Chapter Text
Mort had been long coaxing Rick into exploring beyond the boundaries of the decimated Central Finite Curve. It was necessary, he felt, to know what was out there. Partially out of curiosity, Mort could concede to that, but also due to the fact that they had made a promise to the original Rick from their dimension, Ricardo, that they would try to find a Diane for him.
Mort understood that beyond Citadel limits (or what remained of it), travel became chaotic, unpredictable. Mort had done a light amount of reconnaissance, but he couldn’t go too far, not when coordinates stopped operating a flat surface, like earth, and instead fluctuated in three dimensions, as they did while flying through space.
Mort additionally felt an inkling of melancholy, a sort of homesickness that he couldn’t pinpoint, as he didn’t know if there was any one place in the universe he could personally call home. And, of course, any internal conflict Mort had about emotions, or the mechanics of navigating uncharted territory, or anxiety of whether or not they would be successful in adapting to the newness of what lay ahead was ostensibly exacerbated by...
“A-alright, no, you told me to take a left.”
...Rick being obstinate.
“I told you to go left off of the intradimensional portal I shot, not make three lefts.” Mort retorted dully.
“If I’d taken three lefts we’d be in the same fucking position!” Rick barked, and Mort shrugged. “And fucking – what dimension are we even in? Where is this?”
Mort pinched the bridge of his nose as he repeated himself for what felt like the fiftieth time.
“When we’re traveling outside of the Curve –”
“‘Dimensional numbers are nullified unless established by its residents,’ blah, blah, leftist anti-Rick bullshit, blah.”
“I’m not the one who made all the lefts, Rick.”
Rick squinted at Mort, who stifled a laugh into his fist, pretending to cough. Rick angled the ship down, slowing their velocity until they were within range to land, and Mort smirked.
“Tired already?”
“I’m fucking dizzy Mort. And the ship might need gas, sh-she’s acting a little weird. And I need... Fuck, maybe a sandwich.” Rick groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Trans-dimensional travel isn’t hardwired into my ship, pretty sure she needs to fuel up almost as much as I do.”
They were in San Jose, California, in an unassuming parking lot, the sun overhead indicating a time between late morning or early afternoon. Rick tapped a button on the dashboard, frowning.
“...Is it gas? Engine problem?” Rick turned the ignition, letting the car shut off. “M-maybe she needs a breather.”
“Pretty sure I saw a Shell a few blocks ahead.”
Rick cast Mort a withering stare, and Mort thought about what he said.
“So uh,” Rick propped his cheek on his fist, his elbow on the steering wheel. “D-do you need me to clarify why regular gasoline might not fucking hack it for a spacecraft, or have you –?”
“No, nope, I’m good, I got it.” Mort interrupted. “So we’ve been flying for a while –”
“– Over twelve hours –”
“And maybe we both need a minute. Maybe there’s a Morty around we can crash with.”
“Oh yeah,” Rick deadpanned. “G-great idea pumpkin, he’ll definitely have gas.”
“Don’t be a dick, I’m going off the dang likelihood of us, y’know, getting shot on sight? So yeah, a Morty, not a Rick.”
“You’ve pulled a gun on at least three Ricks in the past year.”
Mort opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t actually find one, so he occupied himself with his wristwatch.
“Hey Glados, can you tell me if there’s a Rick in this dimension?”
“Calculating.”
“One that isn’t an idiot.” Rick added.
“Recalibrating: exempting nearest Rick.” Glados replied in a level monotone.
“Fucking – w-w-were you this much of a bitch before I put you in a watch?!” Rick groused as Mort lost it. “Don’t encourage her, Mort, Jesus!”
“Dude i-it’s not my f-fault you’re getting clapback from an AI!” Mort wheezed, catching the twitch of a smile on Rick’s mouth. “Look, we’ll – w-we’ll find a Denny’s or something, grab some food, but –”
Mort was cut off by Glados announcing her findings.
“Richard Sanchez: Located. Location: 82° 48' 58.9824'' S, 93° 9' 26.118'' W, Antarctica. Relaying coordinates to Portal device of User and former User.”
“W-what the shit?” Rick laughed, nonplussed. “An off the grid kind of guy, I guess?”
“Huh.” Mort frowned. “And is – like is there a Morty in this dimension?”
“Exempting User: Nearest Mortimer Smith in San Jose, California, 1.28 miles Northeast. Relaying coordinates.”
“That’s not far.” Mort mumbled. “Maybe they don’t know each other.”
“S-seriously baby? Assuming there’s any overlap, which genetically there almost always is, th-th-they probably fucking know each other. But we don’t need anyone, w-we can just rent a motel to crash at for...”
Rick turned the ignition to the car, but it didn’t respond. He faltered, repeated the motion, twice, three times, then let go of the key.
“A-alright, so. That’s... Not good.”
“What’s – what’s wrong with it? It can’t – like, is it the battery?” Mort asked, following Rick as they exited the car and Rick popped the hood, dragging a hand through his locks with a consternated grimace. “M-maybe um, an... Oil change?”
“No, it’s – it’s not broken down, I ran a diagnostic before we left, she shouldn’t have any issues unless it’s a heating problem... Additional friction when beyond Citadel boundaries maybe...”
Rick started mumbling to himself as he tried to adjust a few wires, his brow knitted.
“So... It needs... Water?” Mort offered with a wince, and Rick’s response was a grim gaze of weariness.
“M-Morty, pumpkin, sweetheart, I really fuckin’ love you, b-but you already suck ass at earth-standard technology, I-I-I think the nuance of an intergalactic space vehicle with an AI almost as genius as I am that can traverse dimensions might be a little out of your depth. Problem is, w-well, that I don’t see a problem. W-whatever it is, it’s – I can’t tell. E-even the AI isn’t responding, w-which means she’s offline. I... Shit.”
“Alright, so... Okay, okay, w-we can work with this! I still have the coordinates for our dimension, that’s how we would get back, so we’re not, y’know, stuck here! N-not us, anyhow.”
Rick pressed his fist between his eyes, sighing.
“I’m not a moron, baby. I-I might not specialize in empathy, but recognizing uncertainty is kind of a different beast. You’re saying ‘we’re’ not trapped here.” Rick air-quoted with a tone of heavy skepticism. “S-so what would be?”
“Because dimensions outside of our usual turf um, sorta move, I would, absolutely, be able to get us back to our dimension. E-even onto earth. But the opposite end of the portal could kind of be, er, anywhere? So, y’know, maybe on the ground! Where we could push the car through to the other side safely, or –”
“ Or deep space, or the Mariana Trench, or a hostile planet where my car wouldn’t be able to move, and therefore I’d lose it, and anything inside it.” Rick finished for Mort, who nodded once. “Great.”
Rick closed the hood of their ship, scratching at the roots of his scalp as he paced back and forth, lids clamped shut as he concentrated.
“Alright. S-so, first test.” Rick took out his portal gun. “Our teleportation should still be functional, since it was redesigned after the Curve fell. But better to find out now than later.”
Rick shot a transport and hopped through. After a minute, he returned with two lattes from Starbucks, passing one to Mort, who thanked him.
“It’s functioning as well as before. Th-that’s the good news, but as you’ve been repeating to me like a scratched fucking record, this dimension isn’t numbered, so we’re stranded on this dimension’s version of earth until the ship’s fixed. Call it a hunch, but I’m not all that convinced that galactic travel’s a safe bet without certainty that we can get back to our car. W-we might have cybernetic enhancements to keep us from earth-standard hazards, but beyond it, we’re still fucking humans. So the bad news,”
Rick chugged his coffee in several large, noisy gulps, crumpling the paper cup and tossing it over his shoulder.
“Th-the bad news is that if I don’t see the problem, i-it’s because the problem is locked behind a dimensional fucking paywall. I need to scan similar tech from this dimension. E-ergo, we need a Rick.”
“Who says the Rick is even a genius?” Mort countered, and Rick rolled his eyes.
“Mort, let’s not rehash this –”
“No, man, I’ve been telling you this on repeat because you’re not fucking listening!” Mort exclaimed, stepping towards his partner. “Smitty’s from beyond CFC boundaries, Diane was the genius in his dimension, the genius here might – who says it’s not a Morty?”
“D-d-do we need to turn this into a pissing match, bro? Who do you think’s more goddamn likely, the guy holed up in fucking Antarctica, or the kid sealed up in a Silicon Valley real estate bubble?”
