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Most visitors to the subterranean lair would expect the hastily installed elevator to be creaky and slow, but contrary to those assumptions it moves swiftly and silently through the vertical passageway. According to the buttons available, a rough three dozen floors exist, labeled negative one through thirty-seven, and a single option just marked by a disco ball. Rick seems generally anxious about the lightsaber situation and does not care to answer Morty’s question about the mysterious disco button.
“C’mon, l-level fifteen, let's go,” he urges as the doors slide open a sliver and he presses through, Morty following close behind.
They enter an ambient, quaint sushi restaurant, the bar attended by an elderly Japanese man who greets Rick formally. Rick replies with something Morty can’t understand, though he’s not paying much attention anyway, amazedly studying the underground restaurant.
“What is this even for?” he asks, laughing. “We live above this?”
Rick waves him off. “We overshot it a bit, but that’s a good problem to have!” he remarks with a grin.
They both stare expectantly at the ceiling until Morty’s impatience makes an appearance. “I told you, level ten, Rick!” Morty groans, rushing back into the elevator.
“N-no, Morty!” Rick rushes behind him, too late to prevent Morty from pressing the button.
The elevator speeds up five floors and opens on a curious sight.
“...R-Rick?” Morty asks tentatively, backing away from the ‘Rick’ beside him and gaping at the new one in front of him. Or… ‘new’ is a generous term, this version of his grandfather looks far from mint. Tangled, greasy hair lies in wild puffs on his head, his face is unshaven, eyes bloodshot. Morty feels almost tempted to laugh seeing his grandpa in boxers and an undershirt, but the glare he’s receiving waves that urge off.
“You dumb fucking robot, you had one job!” curses the disheveled Rick.
Morty glances anxiously between the two Ricks. “Uh- um. What is this? Grandpa?” he asks the nicer version tentatively.
“S-sorry kid,” he responds, attempting to place a reassuring hand on Morty’s shoulder. “Not that I’m not really your grandpa or anything-”
Morty shoves him off, glaring.
“-Shut up. Morty, that’s a robot,” explains Rick.
“I fucking knew it was too good to be true! So what… what the fuck are you doing down here, why are you-” He stops mid-sentence as a tiny blaze of light hits the ceiling and descends in an instant. He’s barely able to recognize it as the missing lightsaber and stares in a frozen stupor as it falls.
Out of view, a strange hand grabs the hilt of the saber with lightning reflexes. Birdperson. He holds it cautiously, eyeing Rick. “Is this… yours? Or an assassination attempt?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed with suspicion.
Rick smiles, for seemingly no reason, and BP flicks the lightsaber off and tosses it to him. Rick then gruffly says, “It’s his-” gesturing rudely to Robot Rick like he’s an object that clashes with the feng shui. “Wait, you gave him a fucking lightsaber ?” he asks after finally processing it.
Robot Rick sweats nervously, which shows how much effort Rick must have put into his construction to give him realistic sweat glands. “It’s what he wanted for Christmas according to your algorithm!” he defends. “Not that I use algorithms, I’m not a machine or anything,” he adds to Morty with a nervous chuckle.
Morty pays him no attention, staring at the real Rick with bitter anger. “You… Rick, what’s going on?”
Surprisingly, Rick looks actually regretful, at least for the moment. He swallows nervously. “Kid, it’s not what it looks like. I’m doing this to protect you, okay? I’m down here sweating my balls off so the family can be safe.”
“I-I-I. I d-don’t understand,” Morty stutters, his speech problem becoming more and more noticeable as his thoughts spiral and his breath quickens.
Rick looks over to Birdperson, who purses his lips and approaches Morty. “Do not worry, he will explain,” he says quietly, a hand on Morty’s shoulder, while Rick retreats into the darkness of the room. “Can you send the android upstairs to entertain the family and we can grab some lunch?”
The bar stools of level fifteen’s sushi buffet are ornate antiques, fitted with plush velvet cushions and golden tassels. Morty doesn’t think much of them besides that they can spin, which he does playfully a few times before Birdperson sends him a serious look.
