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Description
Dancing

Dib watched the guard’s house until it had disappeared on the horizon line. He turned back and hummed. Zim was focused on piloting, though Dib noticed he barely touched some of the controls, he was primarily monitoring.

“Want to go to my house? I have more movies there. And games,” Dib offers.

“Zim doesn’t see why not. You’ve been accompanying Zim at his base for the last few days. Zim will stay at your house this time,” Zim says. He reached one hand back, his PAK distributing to him his back up disguise.

“Sweet! I think Gaz was at a friend’s house. Dad won’t even notice. He’d probably congratulate me on keeping a friend,” Dib joked. He saw Zim smirk. “Anyway, you can park the Cruiser in the garage.”

Zim looked back at him, confused. “Zim was under the impression he’d be landing at the base and we would walk. Is keeping the Cruiser at your house a good idea?”

“No one will see it. The garage has no windows anyone can see through. I kept Tak’s ship in there the entire time I had it and my dad didn’t even see it. I don’t think he even went into the garage that entire time. He’s almost never home, anyway,” Dib explains.

Zim huffs. “Alright. Zim needs a break from Gir as it is.”

“Gir seemed… he’s never calm, but he was ok tonight.”

“Dib-stink, you are not there when you are attending class,” Zim says. Dib snorts.

“Ok, fair point. How’s your shoulder?” Dib asks, poking the Irken’s arm lightly. Zim pulled away and stuck his tongue out at him.

“Almost healed. It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Zim says, banking the Cruiser towards Dib’s house. Dib looked up to see his rooftop in the distance. Most of the lights in the neighborhood were off, leaving the old street lamps to light the way. He hadn’t noticed how dark his neighborhood was until just then. It wasn’t ideal any other night, but he wasn’t going to complain when an alien was piloting a ship into his garage.

Zim lowered the cruiser above his driveway. The glass front popped open and Dib jumped out. He ran up to the door, punching in the code and crawling under as it raised. He hastily moved the random assortment of junk to the walls to fit the Cruiser. The door stopped and Zim slowly moved the Cruiser inside. Once it had passed the threshold Dib walked to the house door and punched the button, closing the garage behind the Irken. Zim hopped out of the Cruiser, jumping up and using his own weight to pull the glass cover down into place. He grunted when he hit the ground.

“Perhaps it does still hurt a little,” Zim admits, rubbing at his shoulder. Dib grimaced and flicked the lights off. He walked into the kitchen, looking around to see all the lights in the house off. He moved aside, letting Zim through.

“I think maybe Gaz is already in bed,” he says. Zim hums moving right past him to the stairs.

“Does Dib-stink have new games?” he asks. Dib chuckles.

“You’re just rearing to go again, aren’t you?” Dib teases. Zim sticks his segmented tongue out as he practically ran up the stairs in strides that better matched a walk. Dib took his time, knowing Zim would just end up picking a game he liked.

By the time he got up to his room Zim was popping a game in just like he knew he would. Dib sat on his bed, grabbing one of the controllers Zim had thrown up to it. They started the game and Dib started to zone out.

Zim tacked away at the controller. He had to hand it to Dib for having some of the best puzzle based games he could have found. The sun was already high in the sky by the time Zim had reached his point, almost at the end of the game. He heard Gaz stir again. She didn’t sleep soundly, he had noted.

This time she rolled out of her bed and opened her door, still half asleep. She was in the hall when she stopped and stared at him. Zim paused the game and looked back at her. She looked from the alien to Dib then back.

“Did he pass out?”

“Yes.”

“Pansy. What are you still doing here? Don’t have your disguise? Don’t tell me you’re stuck here.”

“Zim can leave whenever Zim wants,” he said, resuming the game. Gaz stood and watched him for a moment before stepping into the room. Zim saw her cross her arms over her chest as she did so. “Do you believe the room is haunted, or is it possible you’re actually uncomfortable in here?”

She shoots him a glare. Normally, Zim knew it would crack even the toughest man’s composure but he’d been building a tolerance lately. He simply kept playing, waiting for her response. She sighed heavily, leaning on one leg as she watched the game.

“It’s weird to see you both getting along,” she admits. Zim kept playing but twitched an antennae at her. She waited for him to speak and groaned when he didn’t. “You’re a prick. It’s weird because you guys kind of, you know, hated each other?”