“If he’s an engineer in Silicon Valley? Then no, it ain’t that wild to assume!”
“I-is this what this is about for you?!” Rick half-shouted, sucking a breath to calm himself as he palmed at his face. “H-haven’t I told you I know you’re smart? I know you’re – I respect the hell out of you, Mort, but I’ve – we’ve never met an iteration of you that does the shit I do! I-it’s just logical!”
Mort stiffened, glaring askance as he occupied his mouth by drinking his latte. It wasn’t about the intellect. It wasn’t about Mort wanting to be smarter, or wanting to show off. It was a deep distrust towards other Ricks, knowing how many were violent, knowing how many were unstable, and knowing that a Morty was far, far less likely to shoot anyone on sight than a Rick.
For a while, neither of them spoke, and Mort drank in silence until there was only syrup at the bottom of his cup. He lowered it from his mouth and sighed.
“I love you,” Mort began, tentative, and Rick faced him to show he was listening. “I do, I really love you, but I also know what you’re capable of. And just like you can – can connect commonalities between me, and other Mortys, I can have some reservations about how... Helpful a random Rick might be.”
“Oh, s-so this is about me being crazy, right.” Rick said darkly, and Mort shook his head.
“Babe, no, it’s – I just wanna be... Safe? About the whole thing? W-we’re in uncharted territory, Rick, I’ve never been this far out, who’s to say that the Rick here’s a genius? O-or even if he is, if he’s like so many of the ones that would kill you, or me, o-or our family, without any dang hesitation? I’m not – it’s not a reflection on you –”
“Except for the fact that they share my genetic code.”
“So my life experience, and the sheer fucking volume of how many Ricks have tried to kill us is evading you right now?! Rick, you made the Citadel, you helped create that system, and you might be going to therapy, and you might put in the work, but how many others would you trust to have your back?”
“L-let’s not forget who committed genocide on the Citadel, pal, that was a fucking Morty!”
“Let’s not fucking forget the heist shit that you pulled!” Mort snarled, and Rick flinched, withdrawing. Mort ached, frustrated with both himself and Rick. “That – I’m sorry, that was a low blow –”
“N-no, I uh... I get it. You have a... You’ve got a point. I-I-I mean, yeah, that was sort of below the belt, but I’ll cop to the argument.” Rick’s disposition was quite wounded as he said it, however, scratching the back of his neck. “T-tell you what. We’ll bet on it. You find the Morty, talk to him, see if he can help. I’ll find the Rick, and if tries to shoot me, y-you’ll uh, you’ll be right. If I’m right, a-and he’s stable, then you admit that not all of me is fucking unhinged.”
Mort felt the concerned desire to protest rise up from his esophagus, but he rubbed his jugular and abstained from voicing it.
“Fine. And if I’m right, you admit that there’s some shit I actually know better than you. Not the therapy crap, not literal brains, but that I learn from my experiences.”
“Deal.” Rick nodded. They glowered at one another for a minute or two, but gradually began to soften. “...I don’t uh, I don’t like fighting with you. Th-this feels like it’s... I’m sorry if I. Make you... Feel? I’m sorry if I make you feel... Uh...”
“Like my experiences are irrelevant?” Mort offered, a hint of amusement lightening his ire.
“I-I’m sorry if I make you feel like your experiences are irrelevant.” Rick repeated in earnest. “I don’t uh... I kind of...”
“And I’m sorry my resentment can bleed over to you.” Mort murmured. “Because I’m sure that feels shitty, too.”
Rick shrugged, sniffing as though he were unaffected, but he gave Mort a swift kiss on the mouth before taking out his portal gun.
“Bet starts now.” Rick fired a portal. “W-we’ll meet back here after talking to uh, ‘us,’ I fuckin’ guess.”
“Alright.” Mort smiled. “You’re on, Spaceman.”
Rick smirked lightly, nodding, and disappeared through the portal.
The first thing Rick pieced together about the Rick he’d tracked down, was that the guy probably had no desire to be tracked down. Namely because he was in front of a hovel-ass bunker in the fucking arctic.
“H...uh. L-little on the nose, bro. Usually you blend in with society , not... Penguins, or someshit. Seals. Shrimp that live in extreme climates, maybe.” Rick approached the steel doors, his arm outstretched. “Fuckin’ - if having goddamn manners bites me in the ass, I swear to God...” He knocked three times, loud enough that the echo felt cavernous despite the muffling of the surrounding blizzard.
“Hey man, uh, s-sorry about the potential... Man Cave invasion?” Rick cleared his throat. “Y-y-you know that there’s better ways to insulate this shit, right? Fuck, that might be - no offense, it’s uh... A-analogue, I guess. Lemme start over.”
Rick was really fighting with the desire to just portal directly inside, but he kept hearing Mort in the back of his mind grilling him about boundaries. Yeah, sure, if he didn’t respect himself, he couldn’t expect anyone else to respect him, but Rick had basically forfeited his dignity at this point, he didn’t know how much respect he really deserved.
“I’m having some issues with my cruiser, I’m from closer to the CFC, not this neck of the woods, so my shit’s kind of malfunctioning?” Rick rapped a knuckle against the door again. “Hello?”
The air shimmered, and Rick halted. He recognized the static-like cling of a forcefield expanding out, sealing the outside world off. Rick raised his hand, grazed his fingers over the field. He was bubbled in.
“Safe to say you’re the precautionary...” The bunker doors slid open. “...Type.” Something skidded along the floor of the bunker, a thin grenade that rolled to a stop by his feet.
Rick jolted when he heard it beep, intermittent before climbing to a rapid pulse, and he lunged into the bunker without thinking. Two doorless archways were on either side of the space, a bathroom to his right, a medbay to his left, and Rick sprinted towards familiarity. Rick felt the detonation more than he heard it, the shredded metal doors rattling the ground, blood pounding in his ears.
“A-a-are you fucking insane?! Jesus Christ, what kind of doomsday prepper bullshit are you on?! Y-y-you’re already in the frozen fucking tundra, I’m guessing you don’t have to worry about porch theft! L-look just - can we talk normally?! I-if I get killed, my boyfriend’s gonna need a tissue sample to bring me back and you have no idea how smug he gets!”
Rick cautiously peeked around the archway, seeing... Well, it was a version of himself. Older, mid-to-late fifties, but clean-cut, almost manicured. Lean, sinewy, but not as fit as Rick had to keep himself. The man radiated a primal sort of rage, a laser rifle loaded and aimed, and Rick darted back behind cover before the shot tore a chunk of the wall beside him into smithereens.
“A-alright, I get it!” Rick shouted as another blast began eating away at the remaining cover he had. “N-not a fan of trespassers! Been there, buddy, but I’m literally -” another shot, and Rick felt the heat graze his cheek. “Goddamn it, do I need a white flag to get you to lay off?! I -”
The medbay was being reduced to rubble, and Rick felt his own anger froth in his stomach. He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t fucking done anything.
“What -” Rick turned on his nanofiber defense mesh, “is your fucking -” he got to his feet, limbering his posture. “PROBLEM?!”
Rick waited for another shot, for the dust of the vaporized wall to fog the air, and careened towards his aggressor while he reloaded. Rick swerved around the man, grappling him around the waist, and wrenched the laser rifle from his hands to be cast towards the obliterated entrance to the bunker.
“I’m not exactly the most non-reactionary motherfucker either, but - OOF!”
The other version of himself rammed his elbow into Rick’s solar plexus, and he nearly doubled over as his physical enhancements disarmed. Adrenaline took over, he needed to act quickly, and Rick threw himself bodily onto his double, wrestling him to the ground with his arms pinned, Rick’s knee against the other’s spine as Rick caught his breath, still coughing.
“J-Jesus, man, just -” The other Rick snarled as he tried to get free, but Rick held fast, gritting his teeth. “Fucking calm down! Y-you think you’d be alive if I wanted to hurt you?! I don’t think ‘stand your ground’ laws fucking apply when you opened the door and sealed me the fuck inside with you!”
“How.” The other Rick heaved on the floor.
“H-how what, man?!”
“How did you get in - none of you motherfuckers are supposed to be here.”
Rick frowned, perplexed.
“I-it’s no fucking cakewalk, but I’ve been trying to get a handle of portal-based travel outside of the CFC.”
