November/ Week Twelve/ Month Three

After the incident with Scary Terry and Snuffles, and Phoebe's subsequent sharing of her own Help-Morty's-Grades project with Rick, he allowed Phoebe into the garage. She knew he didn't let just anyone into his personal workroom, so she quietly celebrated that achievement. He barely tolerated his family being in the room, which made her feel more than a little smug. Pack-bonding in the works? I should exploit that, Phoebe thought. So she did. She was still pretty sure her contribution to ensuring he could drag Morty through space, reality, and time influenced most of the decision, but that didn't matter. She showed him the schematics for her hovercraft and that apparently sold him the rest of the way and washed away any lingering reservations. She wanted him to know that she was intelligent, that she could be trusted.

They rebuilt the hovercraft together and stored it in the shed when they finished it—though not without modifications and upgrades to her old designs from both of them. Then she showed him her notes and schematics that she'd written out for her ideas about creating a usable device for time travel that could also be portable, and he'd shown her his box of "time travel stuff". Rick wasn't typically a sharer, she knew, but she also knew that he was probably starved of intelligent conversation. Who else could he discuss theories and inventions with if he didn't hunt down another Rick? That wouldn't happen because Rick's hated other Ricks most of all (Extreme self-loathing, anyone? Hearing about the other Ricks and Mortys unsettled her, and she wondered about whether any of them had Phoebes of their own.)

She started working on her own inventions more, and while Rick wasn't the sunshine-and-rainbows, cheerleading, self-help-book friend, he never held her back, either. If anything he sprinted ahead then tested her to see if she could keep up with him. With Rick at her side tinkering on his own projects, she worked on hers. Throughout the following weeks she made poisons, she made shoes that let allowed the wearer to fly, she made and completed patent paperwork for biofuels. (Those biofuels would bring in a nice profit, actually). So it came to be that beside Rick, Phoebe shined. Somehow they worked next to each other without killing each other, though when they first started working side by side they often worked in total silence and barely spoke to each other except to abruptly bounce an idea off of the other. Rick didn't suddenly become loose-lipped after that, but he did become something as close to talkative as someone like Rick could be. The exception, of course, were his long-winded explanations. Rick did so love to flaunt his intelligence

Rick kept his word and took her to tag along with them more often than not, and quite a few times the two of them even went off without Morty, though that was mostly so they could hit up more bars on different planets. They both agreed Morty was a lightweight and he'd only slow them down. It took her about five trips to realize that she was turning into Rick's drinking buddy. Whether because he actually liked her or because of proximity and convenience she couldn't tell, but she refrained from questioning it. She felt like if she asked about it he'd stop taking her, might even stop letting her into the garage, and she actually felt like they were becoming friends—or at least that they could. It definitely felt like they were getting closer to a friendship.

She definitely felt like they'd grown a little closer over the period of time that they'd been drinking and inventing side-by-side. More than that, she figured that the only way someone could get closer to Rick would be through something like science and drinking together. She wouldn't call them bosom buddies who would never be separated even in death, but considering that this was Rick—and as long as nothing terrible happened that made him remove her from that list of precious few people he didn't hate—she figured she might end up as pretty much the closest to a human friend he had besides Morty, though that scared her a little. Morty and Rick's relationship was...intense. If Rick had a friend on earth before the point that Phoebe moved in with the Smiths, then it was Morty. If she and Rick were actually going to be real, wholeass friends…well, fuck. She'd cross that bridge if they got there.

Currently she was helping him make a few weapons, one of which would electrocute people without requiring contact like tasers or stun guns, and another of which would expand the range of his freeze-gun. Staring down at the pieces on the table, something she'd been doing for the past five minutes, she said casually, "Did I tell you I started teaching myself how to code so we could hack into Morty's school network?"

Rick paused in what he was doing, but only for a second. "No," he said. Even though he wasn't overly happy, she knew him well enough now to tell he was pleased.

"Well, I did," Phoebe said, picking up her tools to start working again.