“Morty, I understand you may be… upset by finding your real grandfather hiding out underground, and you may feel inclined to jump to certain conclusions about this revelation - I advise you to hear him out,” Birdperson begins, choosing his words carefully.
The sushi chef approaches from a backroom and bows to BP, beginning to attempt to converse with him in Japanese with such a tone Morty can tell they’re very familiar with each other. Birdperson reciprocates the bow and orders a few rolls, surprising Morty with his fluency in the language. When the chef turns expectantly towards the younger boy, Morty isn’t sure what to do.
“U-um,” he examines a menu in front of him but is disappointed by the Kanji script. “C-can I have a cream cheese roll please?”
The chef appears to smirk but nods, says “Of course,” in English with a thick accent, and begins preparing the food.
Morty turns back to BP. “What excuse does he have for getting rid of me with a decoy and abandoning the family for you and some stupid project?” he asks bitterly. “You gonna try and tell me he did it for my own good?”
Birdperson frowns. “Well- yes.”
Morty glares at him. “You guys are both so full of shit- I thought he was, was actually valuing me, l-like as a teammate instead of camouflage.” He balls his hands into fists. “W-we made so much progress since he f-first came, what, did he get tired of me?”
Birdperson does not seem adequately prepared for these accusations, but he does his best to soothe Morty. “I do not believe he ‘got tired’ of you, Morty. Rick is a man who loves very few. I have it on good authority that you are included in that small sample. I recognize it may be difficult to trust but please consider that his intentions were pure here.”
Morty shakes his head. “W-what, what were you guys even doing? You still haven’t told me,” he complains with arms crossed.
Birdperson sighs. “What do you think?”
Morty is silent.
“Seriously. I know you are a smart child, he speaks of it often. You know what would cause a disappearance like this.”
Morty stares at the tassels of his stool before suddenly blurting, “Why can’t I be part of that? I hate Rick Prime too!”
A soft-toned beep is heard as the elevator doors slide open, and Rick steps onto the shaggy carpet, now dressed in his usual attire and freshly showered, although his clothes seem more wrinkled than usual and his eyes still wear heavy bags. “H-hey Pers, Morty,” he addresses them quietly, walking over and taking a seat beside BP. “You already order?”
Birdperson nods. “Do not worry, I requested a roll of your favorite,” he says sweetly, resting a reassuring warm hand on Rick’s shaking one on the counter.
Rick smiles sheepishly. “Th-thanks.” He watches Morty carefully but does not acknowledge the tenderness in the interaction. He adopts an apologetic expression so convincing Morty is almost sure it’s real. “Look, kid. I’m sorry, you weren’t really- weren’t supposed to find out I was down there… I just. I didn’t want to corrupt you with this poisonous quest for revenge.”
Morty rolls his eyes. “Bullshit.”
Birdperson does not take this lightly, furrowing his brow immediately and opening his mouth to deliver a returning insult for Rick’s honor. Rick prevents this with a soft squeeze of his hand.
The sushi chef passes each individual a mouth-watering roll of sushi on fine china with medieval-esque illustrations of griffins and pegasi. He gestures to each one of them and names the dishes in incomprehensible Japanese, save for Morty’s, where he sounds ashamed to say the English words “cream cheese roll” out loud. Morty’s embarrassment does little to distract his anger.
Rick uses his fingers to place a piece in his mouth, smiling immediately and muttering something that roughly translates to, “Delicious as always, sir,” to the chef. Birdperson grimaces at him chewing with his mouth open so Rick does it intentionally more obnoxiously.
“Are- are you two on a date?” Morty stammers, blushing once he realizes he really asked the question, despite being half-joking.
Rick closes his mouth and swallows, his face stern, while BP playfully raises his eyebrows as if to ask “are we?” Rick clears his throat. “That’s n-none of your concern,” he replies curtly, to which Morty narrows his eyes. “Anyway. Morty. I- I didn’t, didn’t want you to find out I was still searching for Rick Prime. Don’t you see how it’s fucked me up?”
