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Morticia wore a soft cream-colored dress for her outing with Summer; they were going to look for a cute dress for Summer to wear to one of those teenage parties she loved so much. Her small handbag matched her shoes; she didn't usually dress so femininely, but today she felt special and wanted to feel a bit more confident.
She could barely brush her thick hair, choosing a faux-pearl headband she had bought at an alien bazaar with Rick.
"Wow, Morti, that looks amazing on you," her sister said, walking in and giving her a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead.
"D-do you think so? Rick said it just made me look paler and accentuated the dark circles under my eyes." It was Morticia’s self-doubt speaking; she began to play with her hair, remembering when he had gone with her to buy the dress and called it horrible and dull.
"That old man doesn't know what he's talking about; you look adorable. I love your earrings—I didn't know you'd gotten them done," Summer said, looking at the jewelry in her ears.
"Oh, Rick knows someone who does piercings and thought it would be a good idea for me to get earrings; honestly, I fainted when I saw the needle, and when I woke up, they were already in," was Morticia's reply, drawing a look of disapproval from Summer.
"Sweetie, you have to start telling Grandpa to go to hell when he forces you to do something you don't want to do. You can't live like this forever; you're almost fifteen, and now that I'm at university, I can't keep such a close eye on you," Summer said, affectionately stroking her sister's hair and catching the scent of mild orange and cinnamon shampoo.
Morticia buried her face in Summer’s chest, unwilling to face whatever was out there—not her parents, not the jerks at school, and certainly not with the knowledge that this would be her last girls' outing with her sister, her protector and confidante. She wished she could just take up residence in Summer’s heart and never leave—though she’d better not dwell on that thought, or Rick would surely come up with something just as twisted.
"S-Summer, can you come to the kitchen?" her father said, appearing in the doorway; his eyes were watery and swollen since receiving the news of Summer’s acceptance into university—he would truly miss his princess and treasure.
"Dad, what the hell—you're going to get dehydrated. Let me get you some water," Summer said, leading her father to the kitchen and flashing a final smile at Morty, who wiped away the tears threatening to spill.
And finally alone, Morticia sat on the edge of her bed, gazing wistfully at her wardrobe—the place where both sisters had often hidden away to hang out or fool around together.
She had tried not to feel so lonely, but now, with her own mind as the only source of noise, she understood why people used background music to avoid hearing their own thoughts.
With the news of her sister heading off to college, her parents have been lavishing all their attention on Summer, leaving her completely sidelined—but hey, she adores Summer; Summer is like a mother-sister figure to her, a beacon of light in the storm. Now, without her, she wouldn't know what to do; the thought of Summer leaving scares her, making her feel like a ship adrift on the open sea with nowhere to dock—or worse, like someone blind and mute in a world of total indifference.
Without Summer, would her mom even know she was there? With Summer away at college, will Jerry keep unloading his problems on her? And without her sister there to defend her, how will she put a stop to Rick dragging her out into open waters?
She stepped outside, worried about the conclusions she might reach—especially given how deeply saddened she was by her sister's departure and the changes it would bring to her home and her life.
He walked toward the kitchen, watching his sister pour water for their father, who had begun to weep, devastated; after all, his special girl was moving to an apartment closer to the university.
Morticia walked silently down the stairs, feeling somewhat detached from the whole situation; with her father weeping uncontrollably and her mother buried in work, there was no one to share her sadness with—and Rick was not an option.
"Damn it, Dad, I'm coming back on weekends," Summer said for the tenth time, listening to her dad loudly sniffle.
"I know, sweetheart; you're my special girl from the stars—I just can't bear to see you go," said Jerry, running to the backyard to distract himself with the garden flowers.
Both of them remained silent in the kitchen, accompanied only by the sound of whatever Rick was building in his garage.
"We'd better leave before whatever Grandpa is building in the garage breaks loose and we have to spend the whole day figuring out a way to contain it," Summer said, taking her by the hand to go buy clothes.
"B-but Rick could be in trouble; I don't know what crazy thing he might do. He's been holed up in the garage ever since you got the news about college," Morticia said, playing with her hair.
