Let The Ricks Fall Where They May

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

Disclaimers + Copyrights: I say, good ol' chap, this appears to be a work of fanfiction. Richard and Mortimer is a dear little set of drawings you can watch on the animated comedy box in your house, created by some doods. IDK, it's not mine, don't sue me.

NOTE: A massive jump in scenery from previous chapters.

Hopefully the change of scenery isn't too jarring, but consider this the secondary arc of the overall story. Things will start settling soon and the bigger picture will unfold. Surgeon Rick doesn't have a canonical dimension number in Pocket Mortys (he's literally a sprite and three lines of dialogue), so I've taken artistic liberty here. Is not Pocket Mortys canonical Surgeon Rick. Will not affect your Pocket Mortys experience. I am not really a cat.


I wish I had said the things you thought that I had said
Gravity's just a habit that you're pretty sure you can break

So when you met the new you
Were you scared?
Were you cold?
Were you kind?

When you met the new you
Did someone die inside?

- Upside Down & Inside Out – OK Go


Chapter 13 – Ricktaverses Apart

November 25th, Time Completely Unknown, 2001
Who Knows Where


Rick's mind wavered in and out of awareness as several small, buggy appendages clawed at him, holding him up, carrying the human along with them wherever they would go. They were being far too aggressive in their handling as if they were anticipating escape, or perhaps they were incapable of being any more gentle; he couldn't tell. They were on Bird World one moment and then the scientist could only wager a blind guess at where he was after being dragged through the open portal that had been waiting for him.

A foul, musty odor accompanied the next location, almost as if the air itself was turning bad. From what little he could gather of his new surroundings, they were in some kind of dimly lit corridor now, and the weak lighting overhead flickered erratically as if threatening to go out at any given moment. At least he could still feel the effects of gravity; knowing which way was down did very little to soothe his mind, but at least it was something.

As Rick attempted to raise his head, he discovered that it was far more effort than he was willing to put in and he was left to stare at the floor. Flashes of green reflected across the shining metallic surface underneath him and it caught his interest; soon he found himself focusing on the perfectly shaped, hexagonal, green tiles below his feet and he was vaguely curious to know what made them shimmer with such iridescence. He didn't want to admit it, but they were almost pretty to look at.

Multiple cracks had damaged the tiles further along, but each one had been flawlessly patched up with a strange-looking, bioluminescent, green substance that almost resembled plastic. Perhaps it was wax, he guessed, considering the shape of the tiles and the fact he was being carried along by overgrown bees.

Rick supposed he should be used to it all by now; his existence seemed to be made up of nothing more than a string of bad events. He always seemed to end up on the losing end of whatever life had to throw at him.

Despite how predictable it was getting, it still managed to piss him off.

His feet lifelessly dragged behind him as the insectoid creatures continued to carry their quarry along down one dark corridor after another, their chitinous claws clicking across the tiled ground in rhythmic unison. A copious amount of drool began to trail down the scientist's lower lip and onto the floor below but he could hardly do much about it, as he had much bigger concerns; the collar had not only robbed him of his ability to move anything below his neck, but the further on they went, the more difficult it was becoming to breathe. Nobody around him seemed to care, but then again, neither did he. All he wanted to know was where he was and what was going on. The content of the air around him was also becoming uncomfortably dense and more humid with each passing step, and now there were strange, acidic odors that he couldn't quite identify. Although he couldn't entirely attribute the deteriorating atmospheric conditions to his breathing difficulties, he couldn't rule them out just yet either.

"Bring him up this way," he heard the impatient command reverberate off the metallic walls further up the corridor, "is exam room one sanitized and ready to go? No? Why can't you morons do anything right? Take him up to two instead. Hurry your pointy asses up, we can't afford any more delays."

More dragging, more corridors with the same homogeneously shaped, hexagonal tiles and a dank, musty odor. Without warning, the cluster of insect creatures abruptly stopped in front of an open doorway and launched their human cargo straight across the room, their target being a stainless-steel examination bench on the other side. Rick ungracefully thumped down onto the cold surface with a loud bang, but his nerves were already frazzled beyond being able to feel anything.

"Idiots! I told you not to damage that one, I need it for data!" The other Rick bellowed at the winged insects as the majority of them scooted around him, scuttling out the doorway again. He stomped across the room in his sour mood, his teeth gritted hard as he began to load up one of the small wheeled carts in the room with medical equipment. "Sorry about that. Nasty little fuckers can't do anything right." He already seemed to be much calmer as he picked up an elastic stringy object that looked suspiciously like a piece of bungee cord. "Sorry about this too, it's more for my safety than yours. Can't be too careful, you know?"

Rick lay on his side in the same position he had landed onto the table, not being able to do much else for the time being; all he wanted to do was learn more about where he was. His attention was drawn to what little he could see of the room around him and he immediately noted that the walls were made up of the same material composition that the corridors had been built out of. It was also as strange as the tiles: six sides, a perfect, columned, hexagonal shape. Was he in some kind of elaborate alien-beehive?

"OK, so," the other Rick wheeled the little cart to the left side of the cold examination table and hastily pulled a pair of protective goggles over his eyes. "Computer, start recording this interaction. I know you have all kinds of questions, but I want to make this quick and simple. Got that? Do everything I tell you and I'll release you back into the wild so you can... actually, I don't give a fuck what you've been doing." He reached across to pull Rick's arms behind his back and tied them up with the piece of elastic rope. Once he was satisfied, he began to adjust the dial on Rick's collar and turned it down a couple of notches. "OK, there you go. Give the nerve-inhibitor device time to scale down, it should start feeling better. Once it reconfigures itself, you should actually be able to say something useful."

Rick responded with a soft, frustrated huff and tried to wiggle his limbs, only managing a small twitch of his left leg at first. When the sharp, tingling sensations dulled, he discovered that he could clench his hands into fists. Although his arms were tied behind his back, he discovered that he still had free use of his legs. He narrowed his eyes and wasted no time bringing his left knee up in an attempt to slam the other Rick straight between the legs with it. "F... f-fuck you!"

"Whoa, whoa, WHOA! Holy shit!" The other Rick seemed to have anticipated the move and stepped back from him, seeming much more amused above anything else. "I'm impressed that you still have that much fight in you. Going straight for the fun department? Not on my watch. Computer, draw up the first clinical note: This one is lively, and he does NOT like being tied up."

"W-why did you bring me here?!" Rick sharply growled as he forced the words out, still finding some effort in breathing. "Where... w-where the fuck is Morty...? Wh-what did you do with him!?"

"Tsk tsk. I'll answer all of your questions in good time." The other Rick moved back over to him and placed a hand on the side of his head, idly flicking dried mud out of his hair. "Ugh, you're disgusting. What I need right now is for you to calm down, OK?" He began to comb his fingers through the thick brush of hair, his eyes narrowing as he found a particularly solidly-rooted strand to pluck out. "Interesting..."

