Let The Ricks Fall Where They May
Written by Kat_Aclysm
Beta Read by Unlvcrjchick
Rated: - T for language
Disclaimers + Copyrights: I don't own any of these characters, this is a work of fanfiction. Rick and Morty is an Adult Swim animated comedy created by Justin Roiland and Dan Harmon. WATCH IT FOOL.
NOTE: Second part, a direct continuation from Chapter 8, the larger subplot in this chapter is a request by Sillycritter :) There are also hints at PTSD trauma. Grammar and repeats tidied.
The sun goes down, the stars come out
And all that counts is here and now
My universe will never be the same
I'm glad you came
- Glad You Came - The Wanted
Chapter 9 – Do It For Him
Rick had already been on the ground a few hours by the time he would be interrupted again. The hangover medicine that Birdperson had given him had finally kicked in and so his mind was finally clear and pain-free, which allowed him to put himself back to task.
Several blueprints were scattered across the ground in the immediate area around the scientist, but he had since put them aside for a different project entirely. His main focus was now on the piece of wood in his hands as he dug a small whittling knife into it, delicately shaving pieces off the sides, carving the chunk into a very deliberate shape. The same process had already been carried out on two other pieces, but the third was going to be particularly special so it was being done with extra precision and care.
He didn't look up when he heard the flurry of wing flaps overhead.
"Rick," Birdperson said once he was on the ground; he'd made a point of making noise during the landing because he hadn't wanted to startle the other. The house had been far too quiet for his liking and he had been surprised to discover that Rick wasn't there at all. For somebody who started the day barely being able to function, he had gotten surprisingly far away. "There you are. I have been looking for you."
"Oh, hey, BP." Rick shrugged at him, "Did you come all the way out here just to check on me? Phhh, what a waste of your time."
"I was thinking about what you said earlier," Birdperson launched into his thoughts right away, "if something is tracking you with intent to harm you, then it would be a wise idea to keep an aerial-eye lookout while you are away from the house."
"Oh, that..." Rick frowned; he had been so preoccupied with what he was doing and the fallout with his grandson that he had forgotten about it. "Don't worry about that, BP, you don't have to babysit me. I've already accepted it. If it comes for me, it comes, y'know? It's me they want, not anyone else here. If you're really serious about keeping an eye out, at least carry a big-ass weapon around. I did tell you that, right? Intimidate them a little, m-make them think you're gonna kick their ass."
"How are you feeling?" Birdperson ignored what he was saying; now that he knew his friend was safe, he was more concerned with his health.
"I'm fine now, your hell cocktail powder did the trick. Sure could do with another drink, though." Rick smirked up at him as if demonstrating that he hadn't learned anything at all. "Hey look, I kinda wanted to be alone, but now that you're here, you can actually do something useful for me." He picked up one of the wood carvings, along with a folded-up blueprint. "This is my design for a new plasma-containment bulb. Do you think you could take it to the glassmith for me? It needs to be fortified and damn-near unbreakable this time, I don't want to crush it again with my ass. If the glassmith wants to bitch about making something so complex, just remind them who I am and what I've done for this goddamned planet." He smirked arrogantly, knowing full well that namedropping could probably do him a lot of favors if he actually pushed it. "And if they want payment, tell them that they can demand whatever price they want so long as the bulb is made first. Have to get the portal gun working before I go get money, right?" He held both items up, impatiently waving them around in the air.
"Are you sure?" Birdperson reached out to take them. He took a moment to examine the rounded shape of the carved wood and turned it over in his hands. "This seems to be something that you could easily create by yourself. Did you use this design for the last one? Surely you can just make it again."
"I don't have any more time to waste on it." Rick shrugged as he picked up his whittling knife again and resumed carving, flicking the knife across the wood-grain in quick successive strokes. "Did you know we've already been here five days?" Anger rose in his voice and he carved faster, sending wood shavings scattering across the rest of his blueprints. "That's five days of sitting on my ass, a-and two of those were wasted through puking our guts out! In two more days it will be a whole fucking week, and what do I have to show for it? Nothing!"
