Yes, a third story! Call me imaginative, or prolific, or sexy, whatever you will, but don't call me consistent! There was only one Rick & Morty/Doctor Who crossover on fanfiction, and I felt that needed to be corrected (Although the one is very interesting-The Deconstruction of Rick, go check it out!). In my mind, when I picture Rick Sanchez, I can't help but associate him with the 12th Doctor. They're very similar, in many ways. Maybe it's just that they're both renegade space adventurers with complicated motives and morals. Either way, check this shit out!
He's wearing your clothes,
Head down to toes, a reaction to you
You say that you know what he did
But you idiot kid, you don't have a clue
-Elliott Smith
Summer woke up and glanced at the clock. Wearily, she stood up and peered out of her bedroom window. A figure sat below in the yard, an electric lantern lit by his side. "God dammit," Summer muttered.
Throwing on a bathrobe, she went down the stairs and opened the patio door. She wasn't trying to be quiet; her mom and dad had left the house for a few days, for a vacation in Florida.
Morty didn't hear her sister's footsteps across the dewy grass, didn't notice her until her shadow fell over him. Startled, he turned in surprise. "Summer? I thought you were asleep."
"I was," the girl replied, yawning. "What are you doing out here? It's three in the morning." She surveyed the scene. Her brother was kneeling in front of an old telescope, its lens aimed skywards. "You're still looking for him?" Summer asked, her voice tight with anger.
Morty sighed and looked down at the ground, like a wounded dog. She walked across the lawn and took a seat next to her brother. "He's not coming back," she said, quietly. "Grandpa Rick's not coming back."
"I," Morty started, stuttering on the word like he used to do when he was younger. "I know."
"It's been a year, Morty. You can't keep watching the stars."
"I miss him," Morty said. "I can't give up on him."
"You have to move on, Morty. You can't keep hoping for the impossible."
"Have you moved on, Summer?" Morty shot back, standing up. "Who's the one who still has his old lab coat in their closet? Who hasn't deleted his number from their cell phone."
Summer looked away guiltily. A few minutes passed before she felt her brother's hand on her shoulder. "Summer, I'm- I'm sorry."
"No," Summer said, standing up and wiping the grass from her pajama bottoms. "You're right. I can't move on, and neither can you. But we have to. It's what he wants," she paused, turning a head up to the sky. "What he'd want."
Morty stood up and joined her gaze. There was a speck above them, a fast-moving light across the sky. "A shooting star," Morty said, pointing.
"Make a wish," Summer said.
"Like that'd change anything."
Summer looked up at the star. She squinted her eyes. "Wait."
"What?"
"The star, it's getting brighter."
They watched for a few seconds. The light was getting more intense. Suddenly, Morty's mind clicked. "No," he said. "It's getting closer."
A second later, Morty grabbed her sister and pushed her away. They rolled across the grass as something large slammed down into the yard, obliterating the telescope and carving a muddy crater into the grass.
Summer and Morty got back to their feet, their knees shaking from the impact tremor. "What the hell?" Summer said, staring transfixed at the object that had crashed in their yard.
It was… what was it? A blue box, the size of a phone booth, with a small lamp affixed to its top. The lamp was glowing brightly, pulsing with some sort of energy.
"Where did it come from?" Morty asked, scanning the sky. "Did it fall out of a plane?"
Summer stepped closer and wiped some mud off of the device. Under the mud was a small white sign; inscribed on it:
POLICE TELEPHONE
FREE
for use of
PUBLIC
Summer jumped back in surprise as the wood beneath it moved inwards. It was a door. From the door a cloud of smoke billowed out, drifting into the sky. Summer stepped back towards Morty, uncertain of what to do next.
A hand emerged, clutching the frame of the door. Then another hand. A figure came tumbling out of the box, landing face-first in the mud with a wet thud.
The two siblings stood frozen, too shocked to move. "Is, is it a human?" Summer asked.
"Is it dead?" Morty responded, shaking slightly.
The question was answered by a muffled groan from the figure. It's hands clawed at the mud, trying to find a grip. Slowly, it pushed itself up onto unsteady legs. It was human, Summer guessed. A man, his face and blue suit caked in mud. Two eyes blinked warily at the siblings. "What year is this?" He asked, his voice hoarse.
"Wh-what?" Morty replied.
"The year," the man said, swiping at his soiled suit with his hands. "I need to know, did I overshoot the date? What year is it?"
"Are you okay?" Summer asked, "You crashed very hard."
"I'm fine," the man said, stepping forward. He pitched back over into the mud. Another groan, this one more resigned than frustrated. "Actually, I could use a lie down."
They put him on the living room sofa. "Should we call an ambulance?" Morty said, conversing with his sister in the kitchen doorway.
"No ambulance!" The man called from the couch.
"I guess not," Summer said, walking into the living room with dish towel. She tossed it to the man. "Here, clean yourself off."
The man nodded and began to wipe the mud from his face. "You never answered my question," he said as he worked.
"What question?" Summer asked.
"What year is this?"
"2016."
"Damn, missed it by twenty centuries. Tell me, are we in England?"
"Not by a long shot," Summer replied. "What were you doing in that box?"
"Crashing, I think." The man finished wiping his face down and tossed the dirtied towel to the floor. Summer let out a gasp as the man turned to face her. "What?"
"Morty's mouth hung open in shock. "It can't be," he whispered.
"What are you staring at? I haven't regenerated again, have I?"
"Grandpa?" Morty said.
"Rick?" Summer said.
The man cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "Rick who?" He asked.