This chapter came out kind of long (a little over 7K) but I had fun writing it and I'm excited to do the next one! Maybe I'll update one of the others first though ahaha

Enjoy!

Part 63: Infection

Getting back from the Market, Dib had insisted on linking their arms to get Zim into the lab without the risk of falling. Even Gaz had pointed out that wasn't really going to be an issue given he had built an elevator. Dib had promptly mouthed at her to shut up and she shot him a smirk. It wasn't until Zim kicked them out to drive Gaz home that Dib had taken a moment to think about how sluggish he had still been.

"You're worried he's gonna pass out or something while you're driving me home?" Gaz asked.

"No, I know The Computer will handle it."

"Then why are you so tense?"

"Well… I mean, do you think he's okay?"

"I think he's annoyed he got shot. Twice," Gaz says, holding up two fingers. Dib sighed, stopping at a light. He set his forehead on the steering wheel with a groan. "He's fine."

"His skin was singed."

"It's not anymore," Gaz countered. She elbowed him when the light turned green. "That's pretty cool, actually. Think we'll be blaster resistant when we get our PAKs?"

"I'm trying not to think about it." Dib admitted. Gaz gave him a quizzical look for about a second before he continued. "I won't be able to stop once I start."

"Yeah, I believe that. You'd be interrogating him for days."

"I'd probably get kicked out," Dib laughed. Gaz snorted. She slid down in her seat, setting her feet on the dashboard.

"Again, he's fine."

"I know he's fine."

"Then act like it."

Dib pouted, grumbling under his breath. He'd dropped Gaz off and promised, again, that he wouldn't worry too much about it before Gaz let him drive away. When he'd gotten back, Zim was still in the lab, but not where Dib had left him. The Computer led him to a room he had only briefly seen before their trip. He'd pegged it as some sort of entertainment room given the massive screen and the various consoles that sat at the other end of the room. He could see Zim's antennae peeking over the couch.

Presently, Dib slung his backpack over his shoulder. He was late to class and he had no time to spare. He ran out of his room and down the hall, grabbing a breakfast bar on his detour through the kitchen. Gir was on the table, eating an entire container of peanut butter again, and getting it all over himself and the table. Dib stared at him in horror.

"Oh my God."

"Hi, Mary!"

"Gir, clean yourself up before Zim dismantles you," Dib shouted, sprinting for the door. Thinking of the alien, Dib hadn't seen him since the previous night when he'd left him in the labs. Granted, he knew that Zim didn't really sleep, and often just entertained himself throughout the day until classes.

He came back to the house in the same state as he'd left it save that Gir had attempted to clean his mess at some point. Dib took the smeared peanut butter on the table as the best he'd get. He spent the day doing homework until dinner and then dragging Zim back upstairs. The Irken in question had been lounging in the labs, scrolling on his tablet, when Dib found him. Zim had still looked rather exhausted, but that was par for the course after getting shot as far as Dib was aware. He got Zim to eat some snacks and that was the best he could do before the alien was back to resting on the couch.

Three days later he was up and around, but sluggish. Dib had classes, unable to keep Zim in sight 24/7, but had time to call Gaz at his lunch break on the second day.

"He's recovering, right?" she'd asked.

"Yeah, but—"

"If something was wrong wouldn't he tell you?"

"I think so—"

"Stop being a nanny, then."

And she'd hung up. Granted, he had called on her lunch break and she had a time limit, but Dib still felt sore about being hung up on. He spent the remainder of the night trying to get Zim to lay down but not feeling as if he could wrestle the alien down if it came to it and found himself giving in after a few hours. He wasn't willing to tackle Zim if he still felt like crap from being blasted.

By the time Saturday had rolled around, Zim looked markedly better, but far from how good he had looked when he'd been shot last time. Dib came into the living room to see the curtains drawn and Zim laying on the couch and looking queasy. Gir was standing on the coffee table, trying to get him to eat some waffles. While Dib would concede that Gir's waffles were no longer poisonous, they still had a ways to go to tasting good, and he couldn't blame Zim for not wanting to eat them on any day. He wasn't responding to Gir's attempts to feed him at all. He turned over. Dib noticed his antennae were completely drooped, similar to the last time Zim had been in such a state.

Dib felt a twinge of guilt in his gut and took another step forward. A PAK leg emerged, aimed in his direction. He side stepped it on instinct, whether it was aiming to gouge him or not, only to find that it was laughably slow. It had no punch behind its attack at all. Dib shoved it to the side and the leg wobbled before settling on the ground. It tilted to the side, resting on the floor. It twitched.

