Let The Ricks Fall Where They May

Written by Kat_Aclysm
Rated: - T for language

Disclaimers + Copyrights: Rick and Morty is an [Adult Swim] cartoon by Justin Roiland and Dan Harmon. This is unofficial fanfiction. Please support the official release.

NOTE: This was written during a particularly rough period, but it's finally done. It fits within the rating, but this chapter contains several mentions of drug use and homophobic themes. Please also note that I haven't abandoned this work and fully intend to see it out until completion (the end is nigh!). I'm still active and working on it when I have the time. Check out my Tumblr (RickandMortyByKat) for details and updates (I also draw silly pictures of the characters from this story). You can also ask me questions there as I've turned on the Anonymous feature.

Thank you all so much for your time, support, comments, patience, and eagerness to see this continue. It's really quite amazing to see how much enthusiasm you have over this weird thing. I'll see it to the end, even if it takes me much longer than I expected.
- K


Sometimes, something so broken can never be fixed
So we saved a few things that were spared
And we brought it to the ground
Cause you always build it better the second time around

- Aron Wright - Build it Better


Chapter 30 – Rickmotional Baggage

December 7th, 5:58pm PST, 2001
Suburbia, Smith-Sanchez Family Household
Earth, Dimension C-711


"Yes, seriously... he's dead." Ricktus put almost too much effort into making himself sound genuine. "It's a shame because he was a useful employee. I'm going to have a hard time finding a replacement."

Rick stared upwards, his expression blank; all he felt was the weight of defeat bearing down on him. Rick C-711 had been the only version of himself that he actually tolerated and vaguely liked, and knowing he was gone meant that he had no reason to hang around anymore. Just as he opened his mouth to ask for details, he heard scratchy laughter coming from up the hallway beyond the garage door.

"Oh my god, Dad! It's not funny!"

"You're right, kid... it's fuckin' hilarious!" The reply was followed by a loud snicker. "I don't care who you are, that is some GOOD comedy shit right there. You'd have to be dead inside not to find it at least slightly entertaining!"

"Dad! Go in there and say something before you make it any worse!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it. Don't bust my balls, sweetie. Sheesh!" Surgeon Rick suddenly poked his head around the doorway with a wide mocking grin plastered on his face. "Heeeey, what's up, fucker?! I can't believe you actually believed that son of a bitch. What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Rick could feel his blood boiling but kept his eyes locked on the ceiling, certain that if he looked in any other direction, he would have utterly lost it.

"Holy fuck, look how pissed he is!" Surgeon Rick thrust a pointed finger in Rick's direction and broke into another round of raucous laughter, unable to contain himself. "A-are you SURE you don't have brain damage, bro?!"

Ricktus rolled his eyes, but allowed his ex-assistant to continue. Behind him, he could hear the Guard Ricks chuckling among themselves; while he was not overly amused by the prank himself, he'd always known 'lesser' Ricks like them to laugh at the stupidest things.

"Yeah, see how THAT feels? Suck it, bitch!" Surgeon Rick taunted his charge as he came into the room and stood at his side, his tone half-mocking, half-serious. "That's what you get for making people think you were dead, dude... that's what you get." He poked him in the shoulder just hard enough to express his disapproval. "Bet you won't be trying it again any time soon, huh?"

Rick's power of will was ironclad, yet he still had to fight back the fresh tears threatening to betray him. He already knew what it was like to lose friends and family; he'd easily lost more of them than anyone else in the room. He was so charged up that his left hand was shaking as he moved it off Morty and pointed at the door. "I don't have to justify my actions to you... g-get OUT!"

"Oh shit..." Surgeon Rick realized what he'd done and immediately regretted it. "Are you seriously that upset? I mean, it's good to know you finally got over being abducted and stopped hating us, but you're crying about it? Like, for real?"

"N-NO!" Rick bit back so defensively that the lie was obvious.

"Well, that certainly backfired on you, didn't it?" Ricktus sounded slightly condescending. "What kind of reaction were you expecting, C-711?"

"Shit, I dunno, b-but," Surgeon Rick hastily stumbled for an answer, "I didn't mean it like that. I guess I was hoping he'd either get a little pissed or laugh it off?" He paused awkwardly. "Wait a sec... if you didn't approve, then why'd YOU go along with it?"

"I'm not your boss any more," Ricktus answered truthfully. "Maybe I wanted to see what would happen. Maybe I let you because I'm still trying to get back on your good side. Maybe it's because I have no real authorization to stop you. Maybe it's all of the above. Pick one and decide for yourself."

"So y-you're BOTH in on it?!" Rick growled at them. "G-go away and leave me alone!"

"See, this is why I work better under upper management. I need someone to talk me outta doing dumb shit like this." Surgeon Rick admitted with a deep scowl. "Either way, have we learned that pretending to be dead wasn't cool? Because I wanna make sure we're all clear on that part."

"What?! That's not even how it went down, a-and I already told you it wasn't my fault, you dipshit!" Times like this made Rick want to drown his feelings in alcohol and forget they existed; he couldn't stand being so open and vulnerable. "I don't wanna see you again, so unless you have a bottle of whiskey or vodka to give me, then you can get out!"

"Uhh," the surgeon glanced at the others in the room, then back at his patient. "Did anybody brief you on that? You can't-"

"No?! Then that makes you useless to me." Rick abruptly cut him off, uninterested in anything else he had to say. With as much strength as he could muster, he yelled, "All of you can GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

All the other Ricks scattered out of the garage like their life depended on it; a direct order from a gold-rank was not something to argue with. However, Rick was unaware of his new status and was confused to have that much of an effect on them. Almost as quickly, he decided he didn't care and protectively moved his arm back around Morty.

"Sorry about that, buddy," he told him as he calmed down again, content that they were alone. "But it must be nice to know you're the only one around here who doesn't suck."


Sitting down to dinner as a family should have been an uneventful occurrence but it wasn't; Jerry was openly glaring at the 'unwelcome' arrival from the moment he arrived at the table. Summer was too shy to engage him in conversation and avoided eye contact, while Lizabeth did her best to pretend that the outstanding hostilities didn't exist as she placed her son in his high chair and began feeding him.

Most of the meal was eaten in tense silence, but Jerry's burning gaze never left him. Finally, Surgeon Rick got fed up with it and swallowed the mouthful of food he had been chewing on. "Dude, are you checkin' me out? I know I'm hot, but damn, I didn't know you swing that way." The slightest hint of a smirk pulled at the edges of his mouth. "I hope you're prepared to have that kind of conversation with my daughter."

"Beth, honey... what is HE doing here?" Jerry spat each word like venom.

"HE has a name, you know." Lizabeth bottled up her frustration and didn't look up.

"Hey, don't worry about it, sweetie. He just wants to keep it in the family." Surgeon Rick quipped, then turned back to face Jerry. "Yo, there's no need to take your anger out on me if you feel that way, brother... it's not my fault. There's nothing wrong with you, but you gotta give yourself time to come to terms with it, OK? Trust me on that."

"Dad, please... not now!" Lizabeth verbally cuffed him, then reluctantly gave in and started trying to mediate. "Jerry, I was the one who invited him in. I thought it might be nice to feed him too, because it's basic common decency to look after your guests."

"He's no guest, Beth... and I thought we agreed never to let him back in our house." Jerry sounded stern. "After everything he's done to you-"

"OUR house? Who do you think paid for it, dumbass!?" Lizabeth's anger spiked in an instant. "Do you know how long it's been since I've had a proper conversation with my father? He actually picked up the phone when I rang him this time, and now he's here and talking to me! Do you understand how significant that is? Things have changed this time, you don't know-"

"Oh, how many times have we heard THAT one before?!" Jerry raised his voice over the top of hers and met her anger with his own. "Why do you keep trying to make peace with the ONE person who nearly destroyed you?! You shouldn't be letting him back into your life!"

"Am I supposed to hate my father forever, Jerry!? He's the ONLY parent I have left!"

"Having no parents at ALL has got to be better than abusive ones!"

"That's easy for you to say when you had the perfect upbringing and NEVER HAD TO DEAL WITH IT!"

"Why is this about me?! You're the one who let him in without consulting me. You need to talk to me about THESE THINGS FIRST, BETH!"

Somewhere in the middle of the commotion, both Summer and Morty had started crying.

"Whoa... settle down, guys." Surgeon Rick's eyes shifted back and forth between the two. "Listen to what you're doin' to your kids, i-it's not good to fight in front of them like that."

Jerry turned on him like a rabid wild animal. "Don't YOU DARE high-road me, Rick! I don't know why you're here or what you're playing at, but I'm NOT going to let you hurt my family again!"

"Wait... 'your' family?" He hadn't particularly wanted to join in, but Jerry had struck a nerve and his good humor disintegrated. "I have more biological relations here than you, so you do the math. Actually, there is no math... it's just counting, and you got enough fingers on your hand to count them all."

"Goddammit, Rick! It's not about me!" Although Jerry had lowered his voice again, his tone was still biting. "The ONLY reason we're having this conversation at all is because of YOU, and if you think it's okay to hurt my family again with your drug-addicted bullshit, then you got another think coming! How high are you right now?"