It was quiet for a bit, then Phoebe spoke again. "You know my father is coming with his wife to have dinner here?" Her voice was soft, closed off.

"Jerry might have mentioned it once or twice," Rick sneered sarcastically. Jerry hadn't shut up about it, in fact. His parents hadn't come over to the Smith household in years, so their impending visit was a pretty big deal to him.

"Well," Phoebe said, "I don't want to see him."

She didn't look up but she could tell Rick had looked at her. "Jerry will be displeased," he said, not sounding sorry about that at all. In fact, he sounded as if that was as good as receiving a bottle of Jack.

"I don't hate him," she said, abruptly feeling like she had to defend herself even though Rick hadn't said anything to prompt defensiveness. Her hands lowered the tool and part she was holding on to the table. "I just...I'm not ready, Rick. You probably can't relate to this, but he's a stranger to me. And I'm not—It's just, well, where the hell does he get off thinking he can come into my life and know me better now after all these years? What did he give me? Sure, he threw money at me, but what has he actually given me? Everything I've ever accomplished is my own, my awards, my degrees, my inventions, my intellect. I did that. It's like he's living in some fantasy world where he shows up with a check and a gift and has one dinner with me and suddenly everything is alright. I mean hell, I know more about you in the short time we're known each other than I've known about him my whole life."

Rick didn't say anything at first, so she thought he wouldn't at all. Then he said, "Is there a reason we're discussing your emotional and abandonment issues with your father?"

Phoebe looked up and glared at him, surprised to actually find him looking back at her. He seemed bored, disinterested, and disengaged, and yet something in his eyes was observing everything keenly. "Yes," she said. "I know you. You'll avoid his parents like the plague. You'll go somewhere else or do something to stay in this room and whatever it is I want in. You're a right selfish bastard yourself so I figured you wouldn't care if I wanted to help you for selfish reasons. I don't want to see him, it's just too weird for me right now. And I know you don't want to see them because you hate everything Jerry and those two made him."

Rick studied her. "You're right, I don't care," he said. "You're lucky you're useful. You and my daughter who's trapped in a tragic, pathetic marriage are the only ones in this family besides me who have half a brain and at least one somewhat helpful skill."

"Gee, thanks, Rick," Phoebe replied. "I feel oh so loved."

"You're also right that I hate Jerry and his stupid relatives," Rick said. His eyes gleamed. "You're not one of them. You're the single evolutionary hope in their family tree. If you breed their descendants won't be a total wash."

"Wow, you really say the sweetest things," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "I should get that printed on a T-shirt or something."

She picked up her tool and her piece and started working. Twenty minutes passed in silence. She'd given up all hope of the conversation continuing in any productive way until Rick said, "It was a stupid, pointless request. You're always welcome in here. Just don't fuck up my stuff." The fact that he trusted her in here alone made up for his callous delivery. The compliments wedged into his biting insensitivity didn't escape her notice either.

"Thanks, Rick," she said, smiling faintly at the gun she had just finished piecing together.

"I didn't do it for you," Rick said, "I'm a selfish bastard, remember? I did it so you wouldn't complain and so you'd stop talking."

"Right," she said, not really believing that was the whole truth. It was a very good excuse for someone who never allowed themselves to be emotional or vulnerable enough to have many friends.

XXX

December, Christmas Day

Phoebe had finished a hat, an oven mitt, and a scarf during her time at the Smith house. Currently she was working on knitting a pair of thick socks, a French pop station playing softly in the background and a book held up in front of her. After studying one of Rick's models, she'd built a robot to hold her book up and turn the pages so she could read and knit at the same time. Otherwise it would have been much harder to accomplish. The needles clicked, and Indila's voice issued out in the otherwise quiet room:

"Ô ma douce souffrance

Pourquoi s'acharner tu recommences

Je ne suis qu'un être sans importance

Sans lui je suis un peu paro'

Je déambule seule dans le métro

Une dernière danse

Pour oublier ma peine immense

Je veux m'enfuir que tout recommence

Oh ma douce souffrance

"Je remue le ciel, le jour, la nuit

Je danse avec le vent, la pluie

Un peu d'amour, un brin de miel

Et je danse, danse, danse, danse, danse, danse, danse

Et dans le bruit, je cours et j'ai peur

Est-ce mon tour ?