“We did,” Zim confirms. “Emphasis on ‘did’.”

“I didn’t think you knew phrases like that,” Gaz says, kicking away a random toy. Zim chuckled.

“Zim’s been learning a lot. Dib-stink is a good teacher even if he’s not intentionally trying.”

“Careful, he’ll gush if he hears that,” Gaz says. Zim paused the game, laughing.

“Did you just try to be funny?” he asked. Gaz froze. She picked the toy up, throwing it square into his head. He didn’t attempt to dodge it, finding more amusement in her frustration. “Dib says that’s a sign that you’re warming up to someone.”

“It’s hard not to tolerate you when you’re here all the time,” Gaz spits.

“Hmph. Zim is finding life on Earth to be more entertaining and… nice, than he expected.”

“And yet you still can’t speak right,” Gaz teases, twirling around to leave.

“I don’t care if I sound correct,” Zim says. He sees her pause in the doorway and turn to look at him. There was murder in her eyes. He smiled. Gaz growled, leaving down the hall. Zim sat back, returning to the game.

Dib took in his surroundings. He was sprawled on his bed, controller long lost from his grip and on the floor. His glasses were askew. He readjusted them, sitting up on an elbow. Zim was nowhere to be seen. Dib yawned, stretching. He checked the time: 1:17pm. He gave what was half a grunt and half a laugh. Figured he’d sleep in past lunch after being up so late the night before. He wasn’t entirely uncertain it hadn’t hit 6 am before he passed out on ZIm.

He knew the alien must’ve left yet. It was broad daylight. Dib groggily slid out of bed, falling onto the pillows the two had shoved off the bed. He wondered if Zim would want something. He knew if Gaz hadn’t gotten up yet she’d be starving. He opted to try a dish he liked. He could shove Zim’s serving into a bowl of sugar if he wanted to try it. He chuckled to himself as he stood.

He made his way slowly down the stairs, smacking his face to wake up. With is eyes half shut he saw movement on the tv, unable to make out what it was, but he heard a video game. Gaz was already awake, good. He only debated for a moment before deciding he would make 3 servings regardless. He was moving into the kitchen when he stopped and backtracked. Taking a second look at the couch he saw two heads. Gaz laughed—albeit menacingly—as Zim’s graphic ship was shot out of the sky.

“Damn you!” Zim screeched, throwing the controller onto the far side of the couch.

“Here I thought you were better at games by now,” Gaz said. She started to choose a new map. “I’m choosing. There are some community custom maps that don’t suck.”

Zim grumbled, sinking into his cushion. Dib watched the antennae vibrate low and then spring up again. He’d seen that happen several times while he and Zim had played before. Zim grabbed the controller again. “Fine, but Zim chooses the ships.”

Dib’s brain was, effectively, blue-screening. He shuffled to the kitchen as they started up their new level. Dib was on autopilot as he grabbed the pot and pan and sorted through his spices. He hadn’t snapped out of it until he was mixing the sauce and the pasta was boiling. He snickered to himself. Never did he think he’d see Gaz playing a game that wasn’t her Vampire Piggy Hunter. Much less a game with Zim.

Dib started to hum, swaying his body to the beat as he cooked.

Zim slit his eyes as his ship crashed. Again. Gaz leaned back, proud of herself for the eighth consecutive win. “Give up?” she asked.

“Zim wants a reprieve,” he said, standing up and stretching. Gaz set her feet on the coffee table.

“Fine by me. I can play this console’s version of VPH.”

“That strange game you are obsessed with, yes? Zim doesn’t understand it.”

“You don’t get VPH, but you’re perfectly fine with playing a game with zombies in it?” Gaz asked skeptically. Zim caught her disbelieving look.

“Vampire Piggy’s do not exist. Zim can list at least one species of fungus in the outer systems that affect most species like how the human’s fictional ‘zombie’ operates. Zim can say that a ‘zombie’ can exist,” he explains. Gaz blinks at him.

“That’s awesome.”

“A fungus that makes you a comatose puppet?” he asks incredulously. Gaz nods rapidly.

“Yes, that is what called awesome. What’s it do to Irkens?” she asks. Zim grimaced.

