Chapter 18:

Three Words

[Dib]

"For the last time, Dib - he said he wants to be left alone ."

She stands in front of the door, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in her ever-present scowl as she blocks me yet again from leaving the house.

"How long do you think this'll work on me?" We're toe-to-toe now. I glare down at her. "I could literally punt you through the wall."

"Oh yeah? Do it, then." She sneers and leans in, calling my obvious bluff. "I dare you."

Our eyes lock in a vicious battle of will, but as always, I falter under the weight of her unblinking, steely gaze. She smirks the second I fold.

" Motherfu - UGH!"

I rake my hands through my hair and whirl around, seething. I can't tell her that I still have an active camera across the street from his base; that I've been monitoring the footage on my laptop for the past two weeks like it's my full-time job; that I finally saw him leave in the Voot six minutes and twenty-three seconds ago - because that would make me sound crazy, and I am not crazy.

"Gaz, come on ! Just let me–"

"No," she repeats sharply. "He's busy."

"I don't care!" I breach her personal bubble a second time and grab her by the shoulders. "It's been two weeks , Gaz–"

"Hey!" She swings her fists at my face. "Don't touch me–"

"Then move –"

"You're being crazy!"

" You're being crazy! Let me out –"

I shove her aside with one hand and grab the door handle with the other–

"He doesn't want to see you!"

The metal bends under my palm and I stop.

"...What?"

She pushes my arm away and plants her weight firmly in front of the door.

"He…he said he doesn't want to see you right now."

The guillotine falls, severing the rage. A gaping void takes its place and I blink from the stupor.

"He…" My jaw clenches so tight, my teeth hurt. " Why? "

The tension in the air charges with something new. Something worse. I turn away from her, away from the door, and I pace halfway through the living room before I realize I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going. An ache rapidly swells in my chest and I stand there, useless.

"I…I don't understand." My voice clips beneath the chill in my veins. "What did I do wrong? I thought… I-I thought we…"

The words dissolve and float away. I'm torn between the need to scream and the crushing urge to hide in my room and wait for my brain to stop doing what it's doing. I'm still caught in the riptide when Gaz clears her throat.

"It's not your fault, Dib," she says quietly.

I glance back at her. She avoids my gaze and rubs her arms nervously, staring at the tile.

"...It's mine."

I scoff, but it comes out broken. "How could this be your fault? You didn't do anything."

She takes a small breath and it wavers. She wipes something from her face.

I hesitate. "...Gaz?"

"I-I was upset," she mutters. "You were hurt again and I got scared." Her expression slowly shifts to one of confusion and anger and pain. "I…I told him not to come back until he found a way to fix you."

The phone call echoes through my mind; the strain in his tone when he told me he was okay - when I basically forced him to tell me he was okay - right before he hung up.

"You…you said that to him?" I ask, incredulous. A rare look of shame crosses her face and she nods. Heat pools in my gut.

"Why - why would you–"

"I didn't mean to," she blurts. "I-I didn't think he'd actually listen–"

"Of course he listened!" I snarl. "How else was he supposed to interpret you telling him to fuck off?!"

She raises her voice. "I didn't tell him to fuck off–"

"Oh really? Because it sounds the fucking same to me–"

"I just–" She groans in frustration and yells, "I just need to make sure you're safe , Dib!"

I stare at her. "It's not your job to keep me safe, Gaz. That's not–"

"Yes, it is! Who else is going to?" she snaps. "God, you're such an idiot - who's always covering for you? Who do you think's been calling you out of school? Who's been doing your homework for you?"

I arch a brow and she groans.

" Okay , who's been bribing the drone to do your homework for you?"

"I didn't ask you to–"

"You didn't have to!" she shouts. "That's what family is supposed to do, dumbass! We're supposed to be there for each other! How the fuck can you do that if you're dead?!"

The tension winds taut between us. She glares at me with animosity hot enough to warp steel.

"You still haven't told me what happened down there," she mutters. "You haven't told me anything since you got back."

My eyes narrow. "Sorry for not recounting my near-death experience on your timetable."

Somehow, it's possible for her to look even more angry.

"See, this is why I snapped at Zim," she spits. "This shit, right here. I have no idea what you guys are doing. You only get me involved after you've been seriously hurt, and then," she raises her arms, exasperated, " then you act like nothing happened, and I'm over here wondering what the fuck is going on, and neither of you will tell me anything!"

"What's the point in telling you, Gaz? It's done - it already happened. Do you really think you'd feel better knowing the details?"

"At least I'd feel included, " she bites. "I know I can't follow along on your dumbass adventures, but it'd be nice to be kept in the loop. I could be useful - I thought I made that pretty clear before–"

"Oh yeah, super clear," I chide. "How useful it was for you to chase away the only person who could actually help me–"

She slams her fist against the door, and I flinch. "I know I fucked up, Dib!" she yells. Tears spring from her bloodshot eyes. "But I was fucking scared! You're all I have and if I lose you, then–"

The choked sob startles us both. She covers her mouth, turning her face away in shame and rage and an ache so palpable it radiates in my bones. All I can do is stand there and watch her unravel in a mess of strangled gasps. My stomach twists.

Fuck .

The pain etched around her eyes cuts me somewhere new. I can't remember if we've ever talked like this before. I can't remember if I've ever seen her cry.

"Gaz…"

" What ?" she snaps, but it's broken; crumbling at the edges.

I drag my fingers over my scalp with an uneasy breath, and then I cross the space between us. She stays planted by the door, her gaze sharp and wounded and weary. I reach out my arms. It's awkward, and I fully expect her to punch me in the gut, but the light in her eyes softens. She leans into the embrace, and though the caution in her movement could rival a feral cat, she's here. I pull her close. She's warm and small against my chest, and the weight of my stupidity crashes down on my head.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. A sting runs up my nose. "I didn't think about… I didn't know you were scared. Or that you felt responsible for taking care of me. You shouldn't…" I sigh and press my lips to her hair. "I'm your older brother - I should be taking care of you ."