Summer took a breath and crouched down a bit to be at her sister's eye level. "Look, Mort, that old guy might be building a bomb to blow up the university—or the whole world—or some sci-fi crap like trapping us in a loop or shifting us to another dimension. But that doesn't matter right now—well, not to me, anyway. What matters to me is spending the day with you, eating ice cream, and making fun of Amanda Butterfly for having a stupid name and ugly braces." Summer wasn't going to waste any more time on that old man—especially since he hadn't even come out once to say goodbye or congratulate her—and she wanted her little sister to do the same: to value herself more and be happier.
Morticia stopped playing with her hair and smiled, about to follow her, when a voice distracted her.
"C-could you stop turning her against me? You just leave and stick me with the problems, you ungrateful granddaughter," said Rick as he walked through the door, holding a set of keys and his liquor flask.
He reeked of booze and hadn't showered in days—a smell they were used to, though the scent of motor oil didn't exactly make it any more pleasant.
"Hi Grandpa, how are you? Good? That's great. You've literally been holed up in that garage for a week—what the hell have you been doing? You know what? I don't care. You can kiss my ass; I'm going to college, and there's nothing you can do about it," Summer said, annoyed. Rick walked over to her and showed her a set of keys.
"I was building a car for my ungrateful granddaughter, who's off at college wasting her time and money," said Rick, handing the keys to Summer, who froze for a moment, completely in shock.
"Oh shit, a car—like *my* car?" Summer asked excitedly, while Morticia started playing with her hair again. Well, it seemed their final outing together had turned into Rick building a car for Summer—the cool grandpa. Not that she wasn't used to playing second fiddle.
"Yeah, let me take a shower now—don't start that thing without me," Rick said, pausing for a moment as he walked past Morticia. "White looks terrible on you." That was the last thing he said before shutting himself in to shower.
Morticia looked at her dress and immediately felt foolish for thinking she looked pretty; she glanced at Summer for comfort or advice, but Summer was too busy calling her friends to show off her new car.
Once again, she felt extremely lonely; she returned to her room in silence and changed into a yellow blouse and basic blue trousers, pairing them with white sneakers, deciding that today would be just her—Morti with an 'i'—once more.
When she came down, Rick was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, looking her up and down and taking a swig from his flask. "What happened to the white dress?" he said, and Morticia could almost see his smile behind the flask.
She looked at him for a moment, feeling as though the room were vast and swallowing her own voice. "White doesn't suit me." That was the reply that made Rick smile; he ruffled her hair and removed the headband—the only thing left of her previous outfit—as he led her to the garage, where Summer’s excited voice could be heard from outside.
"I told you, Morti—you really ought to listen to your grandfather more and pay less attention to stupid fashion trends; the classic Morticia look is a hundred times better," her grandfather said. She nodded in agreement, her gaze shifting from the hallway floor to her own sneakers, then to her grandfather's, and finally to the garage floor.
And then she thought about how a week had passed without Rick, yet he still held total control over her—over her very self—and that thought caused her to shut down completely.
"It's good to have you back, Rick; I missed you"—that was what she said to Rick.
"You must have really been bored without me, right, Morticia?" was what Rick said in return.
That was what it felt like to love someone—as if you were being dragged to the bottom of the sea, without a life preserver, with nothing to hold onto. Perhaps it wasn't so bad to let the current carry you; at least that way, she wouldn't feel so devastatingly alone.
At least she knew that if Rick dragged her along, she’d be going somewhere—and more importantly, she wouldn’t be going alone. That thought made her smile as she hopped into the back of the car, her excitement returning; she was met with a smiling look from Summer—who had no idea what was going through her mind—and a strange look from Rick .
The car was pink and had a very obvious upgrade—it was a fucking spaceship, too! Rick told them he’d cooked up something better than a party for bored teenagers.
"I-it's a pretty harmless place, Summer—safe drugs and that kind of shit," Rick said, helping Summer navigate toward the location: a small, purple planet emitting colorful lights and all sorts of advertisements, with the word "consent" prominently displayed.
"U-uh, Rick, what are those signs?" Morticia asked; Rick turned to look at her, deciding to offer a brief explanation.