Surgeon Rick flattened his brow as he rose to his feet. "So we're back on that again, are we? Yawn. One of these days you might actually come up with new material." He still had the slight, yet noticeable limp in his stride as he turned and walked away from the table.

"Dad, please don't leave because of him!" Lizabeth pleaded. "At least take your plate with you!"

"No thanks. I've lost my appetite." Surgeon Rick dismissively waved a hand before he slipped through the door to the garage and gently shut it behind him.

"Goddammit, you dumb asshole! Now look what you've done!" Lizabeth turned her anger back on her husband. "If you had only kept your mouth shut and waited for an explanation-"

"What I DID?!" Jerry was incredulous. "Beth, how many times are you going to let that man disappoint you? Don't you see what he's doing to you? He's manipulating you into feeling sorry for him!"

"Just like you did to me so I'd marry you?" Lizabeth coldly accused him as she got to her feet. "No, my dad is above your tactics. Now shut up and take care of the kids while I fix the mess you've made." Without waiting for another reply, she stormed out of the dining room.


As Rick idly searched his surroundings for something to keep his mind occupied with, it occurred to him that he couldn't sit up properly even if he wanted to; his stomach muscles were too weak and his cracked ribs very much prevented it. He also wanted to see how bad the injury to his abdomen was, but he couldn't do that either; it was snugly buried beneath several layers of bandages and gauze. Being in such a useless state frustrated him, as did all the tubes and wiring he was still hooked up to; their locations ranged from inconvenient to downright embarrassing.

Now that he was wide awake, he was so bored that it was almost torturous; nobody had even bothered leaving behind a book for him to read. He couldn't derive entertainment out of Morty either; the little boy was asleep and so firmly pressed against his left side that he didn't look like he planned on moving any time soon.

He began humming to himself. It kept him occupied for about four seconds.

After taking a deep irritated sigh, the scientist scoured the shelves on the back wall of Surgeon Rick's garage for anything of interest. They were full of the usual clutter - boxes of photo albums, power tools, a couple of guitars that looked like they hadn't been played in years, and old gardening stuff. He was a little surprised to discover that there were no unusual gadgets or inventions lying around anywhere; the space certainly didn't look like it belonged to another Rick.

His eyes were soon drawn to the blackboard in the far corner; it was dusty like it hadn't been used in years, yet the unfinished math work still remained as if the author had gotten distracted or walked away. None of it was nonsense either; Rick understood everything. Among the hastily scrawled equations and planetary trajectory calculations, he recognized the earlier steps in the same portal gun formula that he had worked out all those years ago.

It wasn't until he did the math again in his head that he understood why it had been abandoned - three quarters of the way through, there was an error in the calculations and they had gone completely awry. Even though it was stupidly simple to fix, it meant that Surgeon Rick had never actually unlocked the secret to interdimensional travel for himself; he'd gotten within three steps and given up.

"Huh, that's weird... w-why would you get so close and stop there?" Rick wondered aloud to himself.

Just as he began entertaining the thought, he heard the sound of Lizabeth and Jerry's screaming match echoing through the walls of the house. When Surgeon Rick shoved his way back into the garage, he made a point of glaring at him, expressing his intense disapproval over their earlier conversation. However, the surgeon was far too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice.

"I should've never come back here..."

"Dad, wait up!" Lizabeth rushed in after him. "I'm sorry about Jerry. He might change his mind after I've had a chance to talk to him, so don't..." She trailed off as she struggled for the right words; she desperately wanted to open a dialogue about what had been had brought up, but she knew if she said the wrong thing now, she'd risk having him shut down on her. "...don't listen to him, OK?"

"Wasn't going to." Despite his thoroughly soured mood, the older male couldn't resist the opportunity to make another jab at Jerry's expense. "I have a policy of never arguing with an idiot. Onlookers might not know the difference." He made his way over to the bed and made himself look busy by checking the integrity of Rick's IV lines. "Why the fuck is he calling you 'Beth', anyway?"

"You're the only one who calls me 'Lizabeth' any more, Dad." Lizabeth gently reminded him. "I don't think anyone else has called me that since I was a little girl."

"Alright, so... not Lizabeth."

"Keep calling me 'Lizabeth' if you want to," the blonde haired woman began trying to steer the conversation in the direction she wanted it to go. "It was just another part of what made our bond so special."

"Ugh, how sentimental. Did you get that off a motivational cat poster?" Surgeon Rick made an irritated huff as he picked up Rick's medical records to read over. "What do you want from me, kid?"

Lizabeth knew there was no point in trying to butter him up and that he hated small talk; those aspects of him had never changed. "Dad, do you actually need to do some work around here, or are you trying to avoid talking to me?"

Surgeon Rick's expression was flat and unamused as his eyes rose to meet hers. "Yes."

Lizabeth shook her head and tried another angle. "It's nice having you home with us, but it's even better seeing you so healthy." Her breath momentarily hitched in her throat at the next thought. "I was so scared that somebody would find you dead in a gutter some day..."

The surgeon gritted his teeth; as much as he didn't want to talk, he knew how persistent his daughter could be until she got what she wanted. "Please, I'm smarter than that." After moving around the bed to stand in front of her, he thrust the medical records straight into her open hands. "If you're gonna keep bugging me, then take this and fill it in because I can't be fucked doing it myself." He stepped away again to change over the near-empty IV fluid bags with an ease born from years of practice.

"I still think what you did earlier was mean, but you have no idea how proud I am to see you back in the game and focused on your job." Lizabeth hesitated, but being given work to do was a good excuse to stay, so she took out a pen and began writing down notes. "Did you really save this guy's life?"

"If by me, you mean a team of me, run by a bigger group of me living in a constructed safe haven of my own design and governed by a council of more mes, then yeah... I did." Surgeon Rick bared his teeth, still intensely bitter over how the Council of Ricks had treated him during the hearing. "I-it's my job. Don't expect me to brag about it."

The explanation confused her and she wanted to know more, but she also didn't want to stray from her intended subject so she nodded down towards their patient. "I'm just glad it's not you lying there."

"Geez, would you stop that already?!" Surgeon Rick harshly returned. "I'm not like this guy, I'll never be like this guy, and he's lying there because of the dumb decisions he's made. I told you I'm smarter than that!"

"Hey, you know what? Go fuck yourself!" Rick suddenly spoke up; he had been quietly listening in on the conversation. "I-I thought I told you to get outta here. I don't wanna see you again for a long time!"

"Oh god, not you too..." Surgeon Rick muttered in a low voice as he removed four ampules of IV medicine and a bottle of liquid food from the set of drawers beside the bed. "Yo dawg, I hate to tell you this, but if a silver-rank is doing something directly related to your health and well being, then you have no authorization to boss them around."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

The other suddenly wished he hadn't said anything; he didn't want to tell the scientist about his new rank in case it went to his head, so he changed the subject. "Shut up and go back to sleep, bro. You gotta be feeling pretty tired." He stood beside the portable pump stand to swap out the old bottle for the new one.

"Y-yeah, I'm fucking exhausted from lying here doing nothing all day." Rick sounded positively petulant. "What exactly IS that, anyway?"

The last thing the surgeon wanted to do was to listen to his patient complain, but he knew it was a good sign that he was feeling better. "You mean the white shit that's been feeding you for the last five days? Oh man, a dietitian would get hard just thinkin' about it." He tapped the bottle for emphasis. "This stuff is a calorie-rich liquid that contains all the vitamins and minerals you need to survive. It's also been giving your stomach a break while you heal up, i-it's awesome."

Rick didn't care how 'awesome' it was; he just wanted it gone. "How much longer do I have to lie here until you pull these things out of me? And when are we going to discuss the fact that there's a tube shoved up my-"

The other Rick pulled thermometer out of his pocket and placed it into Rick's mouth before he could finish. "Quit your bitching. You're getting reassessed tomorrow morning and if the doc likes what he sees, then you might actually get to eat real food again. Either way, we're gonna take care of you until you get better, so don't be such a stubborn bastard about it. Usually people aren't this ungrateful about having their lives saved."

"I didn't ask you to do that!" Rick somehow managed to pronounce the words around the glass tube.

"You must have a short memory, don't ya? You gave us permission to do anything we wanted after the ship bullshit was done with. I was there, I'd remember something like that. Now give it a rest and let the thermometer finish taking your temperature, 'cause all your hot air ain't gonna make it happen any faster." Surgeon Rick snapped his fingers and pointed to his daughter. "You, get the readout and add it to his chart, I got better shit to do."

Rick bristled with contempt but continued to lie there and tolerate it; there was little else he could do for the time being. When the blonde-haired woman stood at his bedside again, he grabbed the employee ID tag that was still hanging off her belt from her last work shift; the information on it had caught his eye. "Your last name is 'Sanchez'? You never bothered marrying your Jerry?"

Surgeon Rick snorted in disgust and distracted himself with administering the IV medication ampules he had taken out. "Shouldn't have bothered, you mean..."

"I did," Lizabeth ignored her father and began to explain, "but I kept my old name for the bragging rights. My dad was an amazing high profile surgeon before his career was destroyed. If I even mention that I'm his daughter, people start lining up to give me scholarships and jobs. That's how I got this one." She gently pulled the tag out of his hand again and removed the thermometer from his mouth. "98.6°F is a low-grade fever. What should I do?"

