Chapter 16:

Blind Spots

[Gaz]

"Sorry little dude, I'm gonna have to cut you off at six Poptarts. Four-year-olds everywhere will riot if you cause a shortage."

I shove the box up on the highest shelf of the pantry as he cries into his empty plate about corn squares and how he thinks he needs them to grow taller. I ignore his incoherent babbling and check my phone again. My last message to Zim fills the screen:

Should I be expecting you idiots to get here in time for pizza?

-pig sister

That was thirteen hours ago. It's been over a day since they left. I shake off the anxious cloud and shove my phone in my pocket. The sunrise spills lazily into the kitchen, casting shadows across the walls. Something about it makes the house feel emptier.

"Stop crying, GIR." His eyes instantly switch from a sad, warbling blue to a bright flash of red and he stops wailing. "Has Zim sent you any alerts since he left?"

He shakes his head. "No, sir."

These two are the literal worst.

"Can you, like, ping him or something? They're taking forever."

He shakes his head again. "No, sir."

I glare at him. "...Why not?"

The red evaporates in the blue and he frowns, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "I thinks he's sleepin'."

My fingers drum along the edge of the counter. " Sleeping ."

"Yuh-huh. He does that sometimes."

Does he?

"Wake him up, GIR."

Red again. "I can't, sir - communication systems are offline." His salute drops into his empty plate. He gets distracted by the bounce of crumbs and immediately starts to lick it clean.

Offline…

It could mean nothing - they are underground, after all. But was the trip supposed to take this long?

I growl under my breath and slam the pantry door shut. These dumb fucks are gonna drive me–

Buzzzt–

"Shit–" I smack my hand against the doorknob trying to wrestle the phone from my jeans. The caller ID is just a string of random numbers.

Buzzzt–

"GIR," I start, "is this from Zim?"

I show him the screen and he blinks. "Aw yeah - that's from where I live!"

Buzzzt-

"Great." I nuke any semblance of concern from my voice and accept the call. "Hey, you nerds done yet? It's been a minute."

I frown when all that answers me is a muffled choking noise.

"...Zim?"

"Gaz–"

It's Dib.

"I-I need help."

My brain goes blank. He's…crying.

"Gaz," he says again. Sobbing. "Gaz, please ."

"Okay." I swallow and grip the phone tighter. "I'll be right there."

The call drops. I feel sick.

"GIR." I take a deep breath. "We're going to your place now."

He jumps off the barstool and does a little spin. "I live there!"

"Yeah, we've established that." I grab my shoes from the bottom of the stairs and shove them on. "Let's go."

"Can I ride in the spaceship?" He points to the cheesy old backpack he dug out of my closet in the middle of the night.

"Yeah, sure - whatever."

With an excited squeal, he throws himself into the plastic case and tucks his knees to his chest. I zip him up and sling the bag over my shoulder. The weight in my chest only grows as I stomp out of the house.

What did you dumbasses get yourselves into this time?

Three minutes and two drop-kicked gnomes later, we're at the base. GIR activates the sensor under the stupid clown picture and promptly climbs back into the bag. I tap my heels impatiently as the elevator brings us down to the lowest level. I thought I had enough time to think of what to say to my idiot brother, but it all goes out the window when I hear him screaming.

The doors open just in time to catch a glimpse of a chair being hurled across the room. It bounces off the wall and clatters to the floor in three pieces.

"Fuck you!" Dib's voice fills the air with palpable rage. "Help me now, or I swear to god, I'll rip the walls open and bite through every goddamn wire I find–"

The elevator groans as it settles. He stops and whirls around to face me, his red eyes falling on mine, wild and bloodshot. There's not an inch of him that isn't covered in mud or grime or blood, and his clothes are torn to rags. He looks like absolute shit.

"Gaz!"

My feet remain planted in the elevator. I glance to his right, where Zim's mangled and equally unrecognizable form lies sprawled out on the medical table. The rest of the lab has been reduced to chaos; toppled furniture, drawers ripped from their slots, papers and tools scattered across the floor. The silence that passes is tense, but my thin voice eventually breaks the veneer.

