A/N: A few days ago, I remembered something extremely important to put in this author's note.

Now I don't remember what it is.

Oh well. Enjoy the chapter, and please review. This is my favorite chapter so far. I love this chapter.

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In Short Supply

Imperfect Narcissist

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Information the Meekrob Anti-Irken Tactical Alliance has collected on Irken religion, transcribed from the telepathic thought-patterns they use to relay the information to each other: Unlike us, the Irkens are not in tune with the Universe's Energy. As such, they too have followed in the paths of many other similarly unenlightened races and thus created various religions. Although modern Irkens are far from spiritual and the truly religiously fervent are few, it is still essential to understand their myths and legends if we are to understand their culture as a whole. Here are their five largest religions, from the one with the highest percentage of Irkens following it to the one with the lowest.

Agnosticism: The most common Irken "religion." However, while Agnosticism usually implies a sense of intellectual vitality and theological questioning, this is not the case with Irkens. Rather than exploring the possible existence of a higher power, Irken Agnosticism amounts to ignorance and apathy: they don't know and they don't care.

Atheism: They firmly believe that there is no higher power in the universe. Taking this a step further, Irken Atheists may also believe that if there is not a divine higher authority, then there is no reason for them to follow any moral rules, and thus their cruelty is justified.

Narcissism: Halfway between religion and philosophy, Narcissism is the "worship" of one's self, an encouragement of vanity and hedonism. This is very popular among the self-professed "evil" Irkens, although they themselves don't agree on whether it's religion or philosophy. Naturally, Narcissists refuse to compromise on such finer points of their belief, since the very nature of their religion/philosophy means they're disinclined to listen to the suggestions of anyone other than themselves.

Firmamentalism: A relatively new religion, the worship of outer space, the closest equivalent Irkens have to our worship of the Universe. Firmamentalists believe that the things most deserving of worship are the vastness of space, and the planets and stars within it. They believe that other worlds can be "heavens" or "hells," although they state that what makes a heaven and what makes a hell is, of course, relative to one's personal tastes. Although they consider the planets as a whole to be "holy," that doesn't mean they have any qualms about conquering them. Rather, it merely encourages the Irken greed for conquest. Although relatively few Irkens actually follow Firmamentalism, a great many will borrow phrases and concepts from it, such as "heavens and hells of the Firmament" or "the voids."

Slarkism: The Irkens' oldest religion, now regarded by all but a few as mythology. There are two sub-branches of Slarkism: Virtuous Slarkism, which is the direct worship of Slark, generally regarded as self-destructive, for the "god of water and death" Slark is said to encourage Irkens to "tie themselves to water," i.e. commit suicide; and Zimish Slarkism, the worship of the Youngest Tallest Zim, an actual historical figure who is attributed with discovering sugar and who, in mythology, is believed to have been the one-time mortal nemesis to Slark's authority. Despite the enmity of their figures of worship, Virtuous Slarkists and Zimish Slarkists in modern times are not rivals, but rather consider themselves allies against the non-Slarkist Irken majority.

xxx

Red didn't dance because he enjoyed it: he danced because he had to.

Unlike Purple, he couldn't go four weeks without dancing. Long before then he'd start to get hungry, to starve for something more than food: he began to feel a dark emptiness inside himself, like a whirlpool, sucking him down from the inside out.

So he danced.

He didn't feel guilty about the fact that he was only dancing with this Irken for his own pleasure; that was why all Irkens danced, for themselves and not for their dance partners. In any case, that was why Red was paying her. Hired Dancers were in it for themselves as much as any other Irkens.

He did feel slightly guilty that he didn't have any real interest in her in the slightest, physical or otherwise. He had a hard time having interest in any Irkens, really, even when he needed a dance.

(Now, Vortians—that was a completely different matter. Not that Red ever planned on letting anyone, ANYONE find out that he regarded Vortians as anything other than just a bunch of Alien Drones who could build neat weapons. Pansexual, Irkens claimed to be, but in reality that didn't extend beyond their own species. Interest in anything other than Irkens was just wrong. Xenophilia was just wrong. But that didn't make Red like Vortians any less.)