“It was not a pleasant chapter in Irken history,” he sighs. “The fungus is… pervasive. The Tallest of the time decided it was best to abandon the planet. Irkens that escaped were screened and eliminated if infection was found. Simple as that.”

“You didn’t bother trying to find some kind of cure?” Gaz asks.

“There was no point,” Zim says. “Zim will be back.”

Gaz scoffed as he left, setting up her game. Zim twitched his antennae, hearing boiling water over the sounds of the game. He walked into the kitchen, stopping. Dib was moving… oddly. Zim tried to make sense of the movements, but couldn’t find any outside source that would have caused them or the odd noises Dib was making. He could sense a pattern to the noise. After watched for another moment Zim started to connect the noise with the patterns in the movements.

“Dib-stink?” he asks. Dib jolted, yelping. The ladle in his hand flew into the air. Dib scrambled to catch it, managing to guide it to hit the counter. He sighed, looking down.

“Hey, Zim.”

“What were you doing?” Zim asked, moving into the kitchen. Dib resumed his cooking, ignoring the alien’s question.

“It’s almost done. Do you want to try human food that isn’t sweets? I can always drown it in sugar for you,” Dib offers. Zim smirked.

“The PAK should be able to handle… what is this?” Zim asks.

“Chicken and alfredo,” Dib says. He grabs the pot, moving carefully to the sink to drain it. Zim watched him as he prepared the meal. From returning the noodles, to cutting the chicken, to testing the sauce. Dib hummed. “Could use a little longer to heat…”

“What was it you were doing?” Zim asked again. Dib tapped his foot.

“It’s called dancing. Very integral to any human culture. It’s almost something we can’t help but do.”

“What’s its purpose?” Zim asks, sitting on the table.

“Um… well, it depends. Sometimes it’s used in a cultural performance like a war dance, sometimes it’s just for fun, sometimes it’s used as an art piece, sometimes it’s just something to do. It’s hard to explain in full. People just tend to move to a beat. We can choreograph it, but a lot of people just start moving.”

“How does one know what to do?”

“Do you want to learn?” Dib asks, reducing the heat on the sauce. Zim pondered it. Dib poured the sauce into the noodles, adding the chicken next, then stirring it all together.

“Yes.”

“Then come here. I’ll clap and we can start with a simple beat,” Dib says, topping the pot. Zim slid off the table to join Dib half way. Dib stretched, twisting his torso. Zim heard a loud pop and crack. When Dib returned, successfully loosening himself up, he stopped at Zim’s horrified stare. “What?”

Zim sputtered something out in Irken. Dib blinked at him. “…huh?”

“WHAT DID YOU DO??” Zim repeats, gesturing to Dib’s torso.

“I cracked my back—oh! Oh, right, that probably sounded really bad,” he says, realization donning on him. Zim stepped back.

“That’s disgusting!”

“It’s just a spine-”

“IT IS NOT “JUST A SPINE”.”

Dib laughed. “Wow, I didn’t think I’d ever find something that could gross you out so bad.”

“What you just did is horrid,” Zim says, his body shivering.

“Why are you so freaked out by this?” Dib asks. He was beginning to worry.

“PAKs are attached to Irken spines. What you just did could have paralyzed Zim if Zim had tried,” he explains. He stuck his tongue out. “Zim may be sick.”

“Don’t be dramatic. Most species… well, I think most species… should be able to do that. None of us have a giant second brain attached to our spines. Come here, I’ll guide some basic dance steps for you.”

Zim grumbled but complied. Dib started by showing him side steps. “Most dance is with momentum and movement. If you haven’t danced before—and clearly Irkens don’t—you’re going to feel out of place doing any of these.”

Zim copied him, picking up the motions faster than Dib would have guessed. Zim smirked. “Zim can see the appeal with this… tradition?”

“Sometimes. But it’s fun, right?” Dib asked, looking up at him. Zim nods, following Dib’s movements like a mirror. “You’re picking it up almost immediately.”

“Irkens are very good at learning from those around them,” Zim explains. Dib smiled, returning to the food to dish it out onto the plates.

“Gaz! Want some lunch?”

“Sure.”

