Chapter Text
It had all begun with Rick calling for her from the garage to the kitchen. He must have overheard her talking to Beth while she helped wash a few stockpiled dishes from dinner, in which Rick had not joined them. Morticia's eyes sparkled fervently when she heard the familiar voice summoning her, as it seemed most of the day had gone by without a peep from the old man. The absence of her grandfather had resulted in a slew of strange and contradictory feelings of being out of place.
“Morti! Oh, Morti! Come’re!”
Morti ripped her hands away from the sink, wiping them off diligently and almost tripping with how much she hurried to the garage. Rick rarely sounded this excited unless he made breakthroughs, and by the sound of it, he succeeded with whatever captured his mad indulgence. And there was an unsaid rule she taught herself to prevent his brooding: be responsive and impressed with every aspect of his innovations. Something so insignificant would improve his night. Sometimes the girl felt like she was his small moon, and he was the Sun who shared his light with her in the hopes of radiating some indirect warmth.
Her head bobbed into the garage through the door's crack, and she shut the door behind her. “R-Rick?” Her head cocked to the side, her tummy twitching with nervousness when she noticed his back facing her in his swivel chair, a leg languidly crossed over his knee.
Dramatically, the creaking of the rolling chair startled the edges of her skin when he swiveled to face her, revealing what seemed to be some sort of his many discernable tricks. His hair had been darker and longer than the usual gray dry textures. The lines of his wizened face erased as if a clock had been countered. Having no other option, she forced herself to take another step forward, squinting her eyes a bit in hopes to understand her own confusion. It was then that her heart began to beat to the rhythm of panic.
The many warnings Rick had taught included the dangers of strange Ricks that notoriously dimension hop to take advantage of other Ricks’ dimensions if theirs were to go haywire. All her movement ceased in a fit of paralysis, not quite knowing what to do, and at this time she didn’t even think Rick had told her a plan of action if something like that were to go wrong.
This imitation Rick, with wild floppy hair and dark under eyes had clearly not been hers. Especially not with the sense of fashion choice he had been portraying. Donning a black leather coat and a light blue hoodie over ripped jeans that grappled a wallet chain. This was not her grease-stained khaki wearing grandpa. His excitement had been blown into a quirk of the brow, and he released a pocket of breath to the glee in annoyance. Morti could only assume because the excitement hadn’t been reciperacated.
“Jeez, Morti. It's me! Grandpa Rick!”
She paused, forcing a moment of silence to garner what seemed to be her blank pulse of thoughts. “Uhm… my… my grandpa Rick says any Rick can —“
“Any Rick can jump, hop, and kill another Rick in any dimension and take their place. Yeah, Yeah. I’ve warned you Morticia. Way to be ‘keen’ by literally telling your enemy the warning. No way they can manipulate that in their-URP favor.”
A dull look; the way his lids shaded half his sclera, an emotional annoyance could practically be felt by Morticia when it shot through him. Like electricity. Despite his voice being more direct than the usual passive grumbling, and his minor twitches or how angry he appeared, this had to be her Rick. Her Rick’s emotional state is fickle and impulsive, one little nudge of a nonresponse from her could set him off. In many ways, Morti had trained herself to recognize his emotional patterns and bend to his silent will.
There’d be no doubt in her intuition that this Rick is O-22 however her brain still could not comprehend his youthful exterior. As well as his interior. Let alone force her to move closer. Infact, she felt glued to her spot just at the garage door, an escape exit readied for flight. Her eyes kept shooting ogling bullets at him, until finally he flayed his hands up, the rolling chair beneath creaking under his weight.
“Don’t be a gawking stranger now, little creep. I rewinded time, Morti. I’m a fucking god. A 17 year-old fucking God! Operation Phoenix fucking worked, biatch!” Fingers shot in the air, creating the iconic symbols of rock, and his smug face grin had been electrifying to Morti’s soul. Nothing but a soft and obedient smile had been granted from her, to cloak any and all questions.
Morti refused to flinch at the loud self-important whooping of success that reverberated in the garage. Yes, her Rick was so clear that he took wins day in and night out. However, this is different. As if his confidence and testosterone had shot from toxicity and all the way to hell. He had energy to show for. Morti swallowed a ball of saliva that had built in her mouth and averted her gaze, removing her hand that had been rubbing the arch of her neck.
“Thats—- thats— This is amazing, Rick! You rea-really are brilliant.. heh..” Forcing a laugh, she smiled vaguely. The worries of his ideas once again being rested on the weight of her shoulders to take care of.
“Best believe it, you-you little turd! I’m in my prime baby! Never felt better. Do you have any idea what this means, Mort? It means 200 years Rick and Morti! I'm going to enroll Harry Herpson Highschool tomorrow.” Rick slid a wink her way before spinning quick circle and pushing one foot in the side of the work desk to roll into her. He stopped himself just a few inches before ramming into the girl. She felt a polite inclination to back off and give this stranger some room, silently cursing their proximity. The spice in his aftershave and cinnamon gum had an unusual effect on her senses. When he leaned in closer, a faintly delicious heat tinted her face and sweat pooled in her palms.