Revient la douleur

Dans tout Paris, je m'abandonne

Et je m'envole, vole, vole, vole, vole, vole, vole, vole, vole…."

"Didn't know you liked French pop." Rick's voice startled her out of her trance, and she was embarrassed to realize she'd started singing along, likely in full view of him. She didn't have an absolutely terrible voice, but she didn't have a particularly good one, either. She'd never sell any records or win any prizes or awards, that was for damn sure, but she'd also never have to feel inferior to nails on a chalkboard. Either way she sure as fuck didn't want an audience. She looked up to see Rick standing in her doorway taking a swig from his metal flask. He had only managed to sneak up on her a total of three times since she'd arrived, a point of pride for her. She guessed now it was four times. She'd been so engrossed in everything she was doing that she didn't notice him come in at all.

"Didn't know you spoke French," she shot back. "I guess I know five out of six now."

"Wrong," Rick drawled, "Guess again."

They had an ongoing guessing game going as of the last week. She'd brought up what he said the first night that they all went to the bar because she never got her answer. Phoebe decided to bug him until she did. Rick was frustratingly tight-lipped about himself and about his past, even the small details. Assuming he wasn't lying the entire time about which languages he spoke, she would guess a language and he'd tell her if she was right.

"Hmong? Hokkien? Twi? Tamil?"

"Not so fast, Phoebe. One a day."

"Fine. The first one, then," she compromised. At least she had a list for the week.

"Hmong? No, don't speak a word of it." He took another swig. "You still want to avoid your father and not-mother?"

She set her knitting down on the comforter. "Yeah," she said. She'd thought about it and all she still wanted to do was hide. "I was actually about to text you about our plans for today."

"Well, come on then," Rick said. "I'm leaving right now."

Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. "But I thought they weren't coming for a few hours still?"

"We'll be out until after they get here, and in the garage the rest of the time."

"I...okay," she said, standing up. "Do I need my usual adventure clothes or is casual dress fine?" She was wearing a T-shirt and shorts because the house was toasty and that outfit would have to be changed anyway. She knew, though, that he would realize she was asking if she needed weapons. Then again, she'd still have the daggers sheathed in her boots and she could braid her hair around a few senbon. One knife could fit into her pocket, and she and Rick could always take a few of the weapons from the garage. She really wanted to try out the dehydration gun, the one that made the body's cells dehydrate, or maybe the one that raised someone's body temperature dangerously high...

"Wear the usual just in case," Rick said. He turned to go back downstairs, pausing first to add, "Come to the garage when you're done." He grabbed her door handle and shut the door behind him.

Phoebe sighed and marked her place in her book. She had the robot power down into sleep mode and put it in the corner. She changed quickly into her usual and pulled out a lambskin coat to slip her arms into, thankful that she had a thick pashmina to cover her neck and ears. She stuffed her knitting into her portable project bag, switched the radio off, glanced around one last time, then left her room, door closing behind her. As she made her way downstairs, Phoebe made note of where everyone else was in the house. They likely wouldn't be gathered together yet because there were still hours until Joyce and Leonard arrived. Summer seemed to be in her room, if the flash of white pants against her bedspread meant anything. Phoebe heard the faint murmur of a TV show Morty liked to watch coming from the living room, and the exploding sounds of Jerry's video games from his man cave. She really only had to worry about running into Beth. She peeked into the kitchen and found no one there, so she darted across the room and slipped into the garage.

