Hello again! I'm baffled that I'm this many chapters into this series. I really don't doubt that I'll hit fifty and still won't be done writing this. As inconsistently as I update it, I'm forever grateful for the amount of people who enjoy this fic! I have about… what is it, like 50 wip projects that AREN'T fanfic that I jump between chipping away at (I may have a focus problem). At twenty-something years old, I should have learned by now how to focus on one writing project already, lol. Just wanted to say thank you! Overall, this whole fic has been quite a writing exercise and I think the only fanfic I've made that I consistently keep coming back to!

Final note in regards to the first paragraph—my high school and middle school always had a week of "school" left after finals. It was mostly just so we'd all get our final test results back—really, we all just watched movies each period. I don't know if that's typical or not, or if it's just some weird mid-US thing.

Enjoy!

Part 43: For Science!

Dib scowled at his wallet. He had maybe fifty or sixty dollars left before he'd have to contend with taking money out of an ATM. It could be enough. He glanced up. Zim was have a pretty heated debate about gravity with their teacher. Dib was surprised to see a few students watching with genuine interest as opposed to mockery. It was the final day of school—honestly, why did their school have to be one of the ones that did a week of school after graduation? It made no sense—and Zim had been making it his mission all week to finally go into full-fledged debates with every science teacher they had. It had been entertaining, at the very least.

"Centrifugal force can be a viable way of making habitable space stations; it's something that can be done!" Mr. Monts said. Dib could almost see Zim's antenna twitching furiously if his wig wasn't pasted down.

"That's a flirt with death."

"Listen, you'd be pulled towards the center constantly, you can't fall off—"

"NOR CAN YOU LAND ON IT!" Zim interjected. "That's playing God with physics! Good luck matching that rotational speed to land!"

Dib cocked an eyebrow at the use of metaphor. Zim must have been paying attention to his use of metaphors more often than Dib was aware.

"Listen, the larger the object the less the effects of the spinning you'll feel—"

"But if you're coming in from the outside and trying to land, you're hitting it at Mach 25," Zim says. "That's assuming it's the size of Earth."

Dib watched Mr. Monts' face start to contort. He looked up and caught Dib's eye. Shit.

"Mr. Membrane. What's your opinion on this?" Mr. Monts asks. Dib fought a scowl. He wasn't THAT much of a teacher's pet.

"Well… the tangential direction of the ring would make it effectively impossible once the ring starts moving… and stopping the ring would take incredibly long and effectively turn off the gravity, so… Zim is right." Dib said sheepishly. Mr. Monts stared at him as if he'd been betrayed. Dib figured he could get over it. And Zim could stop looking so smug. "Zim, you can brag all you want after you invent a way to prove the theory."

"But—"

"You can brag to the world, how about that?" Dib asked. Zim huffed, relenting. Dib gathered his things at the bell and guided Zim out of the room—he and the teacher still glaring competitive daggers at one another.

"You know I'm right," Zim says.

"Yeah, but I also wanted to get out before six," Dib teases. Zim huffs.

"What for?"

"Today, my dear and only best friend—"

"What about that club—?"

"—I'm going to show you something very fun and annual. Something we've missed for the last almost-a-decade; and I'm not missing it this year." Dib declares. He grabbed his things from his locker faster than Zim had ever seen him do before. Zim cocked his head curiously.

"What? An explosives convention?"

Dib blinked at him. He shut his locker, hefting his bag over his shoulder. "Well, no. But; that would be fun for you. No, today we're going to … the science convention!" Dib declared proudly. He was beaming.

Zim blinked at him.

"The what?"

Dib faltered a little. "Right, Irkens don't typically do that, do they? Ok, so, it's a big public gathering. It's an annual celebration of science! Conventions are for a lot of things, so it just depends on the one you attend. But; this one is for science. It's done at the end of every school year so that college kids can present their yearly projects. Mostly graduates. It's the final weekend and we're going."