"You write it down like I told you," came the gruff reply. "Doesn't get easier than that."

Rick knew he was prying now, but curiosity had gotten the better of him. "How'd he get fired?"

"Dude, stop." Surgeon Rick told him in a warning tone. "It's bad enough that you're endangering my turf just by being here, but now you're gettin' into shit you shouldn't be gettin' into. Back off, man. I-it's none of your business."

"It's OK, Dad. You shouldn't be ashamed and you shouldn't feel like you have to hide it either." Lizabeth sighed at him. "But you're right, it's not my place to talk about it. It's yours, so... go ahead."

"Ugh, what is WITH you this evening? All this... unnecessary nosy-ass dumb shit..." Surgeon Rick glared at his daughter and then at his patient as he silently debated blowing off the whole thing. However, he also knew that failing to provide a gold-rank with information could potentially get him into a lot of trouble, so he gave in. "Whatever, i-it doesn't even matter. You'd think I'd get fired for all those years of stealing medical supplies and stuff from the pharmacy, but nope. Instant dismissal for having consensual sex with a coworker."

Rick didn't understand what the big deal was or why he was so reluctant to talk about it. "Phh, so? Was she worth it?"

"He," Surgeon Rick sharply corrected him, "and no. Lesson learned - don't screw your boss. It was easier for him to throw me under the bus and save himself, the dumbass motherfucking..." He mumbled the rest under his breath, then gave a half-assed shrug and went back to what he had been doing. "Whatever... it hardly matters now."

"That's... that's messed up. Is that even legal?"

"Sure is. Same-sex relationships are still a criminal offense in this version of Earth. Just another one of the many reasons why I hate being here." He tossed the empty ampules into the trash. "Is there any other dirt you feel entitled to dig up while we're still doing this? Do you want my rap sheet or a list of the drugs I stole?"

Lizabeth flinched as the subject was brought back up so candidly, but it made her brave enough to finally ask the question she had been dreading since she had come back into the garage. "You're... not still using, are you?"

"And there it is." Surgeon Rick did his best to look disinterested as he came around to yank the medical records out of her clutches. "Look, kid... the answer doesn't matter, because no matter what I say, it looks like you've already made your mind up. You're either gonna accept it and continue enabling me if the answer is 'yes', which is pretty fucked up if you want my opinion-"

"Dad..."

"Or," he firmly spoke over her, "if the answer is 'no', then you're gonna spout off some shit about being proud of how far I've come and forgiving me for being such a shitty father to you during your formative years."

Lizabeth gave him a look of defeat.

"What's wrong, baby? You're finally starting to realize that your old man ain't such a stand-up guy, and that it's never going to change, aren't ya?" Surgeon Rick glared back, though he was far more angry at himself. "What do you want from me? Do you think you're gonna find closure for your crappy childhood by making it up with me? Do you want me to cry about it? Do you wanna hear that I was wrong about everything?" When nothing was said, he guessed at other answers. "D-do... do you want me to admit something about never being able to cope with losing your mother? I-is that what you want me to say?"

Lizabeth closed the short distance between them and wrapped her arms around her father's midsection, pulling him in for a hug. When she felt his body tense in protest, it only encouraged her to squeeze him even tighter.

It was more than enough to defuse his sour mood, but he still did his best to sound grumpy. "The hell you think you're doin'?"

"What does it look like, you big dummy? I don't care about the past anymore. Like I said over the phone, I love you... and you didn't fail me, Dad. I want you to come back home, because I miss having you around. I'd like to-"

"So you ARE taking the enabling route-"

"Dad, shut up and let me finish!" Lizabeth cuffed him in exasperation. "I'd like to work through our differences and finally put everything behind us. Is that so wrong?"

"Why are you so hellbent on that?" Surgeon Rick tried to pull back from her. "I-I... I thought you were better than this, kid. It's pretty weak-willed of you to let me off the hook for screwing up so bad. You had every right to tell me to fuck off. You were angry, and rightly so. If I were you, I wouldn't wanna see me again either. What made you cave in and change your mind?"

"It's not like that. See, you're not going to be around forever-"

"Holy shit," a wide grin flashed across his face. "Do you know something I don't?"

"As much as I love your sense of humor, it's not appreciated right now!" She snapped, having reached the end of her patience. "Damn it, Dad... don't you see that this standoff is never going to end until one of us backs down and apologizes? We both know your stubborn ass never will, so... it's going to have to be me."

His fake amusement faded again. "It's hardly your fault, sweetie."

"It's as much mine as it is yours," Lizabeth released him from the hug and looked him squarely in the eyes. "I'm sorry it took me so long, but I finally get you... I didn't know how to help with your drug addiction, so I pushed you away because I was young and scared. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. You did it because you were hurting... and I only made it worse."

Surgeon Rick wasn't looking at her anymore; he was staring off into space and his thoughts were elsewhere.

It didn't go unnoticed, but Lizabeth continued. "I'm big enough to admit that what I did was wrong, Dad. I can forgive you... but I think the other side of this problem is that you've been spending all this time trying to forgive yourself. Your past doesn't need to define you and it's time to let it go." She offered her hand out towards him in a peaceful gesture. "Your home is here with us, Dad. I want to be a real family again."

He had been waiting a long time for this moment to arrive, but he was filled with uncertainty now that it had; the thought of being hunted down by his traceable brainwaves was never far from his mind, and he was only going to expose her to the risk of being harmed if he stayed for any prolonged period of time. "Your offer is cute, but I can't accept. There's bigger shit than you or me at play here, and none of us can do anything about it."

"Can you at least try? We'll take the parts we can fix and forget about the rest. No matter how bad it is, we'll work it out. Please don't go away again, Dad," she was practically begging by now, "I'm scared you might never come back-"

"Not what I meant, sweetie." He stopped her with a short wave of his hand. "Look, I'll save you an overly complicated explanation and just give it to you straight. See this dude we're looking after? Remember how I told you that his Morty is an orphan? Well... that's his fault. It didn't happen on purpose, but... long story short, I don't wanna end up like that too. Just having me around is putting you in grave danger and it was a mistake to come back."

Lizabeth took two cautious steps backwards and was staring at him now, her expression a mix of bewilderment and alarm. "Wait... you're a fugitive? You're not going to kill me, are you?"

"Holy shit, WHAT!? Why would you even think that!?" Surgeon Rick admonished her, offended by the suggestion. "I know I'm screwed up, but damn, I'm not THAT fucked in the head! What's wrong with you!?"

"Sorry..."

"Yeah, you better be!" He loudly huffed. "If you want the long-ass version, then you best be shutting up while I lay it out for you, 'cause you have this annoying habit of interrupting me and asking, like, a hundred more questions before I get to the end, and sometimes I don't even get that far, so," he shrugged. "Whatever, we're done here. This guy won't need more more morphine or antibiotics until after midnight, and that gets done on my boss's shift."

"So you're leaving? Where are you going to go...?" Lizabeth sounded miserable as she stuffed the medical records back into the pigeonhole at the foot of the bed; her heart ached, her talk hadn't gone the way she wanted, and now she felt like she was the one being rejected.

"I dunno, away from here?" All the questions were making him feel irritable and the conversation had gone on far too long for his liking. "Maybe go to a bar, drink beer, maybe turn in and have an early night? Who cares. I need to turn off my brain and chill out, because all this thinking is giving me a fuckin' headache."

"We have beer in the fridge," she offered too quickly; anything to make him stay a little longer. "There's an Adam Sandler movie marathon on channel 22. Do you want to watch it?"

"Geez, I couldn't think of a worse way to waste my time." He made a face. "Ugh, fine. I guess an hour couldn't hurt."

Lizabeth wanted to crush him with another hug for how happy she was, but her grin faded again as she looked down at Morty. "If we're going, we shouldn't leave him there. He could roll off the bed during the night and seriously hurt himself."

"Ah shit, good thinking. Who knows what kind of trouble I'll get in if that happens... fuck knows I don't need any more heat on me right now." Surgeon Rick grumbled, then turned to face Rick. "Sorry bro, but the lady's right. As much as I don't wanna disturb your Morty because he needs you and all that shit, you can see him again in the morning. Press your buzzer if you need anything, I'll be somewhere... anywhere... w-whatever, I'm outta here." And with that, he switched off the lights and made a quick exit from the garage.

Lizabeth sighed, then stepped in to scoop up the youngster from his place at Rick's side so she could follow her father's lead. "I've been told you like to co-sleep with Morty. Break that habit as soon as you can. While it seems like an easy way out, he'll become totally dependent on you if keep letting him do it."

"You mean worse than he already is now?" Rick made a soft sound of mockery in reply; out of all his bad habits, that one was the least of his concerns.

The movement stirred Morty from his slumber and he lazily focused his eyes on his 'mother'; being in her arms was perfectly fine by him. However, he was not fine with leaving and began to whimper as Rick got further and further away, protesting to being taken from him yet again. By the time he was carried into the hallway, he was screaming and wailing, making his distress very audibly known. Lizabeth had obviously gotten used to it, because she continued on her way and ignored him.

As Rick listened to the noise, it presented him with a disconcerting realization - despite the fact that Morty still recognized and wanted his mother, he was expressing a distinct preference bias towards him. As much as he hated it, it meant that Ricktus had been right; Morty already had existing abandonment issues, but being moved from place to place so rapidly had utterly traumatized him.