“And why?” The other Rick growled as he, again, tried to wrench himself free, but Rick forced him back down. His enhancements needed another minute to reboot. “You don’t fucking belong here, you don’t fucking touch Morty, he’s not involved in this shit - and you just -”
“I told you, I just needed help with my goddamn ship! Mort, my Mort, went to talk to your Morty because he said, ‘oh yeah, another Rick’s just gonna shoot us, Mortys are stable,’ and I can’t even fucking express to your psychopathic ass how annoyed I am that he was right again! I don’t want your fucking Morty, or to switch realities, or whatever the fuck! I just... Wanted to prove that not all of me is fucking crazy. So can I get off you without you trying to kill me? Because you look old enough that I know this shit’s bad for your back.”
“Your Morty,” The other Rick grunted. “Yours is talking to mine.”
“Yeah. And he’s the jackass that keeps me in therapy, so he’s not starting any -”
“I help with your ship, and you get the fuck out of here?”
Rick blinked, loosening his grip and getting off of his copy.
“Yeah.” Rick muttered. “We’ll get out of your hair.”
Rick tentatively offered to help the other version of himself up as a show of goodwill, but the other Rick cast him a scrutinizing glare of utmost disgust, rebuffing the gesture and standing on his own.
“Haul ass then.” Other Rick snapped, as though Rick’s presence made him physically ill. “The sooner you’re fucking gone the happier I’ll be.”
“...S-sure, Professor Prick, because I really wanted to see the sights of snow, snow, and more fucking snow...” Rick grumbled, shooting a portal to the cruiser. “...Two steps forward, ten steps back, ‘self-loathing isn’t justifiable’ goddamn fuckin'... Pussy-ass rhetoric bullshit...”
And they stepped through.
Mort trekked up the stairs of the apartment building where this dimension’s Morty pinged on his watch, mumbling to himself.
“Fifty bucks says that he’s gonna meet that other Rick, and it’s gonna escalate, and I’m gonna have to clean up the mess. Fifty bucks. Hey Glados, which door is Morty at?”
“Assessing: distance is ten feet on the right hand side.”
“Thank you.” Mort sighed, stopping in front of his destination. Mort knocked lightly, waited a minute to the sound of shuffling, and the door opened.
Morty was a little shorter than Mort, with hazel eyes instead of green, fewer freckles than Mort, but wore a resigned kind of expression. Almost tired.
“If you’re looking for Rick, I’m not affiliated with him, alright?”
“I got plenty of my own Rick, I was looking for someone that won’t shoot me on sight. Well, okay, maybe that’s unfair? I told him to come here, and we’re having car troubles. Who was the genius in your dimension?”
Morty raised his eyebrows, intrigued.
“Diane.” He answered, somewhat wary. “But my grandma’s passed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Mort said, because he meant it. “So the Rick that lives here, he’s not from here?”
Morty pressed his lips together, pupils glancing over Mort like he was considering him, then opened his door and motioned for him to enter. Mort smiled.
“Thanks.”
“I dunno Rick’s whole... Well, I know some of it secondhand. I’m not involved in it. And you’re not here for him?”
“Nah, we honestly came here by accident.” Mort scratched his chin as he entered the room. “Or, kinda? We got stuck on accident. I mean, I’m trying to get him used to exploring outside of the Curve. He’s been waffling for months, but he can’t say no to me when he knows it’s important.”
“S-so you just... Operate independently?” Morty asked, wincing as though prepared to be mocked. Mort felt a tender sort of sympathy towards his nerviness.
“We’re partners, but I can be a little bossy.” Mort pinched his fingers together. “But plenty of Mortys operate independently. I would figure that’d be second nature to you.”
“You’d fucking think so, right.” Morty deadpanned, and Mort snorted. “So your Rick isn’t - like he’s not a genius?”
Mort shrugged.
“He’s a genius in the ways I’m not. But Citadel rhetoric was militantly pro-Rick.”
“And you’re from the Citadel?” Morty frowned. “Or you... Were?”
“I was. Not the Citadel specifically, but the Curve, so a similar wheelhouse.” Mort conceded as he breathed a laugh. “Until it got blown up by one of us, anyhow.”
Mort motioned between himself and Morty as he said this, who seemed disconcerted.
“Can you - can you elaborate?”
“I dunno how far out we are, when it might’ve happened for you, but a Morty took it down. He’d actually gotten elected as president of the Citadel, which was basically achieving the impossible. Fucked up the whole operation, took down the Curve like it was nothing, and proved that you don’t need a Rick to exist. Heck, my younger brother was from way out, and he would’ve been fine if... That’s sorta a long story, but he’s another Morty, we took him in because rogue Ricks can be a threat. His dimension was destroyed.”
Mort chewed his lower lip, staring at the the floor in thought.
“My whole stance on seeing what’s beyond the Curve is that I like knowing there’s more out there. I love Rick, my Rick, I seriously do, but you’re conditioned so fucking much that...” Mort huffed through his nose, rubbing his forehead. “It’s nice seeing a Morty like you. Because you prove that the Citadel shit was wrong. And it’s why I instinctively trust you more than a random Rick.”
“I’ve only ever met one - like one other um, other Morty, outside of us. And I’m pretty sure he was, y’know, like you. From the Curve. But apparently everything fell apart without - like his Rick left, and everything went to hell, and made it sound like it wasn’t... Like without Rick, a dimension without him almost collapses.”
Morty sat down on his sofa, twisting his fingers together, brow creased. He peered up at Mort with a glint of anticipation in his features.
“You’re saying that’s not right? That it isn’t inevitable for...”
He trailed off, and Mort sat beside him.
“No.” Mort uttered gently. “It’s not inevitable. No matter what the Citadel tried to brainwash so many of us into thinking, I promise you it’s wrong. Because I’ve seen it. I don’t need Rick to survive. I don’t need Rick to explore beyond the Curve, which is why it was my idea that we come out here. Because he needs to understand it, too. A partnership has to be on equal footing, I wasn’t gonna permit the alternative.”
Morty clenched and unclenched his jaw, swallowing as he parted his lips to speak.
“When... When you say you love him.” Morty mumbled, his gaze averted. “What do you mean by that?”
Mort repressed a laugh, nodding his head a few times before replying.
“I could pull the therapist card right now pretty easy.” Mort smiled at him, restraining his humor, and Morty stiffened. “I could tell you that by asking that kinda question, you’re revealing a lot about what’s on your mind. But I’ll spare you. I try to reserve most of my ball-busting for Rick. I love him as my partner. We’ve been dating like... Close to a year? Traveling to different dimensions makes anniversaries a little tricky to keep track of.”
“I-is that normal for us? Because that other Morty, Mortimer, he - that was his situation, and it was so fucking backwards, and... And so sad." Morty rubbed his jugular, now almost glaring into space. “How do - how can you navigate that sort of shit? Because he wasn’t a part of my reality, he - he was just on the sidelines! Just fucking watching me, like I had no - no goddamn autonomy, a-and maybe Diane wasn’t even that much better, because everything - all my memories, they -!”
Morty fisted a hand into his hair, and Mort drew a slow inhale. He knew that feeling intimately.
“...He said it was to protect me. Both him and Diane, i-it was this - he keeps trying to make it out like it’s noble, that it was this giant self-sacrifice, as if I fucking wanted it. And I didn’t get to know, because they made me forget. So since I didn’t know, since I forgot, by the time I found out, I’d already...”
Morty’s complexion ruddied, a grimace of conflicted humiliation tugging at his lips.
“The Mindblower, huh.” Mort stated, because it wasn’t a question. Morty appeared to recognize it, a fleeting glimpse passing at Mort as he gave him a curt nod of assent. “Yeah. Well, I can’t tell you how to navigate it, but I know I needed transparency from him. And man, I don’t know how much he took from you, but...”
Mort thought about the day he’d remembered everything, about the day that Rick had told him about the heist, about the breakdowns, the fights, the hospitalization. He hesitated.
“Morty, when you look at me, do you see your reflection, or do you see a guy that just sorta feels like you?”
“I...” Morty inspected Mort, his eyes narrowed in thought. “I guess the second one. Like I know you’re a Morty, but you’re not my clone.”
“There’s a few handy things that come with being from the CFC,” Mort began carefully. “You learn about the immensity of the universe, and that despite seeing so many other versions of yourself, you’re all so unique. And the guy who tore down the Curve, he was insane, but he also knew that the Curve was unsustainable because so many Ricks didn’t want us to internalize that fact - that we’re different. That we’re self-sufficient, or independent, or have different dreams. My little brother’s good at math when I suck at it. I got my master’s in psychology to be a therapist, and I’m still feeling out what else I could do. What are you majoring in?”
