Let The Ricks Fall Where They May

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

Disclaimers + Copyrights: Rick and Morty aren't real. They're cartoons. This work of fanfiction is mine but the original cartoon is not. The official content was created by Justin Roiland and Dan Harmon, and it is copyright to [Adult Swim]. You should support the official release wherever possible.

NOTE: The plot settles down a little this chapter. Have some fluff and silliness.


Chapter 32 – The Burden of Rickponsibility

December 13th, 12:15pm, Citadel Time, 2001
Cross-Temporal Rift Nebula, Location Classified
Citadel Of Ricks, Dimension Number Classified


"Hey! Where are you going, man?! Come back!" There was a pause. "Don't do this to us!"

"Leave him be, C-711... he'll tire himself out."

Rick heard the voices following behind him, but he did not stop; Morty was busy squealing on his shoulder and he was determined to keep going until he got as far away from Riq IV's office as possible, insulted by the fact that the Council leader had called his grandson 'that thing'. Sure enough, the doctor's prediction was spot-on and he slowed down as the pain in his side caught up with him again, allowing the others the opportunity to close in and walk beside him.

"Yo, what the hell happened back there?" Surgeon Rick immediately spoke his mind; he was highly curious and concerned all at once. "It's totally not like you to fall in line with authority, bro... what made you take the badge? Did the big boss bribe you with something awesome? Did he threaten you? Sit the fuck down and take a breather, 'cause you ain't doing yourself any favors by pushing yourself too hard and ignoring us. We can't help you if you don't tell us what's wrong."

"I-I'm not the one who needs help..." Rick stubbornly growled back and shook his head; he could feel himself start to become woozy and braced one arm on the corridor wall for support.

"Huh?" The surgeon blinked in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"C-711 is right... you're overdoing it and you could do yourself real harm if you continue." The words came out low and hesitant as if the doctor had been internally debating it; while he knew he was bound by rank and that this Rick was literally his direct superior now, he didn't want to cross the line or get in trouble. "I don't know what you want my new job to be, but we still have a duty of care where your health is concerned. Can we pull rank on this?"

Surgeon Rick's pace slowed momentarily as he considered the question; he didn't want to intervene either, but he could see that their new boss clearly needed them to. "Uh... if it's directly related to health and well-being, then yeah. Get your arm around him and I'll grab the little guy. We can totally use that and drag his ass into the infirmary."

"What?! N-no! You're NOT taking me back there again, i-it's not that bad!" Rick loudly sputtered in protest. "I'll sit down when I'm good and ready, a-and not a moment before!"

"Well, he's still standing, so..." Surgeon Rick hummed in thought as he quickly reassessed his patient. "When was the last time you took your meds, dude? If we get you back to the apartment, we can fix that up and you'll feel lots better inside half an hour."

Rick made his discontentment known with a loud huff as the doctor came into his personal space and gently supported his left arm over his shoulders; it wasn't what he wanted, but it was still a better choice than dealing with the infirmary again. "Fine, but I'm not letting you do this to me again..."

Luckily, the journey up to Rick's apartment was a relatively short one. Although the scientist showed no gratitude to practically being carried the whole way, he felt better once he was set down and sitting on his couch.

Morty quietened down considerably as well; while he would have preferred to be in the arms of his favorite person, he had already spent time in the apartment in the days following Rick's surgery, so he found comfort in the familiar surroundings. However, almost as soon as he'd settled, he let loose with another deafening cry, announcing to the whole Citadel that he was still hungry and tired.

Rick attempted to rise to his feet so he could deal with the problem, but Ricktus was quicker and pinned him down by his shoulders, determined to keep him from moving again so soon.

"H-hey!" Rick promptly raised his voice. "What gives!?"

"We'll strike a balance in our objectives soon enough, but you cannot reprimand me for keeping you from straining yourself." Ricktus spoke in his most calming tone. "You've heard me say it many times before, but this is for your own good."

"Oh, for... I don't need your help. I can handle myself!" Rick angrily objected. "Stop treating me like a child!"

The reply was smooth; this was the one area the doctor still had confidence in. "Then stop acting like one."

"Oh boy..." Surgeon Rick bit his lower lip at the rising hostilities; holding a screaming young child was bad enough without having to listen to a fight between his old and new boss as well, so he offered them a diversion instead. "Yo, now that we're somewhere safe where nobody can overhear us, why don't you tell us all about what happened with Riq IV? I'm dyin' to know, and I'm sure my bro is, too."

The comment seemed to calm the scientist a little, but he still took the opportunity to slap Ricktus in the face with an open-palmed hand to get him out of his personal space. "Ugh... where do I even start?" And he honestly didn't know; he already suspected that if he flat-out told them his real motivations behind taking the gold badge, it could be used against them, or worse, they could be captured and tortured for information if things turned ugly later.

He certainly didn't put it past the Council; he'd already witnessed Riq IV taking joy out of verbally tormenting them the first time he'd been in the Council-leader's office.

"From the beginning? Duh." Surgeon Rick gently prompted as he moved away to the apartment's kitchenette to prepare medicine and food for Morty.

"Well, uh..." Rick gently shrugged his shoulders and chose a simple answer that sounded a lot like what Riq IV had already pitched to him. "I changed my mind. I want to make a difference."

"That part definitely sounds authentic and like something you would do, but doing it under the authority of another does not." Ricktus grumpily rubbed his cheek as he sat on the furthest cushion away from his new boss, figuring that he was safe if he kept his distance. "You were stubborn about it and adamantly refused to join the Citadel right from day one. How did Riq IV convince you to change your mind in the few minutes you were in his office?"

Trying to determine how best to explain ambiguously while still telling the truth, he ended up stalling. "Uh... I don't know," he already sounded frustrated, "but I need you to trust me, OK? I-it literally just happened and I need time to sit down and talk with the rest of... the Council." He couldn't believe he was willingly saying the words and felt disgusting. "My job here hasn't even been defined yet."

Surgeon Rick stood over him with a small cup of pills and a glass of water precariously balanced in the fingers of one hand, while he somehow supported Morty in his other arm and held a jar of baby food in the other. "Here you go, bro." He held his arm out and offered Rick the medication. "After you take that, it'd be great if you could define our new job description, now that we're following your lead."

"Indeed," Ricktus half-nodded, half-lowered his head in acceptance. "What would you have us do?"

"I-it's not like that," Rick grabbed the pills and downed them in one hit, then took a long drink of the water. "See, I don't wanna tell you what to do and I never did. If working under a gold-rank Rick means doing what they want, then I want you to have the freedom to be your own bosses. Go do what interests you, I-I don't know... don't you have aspirations outside of work and earning money? What do you wanna do with yourselves?"

Surgeon Rick thought about the question as he sat beside the other and deposited Morty in his lap. "Well, I always did want to build a spaceship and travel the universe, but I never got the math down properly and it started looking like drug-fueled, improbable bullshit before long... same with the portal gun." He almost sounded regretful. "I did the surgeon thing because it was easy, but I've always been interested in learning about space and stuff. Hell, you saw the blackboard in my garage. You fuckin' wrote all over it!"

"I fixed it, you mean." Rick corrected him, then finished off the glass of water and loudly burped. "If you'd only put that extra bit of effort into your portal-gun formula, then you would've found your mistake and cracked it. I did it so you'd read my notes and try harder next time."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... it was always in the back of my mind." The surgeon grumpily defended himself as he handed over the jar of baby food. "I didn't know it was the better Rick in me talking until I learned about the Citadel and all of you guys. Once I registered myself, the Council gave me access to portal-gun technology and I never had to think about it. But I'm sure I would've solved it all on my own one day."

Both of Morty's tiny hands lunged out to intercept the food; he wasn't going to show an ounce of patience and wasted no time shoving one hand into the open jar so he could lick the lumpy mush off his fingers and feed himself.

"Sure you would have." Rick challenged the surgeon with a wide toothy grin, at least until his attention was diverted downwards. "Hey, Morty. Slow the fuck down there, would ya? Y-you're gonna get it all over me, you gross little shit!"

