ALL THE LUCK
Some guys have all the luck. And most of the time they don't even realize it. Especially him. What I wouldn't give...
He's seen the stars. Not like us, from a distance, he's SEEN them. Been right up in the midst of them, with nothing but the glass-like material of his ship's cockpit to mar the celestial view. For all I know he's watched planets die and stars implode, traveled through galaxies and beyond nebulae. The dying planets especially, considering his race's track record.
Things I've only dreamed of, or seen through grainy satellite photos and concept renderings, he's witnessed firsthand. And probably doesn't give a second thought to. They're as common to him as blades of grass are to us.
And the technology he takes for granted. A single level of his lab contains enough advanced machinery to solve half the world's problems, cure three-fourths of our diseases. And he wonders why I'm always trying to sneak down there, in the dead of night, when he's asleep on the couch after an hour of companionable silence in front of the television.
And the greatest, most unlikely gift of all, the one he may never appreciate even half as much as he should. GIR. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. The little bot's antics are more a curse than a blessing. Without him, there's a good chance Zim would have won. Half of his botched attempts at world domination were destroyed by his own sidekick. I'll bet you couldn't look him in the eye, though, without seeing what I mean. When GIR looks at you, you're the neatest, coolest thing in his tiny world. Right up there with brainfreezies and tacos. For the few seconds you manage to capture his rampaging attention, you ARE his world.
That's nothing compared to how he looks at Zim. Every hug that sends Zim into a stark-raving rant, every smile that splits GIR's face almost to the back of his head, every time he glomps onto Zim's head and curls up, comfortable as can be, on his wig; every second GIR's around Zim speaks of a love so pure, so childlike, so unconditional, your heart can't help but ache, just a little, because all you can do is bask in the warmth and wish you were in the depths of it. Most of us won't ever have something so pure...
Zim turns to me. We've been playing the 'home-version' of MST3K with an old alien invasion flick on cable. He's noticing that I stopped MSTing twenty minutes ago, asks me what my pathetic human brain is trying to wrap itself around now. Such arrogance. I try to stifle most of my smile, keep it down to a soft grin. It's tough. That smirk, the mischief promised by the set of his antennae, dancing in his crimson eyes. Along with something else. Something warm and enveloping, soft...the smirk fades a little, tranforms into something deeper, though involuntary. I don't think he even notices. Then his gaze is again fixed on the TV, and mine is fixed on him. There was something there...
Maybe there's still hope for some of us. Love seems to turn up in the oddest of places...
Disclaimer: All images and characters used and abused within belong to their individual exalted creators, and are reprinted here without permission. Please don't sue me. I'm poor. All scans were created by me, except where otherwise noted. Please ask if you want to use them. The basement is getting kinda full, I don't want to have to put any more thieves down there. All fanart used within belongs to the individual artists, who kick far more arse than you do so don't try anything funny. Much thanks goes to gir.n3.net, from whence most of the Invader Zim pics used in the layout came.
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