To him, dancing with most Irkens was simply business, a matter of mental health. As such, he was often detached during the process. Once he'd established a rhythm with the Hired Dancer, he allowed himself to be distracted, to think about other things, to worry.

Particularly, he worried about Purple. It wasn't like him to turn down an opportunity to dance with a female—Red knew how much he liked curly antennae. In fact, Red couldn't remember the last time Purple had danced with him. Usually, any time one of them wanted to dance, the other would be willing. They'd been friends a long time, after all, and it was convenient this way because it meant their dance partner wouldn't be stuttering out "It's an honor, my Tallest!" a dozen times a degree.

It also wasn't like Purple to suddenly leave the Massive with almost no explanation. This time, he'd just vaguely said that he needed to talk to the Control Brains; last time, he'd said he wanted some fries, and then had vanished for over a week.

And before then, it had been those weird statistics he'd kept ranting about, the ones that supposedly said Irkens were getting both too tall and too short at the said time, which made no sense to Red. Purple had said there was something wrong with the Control Brains or the birthing facilities, and that it had been wrong for twenty eras at least; Red had said that it was impossible for something to be wrong with the systems that made up the very empire for that long without someone noticing before now. That had been the end of that discussion. But still...

Purple had been acting oddly for a very long time.

Then Red's thoughts were dragged back to the present, to his dance partner, because this was the part he was doing this for: the climax. The pinnacle of sensations from which he could gaze upon the whirlpool that had been sucking him down, and rest assured that he'd done his part to escape it.

When he'd come back down from his high, when his eyes had refocused on the Hired Dancer below him, she appeared to be almost as disoriented as he felt, but she had a look of purpose in her eyes that Red didn't. "That's 630 monies, my Tallest."

Red blinked. "Didn't I..." already pay before the dance? But it didn't matter. 630, 1260... He had monies to spare. "Yeah, here you go." He took a wire with a plug on the end out of his Pak; she took out a smooth pink device connected to hers. Emotionlessly, he plugged the wire in the device, wired 630 monies to her Pak from his, and pulled out the plug to let the wire reel in.

The Hired Dancer got off Red's couch, scooped up her clothes, dressed quickly. Long blue overshirt, gloves, boots: that was the only uniform Dancers had to wear. She saluted with a happy smile. "It's an honor to work for you, my Tallest," she said sincerely.

Ugh. "You can go now."

"Yes, sir," she said, and left Red alone in his quarters.

xxx

Purple didn't dance because he enjoyed it; he danced because he had to.

Unlike Red, he could go four weeks without dancing just fine. When he had to, he could make do with snacks, which was what he was doing now so no one would know about his mission: he actually nearly preferred the snacks to having to fly to Earth to dance with Zim, although he wasn't quite sure why. However, for this mission to work, he had to do this.

So he danced.

He didn't feel guilty about the fact that he was only dancing with Zim to make him pregnant; that was putting the empire before the Irken, putting the good of everyone before the good of Purple's dance partner. In any case, he could consider this part of Zim's punishment for all his crimes. Symbolically repopulating all the Irkens that Zim had killed. Yeah, that sounded good.

He did feel slightly guilty that after all this was over, Zim would be getting no reward. Purple didn't plan on sharing the glory of saving the empire with Zim, if he ever even revealed this plan to the public. In the end, Zim would still be on Earth, still be exiled, still be alone. Purple certainly wouldn't reward him.

To him, dancing with Zim was simply business, a matter of saving the empire. As such, he'd sometimes unfortunately become detached during the process. Once he'd established a rhythm with Zim, his mind was automatically distracted, thinking about other things, worrying.

Particularly, he worried about himself. It wasn't like him to think twice about an opportunity to dance, especially after four weeks of nothing, even if it was with Zim. He was just doing his duty. But it wasn't his own aversion that was making him hesitate now. It was knowing that Zim didn't want to do this, didn't want to grow the eggs. It was knowing that the stupid little (though not as little as before) Exile was suffering, and for some reason, that actually bothered Purple.