Morty watched Mort with a contemplative sort of awe, his response quiet.
“Biomed.” Morty mumbled, and he lowered the hand from his hair to interlock his fingers on his lap, his gaze fixed on Mort. “I dunno what I’m gonna do beyond it, something active or...”
“Or you’ll go crazy, right?” Mort asked with a grin, and Morty huffed a laugh, nodding. “We’ve all got a wild streak in us somewhere. But how it manifests is different. That’s why it stays interesting.”
“What’s he like,” Morty started, biting the inside of his cheek. “Your Rick. What’s he like?”
Mort reclined on the sofa, considering the inquiry. The first word he thought of was always...
“...Striking.” Mort reminisced with fondness.
“He’s temperamental, he’s bullheaded, he’s frustrating, but he’s also brilliant, and compromises, and does shit I know he hates because he wants to be a better person. He’s the biggest asshole I’ve ever met, but he’s made me feel more loved than anyone else in the multiverse. He’s a genius in that he understands things I never will, but an idiot in that he can’t grasp things I find simple. I never laugh as much with anyone else, and he’s my best friend.”
Mort glanced at the ring Rick had made for him, twisting it delicately.
“I wasn’t in your shoes. I can’t tell you if one situation is harder than the other, but I grew up with Rick, even though he wasn’t from my dimension. The genetic relation throws you, and even though we heard about shady shit on the Citadel, it was hushed up. Rick thought it was a sickness, tried to purge it out of himself, and I had to make peace with my own feelings while we both stewed in our own crap. I don’t know the story of anyone else, but my own? I’m happy. It came with a lot of bullshit, a lot of pain, but when you want something, you do something about it. We all already know what we’re gonna do, Morty.”
Morty opened and closed his mouth a few times, pensive, before he spoke again.
“And out there - your world, what you’ve seen..." He gesticulated vaguely overhead, towards the sky. “What’s it like out there?”
Mort chortled, gazing at the ceiling like he could see the cosmos beyond it.
“Me and Rick would tell you different things. To me, it’s infinite potential. It’s massive, and terrifying, but it’s got shit you can’t even imagine. I can’t be unbiased in my answer because, as fucked as it was? The multiverse was my backyard. I know customs from planets that don’t even exist in my original reality. I regularly play in a - does your reality have those ‘Hunger Games’ books?”
“Wh- yeah? Why?”
“Yeah, I, willingly and regularly, play in a ‘Hunger Games’ style maze survival challenge. It’s legitimately called ‘Mazeocide,’ because it’s deadly. But considering I’m alive and well, chilling here with you, it’s pretty obvious I’ve never lost. One of my exes is a Martian assassin and we still hang out. I’ve seen myself die more times than I can count, and I’ve killed independently of Rick to survive. I won’t bullshit you that it’s not dangerous as hell out there. But this’s what’s normal to me, not because Rick forced me, but because it was the only way I felt I had control over it all.”
“How’s that different from your Rick?”
“Because I feel that control. To Rick, the infinite is an animal that grazes on the ordinary, a bucking bull that’ll eventually kick you off and kill you.”
“And won’t it?” Morty posited, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like, eventually... Doesn’t he have a point?”
“Maybe.” Mort hummed, smirking. “But I’ve always been a glass half full kinda guy. Rick’s a nihilist, and that’s what makes sense to him. He keeps me grounded on some things, but I give him different perspectives. We’re complements. That’s why I don’t think it’s crazy. And therapists don’t use that word as a general rule, but you aren’t crazy either.”
Morty arched an eyebrow at him, and Mort smiled.
“For feeling the way you do. However justifiably pissed you are, whatever you know you’ll end up doing - you’re not crazy.”
“Oh.” Morty seemed close to saying more, but didn’t, so Mort guessed.
“Do you wanna see it?”
Morty blinked, and Mort continued.
“Our ship. It’s not turning on right now, but you can see it. If you wanted.” Mort stood, jerking his head towards the door. “Do you?”
Morty rose to a stance, his posture determined, and Mort took his resolve for the unspoken answer it was.
“Cool. Lemme show you.”
Mort knew they were close before Rick was even visible, because he heard the familiar, dulcet tones of him arguing with himself.
“- I-I-I thought you were a genius! You’ve got fucking portal tech, and you don’t -?!”
“I don’t know how a broken ship that I’ve never fucking owned works! The closest thing I’ve got is in fucking storage!”
“The ship itself was working fine! I-it just started malfunctioning when we got here!”
“Did our dimension have a welcome mat, or are you just assuming whatever the fuck you please because you’re incapable of explaining what’s wrong with your own goddamn car?!”
Mort sighed as the two men came into view, and he noticed Morty tense up beside him.
“...Are you guys cool?” Mort had to check, pointing in Rick's direction. “Like, you and him.”
“Uh. Y-yeah, we’re... We’re cool. And yours is...?”
“He gets impatient with himself. Especially if it’s another version of himself. But don’t worry,” Mort clapped Morty’s shoulder. “I’m expertly trained in conflict mediation.” He raised his wristwatch to his mouth and whispered. “Hey Glados?”
“Who -?” Morty began, but Mort shushed him silently, holding back a laugh.
“Awaiting request.” Glados replied in her cool monotone, and Morty gawked at Mort’s watch.
“Can you fire intradimensional portals alright in this dimension?”
“Request processed: within capabilities.”
Mort grinned and fired one portal directly above himself, and then aimed his watch under his Rick’s position.
“D-do you have to be condescending as well as fucking psycho-AUGH!” Rick squawked as he fell through the intradimensional portal, into Mort’s arms, who blew an obnoxiously noisy raspberry on his cheek.
“Y-you motherfucker! Warn a guy, Mort!” But Rick laughed as he massaged his heart. “Jesus, that fucking scared me.”
“Morty, this is my partner, Rick,” Mort said as he put his Rick down. “Rick, this is the Morty from this dimension.”
“Oh damn, y-you actually brought him?” Rick commented, surprised. “What’s up, bud?”
Rick greeted Morty via mock salute, who assessed him in turn with reservation. Mort, meanwhile, was very pleased, approaching the other Rick. The man bore a closer resemblance to Ricardo than Mort’s Rick, with neatly cropped hair and casual clothing. Mort beamed at him.
“Hey, sorry to bother you guys with our car troubles, but I can’t thank you enough for uh - y’know, not acting batshit? Half the time you mean a random Rick, you get a gun pulled on you.” Mort outstretched his arm. “I’m really glad I was wrong.”
“Uh.” The other Rick glanced at Mort’s hand, tentative in accepting it before he did. “...No problem. Whatever will get you... Home. Though I’d consider it acceptably rational to be protective of one’s dimension insomuch as no one wants outsiders getting fucking comfortable where they live. You don’t shit where you eat.”
Mort shook his hand, nodding.
“I’m a Morty from the CFC, if there’s anyone who gets that, it’s me.” He released the other Rick. “So um, for the sake of simplicity, you can call me Mort. You guys wouldn’t be as used to it, but when there are fifty of the same name in one room, it gets confusing. Is it cool if I call you Richard?”
Again, the man seemed nonplussed, but he gave a terse nod.
“Yeah. Sure.” Richard peered over at his Morty, who was walking over beside Rick. “You guys really just showed up, huh.”
“Yup, but it wasn’t an intentional stopping point.” Mort sighed, scratching his head. “Like we were just gonna stop at Shoneys or Denny's or somethin'. The battery’s fine, so it must have something to do with the wiring? M-maybe? But that's my fault, I should’ve considered it as a possibility. I’m sorry.” Mort told Richard. “I shouldn’t have assumed anything, and considering neither of you have a scratch, you’re a reasonable guy. I jumped to a lotta conclusions when it’s my fault we’re stranded here.”
“O-oh shit, a genuine concession?” Rick cackled as he leaned over the popped hood of the ship. “But nah, y-you couldn’t have known in advance, it’s not like you’ve done trans-dimensional travel with me before. Outside of the Curve... It’s not as uh, predictable, I fucking guess. Seems like the professorhead’s lost too -”
“Did I say you could call me that, motherfucker?” Richard sniped, his teeth bared, but Rick ignored him.