Hearing him continue to cry out for him with such need and desperation made him feel sick to his stomach; he certainly hadn't done anything to earn that kind of adoration or loyalty. He was the cause of all of Morty's problems after all; if not for him, the little boy would still be with his real family.

A wave of guilt passed through him and his self-loathing and pain resurfaced all over again; he thought he was vile and despicable, a worthless fucked up piece of shit, and he hated himself more than ever. To make matters worse, he was stone-cold sober and couldn't even drown it out this time; all he could do was stare at the ceiling, alone with his thoughts in the dark.

The exchange between Surgeon Rick and Lizabeth only gave him something else to consider and it was like a window into the future; he knew he was more than capable of screwing up Morty just as badly if he allowed his own vices to take control of him.

It seemed that he had come full circle with his original dilemma; he still didn't have a clue what to do with Morty. However, he did know that the little boy was better off without him.


Rick wasn't sure how long he had slept for, but awareness didn't come back to him easily this time; his eyelids were heavy and his body felt like a lead weight. He quickly concluded that someone must have slipped him more sedation during the night.

When he finally did manage to force his eyes open, he discovered that he was naked, strapped to a cold metal gurney, partially covered by a flimsy cotton bedsheet, and under the bright glare of a medical examination lamp while five other versions of himself stood nearby and looked on like he was some kind of interesting science experiment.

In that moment, he may as well have been; Lab Rick D-69 had left his post to see the results of his labor, while the three Ricks beside him were from the Citadel's surgical team and had been gathering an update for one of their bosses. The fifth one was Ricktus himself, who simply watched him with a cold calculated expression and sipped from a paper coffee cup he held in his right hand; Rick wanted nothing more than to snatch it away and down it in one hit. He couldn't move, so he growled out the first thing on his mind instead.

"Not again... w-why do you keep doing this to me? Do you have some kind of weird fixation with tying me up and moving me to strange places?!"

"If you want to throw wild accusations at your doctor, then do it on your own time." One of the surgical Ricks spoke first. "We're doing this by the book now. No more guessing or taking chances."

"But he can probably take as many chances as he wants to, right?" His colleague turned away to examine the extensive collection of MRI scans that had been affixed to a series of lightboxes on the far wall. "Look at this shit... I-I've never seen anything like it before. Despite being eviscerated, nearly bleeding out and dying twice, he's patching up nicely. How the hell do you survive all that, with a liver transplant to boot, and walk away with nothing to show for it other than a wicked scar? He's gotta be indestructible."

"Maybe it wasn't his time yet?" The third surgical Rick suggested. "The universe only takes out its trash when it's ready. How much weight do you think this 'Rickest Rick' story really has? Maybe we're supposed to meet him."

"Ah fuck, K-93. Don't tell me you believe that nonsense as well!"

The Lab Rick looked over the MRI scans for himself. "Are his kidneys still functioning? I didn't get time to test my product on lab rats first."

A member of the surgical team absentmindedly pointed to the collection bag hanging off the side of the table.

The Lab Rick glanced back and followed the line of his hand. "Uh... is it supposed to be that color?" He stood directly behind the team of three and lowered his voice to a soft murmur. "I don't want this blowing back on me if he dies, understand? Have you heard what's going to happen to the guys who did this to him in the first place?"

"You know I can hear you, right? I'm right here, dipshit!" Ricktus angrily threw his coffee into the trash. "Now, if you're all done jerking off over the resilience of my patient, then maybe we might actually get to accomplish the things we're supposed to be doing here today, hmm?"

For once, Rick actually appreciated the doctor's hard humorless nature. Over the next half hour he felt like even more of a science experiment; a member of the surgical team checked his vitals, while another poked and prodded him all over for signs of injury that might have been missed previously. The third annoyed him most of all as he carried out another cognitive assessment and recorded the responses.

"What do you see here?" A picture card containing a dodecahedron was held up.

"Fuck you, I'm not doing this!" Rick raised his voice in defiance. "I don't wanna be here!"

The other Rick dutifully ignored him and held up the next card, which contained the symbol of pi. "What about this one?"

"Are you deaf?! I told you I'm not doing this, you dumb shithead!"

"And this one?"

"Bite me!"

The Rick flattened his brow and signed off on the bottom of the document. "Well, I'm convinced that he doesn't have any kind of brain damage, but he's still an asshole. It's a terminal case."

"Eat my ass, you fucking cocksucker!"

Satisfied with the findings of the physical and mental examinations, the team turned their sights to their patient's outstanding injuries. Before he could react, Rick's sheet covering was discarded, leaving him bare with everything on show for all to see.

"You gotta be kidding me... have you morons ever heard of consent?!" The scientist struggled against his bindings, but he was still too weak to do anything significant. "You sick fucks are actually enjoying watching me suffer, aren't you?!"

"Yeah, maybe a little." The Lab Rick chuckled.

"Shut up and stay focused. You're pissing him off and it's not achieving anything productive." Ricktus retained his cold clinical professionalism. "Cut him loose and finish the final examination."

Rick's anger turned into curiosity as the layers of bandage and gauze matting were snipped away from his midsection, exposing deep bruises and a long uneven line of stitches that ran from his right flank, curved with his lowest rib, and dipped into his belly button. Although the severity of the wound made him keenly aware of just how close he had come to dying, he was still bitter that they'd bothered saving him at all.

"The incision site looks clean. No sign of infection." One of the surgical team members noted aloud as he resumed his poking and prodding. "Do you feel any numbness or tingling?"

"No, but YOU will." Rick spat back with as much menace as he could. "I'm gonna make your whole face numb as soon as my arms are free!"

The team took advantage of the fact that their patient was still restrained and quickly worked on coating the stitches with antiseptic, while another removed his tubing and stitched up the tiny hole on his stomach. After it was done, they rebandaged him and stood back to await further instructions.

"Well, there you go. You have some of your freedom back, just like you wanted. Or kept demanding in your case." Ricktus stepped forward and stood over the other with a vague look of boredom on his face. "From now on, you'll have to eat food again like the rest of us."

"You call this freedom?" Rick retorted. "Look at me, dumbass!"

"I already have, but you were asleep for most of it. It's my duty to look at my patients. You didn't think that one through, did you? No." The doctor folded his arms across his chest. "Fortunately for you, it looks like you're going to live to fight another day despite all your stupidity and complete disregard for your own safety. We ran more bloodwork while you were out and it looks like your immune system is coming back online. Your new liver is doing well and you're obviously feeling better because you're trying to fight everyone here. The Council will be pleased to hear it."

"The Council can kiss my ass!"

"Yes, well... take it up with them, but I don't think they're going like the suggestion." Ricktus suppressed the desire to laugh; he could easily imagine what the outcome would be. "I'm satisfied with your progress, but you're still not ready to be released, so I'm going to send you back where you came from with your personal effects from the Citadel and a list of instructions. I expect you to follow them to the letter."

"NO!" It was almost automatic.

"Hmm, nice try, but on this occasion I'm issuing you with official doctor's orders. They're going to be for your own good, so you don't have a say in the matter. It has always been my goal to release you back into the wild with a clean bill of health and nothing has changed, even if it's taking longer than I originally anticipated."

"W-wh-why would I follow YOUR orders?" Rick huffed in indignation. "You said so yourself, this is all your fault!"

"Thank you for the reminder, B-526. I'd nearly forgotten about it." The reply was sarcastic, yet still somehow polite. "You know what happened last time when you didn't follow my instructions. You belong to Riq IV now, so... who knows what he'll do to you if you decide to resist this time."

"This is bullshit!" Rick declared. "I-I don't belong to anyone!"

"Uh-huh," the doctor flatly replied; his patient's desire to argue was becoming tiring to listen to. "You won't have to follow the orders for long if you do what they say. You're going to need to drink a lot of water until you flush the remaining crystal deposits out of your system, but you also get to eat all the soup, oatmeal, pudding, and ice-cream you could ever want. It's going to be easy, so try to put your stubbornness aside for once."

"Wait..." Rick's anger practically disintegrated. "There's ice-cream? Where?"


Two more days of rest and recovery saw Rick in a better place; he was soon able to sit up without pillows or support, but being confined to bedrest was making him go stir crazy. The Guard Ricks, Ricktus, and Surgeon Rick had left him alone since the prank incident which he was perfectly fine with; he was far too angry with all of them to want their company. Looking at the same four walls each day made him more irritable and cranky than usual, and not even the MP3 player he'd been given as a peace offering, nor the massive library of reading material on his datapad could keep him occupied for long.

He'd spent so much time looking at the mistakes on the chalkboard in the corner of the garage that it made him angry knowing they still existed, and when he couldn't stand it any longer, he slid off the edge of the bed to fix them.

He immediately regretted it; he was still so weak that his arms couldn't support his weight and he abruptly met with the floor, his IV stand crashing down with him. In the same instant, he felt a sudden sharp sting in his arm and he knew at once that the line had been ripped out.