"...What do you need?"

His shoulders tremble. "I-I don't know how to fix him." He wipes the snot from his nose and his chest begins to heave with renewed panic. "He won't wake up and I don't know what to do, and this fucking computer won't help me !"

I step out of the elevator and officially enter the disjointed scene. "Did you try asking nicely, or was throwing the chair at the wall your first attempt?"

A deep rumble vibrates the walls and I flinch. "He did not ask nicely."

God, this house is so fucking weird.

Dib jerks his head towards the ceiling with a snarl. "Fuck you!"

"See?!"

"Didn't Zim make you?" I ask, not sure where to look. "Aren't you literally programmed to help?"

"Yes." Its voice lowers to an odd, robotic mutter. "...But I don't like him."

"Tough fucking shit," Dib snaps. "Do your goddamn job and fix him before I find your CPU and-"

"Both of you, shut up." I drop my bag to the ground with a loud clang. GIR rolls out, waking up mid-snore and jumping to his feet. He waves at the ceiling and grins.

"Hi house!"

The computer groans. "Not this guy."

I snap my fingers. "GIR, focus."

He blinks and looks at me.

"What does Zim normally do when he gets hurt?"

"Aw, he cries about it." His eyes tear up instantaneously. "I-It's real sad."

Well, that's ammunition for another day.

"Okay… What does he do after he cries about it?"

"He goes in the tub!"

Dib looks to me, exasperated. I shrug and nod to GIR.

"Show us."

"Okay!" He bounces over to the control panel along the opposite wall and slaps a button that's indiscernible from all the other buttons. Something clicks and grinds beneath us, and the floor opens in random squares as a long, cylindrical structure is pushed up from below. It looks like a combination of a futuristic tanning bed and an MRI machine. The stark white metal separates on invisible hinges, opening with a soft hiss of steam.

"He goes in there?" Dib asks.

GIR nods. "Uh-huh! Makes him all shiny and stuff!"

Dib and I glance at one another.

"Might as well try it," I say.

He takes a shallow breath and gently lifts Zim's unresponsive body from the table. I'm close enough to see the carnage; the gaping holes that reach through his gut, the way his limbs hang awkwardly as if his joints have been disconnected. Nausea rolls in, but I can't look away. Dib carefully lays him in the machine and steps back. The lid closes and seals with a click . Not a second later, it begins to hum and flicker with flashes of blue and red.

"...Now what?" he asks. GIR waddles over and leans against my leg.

"He stays in there 'til he doesn't wanna anymore."

Dib stares blankly at the pod. His hands are shaking.

GIR tugs my sleeve. "Can I watch the monkey show now?"

"Hang on." I wave him off. "Dib…are you okay? You look like you're gonna–"

He loses his balance and grabs the machine to steady himself, but he's not successful enough to stay on his feet. His knees buckle and he slumps to the floor with an airy groan.

"Okay," I look around for his bag, "you need blood, right? Or medicine - whatever you're calling it. Where's your backpack?"

He thumps the back of his head against the healing pod. "Don't have it."

I frown. " Why ?"

"L-Long story…" His face pales beneath the layers of gore and mud. "Check GIR's head…"

My frown deepens and I snap my narrowed gaze to the robot hugging my leg. "GIR. Open."

His eyes flash red and the lid springs up, revealing stacks of lukewarm pouches.

He sticks out his tongue with a squeak. "I'm the best helper!"

There are few words to describe the rage that shoots up my chest. I look at Dib. "You mean you haven't had anything the whole time you've been gone?"

He nods - or tries to, anyway. I grit my teeth and snatch a handful of packs before slamming the bucket head shut.

"Go watch the monkey, GIR." Completely oblivious to my fury, he salutes with the wrong hand and shouts, "Can dooo, miss lady!"

I glare after him as he makes a beeline for the elevator. Once the doors close, my attention snaps back to my floppy, idiot brother. I stomp over to him and drop the pouches in his lap.

"Drink all of these. Now."

