Work Text:
Dealing with Rick's capricious moods necesitated attention to detail. Body language, tone of voice, facial expression. Who they were with, what planet they were on, how much he had had to drink. Morty was bilingual, developing fluency in Rick's behaviour just as he was fluent in English.
One night, Rick had been lying sideways on the couch, bottles scattered next to him. Morty had tapped him on the shoulder, holding a glass of water. Rick had muttered "Leave me alone," but took the glass.
And Morty knew what he meant. He could translate with ease.
Don't go.
Or something like that.
He could read other people too, eventually. Summer would silently come and sit in the living room while he and Rick watched Interdimensional Cable, tapping away at her phone, and he knew she was saying I want to spend time with you guys. His dad would turn his tablet off and glance at Morty after Rick had said something particularly mean at dinner, and he knew he was asking Are you okay, son? His mom would cross her arms and tell Summer off for huffing another something-or-other and he knew she was saying I'm worried about you.
The translations popped up in his mind without him even having to think about it.
So when his counterpart had reopened the portal after he had failed to step through in time, and had said, "Gotta be honest, I totally though you were coming," the meaning floated up easily.
I wanted you to come.
When his counterpart turned away and said, "We don't have to talk, this didn't make us friends," he heard the same thing he did every time Rick went on about hating him.
I'm pushing you away because it would hurt if you left on your own.
When his counterpart took his leave and said, "Fuck you. Don't come after me," well. The difference between a genuine "I hate your guts" 'fuck you' and an "I'm in denial about caring about you" 'fuck you' was one of the first linguistic quirks Morty had learned.
There wasn't much he could do about it, not really. He saw through Evil Morty's facade, so what? Not like he would ever get the chance to call him on it. He likely would have never seen him since the Citadel's collapse if Rick's tech hadn't caused as many shockwaves as it did.
He still had the other eyepatch, a pitiful heap of black fabric tucked away in the corner of his desk drawer. Part of him wanted to open it up, see if there was any tech inside. The other part of him cringed at its potential defilement. Not like he had any hope of understanding that sort of tech anyway.
He should really just get rid of it.
He didn't.
Instead he stared at his ceiling, wondering if his counterpart was thinking about him. Maybe Evil Morty was staring at his own ceiling in the darkness of the impressive base he had probably built, rationalizing away any feelings of tenderness he might have for a silly little sellout Morty.
He wondered if the second seat was really a toilet. If it wasn't, then had that offer to join him been genuine?
"You can come if you want. Don't blame me if you don't."
But he had refused. And so the next time,
"Come or don't, I don't care."
Like he had cared the first time.
I wanted you to come.
So Morty tried to close his eyes, tried to fall asleep, but couldn't get his own voice out of his head.
"There you go, kid. Now you're Evil Morty, too."
And something about that made something in him twist.
"Soon enough, we all are. On this side of the Curve."
That twistedness fluttered in his stomach and he vaguely remembered the way he had barely stuttered when he spoke to Jessica a few days ago. Like her presence didn't even affect him anymore.
"Because using a weapon like this doesn't get you left alone, Morty."
His name in his counterparts mouth felt like a lyric to some foreign song.
But it wasn't until Rick portalled into his room, drunk and rambling about an adventure they had to go on, that Morty realized what was going on.
Because the feeling that swirled through him, when he saw that the portal was green and not yellow, it was disappointment.