"Consent, Morti—these guys get way too hung up on consent; they’re basically weirdos who ask about everything—'do you want coffee or tea?'—they can be a real pain, but don't worry, only the natives are like that; the rest don't give a shit," Rick said, leaving Morticia to ponder the implications of that. "Morticia, you can't judge people for what they like or what they jerk off to," Rick said, nudging her playfully.
"Oh geez, whatever you say, Rick," said Morticia, watching as the planet grew larger and the music swelled upon entering the atmosphere.
"Bitches, stop thinking and start having fun." Summer gave a gentle squeeze to Morticia, who was gazing out the windows at the fireworks.
Summer landed and parked perfectly, earning a congratulatory pat on the back from Rick; Morticia looked around, observing that the natives had a build similar to humans, except for the bat-like wings they used to move from place to place.
"These guys do whatever you want—look, hey you, come here and bring me a good drink," Rick said to one of the bat-creatures, who scrambled over and shoved the others aside to prepare the drink."They're a bunch of idiots desperate to please; they'll do whatever you order them to," Rick said, taking the drink and downing it in one gulp.
"Seriously—hey, you!—bring me a fancy drink and a slut to kiss," Summer demanded of a guy who was gathering trash; he then ran over to a girl, whispered something in her ear, and she nodded and approached, placing her hand over Summer's.
"Hey," said the three-eyed alien—who was really hot.
"We're already eating ass this early? S-shit, Summer—have a drink first, then just let yourself go," Rick said, grabbing the nearest alien's hand and pulling them out to dance.
Meanwhile, Morticia had another problem: she wanted to go pee.
"Guys, I'm going to find a restroom—have fun without me," said Morticia, letting them know she was stepping away so they wouldn't think she’d been kidnapped or something; the universe is a crazy place.
"Okay, gorgeous—let me know when you get back. Now, you beauty, show me what that monkey tail can do," said Summer, pulling the alien she was holding into a dance.
Morticia managed to catch a glimpse of a nearby hotel—surely it had a restaurant, and surely a restroom; a normal one or an alien one—well, as long as she could empty her bladder, she didn't much care.
She made her way past customers who were fucking on the tables or eating junk that would surely give her nightmares, eventually reaching what she assumed was the restroom or something similar.
She was about to go in when an argument stopped her from turning the latch—seriously, couldn't she even escape arguments in fucking space?
"Oh, sure—keep people satisfied with your make-believe scenario machine like a slacker, while the rest of us actually break our backs working for that orgasm," said a bat-woman, leaving the room and nearly colliding with Morticia, who was pretending she had just arrived.
A man emerged from the room holding a bottle, sobbing uncontrollably; Morticia felt a twinge of sympathy, but she really needed to pee.
"Oh, sorry, I need to use the restroom—do you know where it is?" said Mort, looking past the man, who seemed lost in thought.
The man seemed to consider something before smiling and opening the door; he was as tall as Rick and carried that scent of cheap alcohol that made her lower her guard—her danger alarms were truly screwed up. "Yes, in here; just step inside and you'll find the relief you're looking for," said the man, stepping aside to let her pass.
It was probably a bad idea.
And it was even worse when the guy smashed her head open with the bottle; well, she’d already pissed her pants, so at least she wouldn’t have to worry about which alien toilet they’d use in a place like that. It was almost funny—though she wished she didn’t have such damn resilience, wishing she’d just passed out instead of merely collapsing to the ground with a bleeding, throbbing head, waiting for the blood loss to knock her unconscious.
"Shit, you peed yourself; I have to take off your pants and underwear, or the simulator will break down from the moisture." Yeah, she really regretted not being easier to knock out.
And finally, total darkness; at least she would no longer feel a stranger's hands pulling down her trousers and underwear.
When she woke up, she was wearing a strange helmet and no underwear; for all she knew, she might be losing her brain—or some other vital organ—to the black market, an experience that wasn't all that unusual given the grandfather she had. She tried to squeeze her thighs together, uncomfortable with her crotch exposed—especially in front of some bizarre alien that might try something pornographic, like in the movie *Alien*—but the chair she was in had thick straps that pinned her arms, chest, and waist, preventing her from closing her legs; it was like sadomasochism, only without a safe word or any consent involved.
"So what are you going to do to me? Sell my organs or abuse me?" Morticia said, waiting for someone to come and save her—though knowing her family, they were probably getting high or screwing somewhere, especially Rick. Summer had likely already realized she was missing and was looking for her.
