He should have been quicker.

If he had been quicker, Rick would still have been alive, and his entire family wouldn't have perished.

He'd made an awful "Morty shield"-because he couldn't shield Rick when it really mattered-when, at Bird Person's wedding, Tammy had unveiled her true persona-as a secret, undercover Federal agent who was really out for blood. RICK's blood.

And then she had killed Bird Person cold. And then she had pointed the gun at Rick...and his family….

...and Morty D15 froze.

He froze, like a useless, pathetic piece of trash. He just sat there, frozen, as, without any warning, Tammy fired-and before he could react, Rick-and then his parents, one by one-and then, his sister-were gone-

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Morty D15 somehow managed to snap himself back to the present moment:

Where, right across from him, sat a man whose face he'd tried time and again to get out of his mind….and Morty again had to resist the urge to get up and bolt for the door….but something-was it guilt? Fascination?-kept him there, wanting to know more….wanting to know….more than anything...WHY….why him? This Rick seemed to think differently than other Ricks he'd met. Did that mean-dare Morty hope-beyond all hopes-that HE was somehow….special?

He'd forgotten long ago what it felt like to be thought of as "special".

But he'd never forgotten what the word meant to him.

"So um…" Morty broke the uncomfortable silence, as Rick seemed to be staring off into space as well. "Why, um, are you, erm, in Mortytown, again?"

"Oh, that." Rick shifted awkwardly, seeming suddenly uneasy under Morty's gaze (another unusual characteristic, Morty noted), and snickered with amusement. "Get right to the point, why don'tcha?"

"Are you-um-" Morty blushed. "-undercover? Or are you really, um….do you really look like that all the time?"

"Seriously? That's what you want to ask me?" Rick snorted. "Okay, I get it, I look like shit. Moving on now-"

"No!" Morty balked, holding his hands up in a truce gesture, "I-I meant-you just, um-where do you-live?"

"Nowhere. Anywhere. Why the hell does it even matter?" Rick had narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You ask way too many questions."

"S-sorry," Morty blushed again, and lowered his eyes to the table.

"Forget it. Now, if you had asked the right questions, you'd already know the real reason I'm here." Rick's suddenly surly tone was becoming more familiar. "The real reason is, I need a Morty to find a Morty."

"Wh-what?" Morty nearly spat out his his orange juice. "Wh-what does that even mean? This, this place is crawling with Mortys, and m-most of them all look the same….what's so special about the Morty you want?"

"He's MY Morty." Rick again looked very suspicious, causing Morty to shrink under his gaze.

"B-but how would I-"

"Can't hear you, speak up."

"-know he's your Morty?"

Rick snorted and looked away. "That's easy. He's got a scar above his right eye. It's a pretty badass scar."

"H-how'd he get the-"

"Not important," Rick interjected, cutting him off abruptly. "Point is, he's got a scar, so that should narrow it down-"

"Um…" Morty tried to avoid eye contact as he answered, "not really, a lot of Mortys have scars…."

An even more uncomfortable silence followed as Rick's eyes narrowed even further. Morty could feel what sense of trust they had between them slipping away. "What's his coordinates?" Morty asked before he could lose his nerve.

"The fuck does that matter?" Rick spat incredulously.

"S-seriously? Identification!" Morty spouted, almost proud of being aware of the obvious that this Rick seemed to have forgotten. "If we didn't know each other's coordinates, nobody would be able to tell the other apart."

"S-sounds unnecessary." Rick harrumphed. "Oh-and my Morty's coordinates….can't tell you."

"Wh-why?" Morty stared in bewilderment, in spite of himself.

To his amazement, it was Rick's turn to-blush!? (But Ricks never blush! Morty thought to himself.) Yet, this one was. And he rubbed the back of his neck in an awkward fashion, much like Morty did when he was insecure. Strangely, it made Morty feel more comfortable around the man, to see his own traits in this Rick was refreshing...it reminded him that, even though all Ricks were, by default, "crazy", they were still related by some strands of DNA.

"Look. I know how this sounds," Rick began-almost haltingly, as though he were- (unsure of himself?) (and Morty nearly choked on his orange juice again), "I...really don't remember my….Morty's coordinates."

This time, Morty actually DID spit out his orange juice-practically soaking Rick in the process, who in turn glared back at him with sound annoyance; he absently rubbed at his already dirty brown jacket, even though there were stains all over it (another thing that boggled Morty's mind; as Ricks, though they all were drunks, were always impeccably neat).

"WHAT?" Morty doubled over in laughter, unable to restrain himself this time. He just couldn't help himself-a Rick who didn't know his own assigned Morty's coordinates? That was simply unheard of-not to mention that it simply didn't make any sense! "How-how could you not know your own Morty's coordinates!?" Morty sputtered, beside himself with astonishment and amusement as he simply gawked at Rick, now close to speechlessness as he anxiously awaited an answer.

