Let The Ricks Fall Where They May

by Kat Aclysm

Rick never expected himself to be stuck caring for a Morty; one day he was minding his own business and then everything he ever knew would change as if the multiverse itself was determined to displace him. However, being stubborn and resilient is the only thing he knows how to do. (Younger Rick, Baby Morty, A/U elements)

34. Three Ricks And A Morty

Let The Ricks Fall Where They May

Written by Kat_Aclysm
Beta Read by Unlvcrjchick
Rated: - T for language

Disclaimers + Copyrights: Insert standard Rick and Morty disclaimer here. Nobody really reads this part anyway.

NOTE: Have some slice-of-life fluff along with some plot. 70 MORE EPISODES?! 100 more years of Rick and Morty! Also, this thing is 2 years old today by Ff dot net's time stamp. I never thought it would end up taking so long, but it's STILL going.

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Chapter 34 – Three Ricks And A Morty

December 17th, 8:04am, Citadel Time, 2001
Cross-Temporal Rift Nebula, Location Classified
Citadel Of Ricks, Dimension Number Classified

---

Rick discovered that there were distinct advantages and disadvantages to having three versions of himself living in what was essentially a single-room studio apartment. Although Morty had his own space and they had the privacy of a separate bathroom, those didn't count; it was an unspoken rule that Morty's room was his territory and his territory alone, while using a bathroom as a living space was a ridiculous concept.

The advantages quickly became obvious – Rick, Surgeon Rick, and Ricktus had all become familiar with each other's temperaments as well as their strengths and weaknesses, so they knew to stay out of the way when one of them was cranky or needed alone time. They also had similar tastes, which made food choices relatively straightforward. The other two Ricks also tolerated Morty's presence and even seemed to like having him around for some reason, so Rick didn't have to immediately jump to his every beck and call whenever they were nearby.

He didn't want to admit it, but he wasn't coping as well as he might have hoped - life with a little child in it was exhausting and time consuming, and Morty's demanding nature made him feel like he'd lost a large degree of his own independence. Morty's attention span varied as well, and when he wasn't engrossed in playing with a toy or learning a new skill, he was practically glued to his side like an extension of his shadow. Although Rick knew he had to accept it for what it was because everything was his fault, he still found himself desperately wanting a break from him.

The disadvantages to his new living situation were all minor, but they were starting to add up and annoy him - the dirty laundry that accumulated on the floor was a tripping hazard, and he hated having things misplaced, moved around, or not put back exactly where they were supposed to be whenever one of the others borrowed something from his workstation.

The sleeping arrangement was also becoming a frustratingly repetitive conversation and Rick did not like being the center of it - he adamantly refused to join the others in the double bed at night on principle, and so he had resigned himself to either sleeping on the couch, or on the floor in front of the TV with Morty. It was downright uncomfortable, but at least Morty was safe – unless the laws of physics had changed recently, he was fairly certain that he couldn't fall off the floor.

But hands down, having a single bathroom to share between all three of them was becoming the biggest inconvenience of all - it meant that there was typically heavy traffic first thing in the morning or in the evening before everyone went to bed.

As much as Rick wanted to shove in first, he knew he couldn't; pulling rank and going back on his word whenever it suited him would only make him look like a giant hypocrite. And at that moment, he was regretting his decision immensely – he needed to use the bathroom so badly that he was impatiently pacing back and forth just a few feet in front of the door, waiting for it to open again; it was all he could think of to try and take his mind off the discomfort.

It wasn't working - each passing moment felt like an eternity.

Meanwhile, Surgeon Rick's start to the day had been considerably more calm. He'd woken up peacefully and had nowhere to be, so he sat up in bed with another one of his space books; although he hadn't warmed up to the idea of writing an essay for his new boss, he still took the learning opportunity seriously enough to want to continue with it. However, it didn't take him long to get distracted by Rick and he peered over the spine of his book to watch; while he'd already taken note of his distress, he didn't want to call attention to it and chose a non-direct way to start the discussion instead.

"Geez... he sure is taking his time in there, right? He did this before the last Council assembly, too... uh, the one we captured you for, that is." He awkwardly cleared his throat. "The fuckin' idiot will spend hours preening if you let him. Gotta look good for the big boss."

"He needs to hurry up and get the fuck out before I make a mess on the floor!" Rick snapped back at once. "I-I don't wanna clean THAT up... I already deal with enough of Morty's shit as it is!"

Realizing that his boss's predicament was more dire than he had originally guessed, Surgeon Rick's voice dropped low and became discreet. "Number one or number two?"

"What...?" Rick stopped pacing and stared at him, wide-eyed. "A-are you kidding me?!"

"Relax, bro," the surgeon quickly dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "I know how touchy you are with personal stuff, but this isn't about that. I'm just trying to help you out here." He pointed towards the kitchenette. "Because there's a perfectly good sink over there-"

"Oh god, n-not a chance in hell... I'm NOT doing that, and you're fucking gross for suggesting it! What's wrong with you?!" Rick thrust both hands out to either side of him in angry declaration. "You know we wash up our plates and eating utensils there, right? And I use it to make coffee!"

"Hey, don't be so uptight. I'm not gonna judge, a-and there's nothing wrong with it. In the end, they're all pipes that go to the same place." Surgeon Rick began trying to encourage him. "If you're that desperate, you might as well just go, man. I can look away if you need me to, and urine is sterile, s-so-"

"So you've done it before?" Rick's expression swiftly turned into an accusatory glare, the disgust clearly visible in his eyes. "In MY apartment!?"

"Well no, 'cause I haven't been here long enough." The other admitted with a small shrug. "But one time, when I was really drunk back on the ship-"

Before he could finish, Ricktus had eased the door open just enough to peek his head out. "C-711, are you arguing with the boss again? I do not have the time or desire to mediate between you two this morning, so I would kindly ask you to shut up and do whatever he says."

In one swift movement, Rick placed a hand on the door, shoved it open the rest of the way, then grabbed the doctor by the arm to forcefully yank him out of the room so he could go inside.

"Hey, what gives?!" Ricktus immediately protested as he stumbled aside, but the door had already slammed shut before he could get another word in. "What was that all about?"

"Wasn't it obvious? When you gotta go, you gotta go." Surgeon Rick casually dispensed with another shrug, then turned the page and resumed reading.

"If he needed to relieve himself so badly, then why didn't he knock?" Ricktus dipped a brow in confusion. "I was only gelling my hair."

"Yeah, but for how long? Like, 45 minutes? That's just inconsiderate and rude." For a brief moment, it sounded like the other was criticizing him. "You gotta respect and share the living space, man. It doesn't solely belong to you anymore."

Before Ricktus could say anything else, a loud, almost-inhuman growl echoed from inside the bathroom, and there were several loud bangs and thumps like the sound of cupboard doors being aggressively opened and closed in quick succession.

"Well, that's just great..." The occupant raised his voice shortly afterwards. "Which one of you assholes used up all the goddamn toilet paper?! I'm gonna kill all of you!"

Surgeon Rick was quick to defend himself. "Hey, it wasn't me."

"Well, it wasn't me either." Ricktus firmly answered, shaking his head as he stared at the closed door. "Which means that one of you must be lying."

"How do we know you're not just sayin' that to deflect the blame away from you?" Surgeon Rick half-teased with a chuckle. "Because we all know I've been out here the whole time."

"Do you think I care about who did it? How does that help me!?" Rick angrily blurted out from the other side of the door. "Unless you want me to come out there and strangle you both with shit on my ass, then I suggest you fix the problem!"

"Ooh... I sure guessed wrong, didn't I?" Surgeon Rick ignored his mood and tried to make light of the situation instead. "Lucky you didn't shit in the sink... it sucks to wash the chunks down the drain."

Rick did not dignify the statement with a response; he was too busy adding more disadvantages to his mental list.

---

Ten minutes and one call to Citadel housekeeping later, Rick was back on the couch and more comfortable, while Ricktus had resumed his meticulous grooming. As he nervously paced around the apartment with one hand in his hair and a comb in the other, it was obvious that he was starting to work himself up into a panic.

"Oh god, I hate this part... the anticipation and waiting for my appointment to begin just about kills me..." The doctor openly stated as he looked up at the clock above the bed. "H-how... how is one supposed to look for a normal appointment to see the Council leader? Because none of our previous meetings with Riq IV or the rest of the Council have ever been, well, normal."

"I don't think he's gonna give a shit about your hair, for starters," Rick grumpily returned. "I told you, just fake out your proud bullshit and play him for everything you can get. You don't need to do any more than that."

"Do you want to do the talking for me?" The doctor paused to look expectantly at the scientist. "Because you know you're better at it than I am."