Dib started to panic. He stepped over the PAK leg and shook Zim's shoulder. "Hey! You can't die now when I don't want you to, anymore!"

Zim jerked away, his antennae flying up. It took him a moment to register what Dib had said and he shoved him off. "Screw off, you dumb monkey, I'm just trying to sleep!"

"…sleep?" Dib asked incredulously. Zim knew his mistake the moment the words had left his mouth. He sighed, turning over to face him. Dib pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over Zim. He gave him a thoroughly confused look. "Something is wrong and you're not telling me."

Zim groaned, shoving him away, and discarding the blanket to the back of the couch again. "I'm fine."

"He's lying," The Computer says. Zim glared up at the ceiling.

"Traitor!"

"He's sick," The Computer says.

"TRAITOR!" Zim roared.

Dib fought the urge to cover his ears. He set the back of his hand onto Zim's forehead. He was hotter than usual. Zim swatted his hand away. Dib disappeared into the bathroom in the hall, retrieving the thermometer. Gir had given up trying to get Zim to eat, abandoning the waffles on the table, and instead trying to entertain him with some sort of dance. Zim caught sight of the thermometer.

"No—" Dib shoved the thermometer into Zim's mouth. Zim gagged on it a moment and pushed Dib's hands away. "You are vile."

Dib held Zim's chin in one hand and his cheek in the other. He smiled when Zim's face changed colors. "If you want it to take your temperature faster, keep your mouth closed."

Zim glared at him, but kept his mouth shut. Within moments the thermometer was beeping. Dib took it back, ignoring the tongue Zim stuck out at him, to read it. His eyes widened and he looked back at Zim.

"One hundred and fifty?!"

"Mmm. That explains it."

"Is that normal?" Dib asks. "Are you dying or something? A human would be dead!"

"No, but my PAK is failing to regulate my body temperature."

"Why?" Dib asks.

"Virus," The Computer says. Dib looked up at the ceiling, felt stupid for doing it, and looked back down at the thermometer instead.

"I thought Irkens couldn't get sick."

"Rarely, we do," Zim admitted. "Very rarely."

"Did you get it from the Market?"

"Likely," Zim said. He fell back onto the couch again. "No species is 100% impervious to illness. Even computers get viruses."

"I… actually, you're right about that. Are you going to be alright until I get back from class?"

"I'm fine."

"Okay, but when I get back, you're going back in the blanket and I'm making you something to eat and drink, no complaints and no refusal."

Before Zim could refuse that, he was out the door. Zim watched him go, a little flabbergasted at the whole interaction. He eyed up the blanket and eventually sighed, dragging it over and wrapping himself back up into it. it was warm—warmer than just the sweatshirt he had—and he was asleep on the couch before he knew it.

Dib came back to Zim still asleep on the couch and a strange noise as a constant reverberating throughout the room. He recalled the last time he'd caught Zim sleeping like this and he smiled, momentarily ignoring the sound since Zim wasn't panicking and The Computer wasn't giving him any orders to do anything about it. He deposited his bag and crept over. He stopped when he got close, spying metal on the other side of Zim. He leaned over and Gir looked up at him. The little robot was nestled between Zim and the couch, a sucker stuck in his mouth, and tangled up in the blanket. He gave as quiet of a squeal as he could. Dib just thanked the universe that Gir knew better than to wake Zim up. Zim shivered and Dib's smile faded at the sight.

He disappeared into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for something—anything—that Zim could eat. He wanted to make the alien some soup, but he highly doubted that would be a good idea, and all that left was crackers and the sugary snack foods. He wasn't sure if Zim would stomach salty food, given the basic diet of an Irken, and so grabbed some plain cookies. He'd have to ask about what Irkens ate when they felt sick. The last time, he'd just let him eat whatever Irken food he'd had and didn't question it. He had no idea where Zim kept the Irken food and looked expectantly at the ceiling.

The Computer didn't say anything, but Dib heard a cabinet door behind him open. He turned to see that the cabinet was stocked full of Irken food, stowed in the original packaging. He'd have to get Zim to switching them out or disguise them somehow, if they didn't just lock the cabinet if they had anyone but Gaz over. He plucked a few of the fundip-esque packages out and poured the cookies onto a plate. He set them on the counter and peered into the fridge. He saw a bottle with the Irken symbol crudely drawn onto it and snatched it up.