Ricktus listened to the discussion and shifted nervously, waiting for his turn to speak. "I'm not sure if I understand you correctly, sir. Your order to us as a gold-tier Rick is to... not follow your orders? Forgive me for pointing this out, but in not following your orders, we're still doing what you asked of us, so that's highly paradoxical."

Rick tiredly sighed and placed a hand on his forehead, needing a moment to keep himself calm. "Look... first of all, stop calling me that. Choosing to play the Council's game still doesn't make me your superior. Nothing's changed - I'm still the same old guy. Secondly, use your brain and actually think about what I'm telling you – I don't need to order you around, and I don't want you to do any odd jobs for me. I'm essentially giving you free reign under my badge. Abuse it and go have fun."

"While your mindset is indeed admirable, I must inform you that it is unrealistic." Ricktus spoke as formally as he would have during official Council business or an assembly meeting. "We all want balance in our lives between fun and work, but we still need to get paid. My colleague and I originally came to the Citadel to earn an income and to use our expertise. We can't do that if we sit around doing whatever we please because you ordered us to."

Rick rolled his eyes in frustration and hoped it wasn't a taste of things to come. "Y'know, I think I liked you better when you were all high and mighty, and acted like you had something to prove. Now you're just sad... do you wanna pull the stick out of your ass? You might find your sense of humor in there. Just saying."

Surgeon Rick chuckled, even though he knew it wasn't a good idea; he could already tell he was going to have to mediate before things got worse. "OK, cut out the shit. You can't be throwin' around petty bullshit if you wanna work with each other. My brother just wants to know how he can keep earning a living while under your leadership. You can't blame a guy for that."

"Did either of you even hear a word of what I just said? It's like I'm talking to a wall." The scientist slowly shook his head in disapproval. "Fine, I'll pull some strings and arrange something... what kind of work do you wanna do?"

"If I had my way, I would set up a clinic for the Citadel's registered Mortys, but as you can well imagine, there's no demand for that kind of work here." As Ricktus answered, his face was a mixture of seriousness and disappointment. "You would get more use out of my skill set by assigning me the task of developing vaccines and immunizing the Citadel population against all the exotic, yet preventable diseases that the newcomers are going to bring in with them. It's going to get so much worse before it gets better."

"Dude, if there's anything I can see, it's that you like torturing yourself." Surgeon Rick teased with a wide grin. "For real? You seriously wanna open a Morty clinic? That would be like kicking yourself in the balls every day."

"Goddammit, C-711... my superior asked me a question and I answered it!" Ricktus shot back, taking insult to what was meant to be a joke. "I'm glad that you try to find the humor in everything, but sometimes things are terrible and there's nothing you can do about it. It's becoming painfully apparent that I'm never going to earn enough money for what I want, so I want to take care of all the Mortys, damn it! ALL of them!"

Surgeon Rick immediately raised both hands in surrender; he knew he'd hit a sore spot and hadn't meant to. "Shit, bro... y-yeah, that was bad of me. I'm sorry, OK? It'll work out, you'll see. Our new boss actually isn't an asshole for once, and you're already 2.1 million credits closer than you ever were before-"

"Shut it, C-711!" Ricktus refused to let him finish and angrily folded his arms across his chest. "Yes, that was bad of you, but I don't want an apology or your pity. What I DO want you to do is sit there and feel bad, and to start thinking before you speak. And get used to feeling bad until you learn!"

Although Rick was still listening to their squabble, his attention was drawn to his surroundings. If this was meant to be the apartment that had been assigned to him, he couldn't tell - the space looked like it had been lived in for a long time. An assortment of discarded clothes lay scattered across the floor nearby, while the only bed he could see was in utter disarray with the pillows and sheets thrown to one side. There were also dirty dishes stacked up on one side of the kitchenette's sink, while the coffee table in front of him was littered with take-out containers, used wine glasses, and liquor bottles in various states of emptiness.

"I see you've already made yourselves at home." Rick didn't even bother to hide his repulsion. "How can you live like this? I was a hoarder and lived on my own for years, a-and not even I was this bad!"

Ricktus matched his expression and turned his head towards the guilty party. "I'm not the one responsible for this mess."

Surgeon Rick's tone was instantly apologetic. "Ah shit, sorry, bro. He's right, it's mostly mine. My bad." He rose to his feet and began hastily clearing the table, feeling guilty that he'd absentmindedly left alcohol within his new boss's reach. "We've been so busy with you that I didn't get time to make the joint look pretty before you arrived. Thanks for letting us hang here for awhile. We literally had nowhere else to crash."

Rick raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Really? Why didn't you stay at your daughter's house? Don't you have your own apartment or living arrangement here at the Citadel?"

"No, we do not." Ricktus curtly answered for him. "Both of our living spaces were on my ship... before you blew it up. When I first met C-711, he was either wasting his income on hotels or sleeping in empty beds at the infirmary. For some unknown reason, I think I was insane or desperate at the time... I took pity on him and gave him free board in exchange for work. I needed an assistant when my first Citadel-endorsed project was approved and..." He glanced back in Surgeon Rick's direction. "Was I drunk when I hired you?"

"Uh, probably? Drunk on the idea of making bank and getting shit done, maybe." Surgeon Rick offered him another weak grin. "Hey, now that you don't have to worry about all that stuff, w-we're gonna be cool again, right? Because I miss the old you. Is shit ever gonna go back to normal?"

"Nothing will ever be normal again, and that's a gross understatement. Look where we are, for starters." Ricktus was surprisingly calm as he told him matter-of-factly. "If not for our superior's charity, then you would likely be back to sleeping in all your previous places, and I'm not even certain where I would be... I don't want to think about it."

"Phh, it's not charity." Rick snatched up a spoon from the mess on the coffee table before it could be tidied, cleaned it off on his lab coat, and then started using it to feed Morty, wanting to hurry him along. "OK, so blowing up your home is on me, but that's-" His words were prematurely cut off by a yawn. "T-that's what you get for getting comfortable and complacent living in what was essentially a giant flammable pinata. I crashed at Birdperson's house when I had nothing. I-I'm just paying it forward."

"Yeah, which is super cool of you to do, but, uh..." The surgeon stopped in his tracks and hesitated. "Look bro, I don't want this to come off wrong, but you're homeless as fuck like us now, and you need your own space, too. Are you gonna live here and kick us out?"

Rick was silent as he thought about it; crashing on Birdperson's couch again was a highly predictable and pathetic move, and even Riq IV had called him out on it. Even with the ability to travel anywhere across the multiverse, staying at the Citadel was going to be highly convenient if he was to get himself involved in its inner workings. He also knew that taking care of Morty while still recovering would likely be difficult, and although he was normally too proud to ask for help from others, he was starting to come to the realization that he was going to need it.

Although he had briefly considered the idea, he just didn't have it in him to kick the other Ricks out of his apartment. They irritated and frustrated him immensely, and he despised their poor choices and complete inability to stand up for themselves, but in spite of those things, he actually tolerated their presence somehow.

No matter how much he wanted to believe that things like love, companionship, and friendships were meaninglessness or only held him back, he still desired them because he was still a weak, pathetic little human at his core. He utterly hated it, but he also knew he would be lonely without them.

When he realized that Surgeon Rick was closely watching him and waiting for an answer, he bared his teeth and did his best to sound disinterested. "What? Why are you looking at me like that? I said you could keep the apartment, stupid! I didn't think I was ever gonna use it, so... technically, this is your space, not mine."

"But sir, you gave us your apartment. For free. That's the very definition of 'charity'." Ricktus was quick to challenge him. "Wait, why am I explaining this to you? You already knew that... once again, you have nothing to gain out of this. I don't know why you would bother."

The grin on Surgeon Rick's face was huge as he turned away to dispose of the rubbish and bottles. "Oh my god, are you dense? Does he have to spell it out for you? He likes us, bro."

"He likes us..." Ricktus repeated the words aloud, but he didn't find himself any closer to an understanding. "Why? I'm a big asshole and completely unlikable... and I'm able to come to terms with that, but Ricks clearly hate themselves, and by association, each other. Why do you keep giving us so much with no expectation of anything in return?"

"Well, come to think of it... there is one thing you can do." Rick glanced at him with half-lidded eyes; his medication had started taking effect, making him feel both heavy and incredibly drowsy. "Whew... that hit me faster than a double shot of whiskey on an empty stomach. C-can you finish up with Morty for me? I need to rest my eyes for a little bit."