"You have done plenty in that space of time, Rick." Birdperson told him. "Not all your achievements have to be measured by the quantity of your work." He hoped Rick would get the intention behind his statement; he'd already seen a lot of personal growth in his friend within the short time he'd been stranded on Bird World and wanted him to acknowledge it. "It does not matter, that is not why I am here." He opened a small leather satchel that had been attached to the side of his belt and removed the two items that had been in there; a water canteen and a clear bottle of suspicious-looking liquid. He carefully deposited both items on the ground next to the scientist and watched, hoping he would accept them. "These are for you."
"Oh?" Rick was immediately suspicious, but curiosity quickly overtook his mind. He set his work aside and picked up the bottle, only to cautiously eye off the contents. "What the hell is this?" He held it by the neck as he shook it up, his eyes watching the sediment swirl around inside. He wasn't at all impressed, and now that the drink was cloudy, it looked even less desirable than it had been at first sight.
Birdperson quietly observed Rick's disgust as he pondered how best to explain. "Seed wine," he stated after a hesitant pause, "you did not have anything left to drink. I hope this is an adequate replacement until you are able to obtain something else."
"I'm not really a wine drinker, BP. But thanks for thinking of me, I guess..." Rick continued to shake up the bottle, glaring at how dirty the liquid was inside. "What the hell did you do to distill it? It doesn't even look like it's been filtered." He pulled the cork off and took a cautious sniff, immediately screwing up his face at the potently sour offensive smell that assaulted his nostrils. "Oh god! Is this even drinkable? I-it smells like a rancid fart!"
Birdperson folded his arms. "Nobody drinks seed wine for the flavor or the smell, Rick."
"Yeah-yeah-yeah..." Rick grumpily dismissed the statement and took an experimental swig, only to immediately gag on the taste, utterly repulsed by it. "Bleaghh!" He spat the remainder out onto the ground beside him in his disgust; it was rare for him to reject anything alcoholic, but this was a new low, even for him. "Jesus, y-you bottled a liquid fart, Birdperson! Are you trying to kill me? Is this seriously the kind of crap you drink to get yourself wasted?!"
"Not me personally, Rick. However, I could probably locate some beer if you would find that more to your liking." Birdperson idly tapped his chin with an index finger as he pondered alternatives. "I also know somebody who makes mead from pine sugar."
Rick didn't seem content with either of those suggestions. He placed the cork back into the neck of the bottle and set it down on the ground beside him. "It'll have to do. It's... it's not going to kill me," he picked up his wood carving and resumed where he had left off, "at least, I hope not..."
"There is also a canteen of water," Birdperson nudged it with his foot, pushing it a little closer towards the other, "keep yourself hydrated."
"You're not my mother," Rick angrily muttered back at him, "d-don't tell me what to do..."
Birdperson shook his head; Rick was very much back to his old self again, that was for sure. He decided to sidestep the subject entirely, wanting to avoid any potential aggression from the other. "What are you working on right now?"
"Portal gun..." Rick mumbled in reply. He knew he sounded like a broken record by now, but at least he wasn't lying.
"I see." Birdperson nodded, immediately making note of the fact that while the shape of the wood carving did indeed look like one of his portal gun designs, it seemed to be too small somehow.
Rick's next question seemed to come out of the blue. "Where can I find paint?"
"Paint?" Birdperson had to blink at that; he couldn't see any conceivable reason why Rick would want such a thing. However, he knew better than to ask questions and casually pointed off into the distance. "There is a small workshop about fifteen miles south of our position. If you wish for me to take your design to the glassmith and to get it made today, I will need to travel there anyway."