He mutters something under his breath and fumbles with the plastic. I squint at him until he manages to peel the first one open and takes a sip. He jerks his head back, nose wrinkling in disgust - a far cry from how he looked the last time. He grimaces and turns his head away.

"Nope, nuh-uh," I snap. "You fucking drink it - I don't care how old it is."

He glares at me. "It's gross –"

"You're gross! Drink it!"

He groans like a child being forced to eat broccoli and begrudgingly obeys, making a whole-ass show of his facial expressions. I scoff and glance around the lab. With nowhere else to direct the swirling, angry goop in my veins, I start picking up the clutter.

"I don't know why you thought tearing the room apart was a good idea," I growl. "He's gonna be pissed when he wakes up."

Dib grumbles in response and continues drinking. I grab random tools from the floor and toss them on the desk haphazardly before starting on the papers. God, why are there so many? And how the fuck am I supposed to put them back in order when I can't read any of it?

I purse my lips and scour the pages for something familiar - which I obviously don't find. At least, not until I spot what appears to be a scratchy doodle of Dib's big head with a giant 'X' over it.

I arch a brow. "What is all this, anyway?"

He sighs and wipes his mouth, smearing red across his chin. "I don't know - the asshole in the ceiling wouldn't tell me."

"I have a name," the computer mutters. I flinch again and glare at the bright lights overhead. There's little more unsettling than a sentient, eavesdropping machine.

"...Are you gonna tell us?" I finally ask.

The walls hum. "No."

I roll my eyes. Zim did the impossible - he created something more obnoxious than him.

I wave the papers around. "Okay, well, what am I supposed to do with these? And why's Dib's face all scratched out?"

Dib tilts his head. "What?" He tries to get up.

"Stay there, dumbass," I hiss. "Keep drinking - I said all of them, and I meant all of them ."

He bares his fangs in a sad attempt to scare me, but quickly settles back against the healing pod, tearing open the second pouch. I crinkle the papers in my hands and slide down next to him.

"Here, look."

He frowns at the crude sketch.

"Maybe it's just a doodle," he mutters. "Like scribbling in the margins of schoolwork or…" He trails off and his eyes widen. "Wait - hold this–"

He grabs the pages and shoves the open blood pack into my hands, spattering my shirt.

I snarl. "The fuck, Dib!"

He ignores me and flips to the second page. "That's…that's my DNA." His brow pinches. He taps the dark print of a double helix structure next to a paragraph of alien text. "He had the hologram up last time I was in here - it's the same as this one–"

"Great, you're both freaky stalkers," I grumble. "We definitely didn't know that already–"

"Computer, can you translate these?" He pauses and curls his lip. "... Please ?"

"I don't work for you."

"Just tell me what this says!"

"That sounds like work –"

"I don't know if you know this," I cut in, "but the sooner you answer him, the sooner he'll shut the fuck up."

"Hmm." The computer considers the notion for a moment. "...Fine. Retrieving files."

A string of clicking sounds emits from all sides of the lab. The frequency rises and ends with a sharp ding that sounds an awful lot like the timer on a toaster oven.

"File C1487: Adjustments to Involuntary PAK Protocols."

Dib looks at me like I'm supposed to know what the fuck that means. My expression says as much and he groans.

" And ?" He taps the page impatiently. "What adjustments? What involuntary protocols–"

"Ugh, I'm getting to it!"

Dib snaps his mouth shut with a low growl.

"Uhm…oh, there it is." It clears its throat (the fuck?). "Under threat of substantial harm, PAK defense protocols will override the host's system to ensure survival. ZIM updated PAK defense settings to exclude these automated actions toward a specific genetic marker."

I watch his face contort in bewilderment as he stares at the image and frowns. "...Me?" He flips through the remaining pages, but nothing else seems to catch his eye. "H-How would this alter his PAK's performance?"

The computer sounds irritated but complies. "PAK protocols are bypassed and will not recognize the carrier as an entity unless consciously decided by the Irken host." It sighs heavily. "Am I done now, or do you need me to repeat it with smaller words?"