The doctor immediately disregarded his own thoughts and feelings in favor of following orders. "Of course," he carefully gathered up the youngster and his jar of food, ignoring the sudden loud scream he received for taking him from his preferred person. "But why don't you lie down on the bed? It's comfortable and more than big enough for two of you."

"Because it's yours." Relieved of his responsibility, Rick shuffled about on the couch until he was lying down on his side. "Besides, I-I'm not going to sleep... j-just resting my eyes." As if to emphasize his words, he covered them with the crook of his arm to block out the overhead light.

"But this is your apartment, sir!" Ricktus stubbornly declared, refusing to believe it was any other way.

"I-if you call me 'sir' one more time," the words were mumbled and barely recognizable, "I'm gonna get back up and choke hold you."

"But s-" The doctor stopped himself in time and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Rick... we haven't done anything to change the Citadel-accommodation records, so your name and number would still be on the ownership list."

Rick only gave a small hum in reply this time, though it was impossible to tell whether it was disagreement or something else.

"Eh, leave him alone, bro. " Surgeon Rick told him as he paced around the floor to pick up dirty laundry. "Taking time out is good for him no matter what he wants to call it. Anyway, didn't you advise him against living on his own until he was all better? It's what you wanted, so don't complain about it."

"Fair point," Ricktus conceded, "but what am I supposed to do with this?" He nodded down towards Morty, who had since stopped screaming, but was now wriggling and making unhappy mewls in his arms.

"Really? We've been dealing with him for how long, and you still don't know what to do? Not sure if you got the memo, but you're meant to be the kid doctor and the expert on this one. You're not exactly inspiring a lot of confidence here, y'know." The surgeon paused to throw a pair of underwear in his general direction. "Ugh, fine... you wanna swap jobs? This shit has to go to the laundromat."

"Sure," Ricktus was annoyed that he had to duck out of the way, but he was still grateful for the suggestion. "Rick B-526's Morty seems to like you more than me anyway."

"You're being so contradictory... you know that?" Surgeon Rick grouchily dumped the armful of clothes at his feet. "You can't avoid it forever. I'll do it for you this one last time, but if the boss designates you to the same task in the future, then you gotta do it. If you're so adamant about taking care of all the Mortys in the Citadel, then you gotta start by, y'know, actually taking care of one of them." He reached down to take the youngster from him.

The doctor scooped up the pile of clothes the second his arms were free, glad for the opportunity to escape. "Thank you for covering for me, C-711."

"Anytime, brother." And just like that, all the bite was gone from his voice. "Hey, not that it matters now, but thanks for hiring me, man. You were actually cool for a while, and I got to see space every day while I was living on your ship. For what it's worth, even though everything got destroyed, you still got this dude here alive. The Council's gonna remember that."

"No. He got himself here on his own luck and skill." The doctor shook his head. "And it looks like we're along for the ride now, whether we like it or not."

"That's... not a bad thing? I'm fine with it." The other shrugged back at him. "He could've kicked us out, but he didn't. He could've taken the bed, but he didn't. He could've let you die... but he didn't. This dude might be the first non-self-serving gold Rick that the Citadel has ever seen, a-and he hired us, man. Us. The low-tier trash, mediocre, nothing Ricks."

"I'm not sure what you're getting a-"

"Everything's gonna be OK. I'm sure of it." Surgeon Rick spoke over him with firm conviction. "We got this guy watching our backs now. You wanna know what your new job should be? It's what it's always been - enabling Ricks like him so he can enable us. We're still the auxiliary cogs in a much larger machine." For one rare moment his expression was serious, but then he was right back to grinning like a fool. "C'mon, don't you wanna blow more shit up? Hang out with our new boss more often and you will. You gotta admit it was a little fun last time, right?"

"Yes, 'fun'," the reply was bitterly sarcastic, "I watched more than a year's worth of my own work burn down right in front of me, and I couldn't save any of it..." He stopped to take a deep breath; it was clear that he was still harboring a deep resentment over the loss. "Forgive me for not feeling as enthusiastic about it as you do." He gently pushed past him and headed out the door of the apartment.

Surgeon Rick gave up and let him go this time; it seemed, at least from his perspective, that the doctor was determined to keep wallowing in his own misery in spite of everything he'd just said.

If he wouldn't listen to reason, then he would just have to wait and find out all on his own.


One thought, and one thought alone penetrated Rick's mind as he slowly roused from slumber and took in the room around him. The curtains had been tightly drawn shut, but the light of a nearby desk lamp lit his surroundings in a soft glow and it was more than tolerable on his still-waking eyes.

He almost didn't want to get up; someone had thrown a blanket over him during his time asleep and he was still cozily enveloped in its warmth. However, despite how comfortable he was, the one thought persisted.

"It's way too quiet..."

He slowly sat up and indulged in a lazy stretch, also considering how easy it would be to fall into complacency here; he already liked the simplicity and practical layout of his apartment, even if it was a little on the small side.

Over on the bed, he found Surgeon Rick, who was lying precariously on the edge of the mattress and snoring, obviously taking a nap of his own. He checked his surroundings a second time to see if he could locate Morty as well, but he didn't seem to be anywhere nearby.

"Huh..." The observation made him get up properly this time, but he didn't have to look far and discovered the little boy fast asleep in his crib in the next room; he was lying on his back, his little arms tightly clinging to a stuffed-toy bee that one of the other Ricks must have given him earlier.

Rick was secretly impressed; not only had they gotten him down to sleep, but they'd somehow managed to put him in his own separate bed as well.

The peace and quiet gave him the opportunity to peer down and take a good, long look at his grandson - he was certainly getting bigger, and he found himself noticing it now more than ever. His stubby, little arms were growing out and becoming more slender, and the chubbiness of his round face was slowly disappearing; he was starting to look more like a young boy than a baby.

"Hey, Morty. How's my favorite grandson?" The words were barely audible as he slid a hand through the bars of the crib to gently ruffle his hair, his fingers lingering on the small patch of scruffy little clumped-together spikes that had formed over his forehead. "So you like it here, huh? I-is this what you want?"

Morty just moaned and made a weak whimpering sound, disliking being disturbed from his dreams.

It was all Rick needed to retract his hand again, knowing better than to gamble against such an obvious warning. "Shit, sorry, kid... I just wanted to make sure you were OK."

Leaving him be so he could continue to sleep, the scientist returned to the main room of the apartment and found a book to read.

Not even an hour passed before there was a loud knock on the door, and Rick immediately shot up to answer it, annoyed at the disturbance; the last thing he wanted was for the other occupants of the apartment to be woken up prematurely.

"What the hell do y-" Before he could voice the rest of his complaint, two Guard Ricks shoved straight past him, carrying large document boxes in with them. "H-hey! HEY! Who said you could just waltz in here!? This space is meant to be private, damn it!"

He immediately regretted the outburst; the sound of a piercing-loud wail came from Morty's room, which in turn startled Surgeon Rick awake and he sat bolt upright, promptly falling off the edge of the bed.

Rick buried his face in his hands; it was all he could do to contain his anger. "Y-you fucking dumbasses... why are you here and what are you doing?!"

One of the Guard Ricks dumped his armful of boxes down on the coffee table with a loud thud. "Hey man, don't get mad at us. We know how you feel, but we have our orders and they gotta be followed no matter what."

"Indeed. Riq IV sends his regards." The other guard answered as he set his own set of boxes down beside the first stack. "These contain documentation for your office and some light reading material from the Council. They want you to go through everything and untangle the red tape, as well as help them get beyond the stalemates that keep happening when they vote on policy." He paused momentarily. "Most of it is classified, so don't let it leave this room."

"W-what?" Rick glared at them from between his fingers. "What makes you think I wanna do anything like that?!"

"Because you have to," the first Guard Rick answered straight away. "There's only six Council members, so gold-rank Ricks like you get to collectively make up the seventh vote when it's split 3 for 3. We'll be back to pick up this shit again in three days. Be responsible and make your vote count."

Then, as quickly as they had come in, they went out again, leaving the scientist to stare at the closing door.