"Great, kill two birds with... uhh..." Rick trailed off in the realization of what he was saying. "Y-yeah, sorry about that: insensitive idiom." He quickly shook his head, getting his thoughts back on track. "Just get me some paint. I need..." He narrowed his eyes in thought. "All three primary-color pigments, along with black and white. I don't need terribly much, just enough to cover some, uh... gadgets with it." His tone suddenly became harsh. "Make sure they're durable and non-toxic. The non-toxic part is r-really important."
Birdperson nodded in acknowledgment. "Do you need anything else?"
"Scotch-whiskey if you've got it." Rick muttered in annoyance and he was still very much sour over the fact he'd broken his last bottle; it had been an expensive brand and one of his favorites. "Or rum. Or vodka. Or sambuca. Anything that isn't fermented, prison-toilet juice, b-because that's basically what you've given me, Birdperson; a giant load of ass-farts in a bottle." He knew he should probably be thankful, but he was still in a sour mood.
"If I find a more suitable replacement in my travels, I will be sure to inform you as soon as I can." Birdperson didn't wait for a reply. He extended his wings and took off with a single powerful down thrust of his wings, kicking up dust and plant debris in his wake, leaving the scientist to himself once again.
Rick watched him go, not seeming to care that his blueprints were scattered in the wind. He simply lowered his head and resumed what he was doing, knowing full well that although he had sidestepped his main objective, what he was doing would be totally worth the time investment if it only worked.
Morty found himself being carried back into the strange house that he didn't like, but was getting used to by necessity; there wasn't anything to be afraid of here. The young boy was deposited in the middle of the floor by the strange-looking feathered lady and left to his own devices, which he didn't like either. He watched her towering large form walk away and began to whimper in protest, not wanting to be left alone.
However, he was quickly distracted out of his misery; the loud domestic chaos unfolding around him was more than enough to knock him out of his simple thoughts. The three, tiny-feathered children that always seemed to be inside were fighting with each other and flying around the room; this was one of the only activities that Morty had ever really observed them participate in, at least when they weren't sleeping. He would have joined in but he had chased them enough times to be bored of the game. They were nearly impossible to catch, so grabbing at them and pulling on their feathers had become a waste of his effort. Morty instead turned his attention to the furniture around him and his little mind was immediately trying to work out if there was anything fun or interesting around that he could get into.
That train of thought didn't last very long either; he saw one of the small feathery children coming at him and he gave a loud yelp, diving to the space under the couch; there was barely enough room for him to fit but he squashed himself under there anyway. He watched the feathery child crash down onto the floor, only to get back up and tackle one of his siblings, not seeming to care what had just happened.
Now that Morty was under the couch, he seemed pleased with the discovery of a good hiding place. There was a stale odor surrounding the area and it was cold, but at least he felt safe. Morty's attention was soon drawn towards a bug beside him on the floor, attracted by its shiny color and iridescent green wings as it crawled along. He picked it up and promptly popped it into his mouth, a little disappointed that it didn't taste like anything. He swallowed it while it was still wiggling and didn't think about it again; he really hadn't learned a thing about randomly eating things he found lying around. That event was already distant noise and a faded memory compared to everything else that had happened since.
Morty's attention was suddenly diverted as he heard crying; he cautiously peered out from under the couch, his gaze glued to the smallest of the three feathery children as he watched her flop onto the ground. When she made louder crying noises, he knew something was wrong but his baby mind was too young to deduct what that was. He simply stared at her, finding her flailing behavior to be very strange and something to be avoided entirely. Whatever had made her upset, he wanted no part of it.
The little boy could hear low warning trilling sounds and he froze; the two bigger feathery children were staring back at him, having decided he was their next target. Their posture became low and predatory as they started prowling towards him, coming closer. Morty loudly whimpered with uncertainty; he wasn't quite old enough to reason through what was about to happen, but he already knew he really didn't like it. He scooted out from under the couch and hastily retreated. If he were with somebody from his family and feeling a little more confident, he might have been bold enough to fight back, but right now all he wanted to do was get away.
