I'm unsure how this chapter came out. But, I still like it anyways and I hope you do too! I'm starting a new IZ fic; but I plan to write a few chapters out first before starting to post. To get a good feel. First chapter is almost 3000 words as I speak. It is NOT set in the same AU as this fic; it's a different look at Zim and Dib and how a relationship other than 'enemy, gotta kill' would form. So, it's gonna be a doozy. I can already tell! Hope you like this chapter!

Enjoy!

Part 46: Banished

Zim growled, sweeping his arm across the table. Dib watched from the other side, a sweat drop rolling down his head—probably because of something like muscle memory, if he could guess—and he looked to the side nervously. Zim had been trying to perfect the microbots since they started. Dib had helped as far as he could—and gave a few suggestions where he felt it was helpful—and was reduced to working on his own personal ideas in the meantime. Zim had managed to make them magnetic, controllable through a headset, and linked to the users' thoughts. To an extent. It wasn't as intricate as forming complete illustrations with the bots. But, it was at least as close as forming basic shapes and symbols.

Dib had used them to build a tower just earlier that day. Unfortunately, he couldn't figure out how to disperse the tower without shutting them down and letting it collapse. Zim had been, vigorously, trying to remedy the glitch for hours. Zim buried his face in his arms with a sigh.

"..why… defective…" he mumbled, the words mixing between Irken and English. Dib rubbed the Irken's head reassuringly.

"They're not defective, Zim. They're just incomplete. You haven't even finished writing the code, yet."

"Not them," Zim grumbles. He sighs, propping his head up on his hand. Dib let his hand rest on Zim's head, snickering when Zim gave him an unimpressed look. Dib's smile wavered a little.

"You didn't mean… you're not defective, either," Dib says. Zim scoffs, flicking a stray microbot away.

"No according to—"

"Who cares what they decided?!" Dib snapped. He finally removed his hand, crossing his arms with a huff. Zim watched him, shocked. "They don't get to decide that."

"The sentiment is appreciated. But, that's all any Irken will see of me," Zim says. Dib deflated a little at the defeated tone of Zim's voice.

"Well, that's all people see in me, too. So… you're not alone," Dib offers. Kick knocks his foot against Zim's shin under the table. It got Zim to smile, so Dib considered it a victory. Zim started using his PAK legs to gather up the materials he'd strewn about the floor.

Dib set his sketchbook down, retreating to his phone for a break. He caught Zim stiffen a little just before a tone started playing out from the computer. Dib was pulled under the table at the ankle by a PAK leg. "AAUGH! Zim!"

"Quiet."

Dib's mouth shut instantly. That wasn't a tone one argued with. The dialing tone stopped as Zim turned to the screen, tactfully swiveling his chair between the screen and Dib. Dib curled up in a ball at the back of the table.

"Irken Zim?"

"Yes."

"I am Invader Gos. My Tallest wish to know details of data procured from your PAK recently." Gos said. Right to the point, Dib noted. No fake manners or anything. It was almost comical, if Dib wasn't already used to similar behavior from Zim.

"From the Control Brains' scan. What of it?" Zim asked. Dib peeked around the chair, catching the uncertain look flash on the other Irken's face. Zim hadn't been very respectful in his tone, not that Dib could blame him. Though, Dib wasn't sure WHAT Zim's reaction would have been if another Irken had contacted him. He was shocked Zim was keeping his rage bottled up so well.

"…your Voot was destroyed, yet, your PAK didn't indicate fatal injuries. How is that? It blew up. An EMP attack was set off." Gos said. Zim clicked his tongue, taking on a posture that just screamed 'you're wasting my time'.

'I should interfere,' Dib thought. A moment passed. 'NO, I'd better not.'

"An alien species came to Earth, refused to leave when I laid claim. Zim taught them a lesson about the might of the Irken Empire. That is all." Zim says.

"I see. I'll be sure to report that… Defect."

The screen cut out. Dib couldn't see Zim's face, but he was positive that Zim was looking ready to murder just about then. Because Dib had felt that rage many a time before when it was directed at him. It was the same rage that had been the catalyst for many of his scars. Dib hazarded a glance. Zim was shaking. He cautiously poked his head out from under the table. Zim's antennae were flat.

'Well, shit.'

"Zim?"

Zim turned in his chair. His face was stoic, like stone. It gave Dib a bad feeling. One confirmed when Zim stood, punching straight down. His fist hit the metal table and shattered it. Dib jumped away—reflex to save his own skin time and time again in the past—and started to sweat. His reflex was possibly the reason his legs weren't a product of collateral damage right then. Dib nodded.