"So you wanna sit there while I do everything?" It was spoken in a bitingly sarcastic tone. "Fuck off. You're more than capable all on your own."

"He's not wrong, y'know." Surgeon Rick added his input to the conversation. "You wanna finish what you started, right? Well?" He pointed to the door. "Get outta here already."

"O-of course... well, I'm as ready as I'll ever be." Ricktus mentally steeled himself and gave a short nod in acceptance. "But are you?" His attention was back on Rick. "Are you really going to go to Riq IV's office dressed like that?"

"Like what?" Rick stood up to examine his attire; he thought his standard, long-sleeved blue shirt and brown pants were perfectly acceptable to wear anywhere around the Citadel. "Isn't this the generic look you keep making fun of? I don't need to make myself look nice for someone I don't respect. Unlike you, I'm not proud of my appearance."

"Oh really? I couldn't tell." Ricktus nervously offered in an attempt at humor, not knowing how well his new boss would take it. "But in all seriousness, you might want to do... something. You're beginning to look like a hobo."

"Am I?" As Rick idly scratched at the prickly blue stubble on his left cheek, he realized that he hadn't had a proper shave in weeks. "I-I guess, but I don't have time to fix it now... you wasted it all." He nodded towards the door. "And on that note, we should get a move on. Come, Morty. You're coming with me whether the pointy-haired bastard likes it or not."

With a loud, communicative babble indicating acknowledgment, Morty bounded towards his grandfather with his wooden portal gun in one hand, dragging his stuffed bee across the floor in the other. Once he was at his side, he reached up towards him with his arms wide open in a demand to be picked up, dropping both toys at his feet in the same movement.

Rick placed his hands on his hips in a mock scolding gesture, but the grin on his face was huge. "And what makes you think I'm gonna let you take that crap along with you? What kind of adventure do you think we're going on?"

The response he received was a string of multisyllabic nonsense, but it was enthusiastic and joyful nonetheless; the little boy just wanted to be as close to him as possible.

Ricktus obliged Morty's request and handed him to Rick so he wouldn't have to bend over. "I strongly advise allowing him to take his toys along with him. There's no harm in it, and they'll keep him occupied while you talk to Riq IV. Letting him make simple choices will give him a sense of empowerment and control, and children like him who have experienced trauma will often find comfort in inanimate objects such as blankets or toys."

"Geez... I didn't ask for a whole encyclopedia entry, dumbass. You don't have to keep reminding me how fucked up Morty is, e-everyone already knows he's damaged goods!" Rick defensively shot back, his good mood ruined. "If you feel that strongly, then shut the fuck up, grab his shit, and follow me." He grabbed his own personal effects and angrily shoved them in his pockets.

Ricktus said nothing as he obeyed his new boss's instructions. He kept his head down as he followed him out the front door, down the hallway, and into the apartment-block elevator, feeling both irritated and a little rebuffed; he thought that his explanation had been concise and to the point.

It wasn't until they were on the concourse that he felt the need to speak again; not far away from their position, a group of angry protester Ricks stood directly opposed to armed Citadel guards and held up signs that read things like 'when we are all the same, we all become nothing', 'do not invoke the singularity', and 'corruptio optimi pessima'.

Although the situation was heated and both sides were hurling insults back and forth at each other, no violence or gunfire had been exchanged.

Yet.

Rick's pace slowed to an almost-complete stop, his eyes wide and firmly affixed to the standoff; although he was intrigued to learn more, his hold on Morty tightened ever so slightly.

Noticing his grandfather's unease, Morty made a small whimper and he buried his face in the crook of his arm, hiding away as best as he could.

"Shit..." Ricktus felt his heart rate quicken. "Please don't see this as an act of insubordination, but," he surreptitiously checked Rick over to see if he was wearing his gold badge, and breathed a sigh of relief when he discovered that he wasn't. "I never thought I would say this, but for once, I'm glad for your rebellious streak... come on. We can't stay here." He took his boss by the elbow and attempted to lead him away.

"Wait a sec... w-what is this? What's going on?" Suspicion rose in the scientist's voice, and he came to a standstill, refusing to go any further.

Ricktus was quick to shoot him an annoyed glare, but he quickly moved in closer and lowered his voice to a murmur as he spoke right next to the scientist's ear. "We shouldn't discuss this out in the open, and certainly not here. I have an obligation to keep you safe. Trust me when I say that you do NOT want to get caught up with this crowd." His second tug was a little more forceful, but he was mindful not to be too rough, knowing that Rick was still carrying Morty.

"N-no!" Rick stumbled backwards, raising his voice in open defiance. "All I'm asking for is a simple explanation! Why is that so difficult?!"

"Yeah man, what's so wrong about that?" One of the nearby protesters chimed in. "Every Rick here deserves to learn the truth - we're all being deceived and lied to. For example, did you know that the Council of Ricks finally solved the equation that calculated which timeline contains the Rickest Rick? But they're hiding him away from us, and no one will tell us why. What else do you think they have to hide?"

"Hey, you! Shut up! You've already been given two warnings about running off your mouth, so this is your last chance." One of the guards turned on the protester, but still managed to retain his firm, military demeanor. "Any discussion of that subject is strictly forbidden. You are to cease and desist at once."

"You can't silence us! This Citadel was forged on a foundation of secrets and lies, and every Rick needs to know about it!" The Rick taunted back and raised his protest sign even higher. "How can you stand allying yourself with an imbalanced system that systematically oppresses and demeans you? What do you get out of this? How is any of this fair!?"

"Settle down," the guard raised a hand to stop him. "Look man, we get it. We're silver Ricks just like you. Nobody in the Citadel Guard likes kissing ass, but the Council of Ricks needs to iron out all the kinks and work on making things better. These things take time and patience, so shut up and bear with it."

"Bear with it!? You're asking us to willingly bend over and get fucked in the ass!" The protester Rick retorted. "A-and better for whom? Better for everyone usually means worse for some!"

"That's enough!" The guard's patience finally snapped and he slammed the butt of his rifle into the other Rick's stomach. "Take him away and lock him up. The Council's word is law."

"We need to go." Ricktus gently prompted and tugged his boss by the arm again.

This time, Rick needed no encouragement to move on.

Nothing was said for a short time, but Ricktus was acutely aware of the look he was being given and knew that the other was impatient to hear his explanation. He breathed a heavy sigh and waited until they were inside the elevator to Riq IV's office before unloading his thoughts.

"Look... of course there are more Ricks who feel the same way as you do, but I couldn't say that in front of Riq IV, in his own office, and especially not while he had his posse of armed guards around him... not after the way you pissed him off. Things are already bad enough for me as it is. I didn't want to add insubordination and spreading dissension to the list."

"You know, you could've told me this a lot sooner." Rick muttered back. "I've been here for what, four days now?" He mentally counted them out and nodded. "OK, so you decided to get riggity riggity wrecked after my last meeting with the stupid asshole, but you had a whole weekend of doing nothing after that. Why am I only learning about this now?"

"Rick, you know I had an obligation to attend that mass-casualty event in the infirmary on Saturday morning. I worked my ass off for over 16 hours straight." Ricktus curtly reminded him. "But you're right. I should have told you sooner, but..."

"But?" Rick instantly pushed him.

The doctor's first reply was a discontent hum, but he quickly gave in. "...I'm still learning about you. Just because you chose to be my superior, it didn't mean I could trust you. Maybe I'm wrong, but I didn't know that at the time." He twisted his mouth into a firm frown and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "You probably would've learned about it all on your own if you'd actually bothered to do your homework... the Council gave you those documents to read for a reason, you know."

Rick inclined his head and challenged him with a wide, toothy grin. "Are you seriously sassing me out right now?"

The other stiffened in posture and stood at attention. "N-no, sir."

"Well, you should. Go on eBay and buy yourself a spine." Rick stepped out of the elevator once it had reached the top floor. "So what's the rest of this story? Because I know those Ricks weren't pushing for better working conditions."

"The Council would have you believe that the Citadel operates like it has no problems. They also maintain a heavily armed presence to keep it that way. But the truth is much different." The other's voice had dropped to a whisper by the time they were outside Riq IV's personal chambers. "Everyone knows about the discovery of the Rickest Rick by now, but not everyone is happy about it. Protests like the one you saw outside happen all the time, but the guards have been taking longer to shut them down than before. I've been here long enough to notice."

"Why do you think that is?" The scientist was genuinely curious.

"Maybe they're distracted. Maybe they want to look good in front of all the newcomers... I-I don't know." The doctor didn't want to give it any more thought. "A precarious equilibrium has existed between the Ricks who support the Citadel and those who do not since its inception. Riq IV wants you on his side because he's hoping you'll work with him to help quell the civil disorder. He wants to unite both sides in the same, singular purpose – to conquer our enemies, and to bring the Citadel into a new age of innovation and prosperity."