"No, no—shit, no! I j-just want to make you feel good so I can get off myself; I’ve got blue balls, and my bitch of a wife won't make love to me because she says I spend too much time in the lab—as if she knows a damn thing about technology. Dammit, I’m a genius; I shouldn't have to deal with this crap. I-I’m too brilliant to have to rely on doing favors and kissing ass," the bat-guy said, giving Morticia an idea of what he was after; she was something of an expert when it came to dealing with alcoholic geniuses.
"So what are you going to do? Are you going to masturbate me without my consent, or force my brain to simulate arousal so you can cum, or something like that?" said Morticia, hoping those scenarios would buy her family enough time to rescue her.
"No, no, I have a machine that creates consensual scenarios where you can feel satisfaction and cum—I just have to wait for the scan to finish," the guy said, prompting Morticia to want to hit him with whatever was at hand.
"D-do I have to wait, or—" She was cut off as she was whisked away to a different setting; she was no longer tied to a chair—now she was in a shop, the piercing studio she recognized from before.
She looked at the hand resting on her shoulder; Rick was guiding her into the shop while telling her about the piercings his friend had done—including, of course, the one he had in his cock.
"S-shit, Morty, it hurt like a bitch—I mean, it makes you want to jerk off, but it burns too; you should try it—I mean, you don't have a penis, or well, you have a really small one, so it'll probably work." Rick was wasted, and she was on the verge of running away in terror.
"Rick, I—I'm not sure; that sounds painful. I'm not even sure if I want to get my ears pierced," said Morticia, covering her ears as she looked at the silicone molds of various alien species sporting hundreds of piercings.
Rick took a swig from his flask and nudged it closer to a design showing a silicone ear covered in hundreds of piercings. "What are you afraid of? You’ve had bigger pieces of metal put through you—or what? Scared you might like them too much, you sick little thing?" he said teasingly, causing Morticia to look at him in embarrassment.
"I-it's not that, Rick; needles scare me." She started playing with her hair, feeling her fingers getting tangled in it.
"For God's sake, you're a big baby—how many times have I told you to stop doing that to your hair? It's annoying," Rick said, shoving her further into the back of the tent.
"You know I do that when I'm uncomfortable," she said, causing Rick to ignore her in favor of speaking to the person behind the counter—a Spider-Man figure with numerous tattoo machines and needles in each hand.
"Hey, d-do you have what I asked for? I’m going to need it—and, of course, I also want you to pierce the girl’s ears," Rick said, almost whispering to the guy, who nodded and cleared whatever was on the chair so Morticia could sit down.
"Well? Are you going to stand there wasting time, or what?" Rick looked at her from where he stood, causing Morticia to frown.
"G-go fuck yourself, Rick." She sat down in the chair, and then, when she saw the needle, she fainted instantly.
And that’s how it ended—or at least that’s what she remembers—because when she woke up, she was already in the ship and Rick was driving home.
However, it was different; this time she remained conscious. Rick was holding her hand, and he didn't seem to notice that she was still awake.
"So, did you get the crystals I asked you for?" Rick said, gently stroking her hand.
"Yeah, though I don't get why you want to put something so expensive in there, buddy; you'd literally achieve the same result by implanting it directly into the brain—it's much faster and cheaper," said the spider-man, dabbing alcohol on her ear and pulling a pair of small crystal earrings from his pocket—the very same ones Morticia was currently wearing.
"No, it's too intense and painful; e-earrings are less painful," said Rick, gathering Morticia's hair so he could put in the first earring.
"An impenetrable shield that operates via voice command, a tracker, and a threat sensor—she must really be special to you," said the spider-man, putting in the first earring and taking out the second.
"S-she is. Now cut the sentimental crap and finish putting in her earrings—for what they cost, they ought to come and suck my balls," Rick said, lifting her hair on the other side so he could put in the second earring.
Morticia’s heart began to pound wildly; she wanted to hide her face out of sheer embarrassment. Here she was, getting all worked up over words from a drunken Rick—how pathetic. She couldn't believe the effect a little kindness had on her.
And the worst part was, she was horny.
And then something happened—or rather, the rescuers weren't exactly the two she had expected.