He brought it all into the living room, setting it on the coffee table and paused. He couldn't recall when he'd ever seen Zim actually drink anything; but he had always suspected that he must have at some point. Even with Earth's unfiltered water being quite a hazard, as far as Dib knew, every living creature had to have fluids to some degree. He'd opened the fridge just out of habit for when Gaz had been home sick. Zim stirred on the couch and turned over, cracking open one at him.

"Hey."

Zim grunted and Dib thought he responded. Zim's voice slurred and he didn't speak English, as far as Dib could tell. He could hear some of the Irken accent mixed in. Dib wasn't sure how to respond. Zim seemed to realize the mistake and tried again.

"..Mm ssssn'ah feeling… ssn… no…ugh…" Zim gave up and turned back over. Dib grimaced.

"I think I got that. I have food here for you."

Zim just shook his head, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. Dib sat down at his feet. He could still hear that persistent noise and tried locating it. It took him a moment but then it hit him. He looked at Zim's PAK, hidden under the blanket. He set his hand on it, getting a jerk from Zim at the sudden touch, and his eyes widened. The PAK was the source of the noise. The sound was like an overworked fan.

"Are you okay?!" Dib asks. Zim squinted at him.

"Mhm."

Dib didn't believe him. He caught Gir when the robot tried to jump around and tossed him across the room. Gir bounced around, landing on his head, and started to bounce around like that across the room until he'd bumped into a wall and changed his direction. Dib let him be, more focused on the alien on the couch.

"I thought your PAK regulated all of this…" Dib mumbled. Zim buried himself deeper under the blanket with a groan.

"He tried to speed up the process," The Computer says. The tone sounded like a disapproving parent and Dib couldn't help but feel like The Computer was trying to chastise Zim.

"What do you mean?"

"He tried to get his PAK to attack the disease directly," The Computer says. "Idiot didn't think it'd overwork the PAK."

"Overwork… is he going to be ok?"

"In a few days."

"Nn.. hours…" Zim mumbled.

"Don't get too excited about that." The Computer retorted. The TV flipped on, the channels flipping to a calming channel that looked like it was playing some sort of 'how it's made' type of show. Zim's antennae flicked at the new sound and he turned over to watch it when he could squint his eyes open. Dib leaned back against the couch.

"Your plan backfired on you," he says. Zim gave him a weak kick to the thigh. "You exhausted yourself in every sense of the word."

Another kick.

"Can you even take medicine for this?" Dib asks. This time Zim sat up to change position, flopping over Dib and pinning him roughly to the couch. "OOF!"

Zim didn't have to speak for Dib to know what he was thinking. 'Shut up and be my pillow'.

Dib, on the one hand, was grateful for the distraction. He started off by readjusting so that Zim wasn't just a mess of shoulders jabbing him in the stomach. Next, he ran his fingers lightly over Zim's head. The responding purr was more than enough of an invitation for him to keep going. He wasn't sure how long he was kept there; but, it was long enough that Zim had gotten up the energy to eat a few of the cookies before he started to doze on Dib's lab. Just before Zim could fully pass out, The Computer's speaker beeped to give Dib enough warning to pause the TV.

"Take him to the lab." The Computer says.

"For?"

"I synthesized medicine and he needs a scan. Lab. Now." The Computer said, leaving off with a sigh.

Dib paused a moment, trying to figure out how to do that, before ultimately deciding to take a minor risk. Zim's antennae had flicked when The Computer talked, so he knew that Zim had heard him. Dib patted his shoulder.

"Hey, you heard him, right?" Dib asked.

"Nn… dun wan t' move," Zim slurred.

Dib grimaced, knowing he was going to have hell to pay if he didn't take Zim down and hell to pay if he did—a hell for each entity depending on what he decided to do. He was more afraid of whatever The Computer could concoct, though, and he started to grab up the blanket. Zim gave a disapproving sound. Dib only gave a hurried apology before he was scooping Zim up bridal style. The motion was enough to stun Zim and allow Dib to at least make it to the elevator without any resistance. Once inside, though, he couldn't help making just one comment.

"You're so light. I'm pretty sure I'm just carrying the PAK, it's like you're a cloud," Dib says. He got a weak punch to the gut. Even weak, it was still a decent hit and he bent over slightly with a huff. "Ass."