Morty made a high-pitched, terrified wail as the first one gave chase, causing him to break into his awkward, clumsy run. He took five hurried steps and teetered backwards, somehow managing to balance himself to run another eight, making sharp noises of alarm on each exhale. He stumbled forwards and as he began to trip, only to be grabbed up in a pair of large feathery arms before he hit the deck.
Gresharak puffed out all the feathers on her body as she deftly scooped Morty up in mid-tumble, glaring down at the two boys who immediately crashed into her legs as they failed to reach their intended target. "Stop this silly game. We do not chase. This is a human, he cannot fly. And you're both bigger than him, so stop being mean. You should know better than this."
"Sorry, mom. He was a good target," the eldest one replied, offering a pathetic grin, "it is just a game, we are not going to hurt him. Is it all right to continue practice pouncing on him?"
"NO." Gresharak gave both of her sons a harsh glare, causing them to shrink away from her.
Morty immediately sulked in the bird woman's arms and grumbled at her in rushed nonsensical noises about his unpleasant experience. He grabbed onto her feathers and tried to climb the rest of the way up her body as if getting a higher position over the others on the floor would somehow lessen the insult of what he had just experienced.
The bird mother simply resumed what she had been doing around the house, tolerating whatever the young boy was doing to her. "I do not know a thing about you, or what you are even saying to me, little one." She seemed a little sad as she carried him into the back room to tend to his personal needs; he smelled awful. "And worse, you may never know anything about yourself, or where you came from."
The next couple of hours were much quieter and far more bearable. After being fed on more of the same food that had been shoveled into him previously, Morty was game enough to try playing with the feathered children again; being used as prey had been quickly forgotten. Fortunately for him, the boisterous male hatchlings and their timid sister had calmed down enough to accept the clumsy little human back into their games.
After stealing most of the cushions in the house, the couch became a pillow fort. When it became boring, they playfully shoved each other into the soft structure to make the fort collapse. After that game had become tiring, the wooden toys were dragged out and used as projectiles; Morty thought throwing them out of the open windows of the tree house was absolutely hilarious.
Expending so much energy made him tired. The bird-mother seemed to pick up on this, and within another fifteen minutes, all four of them were all scooped up and placed on the giant nest-bed in the back room of the house. Morty somehow joined the tumble of limbs and wings, becoming part of the chaotic jumble of sleepy siblings. Soon there was somebody's arm across his chest, and a different child's leg comfortably bent and resting across the top of his head. He didn't care however, he was quite comfortable. He soon drifted off to sleep, his belly full of food and surrounded by many warm feathers.
It was a sad thing to admit to, but not having a child around to demand his attention or distract him at every available opportunity had meant that Rick could use his time out to be incredibly productive. He'd since finished off his side project and painted his wood carvings; now they were left out on the landing of Birdperson's tree house to dry. He retreated back to the spare nest room and powered his way through adding components to both layers of circuit board, finishing them off with the same level of precision and care he had always done. They were soon linked to each other with multiple layers of dense insulated wire and Rick was finally pleased that he was making real progress.
Other things were soon pulled apart and added to the internal circuitry; the battery, the plasma core, and the LED portal generators were the only things he could salvage from the old model. He reclaimed parts from whatever gadget was accessible to him, and with a large amount of reluctance he had pulled apart his old electric guitar and amplifier, regretful for the fact he had never gotten another chance to play with them again. Soon after that, even his old cellphone was ripped apart and added to what had become a half-planned, half-improvised pile of electronic guts.
His new portal gun would need a new interdimensional display, and he soon found it in the CD player that Morty had so conveniently broken a few hours earlier; it used bright red digital characters on a black background which would actually turn out to become useful in low-light conditions. Rick had to concede to the fact that if Morty hadn't been screwing around, he might never have been inspired to use such an aptly appropriate display for the device. The volume knob soon made a nice adjustable dial and it was quickly repurposed and added to the design.
