Zim never much liked working with a power cord in his Pak. Yes, it was supposed to help stabilize the Pak and connect to the power of the building's computer so raw data could be processed faster, but it also anchored him to about a five foot radius, which was very annoying to someone who preferred moving as he worked.

"Hmm." He'd made a practice Pak shell, carved from a scrubbed-clean soda can, but the intricate pieces were more fiddly than he'd been expecting, even with the faster reflexes using the cord. Nothing but another challenge. He'd already procured a pair of standard Pak shells for when he was ready. He'd gotten two in case of an accident- one that was likely to be named Gir.

"Let's see… the atmospheric stabilizer goes here, and the translator…" Zim used robot fingers to set the pieces into place, before switching functions to a small probe cracking with electricity. He nudged the practice Pak with it, and it sparked. Then, he dropped a little mouse into the case, and it sniffed at the Pak. Zim used the little robot fingers to pick up the Pak and grinned when it wound out wires to attach to the mouse's back. The mouse let out a scared squeak.

"Now, life!" He slammed the lever forward, and a vault of lightning arched towards the mouse. It let out a cry, but other than being singed and a few hairs smoking, it was still alive- and more importantly, the Pak was glowing. "Victory! Now I just need to- wah!" The Pak shot off the mouse's back and directly at Zim's face, and swatting it away ended with a burnt hand and the tiny tech scattered in pieces over the floor. He scrubbed between his eyes, feeling a patch of burn marks. "Stupid…!"

"Wha'izzit?" Gir poked his head into the lab, holding a tray of bread that was haphazardly stuck together with something yellow. "I made sandwiches!"

"How do the smeetery workers do it? I thought they passed that to mind-controlled slaves, if they can do it, so can I!"

"Do what?"

"Make Paks!" Zim walked over to pick up the pieces, but the cord yanked him to a stop before he could reach. "Gah-! Fine, I'll do it on my own." He clicked the cord and it retracted back into the ceiling of the lab. "There was just something wrong with this equipment, I've got two more tries." He brushed himself off, bending down to pick up the shell and the pieces, and could feel the bottom of his stomach brushing the very top of his thighs. Boy, did that feel weird. There was a faint squeak as the test mouse leapt off the table and scurried away.

"Ooh, lemme get that!" Gir danced over, scooping up a few tiny pieces of metal.

"No, Gir, I need that! Ugh, it's all dirty from the floor already, and- is that orange soda?" Gir smelled of something citrus-y, and Zim could hear sloshing from inside his head.

Gir nodded. "Two cans of it!"

"Remind me to ban Dib from bringing over Earth soda, it's disgusting."

"Nah, I won't."

Zim looked at the pieces cupped in his gloves. His thumb ran over the curve of the handmade shell. "Who knows it if will even fit- if I make it too small, what if it chokes out the spooch?"

Gir tilted his head. "Inside hug?"

"No, Gir, that wouldn't be an inside hug, it would just kill it. It would be a huge waste." He set the pieces back into the case, leaning on the ledge with his elbow, smushing a cheek in his hand. He could feel his stomach weighing him down, ever so slightly. "Pak, analyze smeet's size and growth pattern."

"Smeet is growing zzzt continuous rate. Limbs are growing zzzt,, as well as the start of antennae. Weight is 0.532 units. Length is zzzt. Progress towards birth is 42.564 percent."

Zim jolted. "That's over a pound, and if it goes past four months...!" He groaned. "I'll need to make the Pak completely from scratch, there's no way it's going to fit if this is how far it is already. Stupid Dib, with his stupid big genes and… and… humanness ."

"But I like humanness," Gir piped in.

"You're not supposed to." Zim drummed his fingers against his cheek. "I'll just have to analyze the shells and make larger versions from the start. I can't risk stealing one of the returns without it rejecting the smeet for not being entirely irken. Great, this is just more work!" He grabbed his welding goggles and snapped them on his forehead, waving a hand at Gir. "Leave the sandwiches here and go get the pillow from the couch. The pink- it's- oh, you know the one."

Gir saluted. "Yes, sir!" He ran out of the room, and from the loud crashes he knocked over several things on the way. Zim swiped one of the sandwiches, sniffing at it. It was hard to tell colors in the lab sometimes, but it didn't smell poisoned… further inspection showed it had a scent of sweetness, in fact. Zim gave it an experimental lick.