Rick and Summer had begun to take advantage of the locals' strange condition, forcing them to do all sorts of things—from bringing them food, drink, and drugs to fighting to the death.
"Shit, Grandpa, I think I'm going to miss this—the chaos, the guts, the drugs. I think I'm really going to be bored in that place," Summer said, grinning from ear to ear thanks to what she was taking.
"Why do you think I made it a spaceship? So you could come visit us when life gets too boring and exhausting," said Rick, taking a drink from what looked like a tube connected to a strange violet tank.
"Haha, us? Grandpa, do you happen to have someone special you haven't told us about? Morticia will be really annoyed if she doesn't meet them—him, her, it... anyway, gender is just a bunch of zeros and ones and doesn't matter to you," said Summer, looking a bit spaced out from whatever she was smoking.
"I don't think so; after all, I plan to take Morticia to space, and I don't think she'd be jealous of herself," he said, his words slightly slurred from whatever he was drinking.
Summer let the glass pipe drop to the floor, looking questioning and a little dazed. "You aren't planning to take my sister with you when I leave, are you?"
"Of course I do. Besides, if you leave, she’s got nothing left on Earth—her friends are a bunch of losers, and her family... without you, they barely even notice she’s there. I’m literally the only one who looks out for her in that place, aside from you," Rick said, picking up the crazy straw again.
"Wait, wait a second—is that why you built me a car? So I wouldn't object to you taking my sister into space? Is that it? You were planning to take Morticia all along?" Summer asked; the bat-men stepped aside, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the confrontation.
"Wait, it wasn't the whole time; I only thought about it while I was building the car. I thought, 'With Summer away, Morticia is really going to lose one of her biggest sources of support—I should take her out into space for a while to get her mind off things.' Summer, I'm sorry for being a good grandpa and worrying about my teenage granddaughter's health," Rick said, causing Summer to get up from her beach chair.
"Hey, don't you dare lie to me—this wasn't about her. I know you; you did it because you were worried Morticia would become her own person once she realized what kind of person *you* are. You're terrified of her growing up; you're scared to death at the thought of her leaving and abandoning you, you pathetic old man," Summer said, glaring at him with barely contained fury.
"I’m not afraid she’ll abandon me—infinite universes, remember? I just don’t want the hassle of relocating to another reality. Yeah, sometimes I feel sorry for her; poor Morticia is going to lose her big sister. I’ll take her out for a walk so she can have some fun with a frisbee or a bone, and then I’ll bring her back—because, let me remind you, she’s a dog to me." Rick said this while checking something on his sleeve, then muttered a curse under his breath and shoved Summer out of the way. "We could argue all day about who feels more pity for that kicked puppy, but right now she’s at the neighbor’s house getting spayed or dewormed."
"Don't talk about her like she's a pet—and by the way, where is she?" Summer said, feeling the drug leave her system and starting to run.
Both of them were running through the facility, while Summer looked for any sign of her sister.
"Someone kidnapped her; she isn't too far away. Her earrings sent me a threat alert, and since I'm a good owner, I'm going to go pick her up so she stops whining and we can head home—or, well, you to college and us off on space adventures, forgetting we ever had this pointless conversation," said Rick, knocking down a wall and scanning the area.
Summer searched the place until she spotted a long bloodstain leading to a room—and, most disturbing of all, her sister’s pants and underwear lying right there in the hallway, simply cast aside.
Rick readied his weapons; whatever was inside had hurt Morticia, and he was going to make it pay. Summer crouched down and picked up the clothes, catching a whiff of urine; she felt like crying, but she had to ensure her sister was safe.
And when they entered, they found a machine torn to shreds, a helmet smashed to pieces, and a note on the floor.
"We'll give your Morticia back when we're done having fun—suck my dick, I'm a better grandpa than you," read the note, which featured a drawing of a Morticia with colorful pigtails and a leather jacket carrying another Morticia wrapped in a sheet, alongside a heavily pierced Rick giving the middle finger.
"Fucking shit—damn it!" Rick shouted, clutching the note and yanking Summer’s arm as he calibrated the portal gun.
"It's a Rick and Morty thing," Summer asked, receiving a nod as Rick opened the portal.