“- so we’re gonna need a scan of a ship that does work in this dimension. But uh, y’know, don’t beat yourself up. You were right. I had to rip off the bandaid at some point.”
Mort squeezed Rick’s shoulder, who smiled at him affectionately. Richard shifted his weight, almost uncomfortable, and Morty circled the cruiser with an intrigued expression.
“So - so it’s like an actual spaceship.” Morty muttered, tracing his fingertips over the car as he walked around it. “This is - like this gets you around?”
“Th-this and portal tech, yeah.” Rick answered, trying to adjust a few wires. “But looks like we’ll have to keep this in mind when we’re traveling farther out. Your dimension’s...” He cast a quick frown towards Richard, but continued. “Y-your dimension’s pretty laid back, but there’s going to be a fuckton of places that aren’t safe to hesitate in. Breaking down could get us incinerated faster than -”
“The companion cube in Portal.” Mort interrupted, grinning, and Rick scowled.
“I-I-I’m not playing that fucking game, stop trying to make references to convince me!” Rick groaned, and Mort lapsed into laughter. “W-whatever, sure, point is better we learn it here, where it’s non-hostile, than in a random fascist dimension.”
“So since you’ve got me and Morty trapped here with your little powwow, what’s your deal?”
Mort smirked. Richard kept scrutinizing Rick and Mort, keen pupils flitting back and forth between them.
“Which part?” Mort deflected airily.
“I’m not getting the sense that you’re an absentminded dumbfuck, so cut the coy routine. You’re not much older than Morty I assume, and this jackass looks like I did in my thirties. The math doesn’t check out if you really are from the Central Finite Curve.”
Rick tensed, glowering askance at Richard.
“...I aged myself down. Made a younger clone.”
“So how old are you?”
“With time dilation, probably over ninety. But I spent a good chunk of it being an asshole, so I -”
“How much of that is bullshit?” Richard interjected. “Because I know you fuckers have at least fifty different complexes playing against each other at once, so forgive me if I’m a little goddamn reluctant to accept some nobility shit.”
“H-how about you take a look in the fucking mirror before foisting your cantankerous-ass opinions in my goddamn face?” Rick snarled. “You wanna know my life story, you can pick a goddamn direction and choose decorum over dicking me over, or you can keep the ‘jaded, unaffected loner’ shtick to yourself and mind your fucking business.”
“Rick.” Mort chided wearily. “C’mon.”
Rick didn’t say anything else, his brow knitted taut as he stepped away from the ship.
“...She’s not working with me. I can’t tell where the issue is. B-but look, get us a scan of your ship, and I’ll be able to hash it out. Then you won’t see us again, I won’t have to deal with another judgmental reflection of my own misanthropy, and everybody wins.”
Richard folded his arms across his breast, still gazing critically at Rick, but relented.
“Alright. But we can’t stay out here.” Richard shifted again, on edge. “I wasn’t staying in the arctic to enjoy the weather. I’m trying to lay low. We go back there, I should be able to look up where I put that piece of shit. I haven’t touched it in years.”
“Wh- the arctic?” Mort sputtered, close to laughing from incredulity. “Jeez man, did you piss off the president?”
“Yeah, well, daddy government isn’t all that jazzed with me currently.”
“Have you tried a turkey pardon?” Mort offered lightly, and Richard made a face of dry disapproval. “Alright, I get it, sore subject. Is it alright if we talk there, then? Rick and I can grab food after, work out the rest out tomorrow, and like he said, you won’t have to deal with us again.”
Rick and Richard exchanged a look reminiscent of a child being caught stealing candy, and Mort hesitated.
“Um... What’s up?" Mort frowned. "What’s with the whole -?”
The bunker in the arctic was an absolute wreck.
“What the hell is this?!” Mort balked, flailing his arms over the shredded metal, tile, and discarded laser rifle. “I thought you’d talked normally! Jesus fucking Christ, Rick -!”
“I tried!” Rick countered, incensed. “Th-this asshole kept shooting me! I had to disarm him!”
“What the fuck was I supposed to think?!” Richard aggressed on Rick, who squared up without hesitation. “You come into a dimension that isn’t yours, making yourself comfortable, knocking on my door -”
“So it’s your dimension then, bitch?!” Rick shouted, and Richard paled slightly. “Your original dimension, and that Morty knows you as ‘grandpa Rick?’ O-o-or do you think you’ve got room to fucking judge because someone did the equivalent of asking to borrow a cup of fucking sugar and your logical course of action was retaliating with a goddamn EMP grenade?!”
“I’ve been trying to fucking protect him from people like you!”
“From me?!” Rick bellowed, his nose wrinkled. “The fuck have I done to you, moron?! Knocked on your door, refused to hit you when you wanted to ventilate my fucking skull?! You’ve got an attitude like I’m squatting in your hidey-hole for a fucking vacation, and trust me pal, I don’t wanna be here! If this is your original dimension, then fair’s fair, I get you acting like a scandalized little pussy! But if it ain’t, then how about you take a twenty minute break from busting my balls?!”
“Don’t compare yourself to me you fucking -!”
“R-Rick, stop, he -” Morty interrupted, and Richard faltered. “He’s got a point, man.”
Richard’s lips pressed into a white line, withdrawing.
“...Morty?”
“I dunno, Rick, at least - like I get you being careful or - or whatever, but this isn’t your dimension. And I’m not your Morty, w-which is so... Weird? This whole concept like you’ve got some -?” Morty twined his fingers together in example. “Some cosmic link to me that means you’ve gotta protect me? I didn’t... I didn’t ask. For any of that, so. So maybe yeah, like - lay off. Cuz he’s got a point.”
Morty shrugged, his tired irises downcast, and Richard averted his gaze. The atmosphere grew thick, awkward, and Rick coughed into his fist, glancing at Mort.
“Hey um, this is where you’re staying right?” Mort attempted, gesticulating around the shredded bunker. “It’s pretty fucked up right now, but y’know, you’re helping us out with the whole - whole car dealio, so... D’you want help? Putting it back together?”
Mort fished the Infinite Object Generator out from his satchel. Morty and Richard seemed far more baseline than Mort and Rick were, with Morty shivering and breathing erratically against the arctic blizzard now blowing inside. Mort twisted the IOG, materializing an insulating, downy winter coat and scarf to give to his double.
“Here.” Mort handed it to Morty, who blinked. “I’m good, Rick’s given me some biological enhancements over the years. Earth-standard temperatures don’t faze me all that much anymore, y’know?”
“I - yeah, s-sure.” Morty mumbled, clearly not knowing at all what the hell Mort was talking about. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Mort smiled at him, then turned to his partner. “Rick, we should reinforce the doors, yeah?”
“And add insulation probably, yeah.” Rick agreed, avoiding Richard. “I can handle the wiring shit, if an EMP could blow the doors then they’re not strong enough to keep a Rick out.”
“Like I’m trusting you with my -!”
“We can do it together, idiot.” Rick cut Richard off in an exhausted sort of way. “L-look, you can hate me as much as you want, but Mort’s telling me to be nice, so I’m really fucking trying here. Watch me like a hawk, whatever, but this would be the most roundabout way of screwing you over. I-it'd be inefficient as hell, use your reason.”
Mort felt Richard’s stare as he generated a broom and dustpan, a space heater, wood, a drill, a hammer, nails, bricks and plaster to mend the walls, and a large thermos of hot chocolate with four mugs. Mort poured some for himself, then Morty and Rick -
“Morty, don’t drink that, are you -?!”
“Don’t... Quit telling me what to do, Rick.” Morty grumbled, but Mort still took a mouthful from his own mug first. A confirmation that it wasn’t poisoned, and Morty drank shortly after.
The bunker wasn’t in great shape, and Mort wasn’t a construction worker, but he did his best to reinforce the walls that Richard had apparently demolished when trying to kill Rick. He hid his irritation well, but Mort was beating back his dislike of Richard with a psychological nine-iron.
“H-hey baby, can you pass me -?” Rick called over, and Mort tossed him a miniature laser cutter. Rick grinned. “Heh, telepathic little bastard. Thanks, pumpkin.”
“Not telepathy,” Mort chuckled back at him, now drilling wooden planks over the bricks he’d glued and stacked, which was, though not gorgeous, beginning to resemble a wall. “You always misplace it because it’s small.”
Mort was plastering over the wood when he heard someone walk behind him. He didn’t turn around.
“...Why are you doing this?” Richard asked, not nastily, but with a tone of confusion.