Rick delicately laid the portal gun's internal guts out on the table before him, afraid to damage it, even slightly; it was so close to completion that it would just be an insult to break now. Part of him wanted to connect the battery just to see if it had enough charge, but he knew that without the plasma bulb and the casing to keep it contained, the immense energy output that would build up as soon as an active circuit was made would quickly become unstable and all his days of hard-won effort would spectacularly blow up in his face.
All he could do was wait until Birdperson returned with the bulb, and he hoped with every fiber of his being that his gamble with the glassmith would pay off. He could spend all day tomorrow on the casing, that wasn't going to be a problem. The scientist leaned back in his chair and took a sip of from the bottle of rancid, cloudy-grey wine, and although he was repulsed by the taste to the point of actually feeling nauseated by it, having anything to drink at all was better than the alternative.
Rick stared up at the ceiling as he took another forced swig from the bottle, his mind torturing him all over again. He knew that he should be feeling proud right now; the amount of progress he'd been able to make today alone was absolutely astounding. However, now that he didn't have to worry as much about his portal gun, all he felt was immense regret over how badly he'd treated his grandson. He set the open bottle aside and closed his eyes, placing a hand over his forehead, trying to make it stop. Part of him really didn't want to go back and face what he had done, but he knew he had to. He was also becoming anxious over the fact that he was likely going to get another harsh lecture from the bird woman as soon as he saw her again, because no matter how angry or cold he could portray himself to be, she would be right; he was a terrible person.
Rick sat up properly and pushed his chair back, getting to his feet. He knew that no matter what he did now, he was only delaying the inevitable. He also knew that the longer he left it, the worse it would get. He had to do something; Morty's happiness was worth everything to him and the little boy was one of the only reasons he still wanted to be alive.
He had been the one to start it; now he would be the one to end it.
Somebody was kicking him and he didn't like it. Morty made a sleepy noise in protest and whacked his arm out to the side, smacking the leg away from his face. He was immediately rewarded with an aggressive wing-smack to the shoulder. He wasted no time grabbing onto the wing, biting into it as if to express his objections to being so rudely woken up. If he had more teeth it might have hurt, but the wing was simply withdrawn again, leaving the little boy to slobber down the front of his chin and clothes.
The female hatchling was the first one to move out of the cluster, for she had been sleeping in an awkward position and wanted to stretch. Her older brother immediately saw an opportunity to pounce and tackled her to the floor. In another moment, it was no holds barred and the loud strange game of tackling and screaming was back on all over again. Morty sat back, wanting to stay well out of the fray; the last time he had participated, it had ended in abrupt contact with the floor and incredibly unpleasant experiences.
When the bizarre fighting game moved out of the room, Morty simply followed it, only to stop dead in the living room; the tall, spiky-haired man who called himself 'Rick' was back, his attention locked straight on him. Morty stared up at his towering form to match his gaze but dared not approach, having remembered the fact he had been angry about something before. The little boy simply wasn't game enough to see if it was still the case, and not even the sight or smell of the familiar person would entice him to come closer until he knew it was safe; he didn't want to be yelled at again.
"So what are you going to do?" He heard Gresharak's voice travel across the room from somewhere overhead. "Do you remember everything I said to you before?"
"N-now's not really a good time for another lecture about that, OK?" Rick's reply was worn down and defeated. "I just... I-I just wanna take him and get out of here."
Morty didn't have the capacity to comprehend the conversation and quickly retreated under the couch, having remembered it to be a safe place. He watched Rick's feet move closer and then stand directly in the space in front of him. He still wasn't willing to come out.
"H-hey little buddy." Rick crouched down, resting his elbows on his knees, his lab-coat tail ruffled out on the floor directly behind him. "You gonna come out and say hi, o-or are you gonna stay in that foxhole forever?"
Morty made a loud noise of alarm in reply, not wanting him to come any closer. Although the lab coat would have been something he wanted to pull on and play with under normal circumstances, he was far more interested in expressing his unhappiness in nonsensical grumbling sounds.