The scientist clenched his teeth to stifle a yell in case there was someone nearby to hear it; he could already hear the oncoming lectures about not taking care of himself or being stupid again. After spending time quietly breathing through the pain, he pulled one of the blankets from the bed to drape around his bare shoulders and keep himself warm. Once he had recovered enough, he hauled himself back to his feet, refusing to stay down.

With renewed strength fueled by anger, he made the slow journey to his intended destination and wrote over the dusty old portal gun formula with a piece of red chalk, correcting each line of math in much the same way a teacher would correct a student's work. Below the adjustments, he scribbled a quick piece of feedback commentary:

"Stop giving up so easily, you dumbass piece of shit.
- R"

Satisfied with his handiwork, he had every intention of returning to bed. However, when he heard the sound of loud laughter coming from the next room, he shuffled off to investigate; anything was better than staying there.

In the living room, he found Lizabeth sitting on the edge of the couch and closely supervising a pillow fight between her children and his Morty. She didn't notice the new arrival and leaned forward to pull her daughter away by the arm before things could get out of hand.

"Don't be so rough, baby," she told Summer in a firm parental tone. "You're bigger than them and they can get hurt more easily. Nobody wants this silly game ending in tears."

"But moooom!" Summer loudly whined in objection. "They started it!"

"Well, I'm finishing it!"

"H-hey." Rick stood back in the doorway, not entirely certain what to do next; the family space didn't belong to him and neither did the family for that matter. He also knew that nothing good would come of getting too involved.

Lizabeth was on her feet at once as she heard the familiar voice and turned to face him, her eyes widening in confusion; she still wasn't used to seeing the different versions of her father just yet. "What are you doing up? You're supposed to be resting."

"I was getting cold... and I needed a change of scenery." Rick answered, hating how worn down he sounded. "Do you have anything I can wear? A-anything..."

Lizabeth gave him a sympathetic nod and left the room. She returned only a few moments later with a pair of well-worn grey sweatpants and stood in front of him to hand them over. "Sorry... this should fit you, but I don't have anything better. My dad doesn't keep much of his stuff here any more."

"I-it's fine." The pain made it difficult, but he pushed through it and pulled them on. "I was getting tired of looking like I escaped from a nudist colony."

A high-pitched squeal came from the middle of the room as Morty spotted his grandfather and he ran over with both arms reaching out towards him, demanding to be picked up. "R-Rii-IIIIII!"

"Well shit, little buddy... you're getting fast." Rick wanted to bend down and fulfill his request, but his injuries prevented him from doing so. "Calm down, Morty. Grandpa's not going anywhere."

"My son would never do that." Lizabeth informed him with a soft laugh. "Your Morty cries a lot and scares easily, but he's more outgoing, and... well... brave."

Rick felt a sharp pang of regret at the reminder; she obviously had no idea. "Y-yeah."

"They have such different personalities that it's hard to believe they're the same person," the blonde-haired woman went on. "He was shy at first, but he's really settling in well here." Her voice became quiet. "Dad told me he lost his real mother. I'm so sorry."

"Nothing can be done about it now," Rick awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck; he didn't want to discuss it. "R... r-reality is reality, no matter how harsh."

It was then that Lizabeth noticed the needlestick injury where Rick's IV line had come out and the thin trail of blood that was dripping down his arm. "That wasn't supposed to happen... should I call my dad? I can fix it for you, but he'll want to know about it."

"Fuck him," Rick grumpily returned, "I don't wanna deal with him again if I can help it."

Lizabeth gave a fed up sigh. "You sound just like him."

"Yeah, no shit."

"Um, perhaps you should go back to bed." She suggested instead, wanting to avoid another potential confrontation. "Do you want me to turn up the thermostat in the garage?"

"I told you, I don't wanna be there any more. I don't wanna be here either, i-in your house I mean, but I can't leave until I get my portal gun back... or I manage to steal one from somebody." Rick cleared his throat uncomfortably. "No offense."

"None taken." Lizabeth was briefly silent as she pondered how best to handle the situation. "If you're that bored, then why don't you make yourself comfortable and watch the kids? I have a few things I need to do."

Rick opened his mouth to object, but Lizabeth had already taken him by the arm and was gently guiding him towards the couch. In another moment, he was seated with the remote control to the TV and was left alone with Morty and Lizabeth's children.

Summer climbed up onto the cushion beside him and timidly glanced in his direction. "Are you my grandpa...? Can you give me Christmas presents like my Grandpa Leonard and Grandma Joyce?"

"Phh, that's all you're worried about?" Rick wanted to laugh. "You got your own Grandpa Rick for that."

Summer looked puzzled. "But that's you..."

Rick chose to flip through TV channels with the remote in favor of explaining the existence of alternate realities to her, knowing the concept would be lost on such a young child. "Sure kid, if you say so. Tell me what you want and I'll deliver the info where it's supposed to go."

Over the next several minutes, he listened to Summer talk about the latest toys she'd seen on TV commercials and in catalogs, while he tolerated Morty loudly babbling over her in his nonsense language; it was obvious that the little boy was jealous and wanted his undivided attention. Meanwhile, Morty C-711 sat back and stayed out of the way, both shy and a little overwhelmed by all the noise.

Rick could already feel annoyance welling up inside him, but let Morty's behavior slide; he'd been through more than enough and a scolding was the last thing he needed. "Hey, come on, don't be like that." He patted the empty space on the other side of him. "Get your ass up here, there's more than enough of me to go around."

Morty wasted no time clambering up to join him, then possessively clung onto him with both hands. "N-no!"

"Ugh, you're such a shit." Rick flinched in discomfort. "Be careful, Morty... I'm still not a hundred percent."

Before long, Lizabeth came back carrying two cups of hot chocolate and handed one of them to him as she took her place back on the couch. He wordlessly took it and held it in both hands, immediately feeling the warmth radiating from the liquid inside; it smelled so much better than any of Birdperson's herbal teas. As his eyes focused on the marshmallow she'd so thoughtfully included, he had to remind himself again that this wasn't his dimension and that he needed to stay distant; she'd more than likely never see him again as soon as he was well enough to leave.

Just sitting there with Lizabeth and Summer after losing them so violently was both surreal and jarring; Summer was bright-eyed, full of attitude, and exactly as he remembered her, while Lizabeth shared similar mannerisms and facial expressions to his Beth and seemed to care about him in the same way. It made him realize just how much he missed his girls, but in a strange way it was also reassuring; an infinite number of realities meant that they would still be alive wherever his dumb decisions hadn't affected them.

Lizabeth noticed his silence, but picked up the remote and changed the channel to one that she knew her father liked, figuring that Rick would probably have similar viewing tastes. "I was going to ask how you're liking it here, but I already know the answer. I'm going to miss you when you go."

"Phh, no you won't." Rick scoffed. "I-it's not me you want. You need to take this up with your own Rick."

"I tried..." Lizabeth's voice was openly sad. "I really, really tried..."

"Well, try harder." Rick took a sip of his hot chocolate and savored the taste; it had been a long time since he'd had anything like it. "Do you want me to hit him for you?"

Lizabeth softly chuckled at the suggestion, though she couldn't tell if he was kidding or not. "Sure. Maybe you can knock some sense into him."

Many minutes passed as they sat in silence; Rick watched TV and slowly drank the remaining contents of his cup, while Lizabeth finished off her own and closely watched him. Although he was well aware of what she was doing, he chose to ignore her in hopes of not having to talk; her issues had nothing to do with him and the fact that she already sounded partially attached concerned him.

He knew he needed to leave sooner than later, and preferably as quickly as possible.

"So, what is he like these days?" Lizabeth suddenly blurted out. "Has he really changed that much?"

"Ugh... don't you have anything better to do? Why aren't you at work or studying?" Rick could feel his temper rising and took a deep breath in an effort to remain calm. "Why do you have to bug me about this?"

"The teaching hospital doesn't do lectures on Mondays or Fridays, and right now, my job is to take care of you and the kids." Lizabeth knew she was pushing it, but didn't care; she had to know. "Please... it's only one question. Is my dad better than he used to be?"

"Look, I-I don't know!" Rick leaned forward to put his empty cup down on the coffee table and winced at the pain it caused; the amount of effort it took also frustrated him further. "We barely know each other. I only met him a few weeks ago, I didn't even know he existed before that."

"Oh..." Her shoulders sank in disappointment. "I got the impression that you were friends."

"Yeah, well... me too." Rick ruffled a hand through his spiky hair, which was even messier than usual because it hadn't been combed in over a week. "So much for that."

Morty suddenly decided it was a good time to be annoying and climbed over Rick's lap so he could wedge himself in the small gap between Summer and her mother. Once he'd gotten comfortable, he began kicking her to push her away, treating her in the same way he would have treated his actual sister.

"Mooom, make him stop!" Summer howled in protest.

Lizabeth dealt with the behavior by picking the little boy up and setting him down on the floor in front of her so he couldn't do it any more. "That's enough," her tone was stern, yet gentle at the same time. "It's not nice to hurt people."

Before the words were fully out of her mouth, Morty had kicked Summer again on the way down and she began to cry. Lizabeth just sighed with weariness and consoled her daughter with a hug while Morty held onto his 'mother's' left leg like he was never going to let go.

Although Rick had wanted to break up the hostilities between the two, it was already over within seconds of beginning. "Goddammit, Morty! Why do you have to be so antisocial!?" Watching him cling to Lizabeth only reaffirmed his earlier thoughts; Morty still wanted his mother as well as him. He had no idea what to do about it.