"Right. Get me later," he said.

He hastily left, closing the lab door behind him. He heard the sounds of very sharp points dragging across a wall seconds later. He took the elevator up, a very loud and very pissed growl of an Irken following him up. He stepped out into the living room, sitting at the couch. Gir looked at him, peeling his eyes from the TV. Dib just stared straight ahead.

"Is Master not well?" Gir asked.

Yeah, figured the robot could hear it. Dib shook his head.

"No, he isn't. But I advise NOT-" Dib grabbed the robot before he hit the floor from leaping off the couch, "-going to see him right now."

Dib set Gir in his lap, mostly to hold him in place. Gir squirmed to be let go. Dib didn't relent, knowing full well Gir wouldn't really hurt him to get free. Intentionally. Though, Dib had learned that the robot had a surprising amount of restraint in how much strength he used when he wanted. Eventually, Gir quieted down. He resorted to pouting. Dib cocked an eyebrow when he suddenly did. But he let him, knowing full well that it was better than trying to fight Gir for hours. He could deal with the only sounds being the TV and Zim from below. The sounds—what must have been a sizeable portion of the labs being trashed—lasted for well over an hour before finally there was silence.

The elevator door opened minutes later. Dib watched Zim stalk over to the couch and collapse onto it. His brow was still furrowed and he was pouting, but he wasn't throwing a tantrum any longer and that's all Dib cared about. That's all he cared about for about two seconds before he wanted to start asking questions. He had a lot, but most he knew he could guess the answers. Ultimately, he went with a good stand by.

"You ok?"

Zim looked at him like it was the dumbest thing he could have asked. Granted, he could have phrased it better, but he was trying. Dib smiled nervously at him. Zim sighed, slumping over in his own lap with his hands on his head. If he had hair, Dib could imagine Zim running his hands through it. If he had his wig on, he probably would have. Dib finally released Gir. The robot ran into the kitchen without a word and started making something at the stove. Dib figured it must have been waffles. He wasn't going to eat any that Gir made; but Zim would. Dib wasn't certain it would make Zim feel better to eat them, but the gesture might be enough to help. Another thing Dib didn't question was Gir and Zim's relationship. Odd as it was, it was something Zim wouldn't end, and Gir kept the base lively. Dib instead set his hand on Zim's back, rubbing circles. A rumble came from Zim's chest, much like the content purr of a cat and Dib smirked. He'd be teasing Zim about that later.

"Just know I'm here," Dib says. Zim hummed. Dib knew he wasn't the best at this. He hoped Zim at least understood what he was trying to do. "Just…. I'm here."

Zim sighed, sitting up. Dib let his hand fall and reached back to put it back in place. Dib snorted, starting the massaging again. Zim glowered at the TV.

"It…. Stings. To hear it." Zim admitted.

"I can empathize with that. It still hurts to hear people call me insane, or freak. For humans, we don't say… that, but we say other things. You've heard what they say to me," Dib says. Zim nodded.

"It's only similar. It's not the same," Zim corrects. He falls back on the couch, turning to set his legs on Dib's lap to trap him there. Dib decided on resting his arms over Zim's shins.

"How? If nothing else, I can understand on some level. I've wanted to kick the ass of a few people at school. Getting expelled just wouldn't have been worth it," Dib says. Zim side eyed him and sighed.

"Because, Dib, you don't deserve that kind of treatment."

"What, and you do?" Dib asks. Zim looked at him, surprised at the amount of anger in his voice. Dib looked away, pouting. "I don't think you do."

"…I've been a thorn in the Empire's side since I was born. That's not a hyperbole," Zim says quickly at Dib's look. "My first day as a Smeet I caused a five-year blackout on Irk."

"How did you manage that?!"

"Clogged a chute with another Smeet," Zim says nonchalantly. Dib snorted, covering his mouth immediately.

"I am so sorry—"

"It is humorous, Dib. You can laugh at it," Zim says, smirking. Truthfully, Zim had found some humor in it after a few years. While the day in question had been given a… questionable title that a follow up shared; Zim would be lying if he didn't find the situation to be a little bit of a learning experience for the Empire's design choices. "Later, Ivader Skoodge and I caused a four-year blackout. I'd be lying if I didn't say I boasted about causing one that was longer on my own."

"Of COURSE you'd brag about something like that," Dib says, taking his glasses off and leaning back. He recalled Zim mentioning something about that. Zim took the opportunity to readjust and rest his legs on Dib's stomach as well.