“Because I’ve spent my life cleaning up after Ricks.” Mort replied, feeling an eyebrow twitch. “And even if it’s your mess, I got Rick stranded here by not considering the possibility. I take accountability for my shit.”
A minute of silence passed.
“You grew up with him.”
“Sure did.”
“Do I need to point out the obvious flirting and saccharine bullshit, or -?”
“Here’s a suggestion for you, Richard.” Mort said with false cheeriness, slamming down his tools and standing up. “D’you wanna play twenty questions?”
“Do I look like a seventh grader to you?” Richard deadpanned, and Mort kept his flaring temper behind a cold smile.
“Do I?”
Richard’s mouth nudged into a frown, and Mort breathed a humorless laugh.
“I’m trying to be nice here. So you wanna play twenty questions while I try and clean up what is literally your mess? Ask me questions, and I’ll ask questions back. But I’m not a Rick, which means that unlike you and him,” Mort nodded towards his partner, who was currently insulating the bunker doors. “I don’t steer clear of the topics that you avoid, and I frequently hit below the belt.”
Mort stared Richard down, who had gone inscrutable, before Mort returned to his labor.
“Fair enough.” Richard huffed. “How did it happen?”
“Hard work, mutual respect, and we love each other.” Mort stated with efficiency as he smoothed down the plaster. “Your turn. Were you watching Morty because you cared, or because you wanted to feel like you were proving yourself wrong?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“The direct kind.”
Richard snorted derisively, but Mort didn’t indulge him, and he waited.
“...I care. I wanted - I want him to be safe.” Richard uttered in an undertone. “But uh, the second half... Doesn’t everyone try to prove themselves wrong? When you know how much of yourself is fucked up, don’t you... It’s instinct.”
“That’s about what I expected.” Mort said distractedly, scrutinizing his work.
“Then why’d you ask?”
“Because what matters is whether someone is honest about it.” Mort peered askance at Richard. “Since honesty is what determines character.”
“That’s a fallacy. Someone can be honest about being a scumbag, and last time I checked, that didn’t make it acceptable.”
“You’re right, which is why phrasing is important. If someone says, ‘what’d you expect, I’m an asshole,’ then they’re trying to justify maltreatment with an excuse that it’s just their, y’know, general disposition or whatever. But owning up to mistakes is a problem a lot of Ricks face. I’m judging what kind of Rick you are. But turnabout’s fair play, and you earned your next question.”
Richard gaped at Mort like he wasn’t sure what to make of him. Mort could make out mistrust, bewilderment, but a familiar spark of curiosity.
“What kind of Morty are you? Did you major in Rick psychology on the Citadel?”
“As if, man.” Mort snickered. “Like they’d have the self-awareness to teach about ego in that hellhole. Nah, I majored in regular psychology, and work as a therapist. And as for what kind of Morty I am, hm... Experienced, I guess? Worldly.”
Mort wriggled his fingers as he said it, and Richard almost smiled.
“You seem like a smart kid.”
“Yeah, well,” Mort stood up, appraising the finished wall. “It’s sink or swim.”
Mort generated a woolen tapestry to nail over the unpainted drywall, and Richard cleared his throat.
“Sorry.” The word sounded coarse in Richard’s chest. “For trying to kill him.”
“It’s cool.” Mort responded, understanding as he acknowledged him. “I’ve been there.”
“Your Rick went nuts?”
Mort chuckled.
“Nah.” Mort dusted off his hands. “I can kill someone from sixty yards, and the only way you can say something like that with certainty is if you’ve done it before. Rick’s lost it before, sure. But I’ve got an adopted little brother, and I killed the Rick that hurt him before that fucker knew what was happening. So when I say I’ve been there,”
Mort locked eyes with Richard with intent.
“I mean I’ve been there.”
There was a weighted pause, both men staring at each other as Mort’s declaration hung between them. Richard’s jaw flexed, and Mort cracked up, shaking his head.
“S-seriously, you - man, you’re a funny guy." Mort hooted. "You’re in academia, aren’t you?”
“Morty told you?”
“Just had a feeling.” Mort shrugged impishly. “I had a mentor that you remind me of.”
“My condolences.”
Mort laughed, picking up the broom he’d generated to sweep the floor.
“Nah, she was a big inspiration to me! A real neat person to learn from. If Big Brother ever stops watching you, you’re probably a good guy to do that sorta job. Not that I know you personally that well but considering you thought I had a degree in, what, ‘Rick Psychology?’ I must not be that off base.”
Richard went cliff-faced again, but Mort didn’t push. Another minute or two slogged by.
“Who knows.” Richard said after a while, and left Mort to clean up the opposite end of the room.
The bunker had been well-fortified by the end of several hours, and Mort had generated a handful of amenities to liven up the place. A squashy brown sofa with plush throws, two space heaters, a microwave and coffee maker, whereas Rick had stocked Richard’s medbay with any supplies that had been damaged. Richard didn’t seem to trust Rick’s own pharmaceutical inventions, but Mort conceded that was a valid concern to have. If the man distrusted hot chocolate, he likely wouldn’t trust a serum that Rick told him could cure cancer.
“Slick handiwork, pumpkin.” Rick told Mort, impressed. “Guess your apartment’s given you solid experience in fixing drywall.”
“Yeah, I mean it’s not ‘Shitstine Chapel’ standards, but it shouldn’t blow over in a stiff wind.” Mort joked, and Rick chortled. “Richard if you need another extension cord I can just -”
“I got it, I got it, you’ve got your little Santa bag of infinite possibilities, we’ve all seen it.”
“Isn’t Santa at the North pole?” Mort retorted wryly.
“Oh, let me call and ask, he should be in my contacts right between the fucking tooth fairy and the stuffed unicorn that talks and shits fucking rainbows!” Richard shouted back from underneath a desk.
Mort wondered whether it would be stupid to mention that he’d technically seen both of those things, even if the former had been an alien that stole teeth for calcium consumption, and the latter had been a parasite, but decided to keep it to himself.
“So you said your ship is in a storage unit?” Mort changed the subject, and Richard pulled himself out from searching, dusting off his knees. “Do you remember where?”
“Yeah, some palm tree storage unit in goddamn Miami.” Richard groaned, rubbing his back. “Around South Beach. That’s where it’ll be. I still technically own the property from uh...” He sniffed, averting his gaze. “The guy that preceded me.”
“Mm-hm.” Rick hummed, glaring at Richard. “Hypocrite of the Year, ladies and gentleman.”
“Fuck off.” Richard grunted. “You can come back tomorrow, we can finalize who needs to go where. And uh,” he gestured around the bunker. “Thanks.”
Mort waved a dismissive hand, while Rick winced like he’d legitimately bitten his own tongue to abstain from insulting Richard. Morty was observing the two of them with a challenging expression to discern, something contemplative, a little wistful.
“We’ll hit the road then,” Mort said as Rick took out his portal gun. “See ya.”
Mort saluted his double, who nodded with a small smile in return, and Mort left with Rick through the portal.
Mort walked with Rick in silence until they reached a cheap inn, renting a room that was a twenty minute walk from where their ship was parked. Rick didn’t enter the room when Mort swiped the keycard to open the door, instead taking out a cigarette, then lighting it, so Mort let the door close without going inside.
“Smoke tax.” Mort leaned against the wall beside Rick, who passed him a cigarette and struck the lighter while Mort drew on the filter. “What’s wrong?”
“You were right.” Rick muttered, glaring at the sidewalk. Mort frowned.
“Damn, does it hurt that bad every time you lose a bet?”
“Not that, baby. And shut up.” Rick’s glare softened as he addressed Mort. “He tried to kill me right off. A-and I knocked, Mort, I swear I did, I didn’t try to threaten him, I tried to fucking talk, but...”
Rick trailed off for a moment, rolling his cigarette between his forefinger and thumb.
“I think, maybe, in some roundabout fucking way I was trying to prove that I’m not constantly unhinged. That I could go to some other version of myself, that you could, if you were in a bind, and you could do it without worrying you’d get your shit kicked in. But I think you’re right, that hell, that doesn’t happen. Not with Ricks. And I’m... Sorry, for that.”
Mort slid his free hand into Rick’s hair, and Rick leaned into it, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed.
“He wasn’t unhinged. I’m distrustful -”
“And that’s fucking rational.”