It was going to make things a lot more complicated.

The noise attracted the attention of Surgeon Rick, who had been looking for his patient for the last couple of minutes. He casually wandered into the room and stood behind the couch, then rested both arms on the tops of the cushions. "Ah, so that's where you went... why aren't you in bed?"

Rick flattened his brows. "I do what I want."

"Not this again." Surgeon Rick made a soft sigh and rolled his eyes. "How many times do I gotta remind you that you're still recovering from major surgery? When are you gonna start listening to me?"

"I'm not listening to you now." Rick growled back in response. "Go away."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, brother." The surgeon delicately removed an ampule of injectable solution from his pocket and waved it over the other's head. "It's time for your medication."

"Get that shit away from me! I don't like what it does," Rick's gravelly voice took on the petulant, almost childish tone again. "It makes me sleepy and gives me fucked up dreams... m-more so than usual, I mean."

"It's not negotiable," Surgeon Rick countered. "I get where you're comin' from, but it's gotta be done. You got a 20 minute window before the old stuff wears off and you're gonna not gonna like it when that happens." He narrowed his eyes. "Don't make me force it, bro... I don't wanna do that to you."

"I said NO!" Rick remained adamant.

"You wouldn't be able to administer it anyway," Lizabeth chimed in before it could escalate any further. "His IV cannula came out."

Surgeon Rick turned his frustrations on her. "Seriously? Why didn't you come get me as soon as you noticed it?"

"He didn't want me to-"

"You don't work for him!" Surgeon Rick loudly interrupted. "And even if you did, you would have known that it's in the best interests of his health, so you would have fixed it anyway." He stood up again and pinched his brow. "Damn it kid, we can't afford to screw up again. There's no coming back this time!"

"I'm sorry, Dad!" Lizabeth cringed. "I'm still learning. It seemed right-"

"Well it wasn't-"

"O-oh my god... both of you, knock it off!" Rick cut across them and locked his harsh glare straight up at Surgeon Rick. "I have enough of my own problems without having to listen to yours! Not that it's any of my business, but if I still had my daughter, I would put my petty bullshit aside and work it out with her. I'm beginning to think you like getting into fights with the people you give a damn about!"

"No way, it's not like that at all..."

"What is it like, then? Because you need to do something about it!" Rick launched into a rambling tirade. "I would have said that I'm not stupid enough to have gotten into this mess in the first place, but apparently I did, because you're living proof of it. First your stupid boss, then me, and now this? What's wrong with you!?"

Surgeon Rick just stood there and took it like it was a deserved punishment.

"S-stop that! You're never gonna solve anything by being subservient or dominant, a-and take it from me when I say that you can't just run from your problems either. It'll come back to bite you in the ass." Rick had a grim expression on his face at the thought. "This isn't the first time I've had to tell you to settle your differences with people. Why is it easier to do that with your boss than with your own daughter?"

"Get off my back, man..."

"Oh no, buddy, not this time. I've had to listen to this bullshit since I got here whether I wanted to or not, and I'm tired of it. If your daughter wants to make it up to you, then you should let her!" Rick bit back. "Back the fuck down and fix your shit, bro. Fix your shit while you still can. Whatever you gotta do. Buy a toolbox and do it yourself, or call a mechanic, or take it to the repair store, but shut up about it... and fix your shit. And don't talk to me again until you do!"

Sometime during the speech, Surgeon Rick had lowered his head and was staring down at his feet. "I-is that an order...?"

"If it has to be." Rick muttered before shakily standing up. "I'm outta here. I'm done talking to you."

Surgeon Rick gave him a short tense nod. "Y-yes, sir."

"I'll go back to bed on one condition - I want a TV." Rick snatched up his blanket. "Come on Morty, let's hit it. We got better things to do than listen to this bullcrap."

Lizabeth watched him leave and gave her father a strange look, not entirely understanding what had just happened. "Is that your boss?"

Morty tightly clutched his 'mother's' leg in his uncertainty; he wanted to follow his favorite person, but he also wanted to stay there. As Rick got further away, he gave a small shriek of alarm and hurried after him. "Nn-no!"

It was only after they were gone that Surgeon Rick felt comfortable enough to talk again. "Sorta... but not really? Uh, he's about to be. It's complicated, sweetie."

"It didn't look that complicated to me." Lizabeth shrugged. "If he expects you to do what he says, then he's your boss. You looked willing to take it too, and you hate people telling you what to do."

"Yeah, yeah, you don't need to give me the definition or a running commentary, kid. I know." The other let out a resigning sigh, obviously not wanting to be in the position he found himself in. "Well, you heard what he said. We're already here, so let's get this over with. I don't know how to start... why don't we just get into it and see where it goes?"

"That sounds like a good idea," Lizabeth nodded in agreement, "but not in front of the kids." She gently nudged her daughter's shoulder. "Summer, the grownups need to talk. Go play in your room and take Morty with you."

Summer openly pouted, but obeyed and slid off the couch. "Alright, mom... but he always breaks my toys!" She made a show of loudly stomping her feet as took her baby brother by the hand and led him away.

"So, um," Surgeon Rick hesitated, then gave up and took his place on the couch next to her. "Shit, you know I'm no good at this stuff... a-and I already have a pretty good idea of what you wanna ask." He began to nervously tap his foot. "Truth be told, I don't wanna be here or do this with you anymore either. I'm tired, I'm old, I'm less tolerant of stupidity than I used to be, and I have fewer allies as the years go on."

He paused to wait for a response, but she said nothing, so he went on.

"You were the first ally I had, and it'd be nice to get back to that. You always were a good kid, but you're too much like your mother... and worse, you're like me. You're stubborn, you're bitchy, and you won't back down from an argument even when you're wrong. I-I think you inherited the worst from both of us."

"Dad, where are you going with this?" Lizabeth would have gladly gotten into the topic; her father was never willing to talk about her dead mother. However, it didn't feel appropriate to go off on that tangent. "Are you stalling?"

"Uh, maybe?" Surgeon Rick ran a hand through his hair and grabbed a spike tuft to fidget with. "Didn't I just get through telling you I'm no good with this stuff?"

"Dad, please... tell me the truth." Lizabeth pleaded with a pained expression on her face. "Are you still a drug addict or not?"

Surgeon Rick didn't answer immediately; it was not a topic he had ever been comfortable with discussing, even though he knew it was coming. Part of him wanted to leave because it was what he'd always done. He also pondered ditching his reality for good; he'd often fantasized about what it would be like to live in a world where his wife was still alive and where he'd never ruined his daughter's childhood. However, he also knew he'd always regret such a decision, and that the relationship he shared with Lizabeth wasn't completely broken beyond repair. He'd hurt her more than enough - it was time for it to come to an end.

When he finally did speak again, the words were quiet and devoid of his typical fake enthusiasm. "It's not that simple."

"Yes it is!" Lizabeth snapped, feeling her emotions rise up; she feared that the conversation would likely take the same direction as all the ones before it and was determined not to let it happen again. "It's a straightforward yes or no answer. Are you still using? Are you getting help? Did you get clean? Are you cured?"

"Whoa, there you go again with your hundred questions. Take it down a few notches, huh?" The surgeon raised both hands in surrender. "Are you sure you wanna know? You might not like what you hear."

"Damn it, YES!" She was nearly yelling now. "Quit stalling and just tell me already!"

"Alright, alright! I'll tell you. Settle down, kid." Surgeon Rick lowered his hands again, clasped them tightly in his lap, then nodded in acceptance and decided to start. "You're smart. You know the medical definition of an addiction, which is why you should know your questions are dumb - they're not the ones you should be asking." He paused to gather his thoughts. "Firstly, an addict is an addict. You don't get cured, 'cause nobody does. You just choose to stop. And I have... for the most part."

Lizabeth kept her voice calm and even, but she was clearly upset by what she was hearing. "What... what do you mean 'for the most part'?"

"I got my shit under control and I'm doing better than I was. I'm older and a lot less impulsive than I used to be, but sometimes it still gets to me if you know what I mean." His expression was honest and serious. "The problem isn't that I wanna get high. The problem is that I wanna get so high that I forget who I am and if I exist anymore or not. Plus it's fun and a great distraction. Now, I know that's not a good coping mechanism, but it's the truth, and... w-whatever. Point is, I got my shit back together, and... i-is this making sense? Are you following me?"

Lizabeth's face shifted towards concern; she was not used to seeing her father like this at all. "Is it really that bad for you?"

"It's not that bad compared to some. I'm just a mediocre weak-willed piece of shit and that's never gonna change." Surgeon Rick made a dry amused huff. "I'm sorry you got stuck with me, kid. Your mom would have done so much better at this job than me."

"It's not that bad..." She repeated the words aloud to herself, and then was silent in thought for a few moments. "What drugs do you use?"

"Uh, anything I can get my hands on?" The other shrugged. "Pharmaceuticals, opiates, and inhalants, mostly. And alcohol. I ain't ever gonna give up beer though, you can't make me." He folded his arms, grumpy at the idea. "And while we're airing our dirty laundry, I grow and supply kalaxian crystals for fun and profit. Is this the part where you throw me out and tell me never to come back?"