Morty shrugs noncommittally.
“Why would I want that for you?”
“W-well, why would you want it for Birdperson?” he stammers.
Rick opens his mouth to answer, but Birdperson speaks instead. “That is different. Forgive me for sounding patronizing, but you must realize the extent of my loyalty and past with Rick goes far beyond your understanding. My presence here for Rick is a given.”
Morty isn’t quite sure how to respond to that. He mumbles something unintelligible and then turns to his food, clumsily fumbling with chopsticks and finally using his hands like Rick.
Rick smiles awkwardly at both of them. “Morty, I know what you’re thinking, and it isn’t true. You haven’t been replaced. Pers is here because…” he trails off momentarily. “Well, he’s like my safety net. It wouldn’t be fair for me to dump all this shit on you, look at me! I’m not… I’m not well, kid.” He admits the last part somewhat reluctantly, encouraged by Birdperson gently squeezing his hand.
Morty sighs and picks at a piece of sushi, letting the rice stick to his finger. His shoulders deflate. The initial anger has died down and he doesn’t know what to say. It’s not like Rick hasn’t done worse. What was he thinking, that his grandfather had actually changed? Forget about being the smartest man in the universe, Rick is the biggest asshole in the universe, Morty should have realized something was up the moment he started treating his grandson like a real person. Morty’s stomach twists in a knot. How stupid did he have to be to not get it? Why was he never suspicious? Sure, he wanted to believe it was real but seriously, maybe he deserved being left behind if he couldn’t even tell his dickhead grandpa apart from an artificial replica built under the garage.
“Morty?” Rick reaches across the table for his hand and Morty flinches away, reflexes built from extensive experience with hostile entities. “H-hey, chill out,” Rick snaps.
“Sorry,” Morty murmurs, feeling a little spacey. He glances around the room to remind himself where he is; it’s difficult in such an unfamiliar place, with no windows. The general architecture and decor are out of the ordinary and do not help calm his nerves. He chooses to concentrate on a flickering candle with a sweet, subtly vanilla spice scent. Morty inhales deeply, focusing on the candle’s aroma, ignoring how Rick and Birdperson exchange worried glances.
Tentatively, Birdperson breaks the silence. “Are you okay?” he asks gently.
Morty forces a smile. “Y-yeah, I am. Just… pr-processing things,” he manages to say.
Rick’s face sours slightly and he looks down, clenching his hands into fists, jagged fingernails digging into tender skin. Birdperson notices out of the corner of his eye, and he frowns, about to say something, before a strange eerie chirping sound is heard.
“Uh… Rick, do you have a monster contained on the same level as your sushi restaurant?” Morty asks nervously.
Birdperson chuckles and reaches for his belt, where he removes a device attached. “No, no, do not worry Mortimer.” Morty stifles a laugh at his unabbreviated first name, which Birdperson doesn’t appear to notice. “It is only my baby monitor,” he explains.
“Eh,” Rick remarks with a high tone. “‘ Baby ’ is a strong word. It’s his teensy beastie monitor,” Rick corrects. While his words seem sharply rude, Rick’s tone takes on an uncharacteristic inflection like a baby talking voice. Very endearing. It’s weird.
“I will be back soon,” says Birdperson, rising from his stool. He nods respectfully to the sushi chef dozing in a chair behind the bar, shoves his last few pieces of sushi in his mouth and sets the chopsticks down, then leans down close to Rick’s face. “Er-” he awkwardly glances back at Morty, then Rick again. In a split second, he decides fuck it and kisses Rick briefly.
Rick blushes slightly, which does wonders for his pallor, helping him to look less like a corpse. He flashes BP a goofy grin before watching him depart through the elevator shaft - instead of riding in the elevator itself, Birdperson opens the doors manually and dives down the empty tunnel.
Morty dares eye contact with Rick, who hides his face behind thin fingers, before giving up. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he mutters bitterly.