She mumbles into my shirt. "Yeah, except I'm not an idiot, so there's nothing to take care of."

I smirk. "You're right. You're too smart to end up like me."

She snorts. I unwrap my arms and she steps back, rubbing her sleeve over her puffy red eyes.

"I did try with Zim." She sniffs and wipes her cheeks as she pulls her phone from her jacket pocket. "I swear."

She hands it to me, and I almost don't want to take it. It feels too heavy in my palm.

Their message history loads on the screen, and I begin to scroll through two weeks of sporadic texts.

Dib's asking for you

Message marked as read. No response.

Two days later: He's driving me crazy. Can you talk to him or something

Marked as read - no response.

An hour later, she tried again: You can come over if you want

Marked as read - no response.

My heart sinks as I swipe through more of the same.

Any day now, bug boy

?

He's going nuts dude

Come on

Toward the bottom: Please talk to him

Marked as read - response: No.

I stare at the screen. My intestines coil and burn. She gently takes the phone from my hand and I feel like I'm swallowing glass.

"...Do you think he hates me now?" she asks. She sounds far away - underwater. My brain struggles to function, but I manage to carve the words from the muck.

"No." I blink and try to focus on her face. "But…I didn't see an actual apology."

She scowls. "I have to say it ? He can't just, I don't know, infer or something?"

"It's Zim." My chest hurts. "He's an idiot."

She grumbles under her breath, but then her gaze catches something behind us. I glance over my shoulder to see the open box on the kitchen counter.

"That's for him, right?" I ask.

She nods and shoves her phone in her pocket. "I was supposed to give it to him when you guys got back…but that didn't happen. Obviously."

"...You should go do that, then." I turn to her and offer what I hope is a warm smile, and not any of what rages in my skull. "Bring him his present, tell him you're sorry - it'll be fine."

She blinks and looks at me. "You think so? He's not gonna be mad?"

I wince. " Eh …maybe? But he's always a little bitchy. The present will help - and if he's still being an ass, it never hurts to grovel." I shrug. "He can't resist that kind of stuff."

She frowns. "...How much groveling are we talking about?"

I purse my lips. "Uh…some, for sure. I mean, you don't wanna overdo it or he'll turn into a gloating menace, but…" I look back at the box. "Just say it really fast and give him the gift before he starts acting up."

"Okay… I can do that." She brushes past me to retrieve the gift from the kitchen. I follow on her heels and sort through the utensil drawer for tape, and we seal the cardboard back up together.

"A bow would get you some extra points," I mutter. She gags.

"I'm not putting a fucking bow on it, Dib."

"Okay." I raise my hands. "Just trying to help."

She groans and swipes the box from the counter. I glance at the clock on the stove as she jams her feet into her worn-out shoes and shuffles toward the front door.

"Assuming I can patch things up with the idiot," she continues, "you should talk to him, too."

I arch a brow. "Well, yeah - that's the plan."

She pauses, glaring at the deformed door handle before her grumpy eyes lift to mine. Her gaze sharpens. "Dib…you should talk to him."

Confusion settles across my face. "I agree? I don't know what you're -"

She groans and turns in the doorway. "You know what I mean! God, do you know the kind of shit you say in your sleep?"

My face gets hot. "Uh…"

"Ninety percent of it is Zim's name," she sneers. "And the other ten percent, I can't even think about without risk of projectile vomiting–"

"T-That's personal , Gaz–"

"I fucking wish it was," she glowers, "but I can hear it from my room!"

The urge to scream or die - or scream and then die - fills my veins with life-altering dread and all the words jam to mush in my throat.

"Oo-kay, you can go now." I grab the door and wrench it open, nudging her onto the porch. She shoots me one last death stare.

"Do your homework while I'm out," she chides. "I mean it."

I wave her off. "I will…eventually."

"I refuse to be in the same grade as you," she growls. "I swear to god, if you get held back again , I'm just gonna change schools-"

"Bye, Gaz!"

I slam the door in her face and bolt up the stairs. Sliding into my room and practically falling over my laptop, I swipe the stack of schoolwork off the desk and punch in the password, pulling up the surveillance footage.

"Come on, come on, come on–"

It doesn't look like he's come back to the base yet. Finally , some goddamn luck.

I switch programs and breathe a sigh of relief to see the tracker is still picking up the signal. Without my phone, I can't monitor him on the go, but the Voot looks to be stationary and not too far from here. He's only…

I pause and squint at the monitor as the location blinks in the corner. I swear to god, of all the places he could be right now…

I bury my face in my hands as the words ' MEMBRANE LABS' flash behind my eyes.

"Zim," I groan. "What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing there?"

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[Gaz]

I stand in front of his house, box in hand, staring down the lawn like an idiot. It's three words. Three goddamn words .

After the morning I just had with Dib, you'd think this would be easier - but it feels much, much worse.

"Because it's Zim," I mutter to myself. "And he's insufferable."

Three words.

I rub my eyes and groan. God, I probably still look like shit. Zim's gonna notice and laugh at me for crying, and then I'm gonna punch him so hard, he'll die - and I won't have to apologize for anything after that.

One of the lawn gnomes wobbles over to me, and I clench my fist. "Don't even think about it, Steve!"

It swerves around and scuttles off, vanishing in the bushes. My shoulders slump with a heavy, grated sigh, and I slowly press my face into the cardboard.