"Y-yeah, I know, I know... I really screwed up this time, huh?" Rick's voice was low as he moved back to his feet and took two paces backwards, allowing the youngster some space. "Your grandpa is a horrible old man." There wasn't even a hint of sarcasm as he made the statement; he meant every word of it.
Morty cautiously peered out from under the couch, his attention fixated on Rick's face; he didn't seem angry at all now, only very sad and tired. The little boy couldn't work out why that was the case, but it certainly made him look far safer to approach than he did before.
Rick sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, silent. He pulled a couple of brightly colored, wooden objects out of his upper coat pockets and carefully deposited them onto the floor space in front of him, hoping that the little boy's curiosity would be enticed enough to come over and take a look. His gaze attentively locked onto Morty once again as he waited to see if he was going to accept what he'd made for him, though that didn't even really matter; he just wanted to be forgiven.
Morty finally wiggled out from under the couch and took two cautious steps forward. He still wasn't certain of Rick's mood but didn't want to risk the chance of making him upset again. He made another three wary steps across the room, finally standing in front of his grandfather, staring at his face as if needing time to read it, entirely uncertain of himself; he didn't know what was going to happen.
Rick sat and patiently waited, prepared to stay for however long it took for his grandson to relax in his presence again. With an outstretched hand, he gently nudged the first of the wooden objects towards the little boy and then the other, hoping to gain his interest with them. Both of them were small, wooden toys he'd made during the day simply because Morty didn't have any of his own to play with. The first was a small, round-toy spaceship that he'd carved out of a piece of driftwood near one of the hot springs. The other was a tiny, wooden portal gun that he'd painted up to look like a near-identical replica to the one he had been designing, made to scale for Morty's size. He'd spent the most amount of time on it simply because he had wanted it to look accurate. He knew that a baby wouldn't care about such details, but he certainly did.
Morty bent over to pick up the wooden spaceship, holding onto it with his left hand. He gave it an experimental shake, only to discover that it didn't make noise like a lot of the other toys he used to own and he quickly lost interest. He made a grab for the tiny portal gun toy and popped the handle straight into his mouth.
"If that's what you want to do with it, little buddy, then you do that." Rick told him, his voice quiet. "I actually don't want you to touch mine when it's done, so... we finally have a compromise. And yours actually got finished before mine, s-so technically, you have the first one off the production line."
Morty's attention drifted from one toy to the other in his hands, and then he dropped them both onto the floor so he could crawl into the empty space in his grandfather's lap. Once he worked out he wasn't going to be shoved away, he buried his face into Rick's shirt, happy to be close and take comfort in his warm familiar scent.
Rick lowered his head, regret still weighing heavily on his heart. While he was relieved about the fact that Morty was willing to sit on him again, it didn't do anything to make him feel better. He raised a hand and idly allowed his fingers to play through the baby boy's hair as he ruffled it up, noticing that it was growing out and becoming almost too long for him. It had started forming into small soft, unkempt spiky clumps over the top of his forehead and he began to wonder if it was a case of genetics being expressed or the fact that he hadn't had a decent bath in a while.
Without saying anything, Rick reached out to pick up the wooden toys and placed them back inside his lab-coat pockets. He carefully picked Morty up, holding him firmly in one arm as he pushed himself back up onto his feet. His attention was on the doorway now, and all he wanted to do was get out of there so he could make a proper apology to the little boy back in the privacy of his own room.
"Are you leaving?" Gresharak's voice called out across the room and she moved to stand in the doorway; she had been staying back out of the way, silently watching them the entire time.
"Y-yeah." Rick's response was quiet and devoid of his usual overtone of anger and grumpiness. He shrugged at her and stepped outside.
The feathery woman quickly moved after him. "Can I have a word with you?" The words came out rather hurriedly as she stood in the doorway, though her tone was completely unidentifiable.