Zim blinked at him again. He sighed, relenting.

"Alright, I'll see what it's all about. Perhaps there will be something interesting there."

Dib smiled again. "You will see what it's all about; and I think you'll like it. There are also snacks."

Zim's antenna perked at 'snacks'. Dib knew he had him hook, line, and sinker. Sometimes it was just too easy.

"Plus," Dib began. "I need to take you shopping."

Zim cocked his head at him again. "You're being extra strange today. What on this Earth could I go shopping for? I have plenty of supplies."

"No, you don't."

Zim picked at the shirt. Dib was perusing the black shirts nearby. Zim had spotted the maroon top when they'd come over. He wasn't entirely sure WHY Dib insited on clothes shopping. While Zim was sure he wasn't leaving Earth as a home any time soon—he had become so accustomed to his Irken uniform. It felt strange to wear anything else when he wasn't in disguise or wearing his uniform underneath. It was oddly… nerve wracking to consider it.

Zim looked up at Dib, who had grabbed about five shirts already. Zim picked the maroon top up. Dib held a black and white stripped shirt in his peripheral. The stripes were as thin as the ones on Zim's uniform shirt—and spaced almost as equally. There was less space between each line; but it was close enough. Zim took it without a word, just a curious tilt of his antennae.

This led to Dib piling shirts and pants into Zim's arms. The pants after they had figured out—with deductive reasoning—Zim's possible pant size. Dib had resisted commenting on the fact Zim's pant size was so small he had more options in the teens section as opposed to the adult. It worked. Dib shoved Zim into a changing room.

"Okay, try them all on—yes, all—and then we can get whatever you like most."

Dib shut the door and Zim looked down at the pile of clothes. He wasn't sure he enjoyed this type of shopping. He'd rather be testing snacks. Dib rocked on his heels, waiting for Zim. When the door finally opened roughly ten minutes later Zim had most of the clothes Dib had thrown his way in his arms. The rest were hanging in the dressing room.

"Great! Let's check out. I just got my allowance; so, I should have plenty." Dib says. Zim followed him to the front. It was at the check out that Zim finally spoke.

"Why are we doing this?"

"Because you've needed new clothes for a long time," Dib says. He hefted the bag of clothes over his shoulder. "You can wear something at the convention."

"But why?"

"Because, Zim, you're not an Irken Invader trying to take over the planet. You're living here. You can wear the clothes here," Dib says.

Zim would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised Dib had noticed that little cultural trend. He hadn't revealed Irkens didn't wear anything but their uniform unless under special circumstances. Alas, it was probably obvious—especially given the fashion trends of Humans was about as diverse as their music genres. Zim had over 3000 songs on his own iPod at this point. He didn't dislike any of the clothes Dib had picked for him. He rather liked a few of them. Jeans were an odd feeling.

"…True."

Zim was picking at the maroon shirt again. It felt comfortable enough. Better than his uniform, just not as familiar. Zim looked around as he and Dib stood in line. The entrance was only a few people in front of them. Dib was practically jumping with joy. Zim could hear all the commotion inside, his antennae already hurting from the mass of noises he knew Dib couldn't hear himself. How he envied the boy sometimes. Dib presented their tickets and then was pulling Zim along eagerly within seconds. Zim wasn't even sure that the woman had time to properly read their tickets before they were walking past.

Zim's eyes widened at the convention hall once Dib had pulled him through the initial throng of attendees. Not only was the ceiling so high the room looked massively larger than it did on the outside, but the entire convention floor was littered with booths of different inventions and experiments. It reminded him very much of the old labs when he was still a Weapons Technician for the Irken Empire. While it wasn't an active lab, Zim could feel the enthusiasm in the air. Like being surrounded by the scientific love of a thousand Dibs.