"Ow! That hurts!" Rick spat back at him in a harsh wheeze. "Calm down, huh? D-do you have ANY conceivable idea of how stupid that suggestion is to me right now? I'm lying on a table in the middle of... where are we?"

"A good question, but that's actually the least of your concerns right now, believe it or not." The other Rick set the singular hair aside and picked up a folded blanket to toss over him. "Look, I get it. You're pissed off that I took you out of your dimension with no explanation. If it were me, I'd be pissed, too. But look at this from my perspective, would you? As soon as I know you're not going to punch me in the face I'll take your collar off. I'll get you fixed up as soon as I can."

"Fixed up?" Rick attempted to elbow the blanket, but his arms were bound up too tightly for him to do much good. "What? Of course I'm going to punch you in the face! Y-you deserve it!"

"Jesus Christ, stop being so stubborn!" The other Rick was clearly becoming fed up. He quietly readjusted the safety goggles on top of his head and removed the rectangular-framed glasses from the bridge of his nose, setting them down onto the wheeled cart beside the examination table. "Look, this is serious. I need to examine you, but it's going to be a hell of a lot easier for both of us if you would just cooperate. I need to get the nerve inhibitor off you as soon as possible because the longer it stays on, the higher the risk of your heart stopping. Although I can bring you back from that because I'm just that great at what I do, it would be preferential for both of us not to let that happen. Do you understand?"

"Fuck you..." The response was barely a wheeze, but it carried all the bitterness he intended along with it. Rick glared back at his captor, his attention falling on the particularly grievous, vertical scar that marked the left side of his face from forehead to cheekbone; it was such a prominent mark that he wondered why he didn't notice it before.

"Look, we've been over that already," the other Rick shook his head, his patience starting to fray. "It's 'fuck me'. Whatever, I don't care. Are you going to cooperate with me or not? You're wasting my time as well as your own. Either you agree or you don't, I don't care which... and if your heart stops, I WILL fucking knock you out to get the data I need without your consent. Don't you get it?"

Rick began to wiggle towards the edge of the table. "I've heard enough... f-fuck you, fuck whatever you're doing, fuck your entire operation! Give me Morty back so I can get out of here... I don't want to see you again!"

The other Rick firmly planted a hand on his shoulder to hold him in place. "Is that a 'no', Rick?" His eyes narrowed, a devilish smirk growing across his face. "Full disclosure, I didn't even need your consent in the first place. I have full permission to do whatever I want to you with impunity, so trying to talk it out and reason with you is merely a formality at this point. We're so damn far into deep space that the planetary systems and nebulae don't even have names out here. There's no government on board my ship either, my word IS law. And right now, you're MINE."

Rick resumed glaring hard at his captor. He had nothing to say this time, and in his silence he had conceded to defeat.

"Hah, good choice," the other Rick seemed pleased with the lack of response. "If you're going to calm down and cooperate, then I actually have some very important questions for you. When we're done, you can ask me anything you want to. It's only fair, right?"

Before he could say any more, one of the smaller insectoid workers appeared in the doorway. It bounded across the room in a panic, half-flying the rest of the way to its master. Once at his side, it thrust Morty's tiny wooden portal gun straight into his open hand and chattered to him in urgent, high-pitched squeaks and buzzing sounds.

"What did you find?" The other Rick couldn't hide his bewilderment as he raised the tiny wooden toy up to the light. He seemed particularly annoyed once he had worked out what it was and slammed it down onto the table directly in front of Rick's face. "What is this? Is it meant to be some kind of joke?!"

Rick began to laugh in spite of his situation. "You... y-you fucking dumbass... your bug lackeys thought THAT was my portal gun? Wow... that's a new level of stupid right there."

"Ugh!" The other Rick whirled around to glare at the insectoid. "This is unacceptable. Unacceptable! Go back through the portal and find the real one, and don't come back until you do!" He pointed towards the open door and gave the fuzzy creature a sharp kick to the abdomen as it departed. "Fucking idiot!"

"This whole setup strikes me as odd..." Rick's arms were still tied behind his back, but it didn't stop him from struggling. His breath came out in short rasps as it took considerable effort to struggle onto his side, yet he managed it anyway. "What... what b-business does a Rick have in the middle of space with a bunch of bees anyway? Everything is... so run down..." Now that he was at the very edge of the examination table, his attention was on the doorway, his mind already working through an escape. "Is this a derelict spacecraft? N-not really my style..."

"Ah-ah-ah, not so fast." The other Rick had been watching him from the corner of his eye and promptly moved over to push him back onto the table. "My, you're very perceptive, aren't you? Though, I would expect nothing less from a Rick like yourself. I'm glad to see your mind still works but as I said, I'll answer all your questions when we're done here."

Rick ignored him. "Just... doesn't seem like something I would do..."

"It doesn't, but we're hardly the same person, at least in some aspects." His captor sighed in irritation. "We're getting off the subject. Right now I have some questions of my own and I need you to answer them. Do you think you could manage that?" He was staring directly at him, seeming impatient as he waited for an answer.

"How could I refuse... a-after everything you've done to get my attention?" Rick grumbled in reply, making a point of scowling at him when he caught his gaze. "N-not like I can really do anything else..."

"Another good choice." The other Rick smirked victoriously as he stepped away to prepare the hair he had snatched onto a microscope slide. "Now... the important stuff. You know I've been watching you and I've made no secret to hide that from the very beginning. I also know you were unwell earlier in the week, so... do you have any lingering symptoms from that event? Any weird hair loss or unexplained bruising? Are you bleeding internally?" He paused deliberately. "Answer as honestly as you can, no matter how embarrassing it might be. There's no judgment being passed here, because that would be counterproductive."

"C-come to mention it," Rick managed to hoarsely wheeze out, "t-th-there is one outstanding thing..."

"Oh?" The other Rick carefully placed the microscope slide back onto the small table and was staring expectantly at him now, unable to hide the look of concern on his face.

"Yeah," Rick flattened his brow, the tiniest amused smirk at the edge of his mouth, "I-I have a big crack in my butt."

The other Rick sighed at him in exasperation, his patience having completely frayed by this point. "Computer, clinical note two: Giant asshole. Repeat, giant stubborn asshole." He was furious now. "Ridiculous! Unrelentingly argumentative, has unrealistic expectations, can't be reasoned with... in fact, consider deletion of the local records when his time duration is up, because we're done here." He plucked his glasses back up and set them back onto his face, seeming genuinely unhappy as he began to prepare a needle from one of the many phials of colored liquid on his small wheeled cart. "For the record, I tried, Rick. I really did. Again, this one's on you, not me. You've forced my hand here - I'll just take everything I need without your consent. I'll stick needles and probes into every damn orifice you have. I'll take everything from you and what's more," he slammed a hand down onto the stainless-steel examination table in his anger, "I'll have FUN doing it. Fuck you for being such an asshole!"