Rick didn't like the sound of those words and was incredibly suspicious; he didn't want to give her any more opportunities to launch into another long-winded talk. He responded with a short irritated huff as if to express the fact he wasn't interested, and he retrieved the baby harness from where he had dumped it outside the doorway, wanting to hasten his retreat.
Gresharak shook her head, knowing that he had a right to be grumpy after the conversation they had earlier in the day. "Look, I know you are trying as we all do. We all worry about the kind of job we are doing. We worry if we are being good parents and if our actions are negatively affecting the people we care about. However, that does not excuse my behavior today. I passed judgment too harshly and I cannot help but wonder what would have happened if I was not present. I feel that my being there only prolonged the suffering for both of you."
"Don't worry about it." Rick grunted back at her as he set Morty into the harness. Once he was satisfied that the little boy was secure, he carefully slipped his arms into the straps and hauled Morty over his back. "You had a valid point, t-that's all that needs to be said." He clipped the remaining straps firmly around his chest, his fingers lingering over one of the holes that had been made via shrapnel damage; it was yet another reminder of the situation they were in and made his mind wander back to the events that had taken place nearly a week ago. The scenes began playing out from his memory and he became quite distracted, his gaze distant.
Gresharak moved to stand in front of him, staring at his faraway expression. She found him a positively impossible creature to predict, and she was a little surprised he hadn't blown up. "Are you all right?"
Rick didn't answer her; his mind had zoned him out entirely.
The bird mother sighed. She could see that something was really troubling him and she guessed that it was because of what she had just said. She stepped in close and moved her arms around the willowy human, pulling him in close to her chest for a big crushing hug. "You are not going to appreciate this, but you could do with it anyway."
Rick was immediately snapped out of his thought processes and flailed his arms in immediate objection. "W-what the hell?!" He tried to get away, but she was holding onto him too hard. After she had released him, he stumbled backwards in disgust, immediately turning his attention towards straightening his lab coat and clothes; it was all he could do to redirect his annoyance. "Do you have ANY respect for personal space!?"
Gresharak stepped back, clutching her hands together, smiling at him, having found his awkwardness amusing to watch. "I am sorry for the grief I have caused you today, and I am also sorry that I judged you. I barely know you and I thought it my place to speak my mind. I am saying this because I care."
Rick flattened his brows as low as they would go, giving her the most unimpressed face he could muster, finding her sappiness almost nauseating to listen to. "It's just a word. You know that, right?" He turned around and headed for the rope ladder. "That word is so commonly overused that it has no meaning anymore. You truly wanna say sorry? Do it with actions, don't talk about it. Liquor says 'I'm sorry' SO much better than words." He paused after making his way down two steps to glare back at her. "And none of that horrible, seed-wine bullshit!"
Morty made happy noises as he peered over Rick's shoulder, his attention up on the bird woman. As he watched her position rise higher and higher with each ladder step that his grandfather took on the way down, he gave her a clumsy wave in their departure. He was finally happy again.
Being able to escape back to the privacy of his room had been more than a welcome relief for Rick. He had been mentally preparing himself all day for this moment and now it was finally time, he was going to invest a hundred percent of his attention and effort into demonstrating how sorry he was. His confidence in being able to manage the needs of the little boy that he was entirely responsible for had taken a huge beating today, and all he wanted to do was make the guilt go away. However, he was already aware of the fact that he might not be able to.
All he could do was try.
He turned the overhead light off; it would be too harsh for what he wanted to do right now. Once the lamp at his desk was on, he aimed it at the wall and adjusted it until the light of the room was to his liking.
He unclipped the baby harness and took Morty out of it, only to retreat with him to his roll-away cot; the little boy deserved some serious cuddle time. As he lay down on his back, he set the youngster at his chest and ignored the faint pain and intense itchiness that flared up all the way up his back as he pressed his body weight down onto his healing injuries. He knew that his sutures would probably need to come out soon, but he would leave them another couple of days before asking about it; he really didn't want to see that medic again if he could help it.