"Just do it," I groan. "Just go in there and get it over with already–"

GIR's high voice cuts through the brain goop. "I found you, miss lady!"

I lower the box to see him standing beside me, blue eyes beaming, Poptart in hand.

I arch a brow and glance in the direction he came from.

"...Were you at my house?" I ask.

He takes a bite of the Poptart and nods. "M'yeah."

"...Why?"

"I was lookin' for you!" He grins. "The monkey broke my spaceship - can you fix it now?"

I stare blankly before remembering what the fuck he's talking about. "The backpack?"

He nods.

"Uh…sure."

"Okie!" He grabs my free hand and leads me down the unnaturally manicured path. The house is as weird as ever - except now, it's kind of…cluttered. Random toys and pieces of garbage (which I'm sure GIR counts as toys) litter the floor, and the couch is piled with opened bags of chips, soda cans, and empty donut boxes.

GIR shuts the door behind me. I turn to him.

"Have you been by yourself a lot?"

"Nu-uh!" He points to the TV. "I gots the monkey!"

"Right." I set the box on the narrow side table by the couch and glance around the room. It takes me a second to register the package sitting by the window, but once I do, it's all I see.

No fucking way .

My heart sinks.

It's the goddamn Gameslave system. The new one. And because the universe hates me for some reason, the box is topped with a fucking bow .

"You've got to be kidding me," I snarl. "GIR, where the fuck is Zim? I need to get this over with before I spontaneously combust."

"I do that sometimes! It tickles." GIR waddles past me and pulls the clunky spaceship bag from under the couch. The gray plastic is dull and scratched, and the small acrylic dome is almost too smudged to see through. "Other Master's on a misssiiiioooon. It's a secret!"

My face drops. "He's not here? But I - ugh ."

GIR drags the plastic case over and holds it up, pointing to the broken strap. "It don't fly now."

I stare at his blank face, then at the garbage littering the room and the very obvious dent in the couch cushion where he's likely spent the past two weeks alone. Not a fiber in my being wants to stay here, but GIR gently shakes the bag and blinks his big blue eyes, and I stop feeling like I have any other choice in the matter.

"Fine," I grumble. "I guess I'll wait here with you." I take the bag from his hands and sigh. "...We're gonna need a lot of glue."

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[Dib]

I find him scoping out the south perimeter of the lab, and he nearly decapitates me when I stumble from the treeline.

"Dib?" His eyes darken as he retracts his blade. Gaz wasn't wrong - he does not look happy to see me. "What are you doing here?"

I slump over my knees, panting heavily. "I could…ask you…the same…question…" I tilt my head back and wipe the sweat from my brow. " Fuck … So much… running …"

He groans and pulls on his antennae. "Did you tag the Voot again with one of your horrid tracking devices?"

I blink up at him; the guilt is obvious. "...No."

"You snooping, wretched beast –" He switches to Irken and continues ranting. I can't help but smile as I watch him pace between bushes, cursing to himself.

"Calm down, space boy." I straighten my spine and wince. "I'll talk to the guard and get us in."

He stops and glares at me. "How will that work?"

I shrug. "I did it all the time when I was a kid. They're usually pretty gullible. You know…" I gesture vaguely. "Like everyone in this town."

His face wrinkles, but he complies. "Fine. Zim will wait here."

Relieved to be doing something for once, I circle to the front of the building. There's only one guard by the entrance, but as I approach, I find myself wondering if they always looked this…intimidating. I guess it's possible my dad eventually hired someone competent.

The guard watches me without a word until I stop a few feet away. He's taller than me; broad shoulders, short hair, and dark eyes that scream 'I hate everything and I'm going to make it everyone else's problem.' He's decked out in black tactical gear, a ballistics vest, and a dozen lethal gadgets secured to his belt.

Jesus, Dad. Chill.

I swallow and regret the confidence I possessed three minutes ago, and he sighs like I've just ruined his day.

"Name?"

"Dib." I glance over his shoulders to the steel doors behind. "Dib Membrane."

He tilts his head and arches a brow beneath the orange visor.

"Dib Membrane." I tap my foot nervously and clear my throat. "You know, Professor Membrane's son ?"

He stares at me way too long before unclipping the walkie from his belt.

"Hey, I got a kid out here saying he's the Professor's son or something."

I frown at the ' or something' and strain to listen to the muffled voice on the other end, but it's too distorted.

"Oh." The guard wrinkles his nose at me and turns his head away, cupping a hand over the device as he whispers into the walkie. "He's got a son?"

Static warbles.

"Huh. Weird."

More static.

"Well, yeah, I knew about her, but not… Can you just check for me? He's standing right here and it's getting awkward."

I keep a straight face as if I haven't just been nuked from orbit. The guard side-eyes me while he waits for a definitive answer. His lip curls at the voice crackling through the speaker.

"Gotcha. Thanks."

He lowers the walkie and glares.

"Don't know what to tell you, kid. You're not on the list."

"But I'm–"

" Not on the list ," he repeats. His hand moves toward the weapon holstered on his belt in the world's most thinly veiled threat.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm leaving." I roll my eyes and back away, noting the small name tag on his vest. "… Bryan ."

He squints at me until I turn on my heels and stomp down the path leading to the empty parking lot. When I'm sure I'm out of sight, I head for the trees and loop back around to find Zim waiting in the bushes. I grimace at his expectant gaze.

"Yeah, uh..." I run my teeth over my bottom lip. "No dice."

He doesn't look surprised. "Do you have some sort of disease that renders you useless in all situations? It's honestly impressive at this point."

"Fuck off," I grumble. "I was just trying to help you–"

"Yes, an emphasis on the ' trying ' part," he mutters. He stands and picks the leaves from his uniform with a disinterested face. "No matter. I found an accessible air vent while you were pretending to be useful."

