And now for the not so good chapter. I prefer to write plotless pieces that mostly revolve around inner monologue, but I can't seem to get plots out of my head. Too bad my first person writting skills are wanting. Anyway, that's my take on this. Now it's your turn to read and review ^,~ Beta-ed by Karyx!

Zim didn't realize he was running until he was out of breath. It wasn't that he was out of shape or that it was a long trip, but before he stepped into the dimly lit and rather depressing looking nurse's office he was gasping for air. The nurse looked up at him as if he had head pigeons, but he managed to gasp out the few words that mattered most.

"He's...not...breathing..."

A team of people came out of nowhere and took Dib from Zim's confining arms, leaving him cold and empty. Universally, if a creature does not breath, it is dead. Zim fell into a chair, his eyes following where his body was not permitted. They took Dib behind a sheet, the shadows they cast upon it letting him see the gist of what they were doing. Someone was leaning over Dib, their face right over him, their shadows melding together. Another had its arm under his neck, then at his palm, rubbing and pressing over the skin. The woman at the front desk was on the phone, calling for an ambulance. It was a frenzy of motion and voices. Perhaps sooner than it felt, the shadow on the bed jerked with a gasp. Zim felt his heart leap at the same moment, not realizing how anxious he had been in waiting. So his enemy was alive. One would have thought he'd be more relieved if he'd remained breathless and prone.

The curtain pulled back and Zim was immediately on his feet again. One of the nurses looked at him with a sullen expression. "Let me guess: you want to see him?"

Zim nodded slowly. "I would like to interrogate him on his resent health crisis."

The nurse's expression quirked as she led him to where Dib rested. "Just get out of the way when the ambulance people get here."

The Irkin nodded. He had no desire to be around when the human doctors came to take Dib away. The thought of medical equipment only brought back horrible visions of dissection tables. Not that he'd ever been on one, but he was proud of that fact and didn't wish to press his luck. Once around the curtain, he could see Dib and nearly turned away in disgust. He'd never seen his enemy look so weak. Dib's head lolled to the side, his eyes half closed and a breath mask over the lower part of his face, feeding him pure oxygen. Zim had never realized how thin he was. The clothing hid it pretty well but with his trench coat off and his bare arms exposed, one could see the delicate human bone structure. His skin wasn't even a healthy color. He'd always been pale but he had an almost green tint to him as he rested against the tan upholstered cot. His dull bronze eyes focused dimly on Zim's.

"You..."

The breath mask made it hard to speak and just as hard to understand what he said. Zim quickly interrupted, not wanting to waste his time trying to figure out what redundant questions were being asked.

"I brought you here, yes. Seems I was the only one to notice or care that you...did that thingy...and stopped breathing." Zim smiled. "How does it feel to know your own rival cares more for you than everyone you fight for?"

Dib let his head fall back against the pillow, his eyes sliding shut.

Zim watching him for a while, then began to worry his bottom lip. "Come on, Dib. Open your eyes."

Dib kept them firmly closed.

"I mean it, Dib. If you don't open your eyes I'm going to...jump on your bed!" he threatened before realizing how childish that sounded. He didn't have time to think of anything more mature to say, because he was pushed aside by men in white uniforms, not that much different looking that the ones who had taken Dib to the nut house, and loaded him onto a stretcher.

"Thanks for bringing him down here," the mindless zombie nurse at the front desk said. "Now go back to class."

Zim nodded, grumbling as he made his way back down the halls to Mrs. Sweet's class. He was very confused. It wasn't every day that someone bounced around, then passed out half dead on the floor. Just as confusing as the event, were the emotions. He'd been...worried...about Dib. He could still feel the blood racing through his veins like mutant weasels. Dib was his enemy; the emotions did not make sense.

As he walked through the door to class, Mrs. Sweets turned with a sour expression. "And just what was so important that you couldn't wait for permission or a hall pass?"

Zim took his seat. "Dib wasn't breathing."

"Oh." Mrs. Sweet pursed her thin lips in a pout. "And what was wrong with little Dibby?"

"I don't know."

Dib regained consciousness slowly, shocked by the amount of pain that twisted up and down his body. He was used to the tremors and the pain but he'd never experienced anything as bad as this before. When he'd first come to, he remembered the coaxing pleas for him to come back and the pain of breath coming into his lungs. Now there was only stagnant air and pristine stillness to greet his senses. It had to be a hospital. Nothing else quite smelled the same.

"I guess I'm running out of time."

Zim found Gaz after school heading out to her death mobile. Though he usually stayed as far away from it as possible, he made it his responsibility to obey his curiousity and follow her out for questioning.

"What do you want, Zim?" she spat with animosity only he could counter.

"Nothing. Just wanted to know if you heard about what happened to Dib."

She shook her long, deep purple hair out of her face. "Like I care what happened to my dorky brother."

"Well, he stopped breathing today and was taken away by an ambulance."

Gaz stopped and stared, a scornful snarl forming on her lips. "If that asshole thinks he's going to get any pity out of me, he's dead wrong." She ducked into her vehicle and tried to shut the door. Zim's hand quickly intercepted it, though, and held it open.

"If you don't mind me asking, what's wrong with him? He looked...not good."

If the girl had a button that read "do not push," it was probably the one he had just river-danced over. Gaz slammed his hand in the door, keeping it closed firmly as he struggled and howled, whispering venomously, "You wanna know what's wrong with him? The same thing that's been wrong with him since the day he was born! The same thing that drove Dad into his labs and drove Mom away! The same fucking thing that ruined my chance at a normal family!" She opened the door long enough for him to pull his aching digits from it then slammed it and backed out without warning, nearly crashing into a mustang convertible and a senior citizen with a walker.

Zim did nothing but stare in wide-eyed amazement, holding his poor, abused hand close to his chest. Something was going on. Something he had missed in over six years of studying his enemy. He was either a very bad spy or someone was hiding a very big secret very well. He hated to think it was the former, but at the same time hated to give his enemy credit for his secretiveness.

Well, if one couldn't be subtle, there was always the direct approach.