InsaneJournal

Chapter Twelve – In which differences are set aside

“You didn’t have to hit me, you know,” Dib muttered sourly, glaring over at the Irken over a cup of instant coffee (which he’d been rather reluctant to make in a deceased someone’s kitchen before he was told rather bluntly that he was being ridiculous). Upon being woken up, and realizing that his initial attempt to punch the teen had failed, Zim had made it a point to correct the mistake.

A fist to the jaw can never really be all too pleasant, no matter how physically weak the aggressor happens to be.

The Irken only scowled back, sitting curled up in the armchair from before with the infant rested in his lap – so involved in being hateful towards Dib as he was, he didn’t seem to notice that she was awake and drooling all over the front of his uniform. Even if he did, he probably wouldn’t have cared; there was worse stuff soaked into the ruined outfit, anyway.

After a length of simply glaring at each other, Zim stated icily, “You’re stupid, and your head is fat.”

“And yet you saved me, anyway. Who’s really the stupid one, here?” Dib retorted, resisting the urge to simply toss his coffee at the alien. It was pretty good coffee – why waste it?

“You dare question Zim’s intelligence?!”

“Yes, I-!” Dib slapped a hand to his forehead, groaning irritably before snapping, “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere! As much as we’re going to hate it, we’re going to have to work together!”

The Irken stuck his tongue out in a most impressive display of maturity.

“…Yeah, okay, you’re a mentally adolescent jerk, I get it. And I can deal with that if it means we can get out of this alive.” Dib sighed harshly when his only reply was a bored frown. “…Is any of this making it through to you?”

Zim slouched a bit in his seat, fiddling with the baby’s blanket as he met the teen’s gaze grumpily. Then, he replied blandly, “You’re stupid.”

For a moment, the paranormalist only raised an eyebrow. “…And?”

“You’re stupid. And…Zim can handle this, yes.” The Irken growled and made a vaguely frustrated gesture with one hand (the other was currently trying to escape the infant’s surprisingly strong grip). “Zim has been handling your stupidness for years now! It is of no real problem – not with my ingenious brainmeats making up for your lack of them.”

“Brainmeats, right. Well, everyone who might have survived knows I was right all along, so lack of 'brainmeats' or not, at least I wasn’t beaten to my goal by a supposedly ‘inferior’ species,” Dib scoffed.

Zim leapt to his feet, fury blazing suddenly in his expression and eyes narrowing to thin red slits – the baby squirmed slightly in discomfort as the Irken’s arms tightened around her. “You filthy little-! For all you know, I could have been planning this all along!” the alien spat, shuddering with suppressed rage as he advanced on the teen.

Hastily setting the coffee aside in case the Irken decided to just outright attack him, Dib got to his feet as well. He’d learned early on the effects height could have on an Irken, and despite Zim’s recent height increase (clearly artificially induced by something of the alien’s own design, seeing as how it had happened over the course of a single week), the boy was still a good head and a half taller. Needless to say, he made good use of each and every inch he had over his rival.

Antennae flattened for only the slightest second before Zim pressed forward, getting as much in the teen’s face as he could manage and simply glaring with all his might. “What do you say to that, Dib?” he hissed, jabbing one claw roughly against Dib’s chest.

“I’d say…you’re about to drop the baby,” the human noted dully.

Indignant, the Irken quickly corrected this, hugging her a bit too tightly to his chest and getting a displeased whine from her that he pointedly ignored. “Answer Zim,” he demanded.

“If you’d planned it all along, you wouldn’t be here,” Dib responded wearily. “I know you better than that, anyway – you’d rather have the credit all to yourself. Why hire something inferior to do the job for you? And why go through the trouble of finding me even if you did?”

Zim bit at his lower lip, staring down at the infant – he vaguely realized that she seemed to be having difficulty breathing, and finally loosened his grip – then frowned back up at Dib. “I hate it when you’re not stupid.”

“I know.”

“Zim knows you know,” the Irken huffed, tone heavy with scorn.

Figuring that the worst part of Zim’s tantrum was over, Dib picked his coffee back up, taking a small sip and making a face. It was starting to get cold. “Eugh…” he spluttered, setting it aside once again and deciding he was better off without it – he then forgot all about it, leaving it to most likely sit on the nondescript end table for a few decades until it got to a point where it would start attempting communication.