"Great." I wave my arm. "Lead the way, then."

He pauses, scanning me with pursed lips. "Go home, Dib."

"Nope."

Our eyes lock and he scowls.

"You have no reason to be here," he mutters.

"And you do?" I ask.

" Yes ."

"Why?" I tilt my head, sharpening my gaze. "What could you possibly need from my dad's stupid lab?"

"It's none of your business–"

"Well it is now, and I'm gonna follow you whether you like it or not." I put my hands on my hips and lean toward him. "That's what you get for ignoring me, Zim."

" Irk ." He groans and his antennae flatten to his neck. "You're insufferable , you know that?"

"It's been mentioned once or twice. So, where's this air vent?"

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[Gaz]

GIR lies across from me, chin propped in his hands, happily kicking his legs as he watches me fumble with the strap.

"I'm surprised you managed to keep this thing in one piece," I mutter, grimacing at the glue stringing my fingers together. "It's like, a million years old."

"I like it!"

"You can keep it." I wipe a glob of glue on my jeans and try to align the buckle. "I don't need it anymore."

He hums and taps his cheeks. "Why noooot?"

"I only used it when I was little - for stray cats and stuff." My brow dips. "Turns out, bringing random animals into a house full of science experiments is a bad idea."

A plethora of unpleasant memories float to the surface. I shake my head and add more glue.

"Am I the cat now?" GIR asks, intrigued by my work.

I manage a smile. "Yeah. You're the cat now."

He rolls over and moos. I snort and toss the glue bottle at him - which he, of course, eats.

"Okay, it's kinda shitty, but it'll hold once it dries." I stand it up against the leg of the sofa. GIR blows a bubble from the clumps of glue and claps.

"'Spretty!"

"Yep." I eye the Gameslave cautiously. Zim can't blame me if I'm not the one who opens it…or plugs it in…or turns it on…right? It's the least he can do for making me wait.

"Hey GIR," I start with a small grin, "wanna see something cool?"

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[Dib]

The air vent is a lot less spacious than I remember. Trailing after Zim, I squeeze my shoulders along the metal walls and try to avoid getting kicked in the face.

"So, what're we doing here again?" I whisper as I wait for him to wriggle past an intersection in the ducts.

" I'm here because I'm looking for something," he mutters. " You're here because you're a creepy stalker."

I roll my eyes. "You're so dramatic."

"Please," he hisses. "What part of my statement was embellished?"

"I'm just trying to talk to you." I crawl further in, gritting my teeth. My elbows burn against the metal. "And apparently, the only way to do that is to stalk–"

The duct opens to a wide maintenance sector and I fall on my hands with a resounding thud . Zim sits up, glaring.

"Try being louder," he growls. "I don't think they heard you."

I curse and rub the sting from my wrists. "I mean it, Zim - we need to talk."

He glowers. "If you haven't noticed, I'm a little busy, Dib ."

"Oh, I've noticed." Bitterness seeps over my tongue. "I thought almost fucking dying together would've at least earned me a phone call - but no , you're busy ."

His gaze sharpens, but he doesn't respond. I lean in with a scowl.

"Too busy to let me know you're okay, too fucking busy to tell me you were going back there by yourself - which I'm still pissed about, by the way. What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I was thinking it would be much easier without you." His eyes become weapons, flashing with disdain. "And I was correct."

Heat flares up my abdomen, sickening and deep. "Why are you acting like this, Zim?"

"I'm not acting like anything!" His antennae jut back in a straight line, expression darkening. The air around him slowly fills with static. "I'm minding my own business - you're the one following me–"

"Because we need to talk!"

"No," he snarls, " you need to talk. I have nothing to say." He twists around and climbs toward the next duct. My blood boils over. The isolation of the past two weeks has not left me unscathed, and it's coming out now, all at once, and I don't even try to circumvent it.

"Fine!" I grab his ankle and pull him hard. His body slides across the vent and he whips his head toward me with a vicious expression. The static intensifies, brushing the edges of my skull. "Fine, Zim - I need to talk to you. Is that better? Can we fit that into your bullshit schedule?"

He glares up at me. "Then talk ."

The molten vehemence of his gaze threatens my resolve. I clench my teeth around it, pulling in a sharp breath and pushing the question out as fast as humanly possible–

"Did you do something to me?"

"I–" His head tips to the right and the heat falters. "What?"

"Did you do something to me?" I repeat firmly. "You know, back in the mines?"

He stares incredulously. "...You're going to have to be more specific, Dib."

I groan and rub the space between my brows. "Your blood , Zim! Did your blood do something to me?"

"Other than keep you alive?" he scoffs. "Obviously not."

It's not the answer I want - but then again, I don't know if one exists.

"But I…" I grimace and look away. "I feel different ."

"How vague," he deadpans.

"Shut up," I hiss. "You know what I'm talking about!"

"Clearly I don't!"

"Ugh!" I push off of him, disrupting the low buzz as I fold my arms over my knees in a huff. The strange dots swirl around us, and no matter how many times I blink, they don't go away.

"My head feels…fuzzy," I mutter. "And I can't stop–"

Thinking about you–

Confusion and disgust rips me in two uncomfortable directions. I clench my fists and sigh.

"Something's different, okay?"

He waits for me to continue, and the static surrounds him in slow pulses. If he can see it, he doesn't address it - which probably means I'm the only one losing my mind.

What else is new?

"...Different how?" he probes, struggling to maintain his prior disinterest.

The discomfort moves like tar through my veins. I fumble for words that don't sound ridiculous - but this whole situation is already ridiculous.

"I've been…tired. Like, really tired." I rub my nose, keeping my eyes from his. "And the blood tastes gross now."