Rick wondered if he was going to die, but that thought process really didn't make much sense now; why would the other Rick be so concerned with his health if he was only going to kill him? He had also noticed that the other Rick seemed like something was troubling him; he recognized the expression because he had looked that same way himself many times before. He would have said something about it, but he already felt the sharp sting of the needle as it was stuck into his neck. There wasn't even a hope of fighting it as his vision began to waver, and he was completely out of it within seconds.

Once the needle's contents had been administered, the other Rick carefully withdrew the syringe and threw it across the room, his expression frustrated as he watched his captive slip into unconsciousness. "Seriously, fuck you, Rick. I... I-I thought you were better than this. Why do you have to make everything so difficult?"

He paced away from the examination table once again and shook his head as he returned to his workbench to prepare a batch of testing equipment. "Computer, if I'm going to be talking to myself from here out, at least put on some damn music. Might as well just get this shit over with..."


Another unfamiliar place to wake up in, another foggy cloud of haze to fight through. Rick supposed he should be getting used to this as well; he'd been unconscious more times in the past week than he wanted to recall. As his senses began to return, he was aware of a sharp, stinging headache behind his eyes and the fact that he was naked yet again. His body also hurt; it felt like he had been stabbed several times across the midsection. Still, it wasn't the worst thing to have happened to him, all things considered.

His mind was quickly distracted by a loud, gaseous hiss right next to his ears, accompanied by an uncomfortable amount of pressure against his face. It took him a moment to work out that somebody was holding a breathing mask in place so it wouldn't move and he made a harsh sound as if to object to the violation. He attempted to move his head away, but it tracked along with his every movement as if it were not going to give in to his protests.

"Yo, douchebag," the voice sounded like yet another Rick, and he spoke with such close proximity that he concluded he was standing right beside him. "Stop moving your fuckin' head around." This one sounded far less animated than the one who had captured him on Bird World. His tone was one of total boredom, like he was repeating a task he had done countless times before. "Stop being such a tough guy and just breathe for a while. It'll all come back to you soon."

Rick decided to follow the instruction for the time being; he didn't know what he was breathing, but he already didn't trust it. It was heavily oxygenated and laced with something else that was very unpleasant to the taste. When it began to irritate the lining of his throat, he made a loud, harsh cough and tried to turn his head away again; it really was too uncomfortable for him to tolerate it.

"Aw shit, is it up too high?" The question was one of legitimate concern. "We're still trying to get the counteractive surfactant blend right. It never fails to work, but no matter what we do to the flavor, it always ends up tasting like citric acid. That, and most of you guys come out of it looking like you've been blowing a snowman." A soft, amused chuckle accompanied his words and he stepped away to begin adjusting the air-supply ratios.

Rick wanted to yank the plastic mask off his face right there and then, but both arms were quickly met with a sharp snag of resistance when he tried to move them; it seemed that he was tied up yet again. "Fuck... where... w-where the hell am I now...?" He cracked his eyes open in the attempt to answer his own question and was immediately met with dim light and a high, white ceiling. The room around him seemed to be nothing more than a sterile, white box, barely big enough to accompany the bed he was lying on and the other employee who was working at the small bench directly beside it.

His assumptions were right; the other person in the room was indeed another Rick with yet another wild, spiky haircut, though more than half of it was stuffed under the ridiculously shaped, white medical cap he was wearing. However, this one was dressed up in bizarre blue-and-white medical scrubs, their design unlike any he'd ever seen before. If his scrubs had been sterile at any point, they certainly weren't now; heavy spatters of dried blood decorated his right sleeve as well as the right side of his pants. Then he saw the same familiar badge again; a rounded, silver, three-pointed star with the capital 'R' in the middle, identical to the one that the other Rick had been wearing. It was pinned to the right side of his scrubs in the exact same position. Were they part of some kind of organization?

"Seriously? You wanna know where you are, as in, this very moment?" The Rick in medical scrubs stood over him, a wide grin coming over his face. "Man, you guys ask a lot of dumb questions when you first come to, huh? You could be asking, 'hey Rick, where are all the hot chicks?' or 'hey Rick, can you hook me up with some narcotics?' But no, you wanna know where you are. You must be one of the lame ones."

"Just... a-answer the fucking question..." Rick growled at him, coughing in between breaths; all he wanted to do was sit up and spit out the horrible bitter taste in his mouth.

"Still up too high?" The other Rick carefully pried the mask off and tossed it onto the pillow beside him. "You've breathed it long enough, the air quality in here should pick you up the rest of the way. So where are you, huh? Good question. This is a bombproof, environmentally controlled triage box situated in the guts of medi-bay three. The temperature in here is a balmy 78°F, and the atmospheric blend is 21% dry oxygen and 78% nitrogen, not accounting for the other trace elements, of course. Every time you exhale, you're throwing that percentage estimate out of balance."

It should have been fascinating, but too much was happening and his mind was far more occupied with more important things. Now that his senses were becoming more clear, all he could think about was Morty and he became worried for him all over again. "Where the hell is my grandson?" Rick practically blurted out the question, not caring how stupid he might have sounded when he spoke; it was all he wanted to know.

"Your Morty, huh? Hah, no need to worry about the little guy, he's well taken care of. He's probably off somewhere having the time of his life with the boss. We have a ball pit on Level Five, and sometimes it's fun just to go in there and pretend they're atoms. At one with the universe and all that shit." The Rick in medical scrubs picked up a clipboard and began fervently scratching down observation notes. "Oh shit, dawg. You're THAT one. Hah, I didn't realize."

"Can you just... tell me what the hell is going on?" Rick scowled as he struggled against his restraints, becoming frustrated when he discovered that he couldn't move an inch. "Get these things off me!"

"Uh, ship protocol decrees that they stay in place until you're deemed 'non violent'. Once you're clear, you'll be free to skip around and do whatever the hell you want." He shrugged, the stupid grin all over his face once again. "You tried to nut the boss. Living the dream, bro. I'd kill to do that any day, but you're... you're not gonna do that to me. Nooope. I like not being subjected to pain."

Rick put his head back down on the pillow and released an exasperated sigh from the bottom of his lungs. A harsh cough soon followed it; the surfactant powder was still very much bothering him.

"Phh, fine." The other Rick seemed to be fighting with his better judgment as he paced back over to the bedside and dumped the clipboard back down onto the table. "I don't much care to see you guys suffer anyway. But just remember, this works both ways. You have no reason to punch me in the face, or anywhere else for that matter." He removed the first restraint from Rick's left wrist and then the second from the right. Once he had removed the larger clips, he took two hasty steps backwards to get out of the way, obviously well-versed in anticipating the worst.