It also wasn't like him to suddenly leave the Massive so he could fly across the galaxy and save a single Irken's life, as he'd done a few weeks ago. Even if Zim was necessary for this mission, when he'd been hurt, Purple had reacted too fast; he'd decided he needed to go save Zim before he'd even come up with a good reason why. Zim didn't deserve saving.

Or did he? This was the thought that worried Purple: that he might no longer be capable of despising the most despicable Irken alive. Zim had always been a nuisance and a monster before, yet Purple had let himself grow accustomed to him. Zim had become just another Irken, and even worse, one that wasn't short enough for anyone to automatically hate anymore. Purple was starting to puzzle his way through the Exile's psyche, a skill that he'd honed over many years, and behind the scrambling effects of a defective Pak, Purple thought he was starting to see what could have been a worthy Soldier. But still...

Purple had been feeling oddly since his last trip to Earth.

Then his thoughts were dragged back to the present, to his dance partner, because this was the part he was doing this for: the climax. The rush of fluids from his body into Zim's, the rush of chemicals into his brain, so that when he got back to the Massive and thought about the looming division of the Irken Empire he could rest assured that he'd done his part to prevent it.

When he'd come back down from his high, when his eyes had refocused on Zim below him, he appeared to be almost as disoriented as Purple felt, but Zim had a look of purpose in his eyes that Purple didn't. "Now, about my other mission, my Tallest..."

Purple blinked. "Didn't you..." already ask before the dance? But it didn't matter. Either way, Zim wasn't getting to be an Invader again. "Not a chance in the Firmament." Zim frowned, and luckily the recent dance was keeping his mood high enough that he couldn't look dejected. Angrily, he squirmed out from under Purple, making no attempt to keep their bodies from brushing each other, causing Purple to shiver from the skin contact.

Zim got off Purple's seat, scooped up his clothes, dressed quickly. Long red overshirt, pink undershirt, black pants, gloves, boots: that was the only uniform Zim wore, even though he wasn't an Invader. He saluted with sullen solemnity. "It's an honor to serve the empire, my Tallest," he said sarcastically.

Sigh. "You can go now."

"Fine," he growled, and left Purple alone in his ship.

xxx

Zim was lucky he'd laid his eggs after 180 degrees on a Thursday night; that way, he hadn't contacted Tallest Purple until after school Friday, which meant that after Purple had come to Earth, danced, and left (it had been his shortest visit yet), Zim got to stay home on Saturday and not have to deal with the humans.

Although Zim really shouldn't have stayed home. That had been the seventeenth day of the January-month, which left Zim with very little time if he were to find an Earth job before February. He should have searched for a job, looking for another restaurant with a "help wanted" sign that hadn't already rejected him. There were only a few left in the immediate area that hadn't rejected him, all of which looked creepy. Three or four advertised dance clubs or public dances on weekends, which Zim wanted to be nowhere near. The last one was Bloaty's Pizza Hog. That place was terrifying.

But instead of looking for a job, Zim had watched the teevy. There had been a new special on Napoleon.

He'd avoided trying to get a job the entire next week, too. And now it was Saturday again, Saturday the twenty-fourth, and including that Saturday Zim had a mere week left to find a job.

Four dance clubs—essentially buildings for human orgies, and while Zim had nothing against orgies he had quite a bit against humans and xenophilia in general—and Bloaty's. He'd have to go to one of them, sooner or later.

Tallest Purple didn't care if Zim got a job or not. He didn't think it mattered. Of course, he also thought Zim would never be useful as anything but a vessel for more smeets. As important as that was for the safety of the empire, Zim knew full well that he was worth much more. He also knew that an Earth job would be essential for his eventual conquest of the humans. He just had to get Tallest Purple to see that, to agree with him.

Well, fine then. Zim could do that, couldn't he? He could convince his Tallest that he was still useful.

Purple had said Zim couldn't contact him to ask for help on anything except their mission. He'd never exactly said that Zim couldn't contact him without asking for help.

Zim had a plan now, and it would both get him a job and help raise his standing in Purple's eyes. He didn't need help, oh no. Zim never needed help. Rather, he would help Tallest Purple to see that Zim could handle the challenges that being an Invader would entail.

