Cold Unfeeling
It was times like these—filthy Earth children running rampant outside—that Zim was thankful that his own childhood was so different. Those happy terrestrials bounced around without a care in the world; whereas on Irk a child began military orientation shortly after birth—those worthy of being encoded as soldiers, that is. These pitiful worm-babies cried when they skinned their knees—ha! Zim remembered breaking his knees as a smeet and still being expected to drag them through a ten-mile obstacle course.
It was no wonder humans were so useless, so perfect for being conq—
"Gir! You're not that stink-monster's family dog! Get out of their van and back in here!"
The addressed little minion whimpered like a true dog being reprimanded, and shuffled into the house, where Zim gave his weekly lecture on fraternizing with the enemy.
"And besides, you are an Irken, Gir. You need no family," he spat the last word. "Especially not one made up of our future slaves. Your family is the Empire; your parents are the Tallest. And this—"he snatched off the floor Gir's recent doodle of himself hugging the Earth, "—is not being loyal to them."
"Woo! Are we gonna have a reunion with the Empire?" exclaimed Gir, missing the point. "I'll bake the cupcakes and everything! They haven't seen me since I was thiiiis big." He demonstrated a diminutive size with his thumb and forefi—or rather, thumb and the rest of his pincer-hand-thing.
Zim smacked his own forehead at the robot's stupidity. "You've never even grown, Gir. You're a robot."
A family reunion. Another ridiculous idea Gir had picked up from the humans. The only parent Zim had ever known—the cold, unfeeling robot arm that had delivered him from incubation—he had met only once and probably never would again. People came and went in an Irken's life; he fought for the betterment of his species as a whole and saw no point in growing attached to any individual.
It was for this reason that he hated the fact that his first words were "I love you". And to someone other than himself—just the thought! But…it was different in that case. Part of him felt it was okay, because the robot arm was cold and unfeeling—and that was admirable. Besides, Zim was a naïve newborn at that time, maybe…a little bit…conceivably similar to the dirt monkeys playing just beyond his yard, and as a young smeet he had responded warmly to being welcomed into the world.
But that was the only time he ever required a show of affection, and certainly the last time he ever felt any sort of love for anyone who was not Zim! When Gir insisted on photographing the two of them together (with a backdrop of that awful human affection organ—the heart) and displaying it in the living room, Zim agreed only because "It makes the place look more normal."
When Gir nursed him through a grueling illness from some horrible Earth germs, "Good job, soldier; serving your commander. I, er, appreciate that you care—about the mission!"
When Gir's favorite toy had broken and Zim bought him a new one, it was—to all who might have seen—"a way to boost morale…That is, the morale of my normal Earth dog. No, no, down boy! Sit!"
Zim had been disgusted by that adoring look his little robot had given him upon receiving a new rubber moose. It was that look that he had seen on many a human child's grubby face, a look they gave to their…their parents.
Why him? He was Gir's commander; not his father. If anything, Gir's parents literally were the Tallest (despite their attempts to hide it, he had seen Red and Purple personally assemble his special SIR unit just for him). But Zim also recalled, when life first lit up the android's eyes, he had been the first living thing Gir had seen.
And now as the invader's clouding confusion was noticed and small metallic arms were wrapped around him in the only form of clarity Gir knew how to bring, a biology lesson from skool crossed Zim's mind, about baby animals and imprinting.
"Something wrong, Master?" the young robot finally asked, curious as to what exactly he was comforting his parental figure about.
Zim stared out the window as the human worm-babies were finally called indoors to eat whatever filth their mothers or fathers had prepared for dinner. "I…Nothing, Gir. Just…don't…go home…with some other family. You live…you live here…with me."
"Mm-hm," Gir tightened the embrace, and Zim made no move to cast him off. Solidarity was important…in a mission. This was all about unity…for the mission…he kept telling himself.
Zim sighed at the hideous sunset over this pitiful planet. It was times like these that he was missing the cold unfeeling robot arm less and less. There were other robot arms that felt much better.