"I am not light."

"Hey, I said you weighed like a cloud, not that you're weak," Dib said. The elevator stopped and he stumbled out into the hall. A door down the hall and to the right opened, guiding him towards where The Computer wanted him to go. Dib set Zim down in the only chair he could see at the desk.

The Computer flicked on the screen nearest to them, Irken running down the screen faster than Dib could translate it. Metal tubing and clawed arms dropped down from the ceiling. The paused around Zim and he sighed heavily. Zim slipped the blanket off. The clawed arms grasped onto his PAK. Dib felt a spike of anxiety, but let it be. The Computer was, as sassy and badgering as it could be, not willing to hurt Zim as far as Dib knew. He wasn't sure if that was something even the AI could comprehend. Any self-respecting species would have programed that as something incapable of happening. Dib prayed that Irkens were self-respecting enough to program that kind of thinking out.

The PAK came off and Dib clenched his hands. They unclenched and clenched again and again up until the metal tubes hooked into Zim's back and Zim sighed. He looked tiredly at Dib and patted on the desk. Dib took a seat on it. The PAK was laid down next to him. One tube attached to it and he could see a loading bar appear on the computer screen behind him. He turned away from it to focus on Zim instead.

Zim was smirking up at him.

"What?" Dib asked. Zim shrugged.

"You're worried."

"And?"

"And nothing, I am simply stating a fact."

Dib narrowed his eyes at him. "Are you making fun of me?"

Zim smirked at him, eyes half-lidded, and looking smug as hell. "Maybe."

"Ass."

The computer beeped behind him, making him jolt, and the metal arms were carrying the PAK back to Zim. Zim snickered at him. Dib thought, briefly, of how he could make his alien-fundip taste like crap as revenge. The PAK reattached itself to Zim's back, almost eagerly, and Zim gave another content sigh and stretched.

Dib wondered if he and Gaz would be able to remove the PAKs when Zim finished them. He wasn't sure if the threat of death within minutes was quite what he wanted to sign up for by the time they'd gotten them, even if Zim reassured him a hundred times that he'd program that part out. Dib wasn't sure exactly how a primary function could be "programed out"—but he highly suspected Zim was speculating that he could. He was sure that if that was a possibility then Irkens surely would have done that.

He furrowed his brow. Thinking of it… he wasn't sure that the Control Brains would allow that.

Zim pulled the chair to the desk, settling beside Dib as he reviewed the screen. He gave a disgruntled hum.

"What is it?" Dib asked.

He caught how the blanket had fallen around Zim's waist and pulled it back up and around Zim's shoulders. Zim paused while he did, his brain trying to process the action, and then Dib was done as quickly as he'd started and Zim relaxed into the warm blanket.

"Well?" Dib prompted. Zim wanted to hit him.

"It is a virus—not a word!" Zim shouted up at The Computer. Zim groaned, dragging his hands down his face, threatening to cut into his own skin with his claws.

"And your PAK…?"

"Is fine. Overworked, perhaps, but fine," Zim sighed. He pulled the blanket around himself like a jacket. "This is miserable."

Dib kicked his legs a little and hopped down. He grasped the back of Zim's chair, getting a confused twisting of Zim's head to see his hands, and pulled him backwards out of the room.

"Ah. What are you doing?"

"We're going to get you into the best mood for recovery you've ever been in," Dib said. He was determined and it showed. Zim leaned back in the chair, letting his heels drag on the floor.

"How will this be different than before?"

"Before you didn't have a surplus of blankets and clothes you stole," Dib said. Zim scoffed at the notion—despite Dib being right—and Dib pulled him all the way into the closet. He looked over the selection, humming with a comedic emphasis. "Gee… what shirt of mine should I choose?"

"Okay, okay." Zim stood from the chair. Dib pushed him right back down.

"Ah, ah."

He started to rifle through the clothing, finding a pair of pjs that looked like the most comfortable. He threw them over Zim, getting an offended noise from him, and then went on a hunt for a pair of his own. He managed to find a top that had a complete back to it. By the time he'd changed and gotten back to him, Zim was already changed and kicking his old clothes into the laundry basket, wrapping himself up in the blanket. Dib tossed his clothes into the basket himself, making a mental note to grab them later so Zim couldn't take possession of them yet again, and pulled the chair down the hall to the game room. He set Zim up and started to pick out a game, his fingers trailing across the titles.