So he contacted the Massive.

xxx

Purple was contacted just as he was about to leave his quarters. He turned away from the door to look at his computer screen: "Incoming transmission from Planet Earth."

He sighed. "Zim." He wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or worried. It had been only seven days since Purple had been out there to dance. The eggs couldn't be ready yet...

When Purple answered the transmission, Zim saluted enthusiastically. "Greetings, my Tallest. I apologize for—"

"Is something wrong with the eggs?" Purple asked.

"Huh? No, nothing is threatening them," Zim said. "Anyway, I apologize for bothering you so soon after you were here, but this is a rather urgent matter."

"Oh, really?" Purple doubted it. "So what is this urgent matter?"

"I can't tell you," Zim said. "But you'll have to come to Earth. Er, please, my Tallest."

"What?! Why? What are you hiding?" Purple demanded, glaring at Zim.

Zim fidgeted nervously. "It won't be a long visit, my Tallest..."

"I don't believe you! Go to Earth?! And what would I tell Red, huh?" Actually, Purple knew exactly what he'd tell Red: that he was going to the Conveyor Belt Planet. Which was true. Purple had come up with a plan to make sure the eggs would be safe, even if Zim wasn't in the base to guard them. He hadn't expected to run by the Conveyor Belt Planet until the next time he visited Earth to dance. But if this was really so urgent, perhaps he could go to Earth now and swing by the Conveyor Belt Planet on his way back... "Okay, fine. But if this isn't good then I really am blocking your transmissions."

"Thank you, my Tallest!" Zim said, grinning enthusiastically. Purple didn't trust that grin. It meant Zim was up to something.

"Yeah, whatever." Purple cut the transmission.

In the past seventy-something days, this would be the fourth trip Purple had made away from the Massive, the fourth trip that he couldn't explain to Red beyond vaguely naming the planet he was visiting before he left and vaguely mentioning the things he had done after he returned. Red knew something was going on, Purple was sure of that. At least he didn't know what was going on.

Explaining this trip to Red wouldn't be fun.

xxx

Zim was waiting in the hangar when Purple landed his Spittle Runner. As Purple lowered the Runner, being careful not to land on Zim (little idiot had decided to stand right in the middle of the hangar) he realized this was the first time he'd ever seen Zim in person while he was pregnant. It had only been a week, but the difference was obvious. For a moment, the same overwhelming sense of... of connection filled him, the same one he'd had when he'd held Fataz's egg, wondering if Zim would die or not—the sense that the things in Zim's stomach weren't just Zim's, but Purple's as well, half-Zim half-Purple clones—and then the emotion passed. He hoped it wouldn't come back. Getting a freaky connection to an egg is one thing, getting one to something still inside Zim is another.

Zim saluted the moment the glass view screen of the Runner flipped up. "I thank you for coming, my Tallest. There's no time to lose! Here!" He held up Purple's trench coat and cowboy hat. "You'll need your disguise. We're going out!"

"Out where?" Purple asked, snatching up the Earth clothes but not putting them on. He'd already taken his armor off, so he could put the disguise on, but he didn't want to look like he was going along with whatever it was Zim wanted.

"To a horrible place," Zim said. "Bloaty's Pizza Hog."

"What?" Purple thought he remembered hearing the name on a previous visit to Earth, seeing an advertisement for it. "What is that?"

"An Earth fast food restaurant. They serve meat."

Purple stuck his tongue out in disgust, before he realized what Zim was getting at. "Wait, is this that stupid Earth job thing you want to get?"

Zim looked at his feet. "Maybe..."

"I don't believe it!" Purple said furiously. "You dragged me all the way out here after I TOLD you I wasn't helping you with anything that doesn't have to do with our real mission?"

"But it does have to do with the real mission! I just need to think up how they're connected!" Zim said quickly. He paused. "Uh. You imagined that last sentence, my Tallest. Really."

Purple shook his head, fuming. "I'm leaving."

"Wait—my Tallest, please!" Zim grabbed Purple's hand.

For a moment, Purple froze, too stunned at Zim's audacity to even shake him off. No one was stupid enough to actually grab a Tallest. No one, except Zim.

