Chapter Text
"Remember, Doctor, this isn't just an ordinary Tuesday. This is THE Rick Sanchez. Intergalactic, inter-DIMENSIONAL terrorist. He's done everything in the book, and plenty worse." The way down to the VIP security cells was always a bit of a ride. Long, emotionally trying, and of course, complete with the threat of a technical malfunction that could send you plummeting in a tiny box to your doom. You'd have thought the federation could've splurged on a better railing system decades ago, but whenever a complaint was made, it was usually met with a door in the face. The worst part about the ride down to the part of the prison with the highest security, however, was never the constant vibrations, the squeaky rails, the sudden stops, or even the reminder that ninety-nine percent of the beings in the largest prison in the multiverse would most likely love to kill you slowly. By far, the worst part of every trip down to the underbelly of the prison was listening to Resol talk about how dangerous your next patient would be. You didn't even bother to look over at your assistant this time as he droned.
"...Easily THE worst criminal the Galactic Federation has ever seen. He's in for everything. Literally EVERYTHING. When they convicted him, the list of crimes was so long, they had to-" Of course, you'd read the man's file. Four times, to be exact. As if once wasn't enough, (which it never really was.) As an ageless, immortal being from a dimension of humanoid organisms who had conquered death, time was never technically an object. You quite literally had all the time in the world, but nonetheless, you could always count on Resol to waste it. The man was a hyperactive, obsessive workaholic with an unfathomable fascination with the intergalactic criminal mind. Once he started talking about his job, nothing could ever shut him up. To be completely honest though, you never had the heart to tell him that. If he wasn't thinking about work, he could never be happy. In the thirty years he'd been by your side, you'd come to know him well enough to be aware that there was nothing else in his life to look forward to. As a being that had been alive for nearly ten thousand years now, you had a pretty good idea how that felt. Luckily for Resol, he wouldn't have to live through it forever.
The rusty track made another trademark screech as it switched directions from a diagonal descent to one that would take you straight down. And as expected, as the transparent box drew deeper, the inmates got creepier. A four-legged muscular slug man, a vampiric tiger with scaled flesh and red eyes, a giant white spider with hand-like appendages at each foot, an enormous six-headed cockroach with a scorpion tail and rabbit ears without fur, on and on the list could go. If you could think of it, it was here in galactic prison. By this point, no unspeakably strange being from God knows where could surprise you.
"And don't get me started on- wait, Doctor? Doctor! It's him! It's Rick Sanchez! Look, over there by Dolphineas Death-Dealer!" Resol shook your shoulder, pointing across the next horizontal tunnel of cells like a madman. Reluctantly following his frantic gesturing, you found the face that matched the mugshot. Sure enough, the glorified box on wheels shuddered to a stop on its vertical axis, and slowly drifted through the tunnel of cells before it stopped with a jerk in front of the same holding cell. The moving box let out a mechanical sigh as both sets of doors opened, connecting by the small, narrow metal walkway attached to each cell to allow access in and out.
"Resol, hand me the file and my notes, please." You commanded, holding out your hand. The fly-headed assistant was finally quiet as he obediently handed over the documents and backed into a corner in the box. As if this were any other appointment, which it technically was, you spent no time waiting for a response from Resol before making your way across the walkway. Your hand had barely touched the doorknob before you heard him speak up again in a frightened tone.
"D-Doctor?" You paused, turning your head slightly to indicate that you were listening.
"What is it, Resol?" You responded dutifully. Resol cleared his throat nervously.
"Please be careful." He spoke in a low, fretting voice. Even without examining his facial features, you could sense the sudden anxiety in his voice. And while it was not out of character for Resol to be somewhat skittish, you knew that in this particular case, he was completely justified. Despite this, you were always capable of maintaining control and confidence, even if it had to be a complete façade.
"I always am, Resol. This time is no different." You turned over your shoulder to give your assistant a brief smile before turning back to the door and placing your palm flat against the knob.
**SCANNING** The electronic knob robotically responded to your touch, emitting a faint, flashing green light that slowly sped up until the scanner was satisfied with the input. **WELCOME, DOCTOR** The robotic woman's voice monotonously chimed, as you could hear the latch on the door disengage. The knob turned, and the door slid down into the floor, allowing you to enter.
The click of your high heels against the metallic floor of the cell caused slight, high-pitched echoes to follow your footsteps as you entered the small room. Behind you, the sound of the door sliding back up at rapid speed could be heard quietly. The walls from the inside were a completely opaque silver, giving those inside the illusion of privacy they didn't receive from the outside, from which everything was completely see-through. The one-way glass effect always led to some...uncomfortable experiences for passersby, who were quite often subjected to watching inmates use the restroom, shower, disrobe, or masturbate. By this point in time however, after being committed to your job for almost four thousand years, you were so used to walking in on such things that nothing of the sort truly fazed you anymore. That was exactly why when you noticed your current patient desperately picking his nose with the hand that wasn't chained to his chair, you simply headed to the chair opposite his and took your seat without judgement. Crossing your legs, you adjusted the file and notes in your lap, pulling out and clicking a pen in your hand.
"I can wait until you are finished, Mr. Sanchez." You let him know calmly, not bothering to look up at him as you made a small note of this first impression. He let out a grunt in acknowledgement as he continued.
"Much ap-PREE-ciated," he burped mid-sentence, seeming to become satisfied as he pulled out a sizable amount of debris from inside his nasal cavity and proceeded to flick it towards your chair. "Whoo-OOP-s," he added nonchalantly, watching for your reaction. You gave none, simply kicking the booger behind you with your shoe, and sitting up straight to look him straight in the eyes for the first time.