Gaz knocked. She double checked the time when there was a bit too long of a pause for her liking. She could hear Gir on the other side making a chaotic mess of wherever he was inside. He was steadily growing louder the closer he got and Gaz could hear the tiny robot tumbling over anything in his way. When the door finally opened, with Gir haphazardly having thrown on his disguise, Gaz could already see the destruction. Given how badly it sounded Zim was feeling, she doubted he was going to be happy to see the mess.

She stepped through the door, ignoring Gir's excited greeting, and took in the space. The couch and table were both overturned, the kitchen was a mess of ingredients on the walls, floor, and ceiling, and she was shocked the TV was still intact. Gaz sighed, looking down at Gir.

"Gir."

Gir stopped and looked up at her. She kicked the door shut.

"Clean this up. Zim isn't feeling good, remember?" she prompted. It took a moment, but Gir's expression came back slowly to realization and he gasped in horror.

"Oh, noooooo!"

He sprinted away, towards the cleaning closet, and Gaz readjusted her bag. she'd brought a few games with her but she honestly wasn't sure if Zim had a wide selection or not. Speaking of the alien…

"Where is he?" she asks loud enough for Gir to hear.

"Here," came The Computer's voice instead.

The side table raised to the ceiling, the elevator tube opening up for her. Gaz questioned why Zim had that in the living room if the other entrance was literally a few yards away down the hall, but he was always one for extremes and theatrics. Rising up out of the floor like that would have been right up his alley. She did think it be funny to see, though.

She stepped inside, letting the elevator dip her down into the earth. She was sure she must have passed the basement by the time the elevator stopped. At the very least, it appeared Zim had agreed that an elevator to go down one floor would have been a bit much. She stepped out, finding the only open door down the hall as her way to go.

When she bent her head in, Zim's antennae were poking over the edge of the couch. Gaz slipped her shoes off as silently as she could manage. She shuffled her way across the room. She knew Zim's hearing was advanced—the subtle twitching on his antennae was enough to formally confirm that—but he hadn't reacted yet. She came up to the back of the couch and leaned around. His eyes were closed. She smiled devilishly and shuffled to the side. She reached her arm out to her side and carefully raised her hand. She quickly ran her finger down one of the antennae.

The reaction was immediate. Gaz jerked her hand away about as fast as Zim jerked away with a yowl of all things. Gaz would have bet money that it was a cat had she heard it come from anywhere else than the Irken in front of her. A very strange cat, but a cat nonetheless. A PAK leg had shot up and out, aiming for an arm that was no longer there and a body that was never there. The tip had caught at her sleeve, however, tearing a nice hole in the fabric. Gaz stared down at it, finally coming to understand how Dib's shirts always got destroyed. Zim whipped around, his eyes wide. Those same red eyes narrowed into slits, accompanied by a nice grimace.

"DO NOT DO THAT," he hisses. Gaz eyed the slit in the couch's top cushion. "…Uh—"

"Yeah, I figured that out," she cuts in. Zim deflated a little under her stare.

"I-It's the PAK," he says. "It's a defensive reaction—"

"It let me sneak up pretty close," Gaz pointed out. Zim deflated even more.

"It's overworked," he whined. "Give it some slack."

"You're talking like it's sentient," Gaz says. She threw down the bag onto the couch. "I brought games."

"I have games," Zim says, grateful for the shift in conversation. He waved to the TV.

Gaz would call what it hovered above a TV stand if it wasn't partially set into the wall and looked like a massive array of shelves instead. She scanned the titles quickly, only spotting a few of the one she'd brought. She felt a little jealous over the selection, but then some pride that she somehow still had games that Zim didn't. She made her way around the couch.

"Later. Did you eat, yet?" she asks. Zim waved her off. She caught his wrist, getting his full attention. "Dib said you had to eat. So, did you?"

"Why is he so insistent on that? I'm not hungry," Zim shined. Gaz cocked a brow at him.

"Because you have to," she says simply. "I'm already here to babysit, so make it easy on me—"

"I am not baby for you sit!" Zim said defiantly.

Gaz regarded him coolly. Zim felt the tension rise steadily as she deliberated… something… and then she pulled at him. The shock was enough that Gaz had the perfect opening to throw Zim over her back. He scrambled to latch onto her, hooking his arms around her shoulders. She grabbed at his knees, holding them up to keep him from slipping off and risk choking her.

