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Description
Dib had grown accustomed to certain things over time. So he was used to now sleeping on the floor of his room while having Zim around. The Irken seemed to find Dib’s home rather pleasant after being demoted from Invader. Dib had decided to let him stay. He felt it was his chance to learn a bit about the alien, even though he wasn‘t really a threat anymore. A camaraderie formed between Irken and human over the course of a few weeks. Now, Dib was adapted to having the Irken around so often that he didn’t know what it would be like if Zim ever decided to leave.

As he awoke, Dib sat up and stretched, looking over at the “used to be his” bed and the figure sleeping soundly in it. Zim was usually the first one awake, albeit always a little too early for Dib’s liking. But lately the alien was suffering the Irken equivalent of a head cold and he had not been functioning at maximum efficiency.

Dib let the sleeping Irken be and got up, quickly throwing on some suitable daytime clothes, and made his way downstairs. A pleasant morning silence greeted him as he went into the kitchen. His father had already left for the labs and his sister wasn’t up yet. Dib poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat it on the table. But before sitting down, Dib took the cake dish that was sitting on the counter top and moved it to the table as well. He then reached into the cupboard and grabbed a loaf of wheat grain bread, placing it next to the dish. A French vanilla cake with chocolate frosting now sat directly in front of Dib’s bowl.

These were a few of the things Zim could tolerate. Before, when Zim first began staying with him, the Irken would take offense if these items weren’t on the table when he walked into the kitchen, saying he was not only a guest but a superior guest and Dib wouldn’t hear the end of it until after breakfast. Even though getting on the Irken’s nerves still amused Dib, given Zim’s condition the past few days, he decided to humor the alien and have his food ready.

Dib finally sat down and began eating, eyeing the cake in front of him. He didn’t know how Zim managed to eat so much junk and still be fit. He guessed it must be an Irken thing.

Dib had eaten half of his bowl when he realized he’d forgotten something to drink. He got up and looked in the fridge for some orange juice. As he poured a glass, he heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. Even with his back turned, Dib knew who it was. Every morning, he’d hear the same thing.

Clack, clack, clack.

Dib turned to face Zim. “Good morning,” he said politely.

Zim replied with a nod and a slow blink. Dib watched as Zim continued to the table.

Clack, clack, clack.

Again there was the same sound on the tiled floor. The sound stopped when Zim sat down. It was another thing Dib had grown used to. The sound of Zim’s bare feet on hard surfaces. Dib was fascinated the first time he saw them. Zim’s feet had only three digits each, like his hands. On the end of each one was a long, curved talon that tapped the ground whenever he walked. They made no noise on the carpet or on the grass. But in places like the kitchen and the bathroom, even on the back porch, there was always the accompanying clicks every time Zim made a step.

One thing Zim had grown used to, but barely tolerated, was Dib asking about Irken anatomy whenever he saw a part of the alien that he hadn’t before. Now that Zim had started wearing more regular clothing instead of his usual uniform, those moments were often. The first time Zim walked barefoot in the house, Dib was all over it.

Dib managed to convince Zim to let him have a closer look at those talons one evening. Though the inspection ended with scratches and cuts in Dib’s flesh when he tried to touch Zim, the boy was intrigued by what he learned. Irken claws were sharp (Dib had the marks to prove it) and sturdy. The underside of the Irken foot was heavily padded, which allowed Zim to walk on rough surfaces that Dib would find rather unpleasant. Along with the hooked talons, each toe was capable of moving independently, giving Zim a very strong grip with his feet. Zim explained to him that Irkens were just as fast running barefoot as they were when wearing the proper attire because their talons acted like ground spikes and gave them the extra grip. Dib had taken the hint to never steal his boots again but he still wanted to drag Zim out to the backyard to the sand pile where he and his sister used to play, just to see what kind of footprint the Irken made.

Dib watched Zim take a slice of bread and then cut a piece of the cake. “Are you feeling better?” he asked. “You look better today.”