"I built a bridge and got over that, Dad. All I want to do now is help you." Lizabeth responded in a low voice. "Is there anything I can do? Do you want to go to rehab? It's not cheap, but it will get you somewhere safe and locked up where you can't hurt yourself while you receive treatment."

"Do you wanna get off that high-road? Rehab is stupid. It's a place where they try to forcefully recondition your behavior, but if you don't want it, then it won't stick. If you do wanna the make the change, then you don't need a lockup facility for that." Surgeon Rick hunched forwards and stared at the empty cups on the coffee table. "Besides... already been there, done that, got the t-shirt and the badge. The dudes who brought me in gave me a job working for them afterwards. If you think about it, it's a really neat way to find new employees."

"Oh... why would they continue allowing you to be around any drugs at all, knowing your history?"

"Sweetie... they ARE me, and knowing me, I don't think I would care too much about what I get up to." Surgeon Rick sighed with tiredness; he didn't want to explain the Citadel of Ricks to her. "That's the important stuff done. Can we stop now?"

Lizabeth nodded in agreement, not wanting to push him too far. "I just wish there was more I could do."

"I'm doing better. That's all you need to know." He grunted; it was clear that he was done with the conversation topic. "I-I don't understand you, kid. Why did you wanna reconnect with me so bad? There's gotta be more to this than just wanting shit to end. It's not like you to change your mind on anything."

"There is. I'm a terrible person, Dad... I sure as hell didn't make your life any easier for you when I was growing up." Lizabeth admitted miserably. "I want to stop feeling so bad every time I think about you."

"Yeah? Welcome to the club." He peered up at her. "If you ever find a way to make that happen, you come let me know."

The two sat in the silence that followed, but Lizabeth was smiling; she couldn't remember a time where a discussion with her father had been so productive. She'd gotten more out of him in the last few minutes than she ever had before, and she felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She'd spent so many years angry at him that feeling sorry for him was strange and foreign to her, but she also admired him all the more; it must have been difficult for him to be honest about everything like that.

Meanwhile, Surgeon Rick sat, his posture stiff as a board and his emotions concealed, waiting to see what would happen next. He hadn't been yelled at and they hadn't gotten into another argument, which he took as a good sign, but now he was concerned that she was busy scheming a different line of attack.

The moment seemed to stretch out forever, but it was Lizabeth who would break the silence this time. "Hey Dad, what was Mom like?"

"Ugh... what brought that question on? You really wanna do this now?"

"You mentioned her earlier and we were already talking, so I thought I'd ask, but... if you don't want to-"

"It's fine," Surgeon Rick grunted over her, "but are you sure you don't wanna keep on pretending she was a perfect person? Because if that's how you wanna think about her, I don't care, but I ain't ruining anything for you unless you want me to."

She gave the question some careful consideration. "I want to know, Dad."

"Typical. Always gotta know everything, don't ya?" Surgeon Rick looked equal parts irritated and discontent as he sat up again. Several insults came to mind, but he settled on a few less harsh ones. "Well... she was kind of a nerd and she didn't understand me, but mostly she was a huge bitch."

"Oh..." Lizabeth's face fell.

"But, uh, she was a good person?" He offered quickly. "Not a day went by where she didn't wanna help people. She was fiercely independent and had a fiery disposition and... s-she didn't deserve to go out the way she did." He clutched his hands together so tightly that his fingers turned white. "I know she would've loved you, kid. She left us too soon and I-I..." His voice began to break up and he had to stop himself.

"Dad, it's OK, I know how you feel." She curled up against him and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Actually, that's a lie. It's not OK and I'll never know how you feel, but you don't have to be alone anymore. I'm here for you for whatever you need."

"Goddamn it, i-it's fine. It's stupid anyway." The other furiously brushed at his eyes with the sleeve of his scrubs. "I don't know why I get like this, I'm not even drunk." He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Whatever. Did you wanna know shit or not?"

Lizabeth gave him a singular nod, and then patiently sat through the stories her father told about her mother's life, how they had met, and what kind of work they did together. Before long, she took the old photo albums out and he was talking about the memories attached to the pictures taken within. When he got to the photos he had taken of her, he became even quieter and the same regretful sadness hung over him once again.

"You... you really kept these all this time?"

"Of course." Lizabeth tried to reassure him by placing a gentle arm around his shoulders. "It's alright, Dad. You're the only one still holding onto the past, but there's nothing to gain from it. Let it go."

"You're very persistent, aren't you?"

"Well, I had a good teacher." The blonde-haired woman mused.

"Do you think I could... c-can I get some copies made?" He asked as he delicately leafed through the back pages of the album. "I had most of these already, but they were lost in the explosion. I didn't think I was ever gonna see them again."

"There was an explosion?" Lizabeth quizzically raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, that. Yeaaaaaah, uh..." The question helped bring him out of his mood and he quickly explained the story about his time with the doctor and the ship, how they had come to pick up the important Rick in the garage, how they were all being hunted down and chased across the multiverse, and how they had gotten into the situation they found themselves in now.

"...and that's why I can't stay. It's not that I don't wanna hang around, but it's for your own protection and safety." He finished off. "Like I said, it's pretty fuckin' complicated."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Lizabeth sounded disappointed. "I wish I there was something I could do to make it go away."

"Me too, kid. Me too." And just like that, he was back to his grumpy old self. "Ah shit, before I forget, I got one other confession to make – my boss broke your gameboy. Sorry about that."

Lizabeth wanted to laugh out loud at how childishly silly it was. "That old thing? It's fine, Dad!"

"Holy shit, I'm glad YOU'RE cool with it, 'cause I'm not!" Surgeon Rick teased back. "Do you have any idea how much it cost me back in 1989? They weren't cheap, you know!"

"Relax, Dad. Nintendo sold more than 110 million of them worldwide. It's not like you can't ever buy another one."

"It's not the same! That one had sentimental value."

"To you, maybe."

"Seriously!?" He dramatically placed his hand on his heart and pretended to be insulted. "It was a birthday present from your loving father, you ungrateful brat!"

With their defenses down, they were finally able to enjoy each other's company again. They began catching up on the time they had missed out on, as well as talking about whatever came to mind.

As Lizabeth snuggled her father's arm, she couldn't help but feel like she was being watched; she wrote it off as nerves from their earlier conversation and pointed out the stupidities in the TV show they were watching instead. Before long, Surgeon Rick was laughing at her sense of humor, and for the first time in a long time, he was genuinely smiling instead of hiding behind one or faking it. He knew he'd made the right decision even if it wasn't the one he had wanted to make.

He also knew that he owed Rick his gratitude for forcing him into it, as well as a big apology before he could make his life a living hell.

Both of them were so distracted that they didn't notice the audience they'd had the entire time, and nor did they hear the sounds of footsteps moving away as their house guest retreated back into the shadows of the garage, feeling quite smug and pleased with himself.


The next morning, Rick was found where he was supposed to be for once; he sat on the side of his bed with his legs dangling over the edge while he casually strummed one of the guitars he had taken from the garage shelves. He stopped every now and again to adjust the tuning keys; his right hand was still bandaged which made playing difficult, but he still managed it anyway.

When Ricktus wheeled in a bedside tray table containing his patient's breakfast, Rick pretended he didn't exist; he still wasn't interested in talking to him or the food he had to offer. He never thought he'd see the day where he would get sick of ice-cream, but just thinking about it made him want to gag.

Surgeon Rick arrived shortly afterwards, and Ricktus gave him a look of concern as he nodded in Rick's direction. He was given a shrug in reply, and then a whole conversation of silent expressions and gestures took place, neither of them wanting to be the one to tell their patient that he needed to eat.

It was so amusing to watch that it made the scientist chuckle in spite of how annoyed he was with them. "You idiots got punished for what you did to me, didn't you?"

Surgeon Rick's hands dropped to his sides. "How'd you know?"

"Don't think I didn't notice how weird you've both been acting lately. I also guessed it after what you said yesterday." Rick told him with a smug grin. "You called me 'sir'. You've never done that before. So what are they making you do besides babysitting me? Do you have to do everything I say? Did you get grounded? Do you have to do fifty push-ups every morning and scrub the latrines?"

Ricktus was reluctant to answer, but quickly gave in and told the truth. "The Council voted to banish us, but it wasn't unanimous so it didn't pass."

"Holy shit, you call THAT a punishment?!" Rick was laughing properly now. "That sounds more like an invitation to fuck up even harder. If they let you go, you'd get your freedom back!"

"If they let us go, yes." The doctor made an uncomfortable sound in the back of his throat as he watched the guards and chose his next words carefully. "The Council is not above corporal punishment. We got off lightly considering the circumstances, but if they had chosen differently, I wouldn't be surprised if they made an example of us in front of the entire Citadel."

"Yeah dude, how they dealt with us was fuckin' messed up, but it could have been worse." Surgeon Rick agreed. "If we'd been banished, then we probably woulda never seen you again. Both of us also still have shit to finish and I kinda wanna see it through, y'know?"

Rick narrowed his eyes and his amusement faded. "That doesn't sound like your philosophy at all."

"What do you mean?"