Rick wasn't in the least bit interested in fighting and merely sat up to begin coughing up the horrible bitter powder coating his throat. When he was handed a bottle of mineral water, he tore the lid off and downed the entire thing. The cool liquid did everything to soothe his irritated throat and he tossed the bottle aside afterwards, feeling a little better about himself. However, his mind was far more occupied with the insult of being violated while he had been out of it and he grabbed at the blanket to pull over his lower half, unwilling to give up any more personal information than necessary.

"Did that work?" The other Rick asked, seeming pleased that he hadn't turned violent. When he noticed Rick's main source of unhappiness, he made a soft, thoughtful humming sound, pondering how best to explain. "Ah yeah, that... don't worry, we did what we had to. You were out of it and the boss took biological samples for... lab testing. There's gonna be some weird bleeding later. Nothing to worry about though, diagnostically normal." He visibly relaxed in his posture again, now that he figured he wasn't going to be attacked.

"Fucking great..." Rick hissed in annoyance as he wiped the white-powder coating off his nose and mouth. He wasted no time wiping his hand on the bedsheets afterwards, wanting to get the stuff off himself as quickly as possible.

"Hey, not my problem," the other Rick shrugged, "your consent and cooperation would have been optimal, but life is made of little concessions, isn't it?"

"So what now? You woke me up to do more weird shit to me, o-or what?" Rick buried his face in his hands and made a loud, pained groan; his head was throbbing and there were just far too many questions for him to properly articulate his thoughts.

"Hey, you need drugs? I can hook you up. You're probably gonna feel like shit until the sedative wears off, so..." The Rick in medical scrubs pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. "I see you met the boss. Calls himself Dr. Ricktus Sanchez, MD. At least, that's what he tells everybody. Though if you ask me, the whole renaming yourself thing is a joke - the point of being a Rick is to, you know, actually BE a Rick. You know what the MD really stands for? 'Major Douchebag'." He retrieved a cherry lollipop from the top pocket of his uniform and tore off the wrapper, promptly stuffing it into his mouth. "Congratulations, bro... you really did a number on him. I-I've never seen him so pissed off before." The mere thought made him snicker all over again.

"What the hell did I even do to him...?" Rick made another unhappy groan; the familiar nagging desire to have a drink had returned with a vengeance.

"Hah, how do I even begin to answer that?" The other Rick pulled the hat off his head and tossed it onto the workbench, taking a moment to scratch a hand through the thick, unkempt spikes on top of his head. "You wanna sleep that off? I mean, what time was it on the planet we pulled you from... morning? It's the middle of the night here, so you're not gonna miss a whole lot."

"Just... do me one huge favor. Tell me what the hell is going on..." Rick grumbled back at him. "Why am I here? Why the fuck did you pull me out of my dimension?"

The other Rick's first reply was nothing more than a casual, bored grunt. Then he shrugged his shoulders again and kicked his feet up on the edge of the bed, not seeming to care in the slightest that his charge was still in it. "Because it's our job."

"This... t-this is your job...?" Rick raised his head and was staring at him all over again, wide-eyed. "Y-your job is to..." He stopped, his mind not being able to grapple the concept in his confusion. "I don't even-" He stopped again. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Because you were at the top of the priority list. That's actually the short version, but..." The other Rick began to yawn. "How long are we gonna be doing this? You're the last one on my shift and it's late. I wanna clock off and get riggity riggity wrecked, son! Plus there's a new episode of 'That Doesn't Fit In There' coming up on channel 672. Reeaally good TV show, and the title is pretty self-descriptive."

"Priority list...?" Rick raised an eyebrow. No matter how hard he tried, he just wasn't able to hide how confused he was.

"Ugh, do you want my entire fucking job description?" The other Rick's mood began to sour as he sunk his teeth into the lollipop, crunching up the sugary shards in his teeth. "Look, I'm happy you're awake, but we could be here for hours answering your dumb questions. Can we hurry this along?" He casually reached beside him and began to pick through the medical equipment on his small table, soon finding a suitable pair of tiny surgical scissors and tweezers. "Wanna be useful for me? Lie down on your stomach, 'cause you have more outstanding issues I gotta take care of before I can dump your ass in recovery. It'll probably take some time, so I can answer more of your stupid bullshit while I work. Lucky you, huh?"

Rick was incredibly annoyed about what he was hearing, but did as he was told this time; the prospect of having the minefield of questions answered greatly appealed to him. Rather strategically, he held onto the blanket with one hand at the line of his hips as he rolled underneath it and lay on his stomach, burying his face into the pillow shortly afterwards.

The other Rick watched his careful movements and rolled his eyes, ignoring it for the time being. "So, uh... what do you wanna know?" As he got to his feet, he snapped on a pair of latex gloves and stood over the other, his attention immediately glued to the multiple gauze pads taped all across his charge's back. "Holy shit. Your file wasn't kidding when it said you got cut up like crazy. Damn, yo. I mean, I read it, but I didn't really wanna see it."

Rick made a soft, grumbling noise of protest as he repositioned the blanket, not wanting to be deprived of it any more than needed. "It was just an unavoidable consequence from doing what was necessary."

"Tch, relax, would ya? You got nothing to hide. In fact, you could make other people feel insecure about themselves if you know what I mean." The other Rick began to snicker again. "For the record, I'm not interested in seeing your junk, so stop worrying about it." After ripping off the first three patches of gauze, he tossed them onto the table beside them. "And don't be so dismissive of what happened to you, damn. I see lots of you idiots every day, but this one's new to me. It's not a bad thing, though... you've attracted quite the amount of interest. The boss is pretty fucking impressed."

"He didn't seem very impressed..." The statement was muffled as Rick grumbled into the pillow. "Is he trying to kill me, or what? I don't get it."

"Hah, no. Nobody wants to kill you here. Far from it, actually." The other Rick hunched over the other, narrowing his eyes as he tried to work out which sutures to pick out first. "Don't worry too much about the boss, he's... he'll come around. He's not dangerous, even if he tries to be. He was just trying to help you and you basically spat in his face. Not my fault that he wanted to teach you a lesson about it. You play by your own rules, you hate being told what to do. Well, guess what? So does he. Inevitably, one of you is going to lose. Unfortunately, it was you this time."

Rick wasn't entirely certain how to feel about what he was hearing. He supposed the news that he wasn't going to die was good, but he still wasn't sure if he could trust it; he barely knew this person to begin with, even if he was another version of himself. The way he had been brought in also wasn't sitting well in his mind.