“Sure,” Mort sighed. “But I’m distrustful because we’re from the Curve. And in a way, so’s he. Unhinged is kinda a misnomer for it, y’know? I’m never gonna be the guy who trusts a random Rick. But I can also be fair and say that part of that’s my own baggage.”
“And what, that doesn’t bother you? Seeing Richard guarding that Morty like a fucking rottweiler doesn’t make you -?”
Rick cut himself off, and Mort tilted his head.
“What?”
“How can you love me when you know the shit I’m capable of.” Rick clasped his own hand over Mort’s. “What we talked about earlier, w-when we landed, we... Y-you talk about iterations of ourselves, how we’re all different, but you know we’re genetically identical in most cases.”
“Yeah, but... I dunno. Isn’t that comforting?”
Rick blanched, his eyes shooting open.
“Mort, what?”
“It’s... It feels like an example of autonomy, I guess?” Mort said through an inhale of smoke, then blowing it out. “I see these people who, yeah, have similarities to us, down to our code, but they make their own choices. I love you because you’re you, not because of some cosmic superstition that implies we’re always meant to come as a unit. You’re always teetering on the free will thing, like none of us have it, but I know you’re way too chaotic to be a determinist.” He chuckled, and Rick hummed a laugh.
“Maybe I’m chaotic because I’m a determinist.”
“I guess in a multiverse with infinite realities, it’s feasible. After all, if any outcome is possible, then every outcome sorta is? Heh. Chaotic determinism makes it sound like you’re branching out from nihilism a little, babe.”
“You’re not selling optimism to me that easy, Mort.” Rick chortled, shaking his head. “Look, maybe some things matter, or some things don’t, but we don’t fucking control it. It’s... How’d we even get on this subject?”
“You’ll never be an optimist, but I think you’re closer to an existentialist.”
“You’ve been reading philosophy shit again, haven’t you.” Rick moaned, pretending to pull away. “Don’t start with the dad jokes about Kant or whoever the fuck, baby, I kant fucking deal with that -”
“No, no, listen, I have a point!” Mort hooked an arm around Rick’s neck, grinning, and Rick stroked his side with an amused smirk. “I mean the Kant joke was on it, but seriously, I’m not fucking with you, c’mon.”
“Alright, pumpkin, floor’s yours.”
Mort tapped their foreheads together.
“If nothing matters, the universe is yours, right? But you have this thought that the infinite’s gonna chew you up and spit you out, like you’re trapped by not having free will. But I think you take ownership over so much shit, over - over, y’know, all these versions of yourself, because you’re trying to find meaning in the thing that scares you most. Which is just... You. Your mind, what you’re capable of. And I might never fully trust Ricks, because I can’t, or maybe cuz I refuse to since I’m a stubborn ass in my own ways. But I can see the good in myself, in myselves, since I think the good things we put into the infinite ripple out. I trust that I can find that.”
Rick’s lashes lowered as his gaze dipped between them, pensive.
“A-and what, you’re suggesting that I’m doing that?”
“Maybe not to the same degree,” Mort murmured gently. “But yeah. You wanna find the good in yourself because you know it’s there. You ask how I’m capable of loving you despite knowing what you’re capable of, as if I’m excluding the incredible shit you do on a whim. Helping people. Helping yourself. I can love you because I’ve seen all of it. And knowing that outside the CFC, beyond all the stuff that became our normal, that other iterations of ourselves care about each other? How could that not be comforting?”
Rick’s lips twitched.
“You’ve turned me into a grade-A pussy, you get that, right?” Rick’s voice shook with restrained humor. “It’s a goddamn embarrassment. Fucking therapists.”
Mort shrugged, smiling.
“You knew what you signed up for.”
“I guess I remember that.” Rick groused, but again seemed near laughter. “You wanna review some of those details?”
Rick cocked his head towards their motel, raising his brow as he squeezed Mort's waist, and Mort laughed as he dragged them both inside.
Feathery crystals of ice floated from the cracks in the corrugated steel of what was now Richard’s freshly repaired bunker door. They fluttered on a stale draft of recycled oxygen that drifted throughout the bunker’s open-concept workspace, (now far more open than it was before), one such flake landing on Morty’s cheek, tickling his skin with a gentle, chilled kiss from the hostile abyss outside. Morty shivered and pulled at the collar of the heavy, insulated jacket that Mort had... Seemingly materialized out of thin air for him – something that Morty made a mental note to ask Richard about.
There were a lot of questions knocking around in his head at the events of the last few hours, of things which Morty knew he wanted to ask and surprisingly, with what he felt he’d learned of Richard in that short span of time, he found himself feeling rather eager for. His acrimony had stepped down, switching places with deep, impassioned curiosity for the man he had known Richard to be before his memories were unearthed. Before their dynamic had changed so drastically.
Richard was busy rummaging around for an extension cord or something. With the space heater Mort had materialized for them, they were in dire need of an outlet, and all of Richard’s seemed to be occupied. Morty cleared his throat.
“I uh, think I owe you an apology.”
Richard’s motions stilled. He stood up from the box of miscellaneous items he had been rummaging through and took a heavy, laborious sigh. It seemed that talking wasn’t something he’d been looking forward to. He turned to face Morty, who continued.
Morty pulled his hands from the stiff limbs of his coat, gesturing as he continued.
“I know that you understand how hard things were for me, t-that period of adjustment where everything felt like it was crashing down around me. Partly because I know now that not all of that grief was my own. And I guess, also, b-because you’ve never once put me down for... Having feelings.” He scratched his cheek, feeling the warmth below his skin. “Or – at least not in a way that I knew you actually meant.”
His apprehensive sighing audible to Morty, Richard dropped his arms to his sides and shuffled over to the sofa, sitting beside Morty. Before he could say anything, Morty continued.
“Aaand, I know you’re also probably going to say that you don’t need me to see you any differently than I have been. Because,” he snorted halfheartedly, “you’re not some – some ‘different kind of Rick’... Except you are, Rick.”
Richard’s attention was trained on the floor, on the black scuff marks of his rubbery soles where he’d tousled with that – other Rick, and the little flecks of debris from the CHAFF grenade he’d been stupid enough to throw through the doorway of his own bunker, assuming it would disable his opponent. Something in his features looked... Ashamed? It was an expression Morty had seen from him before, and it always seemed to precede some pointedly bad news. Now, he just seemed quiet. Contemplative.
It wasn’t hard to infer that both of them had a lot of catching up to do.
“I haven’t been the easiest to talk to during the last couple of weeks, I-I know that.” Morty fumbled with his hands, feeling the cold seeping into his bones. “I’ve got a lot of questions but, is there... Anything you’d like to tell me?”
Richard’s mouth fell open, a full breath filling his chest, only to empty through his teeth as his jaw clenched shut. The bumps of his knuckles were whited out, sitting stiffly in his lap.
“I think you expect me to have some new justification to throw at you o-or –”
“No, not at all,” Morty interjected, shaking his head as he gave a short, breathy laugh.
“ I don’t expect that from you because I know you’re not trying to make a case for yourself. So I’m asking you, y’know, in light of me acting like a – a grieving child over the last few days, to tell me what you’re feeling. What maybe I’ve prevented you from saying.”
Richard shrugged stiffly.
“I just,” Richard began, “I didn’t think that anything like today would ever happen,” he admitted, to which Morty nodded. “When I saw him – that other Rick, standing outside my door, I felt... Woof.” Richard paused, raking a hand through his hair. Emotions obviously weren’t his strong suit. “I was afraid."
“Oh.” Morty said. “For me.”
“Yeah. I saw more than fifteen years of yours and my life flash before my eyes and all I could fucking think was, ‘shit, here I go, fucking it all up...’ I exposed you to a reality you weren’t ready for and now you’re so deep into this cesspool that I can’t pull you out. If you...” The bulb of his throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. “If you’d have died today Morty, I –”
“But I didn’t,” Morty interrupted. “Because of you.”
“But if you had!” Richard insisted. “I would’ve failed. This is something I’ve been working toward for longer than you’ve been alive–”
“Keeping me safe?”
“Yes! Making sure that another Smith family wasn’t torn to pieces over some temperamental douche with an ego so fucking fat you could smother underneath it, b-because that was Diane’s wish and –” he exhaled deeply, his excitement losing momentum, “and it’s mine too. It was from the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“The moment you laid eyes on her, too.” Morty said solemnly, insinuating something he wasn’t sure he had a right to assume.
Richard blinked at him for a few moments, only to sigh.