Zim apparently took Purple's silence as a willingness to listen. "I promise, this won't take long, my Tallest. You don't even have to do anything! I merely request that you accompany Zim to the Hog place. I don't need any help!"

Reluctantly, Purple said, "That's all?"

"That's all! I swear by my namesake!"

"Your namesake?" Purple gave Zim a puzzled look. "The Youngest Tallest? Since when were you a Slarkist?"

"Ew, never!" Zim stuck out his tongue. "I'm a Narcissist."

That made sense. It would be like a Narcissist to swear by his own name. No wonder Zim liked the philosophy.

Purple jerked his hand out of Zim's. "As long as this doesn't take much time."

"Thank you!" Zim practically skipped to the lift. "Come on! The Hog cannot wait forever!"

xxx

Purple knew he was treating Zim differently.

A few weeks ago, he would never have agreed to go with Zim to fulfill some stupid Zim idea, especially after he'd dragged Purple out of the Massive without any mention of what they were going to do. A few weeks ago, Purple would have hauled Zim back to Irk, handed him over to a trained Torture Soldier for a couple of days, and then shipped him in a really cramped box back to Earth, where his transmissions would definitely be blocked.

So, why was he following Zim?

"This is the place, my Tallest," Zim said, pointing at a building. A giant hog face loomed over the door, above it a cheese-coated sign with red words that Purple assumed read "Bloaty's Pizza Hog." The building glowed in menacing pink and orange, giving it an eerie halo in the black night. It looked like it would be a furnace inside. Irkens hated heat. They had evolved on a planet that got cold enough to freeze their antennae to deafness most winters; they were built to cope with cold, not heat.

"Okay. So what do I do?" Purple asked, surveying the building with as much haughty Irken superiority as he could muster.

"Just... stay close."

Something in Zim's voice sounded unnatural, like a forced calm. Purple gave Zim a suspicious look. "Why?"

Zim didn't meet Purple's gaze. "It's creepy in there, my Tallest."

"What do you mean?" They reached the building and Purple looked through the glass door, into the inferno-like yellow-red glow. His eyes widened. "Oh. Slark."

Modern Irkens didn't believe in a supernatural hell and didn't believe in demons, although it was a generally accepted theory that out there in the vast Firmament were worlds that embodied physical hells and heavens, and perhaps there were aliens on some that could be classified as demons. In Purple's mind, a hell had always been a never-ending boiling ocean. But, gazing into Bloaty's Pizza Hog, he now thought he knew what the demons in that ocean would look like.

The restaurant was crawling with grotesque beasts. Made of steel and skin and fur and fangs and mismatched wide eyes with pin-point pupils, patches of flesh missing to expose mechanical innards, they made Purple think of the vile predators that had skulked through the plains of Irk thousands of eras ago, hunting tribes of weak, laser-less and Pak-free Irkens. Purple couldn't even tell if they were organic or artificial.

"They were a lot bigger the last time I saw them," Zim said weakly, attempting to sound casual. He took a deep breath. "So. Let's—"

"I'm not going in there."

Zim looked at Purple in surprise. "Huh?"

"I'm staying right here." Purple planted his hands on his hips, eyes glued to the horrible beast things. "You can't make me get anywhere near those monsters. Tallest's decision. Staying here."

Slowly, Zim's surprise turned into a look of comprehension that Purple rarely saw on him. "My Tallest?"

"What?" Purple snapped.

"Are you... afraid of the Bloaty-fiends?" Purple had the feeling that there should have been a "too" tacked on at the end of that sentence, if it hadn't been Zim saying it.

"Hah! Drones are more frightening," Purple said nervously. (Never mind that Purple was occasionally scared stiff of Drones. They were desperate, hungry, envious little things, and someday they were going to assassinate Purple, he was sure of that. At times, in the eyes of taller Irkens, short Irkens could be utterly incomprehensible, simply terrifying, like dangerous, stupid beasts. Purple occasionally had to remind himself that there was no difference between tall and short Irkens other than height. Then again, wasn't height everything?) "Why? Are you scared of those things, Zim?"