"Man, I hope that's not gonna become a regular thing." Surgeon Rick had since gotten up and moved to stand beside him. "What a bummer. I wanted my gold badge someday as well, but if that's part of the deal, then fuck that shit. I think I'd rather choke myself to death than read a bunch of boring paperwork. Are you gonna do it?"

"Do I have any other choice?" Rick scooted away to retrieve Morty from his crib before his cries could escalate any further.

"Maybe? You could always set it on fire. Then you can tell the Council that it's kinda your thing and that you have a recurring theme goin' on." Surgeon Rick suggested with a wide grin, though it quickly faded as he looked around him. "Oh hey, where's my other brother at?"

"I don't know! D-do I LOOK like his keeper!?" The words came out far more harsh than he intended, but his anger wasn't directed at the surgeon at all; Rick was still highly charged that his grandson had been woken by the unwelcome intrusion as he carried him back into the main room. "Calm down, Morty. You're gonna be fine." He began to gently rock him and pat him on the back. "Shh, It's OK. Grandpa's here now."

Surgeon Rick just rolled his eyes and let it slide. "Well, he was here before. He didn't tell you where he was going?"

"No? Again, I'm not his keeper. I told you that you could do whatever you want and I stand by that, so if he wanted to take off of his own accord, then more power to him." Rick shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm glad he could embrace it so quickly."

"No way, boss. It's not like that." Surgeon Rick quickly returned, becoming increasingly worried with each passing moment. "He's even more of a stickler for the rules than most Ricks I know. If he disappeared without saying anything, then something's gotta be wrong."

"Then go find him." Rick instructed, not understanding what the big deal was. "If that's what you wanna do, then I'm not stopping you."

"Hey, while I appreciate the laissez-faire management style, there's-" Surgeon Rick was about to add more to his statement, but he was distracted by another loud knock at the door. "Ah geez, not again! How do they know you're here?"

Rick gave him another shrug. "Maybe they're stalking me like you did?"

Surgeon Rick shook his head and opened the door to yet another Rick in uniform, though this one was so plain and indistinct that he couldn't tell which area of the Citadel he was from, at least until he saw the tray of food he was carrying.

"Yo," he called back to the other. "Did you order room service?"

A loud groan came from the scientist as he sat on the couch and placed Morty in his lap. "No, but it's meant to be mine. Just take it and make him go away!"

With a quick nod, Surgeon Rick did as he was told and shut the door again. "Is getting free food another perk that goes with the gold badge? Here ya go, eat up." He set the tray down on the coffee table and breathed a soft sigh, unable to cover up his concern this time. "Look, I need to know we're on the same page. Are you really gonna be cool with it if I take off and go looking for my bro?"

Rick wrinkled his nose in disgust, though it wasn't because of the question; he was too busy glaring at the contents of the plate. All he could see was a mound of white lumpy substance - it was easily one of the most unappetizing things he'd ever seen. "Nope, I'm not interested. Do you want some of... whatever the fuck that is?"

"Hey man, I'm not stealing your dinner. That's just rude." Surgeon Rick's attention drifted towards the food as well. "You gotta eat if you wanna regain your strength and get better. What's wrong with it? It looks like it's gonna be easy on your stomach, which is what you need right now."

"What ISN'T wrong with it? It looks gross and weird... and, at least in my experiences, food should be recognizable. What do you think it is?" Rick angrily motioned a hand towards the lump. "It looks like someone already ate it and threw it back up!"

The surgeon saw no reason to disagree, but frowned anyway. "You need to eat, bro... do you want me to come back with pizza?"

Rick perked up at the suggestion; anything was better than what was on offer. "Sure, I could go for that. Get extra pepperoni and those crunchy little mozzarella sticks with dipping sauce that everyone likes."

The other nodded in agreement, suddenly eager to get a move on; now he had two good reasons to leave. "I dunno when I'll be back. This could take a while."

In the instant he heard the door click shut, Rick carefully shuffled off the couch and sat on the floor with Morty. "Do you want this, little buddy? I know how much you like eating pulverized garbage, and I'm sick of eating the semi-liquid slop they keep trying to feed me." He placed the plate down beside the youngster.

Morty's first reaction was to shy away and hide at his grandfather's side, feeling clingy and a little afraid; he hadn't appreciated the rude awakening and was still upset over it. However, as he looked up at his favorite person, his face showed such a calm and serious expression that it was reassuring. He gave a loud, uncertain whimper and tentatively reached out towards the food with a tiny hand.

"Go on, kid. It's not going to blow up in your face. See?" Rick dipped a finger into it to demonstrate. "I still don't know what it's meant to be, but it's safe." He licked a glob off his finger, surprised to discover how good it actually tasted. "Huh... I think it's mashed potato? Probably?"

Feeling braver by the second, Morty copied Rick's lead and grabbed an entire handful of the stuff to shove in his mouth. Once he decided he liked the taste as well, he began to devour it.

A soft chuckle escaped the older man and he leaned back to watch his grandson make a giant mess of himself, the plate, and the floor around him. It amused him to see how food motivated the child and he made a mental note of it; he was sure he could use it to his advantage and encourage him later, or as positive reinforcement.

Over the next few hours, grandfather and grandson became involved in play that did not require words. Morty's room was well stocked with toys, so Rick got out some stacking blocks and stuffed animals with which to keep him entertained. They captivated Morty's interest despite his short attention span, and when he got tired of the toys, the cushions from the couch were reconstructed into a makeshift pillow fort for him to hide in.

When Morty began rubbing his eyes and showing signs of tiredness, Rick took the cue and started getting him ready for bed. He carried him into the bathroom so he could strip him down and clean him off; taking a shower with him was impossible while he still had his stitches in, so all he could do was sit him in the bathtub with a washcloth and a couple of inches of water.

One screaming tantrum later, Rick was exhausted and in a bad mood as well; the simple chore had taken more of a toll on him than he wanted to admit, even to himself. Once he had struggled through the task of dressing the little boy in warm clothes, he turned the desk lamp off and took him to the bed in the corner of the apartment, wanting to lie down and rest with him as well. While he already knew that co-sleeping with Morty was a bad habit that he needed to break, it was the fastest and easiest way to settle him down, and it worked almost every time.

He would never admit it to anyone else, but having another warm body sleeping up against him was also something he wanted for himself; it was comforting and it brought some sense of normalcy back into his existence, no matter how small it was.

Both of them soon drifted off into a peaceful sleep, and it was well after midnight by the time they would be disturbed again.

Rick didn't hear the key turning in the lock, or the apartment door opening and banging shut again. The sound of footsteps hastily pattering across the floor vaguely registered in his mind, as did the button click when the desk lamp was switched on, but it still wasn't enough to properly disturb him. Then a voice that was low and full of concern came into his mind and merged with his dream of family and fragments of broken glass.

It was more like a nightmare and he wanted it to stop.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck... fuck me, man. How could you do this to us!? So fuckin' irresponsible... wh-wh-when I find him, I'm gonna kill him myself!" There were more footsteps as the voice came closer, and then it lingered overhead. "Shit, I'm really sorry to do this to you, brother... a-are you awake? It's kind of an emergency and I could really use your help right about now."

Part of his mind was curious and he desperately wanted to wake up, but as soon as the voice had stopped talking, reality and the dream blurred into nothingness, and Rick drifted back into a deep sleep. He didn't hear the more frantic pacing, nor did he hear the sound of the datapad phone calls. He was only finally aware that something was wrong when Morty woke up, climbed up onto his chest, and threw himself off the side of the bed so he could greet the other Rick in the room.

The next conversation pierced through his slumber, as did the sharp stabbing pain now coursing through his gut.

"Eeee! Ri-ri-ri!" Morty's high-pitched voice rang out. His next sounds were nonsense, but they were spoken with more volume than before.

"H-hey, little guy. Keep it down or you'll wake up the whole Citadel..."

"Eeeee!" The high voice answered him with a happy screech; the little boy was practically yelling at the top of his lungs by now.

It took a considerable amount of effort to move and sit up, but Rick forced himself to do it anyway. "G-goddammit, Morty... did you really have to do that?! F-fuck!" He hugged himself around the middle.