Morty giggles. “S-so by ‘safety net’, y-you meant fuck buddy?”
“Oh, fuck you!” Rick yells, perhaps a little too angrily. “S-sorry,” he whispers to the sushi chef regretfully. “What Pers and I have is more than that,” he growls to Morty. “Don’t be an asshole.”
“Profound words coming from you, Dick Sanchez,” Morty spits.
Rick huffs, tempted to remark how much he wishes BP were there to prevent him from strangling his grandson. “And you wonder why I wanted to fucking get away from you,” he growls under his breath, evidently crossing a line.
Morty gasps slightly. “Oh.” He rests his head in his hand. “Really?” His voice is quiet, suddenly drained and subdued.
“Fuck,” Rick whispers. “Of course not.”
Morty’s whole body feels like it’s shaking, like the world is collapsing. Rick got rid of him because he didn’t want him around anymore. Because he wasn’t good enough. Because he was replaceable. He chokes back a sob, sniffling somewhat.
Rick seems uneasy, conflicted about if he should offer physical comfort or space. He settles on sliding a seat closer to Morty. “Sorry. I went t-too far, okay?” he admits quietly. “That was mean, I shouldn’t have said it. You don’t- you don’t deserve to be treated like garbage, kid. That’s what I’ve been trying to spare you from.”
Morty wipes his face. “S-sorry.”
“What?” Rick nervously laughs. “N-no kid, you don’t need to apologize to me. Just know I shouldn’t have said that because it’s, it’s not true.” His body language broadcasts how uncomfortable he is with this level of honesty. “An-anyway,” he grabs a piece of Morty’s sushi. “I’m a little relieved you know now. I felt bad hiding it from you.”
Morty looks skeptical but nods. “I’m, I’m still mad at you, y’know.”
Rick shrugs.
“You don’t care?”
He laughs. “I deserve it, why protest?” He takes another bite of his sushi.
“S-so, will you include me in your search now?” Morty asks eagerly.
Rick stops mid-chew, then swallows. “Er- M-Morty, I don’t think you really get it. Um… I’ll show you later.”
Morty remains unsatisfied by this answer but finds his thoughts distracted by the return of Birdperson, who pries open the elevator doors with a force that makes Rick cringe.
“Dear, please, use the button instead of opening it manually,” he urges. Based on the pre-existing dents and scratches of an otherwise new machine, Morty can tell this is an ongoing problem.
“I cannot. It is too dark in the shaft to find the internal button,” Birdperson explains.
Rick sighs and pulls out a notepad to scribble down yet another thing he needs to fix. He glares at BP for a second before the facade breaks and he laughs. “I’ll g-get the droid to fix the door once you stop breaking it,” he mutters.
Morty remains unused to the dynamic between his grandfather and this strange avian alien. Rick seems to take himself less seriously around BP, which is probably good for him mentally but certainly disconcerting to observers accustomed to seeing Rick as pretentious and spiteful. Morty watches Birdperson carefully, attempting to glean what he may have been attending to while he was gone, and is shocked to witness the second pair of wings pop out from BP’s back. Although they’re remarkably smaller, they bear the same speckled markings as Birdperson’s original pair.
Morty laughs. “S-so, your wings just retract?” he asks uncertainly.
Birdperson frowns in confusion and moves forward, where Morty is able to see the real cause of this anatomical anomaly - a young child of similar species, something of a bird/human hybrid, clinging to Birdperson’s back. When their eyes meet, the little girl puffs up like a startled cat and jumps off of her father’s back, spreading her wings with an adorably tiny but menacingly sharp dagger in hand and going in for the kill.
This impulsive murder attempt is stopped by Rick, who grabs the girl’s ankle while she’s gliding over before Morty’s even processed what’s happening. The mysterious birdchild seems to lack experience using her wings for flight, and once restrained she struggles in the air quite awkwardly before having to accept her failure and grab onto Rick so she doesn’t plummet to the floor.