Dib himself was busy trying to decide which booth to go to first. Zim waited all of thirty seconds before he grabbed Dib's sleeve and started to guide him along—all the while, Dib was still looking around and muttering about each booth. Zim stopped them in front of one booth that had caught his eye. Cybernetic eyes and hearing devices were littering the table, a large board behind the vendor explaining their functions in as few words as possible. Zim had to admit he was impressed; but confused.

"Dib, if this is technology that's been invented; why isn't it in wide-spread use?" Zim asks, examining one eye that could pair with the wearer's phone.

"It has to go through several approval processes." Dib said. He picked up a rather ridiculously tiny hearing aid—Zim looked at the board, finding it was really an implant—instead of one of the eyes. "Which is mostly just for health safety; but it is rather long and tedious for some things."

Zim hummed, setting the prototype down. Yet, Irkens had something akin to cybernetic eyes at birth. He was aware that augmentation of bodies wasn't… widespread even among alien species. And somehow it still managed to catch him just slightly off guard. What also caught him off guard was the sheer amount of variety on the single booth.

"Why so many designs?"

"People like variety. In our economy that's how the business model hits the most audience. A lot of products are effectively the same, though," Dib says. He was looking up into the pupil of another eye that looked particularly futuristic. "Not stuff like this, necessarily, but stuff like milk and certain cleaning products. Or basic dishware? Stuff like that. Stuff where you can go to the store and you just grab a random brand because it all works the same."

"Then why bother?"

Dib shrugged. "It's fun. And nice to have options. Sometimes there's too much variety, though. Is that a collider?"

Zim jerked his head around the booth to where Dib was looking. Indeed, what appeared to be a molecular collider was sat just fifty feet away. Zim's antenna slouched a bit, disappointedly. "Doubtful."

"It's probably a prototype model or a prop."

"There is much of that here, I'm guessing."

"Yeah. It's too risky to bring the actual inventions—they could get stolen."

Dib walked around, Zim following and tugging him along every so often to another table. It wasn't until about seven tables in, when Dib was distracted by a decoder, that Zim felt his spine shiver with the suspicion of eyes on him. He looked around, spotting one person who looked away too late. Zim kicked Dib's foot lightly. He straightened his back.

"Hm?"

"You hadn't mentioned—"

"Dib Membrane?"

Dib stiffened just a little. He turned, a tight smile on his face. "Brandon."

"I thought I wouldn't see you. You haven't been to one of these since you were a kid."

"Yeah, I got… busy." Dib says. Zim smirked, just barely holding back a snort. 'Brandon' seemed entirely unaware of Dib's discomfort.

"Well, it's nice to see you. Go into the chat rooms again some time. You were way more lively than most of those old geezers."

"I'll keep it in mind," Dib said. He waved Brandon away, pulling Zim along with him. Zim was selectively silent until he was sure they were out of hearing range.

"You didn't mention there'd be members of The Swollen Eyeball here," Zim says, picking at his claws under the gloves. Dib sighed.

"I was praying they wouldn't be. They're about conspiracies, not sciences…" Dib grumbles. Zim scoffed.

"Dib, you were concerned they'd recognize me, yes?" Zim asks. Dib flushed a bit.

"I know it's stupid—they never even believed me—" Dib began. He faltered, sputtering and waving his hands around. Zim knocked into him, breaking him from the cycle.

"Only a handful of humans care to recognize me as alien," Zim says. Dib looked at him in shock, his eyes flitting around the room. Zim snorted. "No one cares about a random conversation, Dib."

"I know, but—"

"You're concerned and you're paranoid; but, we're fine." Zim says smoothly. "That aside, I can handle anything from them. You are the only challenge I've found on this planet."

"Somehow that makes me feel really good."

"Of course it does."

Zim stopped on the opposite side of a table toting micro-robotics. It gave him ideas. Dib looked them over and glanced at Zim.

"Hey, Zim?"

"Hm?"

"Want to do a science project together? I have ideas."

"Dib, you read my mind."