"Do you really believe in that shit?" Rick looked back at him incredulously, but it was an honest question.

"It doesn't matter what I believe," Ricktus said truthfully, sounding worn down. "I-I just want to be safe."

"Hmm..." Rick placed his free hand on the door and pushed it open, intending to barge in without knocking.

Inside, Riq IV sat alone on a luxurious, plush, pink couch in his living space, and was partway through enjoying a hot cup of chamomile tea. Although he was already dressed for the day, his wet hair was wrapped in a towel to keep it from dripping onto his robes. He seemed deeply annoyed by the intrusion, but didn't bother getting up. "You're early."

"Yeah? My bad." Rick sounded like he couldn't have cared less and made himself comfortable on the cushion beside him. "I didn't think it would matter, unless you micromanage your whole day in increments of minutes or something." He released Morty from his grip and faintly smirked, curious to see what would happen next.

Morty's first action was to let out an indignant, little huff, and then he plopped onto the floor and rolled away to play with the royal-purple curtains that decorated the room's largest viewing window.

The Council leader looked repulsed as his eyes tracked the youngster's every move, but he somehow managed to remain calm and set his cup aside. "I do," he rolled back his left sleeve to check the gold wristwatch device on his arm, "and when I tell you to arrive at 9 o'clock, I expect you to arrive at 9 o'clock on the dot... not 8 minutes early."

Nervously, Ricktus stepped forward and gently cleared his throat. "Would you, uh... w-would you like us to go away and come back when it's time?"

"No." Riq IV gave him an unfriendly look that suggested the question was stupid. "You're here now. You might as well begin."

"Yeah? Good, because I'm not leaving until I get what I want." Rick propped one elbow on the armrest and leaned back to relax. "You know, I'm not happy. You wanna know why I'm not happy?"

Riq IV said nothing, but made his displeasure known with a heavy frown. He was used to frequently receiving this same kind of attitude from the other members of the Council, but tolerating it from a gold-rank was still new to him and he had to bite down the desire to retaliate.

"You disrespected my homie," Rick started, his tone becoming cool and mildly threatening. "And when you disrespect my homie, you disrespect me. He waited for you. If you wanna talk about being on time to appointments, then why don't we start with the one that YOU didn't show up for? Cancellation is a thing, y'know. I suggest you learn about it."

"Please. I am the most-respected and important Rick in the entire Citadel," the other warned as he arrogantly puffed out his chest. "The silver-ranked Ricks are far beneath me, so I don't give a shit how he feels. Urgent business takes priority, and that will never change, so... get used to it."

"Wait, so you're openly admitting to being inconsiderate and unreliable? Phh, some leader you are." Rick feigned disinterest. "I'm... not sure I wanna be a part of that."

"Oh, and I suppose you could do better?"

"Yeah, obviously," Rick began idly drumming his fingers on the armrest. "If you'd done your job properly, then we wouldn't be here, now would we?"

Silently, Ricktus stood still, glued to his spot as he watched the two Ricks verbally spar with each other. Although he was impressed by his boss's fighting spirit, he also wanted to curl up and die; he fully expected them to become physical or violent at any given moment and he was the only one around to intervene if it became necessary.

Rather than rising to the bait, Riq IV lowered his voice instead. "Why are you really here? Don't waste my time and yours. Say what you mean to say."

"Ugh, fine. See, I was gonna leave you with the doc so you could honor your original appointment with him, but now that we're here..." The scientist trailed off and looked around him. "I want a bigger apartment like yours. One with multiple rooms and space for a private office. And I want my own bed. I nearly shit myself while waiting for the bathroom this morning, so there's that, too."

"Oh, really?" Riq IV didn't wait for a reply and took a small tablet computer out of his robes, spending only a brief moment going through the apartment ownership list. "According to the records, you were supplied with your own luxury-sized bed long before you moved in."

"I have two other idiots living with me now. They have to use the space as well, but it makes the apartment feel even more crowded than it already is." As he spoke, Rick briefly wondered just how far he could push his luck. "I'm not as comfortable as I could be, if you catch my drift."

"I... don't see how this is my problem." The Council leader's voice grew cold. "You were provided with adequate living space for you and your ridiculous, pet Morty. What you choose to do with your own private domain is none of my concern."

"But I thought I could have anything I wanted?" Rick challenged him. "So you were willing to give me a new liver, but not more space? You want me to make myself feel like I'm at home here, right? I'm a gold-tier Rick now... you should treat me like one."

Riq IV stared at him for a long moment and finally gave in; the request was so minor that it was easier to fulfill than to keep arguing. "Yes, the gold-ranked Ricks enjoy a higher quality of life because they've earned it. Although we have a housing shortage and a long list of Ricks waiting for accommodation, I can bump you to the top and arrange to have you moved into a luxury apartment as soon as possible." He resumed looking down at his tablet and made some minor changes by tapping on the screen. "But only AFTER your induction ceremony. If you want the perks of a gold-rank, you have to make it official."

"Yeaaahhh, no. I'm gonna need my own bed a lot sooner than that." Rick childishly persisted. "I've been sleeping on the floor and my back hurts."

Riq IV's left eyebrow twitched; he was already close to the breaking point. "I can... have something comfortable sent up to your room. Give me an hour at the very least."

"Good." Rick rewarded him with a smug grin; it was a petty win, but he still felt victorious.

Picking up his cup of tea again, the Council leader took a delicate sip and deliberately changed the topic. "Have you thought about what you're going to say in your induction speech yet?"

"Ugh... possibly?" The scientist grunted in distaste at the thought. "It's gonna be a bunch of posturing and puffery, isn't it? I'm probably just gonna ad-lib it."

"Ah, if I may interject and return to the previous subject for a moment," Ricktus seemed reluctant at first, but he took a deep breath and stood tall. "Sir, living on your own goes against all medical advice you've been given. It is my duty to formally remind you that you're still on light duties for six weeks. If you're moving at the end of next week, then-"

"Then I suppose you're coming with me, aren't you? Duh." Rick finished the sentence for him, stating it like it was obvious. "Weren't you listening just now? Th-there's a fuckin' housing crisis. Don't take up more room than you need. Save some for the other Ricks, huh?"

"B-but, sir-"

"But nothing." Rick cut him off. "First off, stop calling me 'sir' – how many times do I have to keep telling you? Secondly, I wouldn't need the extra room if the two of you weren't there, now would I? You just said that I can't live on my own and I'm not disputing that, but it's becoming clear that we need our own little private spaces. This is the most obvious next step, no?" He felt even more smug than before; not only had he just managed to invite the other two Ricks into his next living space without sounding needy or weak, he'd also managed to spin it under the guise of logic and convenience.

When he noticed that the doctor was staring at him attentively, he reared his head back and twisted his face into an expression of mock disapproval. "C'mon... why the hell are you still standing there? This appointment is on your time, too. Sit the fuck down and play with the high-rollers."

With a shallow nod, Ricktus took his place on the plush couch, keeping an equal distance in between the other two. "Of course." He immediately clutched his hands together, finding it easier to stare down at them. "Riq IV, sir... esteemed councilman and honorable leader, I wish to renegotiate the offer we received for getting the live retrieval to the Citadel alive. If it is to be believed that he is indeed the 'Rickest Rick', then surely he is worth more than your initial offer of 2.1 million Council credits."

"Hey now, there you go! You DO have a spine after all." Rick encouraged, almost sounding like he was coaching him. "But don't elevate him higher than you... you don't wanna come off sounding like a pussy. He said mean stuff about you, remember? Now's your chance to stick it to him and act like he took a dump in your cereal."

Cringing at Rick's blatant honesty, Ricktus gave Riq IV a momentary apologetic glance and let out a small sigh. "Thank you for the suggestion, B-526... but I think talking business requires a bit more finesse than that." He returned his gaze to the scientist. "Look... you got me this far and I'm grateful, but I can take it from here."

"You sure?" Rick folded his arms across his chest. "You're not gonna break down and have another panic attack?"

"I'll be fine," the other tried to assure him in a serious, yet gentle tone. "Why don't you step out and go for a walk? You should be thinking about your upcoming meeting with Therapist Rick, after all."

"Fuck that shit," Rick immediately tensed and went on the defensive. "I still don't wanna go, a-and I'm only doing the bare minimum required of me to shut everyone up!"

Clinking the cup against the saucer as he finished off his tea, Riq IV gave them both a filthy look; he didn't understand their working relationship at all, but he was growing tired of listening to them. "I don't care how you feel, B-526. It was good of you to play your clever little bait-and-switch tactic to trick me into seeing your underling, but if you're done talking, then I need you to leave so we can get on with it. I have far-more-important business to attend to after this."