Rick clicks his tongue and with considerable effort confiscates the dagger. “There there, beastie, I can make you a killable grandson,” Rick coos affectionately, as the little girl climbs from him to her father in a manner similar to a gecko.
Birdperson accepts her return without surprise and lets her take cover under a wing, where just her face peeks out to stick her tongue out at Morty. “I apologize for the assassination attempt, Morty,” BP says lightheartedly, in the way someone might say ‘sorry for butt-dialing you’ or apologize for bumping into you in line.
“She’s just grumpy from her nap, aren’t you beastie!” Rick baby-talks, approaching the hiding fluffy birdchild and trying to coax her out. “C’mon, c’mon out, come see papa Rick!”
In an instant, the girl extends her hand with talon-like fingers and delivers a wicked scratch to Rick’s face.
“Ah, Jesus, okay!” Rick puts up his hands in defeat, backing away again. “You win,” he mutters, eyes tearing up from the sting, he winces as the four distinct red lines pulse in pain. While Rick rifles through his pocket for a first aid salve that will heal the injury easily, Birdperson turns to Morty.
“It is… mm- how she says greets strangers,” he explains.
Morty raises his eyebrows. “But um- who even is she? What is she?” he asks. “And why is Rick talking to her like that ?” he adds, gesturing to his grandfather who’s now elbow-deep into Birdperson’s mass of feathers and offering the girl candy.
Birdperson hums slightly. “I thought he might have told you, but- Rick, stop digging in my feathers and finish your food, we have things to do,” Birdperson cuts himself off and orders Rick around casually.
Rick and the birdchild stick their tongues out at BP in perfect unison, but Rick at least does listen and goes back to his food, while the birdchild retreats into soft downy darkness.
Birdperson exhales and forces a smile, evidently displeased that after returning to Rick with his estranged daughter he was left raising two children. “As I was saying. Morty, this is my daughter. Product of my unfortunate pairing with the human girl you knew as Tammy. I was not aware of her existence until after Rick brought me back from the dead-”
“-He can do that?!”
“-Sometimes. Please, do not interrupt, I get enough of that from Rick,” BP laughs and Rick gives a murmur of affirmation. “After a relapse in your grandfather’s Prime hunt, I was called for assistance. I would not abandon her.”
Morty crosses his arms. “Oh, so he’s, he’s f-fine with a feral bird girl interfering with his work, but not his actually capable grandson? Sure, that makes me feel so much better.”
Birdperson smiles. “I am glad you understand.”
“That was sarcasm!”
“Ah.”
Rick laughs. “C’mon Pers, I’m done with brunch. Some date this was!” He stacks their respective plates, Morty’s leftovers on top, and sets them in a bin, bowing to the chef before turning away.
“Ah, lovely,” responds BP. “Back to the search? I believe we were really onto something before the interruption.”
Rick looks awkward, chewing on his lip nervously. “Uh- Morty, the robot’s upstairs?”
Morty’s bitterness takes this as an opportunity to reignite, reminded what he’s mad about in the first place. “Y-yeah, your stupid robot’s entertaining your real family while you hide under the garage.”
Rick ignores this slight. “G-good, good good. Pers, er- do you mind if Morty tags along?”
Birdperson shrugs and the movement prompts birdchild to crawl out from her enclosure and hop onto Rick.
“Cool. Aw, hey beastie.” Rick does not protest the girl stretching his lab coat and puncturing the fabric with her razor-sharp talons. “C’mon Morty. Level ten.”
Upon entering the elevator, the party of four finds it a little too cramped for comfort, which is certainly at least partially the fault of half of them being over six feet tall. Rick did not build this passage with more than just himself in mind, and the close quarters prompt awkward feelings given the tenseness of Rick and Morty’s fight, while Birdperson is oblivious and enjoys the intimacy.
The nestling girl slides down Rick to stumble over to the buttons and eagerly presses the disco ball button. A seemingly hovering sphere drops from the ceiling and projects twisting constellations around the room as the advanced disco ball rotates to the sound of alien pop music. Morty stares at Rick like he’s a stranger.