Rick was already waiting inside the cruiser. Phoebe got in beside him, taking the passenger seat since Morty wasn't coming. It was surprisingly warm inside. She guessed Rick had a heating system installed in the cruiser. She took her gloves off and pulled her knitting out of her bag, laying it in her lap. At the same time, Rick drove the cruiser out of the garage. "So where are we going?" Phoebe still had no idea what Rick had planned for the day.

"We're going to collect an experiment of mine."

The needles set into motion. "Oh? What kind?"

"His name is Ruben."

Her hands paused, her knitting lying idle in her lap. "Unless Ruben is a dog it sounds suspiciously like this is a human being." Rick didn't contradict her. "You're experimenting on a human?!" Phoebe screeched, horrified.

"Only with his consent," Rick shrugged, pulling out his flask to take another hit.

"Oh, well, consent, that makes human experimentation completely alright!" Phoebe retorted sarcastically.

"Would you rather I—" belch "—experiment on someone without their consent?" He slipped his flask back into his coat pocket.

"Well, no," she admitted grudgingly. "So where is he?"

"Right here in Seattle. In fact…" He stuck his hand back in his lab coat and withdrew a small device dominated by a screen in the middle. A map displaying all of Seattle stretched across the display. A blinking dot caught her eye. "...like a responsible researcher I tagged my specimen before I released him into the wild." He held the device out to Phoebe. "Here, take it. You'll have to give me the directions. I can't follow it and drive at the same time."

Phoebe took the device reluctantly, staring down at the flashing blip as it moved. "You put a GPS tracker in him." Her stomach twisted with discomfort. Part of her was disgusted he'd tagged a human being like a duck with a broken wing, and part of her relieved he had a way to keep track of the man to monitor his condition. Who knew what the experimentation meant for his health. This was certainly far more responsible—more ethical, even—than letting Ruben wander without any medical supervision or any way to find him again. Something else bothered her, though. If they had a way to track Ruben's movements, why leave so early? Assuming the tracking device was an implant and not a bracelet, they could reliably follow the signal anywhere and grab him within an hour. She couldn't help but voice her concern. "Then...why did we need to leave hours early, Rick?"

"Well, I hate Christmas and you have daddy issues. I thought we'd both be less mind-numbingly miserable if we got away from the house for a while."

Phoebe glared at Rick. "You do know that I can stab you before you can draw to defend yourself? I'm faster than you."

Rick smirked. "You could, Phoebe, but you won't."

"Keep pushing and I might be tempted," she muttered.

XXX

They visited a cafe this time instead of a bar, though still one in space, and grabbed lunch. She assumed he went through the hassle of going to space for two reasons. One, being that many places might be closed for the day, and another being to avoid the annoying, ever-present, continuously playing Christmas music and tacky, overdone decorations afflicting every public place in Seattle (and most places in North America, if she were honest) that remained open. It was almost strange to go through Christmas Day without seeing or hearing something that beat one over the head with Christmas-ness. Phoebe marveled at it. Perhaps the music and decoration overkill was a solely American phenomenon, yet another one of their obnoxious traditions. Then again, for all she knew other countries were just as obnoxious with it, without any regard for the fact that only one religion celebrated Christmas as a central holiday. They spent some time in a bookstore, with Rick boredly leaning against a shelf, and then, after Phoebe bought a book containing information about alien plants, they were heading back to snag Ruben.

Ruben was old and dirty and smelled like he hadn't bathed in months. His red Santa outfit had clearly seen better days. Phoebe begged Rick to go get some plastic wrap to cover the seats with before he got into the cruiser. It turned out she never had to beg. Rick agreed. They returned with plastic wrap for the seats, and she moved to sit in the back. She tried not to breathe much as they made their way back to the house.

Rick parked the cruiser in the driveway and got out, confusing her until he stuck his head in the car to say, "I'll go through the front door with Ruben to grab Morty. You drive the cruiser into the garage. You know how to open the door from the outside, and I assume you know how to roll forward, stop and turn the cruiser off."

He came around to the other side and maneuvered Ruben out and onto his feet while Phoebe scrambled from the back to the front. "Wait, Rick," she said before he could close the door.