"Ah shit, sorry... are you OK?" Surgeon Rick was regretful and apologetic all at once. He was also so worked up that he couldn't hide his feelings no matter how hard he wanted to try. "I didn't wanna wake you, b-but... I-I don't know what else to do."

"I think the real question here is, are YOU OK? What the hell are you talking about?" The scientist rubbed at his eyes to rid them of sleepiness, deeply annoyed but also intrigued; he knew right away that something was very wrong because he'd never witnessed the surgeon act quite like this before. "Start from the beginning and try to stay calm."

"I-it, it's the boss, man," the words were shaky and came out so rapidly that he stumbled over them while trying to speak. "Well, n-not the boss-boss because he fired me, but the old boss, y'know, the one I used to work with, a-and sometimes you can call a guy 'boss' when you're being respectful, but that's not-"

"Ugh, slow down," Rick talked over him and forced himself to his feet so he could shuffle over and stand in front of him. "Stay with me, alright?" He set both hands on his shoulders and firmly held him in place. "You're not thinking straight. Stop, take a deep breath, and focus on what you need to say."

"OK. Fuck, fuck, shit, I-I..." The other covered his face with both hands and spoke through his fingers. "I-it's been way too long since we last heard from him. I've been blowing up his phone for hours, b-but he's not picking up. Y-you... y'know how your mind runs away with you and you think the worst has happened? Well, my mind is running away with me, and... he's arguably worse off than you, and, a-and fuck, I don't wanna think about it!"

Rick rolled his eyes; he'd already listened long enough to know what was going on, but Morty was already tugging on his pant-leg in an attempt to steal his attention. "Relax, it's probably nothing. My best guess is that he wandered off somewhere to feel sorry for himself again." He cast a disapproving look down at the little boy. "Stop."

Morty tugged a second time; he had no intention of stopping.

"You don't know that!" Surgeon Rick retorted as he pulled his hands away from his face. "His mind isn't in a good place, and if he's out there all on his own, well... i-is that really something you wanna risk?"

Rick frowned in thought for a moment and decided to try another angle. "Why is this so important to you, a-and how do you know he won't be back in the morning?"

"I dunno who he is or what kinda person he is anymore, man. I can't predict his next move." The question seemed to calm the surgeon a little, but he still couldn't push his bad thoughts aside. "I just wanna make sure he's OK..."

The scientist exhaled a long, frustrated sigh and narrowed his eyes; all he wanted to do was make his dimensional counterpart shut up so he could go back to sleep, but he was fast coming to the realization that it wasn't going to be that simple. "Fine... do you want me to pull some strings and see if I can get a search party together?"

"Y-you... you can do that?" Surgeon Rick's eyes widened in surprise.

"Sure, why not? Anything to stop you from being a pain in my ass." Rick gave him a light shove as he let go of him again. "But you gotta do something for me in return."

As Surgeon Rick stared at him, his worry morphed into curiosity. "Of course. What you need, boss?"

"Pick Morty up and get him back to sleep like you did before," Rick instructed as he stepped over the young boy and retrieved his gold badge from the coffee table. "And don't ever ask me to do this again. I'm not cool with the Council of Ricks, but lording my new rank over others makes me no better than them." Once he was at the door of the apartment, he opened it and called out into the hallway. "Hey, dipshits! I-I don't know how closely you're watching me, but I have a problem and I need as many of you as I can get. Come over here and do what I say!"

Three Guard Ricks immediately poked their heads out from their hiding places, while a nearby group of five overheard him and abandoned their patrol in favor of jogging towards his position.

"Great..." Rick growled at how quick the response was; discovering just how close the guards were to his door meant that Riq IV had lied about having them back off. As soon as the rest of them were close enough, he got straight to the point. "OK, listen the fuck up. I need you all to find a Rick for me. His dimension number is Q-316 and he's about my height and age. He has spiky, blue hair like me and he wears a white coat. Any questions?"

"Sir, unless you're going on a journey of self-discovery, your description matches everyone in the Citadel." It was an obvious snide remark, but the Guard Rick nearest him still spoke with his typical unhumored, military air. "Does he have any standout features we should look for? Any extra appendages, tattoos, markings, or augmentations?"

"He's got a scar over his left eye, he wears glasses like the nerd he is, and he has prosthetic, robotic legs. You'll know him when you see him, trust me." Rick wanted to slap himself for not mentioning the details straight away. "If you need a motivator to get your asses in gear, then I'll give a thousand credits to the Rick who finds him first. Do not approach him and report back here. Understood?"

He didn't get an answer; the Guard Ricks were already scattering like flies.

Feeling achieved that the work was going to be done for him, Rick wandered back into the apartment and shut the door. "Done. Now all you have to do is wait."

"Thanks, man... you're a real pal." As Surgeon Rick spoke, he genuinely meant it, and while he was still visibly unhappy, he seemed considerably calmer than he was before. "Sorry to make you do that, but, uh... don't feel bad about giving them orders. You're paying them for their time. That's all that matters." He sat down on the edge of the bed with Morty in his arms and gave him small rhythmic pats on the back; his technique nearly had the young boy asleep again.

"How much is a thousand credits anyway?" Rick wondered as he sat down next to him. "Is it a lot?"

"Yeah," Surgeon Rick went quiet as he did the conversion rate calculation in his head. "You offered them like, 5,300 US dollars. I know that because I'm always flipping credits for cash to give to my family." He frowned as he watched his new boss's expression shift and change. "Hey, don't worry about the cost. A guy in your position could easily afford it or write it off as a work expense."

"A work expense? Are you kidding?! I-I'm not validating the hierarchy any more than I have to!" Rick wanted to launch into an angry rant, but he knew he'd already woken up Morty enough today, so he pushed his unanswered question again instead. "Why is this guy so important to you?"

"Because he's my bro," the surgeon replied without hesitation. "Do I need another reason? Yeah, I know he's a huge asshole and kind of a dick, but he's also a good guy. I know you don't believe me because all you've ever seen is his bossiness, his arrogance, and that stupid 'I gotta be the alpha male' thing he likes to do, but he has good intentions. He defines himself by his usefulness and successes, but as you can guess, there's not a lot of that goin' on for us anymore. I can deal with that, but he can't. There's no down from here for him. He needs more people on his side now more than ever."

Rick yawned as he listened, but not because he found it boring; he was more than ready to go back to bed. "Hey, I've done my part. He can make his own successes from here on out. All he needs to do is get off his ass and try."

"He's not that kind of Rick... I-I don't think he's ever gonna see it that way."

"Fuck I'm tired, a-and everything hurts all over..." Rick made another sigh and shuffled back to lie down again. "...do I have to do anything when they find him?"

"In the best outcome, no. In the worst, well... let's hope it ain't comin' to that." Surgeon Rick deeply frowned, concerned by the admission of pain. "Do you need me to hit up the pharmacy tomorrow morning and pick up your prescriptions? You're more than good enough to self manage yourself now. Just don't overdo it."

Rick was about to say something else, but the loud knocking at the door stopped him. He braced his arms on either side of himself to get up and answer it, but Surgeon Rick was much quicker. Somehow, the jerking motion didn't disturb the little boy still in his arms.

Outside was a Guard Rick who snapped to attention the second the door was opened on him. "Sir, I am Guard Rick I-95 from the Citadel's militia. I've found a Rick matching your exact description. He's hiding out in a bar on the lowest level of the Citadel, and as requested, he hasn't been approached yet."

Relief visibly washed over the surgeon as he heard the news. "O-oh thank god..."

The guard lacked any expression and continued in a monotone voice. "Do you want me to kill him?"

"What?! N-no, no, no!" Surgeon Rick yelped. "He wants you to..." He trailed off and glanced back in Rick's direction. "What do you wanna do, boss?"

"I want you to stop calling me that." Rick grumbled back. "You're the one who wanted to know where he was, so do whatever you want. Is Morty asleep?"

Surgeon Rick glanced downwards. "Yeah."

"Then why are you still talking to me?" The scientist was glaring now, and spoke like the conversation was becoming an inconvenience to him. "Put him to bed and get the fuck outta here already." He let his head fall back on the pillow and covered his eyes with both hands. "Go away and leave me alone!"