"Why…" He grips the pages tighter. " Why would he do that?"

"I read files," the computer mumbles, "not brains."

"Thanks for the help, whatever your name is," I call. "You can shut up now."

" Finally ." A low noise fills the air as it (I assume) powers down.

Dib's nostrils flare. "Do you know what this means?" he asks.

I sigh and lean my head against the healing pod. "Well, I'm no genius, but it sounds like he doesn't want to accidentally kill you."

"Exactly!" Dib slaps the page with the back of his hand like he's discovered gravity. "And that's…that's weird, right?"

I stare, arching a brow. "...No?"

His jaw clenches and he shakes his head. "He's never cared about that before! Why now? Why mark me as a blind spot in his defense system?"

"Because you're friends? Or something?"

His only response is an aggravated groan. He digs one hand through the cast of gunk in his hair and little flakes of mud break loose.

"I don't know why you're freaking out," I mutter, quickly losing interest. "If anything, it means he hates you slightly less. But you know, boo-fucking-hoo or whatever."

He doesn't say anything, but I can hear the rusty gears turning in his big head as he loads a hundred more questions neither of us could possibly answer right now.

"Yeah, I'm not doing this." I snatch the papers away and cut his protest short by smacking his mouth with the open blood pack. He flinches as red drops flick across his face and trail down his chin.

" Gaz –"

"Shut up, Dib." I stand to my feet and hold the wrinkled pages out of range. He tries to follow me, but his legs don't cooperate, and he slouches pathetically on the floor.

"But I need to–"

"All you need to do right now is finish drinking that shit, got it?" I turn on my heels and get back to collecting the rest of the garbage littering the room. "You can ask him later, after you've taken a nap and don't look like goddamn Pazuzu."

"I don't look like–"

I drop an armful of stuff on the desk. "You absolutely do."

He grumbles something under his breath but otherwise returns to drinking the remainder of the IV bags and pouting quietly. I don't know what to do with the mess; it's not like I can fix anything, so I opt for centralizing the fallout in a heap around the workbench and medical table.

By the time I'm done, it doesn't really look much better, but the distraction was nice while it lasted - and at least Dib isn't bitching anymore. I glance from the doom pile to see him slumped over his knees, a stack of empty plastic at his side. Color has returned to what little skin is visible beneath the grime and his eyelids flutter with the weight of exhaustion.

The healing pod continues to hum faintly. Everything else is quiet. I let out a breath and wander across the room to sit beside him. He tries to lift his head, eyes hazy; blurred crimson. I shush him and lean against his shoulder.

"Get some rest," I mutter. He smells awful, but he's warm. "Zim's fine."

He murmurs something that sounds like 'thank you' and smushes his cheek against my hair. It's not long until the familiar pattern of snoring laces the soft buzz of the machine at our backs. I close my eyes and sigh.

"Anytime, you dork."

I wake up when my ankle thwacks against something hard. A cold panic jolts through my spine, and the sudden movement is met with a sharp pinch around my shoulders and knees. My eyes snap open; a blurred shadow fills my vision and I throw my fist towards it, knuckles connecting–

"Ow!" The yelp is familiar. "It's me, you horrid pig!"

"Zim?"

I rub the crust from my eyes until the smeared colors solidify to his narrowed gaze and pointed scowl.

"Obviously," he grumbles. My stomach dips as the ceiling sways overhead, and I realize he's carrying me through the back door.

I smack my fist against his chest. "P-Put me down!"

"Okay." His arms vanish beneath me and I'm dropped on the kitchen floor like a sack of potatoes. The force clacks my jaw together.

"What the fuck! Wh-when–" I scramble to my feet and whirl around. "Where's Dib?"

"Asleep in his room." He shuts the back door and glares at me. A fresh bruise has begun to form along his cheek. "Which one of you destroyed my lab?"

I rub my tailbone and scowl. "Who do you think?"

"Ugh." He sighs and glances towards the stairs. "I don't suppose he mentioned why?"

