(Dib's P.O.V)
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"Ow! Can you be a little more gentle?"
I recoil from Zim's face. The washcloth in my hand has begun to stain pink. "Sorry. Your blood is just really sticky. It's harder to get off." I lean forward again and wipe gently at Zim's cheek, where the three slices along his face have begun to come clearer through the previous pooling of blood. After a few brushes, the cloth dries out a bit and I dip it back into the cup of water beside me. Zim can handle water in smaller amounts due to the regular injections of paste his Pak issues. Of course, he wouldn't be able to stand out in a rain storm for very long, but he can take something like a washcloth.
"I don't quite know what's happening," Zim says, continuing to explain the violent outbursts to me, "but I know that it's most likely something to do with my Pak. I issued a scan on my body, and there's nothing out of the ordinary other than the development of a regular sleeping pattern. As well as dreams. I've gotten a few recently." He shudders, as if remembering something traumatic. I decide not to ask, though vaguely I wonder if dreams affect him more. If he hasn't had them his whole life, it would most likely be much more difficult to figure out what's a dream and what's reality.
"Anything in specific you've noticed that can influence it?" I ask. Maybe if we start with what can trigger it or keep it at bay, we can figure out a long-term solution.
"It's mostly triggered by anger. But, um... one time it was triggered by guilt. In the detention center." I don't ask what he did, but my expression must have had something in it that showed my curiosity, because Zim adds, "I cut someone's arm open."
I resist the urge to grab my own arm- as the idea of an arm being cut open has caused my own arm to become strangely numb. "And... nothing since then?" I ask hopefully.
"Not since just now," Zim says. I become aware of the slashes on my cheek as he says it, but I focus on rubbing the blood away on Zim's arm. I don't want him feeling guilty; I'd just told him it wasn't his fault. And I believe that now, but it's still entirely possible that it could happen again, so we need to figure this out.
Finally, I decide to ask the question I'd had since I woke up in the hospital. "Why... why did you kill Keef?"
Zim takes in a sudden breath, and for a second, I'm worried that I shouldn't have asked. But then, after a minute, his face flushes and he averts his eyes. "I heard him... asking you to dance.... and I got jealous, I guess." His fingers tense up in mine, though, to be honest, I can't tell if it's because I'm being too rough on his arm, or he's embarrassed. Maybe both.
"I wasn't planning on actually doing it," I reassure him, and he looks back up at me.
"Yeah, I know. I guess I just wasn't thinking straight." Then he perks up, as if he just remembered something. "Oh, yeah. Whenever it's close to happening, there's this weird pressure. Like I told you that first day in the town square. It pops like a bubble most of the time, which leads to the whole..." He trails off, gesturing to his eyes and teeth. I nod in understanding.
"You said it only- uh, pops... most of the time?" I ask. "What about the other times?"
"It kind of goes away a little bit when I'm... around you..." Zim mumbles, and now it's my turn to blush. I'm almost entirely sure that if I spoke it would be really strangled, so instead I nod, shifting my focus awkwardly to Zim's other arm.
Zim seems satisfied with my embarrassment, bearing a smug grin as I work on his cuts. Everything is silent until the arm is finished.
"We need to do your legs now," I say, then cough awkwardly. "Which means you'll have to... uh... take your pants off." I avert my eyes.
Zim doesn't seem as alienated- no pun intended. "Irkens don't have reproductive organs like humans do," he says, knowing exactly why I'm embarrassed.
"That doesn't make it any less weird," I say, rolling my eyes more to avoid his gaze for longer than for sarcasm.
"It kind of does," Zim counters, and by the time I look back, his legs are bare. I try to convince myself that it isn't weird for him, so why should it be weird for me?
It doesn't quite work as well as I'd hoped.
Neither of us says anything until Zim's legs are clean, and he pulls his clothes back on. He's stopped wearing his invader outfit, using actual Earth clothes now, so he bears regular jeans and a blue hoodie- I tend to have more than one of everything in my closet, so I'd given him another of the sweaters after he'd lost the first one at Membrane labs.
We go up to the house level, and Zim goes to sit on the couch. I open up one of the cupboards, grabbing a bottle.
"Can you touch olive oil?" I ask.
Zim turns around, confused. "Uh, what?"
"Olive oil," I repeat. "It helps with scarring. Or, well, to prevent it."
"That comes naturally to Irkens." Zim gestures to the cuts. "These'll heal over in a week or two."
