Days seemed to pass a little more smoothly, as though harsh edges were being smoothed out with time. Zim didn't seem to improve much, but they both clung to those occasional hours that he was able to hold some kind of conversation, time when the air was warm with quiet companionship, frail as it was.

The sun was shining in through the window with a warmth more fitting to a late spring day than an early winter evening.

Dib was sprawling his work on his lap, cross-legged and hunched over his laptop, with a notebook and a calculator on top of the keyboard. It wasn't the ideal workspace, by any means, but Zim was leaning against him, halfway curled up with his head against the boy's arm and he wasn't going to disturb him for something as dull as math. He was resting fairly peacefully, for once. Not simply removed from himself, but a sort of half conscious sleep as though he were tired, but still… wanted to be there.

But... math. Dib was focused on math.

Halfway through one of the last problems, he felt Zim shift, sit up a little and look around blearily. The human's focus turned to him almost immediately. "Everything okay?"

Zim blinked, then nodded. He was completely still in a way that only someone whose brain is half computer can really be, almost like he was reconsidering something he decided on. But he made a little gesture with his hand, quickly, looking to the other with an unexpected urgency. Dib raised a hand- the one holding his pencil- and again the alien nodded blearily.

The whole exchange took a moment and quite a lot of shuffling around of papers, but Zim's notebook was unearthed and given to him.

Dib made a vague sort of attempt at working through the rest of the equation, but he still hadn't finished it when he heard the scritching of the pen stop. There was a moment before Zim handed to him where he thought he felt the other hesitate a little, but he was already reading before he could worry.

Dib-thing can get into the lab, yes?

The boy's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, but he nodded, looking to the other. "Yeah, why?"

Zim gestured loosely, moving his hand like he was writing. But when Dib tried to hand him back the notebook he shook his head, eyes narrowing with frustration. He gestured again, tensing up. His antennae moved back, like the ears of an irritated cat.

He wanted to speak. Communicating non-verbally was frustrating him to no end. Dib shoved down some frustration of his own, reaching a hand out to Zims arm and squeezing as reassuring as he could. "Take a breath." The alien seemed to wilt even more somehow, but he did, taking a moment before he pulled the notebook back toward himself and scribbled another word on it.

Sketchbook

"You… you want the sketchbook from the lab?" Zim nodded with more energy than he'd displayed in two weeks together, eyes almost starting to shine with life.

For a moment the boy couldn't speak, words lost in a wave of something that almost made him cry. It was the most alive he'd been in weeks. It was like a punch to the stomach, watching him try so fucking hard.

Dib was putting his things away in an instant. "Yeah, I can get it for you, just give me one sec-" he was interrupted by a little tap on his wrist and another hurriedly scrawled note was put in front of him.

Close it before you look!

Zim's face was a little flushed, big, pink eyes looking at him with absolute urgency, or not quite. Embarrassed? But in a… normal sort of way. Almost shy, but off, like he was trying to remember how to feel it. It squeezed at Dib's heart harshly, even as he smiled, because it was there, they could see it and they both knew he was trying, but-

It was all he could do to nod and hurry away, leaving all his work in a neat stack where he'd been sitting.

He waited impatiently for the elevator to start its descent, even as thin snakes of anxiety crawled into his already swirling head. Somehow, he didn't understand how this could hurt so much. Why everything, but especially this felt so deeply important and at the same time so small. But this was something they could do, at least. Zim thought it might help, so he needed to find this sketchbook and hope as hard as he could that it was safe down in that wrecked lab. He could think about whys and understanding later.

As soon as the doors slid open, Dib hurried out, carefully stepping around shards of glass and damaged equipment. He kept his eyes trained on the desk just a few yards away, trying to convince his brain that he did not need to replay every sickening fear he'd had the day he'd first discovered the place like this. He hadn't noticed then, but there was one end of the desk that was undamaged. How it was possible that Zim had managed to keep his art supplies safe even under as much shock as he must have been under to gouge the metallic legs of his PAK most of the way through the wall, he had no idea, but he was grateful for it. As he approached, he turned his head a little, reaching a hand out to flip the book closed before he picked it up and he almost laughed at the absurdity of the action. Utilizing all the self control in the world, Dib managed not to rush out of the lab, glancing around for a second, taking it all in.

It had been such a safe place once. They spent at least half their time together in this room, but now just looking at it, at the way the place itself seemed to be grieving, dark and still in a way it had never been before- it made his skin crawl.

He rushed back toward the elevator and slammed the button to go back up. As soon as the doors closed he felt himself release a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, clinging tightly to the thick sketchbook.