"What is with you two and lifting me?!" Zim screeched, face red. Gaz smirked, starting for the elevator, bent over slightly to keep Zim from falling off, and shaking off the blanket.

"It's fun," she says. She felt one of his antennae swat at her head with a quick thwack. She didn't let him down in the elevator, or in the living room. She couldn't help but smile at his offended gasp at the state of the living room.

"GIR!"

"I'm cleaning, Mastah!" Gir called from somewhere else in the house.

"He'd better be," Zim grumbled.

He gave a disgruntled huff as Gaz deposited him in the only clean chair left in the kitchen. Gir had at least cleaned the walls, floor, and ceiling. If she had to guess he was going room by room and doing one thing at a time with the supplies he already had out. She quickly wiped down the counters and threw out the trash she could see. She opened cupboard after cupboard, looking for something he could have. Zim finally sighed and motioned to one across the counter from her.

"Anything in that top one," he said tiredly. Gaz plucked a random box out of the cupboard and set it down in front of him.

"Eat a good portion of this without throwing up," she ordered, kneeling beside him.

"Or what?" Zim asked. He was trying to annoy her but he was opening the box, regardless. He plucked out something that looked like a cookie and started to nibble on it.

"Or, I'll tell Dib, and he'll make you eat an entire meal. I just want to be sure you got something."

Zim hummed. He was at least grateful she wasn't going to try and force a full lunch down his throat. He wasn't sure he would handle that. All he wanted to do was pass out for a few more hours while Dib was away at his stupid classes.

"Do you have homework?" Gaz asks. "Or are you skipping the entire year?"

"It's already done. The teachers are aware that I am… sick."

"Good."

Gaz made to lift him again and Zim shot up, snatching the box up. "I can walk just fine."

"I know," Gaz said, smirking. "But, it's so fun to make you whine like a kid."

"I am not a kid."

"Neither am I, see how much I care?"

Zim shoved another cookie in his mouth, shooting her a glare. The glare softened as they made their way to the elevator, though. Gaz leaned on the tube's wall as they descended, letting the material slide along her shirt. When they hit the bottom, Zim got one step out of the elevator, already feeling the nauseous feeling returning, and stumbled once. Gaz shot her hand out, catching his arm and steadying him.

"Yeah, you can walk, alright."

"Shut up."

"Are you feeling any better than you were the other day, at least?" Gaz asks.

Zim gave her a huffing grunt in response. There was an affirmative tone to it, but it didn't do much for her. She stayed close to him all the way back to the game room and until he relaxed back on the couch again. She threw the blanket over him. Then, she popped in a random game and settled in beside him with a controller.

It took three hours into the game—some sort of fighter game—before Zim's quips had quieted down. It took less than ten minutes after that before he slid along the couch cushion and landed against her arm. Gaz finished the level before looking over to him as the score animations played. From what she could tell, he'd eaten most of the cookies. She took the box, dropping it at her feet. Zim readjusted once it was gone, digging himself further into the couch and her arm.

Another thirty minutes of the game and she felt her pocket buzz. She paused, digging around as quickly and stiffly as possible so as not to jostle Zim, pulling out her phone to check it. Dib was home. She shot back a quick response where they were. He was down in the game room within minutes.

"Why is Gir bleaching the kitchen?" he asked.

"He's being thorough," Gaz says. She nodded in Zim's direction. Dib rounded the couch and snorted, covering his mouth at Gaz's glare. "Quiet."

"It's cute," Dib whispers.

"I'm not cute!" Gaz angrily whispered back.

"Oh, yes you are. You both are. You're getting along so well," Dib teased, reveling in the agitated look Gaz shot him. He had few opportunities to tease her endlessly and he was taking it while it lasted. Despite what she might claim, she was not about to move to punch him if it meant waking Zim up.

Dib slowly settled in on Zim's other side. "Thanks, by the way."

"He was easy," Gaz says, starting her game up again. "Almost couldn't even tell."

"That's good. He's almost good, then."

"Yeah, your boyfriend will be up and running good as new soon, I'm sure," Gaz teased. Dib sighed heavily.

"Why are you like this."

"Someone has to do the work," Gaz says. Zim stirred beside her. She paused her game again, exiting out this time. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty."

"What?"

"It's a movie," Dib says. Zim jerked at his voice. "Hey."

"When did you get back?"

"Just now," Dib says. Gaz tossed him the controller.

"Your turn."

