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It had been nearly two weeks since Rick had left, and the Smith family had returned to Earth, now run by the Galactic Federation. Jerry was now working at a paid job for the Federation, which was a step up from unemployment for him, and the family had all begun to adjust into their new environment.
It was around ten o'clock, but Morty wasn't asleep. He was leaning against the hallway wall outside his bedroom. He could hear the faint sound of his parents talking downstairs, but couldn't distinguish their words. It seemed like a normal night in the Smith household. Except that there were no sounds of sci-fi tinkering coming from the garage.
Morty wrapped his arms around his stomach and screwed his eyes shut. He knew he should be happy. He knew his family wanted him to be happy. He knew that he should have stopped thinking about Rick weeks ago. He knew that he had no right to mourn over someone who had left them so selfishly. He knew that he should have gotten over it. But he couldn't. He just couldn't.
Morty hated it. He hated how it never made a difference how selfish, exploitative and careless Rick was, how many times he had dragged Morty and himself into trouble, even leaving his family never to come back. How he still felt heartbroken, even after all that. More than anything did he want to hate Rick for this.
But the empty feeling still remained. Because the truth was, none of those things made Rick any less his grandpa.
Morty squeezed his eyes shut. No. He was not going to cry. Not this time.
He had kept quiet from his parents, because he knew they wouldn't approve, let alone sympathise. To be fair, he had never really talked to his parents about anything. They loved him, sure, but they had never understood him. Nobody had ever understood him like Rick had.
Ugh! Morty kicked himself mentally. Why did he keep thinking about Rick!? Rick was gone! There was nothing more to read into! Why? Why did he have to feel this way? Why couldn't he just not think about it!? That was what Rick always said. Just don't think about it.
"Morty?" Morty looked round to see Summer standing there in the hallway, looking at him, with a concerned look on her face. "Are you OK?"
"W-what?" said Morty, taking a step back, in alarm, "What are you talking about? I'm fine! I've never been better!"
"You can drop the act, Morty," said Summer, coming over, "You've been keeping it zipped ever since we got back home, but I know you're not OK. You haven't been OK in nearly two weeks."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Morty said, crossing his arms, "I'm great. Why wouldn't I be great?"
"Because of Grandpa Rick," said Summer, flatly, "You might have mom and dad fooled, Morty, but you can't fool me. I know you miss him."
"Miss him? Why would you say something like that!?" Morty said, a defensive look coming onto his face, "I don't miss him! I'm fine! I-in fact I'm better than fine! Since he's not around always tugging me off late at night, I can finally get a good night's sleep! And my grades are much better without him pulling me out of school! Nothing but upsides!"
"Morty, we both know that's not true," said Summer, "You're miserable. And I know that because I'm miserable. You were closer to Grandpa Rick than I ever was. If I'm upset, then you definitely are."
"I'm not miserable!" insisted Morty, "I don't care! I'm—I'm glad he's gone! I don't need Rick! And he doesn't need me! He's just an asshole! He tells us 24/7 that we're nothing but pieces of shit, and that all we do is get on his nerves!" He crossed his arms and looked away.
"Morty..." Summer said, softly, putting a hand on his shoulder, "You know that's just his way of saying he loves us."
Morty sniffed, and wiped something unseen from the bottom of his eye, before turning back to his sister.
"Well if he loves us, then why did he leave?" he said, clenching his fists in anger. It was much harder to cry when you were angry. "What did he go for, that was more important to him than his family?"
"I don't know," said Summer, quietly, "But maybe something'll turn up. Maybe there's a whole twist here that we're just not seeing yet. We shouldn't give up hope yet, Morty. Isn't that what Grandpa Rick would do?"
"Rick's gone," said Morty, tightly, "It doesn't matter what he'd do if he was here. Because he's not. That was his choice. And this is mine. Look, Summer, I don't wanna talk about it," he said, looking back at his sister, "Just go to bed. I'm fine, really."
Summer hesitated. "OK," she said, "Goodnight, Morty."
"Goodnight, Summer."
Morty watched his sister disappear into her bedroom and close the door behind her. But he didn't go into his room. After hesitating for a moment, he slowly walked down the hallway, past Summer's room and past his parents' room, until he reached the door farthest on the left.
Rick's room.
I can handle it if you go, Morty had said on the dwarf planet, just before Rick had left.
But this was a lie. And Morty knew that now. He had known it ever since the sunset on Dwarf Terrace-9. When he had realized Rick wasn't coming back.
The boy placed a hand on the door and pushed it open, stepping inside onto the green carpet. It felt slightly moist under his bare feet, probably due to leftover booze from when his grandpa got drunk late at night. The place was a mess, as it had been left; the overflowing boxes of sci-fi equipment stacked on top of each other in a crooked pile in the corner, the walls plastered with various papers and lengths of different coloured string. The electron microscope stood on the chest of drawers, beside the small box of shelves holding several scrolls. Stray tools and unfinished knick-knacks lay abandoned on the workbench, and the floor was scattered with old CDs and empty liquor bottles.
But it wasn't the same room. Rick wasn't here.
Morty felt his eyes well up as he stepped further across the carpet. The boy could barely even remember the days before Rick had moved in. It all seemed like a grey blur now. But he remembered the loneliness. Nobody had wanted him. Nobody had appreciated him. He was alone. For as long as he could remember, he'd been Grandpa Rick's. It had given him a purpose. A life. A meaning. A friend. He had never realized how much Rick's adventures had kept him going until now.
Morty's eyes grazed the whole room, before coming to rest on Rick's bed. The blankets were tossed untidily to the side, and the pillow was stained with various spilled chemicals. His mind numb, he walked closer, before collapsing on top of it. It absolutely reeked of booze. Morty buried his cheek in the stained pillow and grabbed the blankets in his hands. He clutched them close to his chest, inhaling deeply, taking in the thick alcoholic musk of liquor and burnt metal surrounding the whole thing. The stench of it was choking; so thick that Morty could hardly breathe.
But he didn't care. Because it smelled like Rick.
Tears began to well up in his eyes and drip down his face as he lay, shaking, in the centre of Rick's bed, and this time, he gave no attempt to hold them back. His hands shook as they clutched the blanket close; the one remnant he had left of his grandpa, the only friend he'd ever had. He remembered all the times they had spent together. The times they had travelled to alternate realities, seeing all the incredible things there were to see. The times where Rick had sat in the shotgun seat, teaching Morty how to fly his spacecruiser. The times they had sat together watching interdimensional cable, always laughing at the same things.
"I want you back..." Morty whispered, hugging the blanket to his chest, the tears spilling freely down his cheeks and soaking the pillow. He gasped as the emotion hit him all at once, and he screwed his overflowing eyes shut, sobbing into the covers of the bed and wishing his grandpa was here.
I want you back...