"What? We don't have all day."

"Are you...are you being nice?" She knew he would likely just blow her off again, but she had to ask.

Rick blinked then scowled. "No, I'm doing it to establish my cover story."

"Which is..?"

"That he's an old friend that I give a medical exam to once a year." He pursed his lips. "It's also a good way for you to avoid your father. I'd call it a win-win." He turned away and slammed the door, gathering up Ruben, who had slumped against the car when they stopped moving, and half-dragging him to the front door.

Phoebe allowed herself one small victory smile as she pulled the cruiser into the garage.

XXX

The door off of the kitchen opened, admitting Rick and Ruben. "Things will go faster if you help me."

"Alright," Phoebe shrugged. "What do you need?"

"I need him naked. Now."

Phoebe's face screwed up in displeasure. "That's unfortunate. I'll get some gloves."

She scavenged for the box of disposable gloves and pulled two on, handing a pair to Rick. Together they stripped Ruben down and got him lying on a pingpong table that Rick unfolded from the corner. Rick hooked him up to a monitor, then started checking him over. "Oh, man, Pheebs, I think he's ill." He looked up at her. "I need Morty. Stay with him." He turned on his heel and was gone, returning two minutes later with a confused Morty. "He's in bad shape, Morty."

"Aw geez, Rick! What did you do?"

Phoebe couldn't help but laugh at the comment. Morty looked up and finally seemed to notice her standing by the monitor. "Phoebe! Where have you been? Dad's been frantic."

"Gee, thanks Morty. What kind of monster do you think I am?" Morty opened his mouth as if to respond but Rick kept going. "I-I'm sittin' here trying to save the guy's life! Don't worry about where Phoebe's been, focus." Rick outfitted Morty with a strange backpack and a communications device that hooked over his ear, fingers moving quickly. "I want you to find Dr. Xenon Bloom," He said urgently. "He'll know what's goin' on."

Morty trembled. "Uh… W-W-Where do I find Dr. Bloom?"

"In Ruben," Rick said carelessly as he shoved what could have been a fish bowl onto Morty's head. Actually, it looked almost like the bubble-headed top of a sort of spacesuit.

Phoebe gasped. He couldn't mean…!

"Ruben… Minnesota?" Morty guessed.

Rick scoffed. "Ruben on the table, Morty!" He connected the helmet—yes, it was definitely a helmet—to the backpack, which it dawned on Phoebe must be connected either to an air recycling system or oxygen. "Look, I-I don't have time for you to wrap your little walnut around everything." Is he seriously insinuating that Morty has to go inside this man? When Rick started fiddling with the shrink ray, she knew, even before he finished plugging it in. Somehow this Dr. Bloom is inside Ruben and Morty is about to be too. Gods. "Hold your breath until the process is over or your lungs will collapse."

Phoebe stepped forward. "Rick, is this really the safest thing to do?"

"You worry too much, Phoebe. We've been in much more danger before. Morty will be fine." He positioned Morty without sparing her a glance. She went to his side.

"But do we know what affect this has on someone so young?" she hissed under her breath to him so Morty wouldn't hear.

"W-What proc—" Morty started, but Rick had already turned the ray on, and suddenly there was no visible Morty.

"Are you completely insane?!" Phoebe said, "What if this affects his overall growth rate? He's not finished growing and he won't be for years!"

"He'll be fine, and if he's not we'll fix it," Rick said dismissively. He bent to retrieve something small—a containment unit for a miniscule Morty?—and put it into a syringe. She watched as he stabbed it into the unconscious man and pushed the plunger.

Phoebe was going to ask him how exactly he could send Morty, her nephew and his grandson, into a dirty, sick, old homeless man, or into anyone, really when the door opened and Beth stood in the doorway of the room. Phoebe flinched, not wanting to be confronted about why she was in the garage with Rick instead of out there with everyone else socializing with her father and his wife. "Hey Dad, where's Morty?" Beth said to Rick before noticing Phoebe. She seemed surprised to find her there. "Hey Phoebe, would you like to come out here with everyone else? I'm sure Rick could spare you."