It was fortunate, however, that he’d set it down, because the last thing he’d been expecting – now that the Irken was starting to do something vaguely akin to calming down – was a kick to the shin. After a pained yelp, and Zim giggling madly as Dib hopped about in a most absurd fashion, the teen cursed himself for chasing his rival all over the place for the past few years; it had assured that the alien had decently strong legs conducive to kicking irritating people in their shins and having it actually hurt.

“What was that for?!” Dib exclaimed, rubbing at the sore spot.

Zim tilted his head up haughtily, smirking at the other in a most obnoxious fashion. “Does Zim need a reason? You should be honored I’d even consider touching you.”

“Says the alien I found snuggling up to me,” the teen grumbled under his breath. Zim squinted at him, one antenna quirking.

“Ehh? What was that?”

“Nothing,” Dib replied hastily, taking care to change the subject. “You’ve got drool on your uniform.”

The Irken gave a slight eyeroll. “And various kinds of blood, dirt, and other such filth. Doesn’t really matter at this point.” He scowled then, plopping down on the couch and curling around the infant, as though she was some sort of comfort object to make his sulking a little less pathetic (while in reality, it only made it more so).

A slightly awkward silence settled throughout the room before Dib sighed, joining the other on the couch. “…Sorry.”

Zim looked up sharply, eyes wide and antennae raised as high as they could go. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Dib repeated, frowning. “I shouldn’t have brought it up, it was stupid.”

“Wh… The drool?” the Irken questioned, narrowing one eye in bemusement.

For a moment the teen was silent before managing a weak chuckle. “Uh…sure. Yeah. Among other things. If we’re going to get through this, we should at least avoid sensitive topics, or else we'll constantly be at each other's throats and not get anything done. I…wasn’t exactly following my own advice.” Zim nodded a bit, but didn’t offer any input – the infant had decided to wiggle out of her blankets and was crawling across the couch, which was apparently much more interesting to the Irken than Dib’s usual rambling. “So, uh…think you can handle a ‘stupid stinky human’ for the time being?”

Crimson eyes didn’t so much as budge from the baby, only narrowed slightly in disdain at the question. “You forgot ‘disrespectful’, Dib-pig.”

“…Fine, a ‘stupid stinky disrespectful human’. Can you handle that?” Dib asked flatly.

Zim gave an unconcerned shrug. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

“Good,” the teen responded. “And I can handle you being a hugely rude and egotistical alien psychopath. …I hope. So now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, any concerns you have or anything? Before we start thinking of an actual plan to stay alive?”

Seeming to think about the question as he snagged the edge of the baby’s diaper to pull her back (she'd been about to figure out if crawling off the couch would hurt), Zim glanced over at his rival. “I don’t think Zim can handle having to stare at your gargantuan head for much longer.”

Dib groaned irritably and ran his hands through his hair in frustration, resting his elbows on his knees and grumbling, “We’re gonna drive each other crazy…”

An affirmative hum from the Irken had the teen turning his head in his hands and frowning at him some more – Zim mimicked the almost desolate posture down to the expression, though he exaggerated the latter to where it was clear he was mocking him.

“Stop that,” Dib stated dully, half-heartedly glaring at him.

“No. You’re being… What was the word…? …Ah, yes. You’re being emo,” Zim replied, an amused grin winning out over the mock-frown.

“I am not.”

The Irken snickered. “You so are. Cheer up, emo thing.”

“I am not being emo!” Dib exclaimed, abruptly sitting up to where it didn’t look like he was moping and feeling sorry for himself (and all that other teen angst nonsense). “Right, you see? Once again, we’re getting absolutely nowhere.”

“Might help if we’d think of some kind of plan,” Zim stated offhandedly, turning away from the human to pluck the infant off the far armrest, amusing himself by making her ‘dance’. The action had her giving a gleeful little squeal, clinging to the Irken’s fingers and giggling. The alien blinked. “Oh, hey, she is kinda cute.”

One eye twitched as Dib glared at his companion. “You do realize I’ve suggested making a plan already, right? …Actually, I think I might have suggested it twice.”

“Nah, only once,” Zim corrected, antennae quirked and a lopsided grin spreading on his face as the infant cheerfully bounced from foot to foot in an odd little baby-dance, still clutching his hands and babbling nonsense words. “Huh – she’s like GIR, only not…endlessly obnoxious. I didn't think that was possible.”