"You looked like roadkill and you have the least helpful robot assistants on the planet - he was freaking out." I lean against the counter and arch my brow at the bags under his eyes and the welts showing beneath the tears in his uniform. "You still look like shit. Did you climb out of that weird-ass machine too soon?"

He glowers, baring teeth. "Zim is fine."

I struggle to separate the emotions in my chest. The relief warps in and out of the rage - the fear, the confusion, the stress. It's a giant, tangled ball of yarn bouncing around in my skull and I don't know what to do with it. I shove past him and cross the kitchen.

"Whatever," I scoff. "I appreciate you dragging Tweedle-Derp home, but if you ever carry me around like that again, I will gut you."

"You and your brother seem unable to grasp the concept of being grateful." His eyes narrow and he sneers. "Is that some sort of genetic failure, or is a simple 'thank you' too advanced for your vocabulary?"

I stop at the bottom of the stairs and turn back to him. "Are you serious?" I ask, clenching my jaw.

"I–" He pauses and confusion flits across his face. "You're…angry with me?"

"Yes, Zim!"

He stares like he's caught in the headlights; a fawn in the road. The heat rises, devouring all the oxygen in the room until I don't know who or what I'm mad at - I just know I'm mad.

"I don't know what the fuck is happening, Zim!" I snap. "You were gone for over a day, and the only time I heard anything from either of you was when you were both already two inches from death!"

He shrinks against the door and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The silence makes it worse.

"So, what - is that the line?" I ask, incredulous. "That's when you decide I can be involved? When you look like you've just been disemboweled - when Dib is soaked in his own blood and losing his mind? I mean, fuck - this is the second time this week that I've seen my brother on his goddamn deathbed, and you want me to thank you ?" Fire seeps over my tongue. My shoulders tremble. "How 'bout I thank you when you fucking fix him!"

Tension presses in on all sides. He looks away, his expression falling to something softer - something pained and bruised.

"I'm…trying," he says quietly.

A lump forms in my throat; it does little to dull the edge in my voice that I know is unfair, but where else can it go?

"Well try harder!" My breath hitches, nails digging into my palms. "And don't come back until you've figured it out!"

Something microscopic cracks in his eyes. Before he can respond, I turn and run up the stairs, skull throbbing with heat, thoughts racing. I pause on the landing and grimace when the back door slams shut.

My nose stings. I wipe the trails from my cheeks and take a deep breath. It doesn't matter anymore.

I cross the hall and push his door open to see him passed out in bed. The fan ticks above and the late afternoon sun washes the room in a muted warmth. It's quiet. Peaceful. Like nothing's changed.

I approach with soft steps. He's lying on his side, and though his clothes are still caked in muck, his shoes have been removed and stacked next to his desk. The grime has been meticulously wiped from his face; the blanket neatly draped over his shoulders. He looks nothing like he did this morning.

I stand there and feel the tangled mess of emotions bounce back and forth in my chest, and it only gets worse when I notice the small bag of red, plastic pouches propped by the door. Regret spills through my veins. My eyes fill with warmth. I sniff and rub them until my face is wet and hot and salty. Exhaustion takes over - I feel so stupid.

"...Goddamnit, Zim."

All that answers is Dib's quiet snore. I groan and dig the phone from my pocket. It takes way too much effort, but I manage to type out a non-committal, all lower-case, please-don't-make-me-say-it-again ' thank you' and hit 'send.'

I immediately stuff the device away to avoid staring at it for the next hour, drag myself to my room, collapse on the bed, and bury my face in the pillows. The shitty feeling comes and goes as I lay there and wait for sleep to happen. It doesn't. Hours go by in silence, and the sun slowly sets, coating the room in shadow.

My heart slams into my throat when my phone suddenly vibrates. I sit up and wince at the bright screen that reads: Messages: BUG BOY.

The relief is swift. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and tap the notification.

He doesn't acknowledge my sad attempt at an apology, and I'm not sure if that's a good sign or not.

Is he still sleeping?

The empty hallway stretches beyond the open door.

Yeah.

I stare at the three dots flickering along the bottom of the screen. They disappear and reappear twice before it buzzes again.