"Yeah? You always do, don't you?" Rick coldly taunted as he got to his feet and moved over to Morty. "So you want me to piss off? Fine. But if you screw around and try to rip off my guy, then you're gonna be hearing about it from me next time, got it?" He nudged his grandson with a foot and pointed towards the door, indicating that he should follow. "2.1 million credits, my ass... I better be worth WAAAYYY more than that."

Ricktus struggled to keep a neutral expression. While he was relieved to see Rick leave with Morty in tow, he was also amused; it felt good to see Riq IV finally getting a taste of his own medicine. He knew that Rick's boldness and brazen attitude would almost certainly get him into serious trouble one day, but it still clearly had its place in the Citadel.

For not wanting to have anything to do with it initially, he'd certainly come a long way, and now he was starting to blend in like he'd belonged there all along.

---

After ordering breakfast at one of the cafes on the concourse, Rick sat down to kill some time, though the food was more for Morty's benefit than his; he wasn't in the slightest bit hungry. His mind was far too preoccupied with speculating on what was about to happen during his first session with Therapist Rick, and he couldn't stand not knowing or being able to make a guess.

With a frustrated sigh, he took out his datapad to look up both the address and route he needed to take in order to get there, but it didn't take long for his attention to drift towards the area around him; he curiously noted that not only had the public demonstration been broken up, but there was no sign that there had even been one to begin with - the Citadel was back to the regular everyday hustle and bustle that he was slowly getting used to.

At five minutes to eleven, he scribbled a generous tip at the bottom of his table's tab, picked Morty up, and abandoned the mess that had been made.

He spent the whole trip grumbling to himself that he didn't want to go, but when he finally arrived at the correct door, there was nothing on it to indicate that there was anything of importance inside.

Although he found that a little odd, he quickly brushed it off and let himself in.

He was immediately met with a bland, open living space that looked as uncomfortably small and pokey as his own apartment, and the other Rick was busy working on something at his desk. However, he stopped and looked up in the moment he heard Rick enter.

"Ah, you've arrived just on time," he sounded neither friendly or unfriendly. "Sit anywhere you like."

Rick suddenly found himself on edge and acutely alert of his surroundings; his eyes darted around the room and he spotted the same kind of stereotypical leather chaise lounge he'd seen before in psychologist's offices in TV shows and movies; its mere presence made the situation feel more real and confronting. "So... how's this gonna work? Is this for real, o-or do I offer you a bribe to shut up for the next half hour?"

"Hah, very funny. You could if you wanted to, but because this appointment was officially sanctioned by the Council, I am required to add it to your records." The other Rick finished what he was doing and slowly stood up, clipboard in hand.

Rick's brow flattened as low as it would go as he realized how serious the other Rick was; there really was no worming his way out of this one. "Great... is it just me, or are all Citadel doctors as stuffy as you? Because I'm starting to notice a recurring theme around here." He glared at the other's clothes and motioned towards them. "A-and what's with the getup? A collared shirt and a tie? How the hell are you even a real Rick? I wouldn't be caught dead wearing that!"

Politely clearing his throat, Therapist Rick went on like nothing had been said. "As soon as you make yourself comfortable, we can begin."

Once he'd placed Morty on the floor with his toys, Rick chose a cushy chair furthest away from the leather chaise and glared at the brightly colored inkblot canvases decorating the walls. "Well, this probably comes as no surprise, but I don't wanna be here. Just gimme the fastest route through this bullshit so I never have to see you again."

"No Rick I've ever met in the history of the Citadel wants to admit to needing therapy, but taking care of yourself psychologically is paramount to a bearable existence." The other Rick gently told him. "I'd offer you a drink to help you relax, but your file specifically tells me not to."

"Yeeeaaah... that's not a voluntary choice, let me assure you!" It came out far more bitter than he had intended, but he bared his teeth and decided to keep going with the thought. "You wanna add that to my file, too? Wait, does it say if it's temporary or permanent?"

"Hmm, we'll come back to that one." Therapist Rick politely commented as he took two careful paces towards the scientist, his eyes down as he began writing notes. "I see you brought your Morty along with you this time. Is he here for moral support or comfort?"

"Neither," Rick calmed down a little and answered truthfully, seeing no reason to lie. "It's stupid and unrealistic to keep asking the other Ricks in my apartment to babysit him. He's supposed to be my responsibility, and they're gonna get sick of him before long. Besides, I did this, so I gotta fix it. It's because of me that he's clingy as all hell, s-so... it's better this way." He cast an apologetic glance down at the young boy.

However, Morty didn't notice or care; he was having too much fun banging his toy portal gun on the wooden floorboards.

"I see." The other Rick replied, but did not look up. "We're not here to work on him today, but we can schedule him for another appointment if it puts your mind at ease. Just know that children are more adaptable than adults. With luck and a consistent, positive environment, he'll grow out of it in time."

"Hah! Yeah, I know a guy who talks just like that." Rick dryly laughed. "You two would probably get along."

Therapist Rick made a thoughtful hum and ignored his attempt at sidestepping the discussion. "Morty will be all right, but you're clearly not, are you?"

"Wow... worst. Segue. Ever." It came out of his mouth so smoothly, but Rick could already feel his internal defenses rising; he had a bad feeling about what was coming next. He hated talking about himself enough as it was, but here was another version of himself listening this time, who probably knew him better than he knew himself.

And worse, this Rick had the educational background to back it up.

Surprisingly, the therapist didn't go in the direction that he thought he would. Instead of coming closer, he paced back across the room and returned to his desk.

Rick said nothing at first, but quickly caved in due to burning curiosity. "OK... what the fuck are you doing? Because now you're being super weird."

"I want to tell you that I think I understand you," the other nestled the fingers of his hands in each other and set them down in front of him. "I've read through your case file in detail and neither of us wants to spend our time discussing how bad things are, or how they make you feel – I can already guess without having to ask."

Rick raised an eyebrow but said nothing; he was relieved about not having to explain himself again for once.

"I also want to tell you that all your shit will still be there tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that." The other Rick continued. "So slow down and pace yourself. You don't have to rush through your problems and try to solve them all at once. It might take you weeks, or months, or even years... and some Ricks never get over it. That's fine as well."

"Phh... well, that was easy." Rick scoffed.

The therapist ignored him again. "You don't have to talk, but if you want to satisfy the Council and never have to come back to see me, then we DO need to address your outstanding suicidal issues."

And just like that, the subject he despised most of all was laid bare. A furious growl rose up in the scientist's throat, and he would've gotten up a lot more quickly if it wasn't for his injuries. "What more is there to discuss? You said so yourself, you've already read my case file, so... wh-whatever! We're done." With a sharp huff, he headed for the door. "Pick up your shit, Morty. We're leaving. NOW!"

"Oh my god... stop avoiding it and sit the hell back down. We're not going to touch on anything you don't already know." Therapist Rick's professional demeanor began to fray. "I'm only going to dispense advice. You might want to think about it the next time you feel like popping a cap between your eyes. Now, are you gonna stay? Or am I gonna have to book you in for twelve more appointments?"

The threat made Rick stop in his tracks and he turned to face him again. "Well played, you cunning bastard." He conceded through gritted teeth. "Go on, you have my attention. You also have about twenty seconds before you lose it again."

"To be honest, your case file is boring. I've heard the same story all too many times before." Therapist Rick didn't mince his words and started to lay down the facts as he saw them. "You've let alcohol become an easy escape from all the things you'd rather avoid. Shitty home life? Drink. Frustrated or disillusioned? Drink. Failure? Drink. Hate yourself for the stupid things you've done? Drink. Now you have to deal with your shit and you can't dull it that way anymore. It's a lot to take in, and it can feel like part of your identity is missing when you remove such a big element of your life."

Rick rolled his eyes and made a poker face as if he did not care. "Where are you going with this?"

"Shut your damn mouth and keep listening," the other harshly cuffed him. "Stop hiding from your own inadequacies and what they've cost you. It's not bad to feel bad when bad things have happened to you. And it's natural to feel bad about those things - if you didn't, you'd be a goddamn sociopath."

The therapist and the scientist sat in the long silence that followed. One patiently waited, while the other took the words into consideration - they just wouldn't sit right with him.

"But I... I-I am a bad person."

"You've done bad things," Therapist Rick corrected him. "Doing bad things doesn't make you a bad person. If you give therapy a chance, we can talk about them, but only if you want to. You can never make your problems go away, but you can work through them with help." He reached over to pull a blank medical form from his top drawer. "Before we run out of time today, I'm gonna go ahead and write you up a prescription for diazepam. I suggest using it for the next-"

"Wait, Valium?" Rick abruptly cut in, finding the suggestion ludicrous. "You... y-you want me to trade one addictive habit for another?"