Zim's eyes drifted toward Dib as he walked, very intentionally, back into the room. The alien seemed to straighten a little, shifting to get a better look at the thing in the others arms. Dib smiled a little, handing the book to him as he took his place on the sofa. "It and all your other art stuff is totally fine."

Zim nodded slightly, dazedly running his hands against the paper inside. Dib almost grinned at that- he'd spent hours agonizing in what felt like a million art supplies stores trying to find the right paper. Something kind of heavy, thick, and above all with the perfect texture. It had just seemed important. He was happy to be proven right.

If his friend's expression was anything to go by, though, he liked it. And he seemed to want to say so. To say a lot of things, in fact. His antennae were twitching erratically, his fingers tapping against the paper.

"You have the notebook," Dib reminded him gently, pushing it toward him. Zim just stared at it for a moment, almost a glare, then sighed heavily.

Zim would like to show you the piece it was working on.

"Hell yeah," Dib replied under his breath and noticed that the alien flashed a weak smile.

The Dib must Swear On His Life not to make fun.

Dib fought to smother a laugh, "Now I'm worried about what it is," he teased, continuing eagerly, "Of course I won't make fun of you, show me!"

Hesitantly, but in a way that told Dib that it was more for the drama of it all than any actual fear, he flipped open the book.

Dib had seen Zim's art before, bits and pieces, plus a drawing class they'd ended up taking together. But a month or so before everything fell apart, they'd been in the lab. Not doing anything in particular. Dib had found a box full of old notebooks, picked up over the half decade the alien had been on Earth and filled to the last page. They'd gone through them together, Zim looking weirdly shy and timid. Dib still thought about it sometimes and Zim, though he acted arrogant about it later on principal, seemed really pleased, in an abnormally quiet, gentle sort of way.

The first page wasn't anything remarkable if you weren't yourself an artist, or close with one. But Zim lingered to look at it for a moment. The page was full of circles, spirals, cones, and random little lines. But Dib saw it and just remembered how lucky he was to have known the other for as long as he had. The smile that tugged at his lips only grew, his nerves calming as he thought about how much even the warmups the alien did before each piece he worked on had improved- which was absolutely wild to Dib since they were just simple little shapes. But he certainly couldn't draw even those simple little shapes so well.

But Zim turned the page eventually and turned the book to face the other, carefully watching the other's expression. Dib's breath caught in his throat as his eyes widened in shock- it was stunning

Pale red lines, almost faded looking in how lightly they'd been sketched into existence, traced out his own silhouette. Every detail was present and shockingly real, sharp and angled lines that made it so distinctly Zim's style stood stark against the softness of the surroundings, the trees fluffy with leaves that almost seemed to move, the sun shining through vague clouds, somehow without even being colored. His coat even blew to the side a little, in a very mystery-novel-cover fashion that Dib couldn't help but fall for.

"You… drew me? Holy shit, Zim," he managed to breathe after a long moment. "How did you even do this?"

The alien smiled, not glowing with pride the way he should be- normally would, at least- but soaking in the praise nonetheless. Dib was only forced to tear his eyes away from the picture when a note was pushed toward him.

Dib-thing is quite the most dramatic thing Zim has seen in the entirety of its life.

Dib laughed, "You and Gaz should start a club," he replied as Zim scribbled quickly.

You like it?

"It's incredible!" Zim sort of smiled crookedly, the beginnings of his inhumanly wide grin. Then he reached for the sketchbook, flexing his fingers in a grabbing-motion. Dib handed it over and watched with nothing short of glee as Zim unhooked the mechanical pencil from the back and started drawing circles in smooth motions.

"Anything I can get you?" Dib offered, softly.

Zim only shook his head, so the boy started sprawling his homework across his lap again. Suddenly he felt the alien's three fingers gripping tightly at his hand. He turned to face him, now looking him full on in the face, meeting his eyes with a furious intensity. Zim squeezed his hand tightly for a long second, then dropped it, as though nothing had ever happened. He didn't need to write out the words for Dib to understand- it seemed to burn into the air around them.

Thanks.

Dib positively glowed for the rest of the night.

They both remembered that for a long time afterward, clung to it the way they did every second that they passed together in what could almost be passed off as normal. When things got overwhelming they repeated it in their heads, trying desperately, in their own ways, to get things back to this place. To live their lives the way they wanted to.

It made time feel sort of elastic, stretching and shrinking based on nothing but the random chance of a 'good day.' Powerless to it. They knew that the healing would take time- it was the aimlessness, the vagueness and the uncontrollable way it seemed to slip from their fingers with every moment that they thought might mark the upward slope. Or at least the existence of one.

They shared this frustration in silence, unknowing, but feeling it in the air. It only made them cling all the more.

And maybe that's why things turn out the way they do. Maybe that's why they make mistakes.