He sits up and sneers. "I'm sorry for not procuring gourmet fluids for you, stink-meat. Anything else you've come to complain about, or is that all?"

"I saw the patches, Zim." I take a breath. "The ones you made to your PAK."

His snide expression drops. The static flickers and zips tight to his frame, darker than before.

"You disabled your defense systems against me," I continue - and this time, he doesn't interrupt. "I've tried to think of every possible reason you'd have to feel comfortable enough to do something that crazy. Especially now that I'm…changing." I look over at him, brows furrowed. "Now that I'm actually dangerous."

"Don't flatter your head, meatworm," he spits. "Zim has never viewed you as a threat. You couldn't successfully attack me if you–"

"I did attack you!" I snap. "In the mines! I blacked out and almost chewed through your neck, Zim!"

His narrowed eyes latch onto mine. "Your memory is faulty, Dib. It was not that serious."

"Yes, it was!" I groan and slump against the duct. "God, you're exhausting."

"You're speaking in circles," he quips. "This is a waste of time –"

"Just tell me why you made those updates, Zim!" I grit my teeth. "What, are you brainwashing me? I-Is that why I feel so weird now - why you're so confident that I'm not a threat?"

The charge in the air wavers and spikes. Something in his face changes.

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" he asks, his tone full of knives.

"I don't know ," I growl, "because you won't talk to me ."

We glare at each other in the low light, but it's clear he has no intention of answering me. Forfeiting my second staring match of the day, I avert my gaze and tilt my head back on the vent. He's right: this is a waste of time.

"After everything that happened," I grumble, "I thought things would be different between us. I thought we'd be… I don't know, cool with each other."

The static shifts again. His eyes narrow. " Cool ?"

"Yeah. Like…friends." The word feels funny rolling off my tongue, and he scowls as if I've sprayed him with acid. My stomach twists. "Obviously, that's not the case, so I guess we're back to…whatever we were before."

The silence that follows is an insult all on its own. I look at him for something - anything - but his expression doesn't change. His mouth stays pressed in a thin line; the walls around him unyielding.

"Right." The weight in my gut becomes unbearably painful. I run my hands through my hair, exasperated. "Good talk."

I shift from the wall and move towards the vent we came through.

"...Where are you going?" he asks.

"Home, Zim." I pull myself up into the smaller duct. My shoulders pinch against the corners; the metal sticks and grabs at my skin as I crawl down the narrow passage. A certain nausea has begun to worm around my intestines, and it gets worse the farther I go. I'm almost out when I realize he's following me.

Oh, great, I think bitterly. Chase me down and humiliate me some more. Awesome.

The anger fuels my progress. I reach the end and slam the heel of my palm into the metal grate, popping it free from its hinges. With a breathless curse, I wrench my body out of the duct and fall in a heap on the ground below. I'm not given the chance to gather my bearings before Zim lands on top of me and crushes the air from my lungs.

" Zim ," I hiss, shoving him off. "What the–"

Something clicks to our right. I snap my head toward the sound and nearly shit myself when my nose meets the barrel of a gun.

"Can I offer you boys some advice?" The guard from earlier stands over us. "Maybe don't have loud personal disputes in the air vent of the place you're trying to rob."

Fuck.

"Uh, hi…" The color drains from my face. "... Bryan, was it?"

He scowls. "We're not on a first-name basis, kid. Now, do yourselves a favor and follow me." He glides the barrel under my chin and motions for me to stand. "I wouldn't want to have to, I don't know, shoot you or something. It's a lot of paperwork."

I yield to the order and rise on weak legs, glancing frantically at Zim, who is most definitely not wearing his disguise. He meets my gaze with shared bewilderment and mimics my stance, keeping his antennae flat against his head.

"Oh, good - your ears do work." Bryan lowers the weapon, eyes lidded in a mixture of boredom and mild contempt. "I wasn't so sure, since I told you to leave and you didn't actually leave."

"I'm, uh….sorry?"

"Uh-huh." He steps back and sweeps out an arm toward the side entrance. "This way, boys."

.

.

.

[Gaz]

"Is it normal for him to be gone this long?" I ask, eating a burrito with one hand and obliterating a mutant octopus with the other. "Not that I'm complaining."

GIR is laser-focused on the screen. His tongue has been poking out for three hours now - I'm concerned his face is gonna get stuck like that.

"I don't know what he do. OH! TREASURE!"

He spams B and cracks open the barrel, eyes gleaming with pride - and a touch of mania. I don't have it in me to tell him he hasn't found a single legitimate treasure chest the whole time we've been playing; he's just smashing empty barrels.

Whatever makes him happy, I guess.

I carry us through level eight while he runs around and breaks shit. Despite how the day began, I don't mind this so much. Zim can take his sweet ass time - I've got video games and a seemingly endless supply of free burritos. I don't know what kind of deal GIR struck with the poor delivery guy, but I'm not gonna question it.

We're halfway through level nine when a familiar rumble sounds from below.

"Finally." I pause the game and stretch my back. "Come on, GIR."

He swings his legs and struggles to peel his gaze from the screen. "Where we goin'?"

"I have to… apologize ." The word makes me shudder. I slide off the couch and toss the remote on the table.

"Oh." He taps his chin and blinks at me. "Master's home?"

"No, GIR," I drone sarcastically. "It's some other guy with a spaceship." I grab the clunky backpack and dangle it in front of him. "Come on - I'll carry you if that's easier."

"Okay!" He slaps his controller on the table and bounces from the cushion into the bag. I steady myself, swinging him over my shoulder with a grunt and snatching the box from the side table. Idiot on board, stupid gift in hand, I head toward the elevator and brace myself for what I'm sure will be the most insufferable experience of my life.

.