I'm burning it. He'll likely wake up.

I frown.

Burning what?

He ignores my question.

Tell me if he does anything strange.

My frown deepens, but as I type my reply, another text comes through:

You may want to restrain him.

[Dib]

The red surrounds me. Waves of crimson foam drag me below the surface, spilling into my lungs, weighing me down. It's dark and cold and smells like the tunnels; metal and earth and mold and rot. Hands clawing at my ankles, my arms - their corpses obscured by shadow. Memories echo on all sides, and I hear the sound of her skull cracking, the scream ripping through her vocal cords, the wet squelch of tentacles bursting between vertebrae, the hiss of the inevitable, the sound of Zim's body being stabbed over and over and over–

Zim–

Is he with me here? Is he floating in the red, lifeless and blank? Will his corpse brush past me in the dark waters?

Zim–

A scream bubbles in my throat, but it has nowhere to go. There is only the red.

Zim–

My hands claw through the murky depths, fingers burning where his had been. I'm choking. Drowning. I think I'm dying, but I can't tell. I can't let go. What if he needs me?

Zim–

The waters shift and part around my frame. Something tugs my shoulders, my feet - my body feels constricted. I can't breathe–

Zim–

I can't breathe–

"Zim!"

A strangled gasp rips up my chest and I'm wrenched from the ocean.

"Jesus Christ." Gaz's voice fills my ears. "Do not start saying weird shit while I'm in here - I will lobotomize myself, I swear to god–"

I groan and struggle to focus on her face.

"What…where…?"

"Relax, you're fine," she mutters. The tightening sensation increases around my legs. "We're home."

The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead. I blink hard and try to move my arms, but they're wrapped snug against my sides.

"Did you - What're you doing?" A sting runs down my neck as I stretch to see what's going on. I'm lying flat on my back in bed with layers of blankets pulled taut over my body like a cocoon. Gaz leans over me and shoves the last loose corner beneath the mattress. She sighs and sits on the edge of the bed, slouching against my stomach and avoiding eye contact.

"Remember when we were kids and Dad would wrap us in blankets? Like stupid little burritos?"

I frown and glance around the empty room. "...Yeah?"

She clasps her hands in her lap, staring at the wall. "He said it was a game, but I'm pretty sure it was to trick us into not bothering him. And because there's probably a law against turning your annoying kids into actual burritos...or stuffing them in straight jackets."

"Yeah, he's a dick." I watch her carefully. "So are you gonna explain this to me or–"

"Zim said to 'restrain you.'" Her shoulders slump and she finally meets my gaze with her signature 'everything annoys me' expression. "And no, he didn't say why - and yeah, this really was the first thing that came to mind. I don't know where you keep your freaky alien handcuffs and I didn't feel like asking."

I stare at her for a long moment before glancing down at my makeshift cocoon. "...You know I could get out of this in like two seconds, right?"

Her eyes narrow and she pulls a small lump from her pocket. "That's what the moldy garlic is for."

I gag and jerk my head to the side. "Don't even think about it–"

"Then don't escape, dumbass." She rolls her eyes and shoves the thinly wrapped biohazard back into her pocket. "Just…I don't know, stay there until he's done doing whatever it is he's doing."

I groan. "He really didn't explain anything?"

She shrugs and stares out the window. "He said he's 'burning it,' and then he asked me to tell him if you did anything weird."

My brow furrows. Burning it? Burning…it…

"Fuck - he went back there, didn't he?" Panic rushes in, twisting my stomach. "That idiot - that stupid, fucking idiot–"

"If you start freaking out, I will shove the entire garlic down your throat."

"But he - he can't–" My chest heaves as much as the tight fabric will allow. The blood roars in my ears. Red, red, red. "We barely escaped!"

Her eyes flash when I start trying to wriggle free. She throws her weight on my abdomen, slamming the air from my lungs. A dull ache blooms up my torso and I choke on my spit.

"Stop it," she hisses. "He left hours ago, Dib, so there's nothing either of us can do about it, okay? Just - calm down. I'm sure he's fine."