Dib grabbed her plate, rushing into the living room to give it to her. Zim looked back at his feet, practicing again

Description
Dancing

Dib watched the guard’s house until it had disappeared on the horizon line. He turned back and hummed. Zim was focused on piloting, though Dib noticed he barely touched some of the controls, he was primarily monitoring.

“Want to go to my house? I have more movies there. And games,” Dib offers.

“Zim doesn’t see why not. You’ve been accompanying Zim at his base for the last few days. Zim will stay at your house this time,” Zim says. He reached one hand back, his PAK distributing to him his back up disguise.

“Sweet! I think Gaz was at a friend’s house. Dad won’t even notice. He’d probably congratulate me on keeping a friend,” Dib joked. He saw Zim smirk. “Anyway, you can park the Cruiser in the garage.”

Zim looked back at him, confused. “Zim was under the impression he’d be landing at the base and we would walk. Is keeping the Cruiser at your house a good idea?”

“No one will see it. The garage has no windows anyone can see through. I kept Tak’s ship in there the entire time I had it and my dad didn’t even see it. I don’t think he even went into the garage that entire time. He’s almost never home, anyway,” Dib explains.

Zim huffs. “Alright. Zim needs a break from Gir as it is.”

“Gir seemed… he’s never calm, but he was ok tonight.”

“Dib-stink, you are not there when you are attending class,” Zim says. Dib snorts.

“Ok, fair point. How’s your shoulder?” Dib asks, poking the Irken’s arm lightly. Zim pulled away and stuck his tongue out at him.

“Almost healed. It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Zim says, banking the Cruiser towards Dib’s house. Dib looked up to see his rooftop in the distance. Most of the lights in the neighborhood were off, leaving the old street lamps to light the way. He hadn’t noticed how dark his neighborhood was until just then. It wasn’t ideal any other night, but he wasn’t going to complain when an alien was piloting a ship into his garage.

Zim lowered the cruiser above his driveway. The glass front popped open and Dib jumped out. He ran up to the door, punching in the code and crawling under as it raised. He hastily moved the random assortment of junk to the walls to fit the Cruiser. The door stopped and Zim slowly moved the Cruiser inside. Once it had passed the threshold Dib walked to the house door and punched the button, closing the garage behind the Irken. Zim hopped out of the Cruiser, jumping up and using his own weight to pull the glass cover down into place. He grunted when he hit the ground.

“Perhaps it does still hurt a little,” Zim admits, rubbing at his shoulder. Dib grimaced and flicked the lights off. He walked into the kitchen, looking around to see all the lights in the house off. He moved aside, letting Zim through.

“I think maybe Gaz is already in bed,” he says. Zim hums moving right past him to the stairs.

“Does Dib-stink have new games?” he asks. Dib chuckles.

“You’re just rearing to go again, aren’t you?” Dib teases. Zim sticks his segmented tongue out as he practically ran up the stairs in strides that better matched a walk. Dib took his time, knowing Zim would just end up picking a game he liked.

By the time he got up to his room Zim was popping a game in just like he knew he would. Dib sat on his bed, grabbing one of the controllers Zim had thrown up to it. They started the game and Dib started to zone out.

Zim tacked away at the controller. He had to hand it to Dib for having some of the best puzzle based games he could have found. The sun was already high in the sky by the time Zim had reached his point, almost at the end of the game. He heard Gaz stir again. She didn’t sleep soundly, he had noted.

This time she rolled out of her bed and opened her door, still half asleep. She was in the hall when she stopped and stared at him. Zim paused the game and looked back at her. She looked from the alien to Dib then back.

“Did he pass out?”

“Yes.”

“Pansy. What are you still doing here? Don’t have your disguise? Don’t tell me you’re stuck here.”

“Zim can leave whenever Zim wants,” he said, resuming the game. Gaz stood and watched him for a moment before stepping into the room. Zim saw her cross her arms over her chest as she did so. “Do you believe the room is haunted, or is it possible you’re actually uncomfortable in here?”

She shoots him a glare. Normally, Zim knew it would crack even the toughest man’s composure but he’d been building a tolerance lately. He simply kept playing, waiting for her response. She sighed heavily, leaning on one leg as she watched the game.

“It’s weird to see you both getting along,” she admits. Zim kept playing but twitched an antennae at her. She waited for him to speak and groaned when he didn’t. “You’re a prick. It’s weird because you guys kind of, you know, hated each other?”