"They're both busy," Rick grunted in response to her Morty both of her inquiries.

Phoebe shook her head at Beth. "Rick really needs me right now. Maybe later?"

Beth smiled, though some part of it seemed...off. "Sure. See you at dinner?" Phoebe's panicked eyes darted over to Rick, who was laying the syringe onto the table. He caught her eye and shrugged. "Maybe" she said, "We might be there if we finish in time." She missed the odd look that passed over Beth's face before she left.

"We, Phoebe? We'll be there?" Rick said as he grabbed another headset. He started to put it on, making adjustments.

"Well I'm sure as hell not going with no allies."

Rick scowled at her then started speaking into the mic. "Morty, can you hear me? Head North!"

Phoebe would only be hearing one side of the conversation. She got out her knitting from earlier and started working on the socks again.

"Depending on my aim, you should be just south of the entrance." Morty must have asked for his location.

Trying to follow the conversation with so many gaps was an odd experience, though not as odd as Rick speaking to Morty while he walked around inside of someone. "Welcome, Morty. Welcome…to Anatomy Park!"

Anatomy what? Phoebe shot a disbelieving look at Rick. "A park, really Rick?"

Rick only raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Phoebe, got a problem with it? It's a little business venture I've been cookin' up on the side with Dr. Bloom. An amusement park inside a human body. Science isn't cheap. This should really help put a dent in the overhead."

"You're unbelievable," Phoebe murmured. Rick apparently heard her. He shrugged.

"You got a problem with that last one, Morty?" Rick paused for a response. "Okay, alright, if I sounded a little defensive, it's because Pirates of the Pancreas was my baby."

Phoebe chuckled. "That's clever, Rick, Pirates of the Pancreas."

Rick glared at her. "Are you mocking my theme park attraction, Phoebe? Because I'd like to see you do better."

"Oh my fucking god chill, I'm not mocking you, Rick, I meant it. I think it's clever."

Rick's glare receded. "I-I got a lot of push-back when I pitched it, you two. I guess I'm still a little defensive. Let's just find Dr. Bloom, alright? I-I'm picking up a distress signal in the liver, Morty. Proceed to the liver."

Phoebe felt like the stream of one-sided conversation might drive her a little batty, so she put her knitting away even though she'd not had it out for very long, got out her phone and earbuds, and put her playlist on shuffle-play. She picked up one of the weapons she had been modifying last and set to work.

XXX

She was jarred out of her peaceful calm of music and work when Rick shook her roughly by the shoulder. He was outfitted with an oxygen pack and helmet, and held another set in his hands. "Some serious shit is going down and I didn't know if you wanted to come along," he said.

"What's happening?" Phoebe stood up, noticing that Ruben was no longer on the table. "Is it over? Where's Ruben? Morty—"

"We don't have time for your questions," Rick snapped, shoving the pack and helmet into her hands, "either come or don't." He stalked off to the cruiser, which she noticed had Ruben lying awkwardly on his side, his face pressing into the plastic.

"Oh my god, Rick, is he dead?" she asked, stopping and staring.

Rick grabbed her by the wrist and drug her over to his side, pushing her into the car. "No time. Back seat, now. Put your gear on. I'll explain once we're flying."

Phoebe scrambled into the back, cringing when she accidentally stepped on Ruben's hair and nose. Rick practically threw himself in and slammed the door. The garage door opened and the cruiser sped out faster than they'd ever taken off before. "Ruben's dead," she said.

"Tuberculosis," Rick replied as both agreement and explanation. "Now put your damn pack and helmet on!" He said with more urgency. Phoebe slipped the straps over her ams and slid the helmet over her head. She reached over one shoulder to connect the delivery tube to the helmet.

"Is Morty still trapped inside of him?" she asked once her suite had turned on and seemed to be working fine.