The waters swirl behind my eyes and I struggle to breathe. It's red - everything's red.

"Y-You don't understand," I stammer. The images spill and stain my vision. Red. "It was… We almost - I-I thought…"

She studies my face with a stoic glare. "If that was supposed to explain anything, it didn't."

"I thought he was dead, Gaz!" I clench my eyes shut, gritting my teeth. "I-I thought I was dead– everything went to shit in every conceivable way, a-and that fucking idiot decided to go back by himself ?!"

Her gaze hardens. "I know," she mutters. "You're both insane." She sighs and leans all the way back. "...Do you want to talk about it?"

There's a long pause as I try and fail over and over to keep my head above the water. I finally manage to grab something that resembles a coherent sentence when the loud buzz of her phone scares the shit out of me.

"Oh." She sits up, crushing my organs. "He says he's done. Look." She shoves the screen in my face for a brief second, but it's long enough to see the chain of messages between them that clearly extends beyond today. I frown. I knew she was using GIR's communication system to keep in touch earlier, but I didn't think they were texting texting.

"Y-You guys text?" I ask, dumbfounded. "...You have his number?"

Her side-eye is as fatal as the sneer that follows. "You don't ?"

Heat rushes my cheeks and she starts laughing.

"Oh my god, Dib, it's been years !"

I find a sudden interest in the adjacent wall. "I didn't need it–"

She snorts and begins typing rapidly. Panic sets in.

"What're you telling him?" I snap.

Her phone buzzes again and again, and she grins. "God, you're such a dork."

"What's he saying?" I squirm, trying to roll her off. "Come on, this is not fair, Gaz - let me up!"

"Hey, garlic ," she reminds me with a pointed tone. I groan and throw my head back into the pillow. She hmmphs and returns to scrolling.

"He's asking if you feel weird." She glances at me, brow arched. "Do you?"

"I mean, I'm really sweaty - but I'm sure that has nothing to do with the blankets or you crushing my vital organs."

She scoffs and mutters as she responds, "Usual…annoying…self." She pauses as another message comes through. "He says 'Ew.'"

"Fantastic," I growl. "I love that you're friends. Can you let me up now?"

She ignores me and smirks as more texts flood in rapid succession. I close my eyes and wish the ceiling would fall on my head. The discomfort reaches a new high score when she laughs and shoots me a mean glare.

"I asked him if he wanted your number."

My expression falls. "I didn't ask–"

"Good, because he said no." She shrugs casually. "He apparently doesn't need it because he knows where you live, and…" She checks the latest message and nods approvingly. "And because you're 'not funny.'"

"Okay, fuck you guys." I wrench my shoulders and the fabric snaps free from the mattress. "This is stupid."

She laughs and slides off the bed, finally relieving my spleen of her weight.

"Yes you are," she hums, her phone buzzing with another barrage of notifications. She saunters out of the room just as I unwrap the third layer. "A stupid, stupid burrito."

[Zim]

"Can I go to the lady now?"

GIR's voice grates between my thoughts.

"No," I mutter. "The answer is the same as it was five minutes ago, GIR."

"Aw." He thunks his head against the control panel and sniffles. "B-But why not?"

The light from the monitors burns my eyes. I sink my face into my hands and groan.

"I already told you why–"

A notification dings. I rub my eyes and glare at the phone.

Dib won't stop asking for you. He's getting annoying.

I glance back up at the computer. Five screens, hundreds of open tabs - calculations, formulas, models - all of it, useless.

Tell him I'm busy.

"Is that miss lady?" GIR asks. I shush him as another message appears.

Why?

I scowl beneath the harsh light of the lab. Why? Isn't it obvious?

Because I'm busy.

I don't wait for her reply. I toss the device over my shoulder and listen to it clatter somewhere behind me. The relentless exhaustion has dimmed the rage to a constant, droning buzz of heat and misery.

Two days. It's been two days and I have nothing to show for it.

"...Master?"

My forehead drops against the cold metal. "No, GIR," I mumble. "You can't go see her."