Resting his chin in his hand, the teen grunted blandly in reply, somewhat unnerved by how easily the child had taken to the genocidal invader. Even more so by the fact that Zim didn’t seem to mind her, either. “Yeeeah… Where is GIR, anyway?” he asked, if only to distract him from the odd scene before him (it didn’t work quite as well as he would have hoped).

The Irken shrugged, casually replying, “Probably blew up with the rest of the base. Bet it just delighted him, too.” The sheer bluntness of it had Dib recoiling, eyes wide.

“Your base-?!” The boy didn’t even bother to finish the exclamation – it was obvious, really. If Zim’s base hadn’t been destroyed, he might not have even bothered to go looking for Dib – he’d probably be out in his Voot Cruiser, blasting at enemy mechs in a suicidal attempt at getting revenge. Instead, he focused on the other thing that was bothering him about Zim’s statement. “Don’t you care that GIR might have been destroyed?”

Silence met his statement, Zim pursing his lips as he thought. “Mmm…not really. He was annoying. …And useless.” Before Dib could ask why the Irken even kept the robot, his question was being answered. “The only reason I kept him around was because the Tallests specially made him – for Zim and Zim alone.”

That alone was enough for Dib to figure that – no, despite their past training together, the Tallests definitely did not consider Zim to be their friend. Surely if they did, GIR would have been different (unless giving away retarded robots was an Irken way of showing friendship, which he sincerely doubted). Yet Zim kept the SIR unit anyway – on some level he knew, yet he continued blatantly ignoring the fact that they most likely hated him in his usual fashion; simple ignorance, blind faith for his leaders, and shielding himself with his own gigantic ego. It was pathetic, and…almost depressing. …Almost.

He wasn’t about to mention any of this to Zim, of course – the Irken would only deny it, and as an added bonus, probably kick him again. Personally, Dib preferred pain-free shins, so he merely shrugged and nodded. “But…you aren’t upset that a gift from your leaders was destroyed?”

“It happens,” Zim replied simply, leveling a bland look at his rival. “Things are destroyed – things die – all the time. No point in dwelling on it. It’s stupid. Makes people crazy.” Coming from the invader, that was really something.

“I guess…” The teen had a feeling that the Irken was trying to imply something else with his statement, and he fidgeted a bit, staring down at his hands and frowning. “It’s kind of strange that Gaz’s death isn’t really… Well, I mean, it’s important, she was my sister and all, but…” He trailed off uncertainly, lifting his gaze back to Zim.

Speaking of Zim, he looked rather confused. “And…where is this coming from all of a sudden?” the Irken asked hesitantly, antennae quirking a bit.

Dib immediately assumed a similar expression of confusion. “You weren’t implying that I should just get over her being dead?”

“Mmmm…no. Good idea, though. You might want to try that.” Zim nodded before returning his attention to the baby, swaying her to and fro and snickering a bit when she swayed off-balance and fell; she didn’t seem to mind, as the couch was a nice soft thing to land on. As he poked at the infant’s belly-button curiously, he continued, “Zim never liked her – all bratty and…ugh. You had good taste there, at least; you never seemed to like her, either.”

The boy winced a bit, averting his eyes. “That’s…normal for siblings. I think.”

“Ah, so Zim is right, as usual! Well, if you don’t like her, then it should be a simple matter for you to get over it, yes?”

“No, Zim. She was…family. I just…” Dib ruffled at his hair uncertainly, feeling further ill at ease when he remembered the nightmare from before. It was only a dream, certainly, but an unnerving one nonetheless. Gaz had threatened him similarly plenty of times before, and for much lesser things.

“You just…don’t like her,” Zim finished for him, looking relatively unimpressed. “I don’t see what the problem is, aside from the massive lump of stoopid you call a brain.”

A nice, dark scowl was directed at the alien in a most unfriendly fashion. “You’re horrible, you know that?”

Zim grinned back mockingly, zipper-like teeth flashing. “Can you handle that, Dib-monkey?”

“Yes.”

“So ignore it, and explain to Zim, for there is no problem that ZIM cannot solve!”

Dib was silent for a moment before grumbling lowly. Then, he waved a hand vaguely, saying, “Okay, let’s put this into terms you could understand. Maybe…find something that you would have trouble getting over.”

Antennae perked curiously, the Irken staring at him with grin still in place and disbelief clear in his expression. “Like what?”

“Oh, I dunno… Let’s say…your leaders had you banished because you didn't actually take over Earth yourself.”