Dib settled in, eager to start playing. He had gotten three hits in when the monitor beeped, pausing the game as a new prompt screen came up. Dib couldn't read the Irken adorned across it, but it had Zim tensing up beside him.

Gaz tilted her head at the prompt. "What—"

Zim quickly shoved both to the floor, using his boot to push Dib so that he was under the screen. Gaz shot him a venomous glare, scooting back herself before he had the chance to do the same to her.

"Computer!" Zim hissed. "My uniform, quickly!"

Dib readjusted to sitting under the screen. There was a whirring of machinery around the base and Zim's uniform came dropping down from a shoot in the ceiling that closed immediately afterward. Zim abandoned the blanket and hastily changed. He kept his boots off, not even aware of where they might be, and not willing to go running to find them.

"Zim?"

"Not yet," Zim said, pushing the couch to the side. Dib pulled the controls to himself, bundling them up in his lap. Gaz hastily shot up and started to pull the table to the side as well.

"Are you getting a call?" Dib whispered. Zim nodded, pulling a chair that looked more like it was Irken design than human out of a nearby storage closet and set it up in front of the screen.

"Don't speak," Zim says, ushering Gaz back into place.

He made one more check of the room and turned back to the screen, satisfied. He glanced down at the two a moment and sighed. He rifled through a drawer, the screen beeping again and Zim waving it off as if it could see him, and he tossed each sibling a translator collar. It was better than having either sibling risk asking for a translation while he was on the call. He doubted they would, but he also doubted he'd have the energy to relay anything afterward depending on who was calling.

Dib hastily put the collar on. Gaz stared at it a moment before turning to Dib, wordlessly. He helped set it on.

"Alright," Zim said to the room. "Answer incoming call."

The screen blacked out a second before coming back to life. Dib didn't have to guess it was an Irken on the other line. Zim's posture seemed to relax a little, however, and Dib got curious. He fought back the urge to sneak a peek, knowing full well if he moved from where Zim had set him he might come into frame. If he did that, he'd be getting hell from both of them.

"Invader Skoodge?" Zim asked. Dib straightened up a little. He'd heard that name before, hadn't he? He glanced to Gaz, who had a faint hint of recognition on her own face. He wasn't surprised. He wasn't sure if Gaz had heard that name more than once.

"Zim!" Skoodge sounded happy to see him. Dib thought that'd mean he could pop up, feign he was a slave or something equally ridiculous, but Zim held his shoulder down, making it clear he had to stay put. He gave Dib a small squeeze on his shoulder.

"You haven't called in a long time," Zim says, raising an antenna curiously.

"Yeah, I… you kind of look like shit," Skoodge says. Dib very nearly didn't catch his snort, placing a hand over his mouth and shaking. Gaz elbowed him.

Zim opened his mouth and stopped. He almost shot back 'and you sound like shit' on reflex. If he had been in less of a right state of mind, he very well might have. He bit the response back down and sighed instead, his antennae flicking in agreement. He couldn't argue that he must have looked as bad as he felt. He pinched his brow.

"I had an altercation," he says simply.

"I know. An Invader reported it. You fought two Resisty? You killed a Glosk," Skoodge says. Dib stiffened. He hadn't noticed another Irken when he and Gaz had been chasing Zim down. Zim, to his credit, didn't show much of a reaction.

"That's right."

"The report said you had two other aliens with you," Skoodge says. "They had Irken emblems on their uniforms."

Dib almost laughed at the idea that the jackets were uniforms and held it back again. Zim's grip tightened a little and he let Dib go, leaning back in his chair and his antennae bending forward a little, crossing his arms.

"Then they were mistaken," Zim says simply. Dib watched him warily. He glanced nervously at Gaz, who looked just as tense. The silence was awkward and stretched until Zim finally broke it. "Skoodge."

"One almost beat the surviving Resisty member to death," Skoodge says, sounding a little disappointed in Zim. He'd caught onto the lie, then. This idea was cemented in Dib's brain when Skoodge went on. "They're both Tallers and it's on tape, Zim."

"…I see."

"Who were they? They're Irken allies, so that's why they helped, right?" Skoodge asks. Dib wasn't sure if he was phishing for information or giving Zim an out. He hoped for the latter.

"Yes, they're Irken allies. Who would be stupid enough to falsely wear an Irken emblem?" Zim asks.

"Then, why did you lie?"

"Skoodge, review the last few hundred years of my time in the Empire and think about that again."