"If you'd let me finish, I would've told you that I want you to consider using a therapeutic dose the next time you go through another suicidal episode. Take it, sit somewhere quiet, and give it about fifteen minutes to start working." After giving him a firm, disapproving look, he filled out the form, authorized it with his signature, and then slid it across the table. "Alcohol withdrawal can cause a myriad of different symptoms, including anxiety, depression, and exhaustion. It'll also give you a break from the constant cravings you must be experiencing. It won't be long before you start fantasizing about drinking the drain cleaner under your kitchen sink, I imagine. Take this and try to stay alive until our next session."

Rick glanced at the door, then at the paper, then back at the door again, feeling torn; he was more than aware of his fierce alcoholic tendencies, and he knew in his heart of hearts that tackling the problem head on was the only way forward.

But in spite of everything, even though it had nearly killed him, he still liked the way it made him feel.

With a heavy sigh of resignation, he glanced down, knowing that his focus needed to be on Morty; he really didn't want to toss away one habit only to pick up another, and knew that the little boy deserved so much better. "Wh... wh-what are... are you doing anything in the next half hour?"

"No." The reply was immediate. "Why? Did you want to sit back down?"

---

With a single knock, Rick nudged his apartment door open and came back inside with Morty under one arm. He spotted Surgeon Rick immediately; he was still in his pajamas and propped up in bed with a book, while a perimeter of junk food surrounded him. He looked like the perfect picture of contentedness, but Rick was fairly certain that he hadn't moved an inch since he had left.

"'Sup? You were gone for ages." Surgeon Rick looked up at him, breaking the silence first. "How'd everything go?"

"It went." Rick didn't want to lie, but he also didn't want to give away more details than necessary. "I did what I was supposed to do. Now I'm back."

"Yeah, I can see that." The surgeon studied his expression for a moment, and his eyes widened as he mentally connected the dots. "OH. Yeah, shit... how was therapy?"

Annoyance welled up in the scientist's chest and he let out a warning growl. "I-I just told you."

"Right..." Surgeon Rick awkwardly clicked his tongue; he knew there was more to it and wanted to keep pushing, but he wasn't willing to put another dent in their friendship so soon after the prank incident and changed the subject. "Uh, hey. You got another delivery while you were out. Some Courier Ricks came in with a single bed. There's nowhere to put it out here, so I told 'em to move it into Morty's room. Hope you don't mind. I knew it was for you anyway, so I figured you'd probably wanna sleep in the same room as him."

All traces of ire melted away from the scientist's face and he gave a short nod in appreciation.

The surgeon decided to try one last time. "So... are you OK?"

Turning his head away, Rick headed for the couch. "N-not really."

"Damn." Surgeon Rick gently set his book on the nightstand and finally got out of bed, figuring that even if Rick didn't want to talk, he might not want to be alone either. "If you wanna turn your brain off for the rest of the afternoon, we could watch a bunch of shitty B-grade movies or something. Or I could order in some fast food if you're hungry. And if that doesn't interest you, we could abuse your gold-rank privileges and have a game console sent up to the apartment. Do any of those options sound good to you?"

Once he'd gotten both himself and Morty comfortable in their respective spots, Rick leaned back on the couch and gave Surgeon Rick a halfhearted glare. "Are you trying to make me feel better by enticing me with stupid-ass things you think I'd find interesting?"

"Blatantly." The surgeon immediately smirked back, then flopped down on the cushion beside him and picked up the TV remote.

"Phh, that's sad..."

"Yeah, but is it working?"

Rick actually considered the question for a brief moment. "Maybe a little."

Halfway through the first movie, Ricktus had come back to the apartment as well. When he noticed how deeply focused everyone was on the screen, he came up behind the couch and gently set his hands on the backrest, not wanting to startle anyone. "What the hell is this garbage?"

"Schmaltzopus VS The Gandhi Clones," Surgeon Rick told him, sounding faraway. "Sit your ass down, bro. You're gonna miss the best part."

"Ah... I think I can live without it." Ricktus exhaled a soft sigh, then moved his datapad into his colleague's field of vision. "Did you get a chance to read this medication-update notification yet? Why would B-526's therapist prescribe Valium?"

Instinctively, the surgeon batted the device away. "No way, man. I've been having a 'me' day. The only thing I read today was a chapter on how to make a Faster-Than-Light drive using only a car battery, a pound of erchius crystals, and four citrus fruits."

"You only need three if they're high in ascorbic acid." Rick threw in the extra comment, then covered a yawn with his hand. "Hold that thought, because it's been bugging me and I wanna know if I have my facts straight. You never built your own portal gun or a spaceship, did you?" He turned to the doctor. "And you somehow managed to do both?"

"That would be correct, yes." Ricktus nodded, but his expression was a mix of irritation and confusion, not understanding why he was asking.

"You had the brains to know how to build a spaceship, and you couldn't even fix your own derelict, garbage-ship's communication console?" Rick felt smug all over again. "And if you had access to an infinite number of universes, then why didn't you just keep dimension hopping until you found yourself a new Morty? It would've been far less hassle than everything you've put yourself through."

"Not all Ricks have the same knowledge and understanding of electronic devices like you," the answer was surprisingly calm and honest. "Not all Ricks are created equal. For instance, do YOU know how to perform a gastric lavage, or know anything about heart surgery?"

"Hmm, touché."

"Without the Citadel's interdimensional database, I could have been blindly looking through the multiverse forever. And once it was set up on my ship, I never did find a suitable dimension that matched my search parameters... you think I didn't consider that option as soon as it became available to me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Rick conceded, brushing him off with a wave of his hand. "But now that you've got all this free time to do whatever you want, why don't you teach C-711 how to build his own spaceship? If you wanna repair your friendship, that's a great place to start."

"Hey, that's actually a pretty cool idea," Surgeon Rick agreed. "Do you wanna build a spaceship?"

Ricktus refrained from voicing his thoughts, but he clearly wasn't pleased. "...we've strayed very far off topic." He turned back to face the surgeon, and then began discussing Rick like he wasn't there at all. "This is preposterous... is Therapist Rick a hack? Why would he prescribe a drug that has known abuse potential, to a Rick with an addiction, knowing full well that he has an addictive personality?"

"What does it matter, yo?" Scooting forwards on his cushion, Surgeon Rick turned to face the doctor properly, mildly annoyed; he was missing his movie. "What are you afraid of? That he'll mix it with alcohol? That he'll overdose, even though he's in a controlled environment and hanging out with two qualified, medical Ricks? The dude needs the freedom to make his own decisions. You gotta let him. If you're so worried, I can do it first-"

"You are absolutely unbelievable, C-711." Ricktus cut him off, shook his head in disappointment, then moved away to the kitchenette. "I'm willing to do a number of things for the boss, but volunteering as a spotter while you both experiment with pharmaceuticals isn't one of them." Just as quickly as his bad mood had come, he let it go again. "I'm making coffee. Would you like some?"

"Hell yeah, bro." It didn't need any consideration. "Don't you find it even slightly hypocritical that you put one drug down, only to offer me another?"

"Caffeine is socially acceptable and legal." Ricktus spoke like he was reading from a bland textbook. "I don't need to explain something so rudimentary to you, unless your brain is taking a 'me' day as well."

"Yeah, whatever you say, Doctor Boring. You're not funny even when you're trying to be." The surgeon rolled his eyes, then turned back to face Rick. "Yo, what about you? Do you want coffee?"

"Pass." Rick didn't look away from the TV. "Now that I have a bed of my own again, I think I'm gonna turn in for a nap as soon as Morty is ready to go down as well."

"Oh, you do? Excellent." Ricktus sounded pleased. "I couldn't stop you from sleeping on the couch, but I sure as hell didn't approve of it."

"Shut up. I don't wanna have ANOTHER discussion about that." Rick grumbled, giving Morty a subtle glance to see what he was up to.

The little boy wasn't far away on the floor, but he didn't look anywhere close to being tired; his mind was thoroughly engrossed in a shape-sorter toy, and no matter how he rotated the square-shaped piece in his tiny hands, he just couldn't make it fit into the round hole. After five more attempts of repeatedly trying to bash it into place, he made a growl and shoved the whole toy over, frustrated at his failure.

Ricktus came over to the couch with the two cups he had just finished making. "Don't worry about him, B-526. You're under strict orders to rest often, so you should leave. We can watch over him while you're asleep."