"Zim, scared? Never!" And to prove it, he pulled open the door and marched boldly into the restaurant.

The moment the glass door shut, he stopped, back stiff with fear. If Zim hadn't been wearing his disguise, Purple was sure his antennae would be nearly flat against his head, kept low to keep from attracting attention but raised just enough to sense danger. But then he turned towards a counter where a bored-looking, zitty human male was sitting, and his resolve hardened again.

Zim marched forward with his head high, not turning to look around, not letting the fur-metal-fiends distract him, his hands clenched in trembling fists at his sides. He only stopped once, just past the fiends; he turned back to look for Purple. Probably to make sure he hadn't abandoned Zim.

No... Even through the freaky human contacts, Purple could see that Zim was no longer afraid. He wasn't turning back in cowardice, but in victory. Behind the contacts, his eyes glowed with the same reckless euphoria Purple had seen in the eyes of his Royal Guards, defending him and Red from assassination attempts: the glow that came from knowing that they were in the thick of mortal danger, that they would triumph regardless, and that their Tallest had witnessed their heroics.

Zim hadn't needed Purple here at all. He could have gone inside to get his job all by himself; or, more likely, could have decided not to go and claimed later that he had. The only reason he'd gone to all this effort was to show off his bravery to his Tallest.

"Idiot," Purple muttered crossly. "Stupid, idiotic... idiot. What kind of moron would fall for a stunt like that? Huh?" He wasn't sure if he was talking to Zim or to himself. He decided to make it Zim. "You're wasting your time. I'm not ending your exile because of this. Walking past a bunch of fiends isn't going to make me think you're a better Invader. That doesn't impress me at all."

Purple had only half told the truth. No, this wouldn't make Purple think Zim was a better Invader. But Zim hadn't failed to leave an impression.

Purple used to think that Zim couldn't see anything but himself and his own imaginary triumphs. That had changed when Zim had accepted this mission; he himself had said that his duty to the empire came before his own interests, and even after Purple had found out how much Zim didn't want to continue the mission, Zim had said he would go on. The empire before the Irken.

Still, Purple had thought that was just another way for Zim to show off his own greatness, by single-handedly rescuing the great Irken Empire from falling apart. He was still completely self-centered, self-absorbed, focused on himself to the point of absolutely ignoring any outside opinions...

Maybe not completely. This simple act, this moronically dragging Purple to all the way to Earth to watch him get a dumb job, made Purple wonder. If Zim only cared about what he thought about himself, why would he have wanted Purple to be here, simply to show off?

Because he needed someone else to recognize his greatness. He was an imperfect Narcissist: he could stand on a mountain and shout "ZIM IS AMAZING!" as long as he liked but, unless there was at least a small echo in agreement, "Zim is amazing," he couldn't fully believe it himself. Until Purple had told him that his mission was a lie, that he was an Exile, he'd probably been able to imagine that echo was there. Now he knew the truth: there had never been anyone agreeing with his proclamations. For the first time, he was working to earn his Tallest's praise.

Hadn't he always fought for others' approval? Yes, now that Purple thought about it, yes, he had. Every time he had violated an order, even when he'd gone on that rampage during Operation Impending Doom I, it had been to try to show off how great he was. He didn't need to prove his greatness to himself, if he really was as thoroughly self-absorbed as he acted; he needed to prove it to everyone else. He needed to be told he was amazing.

He had turned back to search for that echo of approval, for something in Purple's face to match his own sense of triumph. He apparently found it or successfully imagined it, because he turned back around and marched up to the zit-scarred human at the counter.

No, Purple didn't think Zim was a better Invader. However, Zim's little stunt was having a very unexpected side effect: for the first time ever, Purple couldn't see a shred of the monstrosity, the defectiveness that had dominated his every impression of Zim for nearly sixteen years. For a moment, he could only see an Irken just like any other Irken, desperate for his empire's approval. He could only see the Zim he'd met the day after he was born, eyes shining brightly with the assurance that someday, he would make the empire a great place.

Zim was still a defect and an idiot, but from that moment on, Purple could never see Zim as a monster again; he could never hate Zim again.

xxxxx