"Look. Again," Rick reiterated, clearly annoyed, "I know how this sounds! But-it's not my fault, okay? S-seriously, it isn't! I-I didn't just forget them. See-see this bruise here?" Rick whirled around and parted some of his hair, at which point Morty gasped: as a rather large scar was revealed. It was a relatively old wound, perhaps about a year or so old, but it was still noticeable enough that Morty winced at the sight of it.

"Ouch!" Morty sympathized, "how did you get-"

"Wisest are the ones who wait," Rick snapped. "I-I got…" Again, to Morty's amazement, he blushed, this time even deeper. "I-let's just say-I got into an-an accident."

For a moment, all Morty could do was stare. When he found his voice, he managed, "What-kind of an 'accident'?"

"The kind that knocks you over the head so hard you wake up the next morning with a wicked goose egg that feels worse than the worst hangover, and you can't remember why and you don't want to either." Rick looked away then, and Morty had a feeling that he'd been told far more than Rick had wanted him to know.

"So…." Morty was slowly putting two and two together. "You got hit on the head and….and now you don't know what coordinates you are?"

"BINGO," Rick snorted into his flask. "Y-you really like to take your time on these things-don't you? Must have been a prize student with pop quizzes."

"Ac-actually," Morty admitted, "My Rick made me drop out of school while I was with him so-so we could focus on our adventures-" He stopped as soon as he realized his mistake.

"Lucky bastard," Rick snickered, then paused. "Wait-you had a Rick?" His interest was clearly peaked, and it left a queasy feeling in the pit of Morty's stomach.

"Y-yeah. But-let's just forget about it-okay?" Morty scrambled to his feet. "I-I'm sorry," he mumbled, suddenly antsy as heck for some reason, "But-I gotta go."

"Don't forget to flush and don't touch anything."

"No-" Morty blushed, as he stood to leave, "I-I mean I've got to get going….s-sorry for wasting your time-"

"W-woah!" Rick stood up abruptly, "Wait a second there, Slick!"

Morty halted, startled by the insistency in Rick's voice. "Wh-why?" he muttered, blushing down at the ground. "I- I'm not your Morty….and I don't want a Rick."

"Hey." Rick stepped quickly out of the booth, blocking his view of the exit door. "I didn't say I needed just ANY Morty-just MY Morty-but-I-shit, this is hard." The Rick seemed to be scrambling for words-a first, when it came for Morty speaking with any Rick-and this gave Morty pause. "I-I can't get out of the Citadel unless I have a portal gun….and….I can't steal a portal gun….unless I have a Morty shield…."

"So-you just want to USE me?" Morty couldn't help himself; his voice rose, even as Rick's eyes widened in alarm, and he began to hush him, but Morty didn't care. "GREAT!" Morty's hands balled tightly into fists of rage. "I KNEW it! You're JUST like EVERY OTHER RICK! You ONLY want to USE US for YOURSELVES!"

"QUIET!" Rick hissed, as several heads turned at the shout, and pulled Morty quickly aside, even as Morty tried to weasel his way out of Rick's suddenly tighter, less gentle grasp, "I KNOW it looks that way but-but I seriously-I really-"

Morty glared and crossed his arms impatiently as he leaned against the side of the booth. He was beginning to see through this Rick's scheme and he wasn't liking it, not one bit.

"This isn't easy for any Ricks to say. I don't LIKE to need ANYONE. Got it?" Rick snapped darkly, glowering almost dangerously as he-with just as much pressure so as not to hurt, but to make his point-shoved Morty back into the booth they had been sitting at. Morty was so startled by the shove and the words that he simply fell into his seat, dazed. He was in disbelief: had this Rick just admitted he actually needed his HELP? (Impossible! Ricks didn't need help from anyone, let alone a Morty's!)

A small smile crossed Morty's face. He'd NEVER expected ANY Rick to ask for HIS help….let alone ANY Morty's….let alone ANYONE'S. This Rick must really be in a bind, Morty thought to himself with amusement. His curiosity was peaked now more than ever.

"So….you're saying….you want my help?" Morty tried not to show how ecstatic he suddenly felt over this prospect.

There was an awkward pause that lingered much longer than it should have. Then, a hesitant, and grumbled, "Yes."

"And...say I do agree…." Morty smugly crossed his arms, suddenly feeling a bit more confident, "What do I get in return?"

Rick also crossed his arms, as if to remind Morty his place, and scowled. "Hmph, I see that your years with Rick taught you the value of bargaining."

"Among other things," Morty added quietly, his voice suddenly muting at the thought.

It was Rick's response that snapped him out of his funk. "How about a ticket out of this dump?"

Morty's eyes widened as he stared at Rick, amazed. "Seriously? But-How? You obviously don't have a portal gun OR a ship," Morty noted with a heavy eyeroll of disgust, "or you would have left by now."

"AH!" It was Rick's turn now to smile-almost maniacally-as he pointed a crooked, bony finger in Morty's direction-grinning widely, as if Morty had just given him the answer to the reason for existence, "THAT-my boy-is where YOU come in."

TO BE CONTINUED.

Hmmm….Wonder what Rick's got up his sleeve? Thanks for reading, please review if you want more!