“We did,” Zim confirms. “Emphasis on ‘did’.”

“I didn’t think you knew phrases like that,” Gaz says, kicking away a random toy. Zim chuckled.

“Zim’s been learning a lot. Dib-stink is a good teacher even if he’s not intentionally trying.”

“Careful, he’ll gush if he hears that,” Gaz says. Zim paused the game, laughing.

“Did you just try to be funny?” he asked. Gaz froze. She picked the toy up, throwing it square into his head. He didn’t attempt to dodge it, finding more amusement in her frustration. “Dib says that’s a sign that you’re warming up to someone.”

“It’s hard not to tolerate you when you’re here all the time,” Gaz spits.

“Hmph. Zim is finding life on Earth to be more entertaining and… nice, than he expected.”

“And yet you still can’t speak right,” Gaz teases, twirling around to leave.

“I don’t care if I sound correct,” Zim says. He sees her pause in the doorway and turn to look at him. There was murder in her eyes. He smiled. Gaz growled, leaving down the hall. Zim sat back, returning to the game.

Dib took in his surroundings. He was sprawled on his bed, controller long lost from his grip and on the floor. His glasses were askew. He readjusted them, sitting up on an elbow. Zim was nowhere to be seen. Dib yawned, stretching. He checked the time: 1:17pm. He gave what was half a grunt and half a laugh. Figured he’d sleep in past lunch after being up so late the night before. He wasn’t entirely uncertain it hadn’t hit 6 am before he passed out on ZIm.

He knew the alien must’ve left yet. It was broad daylight. Dib groggily slid out of bed, falling onto the pillows the two had shoved off the bed. He wondered if Zim would want something. He knew if Gaz hadn’t gotten up yet she’d be starving. He opted to try a dish he liked. He could shove Zim’s serving into a bowl of sugar if he wanted to try it. He chuckled to himself as he stood.

He made his way slowly down the stairs, smacking his face to wake up. With is eyes half shut he saw movement on the tv, unable to make out what it was, but he heard a video game. Gaz was already awake, good. He only debated for a moment before deciding he would make 3 servings regardless. He was moving into the kitchen when he stopped and backtracked. Taking a second look at the couch he saw two heads. Gaz laughed—albeit menacingly—as Zim’s graphic ship was shot out of the sky.

“Damn you!” Zim screeched, throwing the controller onto the far side of the couch.

“Here I thought you were better at games by now,” Gaz said. She started to choose a new map. “I’m choosing. There are some community custom maps that don’t suck.”

Zim grumbled, sinking into his cushion. Dib watched the antennae vibrate low and then spring up again. He’d seen that happen several times while he and Zim had played before. Zim grabbed the controller again. “Fine, but Zim chooses the ships.”

Dib’s brain was, effectively, blue-screening. He shuffled to the kitchen as they started up their new level. Dib was on autopilot as he grabbed the pot and pan and sorted through his spices. He hadn’t snapped out of it until he was mixing the sauce and the pasta was boiling. He snickered to himself. Never did he think he’d see Gaz playing a game that wasn’t her Vampire Piggy Hunter. Much less a game with Zim.

Dib started to hum, swaying his body to the beat as he cooked.

Zim slit his eyes as his ship crashed. Again. Gaz leaned back, proud of herself for the eighth consecutive win. “Give up?” she asked.

“Zim wants a reprieve,” he said, standing up and stretching. Gaz set her feet on the coffee table.

“Fine by me. I can play this console’s version of VPH.”

“That strange game you are obsessed with, yes? Zim doesn’t understand it.”

“You don’t get VPH, but you’re perfectly fine with playing a game with zombies in it?” Gaz asked skeptically. Zim caught her disbelieving look.

“Vampire Piggy’s do not exist. Zim can list at least one species of fungus in the outer systems that affect most species like how the human’s fictional ‘zombie’ operates. Zim can say that a ‘zombie’ can exist,” he explains. Gaz blinks at him.

“That’s awesome.”

“A fungus that makes you a comatose puppet?” he asks incredulously. Gaz nods rapidly.

“Yes, that is what called awesome. What’s it do to Irkens?” she asks. Zim grimaced.