.

.

[Dib]

"Come on," I groan, leaning against the cold bars. "Is this really necessary? I know you guys have security protocols, but I'm his kid –"

"Yeah, that's why we didn't shoot you." Bryan gives me a smug look. "You're welcome."

A second guard enters the room and shrugs off his vest, dumping the contents on the chair by the wall. He's shorter than the other; lanky and pale, with bright orange hair cropped close to his scalp and the kind of nose shaped like it's been broken more than once.

"Any luck?" Bryan asks.

The second guy shakes his head. "No. I left a message and requested a callback. We'll see."

I press my forehead against the metal and glare. "If you're talking about my dad," I mutter, "he's probably not going to answer."

Bryan arches a brow. "How convenient for you."

"Yep," I sigh. "So convenient. Father of the year, that guy."

"You know, I do remember you." The second guard approaches and crosses his arms, rivaling the smugness of the other. "You were the big-headed kid who kept snooping around and stealing shit."

"I wasn't stealing ," I scoff. "I was fixing your data storage. Your system was total dogshit–"

"Yeah, well, I remember you being a pain in the ass." He snorts and gestures toward my face. "Didn't you have glasses or something? And why are your eyes red?"

"Contacts," I say quickly.

"Sure," he drones, "but why red ?"

"I'm, uh…" I bite my lip and look at the floor as if the correct answer will materialize in the scuff marks. "...I'm in my…edgy teen phase."

He eyes me, but not with suspicion - more like…distaste.

"Right." He nods toward the back of the cell where Zim sits quietly; arms folded, legs tucked in, watching us with boredom so obvious it's insulting. "And why does your friend look like…that?"

I blurt "cancer" the same time Zim grumbles "tuberculosis."

"A-and other things," I stammer. "Probably."

I look back at Zim and mouth tuberculosis? He glares and offers a half-assed shrug.

" Derek ," Bryan hisses, elbowing the guy in the ribs. "You know how many chemical leaks we've had. Didn't they cover this shit in your sensitivity training?"

Derek's eyes widen and flit between me and Zim as shame stains his face a dark, ruddy pink.

"Oh shit," he mutters, almost wincing. "...We really need to find better ways to dump toxic waste."

"I knew it!" I bang my fist. "I knew you guys weren't following EPA protocols–"

"Okay, new rule!" Bryan snaps. "You shut the fuck up. We're taking our lunch - which is now an hour late because of all this - and when we come back, we'll try calling the Professor again so we can send your scrawny asses home."

"And if he doesn't answer?" I press, leaning against the bars. "Which is incredibly likely?"

"Then we hold you until our shift's up so it looks like we did our job." Bryan rolls his eyes and starts toward the door. "And no funny business - we have cameras. Don't think I won't turn on the electric field if I see you doing anything stupid."

They skulk out of the small room and slam the door behind them. As their voices fade down the hall, I groan and hang my head.

"I can't believe this is happening."

"I can," Zim mutters. I glare over my shoulder and he meets my gaze with apathy. "Nothing ever goes well when you're involved, meat bag."

I watch him for a moment, taking in the tired lines beneath his dull eyes, the stillness of his frame, the way his voice sounds frayed at the edges. Even though everything in me wants stay away out of sheer spite, I sit down next to him in silence. He shoots me a questioning look but says nothing, and we stay like that; settled in the quiet, staring blankly ahead at the stacks of old, stained coffee mugs and an office calendar four months behind. I've done nothing but rest for the past two weeks, and still, the exhaustion that comes over me now is impossible to ignore.

"...Did I do something wrong, Zim?" I finally ask, keeping my gaze fixed on the opposite wall. "Are you mad at me?"

I see him blink and turn to me in my peripheral, confusion scratched deep between his eyes.

"It's okay if you are," I mutter. "All this is my fault anyway."

He doesn't respond, but I can feel the thoughts buzzing beneath his frame. The change in energy ghosts the hair on my forearms; static rising.

"I know you told Gaz you didn't want to see me," I continue. "And that's…that's fine. But I just needed to…"

There's no way to end that sentence without saying something I don't fully understand, so I let it break off and float away under the fluorescents. He wraps his arms around his knees, shrinking in on himself as the energy warps and pricks my scalp. I grimace at the sensation. Why is it getting stronger? Why does it seem like I can feel his–

"Dib," he whispers. I brace myself at the finality of his tone.

"...Yeah?"

He lowers his chin, resting between the fold of his arms. "I can't fix it."

I lift my head from the crook of my elbow and stare at him. "...What?"

He won't look at me. "I'm not repeating myself."

"No, I heard you - I just…"

A slow bloom of shock spreads over the holding cell, and I realize I don't know what I'm asking. I slowly lean back against the cold, lumpy wall and feel the bright fluorescents sting my retinas. The silence comes back, but it's different now. The swarm around his body has grown heavy and resigned. I dare to glance at him and see the light in his eyes swirling; dark and wet.

A small breath fills my lungs. I scoot closer to him until there's less than a foot of space between us. His antennae twitch at the proximity, but he doesn't move.

"It's okay, Zim." My voice sounds like it's coming from somewhere else. "Really. It's…it's fine."

He scoffs, and it's mean and low and full of hurt. "You don't sound fine."

"I just - it caught me off guard." I try to shrug, but my body doesn't end up moving very much. "I didn't expect you to bring it up."

"Because you expected me to fix it," he grumbles. "I know what disappointment sounds like - Zim is not stupid. You don't need to lie to spare feelings."

"I'm not lying."

The muscles in his jaw tense, and the energy rapidly fluctuates; little teeth grazing my skin. He keeps his gaze locked on the other wall.