“Yes,” Zim replied, not looking at the human.

“That’s good, I guess,” Dib said, trying to keep a conversation. He was starting to miss the ranting the Irken usually did at this hour.

Dib watched Zim eat out of the corner of his eye. He did look better. His skin was returning to its normal shade of green and his antennae were standing in their relaxed position. Throughout the years, Dib learned to watch Zim’s antennae for signs of how the Irken was feeling or behaving. They had always been the one thing that gave him away. The human had figured out key positions that the antennae would move in and out of. Where they sat now, at an almost 45 degree angle, meant that Zim was calm and relaxed. Dib dubbed this the normal position. If they were raised higher, it meant he was alert. If they were lower, it meant he was wary about something. Through his own experiences, which he didn’t like to think about, Dib had found out two different positions for aggression: the lowered and the forward. The lowered position showed only slight aggression. Dib saw it when Zim was irritated and angry, but not enough so as to attack. For the forward position though, when Zim had his antennae overhanging his brow and fully facing Dib, that usually meant it was time for Dib to start running. He remembered finding that out the hard way.

Zim continued to pick at his food and Dib continued to watch him. His eyes were drawn to Zim’s hands. His claws extended in hooks just slightly past the padding of his fingertips, giving him a natural weapon while still allowing him to grasp objects. Dib still had a scar on his cheek from the last time they fought, but Zim also had his own share of injuries. It was the last huge battle they had before Zim had lost his rank. Dib hardly remembered what kind of stupid device or plan they had been fighting about, but he did remember what he walked away with that day. The two of them had somehow ended up in a wrestling match with each other. That was when Dib received the scratch that left his cheek scarred. But somewhere during the battle, Dib had knocked one of Zim’s teeth loose, and the Irken spat it onto the ground as he pulled away from the human. Afterwards, when things had finally settled down, Dib found the dislodged tooth while surveying the damage they had caused. There was still some blood and saliva on it, but Dib picked it up and cleaned it off on his pant leg before stowing it away in his pocket.

He still had the tooth. It was triangular in shape and serrated on one side. It reminded him of a shark tooth. Dib poked his palm with it to test how sharp it was, drawing a bit of blood in the process. It was now being kept safe in a locked box underneath his bed, in which he kept all of the most valuable objects he collected during his paranormal studies.

If Zim ever realized the human had kept his missing tooth, Dib would probably end up with a few more scars. But now as Dib observed him, he noticed a new tooth was already replacing the old one. If Zim did ever find the one he lost, Dib hoped he would let him keep it.

Had Dib been paying attention, he would have noticed Zim was staring at him from across the table. “What’s wrong with you? Are you ill as well?”

Dib snapped out of his thoughts. Zim was glaring at him now. Dib searched for the best thing to say. “I was just…thinking about stuff.”

“Stuff?” Zim cocked his brow. “Well can you at least look somewhere else while you do this ‘stuff thinking‘? I’m going back upstairs.”

With that, Zim got up rather brusquely and left. Dib watched him go, listening to his footfalls. The clacking ceased when he stepped into the living room and onto the carpet.

Dib looked at the empty space where Zim once sat and cringed. Six thin, smooth lines were etched into the wood top of the table. Zim had got up a little too hard and had left scratch marks on the table’s surface. Dib sighed. He’d have to find some way to fix that today before his father got home. A second thought occurred to him and he peered under the table. No scratches. At least Zim gave him that much.

Dib got up and cleared his bowl, placing the cake dish back on the counter. There was still enough left of the cake for a few more days. Then he’d have to bake another one, or else face the wrath of the Irken.

He’s lucky I’m so nice to him, Dib thought. But he figured he didn’t really have reason to complain. The amount of information the alien was giving him had been enough for repayment.

He walked back around to where Zim sat and ran three of his fingers over one set of the claw marks. He grinned a little bit to himself.

Dib turned and headed out of the kitchen, making a mental note that he still needed a sample of the Irken’s fingerprints.