It was a simple suggestion and Rick wanted to take it because he needed the downtime; he felt both physically and mentally exhausted. However, he also knew how likely the child was to scream for him the second he left the room, so he stayed put. "I-I will when he's tired..."

"You need to sleep," Ricktus insisted, this time a little more forcefully. "We've managed your Morty well enough already. We did it in the days you were unconscious after your surgery-"

"Lizabeth did, you mean," Surgeon Rick talked over him, "and I helped. You've been evading taking care of him since we took him back from the bird dude, 'cause you got more issues than a comic book store."

He needed a few seconds to contain his annoyance, but Ricktus kept persisting. "We'll be fine without you, B-526. Take care of yourself first and foremost." He handed one cup of coffee to his colleague, took a sip from his own, then pointed towards Morty's room. "Get out of here and go to bed before I start sounding like our mother. This is the one thing I still have authority over you on, and I will not hesitate to exercise it if necessary."

Rick slowly got to his feet, giving up. "Yeah, yeah... whatever. Just don't let me sleep too long, OK?" He cautiously paced away from the couch, nervously watching Morty the whole time. "Are you gonna let me leave, little buddy?" He asked once he was standing in the doorway to the little boy's room.

To his surprise, Morty didn't seem worried at all; the youngster took one look at him and turned his shape-sorter toy back upright, more interested in trying to solve the mystery behind it over everything else. Even after the door had closed, he didn't bat an eyelid.

"Wow. I have... never seen that before." Surgeon Rick sounded impressed. "Is that progress or something else? What do we do about it?"

"Nothing. Act like it's normal. If you draw too much attention to it, he might get suspicious." Ricktus suggested as he moved around the couch, his eyes attentively locked on Morty. "It IS unusual behavior, though... I simply can't understand why he's fine with his primary caregiver disappearing from sight, especially after how much he cried for him while we were at your daughter's house." He drank the whole cup of coffee, set it aside, and sat down on the floor nearby. "It defies all logic... is it because he's analyzing a problem?"

"Oh, so NOW you're interested in what he's doing?" Surgeon Rick smirked, half-teasing, half-serious.

"I have some serious catching up to do... I've been so focused on trying to get a new Morty that I've never actually taken the time to observe how they behave to know what's normal." The other admitted after a moment of silence. "I successfully renegotiated our live-retrieval offer, which means that for the first time ever, I finally have a viable shot at buying a replacement Morty... I-I never thought I'd get this far so soon. Not after how spectacularly I failed at every task I was given..."

Surgeon Rick's eyebrows shot up at the news. "How much?"

Instead of answering, Ricktus asked a question of his own. "How do you feel about getting your cut after the Morty auction on Sunday?"

"Not good, bro." Surprise morphed into suspicion. "How much did you renegotiate for? Stop fucking around and just tell me straight up."

"15 million Council credits," the other spoke with no emotion in his voice. "It's more than enough to buy three Mortys at the current market value, as well as a brand-new apartment in any of the upcoming building projects..."

If he wasn't already sitting down, Surgeon Rick would have fallen over from shock. "H... holy fucking shit... for real?!" He was barely able to put his cup down on the coffee table because his hands were shaking so much. "P-please... please tell me you're not bullshitting me!"

Ricktus silently shook his head, his face as serious as ever.

"Wow..." The surgeon actually needed time to sit there and take it in. "So... what happens now? Because even a tenth of that would buy my kid a two-story house on the good side of town. She'd never have to worry about paying the bills ever again."

"I'm not certain." Ricktus quietly answered as he picked up one of Morty's shape-sorting pieces and absentmindedly dropped it into its correlating slot. "My advice would be to carry on as normal - our boss will still need assistance for the time being. But this payout means that we don't have to keep nagging him for paid work. It also sets both of us up forever... we could move out and buy our own places if we wanted to."

Morty stared wide-eyed at the toy, looking like the secrets of the universe had just been revealed to him.

"But I don't wanna," Surgeon Rick meant it to be serious, but it came out sounding childish. "It's been too long since I've had it this good, man. My daughter is finally talking to me without being a colossal bitch, I get to do whatever I want for the most part, and you get to be an equal instead of a bossy-boots arrogant dick. I don't wanna lose any of that so soon... why do you wanna shake it up?"

"I imagine that B-526 will get sick of us before long, unless he's already sick of us now." Ricktus dryly mused. "Though, now that I've had time to think about it, it didn't really sound that way in Riq IV's office."

The comment managed to bring the surgeon out of his mood. "Huh? What do ya mean?"

"Ah, we're moving after the assembly," Ricktus began the rushed explation as he remembered the details. "Our boss pushed for a bigger apartment and got his request approved almost immediately. He specifically told me we'd be going with him, too."

"Nice," Surgeon Rick was grinning all over again. "He really does like having us around. Who knew that the best way to make friends was by abducting them?"

Rolling his eyes and reserving his thoughts on the subject to himself, Ricktus remained seated on the floor to continue observing Morty's behavior, while Surgeon Rick went back to watching his movie. It didn't take long for the youngster to start giving his toy pieces to the strange Rick so he could learn where their correct positions were, and soon enough, it was impossible to tell who was observing whom.

On the other side of Morty's bedroom door, Rick was silent as he listened to the conversation that had taken place. He'd been exhausted when he'd come in initially, but now that he was lying down and under the warm sheets of his new bed, he was wide awake and unable to switch off, his brain going at a hundred miles an hour.

He remembered the roll-away cot back in Birdperson's tree house and now he missed it in a strange way; the association of being there meant being in the middle of adventures, even if they were fraught with danger, war, or they had meant staring death in the face. In spite of having everything he needed in the apartment, except perhaps more space to tinker and invent, a shadow of discontentment hung over him; he knew that living in the Citadel ultimately meant being tied down again.

It was blatantly obvious that Surgeon Rick was the most domesticated out of all three of them, and knowing how well he was going to thrive in the apartment brought the scientist great satisfaction; he knew that the surgeon finally had a reason to be happy.

Unfortunately, Rick couldn't say the same for himself; he'd always felt like his creativity had been smothered by the suburban-home-life situations he'd found himself in before. Even the love he had for his own daughter could never keep him anchored for long, and his wanderlust for the stars had caused him to drift away.

He'd ruined his first family by abandoning them for wild and crazy adventures. The consequences of those same adventures had come back to bite him and murder his second.

He vowed that there would not be a third.

He tried to assure himself again that things would be different this time. When sleepiness eventually came to him, he tried to mentally convince himself that if the other Ricks could become more assertive like him, then surely he could become more domesticated like them.

He was determined to adapt and survive, whatever the cost - even if it killed him.

---

When the second movie's credits finished rolling across the screen, the Citadel's evening news headlines came on and Surgeon Rick ordered Chinese takeout to be sent up to the apartment. However, by the time it had arrived, Rick still hadn't emerged from Morty's room and the two Ricks gave each other identical glances as the same thought passed through their heads.

"Dibs on not doing it," Surgeon Rick got in first, "I don't wanna wake him up and make him mad."

"And you think I do?" Ricktus countered. "Forget it. I've already done more than enough to earn his wrath."

"What's one more thing?" The surgeon flashed him a cocky grin. You gotta respect dibs, man. If you don't, then what else is there?"

Shaking his head, the doctor gave in and stood up. "I don't know... perhaps behaving like an adult?"

"Hey, being an adult means you get to define what that means. So if I wanna laze around all day in my pajamas, you can't stop me."

"Except they're not even yours..." Ricktus muttered, mostly to himself.

He needn't have bothered. As soon as he'd turned towards the door, it flew open; Rick's stomach had informed him that it was long overdue for food, and the intoxicating smell lured him out of one of the deepest sleeps he'd ever been in.

"Goddamn... wh-what time is it?" The scientist seemed a little disorientated at first, but a quick look at the TV and the sky beyond the balcony answered his question. "Ah shit, it's night?! Why the hell did you let me sleep all afternoon? Now the sleeping pattern I just got into is gonna be all fucked up!"

"Phh, that's all you're worried about?" Surgeon Rick tried to play it off like it was nothing, then pushed one of the takeout boxes on the table towards him. "And miss out on the best dumplings you've ever had this side of the multiverse? I don't think so."

Rick was about to object as he came over, but hunger won out and he begrudgingly snatched up the container to begin eating. "That's not the point," he said through a mouthful of food, "I-I told you not to... to... holy shit. These are actually really good."

"Yeah?" The surgeon smirked, considering his diversion successful. "Just wait 'til you try the duck pancakes. They'll blow your mind."

After Rick had taken his place on the couch again, dinner was eaten in relative silence with the TV on for background noise. Now that it was quiet once more, the scientist looked at everyone around him, recalling the therapist's words:

"You don't have to rush through your problems and try to solve them all at once."