“It was not a pleasant chapter in Irken history,” he sighs. “The fungus is… pervasive. The Tallest of the time decided it was best to abandon the planet. Irkens that escaped were screened and eliminated if infection was found. Simple as that.”

“You didn’t bother trying to find some kind of cure?” Gaz asks.

“There was no point,” Zim says. “Zim will be back.”

Gaz scoffed as he left, setting up her game. Zim twitched his antennae, hearing boiling water over the sounds of the game. He walked into the kitchen, stopping. Dib was moving… oddly. Zim tried to make sense of the movements, but couldn’t find any outside source that would have caused them or the odd noises Dib was making. He could sense a pattern to the noise. After watched for another moment Zim started to connect the noise with the patterns in the movements.

“Dib-stink?” he asks. Dib jolted, yelping. The ladle in his hand flew into the air. Dib scrambled to catch it, managing to guide it to hit the counter. He sighed, looking down.

“Hey, Zim.”

“What were you doing?” Zim asked, moving into the kitchen. Dib resumed his cooking, ignoring the alien’s question.

“It’s almost done. Do you want to try human food that isn’t sweets? I can always drown it in sugar for you,” Dib offers. Zim smirked.

“The PAK should be able to handle… what is this?” Zim asks.

“Chicken and alfredo,” Dib says. He grabs the pot, moving carefully to the sink to drain it. Zim watched him as he prepared the meal. From returning the noodles, to cutting the chicken, to testing the sauce. Dib hummed. “Could use a little longer to heat…”

“What was it you were doing?” Zim asked again. Dib tapped his foot.

“It’s called dancing. Very integral to any human culture. It’s almost something we can’t help but do.”

“What’s its purpose?” Zim asks, sitting on the table.

“Um… well, it depends. Sometimes it’s used in a cultural performance like a war dance, sometimes it’s just for fun, sometimes it’s used as an art piece, sometimes it’s just something to do. It’s hard to explain in full. People just tend to move to a beat. We can choreograph it, but a lot of people just start moving.”

“How does one know what to do?”

“Do you want to learn?” Dib asks, reducing the heat on the sauce. Zim pondered it. Dib poured the sauce into the noodles, adding the chicken next, then stirring it all together.

“Yes.”

“Then come here. I’ll clap and we can start with a simple beat,” Dib says, topping the pot. Zim slid off the table to join Dib half way. Dib stretched, twisting his torso. Zim heard a loud pop and crack. When Dib returned, successfully loosening himself up, he stopped at Zim’s horrified stare. “What?”

Zim sputtered something out in Irken. Dib blinked at him. “…huh?”

“WHAT DID YOU DO??” Zim repeats, gesturing to Dib’s torso.

“I cracked my back—oh! Oh, right, that probably sounded really bad,” he says, realization donning on him. Zim stepped back.

“That’s disgusting!”

“It’s just a spine-”

“IT IS NOT “JUST A SPINE”.”

Dib laughed. “Wow, I didn’t think I’d ever find something that could gross you out so bad.”

“What you just did is horrid,” Zim says, his body shivering.

“Why are you so freaked out by this?” Dib asks. He was beginning to worry.

“PAKs are attached to Irken spines. What you just did could have paralyzed Zim if Zim had tried,” he explains. He stuck his tongue out. “Zim may be sick.”

“Don’t be dramatic. Most species… well, I think most species… should be able to do that. None of us have a giant second brain attached to our spines. Come here, I’ll guide some basic dance steps for you.”

Zim grumbled but complied. Dib started by showing him side steps. “Most dance is with momentum and movement. If you haven’t danced before—and clearly Irkens don’t—you’re going to feel out of place doing any of these.”

Zim copied him, picking up the motions faster than Dib would have guessed. Zim smirked. “Zim can see the appeal with this… tradition?”

“Sometimes. But it’s fun, right?” Dib asked, looking up at him. Zim nods, following Dib’s movements like a mirror. “You’re picking it up almost immediately.”

“Irkens are very good at learning from those around them,” Zim explains. Dib smiled, returning to the food to dish it out onto the plates.

“Gaz! Want some lunch?”

“Sure.”

Dib grabbed her plate, rushing into the living room to give it to her. Zim looked back at his feet, practicing again