And don't come back until you've figured it out–

I dig my claws into the back of my neck. My head is too full again. Thoughts and memories swell against bone, threatening the seams. My body aches for the healing chamber, but there's no time. I have to fix him. I have to…to…

I slam my fists on the control panel and push out of the chair. GIR watches, sitting quietly on the floor as I pace toward the desk and scour through the materials again. The sample of spinal fluid I retrieved from the cavern sits useless in its vial. Scraps of tissue and bone litter the petri dishes beneath the microscope. Whatever satisfaction I gained from burning that horrid place has vanished completely with the lack of answers. All I'm left with are pieces of their shells, and it means nothing.

I groan and smack the button on the right. The hologram flickers into view over the desk, rotating slowly. I tap my claws along the arrow keys and switch between models. They're only a few days apart, but they look nothing alike.

The most recent structure loads and I stare at it for the hundredth time. There's no mistake - his genome is littered with alien markers. Most of it is from the creatures, but now, some of it is Irken material. To make things even more confusing, it's perfectly fused. Human genetics are notoriously jerry-rigged, cluttered with non-functioning elements and pseudogenes, but this newest sample shows none of those things.

He keeps…changing. His DNA doesn't even match his own sample from before we left. How am I supposed to solve a problem that's in constant flux?

I turn the program off and skulk back to the control panel, sinking into the chair and dragging my eyes along the familiar, dreadful screens. The default warning for the genetic library blinks repetitively to my left.

SECURE DATABASE - AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED.

I punch in my identification code and glare at the bold red letters that splay across the monitor.

INVALID USER CODE. ACCESS DENIED.

I do it again, because I'm insane.

INVALID USER CODE. ACCESS DENIED.

I know my registration to most Irken servers was revoked. It's been years. I know this, but–

INVALID USER CODE. ACCESS DENIED.

The words sear through my eyeballs.

Invalid .

Denied .

Fix him –

"Master!" GIR jumps onto the panel and waves something in front of me. "It keeps singin'!"

I blink from my stupor and grab the phone from his hand. He grins and sits on the edge, kicking his feet happily. The screen flashes with her number and I accept the call with a groan.

"I told you, I'm working on it–"

"Zim!"

His voice makes me freeze. "...Dib?"

"Yeah - hi."

I adjust the device and squint at the noises from the other end.

"What are you doing?" I ask. "It sounds like you're–"

"I, uh, stole her phone," he says quickly. Muffled shouting erupts and something clangs loudly. "I don't have long - she's totally going to kill me - but–"

He curses and I can hear her yelling his name. I lean back in the chair and grin at the chaos unfolding beyond the speaker.

" Give it back or I will hogtie you with your own intestines, Dib!"

"Hold on!" he snaps. A door slams shut and his voice lowers. "Look, Zim - I know you're…busy. Or at least, Gaz said you were. I just need to know you're doing okay."

I hesitate and glance at the monitor.

INVALID.

DENIED.

The connection gets fuzzy with static.

"So…are you?" he asks. "Okay, I mean."

I close my eyes to escape the red letters, but her voice greets me in the dark.

–don't come back until you've figured it out–

"... Zim?"

"Yes," I mutter, too fast, too flat. "I'm okay."

He pauses for a second before clearing his throat.

"Good. That's…good." His words sound as if they're supposed to contain something more. "Okay… I guess I'll see you when you're done doing…whatever you're doing."

I don't respond. I can't. The disgusting weight tugs in my chest and I hang up.

"Put this upstairs, GIR." I shove the phone at him and he clutches it with great enthusiasm. "Go order pizza or something."

"Oo-KAY!" He bounces to the floor and makes airplane noises as he spins towards the vent. When I'm sure he's gone, I sit up and grit my teeth at the screen, hesitating. A string of code runs through my mind.

Is it worth it?

My fingers hover over the keys.

I don't have a choice.

I take a shallow breath and enter the numbers.

"ACCESS GRANTED." The screen flickers and dings. "WELCOME, INVADER FLOBEE."