The advice had sounded so stupid at the time, but in hindsight it made sense; he'd bounded from one problem to the next so quickly that he'd never actually stopped and taken enough time to think any of them through, let alone deal with them. Of course, Ricktus had told him the same thing back on the ship, but he'd been so self-absorbed in his own anger over being captured that he'd flat-out rejected it.

Now that the chaos was dying down and he was in a safe, predictable environment, it was sobering; the prospect of finally facing his problems was a daunting one, and he knew that if he wasn't strong enough to cope, then it was going to be a very long fall indeed.

He was glad for the alcohol he had hidden away as a last resort, but the Valium prescription in his pocket was also starting to seem like a highly intriguing idea.

Noticing his boss's subtly troubled expression, Surgeon Rick reached for the remote control and began channel surfing until he found a deathball game to watch. "Oh hey, the finals are on. You want me to leave this on?"

Ricktus quizzically raised an eyebrow. "You like watching idiots run around?"

Surgeon Rick didn't even wait a second before answering. "Sure. I hang out with you, don't I?"

"Oh come on, that's a cheap shot and you know it. You'll take any opportunity to be terrible, won't you?" Despite his disapproving frown, there was no hostility in the reply.

Although both Rick and Surgeon Rick seemed interested in the brutality and violence, Ricktus didn't care for it; he saw no point in lifeforms murdering each other for the sake of sport. When he heard the soft sounds at his feet, he looked down; Morty was emptying out his toy box, one toy at a time, and leaving them in a pile at his feet.

He wasn't about to stop him either - it was far more entertaining to watch than the TV. Morty seemed to be having fun at first, too; his initial noises were playful and soft, but by the third armful of toys, he started to slow down and the gurgles were turning into pained, little whines.

"Goddammit, Morty... what's wrong with you now?" Rick noticed right away, but didn't want to move unless absolutely necessary; he was far too comfortable.

"Hmm... sudden onset discomfort, no outward symptoms," Ricktus mumbled aloud to nobody in particular as he thought about it like a clinical case that needed solving. "He's not hungry, because he ate with the rest of us. Did he sprain a muscle just now? He WAS lifting things."

"Yeah right," Surgeon Rick laughed as he overheard him. "Unless he's been helping you move furniture all day, then I doubt that it's that. Apply Occam's Razor, dude - the simplest answer is usually correct. When my kid was that little, she was either hungry, gassy, overtired, or she needed a diaper change. You've already ruled out the first one, so... yeah, good luck with the others. Dibs on not doing it."

"What? No! I'm not honoring your stupid dibs!" The doctor's voice rose in objection. "Whatever happened to wanting to be an equal?"

"Yeah, I still want that, but you're closer to the kid than I am." Surgeon Rick teased back. "You said you wanna take care of all the Mortys, didn't ya? Think of it as hands-on experience."

Although Ricktus knew the comment had been made in good humor, it still struck a raw nerve and he was furious. However, Morty's unhappy noises grew increasingly worse until he was red in the face and bawling, essentially ending the argument for both of them.

Within seconds, a highly offensive odor began to taint the air.

Despite its unpleasantness, Surgeon Rick couldn't believe his luck and broke into a proper fit of laughter. "O-oh my god... we have a bingo, everybody!"

"Wonderful..." With a barely contained growl, Ricktus tried one last time. "Why do I have to do this? I'll give you a thousand Council credits right now if you change his diaper."

"Fuck off, bro, I wouldn't even do it for a million!" Surgeon Rick managed to say in between his loud snickering. "You wanna be an equal, right? Then we gotta even up the score a bit."

One look at Surgeon Rick's expression and his boss's reclined position told him that there would be no escaping the task. After picking the still-screaming youngster up, he held him at arm's reach as if he were a biohazard; in that moment, he practically was.

"Fine, I'll do it," he grumpily declared, "but if you're childish enough to keep score, then I demand a reset to the counter because I refuse to play catch-up!" With that, he huffily turned on his heels and marched into Morty's bedroom.

"Well, if you ever needed proof that even the most proper of Ricks can be pushed into petty bullshit, then look no further." Rick let out a soft chuckle, finding the behavior both amusing and a little pathetic. "But you should probably go in there and save him."

Surgeon Rick's face immediately fell in disappointment. "Aww man... why?"

"Because I'm tired... a-and my head hurts. You handle it." Rick answered truthfully. "For real though, you've known him longer than I have, and you know how hard he's gonna fuck it up. This is also an opportunity for you to teach a lesson instead of being an asshole. Take it before the window closes."

"Fair point. Can't argue with that..." With a reluctant nod of agreement, Surgeon Rick got up and went to stand in the doorway of the smaller room, peeking inside.

At the changing table on the far side of Morty's bedroom, Ricktus seemed to have a hold on the situation; everything he needed was already laid out, and Morty had been buckled in place so he couldn't fall off, but now his little arms and legs were thrashing around as he sobbed in protest to the loss of his freedom in addition to his pain.

"Calm yourself, young man. I cannot help you if you try to fight me." Ricktus gently admonished him as he snapped on a pair of disposable gloves, figuring they were essential for what he was about to do. "You know, you're just like your Rick... he wouldn't cooperate either when he was tied down just like that. But things will be a lot easier for both of us if you could, so what do you say?"

The only reply he received was a pathetic whimper before the cries began anew.

"Oh, I see how it is. Very well." The doctor clapped his hands together to ready himself before going in, then grabbed the first flailing leg within reach and began undoing the fasteners on the little boy's clothing. "After this is done, I can give you something for the intestinal pain, and maybe even something to help you sleep. How does that sound? Oh god..."

What he found waiting for him underneath was far worse than anticipated; the semi-liquid contents of Morty's diaper had escaped out both leg cuffs and thoroughly soiled the inside of his onesie. Even though Ricktus had enough foresight to put gloves on beforehand, he still reared his head back and cautiously pried the clothing off the youngster's legs using only two fingers, minimizing contact and treating him like a toxic substance.

"Goddamn, child... what the hell have you been eating?!" He was both disgusted and horrified at the same time, but used his free hand to pull out half the pack of wet wipes to start containing the mess, also clenching his teeth to stop himself from gagging at the smell. "Jesus Christ, how can something so small create so much shit? I think I need a hazmat suit over here..."

"Whew, diaper blowout on the first try? That's some bad luck right there." As amusing as it was to keep watching, Surgeon Rick stepped in; it had gone on long enough. "You're the kid doctor, dude. I would've thought you'd be used to seeing this stuff all the time."

"I deal with their insides. Not what comes out of them." Ricktus corrected him, not looking up. "I didn't even have to deal with it in a diagnostic sense because that's the lab's job, not mine. It's grunt work... it's below my level of expertise. I always allocated it to the ward orderlies." He suddenly snatched at the other flailing leg to hold it still. "Stop that, Morty. You're going to spread it everywhere!"

"Um, you should try calming down first." Surgeon Rick suggested. "If you're mad, it ain't gonna work for you, no matter how hard ya try."

The other wasn't listening, and was nearly yelling as he deprived Morty of his top layer. "Oh my god, how does shit defy gravity?! I-it's all up his back!" He yanked more wipes out of the pack, and after using them, he added them to the small mountain that was starting to accumulate. "Don't just stand there, C-711... do something useful!"

"I was." Surgeon Rick's voice momentarily soured as he defended himself, but he knew better than to feed into the other's highly charged mood and bent over to pluck a stray toy off the floor. "Kids mimic your emotions, dude. If you're upset, they're upset. You gotta keep your shit together if you wanna stay in control. And that's not a Morty-specific thing, either. It's more of a general kid... thing." He waved it over the little boy's face once he was close enough. "Hey look, Morty! A distraction!"

Despite his feelings, Morty's cries were already receding, and by the time he was stripped naked, his full attention was on the brightly colored object above. Once calm, the noises became giggles and he waved his little hands about in the air, making uncoordinated grabs for it.

"Well, that could have been worse, but to quote you directly... on a scale of one to fucked, that was pretty high up there." Ricktus admitted as he balled up all the soiled clothes and wipes, dropping everything straight into the trashcan below. "Don't bother laundering anything. Just burn it all."

"Geez, no need to be so dramatic." The surgeon suppressed another snicker. "Shit happens, dude. Literally. It kinda comes with the territory."

"Well, yes... but again, I've never really had to deal with it. A doctorate and a double speciality trumps grunt work any day of the week." Ricktus removed one glove and then the other, discarding them as well. "I can't believe you willingly tortured yourself by doing this every day for years."