The scientist pointed to the corrected portal gun formula on the chalkboard in the far corner of the room. "You don't see anything through unless somebody makes you. If you had just stuck to your guns, you would've been able to escape from your own personal hell years ago."

Surgeon Rick glanced in the indicated direction and spent a few moments reading. "Ugh, this looks like something I wrote when I was drunk." He reread it and his eyes widened in realization of what it was. "Oh shit, you finished it... don't leave that there, bro! That's sensitive information!"

"Did you fix shit with your daughter?" It wasn't really a question; he already knew the answer and wanted to prove his point.

"Yeah, mostly. I have an open invitation to come back here if that's what y-"

"Would you have done it if I hadn't ordered you to?"

Surgeon Rick lowered his head. "No..."

"I'd tell you to get your heads out of the Council's asses, but I'd be repeating myself and I feel like I'm wasting my time at this point." Rick huffed in disgust; it seemed like they hadn't taken any of his advice at all. "When can I leave?"

"Maybe on Thursday, maybe the day after that. I'd feel more comfortable with releasing you if you ate more." Ricktus took it as an opportunity to nudge the tray table towards him. "You're already underweight as it is and you won't get better if you don't eat."

"What are you, my mother? Get it outta here!" Rick promptly pushed it away the second it came within his reach.

"No, but I'm your acting physician and you are my responsibility until you are discharged." The doctor answered matter-of-factly as he wheeled the table back and held it firmly in place. "In my earlier clinical notes, I noted that you might have eating issues. If that's true, do you want to go back on the liquid food diet? It's not optimal, but it's better than nothing and it will keep you fed."

"No!" Rick slapped a hand against his forehead and groaned. "Look, I don't have problems with food, I'm just not hungry. Besides, does that even look like food to you? I-it's unappetizing... it looks like something somebody threw up!"

Rolling his eyes, Ricktus grumbled something under his breath as he moved away and found a chair to sit on. "Fine, be that way. But I'm not going anywhere until you eat something."

"You'll be waiting forever, dumbass!" Rick childishly shot back.

Not wanting the situation to escalate further, Surgeon Rick stepped in between them and changed the subject. "H-hey. Can we talk about something? Like, real talk?"

Rick placed his left hand back on the fret of the guitar and resumed strumming the strings with his right. "No."

Surgeon Rick tried anyway. "I'm sorry man," and he truly was; it was easy to tell by the regretful tone in his voice. "I fucked up. I didn't mean to make you so damn upset. I just wanted you to feel as bad as I did when I found out you were dead. But everyone's right, I shouldn't have done it. I didn't think it through."

Rick's only response was to give him an unimpressed glare as he continued playing; he'd already explained his thoughts and didn't want to repeat himself.

"I didn't mean for it to go the way it did. I get that I deserve your anger, but don't let this be the thing that ruins our friendship, bro." Surgeon Rick hated apologies because he'd never been any good at them, but he kept going in the hope that it would do something. "You're different. You're better than most other Ricks and like, you're the only one who ever bothered sticking your neck out for us. Nobody does that for low-tier trash Ricks, buddy... nobody. That means something to me and I'm not gonna forget it. I wish I could take back what I said but I can't, and I don't know what else to do. I-I'm sorry dude, it's never gonna happen again."

Rick glared even harder. "It better not."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Surgeon Rick's eyes darted around the room as if looking for an escape. "So I know having another drinking buddy is off the table now, but we still could've hung out and stuff. I don't want you holding this over my head forever, man... I feel bad about it. We're gonna be cool again soon, right?"

"Maybe." Rick considered the idea for a moment. "I'd be more inclined to let it go if you can get me something better than all this fucking ice-cream and sloppy semi-liquid oatmeal bullshit you've been trying to feed me for the last couple of days."

Surgeon Rick found himself dumbly staring; it was such a simple request that he couldn't tell he was being serious or not. As Rick look back at him, an unspoken understanding passed between them, and even though the scientist was still clearly annoyed, he gave a short nod as if to indicate that he'd accepted and forgiven what had happened.

"Don't fuck with me again." Rick was the first one to break eye contact this time, deciding that his improvised music was more important. "That goes for both of you... and don't think I'm gonna forget that you were both in on it. You're as bad as each other!"

"Yeah, I know, right? I can't make any promises, but I'll try to make the next one funnier." Surgeon Rick offered with a small hopeful grin. "Yo, who said you could touch my guitar? You probably fucked with the strings and everything!"

Rick flattened his brow as if issuing him a challenge. "You want it? Come get it back."

"Um... uh, n-no thanks." The surgeon took a step back, not knowing if it was too soon to be trying to have fun with him again. "You, uh... you want pancakes?" He offered instead, then glanced at his ex-boss to ask for permission.

"I don't care." Ricktus gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "If it works, it works."

"Pancakes sounds amazing," Rick agreed, "but hold the ice-cream."


With each passing day, Rick's physical strength slowly returned. He could stay on his feet for longer periods of time than before, but the dull ache in his right side still remained, even with pain medication; the other Ricks informed him that it was because he was still healing up. Although it made sense, it still annoyed and frustrated him.

As he sat on his bed and watched the TV he'd been given, he kept Morty entertained by giving him books to chew on. It was then that he noticed that his vision had sharpened up considerably; he'd gotten used to the blurriness due to always being tipsy or drunk, but the clarity he was experiencing right now was almost jarring; it was like he had perfect 20/20 vision. He focused his gaze on the ceiling and at various objects around the garage to test it out, then settled back on the TV, not sure how to feel about the discovery; he couldn't tell if he could see so well because he'd genuinely forgotten what it was like to be sober, or if they'd done something to his eyesight while he'd been out of it.

He also didn't know why he hadn't noticed it before.

He was distracted from his thoughts when Surgeon Rick came in looking for him. "Yo, my brother, what's up? You know you can come hang with the family any time you want, right? Don't feel like you gotta stay here now that you're good enough to move around." He paused when the screen caught his attention. "Ooh, what are you watching?"

"That Doesn't Fit In There'," Rick answered and grabbed the remote to turn up the volume. "You wanna watch? This may be the greatest thing I've ever seen."

"Aw shit dawg, what did I tell ya?! Is it awesome or what?!" Surgeon Rick quickly realized what he was looking at and turned his head away. "Damn, I haven't seen this episode... I'm like a whole two weeks behind, so I gotta catch up and watch the reruns later."

"I'm not certain if you have to." Rick frowned. "The show doesn't look like it has an ongoing sequential plot between episodes. From what I've seen so far, i-it's mostly comprised of one-off clips jammed together with half-assed segues, and the only common theme is that something doesn't fit into something else."

"Dude, spoilers!"

"Suit yourself." Rick changed the channel and handed the remote to Morty to play with. "So did you come in for a reason, or are you here to annoy me?"

"Both." Surgeon Rick gave him a wide toothy grin. "You missed my earlier cue, so I'll be more blunt this time - get the fuck outta here. My boss has some shit waiting for you in the next room."

"You should have said so in the first place, dipshit." Rick grumbled as he carefully maneuvered himself off the bed. "Why did you make me talk about some dumb d-dumb... a stupid TV show you like?"

"I wanted to make conversation and hear your opinion. Now shut up and get out there, bro! You'll wanna see it, trust me."

"I doubt it..." Rick muttered under his breath as picked up Morty and wandered out the door. In the living room, he found Ricktus seated with the rest of with Surgeon Rick's family, and he was casually going over Morty's development issues like they were nothing.

"Like I said, I've seen this kind of language delay before, but it's nothing to worry about. If he has normal intelligence, he'll expand his vocabulary in his own time. Just keep an eye on it and..." When the doctor heard the other approaching, he stopped and stood up. "Ah, there you are. How are you feeling?"

Rick bared his teeth. "How do you think I feel? I'm SO tired of that fucking question and I'd appreciate it if you never ask me that again!"

"My, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the multiverse this morning." Ricktus spoke in a mildly condescending tone. "You should be happy, B-526. I'm going to sign the documentation to release you from my care."

"Y-you... you are?" Rick's anger evaporated. "Why?"

"I'm staying true to my word for a start. You can also have your stuff back." The other took the scientist's possessions out of his pockets and began to lay them across the coffee table; first his portal gun, a datapad, another slightly larger handheld device that looked suspiciously like a laptop computer, and his gold pin. "You're clearly ready for it if your energetic attitude is anything to go by. You'll have to take it easy for the next six weeks, and you'll want to come back and see me in another ten days to get your sutures removed. I advise against living on your own until you've made a complete recovery, but this is it – you're someone else's problem now."

"Aw yeah, you made it!" Surgeon Rick came up from behind and gave him a not-so-gentle slap on the back. "Go see Riq IV as soon as you can, bro. He specifically told us he wanted you back at the Citadel, and he hates to be kept waiting if you know what I mean. He probably has important stuff for you to do now that you're his responsibility."

"Yeah, that's not happening." Rick's eyes were glued to gold pin and one eyebrow dipped in curiosity. "Ah, you finally got your stupid golden boy scout badge? Well, good for you, I guess."

"Actually..." The doctor's tone had turned cautious; he didn't know what kind of reaction he was about to receive. "It's yours."

Rick lowered his other brow and his expression became suspicious. "Wait a second... is this another one of your stupid pranks? Because it better not be!"