Dib hummed silently during the pause. He could remember hearing about Skoodge as an ally to Zim, at one point, during middle school. Zim had been gloating about his time on HOBO-13 and had mentioned the Irken. Dib wasn't sure about the relationship between the two—he was still iffy if Irkens traditionally had 'friends' or just 'allies' or if the two words were synonymous.

"…I still don't get why you lied."

Zim groaned, running his palms down his face. "Who cares? No one else is going to check on me. No one is going to follow up on it, either. The Empire couldn't care less about what I do or who I am with."

"That's not entirely true—"

"Isn't it?" Zim asks harshly. Dib flinched. He started to draw circles in the floor. He glanced up to Gaz, spying her eyes darken a little. He scooted away a few centimeters. Skoodge was silent a moment.

"Well, I called." He says quietly. Zim blinked at him. He 'tsk'ed and pouted, looking away. His antennae weren't forward anymore, but he was still irritated. Dib would rub at his back if it didn't mean getting caught. "You're alright though, right?"

"Of course."

"Because it looks like the blaster did a number on you."

"I healed fine," Zim says.

"Did you do a PAK scan—"

"It was just a blaster, Skoodge! I am fine!"

Skoodge blinked at him and hummed, looking away. Zim could tell he didn't believe him, but if Skoodge wasn't going to press the matter, then Zim wasn't going to back down and admit he was sick. Regardless if Skoodge was what Dib would call a 'friend'—not that the term seemed to fit like it did with Dib—Zim wasn't about to show any kind of vulnerability to any other Irken if he could manage. Zim took the brief pause in conversation to take in where Skoodge was.

He was in his own ship, it looked like. Zim hadn't bothered to look up if Skoodge was on another mission or not, or just on a patrol. Not checking in the progress of Operation Impending Doom II every so often had freed up a large portion of his day, really, and he'd wondered why he hadn't bothered to do it sooner. But, not knowing what exactly was happening in the Empire wasn't that comforting now that he thought of it. He pondered if he should check it again just to be sure that they weren't getting too close to Earth at some point.

"Where are you? You're not in a base."

"Oh, I'm just… flying around. I conquered my planet, so I'm waiting on an assignment."

Zim narrowed his eyes at him. It wasn't uncommon that Irken Invaders had some down time between missions, especially when they had finished their mission during an operation, but rarely could an Invader stay still for long. Zim smirked suddenly.

"You're cruising, aren't you?" he asked, using the same teasing voice he used with Dib. Dib looked up, craning his neck to see Skoodge look embarrassed.

"N-no!"

"You are! You're cruising planets between missions again!"

"Many Invaders do!" Skoodge shot back. "Besides, I'm staying within range of a call!"

"Mhm." Zim smirked smugly at him, like he'd caught Skoodge with his hand in the cookie jar. Skoodge grumbled something.

"I'll call you later," he says. Zim gave him a grunt of agreement and the call cut. Dib took the collar off, standing and popping his back. Zim lurched away with a look of disgust. Gaz did the same, but failed to get any pops, and grumbled disapprovingly.

"Oh, stop it," Dib says. He unlatched Gaz's collar for her when he caught her struggling with it.

"You stop it, it is disgusting," Zim says.

"As I've heard. So, that was Skoodge?"

"It was," Zim sighed. He rubbed at his temples, feeling a headache coming on. "I would have hated seeing any other Irken."

Gaz glanced at him curiously. Zim stood and kicked the chair away. He started to pull the couch back and Dib abandoned the controls to help him. Once they'd set everything back up, he dragged the controls back, sitting down to the paused game. He looked Zim over. Gaz fell on Zim's opposite side, draping the blanket over him. Zim gave her a childish groan.

"Deal with it," she said.

"Do you want to change again?" Dib asks. Zim looked over the uniform's shirt for a second before taking it off and discarding it in favor of the blanket on his skin instead. He wrapped himself up in the blanket and leaned against Dib. Dib started to laugh. "You don't want another shirt?"

"Nah. Later."

"Okay. Sleepy bug."

"Not a bug," Zim mumbled. Gaz stretched out, setting her heels on the table.

"Are so."

"Am not."

"A sleepy and surprisingly cuddly bug," Gaz prodded.

"I am not!" Zim roared.

Dib let them banter, trying to get the ropes of the game while Gaz was too distracted to make fun of his bad playing abilities before he got the hang of it.