"Yeah, I did," Surgeon Rick almost sounded proud now. "But the fun stuff far outweighs all the bad shit, and it doesn't take 'em long to grow out of the diaper phase. It'll go by so quick, you'll be laughing about it one day."

"We'll see about that..." Ricktus gently picked the naked youngster up and stared hard at him. "Now what are we supposed to do? He still smells unpleasant and I could use more wipes to fix it, but it would be easier to run him a bath."

"You think? No way, man. That Morty reacts like sodium when he touches water." Creasing his brow, Surgeon Rick offered another solution. "Say, why don't you hang tight while I go get a bucket of warm, soapy water? You can wash him off with a wet cloth."

Finding the idea agreeable, the doctor nodded. "Yes, and while you're at it, take the trash out before it makes the whole apartment smell. And burn the changing table."

This time, Surgeon Rick shook his head and kept his snappy comeback to himself as he left.

"Well, Morty, you've created more than enough trouble for everyone this evening," Ricktus told him in a mock-serious voice. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Poking his tongue out, Morty blew a raspberry and kicked his short little legs in the air. Unfortunately for him, there was nothing covering his lower half and when he started peeing, it went straight out in front of him.

"Oh god!" Ricktus held him at his full arm's length again, but that only made it worse and he managed to get it all down the front of his coat and shoes. "Well, that's just great... did you do that on purpose?" He narrowed his eyes in disapproval once it was over. "At the very least, I hope you're feeling better now that you've gotten all that out of your system."

Morty just silently stared back at him, wide-eyed, confused, and completely clueless.

---

In the time it took Surgeon Rick and Ricktus to finish dealing with Morty, Rick had retreated to his workstation, and had already pulled apart all three of the antigravity generators he'd ordered, along with his coffee machine and one of the standard-issue portal guns he'd found lying around. Now he was repurposing their innards to create something entirely new.

It didn't take a genius to work out what was going on when he heard the commotion coming from the next room, but he said nothing as he watched the other Ricks pace in and out again; as long as he didn't have to step in, he didn't care.

When he saw Ricktus striding towards him with Morty in his peripheral vision, he gave a soft, annoyed grunt, set his soldering iron aside, and turned his chair towards them, annoyed at being disturbed. "What?"

"Look, I don't know what you've been feeding your Morty, but it has to stop." Ricktus sternly instructed after placing the little boy down on the floor beside his new boss's chair. "Your terrible dietary choices are making him sick. Do I need to give you a lesson on proper nutrition? Because you've got to take better care of him."

"Ugh, I'll be fine, thanks." Rick made a face, then turned back to what he'd been doing. "You think it's my fault?"

"Yes," the other replied instantly. "And before you try shifting blame onto us, remember that your Morty has been microchipped to you. I haven't fed him recently, and C-711 giving him snacks doesn't count. At the end of the day, he is your sole responsibility and you need to moderate his intake. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yeah, whatever. Go away." Rick turned his new invention onto its side and sent sparks flying across his workstation as he soldered a contact into position; he was no longer paying attention.

Even though he wasn't satisfied with the answer, Ricktus let it go and came around the other side of his boss's chair. "Also, while I've got you here... I've been thinking about this all day. If I have free reign to do anything I want, then I want to start a new lab project with my own funding. The only downside is that it still needs a gold-rank Rick to sign off on it." He took a folded piece of paper out of his coat pocket.

"What? You don't need me for anything. I already gave you permission to forge my signature." Rick grumbled, but the form had already been tossed onto his workstation along with a pen. "Ugh, why is this wet?"

Ricktus kept a stoic face and didn't answer.

"Don't worry, I think I can guess. Gross..." Rick unfolded the form anyway and flipped through it, but it was mostly blank. "Lab project, huh? What are you gonna do? Because you got your Morty issue covered now. More space bees? Biological warfare? Are ya gonna develop a vaccine to help prevent Space AIDS?"

"It's a, a, ah..." The doctor stopped himself. "It's a surprise."

"Yeah?" After using his free hand to scribble an untidy signature across the bottom of the last page, Rick handed it back to him. "Go knock yourself out. I actually don't care what you're plotting. Just make it worthwhile."

Ricktus delicately took the form back and needed a moment to stand there and take it in; having a legitimate signature made it feel real and far more official. "If only everything in the Citadel were that easy." With a singular nod, he headed for the bathroom. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need a shower to wash off the stench. Your Morty caused a contamination breach, if you know what I mean."

"Hah! A-are you SURE you still want one?" Rick joked, snickering loudly. "It's not too late to turn back and buy yourself a one-way ticket to Get-The-Fuck-Outta-Heresville."

He didn't get an answer; Ricktus had already shut the door on him.

"Gee, buddy... you didn't waste much time giving him the whole authentic Morty experience, did ya?" The scientist cast his gaze down towards his grandson and grinned at him. "Though I'm surprised he didn't get it sooner. Oh well."

Morty was silent as he scooted towards his grandfather's legs and leaned against them for comfort; even though he'd been given pain relief, his miserable expression and pathetic posture made it clear that it hadn't taken effect just yet.

"Oh, hey... you're really not feeling well? That's a shame." The scientist's amusement faded, but the new information also motivated him to work faster. "Lucky for you, I'm making something special that I just know you're gonna love. If you could gimme a little more time..." He turned the invention back upright and stood up, hunching over it as he hastily soldered more components into their right places. "Do you remember that zero-gravity chamber we took a nap in? D-do you, Morty?"

The only reply he received was a small gurgle of protest; Morty hadn't wanted him to move.

"Well, this is gonna be a lot like that, but much, much smaller." Rick went on with his explanation, then grabbed a metal funnel from the coffee machine and mounted it to the top of the device with more hot-liquid solder. "See this baby right here, Morty? Yeah, it's gonna make you feel like you're all the way back in space, being free and boundless, f-floating around with no gravity weighing you down. It's gonna be great."

A small whimper came from his feet as he sat down again.

Over the next few minutes, the scientist rewired a power supply and attached it to the existing circuitry, then cobbled together a half-assed case and screwed it onto the frame. Even though he knew he could have done so much more to refine his work, he still proudly picked it up and held it out, presenting it to Morty. "You wanna name it for me, buddy?"

"Mmm-mmmh... aah-wa-wa-wuh..."

"Are you sure? Well, OK, it doesn't do anything for me, but I'll take it." With another soft chuckle, the old man carefully slid off his chair and sat cross-legged on the floor with it. "I'd be a giant hypocrite if I criticized your choices, Morty. You don't even wanna know what I name my stuff."

Once the new invention was plugged in and turned on, Rick waved a hand through the symmetrical, conical field being generated to test if it was safe. Satisfied with the result, he reached over to pluck Morty off the floor and gently put him into it. The little boy immediately drifted towards the edge, and when he began to wriggle in surprise, Rick gently nudged him back towards the center.

"Calm down... i-imagine you're in space again. Every movement you make determines your drift. Just let it take you, OK?"

As Morty slowly rotated upside-down, his head tilted back and he stared at his grandfather, taking in what he was saying. The instructions made sense somewhere in his baby mind, and a flash of understanding passed through his expression before he relaxed his limbs and let himself float.

"Hey, you got it. Good job, Morty!" Rick wasted no time praising him. "I've been wanting to make something like this for you ever since I discovered how much you like space. You do like it, don't ya? I thought it might help you sleep better, o-or help get you though those rough nights at the very least."

The feeling of weightlessness had a powerful lulling effect on the little boy, and in no time at all he began to drift off to sleep; it was well past his bedtime anyway.

"I got more shit to do, but I'm not moving far. I'm just gonna be over here for a while, OK?" Rick tried to assure him as he stood up again and returned to his workstation, glad to have a small degree of his freedom back.

When he didn't hear a reply, he picked up the other two antigravity generators and resumed soldering, a devilish smirk growing across his face; he already had plans for them and knew he could finish them before the night was over.

Soon enough, Morty's breathing began to slow as he fell into a deeper sleep, and Rick felt like he'd won again; he knew the new device was effective.

Once back to work, the scientist's mind entertained the earlier conversation he'd had with Ricktus over the new lab project, and he couldn't help but wonder what he was up to. He couldn't even tell if his guesses had been correct or not, because the other was so good at concealing his expressions that they never changed.

Rick's final guess was the incomplete curative serum, and wondering if he could beat the doctor at his own game, he grabbed a pair of microscope goggles and pushed the partially finished antigravity generators aside for a test-tube rack; at the very least, he loved the idea of a competition. Even if his guess turned out to be wrong, he would still be backing up his claim about speeding up the six-week period in which he was supposed to be recovering.

He would remain at his workstation, tinkering and experimenting with chemicals all night, and true to his word, he would still be there when Morty woke up again in the morning.