Any and all emotion immediately blanked from the Irken’s face, and for a good while he said nothing at all. Then, his eyes narrowed and he spoke lowly, warningly, “Never mention that again. …Ever.” It was a tone Dib had never heard from the alien, and it didn’t settle right – at all.

Nodding hesitantly was all he could do in reply until Zim gave a sharp, satisfied nod and relaxed, turning away to interact with someone who wouldn’t nag at him. (The infant was rather pleased, to say the least.) “So…uh…” Dib tried, wondering if the Irken was ignoring him purposefully because of his suggestion, or if he’d just considered the conversation as being over.

“Zim understands.”

Dib jumped a little, startled. “Huh?”

The Irken didn’t look up from the infant, only frowned and stated grudgingly, “Zim understands – it was an…effective analogy. I won’t mention your sibling unit again.”

“Oh, uh…all right.”

The two sat in relative silence, the random babbling of the child the only sound, before Zim spoke up once more, maddeningly awkward. “It would…never happen, of course, but… If Zim were…banished…there would be little point to escaping Earth. The Irken Empire is immense, Dib – there are few places an exile can safely go, and we certainly couldn’t stay here for very long. This planet is…ehh…unfit.”

Inferior, in other words, Dib knew – he felt somewhat gratified that the Irken hadn’t mentioned his hatred of the place, however. He felt suddenly anxious when a part of the statement sank in – escaping Earth. Of course. They couldn’t stay here; the entire planet had become a death-trap. “…Do you think that this race would do an organic sweep once they’re done here?” Dib asked nervously. “Or would that have come first?”

“It can happen at any time, really, so it is…possible,” Zim responded, antennae lowering slightly – he’d probably been worrying over such a thing since he first discovered the new invading race, Dib realized.

“All the more reason we should think of a way off,” he told the Irken, who only nodded lightly and didn’t respond. “Seeing as your base is gone-” Zim stayed silent at this, the only indication that he’d heard was a slight twitch of one eye. “-maybe we can…see if my house is still intact. Tak’s ship was in the garage!” A needless reminder, but the slight bit of hope seemed to do wonders.

His companion glanced up at him immediately, a hint of a pleased grin quirking at his lips. “Can it fly?” Zim asked eagerly.

Dib nodded, returning the slight grin. “I never actually tried taking it up past the atmosphere, but I know that Gaz managed to fix it enough to where it’s in good working order.”

“Gaz fixed it?” The disbelief was back, bringing along its buddies, uncertainty and downright horror – who knew what kind of evil could be lurking in that ship now! (Granted, it had belonged to Tak before, but…that was a risk Zim was willing to take.)

“Yeah, so she could rescue me from the polar ice caps way back during your Santa plan, and then beat me up for ruining her favorite doll three Christmases before then,” Dib explained, grimacing a bit at the memory.

A bit relieved at this, Zim nodded (giving a twisted giggle at the mention of his ingenious – but unfortunately failed – Santa plan, and the fact that Dib had been beaten up by his little sister over a doll). Surely Gaz wouldn't have booby-trapped a ship she intended to pilot herself. “Hmm…this just might work…”

“If my house is intact,” the teen reminded him, getting a look sour enough to curdle milk.

“And if it’s not?” Zim prompted.

Dib blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “Uh…I dunno…try NASAPlace? Or…commandeer an enemy mech somehow?” Crossing his arms over his chest, the teen frowned at him. “Why are you asking me, anyway? You’re the trained invader!”

“Exactly, Zim is a trained invader. Thus, Zim has been trained to invade planets, not escape them!”

“Wha- That’s stupid! Don’t they figure this stuff in to your training?!” Dib exclaimed.

The Irken gave a little shrug, pointedly looking at anything but his companion – instead, he bounced the infant on his lap a bit, replying with a clear amount of hesitation. “Yes, well, they also generally figure that most planets being invaded will have spaceworthy vessels, and that the invader in question will normally still have their base available to them, aaaaand also that the planet hasn’t already been invaded by another invading race which just so happens to be considered an immense dishonor punishable by deactivation.” The last part was mentioned in one quick and quite nearly unintelligible mass, and Dib had a hard time deciphering one word from another.

He ended up wishing he hadn’t bothered, though.

“You could be killed for this?!” he screeched, eyes bugging as he gaped at Zim in utter disbelief. Okay…this was just a bit much!

Zim rolled his eyes in exasperation before correcting flatly, “Deactivated, Dib-smell, there’s a difference.” He glanced upward for a moment, then muttered not-quietly-enough, “…Sort of.”