"Who the hell stitched you back up?" The other Rick's next question came out rather abruptly. "Because they did such a terrible job of it that I actually feel insulted for you. You're gonna have wicked uneven scars. Pity we couldn't bag you up sooner, I would have made these seamless... fuckin' amateur bullshit." He snipped through three sutures and carefully pulled them out with the pair of tweezers. "Your file says they were supposed to come out days ago. I bet some of them are already starting to get re-infected an-"

"Wait, what?" Rick cut him off. "I'm no expert on that shit, but even I know they're supposed to stay in longer than a week. That doesn't make sense."

"Yeah, I hear you bro," the other Rick nodded at him. "You'd be totally right under normal circumstances, but..." He went silent, seeming conflicted. "Look, just go talk to the boss, OK? He kinda interfered with you before he was supposed to. I actually can't say much more, but the answer you're gonna get is actually pretty cool."

Rick scowled, becoming frustrated with the lack of explanation. He made an uncomfortable sound as the next round of gauze padding was torn off his back, but he lay there and did his best to tolerate what was happening to him; at least getting them pulled out hurt far less than getting stitched up in the first place. "What can you answer? I don't get it... what's the point to all of this? if you're not going to kill me, then why did you bring me here?"

The other Rick hummed thoughtfully. "Yeah I get it, you wanna know everything. Not sure how much you wanna hear from me and how much you wanna hear from the source. You see, I'm just a silver. I-I'm nothing more than a low-tier grunt in the grand scheme of things." He snipped through another line of sutures and casually plucked them out. "You can call me C-711, or Rick, or 'Surgeon Rick' as they like to call me back at HQ. Which is pretty ironic considering I lost my license to practice years ago."

"You're... not qualified?"

"Oh dude, you did NOT." He visibly flinched. "That is some dangerous territory right there and I'm gonna have to ask you to stop or else these scissors are going to get a lot more... stabby." Surgeon Rick narrowed his eyes, his expression turning dark. "I'm qualified and DON'T you forget it. That shit doesn't get nullified just because you get fired, y'know."

"Sheesh, whatever." Rick scowled, irritated with the direction the conversation was taking. "Look, just give me anything here, I don't know shit. Y-you... you know how frustrating that is?"

"Did you want the short version?" Surgeon Rick moved onto the next line of sutures and began snipping through them. "We pulled you outta your dimension because you're sick, bro. That and... other things. We woulda done it a lot sooner too, but the big boss at HQ was being a giant douche. You didn't get the memo?"

"What?" Rick raised his head, scowling back at the other. "I'm not sick."

"Uh, duh. Yeah you are, otherwise you wouldn't be here. You should actually be dead by now, but I think we probably saved your life. You're welcome, by the way." Surgeon Rick was beaming from ear to ear, seeming proud of himself. "Now stop moving so I can finish this, huh?"

"Wait wait, wait..." Rick shoved him away as he propped himself up on his elbows. "OK, stop. Stop right there, I don't want the short version. You're just giving me even more questions to ask here, just... tell me everything you know."

"Ugh, fine..." Surgeon Rick stepped back from him, allowing him what little space he could offer in the small room. "None of this was random circumstance, but don't take it personally. You were just a number that came up on the main terminal in the work hub." He tossed the small tools he was holding aside and retrieved the clipboard from his small table. "You see, our job is pretty straightforward. Every day, HQ gives us a list of Ricks to go check out and most of that job is just... well, you can learn more about that later. Anyway, your number wasn't too interesting initially. We actually saw your dimension bump up into the top ten about a week ago... yesterday it was priority-one. Not even a regular priority-one, just... red flashing numbers, serious fucking business. They REALLY wanted you alive."

Rick sat up on the edge of the bed properly now, his face a mix of confusion and suspicion as he listened carefully to what the other was saying. "Why?"

"Not a question I can answer, brother. Escalate that one higher up. As I said, I'm just a grunt... all I do is clean up the messes they keep sending me." Surgeon Rick shrugged as he idly leafed through the pages of the clipboard. "It seems like you got yourself in all kinds of trouble, so here we are. When the boss sent the initial communications to your portal gun, he figured you'd use your better judgment and that your natural curiosity would win over your suspicion. When you stayed behind, he thought it wise to teach you a lesson you'd never forget." He gave the other a harsh, judgmental glare from over the top of the clipboard. "You fucked up HARD, bro. Don't leave your portal gun behind again. It's not wise to do that... ever. The multiverse is a dangerous place. We're kinda getting killed out there and I'm sick of dealing with the fallout."

"I get it, I get it, holy shit..." Rick crossed his arms across his chest in a huff, his attention on the floor as he flattened his brow as low as it would go. "So what is this place? And what the fuck makes you think I'm sick?"

"If you wanna read your file when we're done here, be my guest." Surgeon Rick shrugged at him. "You're probably going to live, but... b-but there's really no predicting what might happen, so the boss is probably gonna keep you around until you're in the clear. Just a head's up there, bro."

"Fucking great..." Rick really wasn't liking what he was hearing and his mind was already back on pondering an escape plan. If he was genuinely sick, he would rather deal with it on his own terms than risk staying in the care of people he didn't even know or trust.

"This entire place is just a pile of derelict garbage floating around in space. It used to be an alien-mercenary, slash-mining ship whose name roughly translates to 'Verdant Harbinger', though we usually just call it the green turd, or the gangrenous erection. You'd totally see why that is as soon as you see a map." He seemed far too happy as he gave the description. "You were picked up as part of a salvage operation. So far it's the first of its kind, but I'm sure HQ will ramp their efforts up before too long because we kinda need more of you fuckers to stay alive." The other Rick visibly stiffened in his posture, acting out a proud, mocking pose as he continued. "You have been pulled from the depths of mediocrity and hopelessness because you are 'a Rick of interest'. We're basically giving you a second chance at life and the opportunity to screw it up again in a completely new and interesting way."

Rick snorted in disgust. "Did you rehearse that one?"

"Hah, it's a bit. You'll probably hear the real one before too long." Surgeon Rick stood over him, the dangerous grin returning to his face. "If you wanna keep asking questions, then at least shuffle forwards and let me finish up here, huh? The rest of your sutures need to come out and I imagine some of them are getting pretty disgusting by now."

Rick muttered incoherently under his breath as he complied with the request. He sat on the very edge of the bed and hunched forwards to stare down at the floor. His head still hurt, but it was still the least of his concerns for the time being.

Surgeon Rick picked up the surgical scissors and scooted onto the bed, sitting down in the space behind his dimensional double. "Holy hell, when was the last time you had a shower? You smell like a gym sock that got stuffed up the inside of somebody's ass."

"Just shut up and finish what you're doing... I-I don't want to be here, and neither do you." Rick's mood was deteriorating fast. He was already in pain, but with the new information he had to process and the fact that the other was now in his personal space, it was taking him considerable effort to keep himself contained.