"Mm…" He took a bite- the substance was sticky, but tasted delicious. After a moment, he identified it as honey. He gingerly picked up three pieces of bread- really, it was just toast, not sandwiches- and took a bite. Gir was being surprisingly thoughtful, getting him one of his favorite treats.

That, or it was just the first thing the little robot grabbed, but it didn't hurt to think he'd been competent for once. Zim finished all three pieces, feeling marginally better. He left the rest for Gir- after the waffle incident years back, he'd learned never to finish a plate Gir brought if it had more than four pieces on it, unless he wanted to be forced to have more. This way, Gir would just cry for a few minutes, eat it himself, then forget about it. He licked the honey off his gloves before tossing them into the laundry chute and pulling another pair on. Adjusting the goggles, he took a breath before pulling out the pair of smeet Pak cases.

He had work to do.

Four hours later, Dib walked in on Zim slumped over the case, heart skipping a beat before he saw the irken's back slowly rising and falling with each breath. Zim's arms were settled on a pillow, and Dib smiled, shaking his head as he crossed the room. "I really need to find a way to get you to stop- wuah?"

One of the tools had been left on, sending a small shower of sparks over all the now-half-melted pieces. Most of the materials in the case were glowing with heat, and he could hear a ticking noise. Dib's eyes widened, and he tugged Zim back moments before there was a cough of an explosion- it was partially contained by the case itself, but if he hadn't moved Zim, it probably would have taken an eye out. Zim jolted, wiping the drool off his mouth. "Huh?"

"You can't just fall asleep with something on like that!" Dib patted Zim down. "What if I'd been late today, huh? Huh? You could have gotten hurt, or fallen on your stomach or something!"

"I could have regrown… oh!" Zim stood straight up, running over to the case. "It better not have gotten all of the- the-" He sucked in a breath. There were Pak pieces that were only a bit dented, but others were completely unidentifiable. "Well. They won't be speaking to any Vortians any time soon."

"What? What were you doing, anyways?"

"I was making a Pak, what does it look like?" Zim nervously twitched his left antenna. "Those were my last set of miniature translators and weapons implants…"

Dib winced. "That's… not good. What can you salvage?"

Zim carefully sorted through it, smoke still rising from the pieces. "There's the atmospheric processor, and…. oh, good, the self-destruct survived."

"We're not putting a self-destruct in a baby! "

"What? It's useful if they ever get caught, since they have-" Zim blinked. "Oh. Well, I can always just add it back in when they get older."

"No. No self-destruct. The processor is probably all that they really need."

"But they need a supercomputer to help them process all of the information they need to develop an identity. I can even try to fix some of the mistakes in the history book that was given to me, so they don't have to waste space."

Dib blinked. "Develop- wait. You said something before. Were you just… you , right after you got your Pak?"

Zim nodded. "Of course- once my Pak downloaded everything it needed, I was sent off to training." He had the feeling Dib would get all picky about him bringing up Painful Overload Day.

"Oh, wow. That's… really convenient, actually. But can you even do that from here?"

"I can encode a name, but anything else is too fiddly. The computers at the smeeteries are nerds, they're good at it because it's all they do," The computer chimed in.

"Ugh, really?" Zim grumbled. "Fine, we can teach it the hard way. At least that way I can make sure they know what's important."

"Right." Dib sighed. "Anyways, I'm going to try and talk to Dad tomorrow. If I can, I'll start bringing work here. You've still got that spare room, and…"

"Which spare room?"

"The one that Gir hung those boy band posters in."

Zim shuddered. "It's yours."

Dib rubbed the back of his neck. "I think it'll be best to move in for a while, even if he is fine with this. I know he likes you, but…"

"He does, doesn't he?" Zim grinned.

"Anyways, I was going to say it'll be easier to monitor you the next two months if I don't keep going home most nights."

"Monitor me?" Zim crossed his arms.

Dib held up his hands. "Look, I can have more than one reason to want to be closer to you right now, okay? I want to make sure you're both okay, but also… okay, I want to get as many notes as I can. I'm not going to send them to anyone, cross my heart."

Zim stared at Dib for a few more moments, watching the beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead, before nodding.

"Fine. But you're not allowed to bring any human soda. Gir got into your last supply."

Dib groaned.