"That's the issue."

"So what are we doing about that?"

"I told Morty to get to the left nipple. As soon as we're in space, I'll push Ruben out, enlarge him with my growth ray, and blow him up."

"That's insane," Phoebe said, "but I can see how it would work."

"I'm almost there, Morty!" Rick yelled as soon as the space cruiser broke into open space a short distance from Earth. He roughly shoved the dead man upright and lit the dynamite sticking out of a gaping wound in his torso. He pushed a button that made the door spring open, then he shoved Ruben's body out, kicking it with both feet as he reached for the growth ray. He fired it at the body, which grew to an enormous size in a matter of seconds. Phoebe thanked the gods for Rick's foresight and was immensely glad they all had suits, otherwise they might have been in trouble. She had no idea how long she or Rick would have been able to hold their breath.

Rick flew the cruiser into the nipple, where Phoebe spotted Morty and a young blonde female teenager with her hair in a ponytail. Rick pulled up beside them and the door popped open, sending out a small rush of bottles that must have rolled from under his seat. Morty and the unfamiliar teen piled into the cruiser, the door closing behind them. Phoebe saw just how crowded their adventures would have been if Rick hadn't put in more seating. She could have technically sat between them in the front, but there would have been far less room and they would all be brushing against each other any time they used the cruiser.

Rick looked around. "Where's Dr. Bloom?"

Morty audibly swallowed. "Sorry Rick… He's dead…"

"Goddamn it, Morty, I ask you to do one thing!" he snarled, taking off.

They shot out of the nipple and away from the body. Only a minute passed before the force of an explosion rippled out toward them, showering the cruiser in blood and guts. Phoebe made a face. "Fucking grody," she said. She pokes Morty's shoulder. "I guess whatever happened to you was pretty wild, huh?"

"Yeah," Morty said.

By the time they landed, the gory rain of body parts, goo, and blood had ended. Once in the garage, she watched an interesting scene play out: Rick wanting to continue the park but having the problem of a dead partner; Morty's crush volunteering and being shrunk down and stored in the same cylindrical containment unit Rick used on Morty earlier; Rick and Morty's subsequent conversation about vaginas. She followed along amusedly until Rick said, "C'mon. Let's get some stuffing, I'm starving."

"Um, Rick…" Rick glanced her way. They were all out of their suits by this point.

"Oh, right," Rick murmured. He walked closer to her. "Are you-are you seriously telling me the woman with a lethal talent for fencing and knife-throwing—the same one that jumped into a monster's mouth to save her nephew—can't confront her own father? I've seen you kill a customs guard without batting an eye and threaten a cuckold that wanted to beat me to a pulp. You were willing to fist-fight Scary Terry. Surely you can handle one awkward family dinner?"

Phoebe stared at him. "Those things are different, Rick."

"How, Phoebe, how are they different?" His eyes were like two fierce moons as they bore into hers.

Phoebe bit her lip. "It just is. I don't think you understand…"

Rick reached out and placed his hand hesitantly on her shoulder. "Phoebe," Rick said sharply, but rather than the derisive bite that came out for Jerry the sharpness wasn't meant to cut, "You have enormous stones. Seriously. Y-y-your balls are bigger than mine, and that's saying something. You'll survive this, so stop dragging your feet."

Phoebe couldn't have stopped the smile that spread across her face if she tried. "You're right, Rick," she nodded, "Thanks. You're a good friend."

Rick snatched his hand back. "I never said we were friends. I just didn't want to have Jerry up my ass about stealing you away from the family or whatever."

To her own surprise Phoebe kept from bursting out laughing at Rick's inability to let anyone suspect he did anything out of kindness. With a straight face, she gave her usual reply. "Sure, Rick."

XXX

As it turned out, the family had already eaten dinner, but Phoebe still had time to talk to her father, her not-mother, and their latest lover, Jacob, before they left. She made plans to drop by on his birthday and Father's Day, and she invited them all back over for her birthday in April.