"If you wanna know more about the ship, I'll give you a datapad once you're in recovery so you can check out the schematics." Surgeon Rick retrieved the pair of tweezers and resumed working. "It's a pretty impressive feat of mechanical engineering by Earth standards. Apparently, this huge bitch was born and built in space and back in her heyday, she was able to carry entire fleets across the galaxy. She was mostly used for reconnaissance and to carry large quantities of ore between planets."

"I don't care."

"Does this mean you're done asking stupid shit?" Surgeon Rick's voice carried a tone of hope. "Because I'm totally cool with not talking anymore. I wanna finish this up 'cause my TV show probably already started."

"Why don't you just record it?" Rick grunted, feeling like he was stating the obvious. "Whatever, I-I don't care. I don't want to be here."

"Yeah, I hear you, brother. I totally hear you." Surgeon Rick took a moment to gently pat his charge on the shoulder. "Yet here we are because you're so stubborn about living that you were willing to take about thirty fucking pieces of shrapnel to the back just to keep your Morty safe. You seriously gave up everything just to keep him alive. That takes some huge fucking cojones, buddy."

Rick's only response was an unhappy grunt; he didn't want to think about it.

"Look, if it's any reassurance, we want you alive. But don't think by any account that you're a special case. What happened to you? It's more or less the same in every dimension. I've seen so much shit that I'm literally incapable of feeling anything about it anymore. Ricks are being picked off their timelines like flies." As Surgeon Rick pulled off the remaining pieces of gauze padding, he paused hesitantly before yanking the final one off Rick's butt. "Our dimensional brothers are being hunted down like dogs. Whether it be by the Feds, intergalactic terrorists, alien dictators and despots, mercenaries, or even other rogue versions of ourselves."

Rick responded with a harsh yelp. "Some fucking warning next time?! What kind of physician are you meant to be anyway?"

"I dunno, what kind of Rick are you meant to be? A generic, boring one?" His attention was on the curved injury and he poked at it with a gloved finger before snipping through the sutures, pulling them out as quickly as he could. "At least you could draw eyes on this one and make a smiley face. So that's something, I guess. What made this one?"

"A portal gun bulb." Rick's answer was a harsh growl and he went stiff as a board, not wanting the other anywhere near him despite the fact he knew it was necessary. "I had the brilliant idea of not taking it out of my back pocket when I fell on it."

"Haha, bummer. Literally." The other Rick smirked back at him. "You can relax now, I don't have to touch it anymore."

"You better not..."

"Oh, would you stop being such a baby?" The question was only half-serious as he poked him in the shoulder. "As I was saying, you can't afford to sit idle anymore. Times are changing, and we're no longer safe. The multiverse is an eternal pool of pain and injustice and each dimension is its own cruel mistress playing with life and death. We're tired of it. There's no longer any benefit to the non-interference code, so..."

"So you pulled me out of my dimension to save me, yet you're not going to tell me why." Rick was a dangerous mixture of bitter, angry, and tired. "Pretty fucking terrible way to do it. I was doing quite fine on my own before your boss showed up."

"Uh, no, you weren't. Big reminder: you nearly froze to death in a hole. Like, what the fuck is even up with that?" Surgeon Rick narrowed his eyes suddenly as something particularly concerning had caught his attention; one of the healing injuries in the middle of Rick's back was particularly red and infected. "Dude, you might want to hold onto something." He pulled the sutures out and began to firmly palpate the red area with two fingers. "This is going to suck."

"What?" Rick wanted to know what was going on, but his question was quickly answered by sharp, stabbing pain. "Ow, fuck! W-what the hell are you doing to me now!?"

"Just relax, bro." The reply was uncharacteristically gentle. "The asshole who stitched you up didn't even bother to clean this one up... pity you can't sue them. Has hippie bird society advanced far enough to have developed a competent legal system?"

Rick wanted to reply but found himself tense and gritting his teeth hard instead; the pain he was experiencing right now was almost unbearable.

Surgeon Rick ignored his protests as he persisted. "You're gonna need antibiotics, this one is particularly gross. You're lucky you're not looking at it." Despite his words, he was grinning, seeming to be enjoying the experience. After a few more moments of poking, his efforts were rewarded as he managed to pry the offending piece of shrapnel out of his charge's flesh. "Not too much blood, considering. I'll tape this one up with steri-strips so don't go too hard on it when you take a shower later." He held it up to the light, taking a moment to examine it. "Huh, looks like it came off a regular old car from Earth, how boring. And just think, you were going around with that in your back all week." He leaned forward to place it on the bed beside the other, chuckling. "You want a souvenir?"

As Rick glanced down at the piece of shrapnel, his eyes widened in realization of what it was - the topside was flecked in red automotive paint: it was from Beth's car. He'd been walking around with a piece of her car stuck in his back and it was all he had left of her. Everything around him suddenly sounded distant. He had a strange feeling of falling inward and buried his face in his hands, trying to push it out of his mind again. He didn't want to think about it.

"Dude. Are you OK there?" Surgeon Rick moved out from behind him and stood up again, taking a moment to study his change in posture. "Don't have a meltdown on me. We all have a lot of shit to work through, but you'd probably feel a lot better if you talk to the boss tomorrow morning. Yeah?"

Rick didn't reply.

"Ugh, I'm not equipped to deal with this..." Surgeon Rick muttered as he turned away to rifle through the top drawer of the table, promptly locating the pack of the steri-strips he was after. He discarded his gloves for a fresh set, and then leaned over the other again, using several of them to tape up the offending injury. "You're all set. My next set of instructions are simple - follow me. I am to escort you to recovery. Go eat something, take a shower, and just... go to bed. I wish I could tell you that shit will get better, but it generally doesn't. But hey, you didn't get this far for nothing, right?"

Rick just stared at the floor through his fingers, silent.

"At least you're not annoying me with more questions." Surgeon Rick offered with an awkward laugh. "Phh, whatever." He carefully pried the blanket out from under the other, then wrapped it around his shoulders. "Look, it's no problem for me if you don't wanna talk, but," he moved over to the doorway and punched several buttons on the keypad to deactivate the air-lock, "follow me, otherwise that would present a real problem." The door in front of him opened with a loud, mechanical hiss and he began to lead the way.

As Rick got to his feet, he picked up the piece of shrapnel and held it tightly in his hand; as painful as the reminder was, he wasn't about to leave it behind. Holding onto the blanket with his other hand, he stepped out into the dimly-lit corridor. His senses were immediately assaulted with the same harsh, acidic odor he'd picked up on first being dragged into the place and it managed to knock him back to reality. "What the fuck is that stench?"

As he stared at the path ahead, he noticed that the place was literally crawling with the same strange, green-and-grey insects that had dragged him onto the ship, and they all seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere. When one got in the way of another, they simply climbed up the wall to continue their journey, and some of them were even running along the ceiling. They scooted around the other Rick ahead as if making a point of getting out of his way.