"I mean it, Zim - I don't care." My shoulder hovers next to his. I fold my hands in my lap. "...I just want you to be okay."

Whatever surrounds him suddenly falls like water. I mask the subsequent flinch by crossing one leg over the other and pretending I'm not going insane right now and feeling his thoughts.

A quiet hum sounds from the back of his throat. My heart skips all the way up my chest when our shoulders touch and he leans into me by a fraction of a hair.

I don't know what to do, but I definitely know better than to draw attention to his vulnerability, so I keep my mouth shut and my eyes glued to the calendar. Within the silence, droplets form - pieces from his thoughts. I squint, despite knowing none of this is real, and wait until the sensation matches pace with the soft rise and fall of his chest and gathers in a sequence that carries enough weight to take shape.

There's no good way to describe it except to say that the feeling has sound, and the sound vibrates through my chest and grows louder and louder, until I'm sure there's nothing else it could mean except–

"I missed you, too."

It's only when he sits up that I realize I've said it out loud.

"I didn't say I missed you," he says, searching my face. "I didn't say anything."

"Oh." I swallow and clear my throat. "Guess I'm just tired…or something. It's been a long day."

His gaze sharpens, but my ass is saved when the office door swings open and our captors return from their break. Bryan stops in front of the cell and eyes the two of us.

"Glad to see you've settled down and got comfy." I can't tell if he's insinuating something or if his general persona simply reeks of condescending douchebaggery. He claps his hands together. "Your dad did not answer , so–"

"How long's your shift?" I grumble.

"We work in twelves." He glances at his watch and smirks. "You got six more hours, kid."

I slump over my knees and hide my face in my hands. "Fan-fucking-tastic."

Time drags by like a legless corpse in the mud. Having lost interest in our presence, the guards return to their tasks, filtering in and out of the room at random intervals. The only thing that makes it bearable is Zim, who eventually leans against my shoulder again and closes his eyes. My extremities go numb in my efforts to keep as still as possible while he sleeps - or whatever Irkens do. I sit in silence and distract myself with the feathery sound of his breath until my thoughts are lulled to a low buzz.

I'm startled from my trance when the cell door squeaks open.

"Good news, gentlemen." Bryan jingles the keys and smirks.

I rub my eyes. "My dad called back?"

"What? No." He snorts and shakes his head. "It's the end of our shift. You're free to get the fuck off our property."

Derek strolls in and arches his brow.

"Huh. I guess there is someone out there for everyone. Even if you look like that."

"Fuck off." My ears burn. "He's–"

"He meant you ," Bryan interrupts.

"Oh yeah," Derek nods. "I was one hundred percent talking about you."

It takes a lot of effort to talk myself out of eating them. I blink away the thought and turn to Zim.

"Hey," I whisper, gently shaking his shoulder. "Zim - wake up. The jackasses are letting us leave now."

Zim's only response is a muffled groan.

"We could tase him," Bryan offers after my second attempt.

I glare. "I'll just carry him, thank you."

"You sure? It's super effective." He unclips the taser from his belt and waves it around. "That's how we wake Martin up."

"Yeah, but he's getting too fat," Derek gripes. "It doesn't work anymore."

Bryan shrugs. "We'll figure something out."

Zim opens one eye and hisses. "Dib, if they touch me, I demand that you eat them."

"I was literally just thinking about eating them."

Bryan snaps his fingers. "Hey, no whispering amongst yourselves. Get your asses up - some of us want to go home."

Zim mutters something particularly vicious in Irken and drags himself to his feet. I follow suit, wincing at the pins and needles racing down my legs as blood flow returns. They escort us from the building to the edge of the perimeter, and the snide remarks don't skip a single beat. These guys don't have an 'off' button - not one I could legally access, anyway. Zim grows increasingly tense, but once the cool night air hits our skin, he seems to relax a little.

"You guys came here on foot?" Derek asks as we reach the treeline. "Through the woods?"

I shove my hands in my pockets and turn to them. "Yep."

"That's weird." His nose wrinkles. "You guys are weird. Don't come back."

"After meeting you assholes?" I grumble. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Bryan leans in and sneers. "Hey, you know what'd be funny? If your dad never returns our messages. That'd be funny, right Derek?"

"I heard Accounting is already taking bets."

"Nice. That's unrelated to their collective gambling problem, I assume."

"Fuck you guys." My face is steaming. "What, was it a job requirement to be the most insufferable pieces of shit on the–"

"Dib." Zim takes my hand, and I immediately forget what I'm saying when his fingers slip between mine. "We're leaving."

Electricity shoots up my arm. "...Okay."

He tugs me off the lot. The guards nudge each other and start laughing in not-so-hushed tones, and I glare daggers over my shoulder.

"You know what?" I growl. "I'm not even gonna eat them - I'm just gonna kill them–"

My foot hits an exposed root, and Zim's other hand catches my chest to keep me from falling on my face. I bare my fangs at the empty shadows and curse under my breath.

"On your own time, please," he mutters. "Today has been unfortunate enough. Now come on - the Voot is this way."

He lets go of my hand. The vacuum it creates drains the fire from my marrow, and I follow quietly, flexing my fingers in the absence of his.

He doesn't say anything as we board the hidden ship. I take my seat and glance at him for signs of…something. I'm not sure what. My hand feels warm. He powers up the Voot and we're lifted from the forest floor.

"Fuck, it's late... Gaz is going to kill me." I curl my fingers along the edge of the chair. "Do you want to come over? I could use some help."

"A 'shield,' you mean." His gaze shifts. "And you're assuming I would not side with her."

I frown. "...Yeah, never mind." My chest sinks and I cross my arms. "...Could I stay with you, then?" The question feels like a death sentence, but I don't know why. I clear my throat. "We could get pizza. Watch a movie or something."