End

Description
Dib had grown accustomed to certain things over time. So he was used to now sleeping on the floor of his room while having Zim around. The Irken seemed to find Dib’s home rather pleasant after being demoted from Invader. Dib had decided to let him stay. He felt it was his chance to learn a bit about the alien, even though he wasn‘t really a threat anymore. A camaraderie formed between Irken and human over the course of a few weeks. Now, Dib was adapted to having the Irken around so often that he didn’t know what it would be like if Zim ever decided to leave.

As he awoke, Dib sat up and stretched, looking over at the “used to be his” bed and the figure sleeping soundly in it. Zim was usually the first one awake, albeit always a little too early for Dib’s liking. But lately the alien was suffering the Irken equivalent of a head cold and he had not been functioning at maximum efficiency.

Dib let the sleeping Irken be and got up, quickly throwing on some suitable daytime clothes, and made his way downstairs. A pleasant morning silence greeted him as he went into the kitchen. His father had already left for the labs and his sister wasn’t up yet. Dib poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat it on the table. But before sitting down, Dib took the cake dish that was sitting on the counter top and moved it to the table as well. He then reached into the cupboard and grabbed a loaf of wheat grain bread, placing it next to the dish. A French vanilla cake with chocolate frosting now sat directly in front of Dib’s bowl.

These were a few of the things Zim could tolerate. Before, when Zim first began staying with him, the Irken would take offense if these items weren’t on the table when he walked into the kitchen, saying he was not only a guest but a superior guest and Dib wouldn’t hear the end of it until after breakfast. Even though getting on the Irken’s nerves still amused Dib, given Zim’s condition the past few days, he decided to humor the alien and have his food ready.

Dib finally sat down and began eating, eyeing the cake in front of him. He didn’t know how Zim managed to eat so much junk and still be fit. He guessed it must be an Irken thing.

Dib had eaten half of his bowl when he realized he’d forgotten something to drink. He got up and looked in the fridge for some orange juice. As he poured a glass, he heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. Even with his back turned, Dib knew who it was. Every morning, he’d hear the same thing.

Clack, clack, clack.

Dib turned to face Zim. “Good morning,” he said politely.

Zim replied with a nod and a slow blink. Dib watched as Zim continued to the table.

Clack, clack, clack.

Again there was the same sound on the tiled floor. The sound stopped when Zim sat down. It was another thing Dib had grown used to. The sound of Zim’s bare feet on hard surfaces. Dib was fascinated the first time he saw them. Zim’s feet had only three digits each, like his hands. On the end of each one was a long, curved talon that tapped the ground whenever he walked. They made no noise on the carpet or on the grass. But in places like the kitchen and the bathroom, even on the back porch, there was always the accompanying clicks every time Zim made a step.

One thing Zim had grown used to, but barely tolerated, was Dib asking about Irken anatomy whenever he saw a part of the alien that he hadn’t before. Now that Zim had started wearing more regular clothing instead of his usual uniform, those moments were often. The first time Zim walked barefoot in the house, Dib was all over it.

Dib managed to convince Zim to let him have a closer look at those talons one evening. Though the inspection ended with scratches and cuts in Dib’s flesh when he tried to touch Zim, the boy was intrigued by what he learned. Irken claws were sharp (Dib had the marks to prove it) and sturdy. The underside of the Irken foot was heavily padded, which allowed Zim to walk on rough surfaces that Dib would find rather unpleasant. Along with the hooked talons, each toe was capable of moving independently, giving Zim a very strong grip with his feet. Zim explained to him that Irkens were just as fast running barefoot as they were when wearing the proper attire because their talons acted like ground spikes and gave them the extra grip. Dib had taken the hint to never steal his boots again but he still wanted to drag Zim out to the backyard to the sand pile where he and his sister used to play, just to see what kind of footprint the Irken made.

Dib watched Zim take a slice of bread and then cut a piece of the cake. “Are you feeling better?” he asked. “You look better today.”