'Well lucky him,' I think, tipping the bottle and pouring some oil into my palm before rubbing it into my cheek. The smell is strong and it drips down to my chin, but it'll benefit me in the long run. I rub a cloth over the excess before it gets into my clothes.
"I'm gonna go for a walk," Zim says. "I haven't been able to actually enjoy myself outside in forever."
"I'm coming too," I say. "I've pretty much been sitting in a bed for a month."
Tentatively, Zim reaches out his hand, and I feel a pang of guilt. He's still a bit scared of me. Why did I get so goddamn angry? I'm usually more level headed, and the one time I snap it's with someone I care about. I twine my fingers through his- it always feels a little bit strange, since Irken hands only have three fingers- and he smiles up at me. After he grabs his disguise and puts it on, he pushes the door open.
Since it's February now, a lot of the snow has thinned out, and you can even see some grass poking out in some places. It's strange to see, since I'd missed most of the time that it was melting, so it seems like it happened almost overnight.
As we walk aimlessly- we didn't really plan to go anywhere, I guess- I notice people looking at me strangely. Not quite as strange as when I was the crazy paranormal kid, but it's not the kind of look you'd expect from someone who doesn't really know you.
"Do I look weird, or something?" I ask Zim, looking around at the people who aren't even bothering to avert their eyes.
"As long as I've known you," Zim jokes, then looks me up and down. "I mean... not really. Why?"
"Look," I say, gesturing to the eyes following our steps.
Zim raises an eyebrow. "That's... that's pretty weird." He pulls a little box out of nowhere- I doubt he would risk opening his Pak in public- that I recognize as the remote for the memory-wiping device. He turns it over in his hand for a little bit, before stating, "there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with this."
Well, there's not a malfunction with the erasure. "Good to know they don't suddenly realize I'm insane," I mumble to myself, tensing up a little as I hear them start to whisper. "Okay, this is freaky."
"Maybe they're looking at me," Zim mutters, sounding defeated. "I'm the murderer, right?"
That could be it, but I swear I've locked eyes with a few of them already. At least a few of them are looking at me, what the hell?
"It's the alien!"
I turn around quickly, recoiling at the voice that appeared out of nowhere. "Um... what?" I feel Zim's hand tighten around mine. I expect them to point at Zim, bringing up everything I'd noticed on the first day he was on Earth. Instead, they grab at my face.
"I knew it wasn't another crappy rumor!"
I push their hands away, taking a step back. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I say, sounding suspiciously like someone who may have dismissed me when I was like this.
"You can't trick me," they say proudly, "they saw you very clearly on the security cameras of Mysterious Mysteries!"
"Isn't it just so funny that everyone just so happens to watch the show that they mocked me for watching," I mutter under my breath. Zim hears me and giggles a bit. I take a deep breath. "Look, lady, I'm just as human as you or him," I say, tilting my head toward Zim as a sort of inside joke. Zim keeps giggling.
The lady shakes her head. "No way. Try to explain this," she says, pulling out her phone and showing a picture, presumably from the show, where I have the journal tucked under my coat, with my glasses fogged, and some sort of weird trick of the camera showing me with two of my hair-scythes. Sure enough, I do kind of look like an alien.
"Okay that's the camera, obviously," I say, pushing her phone back toward her. "There's no such thing as aliens." Zim is holding back laughter next to me, and it's taking every molecule of my being to keep a straight face. The lady doesn't seem convinced. "Hey, I would show you if I could cut myself open without dying." I feel Zim tense up beside me. Oh shit, that was probably the wrong choice of words. "We're gonna go," I say lamely, slipping past the lady, who snaps a picture as I turn around.
I grab Zim's hand again. "Sorry about the-"
"No, no, it's fine," Zim interrupts, despite the fact that the interruption itself would prove otherwise. The he cracks a smile. "But that whole alien thing, was... oh my god, that was hilarious." I notice that he says 'oh my God'- of course he's said it before, but now I'm aware of it- though I doubt there are any gods on Irk, other than the Tallest, and there's likely a phrase using that specific term.
"I can only expect that I'm going to be called by the host of Mysterious Mysteries sometime soon," I say, rolling my eyes. "Again, I was ridiculed for liking paranormal shit and now everyone else is all about it."
"Well, one thing I've noticed about humans is that they're incredibly stupid. I'm not surprised," Zim says, shrugging. Then he pushes himself up and plants a kiss on my cheek. "Haven't done that in awhile, huh?"
"Yeah," I agree, glad that we're back to some semblance of normal. "Too long."