Morty responded positively to being on Rick's chest. He turned his head sideways, wasting no time to seek out the sound of his grandpa's beating heart where it was loudest at his sternum; he had always found it particularly soothing. Just being back with his favorite person and enveloped in his warmth and familiar scent made him dreamily content.
"I'm really sorry that I keep fucking you around, Morty..." Rick's voice was very quiet and miserable as he placed one hand on the little boy's back, the other on his head, idly running his hand through his soft hair. He'd been wanting to do this for a while, but had been denied of the ability to do so; it had simply hurt too much until now. "I just want to do right by you, but I keep failing at it..." His brows were creased in heavy regret as he carefully watched the little boy, relieved that he was willing to accept his presence again.
"How the hell do I keep managing to screw up so hard with you, little buddy?" As he watched his grandson, his mouth twisted into a guilty frown. Morty was a baby and may have easily let it go, however Rick's mind was far more complex and he simply couldn't, and he had completely lost faith in his ability not to do it again. "I-I keep hurting you somehow, but I don't want to. I'm not supposed to be doing this... tiny little guy like you makes my universe just that little bit more bearable. All you wanna do is be close to me, but I keep losing my shit. We're both having a rough time of it, but... I really have no right to keep doing this to you. You deserve so much better than me..."
Morty raised his head, his gaze deep in his grandfather's eyes now. He didn't understand why he was so upset, but he didn't like it.
"Do you... you think you could, y'know... try to behave a little more?" Rick's attention was locked on Morty as he placed both hands on the little boy's back, idly patting him as he continued to talk. "I'm trying, I really am, b-but you're not making it easy. You know everything I'm doing right now is for you, right? You're too young to understand that right now, but one day you're going to ask me what the fuck is going on, and... I don't even know how to begin that conversation..." He blinked hard, fighting back the desire to shed tears. He knew that he was only working himself up, but he had to speak his mind; the fact that Morty was so young and didn't understand didn't even matter anymore. He knew he could pick up on the tone and emotion in his voice and that was all he needed.
"It's really, really hard..." His expression was pained as he finally met Morty's gaze with his own. "I get where you're coming from, I need to do right by you. I-I love you, more than anything... y-you have no idea," he had to choke back a singular sob, "I can't even give you that properly, hell, I don't even know what I'm doing..." Both hands gently cuddled the little boy into his chest, holding onto him, not wanting to let him go. "I-I'm really sorry you're here with me now, kiddo. We're both so unbelievably fucked beyond redemption, and you know what's worse? W-what the fuck are we even gonna do once the portal gun is finished...? I... I have no idea... we're so screwed..." The first tears rolled down the sides of his face and he knew it was pointless to stop trying to hold them back. "I-I literally have no idea what to do..." His breath came out in pained, gentle sobs and he closed his eyes, no longer being able to stop himself. "I-I'm so sorry, little buddy..."
Morty wiggled out from underneath Rick's hands and sat up. He inched forwards and placed his little hands on both sides of Rick's wet face, peering down at him, wanting him to stop being so sad. He began mumbling to him in unhappy nonsense, wordlessly expressing his worry. In another moment he began to whimper, becoming miserable because he didn't want to see him so upset. He clumsily moved back to lay down into the crook of his grandpa's neck, wrapping his tiny arms around his neck, offering what little comfort he could.
Rick raised his hand up, running it down the length of Morty's spine. "Oh my god... what the hell did I do right to deserve you...?"
He didn't have an answer. Rick simply lay in the dim light of the room, the only sounds were his own soft pathetic noises and Morty's soft, little, raspy breaths. He cuddled the little boy because it was the only thing he wanted to do anymore; he was utterly broken, his heart was heavy, and his confidence had been completely destroyed.
It was in that moment he realized he needed the little boy almost as much as he needed him. And he was thankful just to have him there, even if the circumstances behind it all were utterly deplorable.