“Sort of?!”

“It's only if the Tallests find out, anyway,” Zim assured him, which didn’t really help matters any. From what Dib had always figured, Irkens would never even consider lying to their leaders. Certainly one as loyal as Zim wouldn’t – the idea was almost laughable!

Slipping off his glasses, Dib pinched at the bridge of his nose, trying to soothe the aching headache he’d suddenly acquired. “…So, uh…you wouldn’t happen to know of any of those…safe planets, would you? You know, uh…just in case?”

A disgruntled noise came from the Irken, then a measure of silence before Zim answered, tone careful. “…I might.”

The teen let out a sigh of relief – if all didn’t end well, at least they’d have somewhere to go. Probably. That is, if he hadn't already been killed by then. He had no idea what the Irken planned to do with him once they were out of this mess, but he figured it wouldn’t be pretty if it ended up well for his rival. If he ended up back among his own kind, then certainly Zim would either toss him out an airlock, or keep him as some sort of pet – the latter would probably end up with Dib tossing himself out an airlock.

Zim as his owner? No thanks.

So far, it seemed that Zim having to flee to avoid deactivation was the most profitable thing that could happen, at least where the teen was concerned – he doubted the Irken would want to live out the rest of however many years he had left by himself, so he might be safe in that respect. Sure, he’d be stuck with an egomaniac in some unknown place in the deepest darkest reaches of space, but at least he wouldn’t be dead or enslaved by the Irken Empire.

And, if Zim actually did try to make a pet out of him, there was always the airlock idea.

Nodding to himself, though not entirely reassured, Dib slid his glasses back on and glanced to the problem Irken in question, who seemed to be preoccupied with looking extremely frazzled as the infant sucked on his finger (and he was doing quite a good job of it, too).

Well, at least the baby seemed to have things going her way; the fact that Zim wasn’t screaming at her for such a thing was already an immense breakthrough in Irken-human relations.

“Cute, isn’t she?” Dib asked conversationally.

Surprisingly, the alien nodded, though he looked thoroughly disgusted when he managed to pull his hand away. “I think she’s hungry,” he managed, grimacing and wiping the spit off on the first thing within his reach – Dib’s trenchcoat.

Barely managing not to scowl, the teen got to his feet, adjusting his glasses a bit. “I’ll show you how to feed her before we leave – I may be next to useless with kids, but I can figure out how to do that, at least.”

Zim stared after him curiously as he searched around for where he’d tossed the baby’s supply-bag earlier on. “Leave?” the Irken echoed blandly.

“Yes, leave. We shouldn’t hang around and waste time. Let’s try my house, see if it’s still standing so we can take Tak’s ship. Oh, and we might want to consider getting some supplies or something along the way,” Dib suggested as he leaned to check under the end table, then straightened and looked around, scratching at the side of his head. “Where did I put that thing?”

“Kitchen,” Zim reminded him, slouching down and looking incredibly bored.

The teen snapped his fingers. “Ah, right! Kitchen!” (‘Zim just said that!’) “That’s right, I was going to heat up a bottle for her when I woke up, so I-” Dib was cut off with a three-fingered hand to his back, propelling him towards the other room.

“Yes, yes, Dib, that’s fascinating,” the extraterrestrial drawled sarcastically as he pushed Dib forward. “But I seem to recall you mentioning…oh, I dunno…not wasting time?”

“I…wasn’t.”

“Rambling…wasting time…same thing.” Zim shrugged as he headed past the teen, setting the baby on the kitchen counter and only wincing slightly when she decided to claim his hand for sucking on once more.

“What, and your constant moping wasn’t wasting time?” Dib retorted mockingly, digging about in the bag.

The Irken quirked his head, frowning a bit. “Zim wasn’t moping.”

“Oh, you were, too,” the teen replied, adding on (in what might have been an understanding tone if he hadn’t been grinning), “It’s okay to mope a little, Zim – everyone has their own way of getting their emotions out.”

“Zim was not – moping,” Zim repeated firmly, antennae flattening in a warning gesture.

It was a warning gesture that was dutifully ignored. “Deny it all you want, I know there’s a sensitive guy in there somewhere.”

“No.” The Irken was glaring up at him huffily now, hands (one of which was covered in spit) clenched into fists at his sides.

“Aww; cheer up, emo kid.”

The look of aggravation on Zim’s face was definitely worth the baby drool smeared across his face moments later.