"Short answer? Propolis. Long answer, the most populous species on board decided to make extensive repairs after the ship was damaged." Surgeon Rick stopped momentarily to tap his foot on one of the bioluminescent cracks underneath him as he paced down the corridor. "Cool, huh? Despite how it smells, it's actually not gonna do you any harm. There's probably several million dollars worth of the stuff to be harvested if you were that bored."

"Why bees?"

"Why the fuck not?" Surgeon Rick laughed as he continued to lead the way. "Actually, that's only partly true. They're a very successful genetic experiment... what do you get when you mix preying mantis, butterfly, and alien-space-bee DNA? You get these fuckers." He stuck his leg out and tripped one over, promptly kicking it in the side while it was on the ground. "If you ever need something to take your anger out on, go for it. As far as they're concerned, anything with your DNA is God to them."

"So... this place is a hive?" Rick raised an eyebrow as he watched the other abuse the smaller insectoid creature. At least he knew he wasn't going to be stung.

"It never used to be but I guess it is now, huh?" Surgeon Rick smirked in amusement. "Apparently there never used to be more than six of them, but their numbers exploded after the original ship owners went and got themselves blown up," he paused, "come on, it's late. You can learn more about this stuff later."

Rick wanted to ask more, but he supposed it was just getting annoying by now. He simply put his head down and glared hard at the other Rick's back, deciding to comply with his instructions for the time being. As soon as he knew more about his surroundings, he was sure he could formulate some kind of plan to get out of there.


The rest of the journey was spent in relative silence, save for the buzzing hive of activity going on around them. Now that Rick thought about it, he was curious to know more about the place he was in and how it got to be in such a state of disrepair. Being in space was certainly nothing new to him, but he simply couldn't work out what business the other dimensional versions of himself could possibly have in a place like this. Genetic experimentation and salvage operations didn't make much sense on their own - it all had to be part of something bigger, he just knew it; it was already bugging him.

"Yo, bitch, it's up here. Welcome to your home for the next 24 hours." Surgeon Rick broke the silence. The door in front of him was nothing more than an elongated hexagon and no recognizable markings or numbers seemed to exist on any of the doors in this area of the ship. "You're actually pretty fortunate. You've been given rather cushy digs to wait out your time in until you're released back into the wild."

"You say that like this is a catch-and-release program..." Rick grumbled back at him, "Wh-what do you think I am?"

The other Rick ignored him. "Everything you should need is in here. There's a communication button on the console of your bed if you wanna annoy us. Ship protocol decrees that we station you in quarantine until we sort your shit out. The boss also wants to hold onto you until your lab results come back, so hey, you're not going to die immediately. At least, we hope not... so try not to die if you can, 'cause we don't have a high survival ratio at the moment."

"That's... reassuring..."

The other Rick punched a quick sequence of numbers into the panel beside the door, and it opened before them with a loud, hydraulic hiss. "Get in there. And remember, take a shower because you stink. See you in a bit, bro."

Rick stepped into the room, scowling as it slammed shut behind him. He immediately took inventory of his new surroundings; there was a large, spacious bunk bed recessed into the right wall of the room and a baby crib had been positioned on the floor next to it. He took note of a fresh set of clothing that had been folded up as if waiting for him at the foot of the bed.

The room itself wasn't large, but not uncomfortably small either; it was certainly bigger than the white box in which he had awakened. Everything had been painted a dull, military grey from floor to ceiling, and the whole setup reminded him more of a cheap hotel room than a quarantine cell. There was a small table in the middle of the room that had been piled up with books, along with three bottles of mineral water, an unopened bottle of scotch whiskey, and five small, silver pouches, their purpose unknown to him for the time being. The room also had a small bathroom attached, which he supposed was necessary if he was going to be stuck there for a while.

"Geez, how long have you been planning this one out? I-is this supposed to fill me with a sense of security? Because it's not working." Rick grumbled aloud as he tossed the blanket onto the floor. He dropped the piece of automotive shrapnel onto the small table and made his way into the bathroom. He wasted no time retreating into the shower cubicle and adjusted the knobs to a comfortable setting. He was immediately met with the welcome sensations of warm, cascading water splashing down over his head and body. He rested his head against the wall in front of him as he let the water wash over him, knowing that although it was stupidly basic to enjoy such a small comfort, he had just forgotten how good it was.

His mind was already wandering again and that thought in itself had caused another; the curse of being so intelligent meant that he could rarely stop it. He missed Morty. He wondered what the others could possibly be doing to him and he couldn't help but feel concerned. Simply not knowing was the worst part of all and as much as he wanted to stay there and relax under the water, his mind just wouldn't leave him alone again until he knew the little boy was safe.

There were three dispensers on the wall; soap, shampoo, and personal lubricant. Rick snorted in particular disgust at the last observation and moved off the wall again, suddenly not wanting to know what had taken place in the shower cubicle before his arrival. He wasted no more time as he washed himself off properly, being glad for the fact he could finally wash his hair as well; he couldn't remember the last time he had been able to do a decent job of it and was sure it must have been absolutely disgusting. Once properly rinsed off again, he stepped out of the shower and grabbed two towels from the rail directly beside the cubicle; the first was promptly tucked around his midsection and the other was used to dry himself off.

By the time he had finished and stepped out of the bathroom again, another welcome sensation had hit him – the smell of food. He quickly found a foil tray waiting for him on the table along with a plastic fork. Although it was probably nothing more than a cheap reheated TV dinner, he began wolfing it down like he hadn't eaten anything in years; it was certainly the best thing he'd eaten in a while.

"Hah, don't choke on that," the voice behind him spoke suddenly. "That would be a rather dumb way to die."

Rick picked up the foil tray and turned around to glare back at the other male.

Surgeon Rick had returned to the room with a very-cranky Morty, who kept trying to pummel him with flaying limbs. "You wanna take this little shit or what?" He grinned back at him. "I gotta give him credit, though... your Morty is perceptive as fuck. Most Mortys we've encountered are pretty dumb, but not yours. No way man, this one saw the boss as a giant fraud within minutes. I didn't fare much better either, I mean, he's all up in my grill trying to kick my ass."

Rick simply stood there and shoveled another portion of the reheated food into his mouth. "Let him hit you, y-you deserve it," he swallowed, quickly adding, "fuck you for keeping me here, by the way." He quickly finished off the tray of food and tossed it onto the table, stepping away to retrieve the set of clothes waiting for him on the bed.

"Yeah I get that, but if we save your life, then the end justifies the means." Surgeon Rick's expression turned rather serious, at least until he received a hefty whack to the jaw. "Stubborn-ass brat. Kinda like you, am I right?" Despite his words, he was quite happy to stand there and take it. "Oh, before I forget... you'll find a new set of underwear in that pile. Doesn't really seem like your style to keep going commando."

