Disclaimer: Don't own Zim. Dammit.

Author's Note: This one was inspired by Reigning Fyre-san's fic You Deserve Better; the title and summary made me THINK. (Ack! ;)) Ergo, this is dedicated COMPLETELY and UTTERLY to her, because she's amazing (and, basically, this is her idea. I just wanted to play with it). XD So . . please enjoy! (And Reigning Fyre-san, I'll try to sketch Gir and Zim as soon as I can. XD)


I Deserve Better


"You know it's true."

His maroon eyes glisten through the shadows; luring, seductive, malicious—glittering as he speaks his honeyed words. And they are honeyed: sweet and syrupy, clinging to my mind and body with a sticky, wavering transparency. Like a lie I can almost see through. . . but can't.

I hesitate, lips curled—ready to spew a virulent response.

But his hissing sigh interrupts my plans, gloved fingers reaching— stretchingSTRAINING for my own. The voot cruiser's engines start to purr; a strange stench hits my nose. It smells. . . clean. Sterile. Cold.

Much better than gasoline.

"Come now, Dib-monster," the alien before me whispers, a sadistic bite to his smoothness. "Why do you resist my delicious offer? You know you're not wanted here. You know you're not appreciated. Why suffer with these worm-babies, these swine? Why suffer their deserved fate? You, who are—no matter how slightlysuperior. . . ?" A smirk tugs on his green lips as he rests his chin on the back of his free hand, watching me with a piercing, amused stare. How does he know just what to say. . . ? I feel my will waver, my stomach clench.

I take a step back.

The invader pauses, suddenly annoyed. "Do not try my patience, Dib-human," he advises softly, his Martian craft crawling into the air. It hovers before me for a long moment, like a toy suspended in time. "I am promising you a life other slime children could only DREAM of. . . True, it will hold its difficulties. I cannot promise how others will react to you. But think of what you'll see. What you'll LEARN. Who knows? Perhaps the Tallest will even allow me to keep you as my slave. . . wouldn't that be fun?" His laughter rings through the heavy air, drowning out my half-hearted growls.

"You're SICK, Zim," I spit, spinning on my heel, about to stalk away—

"Perhaps," Zim retorts coolly, palm still extended, "but I'm right. And you know it, too. You've wanted this for longer than you can remember—don't lie to me. Don't lie to yourself. You've always known you deserve better than this. I am simply giving you the chance to take what's yours."

My footsteps fall silent.

What's mine. . . ?

I can feel his stare; sense his leer. "Think about it, Dib-beast," he croons. "What do you want? To stay here, ignored, alone, unloved? Or take a dare. . . take what you want."

A thick hush washes over us; prickly, tense, demanding, excited. And as it wraps around my body I weigh my options, calculate my odds, question his motives. What do I want. . . ?

Our eyes meet— his ruby pools full of lust and hatred and anticipation.

. . . I want what I deserve.

I take his hand.