"Look baby, Look at your grandpa.." His voice softened, as well as his patronizing stare. There was color to his skin, an edge to his voice, and intentions in his eyes, "You like what you see, don't you?"
She gulped, shaking her head violently. Something had stirred the hormonal tonics to her ovaries. It couldn't be this-- man. There is an unfamiliarity to him. Someone she'd never interact with in the real world. Someone who possibly wouldn't even give her a sparing glance.
“What is all the commotion in—- Dad?”
Morti jumped out of place when she heard the door open, as if she'd just been caught red-handed committing an offence she can't confess. It didn't help that her father had also joined in, forcing her to figuratively glue herself to the corner. Rick had casually made quick timing prior and pushed off the ground to roll back to his desk.
“What the.. Rick? Is that you?”
“Dad— what is going on?” Her mother pushed her way past Morti to approach her father, and in a weak confusion next to Jerry.
“Uh… I can explain, sweetie…” Rick suddenly grew tight, showing his hands to find his way out of trouble, “You see--I broke the aging process to help…. Morti! With her uhh.. school curriculum. I’m practically 17 now, which means I can help Morti stay focused. And trust me, she needs it.”
A tentative scoff had been heard from Jerry, causing Morti to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, attempting to alleviate some of the anguish in her lower guts. “Oh, great, now look Beth, your father is conveniently 71 going on 17, I wonder why.“
Beth set a few fingers to her temple, what seemingly was an attempt to breach the passive aggression in his voice. “Oh please, Jerry. Not this.”
“Uhh, the fuck is that suppose to mean?” Rick rested his elbow against the seating, lounging back, “I think its pretty fucking incredible myself. But hey, do you Jerr. I’m abo-URP-ut to be living the highschool dream, baby.”
Jerry put a palm up, stopping all communication, stepping in front of his wife. Rick shifted, a little. “That is it. I have had it up to here with your sly antics, Rick. You are moving out, I don’t care to hear another word.”
“Jerry!” Beth suddenly screeched, anger flaring to the brim of extent, Morti could practically see blonde hairs igniting into a giant flame. “We are not having this discussion again. Not now!”
“You never want to have this discussion Beth! Yet, here we are. Having it. Rick--”
A low hum of growl left the throat of her mother, warning the man next to her to not push whatever button she thought he was going to push. “-- we are sick of your sick perversions and attachments with our daughter! We know what you are doing to her! Pack your things, you are leaving! I don’t care where you go! Just leave!”
“Jerry!” Beth had practically screamed, the very octaves startled Morti closer to the washer. Rick curled an eyebrow immediately and frowned, sharing an equal part of the dizzying confusion being shared by the room.
“What the fuck—- Did… You don’t actually believe your own idiotic assumption— do you?” A fit of chuckles filled the room that soon faded, as he realized just how serious Jerry had been.
Morticia kept her eyes locked to the floor, observing the way her white shoes had become yellow through wear and tear. Ironically, from the constant errands and adventures Rick shared with her. She took in a deep breath as a screaming match ensued between her parental guardians. Nothing she hadn’t heard before. What did this mean for her relationship with Rick? She stole another peek at the male, who no longer held the wrinkles of wisdom and comfort, and that somehow made her nervous. The elderly presence he once graced, now replaced with something intimidating— wild.
“You've left us with no choice! Please, for god sake, taking her out all hours of the night? Pulling her from classes? Isolating her from her family for days at a time in the name of ‘adventures’? We aren’t stupid or ignorant to sly grooming, Rick!”
That wildness was seen the way Rick suddenly stood up, his shoulders oddly burly despite his lack of muscle, and even Jerry hadn’t been oblivious to it. Rick’s jaw, which now seemed so sharp, tensed up with tendons Morti had never seen flex in his face before. Jerry lowered his voice slightly, even proceeding to crack it with a feigning bravado Morti could only cringe at.
“Now, dad, listen.. we don’t actually believe that now—“
“No, the time for these petty discussions is over, I’m protecting my daughter, Beth!”
Rick heaved a large breath of air, as if he had just now began digesting the subject, and for a brief moment the man had returned Morti’s elusive stares. And in his eyes there she saw a sheen of what might’ve been communicated as betrayal. The girl didn’t know why guilt flushed every centimeter in her blood vessels. She hadn’t known this had been the root of all her parents' fights this past year.
“Daddy! No, Rick hasn’t been—- I mean..— Grandpa Rick and I aren’t—-“ Morti gulped her words that tightened in her throat. Jerry was quick to quiet any pleading.
“You are way too young to understand this sort of stuff Morti. Now, go to your room and stay there until I come up.”
“Rick? Why— Why aren't you saying anything?” The girl attempted to capture her grandpa’s attention but Beth ushered her back into the kitchen. Without much of a fight, she found herself climbing up to her room, heaviness tightening in her chest. This was her fault, entirely her fault.