"Wow," Rick grumbled as he stepped past the other, carrying the pile of clothes into the bathroom. "Just HOW long did you say you've been stalking me?" He slammed the door shut behind him.

"Long enough?" The reply was smug.

After getting dressed, Rick stepped back into the room and adjusted the lapels of his lab coat; he had to admit that in spite of everything, he was cleaner than he had been in a long time.

"Well, well, look at you. You certainly scrub up well, that's for sure." Surgeon Rick handed Morty back over and retreated towards the door again, intending to leave them alone a while. "I'm sure we'll be able to tell you exactly what's wrong with you in 24 hours time. Try not to die until at least then, huh? If you get hungry before breakfast, there's some nutrient pouches on your table. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have all your food pulped up and measured out into nutritionally complete, individual baggies that don't taste like anything? Yeah, me neither. Enjoy them, they don't smell weird... a-at all. Nope." He seemed grateful for the escape and promptly left through the open door.

As Rick watched him depart, he almost felt embarrassed for him; how the hell was that guy meant to be a different dimensional representation of himself? He'd seen slight variations thus far, but most of them had been fairly similar. However, that one was completely off the rails and they were nothing alike. At all.

After the air-lock had hissed shut again, he held onto Morty firmly in one hand as he used the other to rub at his forehead in irritation. "Ugh... sorry you had to get tied up in my shit again, little buddy... though the last one was on you. Can't blame me for that."

Morty was still trying to work out what was going on. He'd picked the first two Ricks he had met before as frauds; neither of them had looked the part and he had let them know all about it by attacking them. While this one both behaved and smelled authentic, he still felt very unsure about the situation.

Rick carried Morty over to the bunk and pushed the crib out of the way. He had no idea why they had thrown it in the room; if they had been paying even the slightest amount of attention they would have noticed that he was in the habit of just taking the little boy to bed with him. It kept him quiet and he didn't mind his presence. At least that much had worked out between them.

As Rick lay down on the bunk, he set the little boy on the space next to him, his attention on the window latch at the bottom. He reached over to flick it up, and opening the window revealed a generously sized, clear panel that looked out onto the gaseous nebula that the ship was presently sailing through. It was an absolutely brilliant array of purple and blues, speckled with fiery oranges and deep colors a few hues above ultraviolet. He knew there were certainly more colors but what he could see was obviously bound by his own physical limitations.

Morty had already pressed his face against the window to look, and the little boy stared in wonderment at the display outside, positively fascinated by it.

Rick unfolded the blanket and pulled it around himself, just lying there as he watched the little boy's reaction, mildly amused by it. He was reminded of just how young Morty was; he really was seeing it for the first time. Rick could only hope to ever feel that way about space again; as far as he was concerned, it was just yet another nebula to him, and he'd seen so many that they just couldn't hold his interest anymore. "I forgot that you haven't been in space before..." He yawned. "So you like what you see, huh? Welcome to my domain."

Morty's reply was a soft, cooing sound, and he plastered his face to the window. He wanted to reach out and grab the pretty colors but his little hands only met glass. He began to smack the hard surface and made the tiniest, high-pitched growl.

Rick couldn't help but chuckle at the sound. He knew it was a learned response, but it still sounded so silly coming from the little boy. "Sorry, buddy... but that's not how space works. You don't want to be out there, trust me." He set his head back on the pillow behind him, staring up at the ceiling. "While you probably wouldn't explode, the depressurization wouldn't do very good things to you."

He tried to relax, but his mind just wouldn't let him. The bed wasn't uncomfortable at all and neither was the pillow, but it was all too convenient and contrived. He wondered if the whole setup was an elaborate ruse to get something out of him, but he couldn't figure out what that might be. There simply had to be something more to it; nobody would spend this amount of time just to send him on his way again.

As he stared up at the ceiling, his gaze drifted across the panels that made up the surface of the roof. His attention was suddenly on a singular silver screw in the middle and he sat up a little, his eyes following the panel seams, soon finding another screw. Once he had located four of them, he was back on his feet, looking around the room for something to repurpose into a screwdriver.

"Hang back, Morty. I've just thought of something." As he glanced back at the little kid, he noticed the console above his bed had a silver trim around it, figuring it was worth a shot. He dug his fingers into it and aggressively yanked the piece of metal off, turning it over in his fingers afterwards to check how solid it was. It was pliable but still relatively firm; more than suitable for his intentions. He promptly snapped three sides off and tossed them over his shoulder, seeming pleased that he didn't need to do much more to the length of metal; it was flat enough for what he was about to do with it.

Morty turned around to watch the crazy behavior unfolding before him; his grandpa was making more than enough noise to gain his attention. For some reason unknown to him, he watched Rick place a chair on the table, and now he was piling books on top of that. The little boy moved off the bed and casually sauntered over to get a better look when Rick climbed up onto the pile of books. It was beyond the capability of his young mind to work out what was going on, but it looked like his grandfather was having fun. He made a loud, happy squeal and raised both arms up, wanting to join in.

"This is a bad time to do that, Morty. Shut up, would you? Your grandpa is trying to work through something." As Rick used the piece of repurposed trim to pick at the screws, he was pleased by his good fortune; not only were they easy to get out, but they had nothing more than simple flat-heads on them.

Morty sat on his butt and went silent, seeming to understand the instruction.

Rick noticed the movement and stared down at him. "Did... did you actually listen to me for once? What else are you hiding in that little mind of yours?" He set his attention back to task and once he'd removed all four screws, he dug the makeshift implement under the roof panel to lever it out of place. "Wow, so much for factoring in every parameter, huh? Plan for this scenario, assholes!" He carefully pushed it up and slid it into the cavity above, then stood up tall to poke his head in through the hole.

What he found inside was everything he had hoped for and more; the cavity above the roof was spacious enough for him to easily move around in. It was obviously used for maintenance, because there were guard rails off to the side that led onwards into the darkness; they more than likely led elsewhere around the ship.

As Rick hopped down off the pile of books, a couple of them fell down after him. He didn't care and simply picked Morty up, stuffing the bottle of whiskey and the piece of shrapnel into one of his coat pockets for safekeeping. "I don't know where that hatch leads, b-but you're coming with me. They're fucking crazy if they think we're gonna quietly hang around here and do what we're told. Quarantine, my ass!"

Rick precariously climbed the pile of books again and carefully lifted Morty up into the hole. After making sure he was safe, he hauled himself in after him. Just to cover his tracks, he kicked the pile of books and the chair over for good measure and slid the roof panel back over the hole again; the only evidence left behind were the four screws on the ground and the mess on the floor.

He knew that this was surely one of his worst escape plans yet, but it certainly had to be better than staying there.