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Earth weather never ceased to confuse Zim. The way it was solid, the way it was always… changing.
Back on Irk, and the few other training planets he’d been on, there never was a sky, just a transparent distance stretching up to an ocean of ink and flashing cosmic bodies.
But here, it was tangible, like if he flew up there, he could grab off a piece and swirl it between his palms.
Currently, the sky was pink. Licks of orange stained the horizon, coating everything in bright and lazy hues. Shadows drew dark and long underneath him.
He was in a tree. One of those really tall ones that had no business being in a park. The cluster too small to be considered a forest were dense enough that he could take out his PAK legs to sturdy himself against the old branches. Unlike most organic life on this planet, trees were older than him. Not that he was being stupid and sentimental or anything, but there was something pleasant about being in the company of something who he had an inate connection with.
Pleasant. Taking off his disguise was pleasant, letting the gentle coolness brush against his bare eyes and feeling the breeze buzz up against his antennae was pleasant. The sweater he was wearing was pleasant. He was only wearing it to blend in better with the humans, of course, but it had to be admitted that the billowy softness against his skin was nice.
His sweater was made of the good quality stuff, the kind that didn’t make him itch like he was in a Squaker nest. It was pink like his normal uniform. Pink like his eyes, pink like the clouds, pink like the autumn leaves and the dry grass swaying back and forth in a hypnotizing repetition.
Zim was part of a whole, he was part of something bigger. It was strange, how he could feel so utterly right with the universe when he was alone like this, but could feel so isolated when he was in the dead centre of his peers.
As much as reality seemed to say, he wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot. He was just… confused. He really did try to fit in, but there was only so many times he could be looked upon like that, like there was some social cue he had missed, like he was the only one broken off from the hive mind, like he was defective-
No, he… he didn’t want to think about that right now, he didn’t have to.
He didn’t have to.
All he had to do was lie here and wait. His plans were going to be busy unravelling no matter what he did, and conserving energy and further implementing himself into Earthen lifestyle was the practical thing for him to do. The Tallest were depending on him, afterall.
He didn’t want to think about the Tallest either. Wait, he didn’t want to think about the tallest? That wasn’t right, he was made to serve the Tallest, to serve the Irken Empire. His loyalties lay nowhere else. Who mentioned his loyalties? No one, that’s who!
It's just…
Zim didn’t have nostrils, so it’s not like he could breathe, but he had adapted perhaps a bit too much into human behaviour. He breathed in, the dry leaves fluttered against his face and the world held still for two beats.
His eyelids hazed golden.
The world smelt warm.
He breathed out.
Smeet laughter bubbled in a distant place, a cozy static wrapped around his antennae, coating the back of his skull mild and sweet. His fingers danced over each other, round and round. He almost snickered at the sudden image of Dib chasing him. Him and the stinky human going in circles, always outrunning each other. There was a balance to it, an annoying, but assumed important balance.
Like rats in a turnwheel, like moons around a lonely planet, like hurdling over military courses, like tiny ships circling a command centre, like the dizzying tumbling of war and destruction, and the brief moment of freefall where you’re caught outside it all.
Alone.
Always alone.
Zim closed his eyes. The tree held steady underneath him, the Earth turned and the air sunk past.
When he opened them, the sky would still be there. It will have mutated and dissolved, sunken and glowing, but it would be there to catch him. Because the sky wouldn’t try to understand him, and he wouldn’t have to understand back.
The upper centre of his squeedlyspooch tingled with warmth. It was wholly unfamiliar, and a prodding constant presence at the same time. Had he been poisoned? What filthy Earth germs had he contracted this time?
Zim couldn’t find it in himself to really give a shit.
And that was alright too, probably. Let the future Zim worry about the present for a change.
For those precious moments, swirling in an overcrowded universe of isolated thoughts, he allowed himself to be.