Dib tiredly walked into his kitchen to find Zim in front of the stove wearing an apron. In order to reach the counter comfortably, the invader had to use a step-stool. Zim expertly flipped a perfectly round pancake in the air, and it landed with a dull plat.
“GIR likes pancakes.” Zim said simply.
He smooshed the pancake down in a motion that seemed completely natural to him.
Imagery of the alien cooking had never once come to Dib’s mind, and within reason- the concept was utterly ridiculous. Yet here Zim was, making pancakes for his evil little robot in some strange domestic display.
“… GIR’s broken.” Dib reminded him.
Zim froze momentarily and his magenta eyes blinked slowly as he processed this, as if he had completely forgotten.
He scraped a pancake off the pan silently, setting it aside on a separate plate where a stack of pancakes had started to appear. Each one cooked to perfection.
Dib lingered awkwardly, unsure of what to say now, and Zim was in the way of the cereal cabinet which had been Dib’s intended trajectory.
Zim made a dismissive gesture with the spatula.
Zim adds another pancake to the stack silently.
“.. what’s in them?” Dib questioned in an apprehensive tone. While the pancakes seemed fine, Dib’s deep seated paranoia and general distrust, while completely understandable given the circumstances, left him hesitant to try anything the irken invader offered.
Zim picked up the box of pancake mix on his left, squinting as he read slowly
“En…riched flour… bleached. Wheat flour… niacin, iron… thh-hiami-“
“Nothing else? Mind-controlling alien spores, perhaps?” Dib interrupted, lifting a pancake to examine it. It looked… normal enough.
Zim resumed his task, pouring more batter on the hot pan. It sizzled.
“Hmm… Water.” He replied after some consideration. The alien seemed distracted, completely lost in thought.
Hesitantly, Dib grabbed a plate from the cabinet. Keeping Zim in his peripheral, he plucked two pancakes off the top of the stack. After retrieving a fork, he made his way to the kitchen table- offering Zim a brief
Zim’s antennae perked up at this. He paused for a second, turning to peek at Dib over his shoulder, before returning his attention to the pan.
No other words were exchanged, and the silence was filled only with sizzling and scraping.
After pouring a generous amount of syrup, Dib set the bottle aside. Just as he did so, Gaz stumbled into the room tiredly- grumbling.
She opened one eye in surprise at the scene before her.
“Why is Zim wearing an apron?”
“He’s making pancakes.” Dib replied incredulously, poking his breakfast experimentally with a fork. Gaz stared at his plate suspiciously for a moment.
Dib brings a piece to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
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