Surgeon Rick nodded in acceptance, putting his new boss's sour mood down to tiredness; as much as he wanted to thank and praise him for what he had just done, he knew it would only irritate him even more. Once Morty was safely tucked away in his crib for the night, he was out in the hallway and followed the guard wherever he would take him, filled with trepidation; he didn't know what kind of state Ricktus would be in when he finally got to him, but he could make a few educated guesses.

He'd never had any reason to visit the lower levels before and didn't know what to expect - the infirmary had been part of the original structure when the Citadel of Ricks first came into existence, and so it was on the same level as the concourse. As he followed the guard into one of the elevators, he made a mental note to go exploring later; the extensions would mean new places to conduct secretive business deals, and it would have been far more interesting if his mind wasn't so preoccupied.

When the doors of the elevator opened to reveal the lowest level, the overpowering stench of filth and stale cigarettes hit him so hard that he coughed and started to gag. "Holy fucking shit... a-and I thought I was bad. Do we really live like this?"

"Ricks in the lower socioeconomic brackets do, yes." The Guard Rick responded like he couldn't have cared less. "The ones you'll meet down here in the ghetto are often so far left or right of the central finite curve that they're lucky to be allowed in the Citadel at all." He pointed ahead of him and kept walking. "Hurry up, it's this way. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can leave."

"Yeah, I hear you, bro. I totally hear you..." Surgeon Rick muttered as he clapped a hand over his mouth and nose, suddenly wishing he had taken a surgical mask down with him. As he continued to follow along, all he wanted to do was get the doctor out of there and take a shower; the air was thick with humidity and he felt sick thinking about it.

Soon enough, they came to the front steps of a grimy looking bar with no signage; the only indication that it was a bar at all were the Ricks passed out in the gutter nearby, while others wandered in and out of the open doorway in all states of inebriation. Inside was more of the same; more drunken Ricks lazed around the tables, while others sat on their own or gambled with each other. Off to one side, a large group of them were seated on a lounge and passing around the inhalation hose to a hookah, though the smell of what they were smoking from it was certainly more potent and sweeter than tobacco.

In another time in his life, Surgeon Rick might have appreciated his surroundings; it was the kind of place he would hang out in to pick up one night stands, or to get high off his face. But he was not that kind of Rick anymore.

Before he could spend more time on his thoughts, the Guard Rick grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the darkest corner. There, he found Ricktus seated at a table of his own, slumped forward, face down, and fast asleep. He was also surrounded by an excessive amount of empty wine glasses and bottles; he'd been drinking for several hours and just collapsed there.

His pants were also missing.

"Oh geez..." There was nothing useful the surgeon could say; the picture in front of him told him everything.

"Is this your guy?" The Guard Rick was impatient and nervous; the other bar patrons were staring at him and he knew all too well how they treated law enforcement down here.

"Y-yeah," Surgeon Rick quickly nodded. "Thanks for finding him. I'll make sure my boss pays you first thing in the morning."

The guard gave a salute, turned on his heels, and quickly marched out, leaving them to their own devices.

"Yo," Surgeon Rick spoke in a low voice so as not to startle the other as he cautiously approached; he was well-versed in dealing with his old boss's drunken escapades and knew exactly what to do, but he still wasn't fond of the aftercare. "I'm glad to see you alive, but it's time to go."

Ricktus didn't move.

"Hey, buddy... you gotta wake up." Reaching out to gently shake his shoulder, Surgeon Rick tried again. "You've had your fun, but you can't stay here. I'll let you sleep it off once we're back in the apartment, alright? There's a warm bed waiting for you there, and I'll set the thermostat to any temperature you want. What do you say?"

The drunken doctor made a soft groan and it took considerable effort to raise his head or focus his eyes anywhere. "F-fuck off, you stupid Rick... l-leave me alone! I'm not give... g-giving you free stuff or bothering anyone. What... w-what the hell do you want from me?!"

"Hey, chill out... it's just me." The other raised both his hands up in front of him. "You should know me pretty damn well after all this time."

"Oh... C-711? Is that you?" Ricktus made an attempt at adjusting his lopsided glasses so he could see him better, but he was far too uncoordinated and his hand soon fell back on the table. "Wh... wh-what are you doing here?"

"Coming to get YOU, stupid!" The surgeon snapped back as he became riled up. "Do you have ANY idea how long I spent looking for your dumb ass?! What the hell made you decide to come all the way down here anyway? Why can't you get drunk in the apartment like a normal Rick? We have more than enough shit to drink up there. You didn't have to waste your money in a hell-hole like this!"

Everyone in the bar was openly staring at them now, but neither Rick seemed to notice or care.

"I... d-didn't want to give B-526 any access or temptation..."

"Huh," Surgeon Rick calmed down a little; at least that part of his reasoning wasn't selfish. "I still wasted hours lookin' for you, bro. Tell me where you're going before you decide to take off next time... o-or at least answer your damn phone. It would've saved us a whole lot of hassle and money." His voice dropped low again and he furrowed his brows in concern. "Don't ever do this shit to me again... I-I thought the worst had happened to you."

"Wouldn't... w-wouldn't that be something?" Ricktus clumsily reached for the nearest bottle. "Maybe... if I keep this up, my liver will kill me as well."

"No way, man." The surgeon was quicker and moved it just out of his reach. "Just how much have you had to drink today?"

"One million alcohols!" Ricktus enthusiastically declared as he thrust both fists into the air and rushed to his feet. Because he was so drunk, the neural impulses from his brain to his prosthetic limbs were congested and they gave out from under him, causing him to crash into a heap on the floor below. "I-I... I meant to do that."

"Ooh... that's gonna leave a bruise tomorrow." Surgeon Rick cringed in sympathy. "Do you need my help standing up again? Because it's clearly time for you to go home."

"But I was just getting started..."

"Oh, you're way past that, bro. You're done." Surgeon Rick firmly shook his head and stood over him. "What happened to your pants?"

Ricktus flinched and turned his head away, suddenly deeply ashamed of himself. "I, uh... t-there was a bathroom-related incident. I-I'd rather not discuss it... don't bring it up again." The whole world seemed to violently swirl around him as he slowly pushed himself to a sitting position. "N-now that you're here, why... why don't you pull up a chair and join me? We got a... a-a lot of credits to piss away now that I'm never going to get another job or buy what I actually wanted. Help me up? I'll buy you a drink. I-I gotta... I-I still have... have my own stuff to finish off."

"See, normally at this point I would've backed down because you were my superior and stuff, but we're on the same level now." Surgeon Rick offered his hand out towards him. "Come with me. You've had enough."

"What...? I've had enough!? I've HAD ENOUGH!?" The words caused something to snap in the other, and his voice grew louder and louder with each spoken word until he was full on shouting. "I'LL TELL YOU WHEN I'VE HAD ENOUGH! YOU CAN'T JUST TELL ME TO STOP, OR DECIDE THAT I'M DRUNK!" He aggressively swatted at the air, but missed the helping hand by a long way. "THAT'S NOT YOUR DECISION! THAT'S BETWEEN ME AND MY NON-EXISTENT GOD!"

"Dude, cut it out," Surgeon Rick's voice became stern. "I'm not leaving without you. Don't make me force it... I don't wanna be the bad guy."

"News flash, C-711... we're ALL THE BAD GUY!" Ricktus continued to bellow at him, becoming fiery and enraged. "How DARE YOU COME ALL THE WAY DOWN HERE AND TELL ME WHAT TO DO! YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER! GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME TO DIE!"

The surgeon lowered his hand and just stood there; he was more than used to being yelled at by his old boss, so it was nothing new. However, as soon as it was quiet again, he bent down without another word, picked the doctor up, and hauled him over his shoulders, ignoring the new hollers of protest he received for doing so.

He knew how silly they must have looked as he exited the bar, but he didn't care; he'd stood his ground and gotten what he came for, and with some luck, Ricktus wouldn't remember any of it in the morning.

He was kicked and hit by the other's flailing limbs while they waited for the elevator, and the assault continued the whole way across the concourse. By the time they were back at the door of the apartment, the doctor's mood had changed considerably; he'd stopped fighting what was happening to him and instead fought down the desire to throw up.