“Yes,” Zim replied, not looking at the human.

“That’s good, I guess,” Dib said, trying to keep a conversation. He was starting to miss the ranting the Irken usually did at this hour.

Dib watched Zim eat out of the corner of his eye. He did look better. His skin was returning to its normal shade of green and his antennae were standing in their relaxed position. Throughout the years, Dib learned to watch Zim’s antennae for signs of how the Irken was feeling or behaving. They had always been the one thing that gave him away. The human had figured out key positions that the antennae would move in and out of. Where they sat now, at an almost 45 degree angle, meant that Zim was calm and relaxed. Dib dubbed this the normal position. If they were raised higher, it meant he was alert. If they were lower, it meant he was wary about something. Through his own experiences, which he didn’t like to think about, Dib had found out two different positions for aggression: the lowered and the forward. The lowered position showed only slight aggression. Dib saw it when Zim was irritated and angry, but not enough so as to attack. For the forward position though, when Zim had his antennae overhanging his brow and fully facing Dib, that usually meant it was time for Dib to start running. He remembered finding that out the hard way.

Zim continued to pick at his food and Dib continued to watch him. His eyes were drawn to Zim’s hands. His claws extended in hooks just slightly past the padding of his fingertips, giving him a natural weapon while still allowing him to grasp objects. Dib still had a scar on his cheek from the last time they fought, but Zim also had his own share of injuries. It was the last huge battle they had before Zim had lost his rank. Dib hardly remembered what kind of stupid device or plan they had been fighting about, but he did remember what he walked away with that day. The two of them had somehow ended up in a wrestling match with each other. That was when Dib received the scratch that left his cheek scarred. But somewhere during the battle, Dib had knocked one of Zim’s teeth loose, and the Irken spat it onto the ground as he pulled away from the human. Afterwards, when things had finally settled down, Dib found the dislodged tooth while surveying the damage they had caused. There was still some blood and saliva on it, but Dib picked it up and cleaned it off on his pant leg before stowing it away in his pocket.

He still had the tooth. It was triangular in shape and serrated on one side. It reminded him of a shark tooth. Dib poked his palm with it to test how sharp it was, drawing a bit of blood in the process. It was now being kept safe in a locked box underneath his bed, in which he kept all of the most valuable objects he collected during his paranormal studies.

If Zim ever realized the human had kept his missing tooth, Dib would probably end up with a few more scars. But now as Dib observed him, he noticed a new tooth was already replacing the old one. If Zim did ever find the one he lost, Dib hoped he would let him keep it.

Had Dib been paying attention, he would have noticed Zim was staring at him from across the table. “What’s wrong with you? Are you ill as well?”

Dib snapped out of his thoughts. Zim was glaring at him now. Dib searched for the best thing to say. “I was just…thinking about stuff.”

“Stuff?” Zim cocked his brow. “Well can you at least look somewhere else while you do this ‘stuff thinking‘? I’m going back upstairs.”

With that, Zim got up rather brusquely and left. Dib watched him go, listening to his footfalls. The clacking ceased when he stepped into the living room and onto the carpet.

Dib looked at the empty space where Zim once sat and cringed. Six thin, smooth lines were etched into the wood top of the table. Zim had got up a little too hard and had left scratch marks on the table’s surface. Dib sighed. He’d have to find some way to fix that today before his father got home. A second thought occurred to him and he peered under the table. No scratches. At least Zim gave him that much.

Dib got up and cleared his bowl, placing the cake dish back on the counter. There was still enough left of the cake for a few more days. Then he’d have to bake another one, or else face the wrath of the Irken.

He’s lucky I’m so nice to him, Dib thought. But he figured he didn’t really have reason to complain. The amount of information the alien was giving him had been enough for repayment.

He walked back around to where Zim sat and ran three of his fingers over one set of the claw marks. He grinned a little bit to himself.

Dib turned and headed out of the kitchen, making a mental note that he still needed a sample of the Irken’s fingerprints.

End