Disclaimer: I don't own Zim, but I do own a new laptop! Woo. . .

Author's Note: This one was inspired by a YuGiOh avatar I saw online that said "I'm only happy when it rains." (Ironic, yes? ;) ) Hope you enjoy!

PS. Happy (early) New Year, everyone!


When it Rains


He was only happy when it rained.

Which was odd, of course, considering how his molecular chemistry made him incompatible with water. It burned his body shell when he forgot to bathe in paste; the soggy ground made it hard for the gnomes to move about; Gir always tracked mud and filth into his precious base. Really, for all intents and purposes, he should hate the rain just as much as he hated humans and The Angry Monkey and raisins. But no. . .

Strangely, the short invader found an occasional storm to be rather . . . relaxing. It reminded him a little of home. . . not because it rained there, but because Irk frequently experienced bouts of lightening and thunder. And the gloom of the clouds. . . his home planet was covered in clouds. Dark, red clouds. . .

Then there was the fact that very few Earth smellies roamed the streets when it was drizzling. And the dozen or so that did venture out didn't dawdle or gawk or stare; instead they rushed quickly about from one home to the next, hidden beneath their colored umbrellas. He could hear their whimpers—their desperate attempts to avoid the icy showers and growing puddles. Quivering in their galoshes like the dogs they were.

Their downcast faces were a pleasant sight as well: depressed, tired; for once willing to stay inside and make his life easier.

Finally, there was the noise. Usually the small soldier was forced to endure endless hours of screams and crashes from neighboring neighbors. The cities screeching cars and echoing accidents lingered in the air for days upon days. . . But during a downpour, the din quieted, replaced by the soft splatter of liquid against roofs and sidewalks. Such a welcome change from the loud thrashing and banging of normal human life. The whole world was blissfully silent, dull, dead— trapped beneath an incessant blanket of wetness.

It was . . . lovely.

And he enjoyed it more than he should.

". . ." Zim frowned slightly, chin cupped in his gloved hand, watching the droplets make patterns on the window. He could smell the acid in the water, but it left a scent much sweeter in its wake than the crud it washed away.

The rain was nice, he supposed. Not that he'd ever admit it. After all, Invaders needed no happiness or niceness or loveliness in their lives. Nor did they need something so inconvenient as a spring shower. They just needed power and slaves.

Raindrops could provide neither.

. . . but. . .

He cast a glance to his left; to his right. No one. Nothing. A smile.

But for now, with no Gir watching or Dib to torture, the Irken allowed himself to linger at the window—watching the sky as it darkened, and allowing a bit of happiness to poison his brain. After all, he could always scheme.

But he could not always be happy.