"Yeah, something like that. Let's just say there's a group that looks out for the safety of the Mortys, and—well—they've had me on their radar ever since I made a certain... slightly messed-up body modification," Rick said, stepping into the portal, followed by Summer.
"Wait, the thing with the arms?" Summer asked, at which point Rick drew his gun to prepare for the ambush.
"Yeah, something like that; they didn't like me, and now they're tailing me like a bunch of fucking psychopaths with time on their hands," Rick said, scanning the area and noting that it was a modern city at night, very similar to Earth.
"I mean, I get why they hate you, but why Morticia? No offense, but isn't there an infinite dimension thing? Like, infinite Morticias and all that? Why is she so important?" Summer asked. Rick looked away, aiming his gun upward and shooting a hidden sniper.
"Summer, I don't judge people for how they choose to spend their time. There are tons of guys out there with all kinds of preferences and hobbies, and these guys are into Morticias. I mean, the odds of a Morticia being born are like zero-point-zero-zero-two percent—surprise, surprise, they're usually male—so they're like rare Pokémon cards or some shit like that," Rick said, as Summer ducked out of sight when they saw some guys approaching.
"Oh shit, for a moment I thought you guys had a thing for my sister—lucky you don't think that way," Summer said, causing Rick to hiss in disagreement.
"Look, I'll be honest: a lot of them are perverts when it comes to Morty or Morticia. I'm not taking responsibility for the crap that goes through those guys' heads—no, I've got enough problems of my own," Rick said, taking a swig from his flask.
"Then we'd better hurry; I can't imagine what kind of things must be happening," Summer said, grabbing the gun and firing at the subjects.
Morticia thought she would have a horrible time in that machine—to the point of developing a fetish for her grandfather and deciding to take her own life so she would never have to face him again.
But now she was sitting in a chair, wearing a ruffled skirt that wasn't hers, playing poker against three different versions of herself: one in a cowboy hat, another in military garb, and the one who was winning—sporting pink pigtails and a leather jacket.
"One!" shouted the Morticia-like figure in military attire, drawing a confused look from everyone at the table.
"Weren't we playing poker?" said the cowgirl, who was building a tower out of the cards, receiving a nod from the punk.
"Yeah, but I don't really get the game," said the Morticia in military garb, laughing, as she received a pat on the head from Rick as he walked by.
"Spouting nonsense again when you're about to lose," said Rick, sitting down next to his Morticia; both were wearing military attire.
Morticia looked at her cards as if she found within them the feeling that interaction stirred in her.
"Are you okay?" the cowgirl asked, noticing that Morticia seemed lost in thought.
"Yeah... I was just thinking about Rick. He’s probably out there wrecking the planet right now, or else he’s on his way here. He’s a little unhinged, but he cares about me—in his own way," Morticia said, starting to play with her hair.
"He left you to be kidnapped by a stranger and then put into a sick machine," said Punk Rick, handing her a cup of tea.
"I was going to the bathroom; he didn't know that would happen. You don't understand—this was my fault. He didn't do anything wrong, so don't talk about him as if he were a bad person," said Morticia, pulling at her hair and avoiding looking anyone in the face.
"Guys, this isn't working," said Cowboy Rick, taking a swig from his canteen. "All you're doing is making her defend him and cling to him even more—were you born yesterday? Not every Rick is lenient with his Morty; plenty are irredeemable pieces of shit. Did you forget why we had our eyes on him in the first place?"
Morticia didn't want to hear them insulting the man who had given her everything—attention, affection, love... tough love, whatever it was. While she had initially thought it would be fun to spend time with people like herself, now they only made her feel bad—bad about the affection they showed one another, and bad about how happy they looked.
"Morticia, you don't have to hide anything; we know what happened, what you suffered, and we support you," said the punk Morticia, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
Then Morticia looked at her, pulling her hand away from her shoulder and glaring furiously. "Don't pretend you know me just because you've been watching me from afar." Punk Morticia brushed her hand off and moved closer to Punk Rick, looking like a picture of mutual support. "Or what? Do you pity me? Get in line; every damn person I know thinks I'm a victim of Rick's or something."
"They’re fucking wrong; he tried to walk away from it all once, and do you know what I did?" Morticia said, smiling as she stepped away from the others and moved toward the terrace.
