Not much to say with this Chapter except I had fun writing it (I always do). If any of you have suggestions for other chapters I'm open to taking them, I want this to last as long as possible. Enjoy!

Part 9: Will

Dib checked the time. It was almost dinner. He hummed to himself. Zim and he had migrated to his room to play video games hours ago and he'd completely missed lunch. He wasn't surprised when Zim excelled at the games. It wasn't the first time he'd seen is prowess with similar controls. Dib smugly smirked as he won again.

"Augh! How do you play this infernal game?!" Zim shouted, throwing down the controller. It bounced off one pillow onto another. Dib looked down at the floor. He'd laid out the pillows after the first game and loss of one controller.

"I need to make dinner anyway, so how about a break?" he suggests. Zim huffed but leapt from the bed. Dib paused the screen and kicked pillows on his way out. "We have more candy bars you can have while I have dinner."

"Zim ate too many, he can wait," Zim says. Dib shrugged as he moved by him.

"Whatever. Set up the TV if you get bored," he says, flipping on the kitchen's lights.

Zim stood in the doorway and watched him as he took out a pot and a bag of something he didn't recognize. Zim moved to the table to get a closer view. Dib filled the pot with water and set it on the piece of counter with black circles. He turned one knob and moved to and through a doorway across the room. He came back out with a jar full of something red, setting it on the counter. He dug through the cabinets a second time and took out a flattened pot, pouring the jar's contents inside and turning a second knob. When he covered the flatter pot with a strange cover he turned to Zim.

"What?" he asked.

"What are you doing?" Zim asked.

"Um. Cooking."

"Ah," Zim said, nodding. He looked all the objects again. "What is that?"

"I- you don't know what cooking is?" Dib asked incredulously. Zim nodded and Dib blinked at him. "Um. It's how we prepare food. Well, no, I guess it'd make sense you didn't know, you eat everything prepared for you."

"Zim recalls oil vats from his short stint in a similar career," Zim says. He pauses and hisses at the memory. Dib waited for him to continue. "We did not prepare so thoroughly."

"Most humans do," Dib explains. "It's just something we do. It makes the food taste better."

Zim hummed in response. He watched Dib go back to preparing his dinner when the water began to boil. Zim watched him go through the motions the entire time, observing intently. When Dib started to scoop it onto a plate he stood up and looked inside at the pasta Dib had made.

"Dib-stink, what is this called?"

"Pasta. Usually people use the sauce with spaghetti or a mix of pasta and meat. My mom used to put macaroni noodles in it with sausage. I just use it with whatever pasta is in the cabinet and spice it up," Dib said, sitting at the table, Zim following him. Zim stared at the food as he ate. Dib eyed him and sighed. "Yes?"

"How does it taste?" Zim asked. Dib offered the fork but Zim leaned away.

"Zim cannot eat your inferior Earth food."

"Fine, live your life without tasting greatness," Dib teased. Zim seemed to consider something for a moment and then punched Dib in the arm. "Ow!"

"Zim refuses your food because Zim cannot eat it," he explains. Dib rolls his eyes. He was half way through the plate when a thought struck him.

"Zim?"

"Hm?"

"You mentioned earlier that Irkens are assigned jobs," Dib says.

"Yes, that is what Zim said. Does Dib-stink need a refresher?"

"No, but is that for every single Irken? Your leaders didn't have a choice, either?" Dib asks. Zim hums, setting his legs up on the table. Dib didn't push them off but lightly kicked Zim's chair. He pretended not to notice.

"None of us had a choice in that," Zim says plainly. Dib snorts, almost choking on a forkful. He glanced over to see Zim smirking.

"Wait, was that a joke?! You just made a joke!"

"Yes, and it was a brilliant one," Zim boasts. "I must admit, of one mannerism that humans have, 'joking' is a rather fun one."

"I'm guessing Irkens don't' joke much, either?"

"Not usually. We are too busy with our tasks," Zim explains. He leans the chair back on its hind legs. "But on a serious matter – no, we do not choose our positions. The Control Brains handle that."

"Doesn't seem very fair," Dib says, finishing the plate. "What if you don't like the job you're given?"

Dib stood up, setting the dish in the sink and moving over to pack up the rest of the pasta. Zim furrowed his brow, mulling over the described situation. Dib was setting the lid on the container when he realized Zim hadn't answered yet.

"Zim?"

"You do it anyway," Zim says finally, standing from the table. He stretches, his claws nearly poking through their gloves. Dib looks away, stowing the food in the fridge. He heard the pot clink and looked up to see Zim depositing it in the sink. Zim started towards the stairs before Dib could mention the help and he followed.

Zim was beating him easily up the stairs by the time Dib had reached the bottom step. "That's not fair," he called up.

"Why?" Zim asked.

"Because- uh, because… because it's not. Humans have the option of choosing their own careers," Dib says. Zim sat back on his bed, laying himself out as if on a hammock.

"That lacks productivity," Zim says. "You are put where you are needed."

"No, it's not. Okay, that's not true, it sometimes is. But we have the option to do something that make us happy. That's what free will is for, you decide what you want to do or be. You weren't always an invader, you said so downstairs, you used to be in food service. But you wanted to be an Invader and that's what you did, wasn't it?" Dib asked. Zim cracked an eye open and stared at him. "Didn't they assign you to be an Invader because you wanted to be one?"

"They never reassigned Zim," he says. Dib was silent, staring at him.

"But. You just said-"

"Zim admits, he found flaws in The Control Brain's logic and disagreed in his assignment. I , as humans put it, 'ditched' my old assignment to be given one of an Invader," Zim explained, going so far as to use the quote gesture he'd seen humans do before.

"You used your free will!" Dib exclaimed. Zim sat up, throwing a pillow at him.

"Zim did no such thing!"

"Liar!" Dib yelled, a goofy smile on his face. "You did a human thing before you even came here."

"Zim merely corrected a faulty assignment, that is all!" he shouts. Dib threw the pillow back, hitting Zim on the head. Zim immediately removed it, smacking Dib in the chest.

"Oof! Ahaha, call it what you want, but you used your own free will to get a better job," Dib says.

"That would be defying the Tallest and the Control Brains, Zim did no such thing!" he persists.

Dib saw him grab for a pillow on the ground and took his own from the head of his bed. He blocked Zim's throw, launching both pillows in his hands at Zim. They hit their mark and Dib grabbed the third pillow as a shield.

Zim tore the pillows away, aiming to kick Dib in the leg. Dib set the pillow between them. It softened the blow, but Zim kicked hard. "Ow! Hey, that's against pillow-fight rules."

"That is what Dib-stink gets for suggesting Zim was not loyal. Zim has won," Zim says, crossing his arms triumphantly. Dib snorted, pushing Zim's leg back to him.

"This round. You drama queen."

"Zim is no queen, but he is as brilliant as one," Zim says. Dib chuckles, picking up his controller to start the game again.

"You know," he says, seeing Zim grab his own controller. "Free will isn't an insult. It's a good thing."

"Hmph. Zim is unsure of that in Irken society. Defying any order is taboo and punished," he says. Dib grimaced.

"Well… your current orders are—arguably—just to stay around Earth right now, right?"

"Zim supposes so."

Dib smiled. "Then welcome to living on Earth."