"Pizza?" He tilts his head and frowns. "You said you didn't like human food anymore."

I shrug. "It tasted fine with the blood."

"The same blood you said is gross now?"

"...I'll manage."

He pauses, and the silence squeezes my chest. The noise around him stopped hours ago, and despite how uncomfortable it felt, I wish it hadn't. At least it showed me something.

He exhales. "...I don't have any movies."

"I'll handle that part." I lift my chin and search his unreadable expression. The cool blue of nightfall makes him look softer. My heart skips. "...So is that a yes?"

The woods vanish beneath us, and the city limits appear, blurred by the haze of dusk.

"...Yes." He glances at me, still frowning. "Zim will allow one film. If you pick a bad one, I will kick you out early." He taps the control panel. "And you'll have to walk home."

"Fair enough." I try not to sound too eager. "I accept those conditions."

He hums and focuses on the view beyond the windshield for the rest of the flight, while I sit there and attempt to dissect what the fuck is happening inside my brain. We're…hanging out. Have we done that before? Voluntarily? What're we supposed to talk about in a casual setting, where no external forces are driving us together toward a shared goal? Where we're not fighting each other - or someone else?

The cold panic that wriggles down my spine is an entirely new form of torture. Oh god, what movie do I pick? What does he even like? Can I take it back? Ask for a rain check? Is that worse? Why do I feel like I'm going to puke? What is this–

"Dib." His voice jars me from the whirlwind. I blink and shake my head.

"What? What's happening?"

The red glow of his eyes settles on me, intrigued. "You're doing the weird things with your face again."

"Oh." I shrink in my chair. "Sorry."

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Also, I'm amending the conditions of the evening. I refuse to watch your stupid monster 'documentaries.' Those are not films - they are garbage."

I snort, thankful for the brief distraction. "I'm not twelve anymore, Zim. Besides, most of them are completely inaccurate, so it'd be a waste of time."

"They'd be a waste of time even if they were accurate," he grumbles, flipping a switch to his left. "I don't understand your affinity for…" He trails off and frowns.

"What?" I lean forward and peer out the window. We're hovering over the base, but it's not opening like it usually does.

He flips the switch again. "It's not responding…"

"Has it ever done this before?" I ask cautiously.

"Only once," he says. "The Computer went on strike when he learned that was an option, but I deleted the event from his code so his disobedience could not be repeated."

He flips the switch back and forth a few more times, despite both of us knowing it isn't going to work. He finally sighs and maneuvers the Voot to the small backyard.

"No matter. I'll fix it later."

I wait quietly while he lands and powers down the engine. My brain hasn't stopped being stupid, but seeing how he's too tired to even yell at his machines like he normally would, I figure it's unlikely he'll have the energy to derail the night - or notice how pointlessly nervous I've become. At least the teasing will be muted.

I follow him down the ramp, but when I attempt to go through the back door, his hand splays flat across my chest, blocking me.

"Zim–"

" Shh. " He pauses in the entryway, antennae prickling high over his head. "Something's wrong."

My gut twists. I feel the tension rise from his frame like shards of ice.

"...Stay here."

He pushes me back and slips inside the house. I check behind me, hairs standing on end. The yard is quiet, the street is quiet - nothing is out of the ordinary, but the shadows suddenly feel sinister.

"...Fuck that."

I push through the door and follow after him. The lights are off, and as I scan the cluttered kitchen and the empty hall leading to the living room, I realize I don't see GIR anywhere.

"Dib." Zim's eyes narrow when I round the corner. "I said –"

"What's going on? Why do you think–"

My eyes land on the TV. A blue loading screen dimly flickers, washing the room in an eerie, cold light. A Gameslave is plugged in; the controllers lying on the coffee table.

"Was your sister here?" His tone is serrated. The edges catch on the thick chill between us, and dread trickles down my scalp.

"Yes." I can't hide the panic in my voice. "She left the house this morning - she wanted to talk to you."

He stares at me, then at the TV, then at the hallway leading to the elevator. He takes off running. I scramble after him, nearly colliding as he scans his palm on the sensor. It doesn't work. His lip curls over his teeth and he rips the panel off the wall, exposing a small keypad. My pulse thunders in my neck. He enters a long string of numbers, and the doors open with a mechanical groan. I jump in before he can tell me not to, and we're lowered underground. The lights barely work, and every five seconds, the elevator quakes and threatens to stick. I hold my breath.

It's pitch black when the doors open. The pink hue returns to my vision, but it's hardly enough to pick up on more than a few simple outlines. Zim skirts along the wall and opens another panel. I listen to the sharp click click click of switches flipping, and a set of dim red lights activate where the walls meet the ceiling, illuminating the lab.

Everything is destroyed. Every screen smashed, every drawer torn open, every wire and cable stripped of insulation and shredded to filaments on the tile. The carnage is meticulous - nothing has been spared.

Horror builds in my gut as I scan the wreckage with slow steps. My foot hits something, and I flinch.

It's a box.

My heart drops to the soles of my feet.

It's the box.

The tape is intact - it looks the same as it did this morning when I helped her seal it. I swallow the urge to vomit as I pick it up. It weighs almost nothing in my hands, and yet, it's the heaviest thing in the world.

"Zim." My vocal cords wrench around the sound. My skin is too hot, too stuck . "Zim," I say again, fracturing. "She was here - she was here."

He doesn't respond. He's on the other side of the lab, staring at something on the wall. I cradle the box to my chest and cross the room with feet made of lead. Impaled deep in the metal is a long, needle-like knife coated in a sticky layer of blood. A note is pinned beneath it, covered in alien symbols. At the bottom, three English words have been crudely scratched in dark ink:

SEE YOU SOON.