"See what happens when you overdo it?" Surgeon Rick was glad to set him down again; he'd been surprisingly heavy to carry considering how scrawny and weedy Ricks usually were. "I know you have a mountain of shit to sort through, but trust me when I say that this isn't how to fix your problems... this is how you come undone." He sat down beside him. "Are you all done yelling and being a little bitch? Because the boss and his Morty are asleep in there, and the last thing they need is to hear another one of your hissy fits."

"I... I-I'm done..." Ricktus replied as he shakily ran a hand through his hair, and his shoulders sank in defeat. "I... I'm really, really fucking done... w-with everything..." He wanted to huddle up into a ball, but his legs wouldn't move for him. "G-go in without me. G-get out... go away and-" The rest of his sentence ended in a loud heave and he threw up all over himself.

"Hey, I already said I'm not leaving without you. I had to be mean about it, but don't make me a liar, too." Surgeon Rick shuffled aside and waited for him to finish; he'd been expecting it to happen any minute now, and so he wasn't in the least bit surprised. "And hey, don't worry about it - just let it all out, man. You'll feel lots better once you do, and after you're done, we'll put this behind us and never speak of it again. Agreed?"

He didn't get an answer; Ricktus was far too preoccupied.

"Yeah, OK... gimme some kinda sign when you're good enough to go back inside. And thanks for not puking all over me." Taking out his datapad to occupy himself in the meantime, he typed a message to one of the Ricks he'd done previous business with, and then began to read the latest news from the Citadel's local-information network. He hadn't even gotten halfway through the first article when he heard the doctor's breathing slowing down and had to put an arm out to stop him from falling forward into his own vomit. "I swear, you and the boss are the worst drunks I know... y'know that? The key is to stop before you puke, a-and long before it fucks up your capacity to function!"

Ricktus only gave a pitiful noise in reply; he didn't want to talk about it or any other subject anymore.

Once he was sure his colleague was more concerned with sleeping than throwing up again, he picked him up and took him straight to the bathroom inside. Not a word was said between them as Surgeon Rick stripped him down and washed him off in the shower, and by the time he'd dried him off and wrapped him up in a bathrobe, all Ricktus wanted to do was curl up and die from the combination of shame, self-hatred, and a deep loathing for all his failures. He couldn't even bring himself to look at the other as he was carried to bed, and he hid his face in the pillow as soon as he was lying down, wishing that the mattress would just swallow him up whole.

"Do you know how many times I've done this for you guys now? Too many, that's for sure!" He heard the surgeon openly complaining as he moved in behind him and felt a firm pair of hands grip his upper arm and waist, holding him securely on his side. "You're lucky I like you so much, you ungrateful prick. Just try not to be an idiot again so soon, huh?"

Despite his grumpiness, Surgeon Rick was actually quite content; he'd brought one brother back and was now keeping him safe, while the other brother slept behind him, not knowing what was going on, undisturbed by their return.

As he closed his eyes and attempted to nap, he heard the sound of the Rick in front of him violently throwing up over the side of the bed, and the sigh he made was an even mix of disappointment and disgust; now he was far less content.

It was going to be a long night.


Over the next several hours, Ricktus drifted in and out of consciousness; he could already feel the mother of all hangovers creeping into the edges of his mind, making him feel like death warmed up. He seriously contemplated grabbing his own pillow to suffocate himself with, but he fell into a deeper sleep before he could get too far.

Meanwhile, Rick woke up not long after him, feeling well rested, but also in a considerable amount of pain; he'd gone the whole night without topping off his medication and now he wished he hadn't. He wiped the drool off his mouth with the back of his hand and took his time sitting up; he hadn't heard Morty crying yet, which was a good thing because it gave him a break while he was still down.

When he noticed the other two Ricks beside him, he quickly shuffled to the edge of the bed to get away; he was fine with the fact that there was only one bed in the apartment, and that they'd been using it longer than he had, but he still didn't like them being so close to him.

"Fucking great... we have access to an entire multiverse filled with limitless space, a-and... you still had to get in mine."

He soon found himself more concerned with the strong, unpleasant smell in the air and screwed up his face in disgust; he knew exactly what it was and what it meant, and just hoped he could find it before he stepped in it.

Standing up rather slowly so as not to aggravate his injuries, Rick made his way into the bathroom to take care of his next, most-outstanding issue. After rendering it completely uninhabitable, he came out with an amused grin; he was every bit as childish and immature as his dimensional counterparts in that aspect.

His first task of the day was to get into the document boxes and organize them, but as soon as he sat down on the couch with the first one, he discovered that the reading material inside was so dry and boring that it was sure to put him back to sleep again before too long. The second box contained more of the same, so he shoved the lid back on and kicked it under the table.

He didn't even bother turning around when he heard the pitiful groan behind him. "Morning. Sounds like one of you had a long night."

Ricktus didn't want to answer; he wanted to die instead, but was fast coming to the horrible realization that he wasn't actually going to. His stomach was doing flip-flops and preparing for another assault, while his body ached all over and his head pounded like someone was hitting it with a sledgehammer. He also discovered that he was naked except for the bathrobe somebody had put him in, which raised some concerning questions; he had no recollection of the night before, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know how he came to be that way or not.

He did know one thing for certain, however; he never wanted to move again.

"Do you want coffee?" Rick offered as he picked up the small computer that had been given to him along with his gold badge, figuring that now was as good a time as any to start learning how to use it. "Though you'd probably prefer aspirin considering the kind of night you've had."

"Oh really? S-so... so you're the one making the diagnoses now?" Ricktus made a weak attempt at humor, but ended up cringing at his own weak-and-scratchy voice instead; he sounded as bad as he felt. "I might be your subordinate, but I'm still more qualified than you in... in... f-fuck it. You know what I mean."

"Is this a serviced apartment?" Rick wondered aloud, half to himself. "Will somebody come in to clean the puke stains out of my carpet, or am I expected to do that myself?"

"T-that's not..." Ricktus shook his head, only to regret it. "That job is far beneath you... g-get me to do it. It's my fault."

"Maybe you should concentrate on standing first." Rick suggested. "It sounds like you're not going anywhere for a while."

The doctor bit his lower lip, then started to apologize. "Damn it, I should have consulted with you before taking off. I-I wasn't thinking, and-"

"Shut up!" Rick barked over the top of him. "I don't wanna hear it. You have every right to exercise your freedom, even if you regret it later on. Whatever you do, you gotta own it."

"Wait, so... y-you're not angry with me...?"

"No? Why would I be angry at you for getting shitfaced?" A dry, bitter laugh escaped him. "Isn't that what Ricks do? I would have gladly joined you if I could have!"

Surgeon Rick had woken up during the conversation, but pretended to remain asleep; he didn't want to interrupt, and it was nice to hear them talking instead of arguing with each other for once. When he felt the weight beside him suddenly shift and move away, he sat up and watched the doctor rushing into the bathroom.

He didn't need to guess what the problem was.

"Uh, you might not wanna go in there for a while." Rick tried to warn him, but it was too late; the door had already slammed shut. "Well, if he wasn't throwing up before, he is now..."

Surgeon Rick smothered a chuckle. "That bad?"

"Yeah. I'm sure this is way too much info, but," Rick put the lid back on the first document box and pushed it under the table with the second. "That bathroom probably violates several human rights and could be used as a torture device." He gently patted his stomach. "Man, I don't know if I'm just getting old or if it's part of the healing process, but something's definitely not right in there."

"Gee, if only you knew a qualified doctor who could assess you, right?" The surgeon mused with a grin before his expression turned serious. "Hey, I gotta speak up about last night - you did me a real solid and I'm not gonna forget it. Now I gotta do one in return and fill your prescriptions. Did you want anything else while I'm out? Like, coffee, breakfast, or the Citadel newspaper?"

"You never came back with my pizza, did you?" Rick grumbled, but there was no anger in his voice. "Coffee's fine, but if you're bringing back food, then grab anything that actually resembles it... no mush this time. A-and no ice cream, either!"

"Yes, sir!" Surgeon Rick gave him a mock salute and hopped off the bed, making his way to the bathroom door. "Hey, how are you holding up in there? Did you need me to grab you something as well, or did you just want wafer cookies and the usual hangover crap?" When he did not get an immediate answer, he knocked hard. "Bro? Are you even alive?"