“Sh-shut up. I had to add some features when they moved in,” he mutters defensively.
Morty wants to say something rude about this but finds himself too heart-warmed at the gesture to bring himself to it. He laughs and joins Birdchild in her impromptu dance.
The elevator dings and opens onto level ten, and as Rick steps foot onto the floor, lights automatically turn on, illuminating what initially looked like a cyber man cave into… a much larger cyber man cave. One wall is comprised entirely of various monitors, computers running algorithms, and video recordings of the elusive Prime. Another station 3D prints flesh takes samples off of it and then incinerates the original sample. Morty does not see how that could be helpful at all.
Birdchild launches herself off of Morty and out of the elevator to half fly-half glide into the room into a cute playpen, upon landing she begins playing with some Rick plushes scattered around, notable by the hue of their hair being a much deeper blue.
“Oh, she is cute. Sweetie, try not to tear their heads off this time!” Birdperson calls, his voice beaming with pride. “Rick. How do we include Morty in this?”
Morty hates being talked about like this - like he’s not actually right there. Would it really kill them to directly include him in the conversation? He’s no longer the lame incompetent sidekick.
Once he returned to the dark space surrounded by his mortal enemy, Rick’s eyes reclaimed that exhausted depression that had haunted Morty when he first found him here. His voice holds that solid hollowness, “self-assured desolation” is what Beth calls it in sessions with Dr. Wong. He does not seem to process BP’s question until Pers brushes his hand gently. “-Oh, y-yeah. Um. Morty, you don’t really wanna help with all this, right?”
Morty’s expression sours. “Why wouldn’t I? I can help, I can make a difference here, you- you gotta value my contri- contributions, Rick.”
Birdperson glances warily from Morty to Rick before putting comically large headphones on and directing his attention to a computer desk.
“Are you sure?” Rick asks quietly. “This is the most- the most painful thing I’ve ever had to deal with. I dunno if it would be fair to bring you into it, even if you’re asking for it.” He pushes Morty away.
Morty grabs his hand off his chest and clutches it tightly. “You knew I would want to be part of this, I can handle it. I promise.”
Rick groans and approaches a counter, shaking his bony hand out of Morty’s. “I didn’t hide this for my sake, it’s for yours. Think about it, kid, you were happy with Robot Rick. Why can’t you go back to that?” He uses a peculiarly shaped screwdriver to open the hull of a death-bot Morty vaguely recalls encountering last they saw Rick Prime.
“I was- I was happy because I thought it was real!” Morty shouts. Birdchild hisses in his direction.
The split death-bot begins beeping at a high frequency, and Rick grabs Morty by the back of his shirt to pull him into a safe tube. The robot explodes after an automated fan disperses the smoke, and the tube lifts again.
Returning to his work, Rick bites his tongue, the sharp incisors cutting deep enough to draw blood. “What does that mean?” he murmurs softly. “You want me t-to, to abandon this? With all the progress I’ve made? I have a purpose, Morty!” his voice shakes with every word, unsteady anger tied together by desperation. “This matters! M-maybe not to you, but to me.” He removes a data chip embedded in the scorched remains and then moves away when it too beeps ominously. This explosion is smaller and contained by a shield coming out of the table.
“It matters more than me?” Morty asks in response. “More than your daughters upstairs, stuck believing a lie?”
“Don’t do that. Th-that’s not fair.”
“I’m not, I’m not stupid, R-Rick,” Morty reminds him.
“I didn’t say you were.” Rick grinds his teeth, finally removing a tiny USB-like disk. He marches over to the wall of monitors, Morty following close behind.
“You think I don’t know why you’re so bonded to BP’s kid?” Morty dares to ask.
“Fuck,” Rick breathes, seconds from plugging in the disk, and he pulls away. “Don’t go there.”
“Trying to keep her safe while you avenge your own little girl?”
Rick winces.