"Rick Sanchez. You're quite the intergalactic celebrity, or so I hear." You gave a coy smile. Instead of outright replying, Rick let out a deep sigh and seemed to crumble into a less than comfortable looking position.
"Do you believe everything that you hear?" He reached into his pocket as if trying to grab at something, before the realization of it not being there set on his face. He let a shaky hand down to his side, closing his eyes and letting out another sigh. You watched his behavior curiously.
"Is it alcohol that you need, Mr. Sanchez?" You questioned, raising an eyebrow.
"Look, as much as I love being addressed as if I was Christian motherfucking Grey, I hate feeling like I'm being addressed as if I was Christian motherfucking Grey. Mostly because I'm pretty sure he's just the popularized real life representation of the common sexual slave fantasy created by someone who is rea-EA-lly into some kinky shit, and also, because no one would be able to take me se-EAR-riously ever again." Rick shuffled his position, tugging incessantly at the chains on his wrist and cursing a few times before simply seeming to give up and fall back in his chair like a deflated balloon.
"I'm not sure what you're trying to say, Mr. Sanchez." He noticeably cringed at the last part of your sentence. "If you'd like me to call you something else, I'm open to suggestions." You watched with interest as he flopped over the seat headfirst, as if trying to touch his forehead to his shins. He responded haphazardly, giving out a mumbled ramble that sounded a bit too much like a case of word salad.
"Oh, gee, I'm not sure, how about we just take a rain check. Not on that, just like- this whole thing. Just one big rain check. On everything. It'll be kind of like those ones you get at- at Costco, or whatever. Except, you know, instead of going back and spending the measly five dollars or something on whatever mediocre buy-in-bulk crap they try to sell you, you just keep the five the-EE-or ethical dollars, and like, shove them in a drawer somewhere, and then like the next day when you try to cash it in, they say it expired last year or something, and...and then you're just trapped. You're just trapped in this endless cycle of regret and confusion, because you may as well have just taken those five dollars and chopped them up into little pieces and it wouldn't have mattered anyways, because currency only holds the value you give it. And - and... And that means that you could literally take anything, like, like, a-a...uh...a paperclip, yes, that'll work, a paperclip, you could take a paperclip and say, say to someone, like "this paperclip is worth five dollars" and if they took it, you know, they'd have to be a REAL moron, but they'd also just be adhering to the rules of society, because technically, if Costco gave me that paperclip and said it was a rain check w-OR-rth five dollars, and then I gave it to that guy, he'd be five dollars richer. I mean, until Costco tells them- tells them they don't accept paperclips anymore because that paperclip is expired and all that, but you get what I'm saying? You get it? Big rain check. Let's take it. Yup. Huge. Ass. Motherfucking. Rain check." You gave him a blank stare, pen in hand.
"Alright, Rick." You clicked the pen back into place, setting it back on the notepad, letting him see by your body language that you were ready to listen as well as work. "First thing's first," you uncrossed your legs, leaning forward in your chair as you reached over to hand him the Federation's extensive file on Rick Sanchez. He gave one look at it, and looked back up to you. Both of you waited in silence for a moment too long, as he seemed unsure whether or not he wanted to take it from you. You raised an eyebrow with your arm outstretched, finally beginning to pull back assuming the latter. As you did so, however, he quickly seemed to make up his mind, snatching it away in an instant with prying hands. "You have quite the file, Rick." You reiterated, as he opened the file and began leafing through it impatiently. "I'm admittedly impressed as well as a bit repulsed."
"You know what I'm NOT impressed with?" Rick interjected, completely disregarding your previous statement. He raised an eyebrow, pointing several times to various sections of the file, all of which seemed to have been reported incidents he had involvement in. "Any of THIS. Do you see this? Do you SEE that?"
"What am I supposed to see, Rick?" You asked patiently, sighing inwardly.
"Of course you don't see. You're a bureaucrat, you love your little papers, and your stupid little files, and your pigeon-holed little fucked up reports written by underpaid interns at three in the morning, but that's not the point here." He continued on in his insulting manner. "What you don't see, of course, is THIS." He made a show of taking the file in his one hand and dropping it on the floor. "I don't give a fuck." Well, this was certainly a great first impression to make on his end. Not quite knowing what words to say in that moment, you decided to just keep your mouth shut. You stood up, strode over to where he sat, knelt down, and looked directly into his face. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking straight ahead into space, refusing to look at you. You resisted the urge to chuckle at his juvenile mannerisms and you bent, and picked up the scattered pages of his file at his feet. The whole time, neither one of you made any attempt to break the uncomfortable silence.
When you were finished, you stood up with the complete file in hand, smoothed down the slightly raised edges of your pencil skirt, and proceeded to stroll back to your seat, where you picked up the pen and notes. You turned to Rick, items in hand, and gave him a smile.
"Big rain check it is. I'll see you in the morning, Rick Sanchez." You spoke his full name, earning not one glance in your direction, as was to be expected based off his exhibited behavior. Not bothering to wait for him to reply, you turned and headed for the door. Just as you were about to touch your hand to the scanner, however, you heard him clear his throat behind you.
"Oh, yeah, and tell your assistant that his name is just loser backwards. He probably should've just been aborted like his parents had undoubtedly wanted in the first place."
"He knows that already, Rick." You responded without emotion, not letting on to what you really wanted to say back.
"Oh damn. Jeeeez, that's got to suck. Well, I guess there's no need for spreading any more awareness today then. Totally my bad." By the time he'd finished that sentence, you were already out the door, with it closing behind you almost instantly.