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“And you’re sure you’ve got this?”
“Yes—urp—I mean, y-you think I can’t handle watching over some kid who’s gonna be sleeping the whole time anyway? What—what do you think’s gonna happen? I was always there for you, wasn’t I? No, wait, don’t answer that, actually, but seriously Beth, I’ve got this. Just go to work. I’ve got him.”
“Okay. Just—okay.”
There were footsteps, and then the closing of the front door. Morty rolled over, checking the digital clock on his nightstand. 8:45. If he hadn’t convinced his parents he was sufficiently sick enough to stay home, he would be almost done with homeroom right now. Part of him wanted to be glad he’d gotten the day off—school wasn’t exactly a happy place for him, after all—but any joy he had at getting to lay in bed all day was canceled out by his sore throat, his pounding head, and the fact that he couldn’t breathe through his nose. He groaned and rolled back over, trying to get to sleep again.
But it didn’t work, and anyway, a few minutes later, Morty heard his bedroom door open before slow footsteps made their way toward his bed. He didn’t turn back around—or back back around—at first. He had to admit, even though his grandpa had been living with them for a few months now, and Morty had ridden on his spaceship and everything, he was still a little scared of the tall, loud, often drunk man. He never knew what Rick was going to say, or how he was going to react to something.
Despite all that, there was another part of Morty, too, that made him want to make Rick like him. That part confused him. It was a desire for approval he didn’t usually feel for adults in his family, not his mom and certainly not his dad.
“Yeah, you’re not that good of an actor. I know you’re awake,” Rick said, and it was hard to tell if he was actually annoyed or if that was just the default tone of voice. “How are we feeling, buddy?”
Morty turned, tentatively, and looked up at Rick.
Before he could say anything, Rick winced. “Jeez. Not so good, it looks like. You know, part of me was wondering if you’d used the old thermometer on lightbulb trick to fool your mom, but no. You look like shit. No adventures for you today, huh?”
“Thermometer on—?” Morty started to say, but before he could finish, Rick’s calloused left hand came to rest on his forehead, and Morty froze.
“Yeah, yep, I’d believe that’s a 101-degree fever,” Rick said, and then he walked out of the room.
A few minutes later, when Morty had decided Rick probably wasn’t coming back, Rick returned, holding a glass of apple juice in one hand and a bottle of Dayquil in the other. He sat on Morty’s bed, setting the juice down on the nightstand as he moved. The Dayquil he handed to Morty.
“Here, kid. Drink some of this. It’ll help.”
Morty did, and as he handed the bottle back to Rick, Rick reached up and patted him on the shoulder.
“What do you feel like doing today, then? You want to sleep? You want to move to the living room and watch some TV?”
A few minutes ago, Morty’s fever had made him feel freezing, even with the blankets he was under. With his grandfather so close to him now, he felt warm. It wasn’t like he hadn’t sat next to Rick before, but this was the first time he remembered that Rick had been in his room. This was the first time he remembered Rick touching him so gently.
“Hey,” Rick said, reaching down and nudging him in the side. “You okay?”
“Y-yeah,” Morty said. “Uh, TV. I’d like to watch TV.”
“Okay. Don’t forget to bring your drink.” Rick stood up, held out a hand, and grinned. “You ever heard of interdimensional cable, Morty?”