Morty sighs. “You don’t need to replace her, Rick. Your daughter’s memory is honored enough by you actually spending time with the Beth upstairs. You even have two of them! Stop blowing your family off to live out a fantasy.”
“It’s not a fantasy,” Rick growls. “If I can do this, it’ll- it’ll mean something.”
“Then let us help. Not just me, and not just Birdperson. Be a team player. Summer, Mom, Space Mom, they’re all here for you. And Dad can provide snacks, I-I guess.”
Rick glares at him. “That’s not- that’s not a good idea,” he murmurs, losing motivation in this fight. He longs for the flask hidden in a drawer across the room but knows he’s not allowed to drink around Birdchild.
“Why not?” Morty asks, his voice lit with fury and skepticism he shouldn’t be capable of. Too much emotion stuffed into measly words. His hand curls into a fist almost reflexively.
Rick plugs the disk into a specific outlet in a row of many. The wall of monitors, displaying the vast cosmos, changes on one tiny screen. A red dot. Rick’s breath hitches in his throat. “I…” His excitement is short-lived. Another dot, on the other side of the galaxy. And then another. Hundreds flicker onto the screens until the light cast shifts from cool blue to an angry red. “That’s why,” Rick mutters, wearing a look of utter defeat.
Morty frowns. “Is that- is that where he is? Which one is him?”
“Fuck, kid, they’re all him.”
There’s the breaking point. Morty’s not sure where he’s aiming when he delivers the punch, a swinging fist with fury nearly too fast for Rick to recognize in time. Rick backsteps out of the way and Morty’s hand meets the screen that declared the first dot.
“Why must I always play medic for you humans?” murmurs Birdperson, plucking the glass from Morty’s bruised and bleeding hand. “You simply must learn to take better care of yourselves.”
Rick watches with his arms crossed, standing a few feet across from Birdperson. He bites his lip sympathetically when Morty winces as a larger shard is removed. “You- you don’t fuckin’ break stuff in my lab, kid,” he chides. “That’s like rule one.”
“I was mad.”
Birdperson smirks at Rick, always entertained by the similarities in the pair, he’s witnessed many a tantrum in this very lab.
Rick sighs. “Eh, no harm done. Besides the monitor and your hand there - you think your mom will believe you scraped it bad while playing with the lightsaber?”
Morty rolls his eyes. “You just don’t wanna get the healing salve. It’s fine, BP can bandage it.”
Birdperson scoffs. “And I suppose I will have to fetch your tea and dry cleaning as well?” he remarks dryly, but obediently fitting Morty’s bleeding fingers with bandaids.
Morty pulls away at the sharp stinging sensation of an alcohol wipe and Birdperson pulls his hand back.
“Hold still.”
Rick stifles a laugh. He won’t lie to himself - it’s nice seeing his favorite people interact. They’ve never been too close and he enjoys witnessing these dutifully compartmentalized worlds overlap. Despite his frustration with this reveal of Prime’s whereabouts, he allows himself to enjoy Morty giggling while Birdperson tells him stupid puns.
There’s a firm tugging at his lab coat, and Rick looks down. His little beastie had silently snuck up on him, and she bares her teeth when her presence is acknowledged. Rick offers his arms to pick her up and she shakes her head vigorously - with so much enthusiasm her curly hair ends up wildly in her face. Evidently, she has not mastered the art of this sort of nonverbal communication.
“What’s up, kid?” Rick asks the child.
Birdperson peers over. “What is the little junebug doing now?”
Morty frowns. “Wait, what did you call her?”
Birdperson blushes. “Junebug, it is a candy-like delicacy on my world. My favorite nickname for her - better than Rick calling her a beast.”
“Beast ie ,” Rick corrects lightheartedly, ruffling the girl’s hair with such affection Morty wishes he had been young enough to experience this sort of paternal love when they met.
“That.” BP nods. “Why?”
Morty glances from Rick to the birdchild and then to Pers. “That’s what Rick- or, not Rick, but the Rickbot called me,” he mutters.