"Hmm…I also may have lied to you. Before." Zim says. Dib glanced at him. Zim pursed his lips and decided. If he was going to really discuss this with Dib, he was going to do it like that old human saying. A band-aid. Quick and to the point. "I didn't only have one job before being an Invader. I've had multiple. I was once a weapons designer on Vort."

"I remember."

"I was happy when one of my creations came alive and didn't dissolve within a few moments. I named it, even. Not common practice, unlike with you humans. You name everything."

"And anything!" Dib says proudly.

"Yes. Well. My creation, in my excitement, got away from me. I'll just say, we lost two Tallest that week." Zim admitted. Dib didn't say anything immediately. He remembered hearing about it the first time, and laughing at it. The immediate reaction seemed... inappropriate given the new context. Didn't mean he didn't still find it funny. Zim took his lack of a response as some form of shocked silence rather than disgust, given Dib didn't shove him away and leave. It was a small victory, given any other Irken would have done just that. Or worse.

"You caused the death of two leaders. Humans would have executed anyone who did that," Dib mused. Zim cocked an antennae at him and grumbled.

"Accidentally. That's the only thing that saved me from Deactivation. Sabotaging the first Operation Impending Doom was also an accident," Zim mumbled. Dib looked at him, almost disbelieving until Zim clicked his tongue at him. "I started the robot's rampage a little early. I am… overzealous. Sometimes."

"Uh huh. "Sometimes". That's definitely the word I'd use," Dib says. Zim kicked him, knocking Dib's breath away. Dib smacked his leg in retaliation. "Jerk."

"Idiot."

Dib smirked despite the insult. Zim, now lightly, insulting him was a good sign. Even if someone else hearing without context would disagree; Dib knew Zim better than that. He did scratch his chin at a nagging thought.

"What exactly got you sent to FoodCourtia, then?" Dib asks. Zim groaned, throwing his legs over the couch to stand. He ended up pacing into the kitchen as he spoke, prompting Dib to follow him.

"The last offense. Running rampant on Irk with a massive destructive robot was the last straw, apparently." Zim says. He gave Gir a warning glance when he saw the robot carrying a bottle of soap to the waffle mix. Gir paused, giving him an innocent smile before setting the bottle back at the sink. Dib reached into one of the only legitimate cabinets and handed him the sugar instead. He did not anticipate Gir dumping the entire bag's contents into the bowl.

Dib stood solemn at the table. Zim rifled through the freezer, eventually deciding on some popsicles. He handed one off to Dib.

"So… you went back for Operation Impending Doom Two, right?"

"Yes."

"But, they gave you a mission. They sent you to Earth," Dib says. Zim laughs, loud and once, catching Dib off guard. He almost dropped his popsicle, catching it again just before it could fly out of reach.

"They sent me to an unmapped piece of space and hoped I'd float into oblivion. As it stands, it's doubtful they knew Earth was even here." Zim says bitterly. "Their last conversation with me made that much clear. They want little to do with me. Sending me supplies is a formality. That is all."

Zim's tone had grown dark. Dib recognized it. Resentment. He had heard it so often from his own father that it was something like an old friend. A bitter and lousy old friend who kicked you when you were down. Dib glowered at the wall, the familiar feelings of disdain coming bubbling up just by proxy. He finished off his desert before responding, letting the sounds of Gir attempting to cook fill up the silence.

"If it helps, and I don't know if it does," Dib clarifies. "I'm still seen as a failure, too. Going to college with a degree of "real science" in mind wasn't enough for dear, old Dad."

Zim looked at him curiously. "Still no dice, huh?"

"He still wants me to give up paranormal investigation on top of it. Guess going into science wasn't enough of a compromise," Dib grumbles. He sits himself on the table, Zim joining him seconds later. Zim leaned into his shoulder, watching Gir work on the waffle mix. He could see flecks of… something floating around in it and bemoaned having to eat at least one later. Dib hummed, kicking his legs. "But hey, we can be failures together."

Zim chuckled, smirking. "Failures together. …It has a nice ring to it."

Zim let his brain wander on the thought. Dib had started talking about something like a monster hunt. Zim let him talk. It was something different, having a friend. Zim couldn't say he had any 'friends' when he was an Invader. Invaders didn't make friends. Having a 'friend' was a risk—a detriment to their missions. Irkens didn't have 'friends'. Irkens had comrades. How unfortunate they all were, Zim concluded, to be missing something like this.