib would season it, and then Gaz would coat it in eggs and flour. He was so confused, he couldn't help but ask.
"You cook with you father?"
"Huh?" Dib said, looking up at him in surprise. "Yeah, we do- well, we did."
"But…" Zim furrowed his brows in confusion. "How…?"
"Just like we are right now? I don't understand the question."
"It is not… It is not done." He fumbled for the words to explain it, but couldn't even figure out what exactly he wanted to say in the first place.
"What do you mean?" Phil spoke, his tone soft, and a look of concern just barely peeking out through a calm facade. Zim's eye twitched when Phil spoke, but he didn't clam up this time.
"Father say no cook. It is not done." He said clearly, trying to reaffirm the idea to himself.
"I see." Phil said. "Your father didn't want you cooking…"
"No."
"Did your mother do the cooking?"
Gaz winced at the question, expecting sadness or anger, but Zim smiled, and lightly laughed.
"No! She is bad cook. She try, and hurt the food…" He chuckled again, but then his smile faltered. "But Father say she no cook. It is not done." He turns back to the chopping board, but doesn't continue to cut the onion, just stares at it.
Phil turned fully to face Zim, now effectively staring at his back, but he wanted to give him his full attention.
"So who cooked?"
Zim turned back to look at Phil, fully confused now.
"The… They…" He opened and closed his hand as he focused, as if he was physically trying to grab the words. "Help. Ta, not help, they do."
"Servants?" Gaz tried to keep from smiling, but the idea that Zim had servants was a bit funny to her. No wonder he was unknowledgeable with cooking if he's never so much as had to watch someone cook before.
"What is servants?"
"They're people that work for your family. They cook for you, clean for you. They 'help' you. Is that what you're talking about?"
"Yes!" Zim looked a bit pleased that she understood. "Servants. They cook."
Dib scoffed.
"Great, so the alien is also a spoiled brat."
"That's not very nice, Dib." Phil said coolly. "It is not fair to call names and judge someone on the choices of their parents."
"Whatever…" He grumbled as he walked over to the sink to wash his hands. "Just don't say I didn't tell you so."
Ian took a sip of his beer and glanced at the painting lying in front of him on the motel desk. He was becoming a bit obsessed with it, he supposed, but that was only because he was trying to comprehend how and why it existed.
This thing sat still long enough for a painting. This was the huge glaring proof of it, and it boggled his mind. Hell, Ian didn't think that he could even sit still for a painting. He would have gotten bored quickly. But somehow that Membrane kid had convinced this otherworlder to do it.
How had she done it? Did it speak English? Maybe it's telepathic. Maybe it commanded her to paint it.
Ian rolled his eyes at that last thought. What a stupid idea. Especially because he looked into her school records. She was an art student there. The more plausible, yet more insane idea, was that she painted it because she wanted to. So she must not have been afraid.
"Why… What reason did you have…" He muttered to himself. He felt so utterly frustrated at the lack of any answer, and worried about what that meant. To him, every day that passed felt like he was stuck in a roller coaster car, unable to get out, on a track that was heading to a singular destination.
Ian shivered at the thought and took another swig from his beer. He hated roller coasters.
While Dib had compared making dinner to feeling like when they were kids with their dad, having dinner felt more like when they were teenagers. Awkward and silent. Well, quiet besides Gir's mindless chatting to himself, and the clinking of silverware.
At least the food was good.
"How is everyone's food?" Phil asked awkwardly. He knew why there was tension. Zim clammed up after their conversation in the kitchen, and Gaz followed suit, making Dib grumpy by extension.
"Good, thanks." Gaz said, nudging Zim to say something as well, but he ignored her, and continued to poke at his food with the fork. Normally, he would at least eat the meat, but this time, he had barely eaten anything at all. She sighed to herself and focused her attention back on her food.
"And you, Dib?" Phil asked after nodding at Gaz's response.
"It's good!" He said, muffled by food. Gaz narrowed her eyes and cleared her throat, a way of telling Dib that he was being rude. He quickly swallowed, anxiously laughed, and tried to salvage his bad table manners.
"Uh, how did you learn to cook?" He asked awkwardly.
"My mother taught me."
"Right…" Dib sighed. "A moth... mother?" He was getting tired of all the things in Phil's life that weren't adding up.
"Alright, alright. It isn't fair of me to not be clear with you." He said, placing his cutlery down and resting his hands on the table. "I simply… Well, I sometimes struggle to talk about it."
Dib's attention was now piqued, and he stopped eating, fully interested in knowing what was going to happen next.
"Look, the truth is, and it sounds crazy, given my appearance, but I was- I am human."
"B-but you're-"
"I know how it sounds but… It's the truth." He took a deep breath. "I was born in Cincinnati, like I said, to human parents, in suburbia. I worked hard in school, went to college, got my degree, and started teaching. I loved my job." Phil smiled to himself and looked down at the table. "I loved my life. I had a good thing going, good job, friends, a girlfriend… and then there was this student of mine."
Dib and Gaz watched him speak attentively, and while Zim prepared to be disinterested, even he looked up.
"Bright young man, he was doing well in my class… but I could tell that he wasn't right in the head. Not that boy. I knew he needed help. I suggested counseling, but he refused to listen. I didn't know what to do, he was showing all the signs, and I couldn't have just done nothing, so I made my way to the dean, to report him. He was a danger to the students, to people."
"What did the dean say?" Dib asked.
"Nothing. I never got there. I was halfway across campus when…" Phil reached up and touched the back of his neck. "Something jabbed me. A dart, a syringe, I-I don't know, but it's the last thing I remember." His hand shook as he brought it back down to the table. "Next thing I knew…" Phil squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed. "Uh, it isn't appropriate for dinner conversation."
"I'm… I'm so sorry…"
"Thank you, but it isn't your fault. I'm doing alright now, after all."
"Y-yeah… You still have your girlfriend though, right? You said you were engaged?"
"I am engaged, yes, and I love my fiancée, much more than I loved Liz." He smiles slightly at the thought. "But she isn't the same woman, because everyone in my life then, they all think I'm dead. Even my own mother." Phil's voice cracked as he finished speaking, causing him to clear his throat.
"That's enough storytelling for tonight, I think." He said, standing up from the table. "I'm going to turn in for the night… Don't worry about dishes, I'll do them tomorrow morning."
Gaz opened her mouth to object, but Phil grabbed his plate and cutlery and turned away towards the kitchen before she could. It was clear that the conversation, such as it was, was over.
"Guess that answers that…" Dib muttered sadly.
"Yeah…" Gaz picked at her food. "Don't bother him more, ok?"
"I won't."