Birdperson’s vision swivels hesitantly to Rick, a knowing gleam in his eyes. Rick responds with a glare that fades when Morty notices it, and Birdperson inexplicably makes urging motions with his eyebrows.
Rick groans, wrinkling his nose at Pers in a jokingly resentful expression. He pockets clenched fists into his labcoat and gingerly shakes Birdchild off of his leg, before sighing and meeting Morty’s eyes. “Look, okay - the um. The Rickbot situation might seem a little less dickish if I let you in on the fact that it - well, it wasn’t always a machine pulling the strings.”
Morty furrows his brow. “What does th-that even mean?”
Birdchild scurries over to her father and crawls up his leg after the rejection from Rick, and he accepts her curling up in his lap, lightly petting her hair and shaking his head at Rick like he’s going about this the wrong way.
Rick groans aloud and sits down on a storage box. “I was sometimes behind the wheel. Telling it what to say. When I-” he swallows. “ Missed you or whatever- ugh. Pers, I don’t really need to say this, do I?”
BP offers a sympathetic smile. “I think the boy deserves to know you were not entirely isolated from him… Morty, the kindness of Rickbot was not artificial. Most of it was this Rick, taking advantage of the distance between you two to treat you well.”
Morty shakes his head in disbelief like a lame prank’s been pulled on him. It’s much easier to see his grandfather as a selfish asshole than a three-dimensional person. “Wh-whatever.”
Rick opens his mouth to say something condescending but catches BP’s disapproving eye. Another time. He sighs. “Yeah, whatever. We’re not getting anywhere with this Prime hunt, kid. I guess I can put it on the back burner for a bit, maybe. It’s hard to search the galaxy with a party of three and a child, and er- I can maybe do some of it remotely.”
Morty shrugs. This compromise is clearly not good enough for him but even the slightest effort on Rick’s part is evident of major change. He shoves his hands inside his pockets, wincing when the bandaged one stings at the force, and makes his way to the elevator, only to be stopped by its doors sliding open.
“I told you he’d be down here! I fuckin’ called it!” cheers Summer, emerging from the elevator with her mothers behind her. “Ugh, Morty you knew he was down here? And what’s Tammy’s ex doing here, he’s alive?”
Birdperson eyes the visitors warily, his daughter rushing to him to hide in his feathers. Rick exchanges a few nervous glances and a hesitant smile. “I-it’s okay Pers, beastie, these are friends,” he mutters.
Birdperson nods but remains unconvinced, a stoic posture and uneasy glare broadcasting his uncomfortableness to the room.
Domestic Beth takes a few moments to process the cyber man cave, before rolling her eyes. In an attitude Morty might never expect in season one, she laughs. “We found your Rick-bot, merry Christmas dad,” she remarks. “Wanna come up to dinner or should we leave you to… whatever this is?”
Rick bites his lip and stares intently at the floor, swallowing.
Beth’s indifferent expression wavers for barely a millisecond. “Fine, leftovers will be in the fridge if you wanna send a droid or whatever.”
Space Beth, who hadn’t even left the elevator, arms crossed and frown pasted on, accepts the return of her companion with a momentary sympathetic smile.
Rick’s heart pangs at how instantly they accept this betrayal, this newest chapter of deceit in a long book of him disappointing them. Of course, Morty was surprised, that kid never gives up on him. The rest of the family, though? Fuck, they’re not so delusional.
“Summer, you coming?” Space Beth asks, calling the teenager from her snooping.
“-Wait.” Rick grabs Summer’s arm as she sprints by, then immediately lets her go when she flinches. “Sorry. Reflexive. Um- yeah, Beth, Beth. Sum-Sum. We’ll come up for dinner.”
Morty grins and laughs a little to himself, and that slight expression of joy is enough to coax Birdchild out of her hiding place. She jumps onto Morty’s back and they head to the elevator.
In the cramped space, as the compartment shoots upwards to the surface, Rick’s muffled voice shouts, “You did WHAT to Rick-bot?!”