“She wasn’t my Diane, Morty. Your grandmother –”
“But you loved her just the same, didn’t you?”
“Yes, god, f-fuck -!” Richard pressed coin-sized craters into either side of his forehead, a vein protruding from his temple.
“Yeah, Morty, I loved her. In some – r-real roundabout fucking way, she was still my wife and by proxy, you were my grandson, but that doesn’t mean I retained any agency over either of you. Your lives were meant to be your own long before I came along, and they should've been without me having pendulous enough cajones to say as much! Which, b-by the way, I know we’ve never talked about this at length, but your dimension’s original Rick was a fucking tool and I enjoyed flatlining his psychopathic ass.”
Morty chuckled, huddling into the warm embrace of his coat.
“Yeah, I think I have a memory of yours rattling around in my head of icing that monologuing douche.”
Richard snorted.
“Shit was cathartic. Like popping bubble wrap, I-I swear.”
Some of his resignation melting away, Morty breathed a high and rapid laugh into his hands.
It was a point of some interest to him how, in that moment, he realized that that memory, which was lived and archived as a product of immense trauma, now seemed almost amusing. Richard said that memories couldn’t be stowed or severed by objective means, that they were always subject to change by the interpretation of the one experiencing them. Maybe, if he had been at a worse point in his life, his memories from today of meeting Mort – hell, of seeing another Rick, might not have been so lighthearted.
Morty wrung his hands together in a fitful knot, his fingers laced between one another tightly. He exhaled an unsteady breath.
“Let me ask something, Rick. Did – did Diane ever... Thank you? For any of the things you did. I mean all of it.”
That seemed to stump Richard, with a flash of astonishment lingering on his face. He shook his head.
“Fuck, Morty, no. I-I never wanted to be thanked. And as you can probably assume, no one ever wanted to thank me either. To express gratitude over the shit that I’d done was like patting me on the back for genocide, something I never wanted.”
“You’re also not the Rick that did any of that. It’s not like you were out kicking dogs before you traveled here, I know that for a fact.”
“Do you?” Richard asked, his tone vehement. “B-Because you never saw a whole lot of my past before a certain point, there are things I regret too, none of which – I mean, to begin with your grandmother didn’t fucking know me –”
“I think if she had, she would’ve seen you a lot differently than she did.” Morty interjected.
Richard scoffed, seeming somewhat perturbed at the thought.
“I don’t think that’s a fair assumption to make on her behalf –”
“I’m not making it on her behalf. I know you now, a-and even if it – if it’s really sucked at times, I’m thankful. I’m saying that, Rick,” he insisted. “That’s me talking. I’m thankful.”
Richard wavered, his palm raised to dismiss Morty’s appreciation, seemingly as a matter of Richard’s pride more than anything, but Morty continued before he could speak.
“You’ve done so much and – and yeah, man, I can’t say that some secret service bullshit wouldn’t drive me insane if I had to live it out for mine and someone else’s entire life. It wasn’t just some pseudo-attachment to Diane that coerced you into doing that either. That was you. All you.”
Staring back at him with his mouth agape, eyes open wide with a visible wetness, Richard drew a trembling breath.
“And, y-y’know,” Morty began. “Maybe it sucked to feel like my life was the product of some sci-fi dipshit who was supposed to be my god or whatever, and maybe... I might still hate some part of you for that,” he said, to which Richard winced, withdrawing into himself a little.
“But,” Morty went on, his tone far softer, “that also justifies the part of me that loved you. That...” Morty balled his hands into fists, teeth gritted at saying his next words aloud. "Th-that desperately wanted your attention. I don’t think anything like the c-central curve, or whatever–”
“The Central Finite Curve.” Richard corrected.
“Y-yeah, that – could dictate my feelings or their validity. They came about naturally. I liked you before I knew anything else. That matters, y’know?”
“How can – how could either of us be sure about that?”
Morty glanced around, nonplussed.
“Should we have to be? Did it matter to you when you were keeping me safe from all those crazy Ricks and Mortys out there adventuring in the infinite? No,” he said, answering his own question. “It didn’t matter then, so it shouldn’t matter now.”
From his place beside Morty, Richard’s posture was teeming with apprehension, like an old dog waiting to be kicked. Something in his demeanor every time they did this — every time the truth bared it’s ugly face, conveyed some sense of fear from Richard, almost directed entirely at Morty. A part of him visibly recoiled at the notion that his stance was defensible. Richard didn’t want to be noticed, or appreciated, or congratulated for his efforts; he wanted to protect, and he did so silently, without thanks.
“I’m long overdue for an apology,” Morty said. “I mean, speaking outside of myself, I-I think you deserve a dang standing ovation, like — t-that period of me just trying to get your attention? Wow, fuck, if I’d known then what I know now...” Morty chuckled to himself, a little embarrassed. “I mean... At least you can say you never initiated anything, right?”
Richard’s eyes narrowed at him.
“That’s not funny.”
“Heh, y-yeah, I... I know.”
“I still put you into the situation where you had enough exposure to me to develop feelings —”
“Isn’t it enough that they were still my own, though? I mean, if we're arguing on the side of mutual agency, then... Then n-neither of us deserve to have that stripped from us.”
Sighing, some of the rigidity dropped from Richard’s shoulders, and he nodded.
“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
“Did you know that a Morty brought down the central finite curve?” Morty told him, to Richard’s evident surprise, and he elaborated. “Yeah, apparently he was like, I dunno, head honcho up there? Seems like he was a smart guy.”
Richard hummed.
“I think there’s probably a lot we could both learn from them, those other Ricks and Mortys. I like Mort, honestly,” he admitted with a small smile. “Even his Rick wasn’t too bad—”
“They bickered like an old married couple.” Richard remarked.
“Yeah, that’s kind of what I’m talking about though. They’re normal, right? I enjoyed watching them work together, a-and Mort had a lot of interesting things to say about his Rick. Were it not for him... I don’t think we’d be having this conversation. Talking to someone who has been on the other end of things and still believes that it doesn't always have to be a power struggle is uplifting. I needed that, I-I think, to see that it isn’t always terrible with a Rick around.”
Richard settled his eyes on Morty, gently studying him. He tugged at the sleeve of his button down where the cuff was coming loose.
“You were always capable of great things outside of me. That was what I admired so much about you – t-that being brought up so far out of the loop never stopped you from finding your own way. My bullshit’s only hindered you so far, a-and I’m sorry about that.”
Morty waved him off.
“Eh, it granted me agency too. I value that, y’know, even if the truth hurts. I’m... not as remarkable as those Mortys out there –”
“That’s not true.”
“Speaking objectively, l-like, I haven’t done anything cool.”
“Bullshit. You’ve lived a normal life. That’s more than any of those dillweeds can say.”
Morty bounced one shoulder.
“I think that life was never really for me anyway.” Morty tugged at his earlobe coyly, evidently deliberating. “You know, Rick, I...” Morty trailed off, Richard watching him intently, then he shook his head. “...N-never mind. Forget it.”
Richard’s eye lingered on Morty for a moment before slipping back to the floor, his hands still idly fretting in his lap. His demeanor seemed to have relaxed a little. This was probably their first exchange in a very long time that didn’t break out into an argument. Things were still tense, sure, but wasn’t that progress?
A chill draft swept through the two of them and Morty tugged at the limbs of his coat, absently missing that hot cup of coffee Mort had offered him. His temper had eased, and his body was slacker, ready to shift into a more comfortable position. He gave a small yawn which caught Richard’s attention.
“It’s getting late,” Richard said, pushing off of the sofa. “I can take you home.”
Morty shook his head, sinking deeper into the sofa as a point.
“I think I’d like to stay here tonight. If – if that’s okay with you.” A faint flush gathered on his cheeks, hoping the implications of that request weren’t too glaringly obvious.
“S-Sure, yeah. Doesn’t make a difference to me.” Richard said honestly as he knelt down to snag one of the patterned throw pillows on the sofa. “I usually sleep on one of the cots in the medbay. You can take the couch and... M-man I need to give this bunker some freakin’ upgrades. Even with the shit that freckled dumbass added, it's sparse as fuck.”
Observing Richard intently, Morty craned his neck over the back of the sofa, calling out just before Richard stepped behind the threshold of the medbay.
“Goodnight, Rick.” Morty said with warmth in his voice, giving a small smile.
Richard waved with one hand, a pillow in the other.
“'Night.”