"I-I... I am," the response came after a few more moments of silence. "I-I wish I wasn't, though..."

"Harden the fuck up and quit being such a baby about it. You reap what you sew, dude." Surgeon Rick's voice had turned half-mocking, half-scolding. He gave the door another thump for good measure and headed to exit the apartment. "See ya later, fuckers. Try not to kill each other while I'm gone."

Giving the curtains a curious glance, Rick set his computer aside so he could get up and give them an experimental tug. After drawing them open to let more light in, he discovered that he had a small balcony and opened the sliding-glass door to step outside. Although he knew that the domed ceiling high above him was nothing more than a screen simulating pictures of a blue sky, he was still impressed by the random cloud formations that lazily drifted across its massive glass surface. He took a deep breath of warm, generated, fake air and spent several moments admiring the view; it was quite adequate, even if it was meant to be an average, silver-ranked Rick's apartment.

Satisfied, the scientist came back inside and returned to the couch so he could go through the Citadel network's extensive library of collected knowledge. He was pleasantly surprised to learn that his gold-rank gave him access to pretty much everything he could ever want.

He was halfway through ordering some books to be sent up to his room when he heard the heavy footsteps clunking towards him, and watched Ricktus in his peripheral vision as he pulled the bathrobe closed around himself and sat down on the same cushion he had chosen earlier.

Rick didn't bother looking up. "H-hey. Are you feeling better?"

"Marginally..." The doctor leaned forwards and placed his head in his hands; he felt like it was going to explode.

"Oh yeah, that's gonna happen. When you drink, you're just borrowing tomorrow's happiness." Rick nudged one of the boxes under the coffee table towards the other's feet. "Here. When you feel like reading, that shit will keep you occupied for at least a few days. I'll even pay you for your time if you wanna do it for me."

Ricktus raised his head and seemed to come alive again at the words, disregarding how bad he felt. "You... you have work for me?" He took the top papers out of the box and began to flip through them. "These are... I-I don't think I'm meant to be looking at any of this."

"Phh, nonsense," Rick waved it off. "Just read it, gimme the short version, and forge my signature when you sign off on it."

"I'm not sure that my skill set is appropriate for what you're asking..." Ricktus sat up properly, becoming more and more interested as he read the current page more closely. "Holy shit, t-this is... they've given you the Mortytorium to read."

"The... what?"

"The Mortytorium," Ricktus reiterated. "You weren't here when it happened, but there was an assembly called to decide whether or not to ban the practice of buying and selling Mortys. The Citadel population was evenly divided, and so were the Council. It was a debate that turned into an argument, and then it was silenced."

Rick stopped what he was doing and finally looked up. "What happened?"

"I-it turned ugly... there were good points on both sides." Ricktus explained as he placed the papers in his lap. "The ones who voted against it believed that orphaned Mortys should be paired with Ricks who best suit their personality types, but knowing Ricks... M-Mortys would just be trafficked and sold on the black market instead." He placed a hand on his forehead to soothe his splitting headache, also suppressing his own feelings on the subject. "At least if... if Morty trading continues to be legal, then they can regulate the market, and ensure fair distribution... s-supposedly."

Rick gave a small shrug and finished up with his book order. "You're the one in charge of my paperwork now, so vote any way you want."

"Y-you... you don't care?" The doctor stared at him incredulously. "This was a huge issue not long ago. I would have thought that you of all Ricks would have a strong opinion on the buying and selling of Mortys."

"It's more that your opinion is probably the same as mine." Rick told him. "I don't have the patience to deal with this stuff, i-it's boring. I hate paperwork... you'd be better at it than me. You've known about the Citadel longer, and besides, you're more up to date with stuff around here. The stupid gold badge was given to me because of your misfortune and losses. It should be yours, not mine."

"B-but Rick... t-that's not... stop being so modest. You earned that badge for multiple reasons, a-and you know that." The other forcefully stuffed his feelings down and tapped his papers to get back on topic. "You're a leader. T-that's why you've been given all these documents - to read them, and to familiarize yourself with the Citadel's current affairs. A good leader is an educated one. Preparedness makes us powerful."

"You do it," Rick was becoming frustrated. "And before you blindly accept it, it's not an order. I'm just giving it to you so you have something useful to do for me. Understand?"

"I think so," Ricktus nodded, but ended up looking confused. "Wait, s-so... it's not an order, but you want me to do it? When is an order not an order? You're contradicting yourself again."

"Ugh... shut up." Rick groaned and placed his head in his hands; he could feel a headache of his own coming on.

In the next moment, the door to the apartment suddenly flew open, and Surgeon Rick came inside carrying an assortment of plastic bags, as well as a full cardboard coffee-cup holder. "Hey, hey! Am I a good friend or what? Guess what I just did for you guys." He enthusiastically bounded over to the table and dumped his bags straight down on top of it. "I hope you like drugs and coffee!"

Unfortunately for him, Morty was startled awake and immediately began to cry about it. When he discovered that he was alone in his crib, his cry grew into a loud wail until he was practically screaming in fear.

"Great job, you dummy... l-look what you just did!" Rick hissed as he got up to deal with it.

Despite the intensity of the cries, Rick managed to calm Morty down again within a few short moments. Just holding him and being there seemed to fix most of the problem, and once they were back on the couch in the main room of the apartment, Morty was more or less back to his regular old self.

Meanwhile, Ricktus clutched at his stomach, turned off by the smell of food. "Th-thanks for thinking of me, but I don't want-" He covered his mouth and dashed into the bathroom to be sick again.

"Geez, that should've stopped by now... sounds like he's got alcohol poisoning." Surgeon Rick was thinking aloud. "Fortunately, I have just the thing for that." He reached into one of the plastic bags and took out a syringe that had already been prepared. "Yo, all your shit is in there, too. Make sure you take it." Without waiting for a reply, he walked into the bathroom and stood behind the doctor, then flicked the tail of his bathrobe aside and jabbed him in the left buttock while he was still bent over the toilet.

"Hey! Wh-what are you doing to me?!"

"Violating your personal space and taking care of you, dumb-dumb."

Rick took his own medication and sipped his coffee while he did his best to ignore the noise; all he wanted was to keep reading in peace. He soon got his wish though, and the apartment was quiet again within another ten minutes – Morty occupied himself by wiggling off the couch and playing with blocks on the floor, while Ricktus returned to his place on the couch and resumed sorting through the document boxes he'd been given. He wasn't exactly sure what Surgeon Rick was doing as he watched him pacing around the apartment, but he was relieved when he heard the door knocking again and he didn't have to get up.

"Yo, which one of you morons ordered the books?" The surgeon took them from the delivery Rick and read the titles aloud, snickering. "'Aeronautics and Interplanetary Travel'? 'Quantum Physics For Beginners'? Neeeeeeeerd!"

"It was me, and they're for you, so technically, you're the nerd in this case." Rick rolled his eyes. "You said you wanted to learn about space, so here's your big chance. Pick a subject that interests you and write me an essay by the end of next week. Got it?"

Surgeon Rick mumbled something under his breath as his shoulders sank and his good mood deflated. "Aww man... I don't wanna read. I just wanna get out there and do the shit!"

"How are you gonna learn how to do the shit if you don't read about it first?"

"Good point, boss," the surgeon tossed the books onto the bed and picked one to start going through, "but it still feels like a chore."

"Shut up," Rick grumbled back. "Reading isn't going to kill you."

Surgeon Rick made a disappointed hum and was grinning all over again. "Pity."

Ricktus ignored the conversation and looked up from his papers. "What's your opinion on allowing non-Ricks into the Citadel?"

Rick considered it for a moment before answering. "Favorable."

Just as the room went quiet again, Rick leaned back to watch them; he figured that if he kept them occupied and busy with things to do, then maybe, just maybe they would be OK. He also knew that he still had to do what was best for Morty, but he still had no idea what that was yet. If only he could work that out, then he could consider his time in the Citadel well spent, instead of time wasted.

"Uh, seriously..." He frowned as an earlier concern suddenly came back to mind. "Is somebody coming in here to clean up the puke, o-or what?"