"Morticia, s-stop—shit, we u-underestimated the damage," said Cowboy Morticia, being covered by Cowboy Rick.
"I got him drunk and forced him to undergo a heart procedure with me; now our lives are connected. He can't die as long as I'm alive, and I can't die as long as he is. He doesn't remember it—it's painful when you do something incredibly sweet and special, and the other person doesn't remember it," said Morticia, walking toward the terrace and catching sight—out of the corner of her eye—of the infrared beam from Rick's laser rifle.
"Th-that's not—" Punk Morticia tried to say, but she was dragged backward by her Rick.
"Just because you like sucking that old man's dick, it doesn't mean I do; I'm different from you guys," she said, smiling as she gauged the drop.
"Watch what you say, Morticia Smith," said the punk Rick, stepping closer and exchanging glances with the other Ricks.
"Why? Don't you like it when I speak my mind? When I’m not some textbook victim? Surprise—I’m a goddamn human being, and it’s time you morons started thinking with your heads instead of your dicks," Morticia said, stepping onto the terrace and touching her earrings with a smile. "Rick and Morticia—ten years, a thousand years." The earrings glowed, creating a bubble around Morticia as she leaned back.
For a moment, she pictured her head hitting the pavement and her brains splattered across the street—bits that her grandfather would surely have to gather up and put back in place.
She was immediately caught by Summer, who wrapped her in her arms; Rick was driving the car while looking down at the other Ricks.
"Thanks for looking after my granddaughter, you disgusting sickos. Normally I’d turn you into pulp, but today I’m feeling generous, so I’ll give you the option of never showing your faces in front of me again," Rick said, laughing as he walked away and opened a portal large enough for the car to fit through.
Summer hugged her and kissed her forehead lovingly, while telling her about the crazy things they had done to keep the bright pink rescue car from attracting attention.
"—and then Grandpa pulled out this really gnarly thing, and so I..." Summer fell silent for a moment, recalling the conversation she’d been having with her grandfather while they were trying to apply the camouflage.
"—And what about the dress..." said Summer, trying to make as little noise as possible while parking the car.
Rick was trying to hack the technology, but apparently Punk Rick had installed too many locks and annoying passwords.
Rick was trying to hack the technology, but apparently Punk Rick had set up too many locks and annoying passwords. "I haven't got a fucking clue what you're talking about; do me a favor and ask something that makes sense."
"The white dress—Morty, she said you told her it looked horrible on her; you’re not usually that much of an idiot," Summer said, at which Rick raised an eyebrow.
"I suppose she told you what she wanted it for, too, right?" Rick said, pausing for a moment to check that the coast was clear.
"She told me she was going on a date—what does that have to do with anything?" Summer said. Rick sighed, pulling out his tablet and showing her a diagram.
"Look, Summer, there’s this uncanny valley of weird, horrible phenomena that affect Morticias and Mortys; if she’d worn that white dress to the date, she would’ve ended up pregnant, no matter what precautions she took—so sorry again for being worried and for being a good grandpa," Rick said, using that pedantic tone of his.
"And why couldn't she wear it this time? It's a cute dress," Summer said, to which Rick rolled his eyes as if explaining the logic behind it were a hassle.
"And go back on my word? Be consistent, Summer. Do you think I can tell Morticia 'no' and then 'yes'? She’d be confused—she’s a bit slow on the uptake, remember?" Rick said, prompting Summer to glare at him.
"Then why did you buy it?" said Summer, silencing Rick, who hurriedly applied the camouflage.
"The dress wasn't ugly, and she looked happy in it—even when I told her all that," Rick said, beginning to use the rifle scope to see what was happening upstairs.
"You're a weird man, Grandpa Rick," said Summer, getting into the car as it lifted into the air.
"Yeah, well, we need to hurry and rescue Morti before she gets attached to those guys," Rick said, looking through the scope as Morticia's figure came into view.
"You're worried she loves them more than you," Summer said, teasing him a little.
"Stop talking nonsense and move over; I'm driving," said Rick, starting to approach the terrace—just in time for Morticia's jump.
"S-Summer, we're here," said Morticia, snapping her out of her mental tangle.
"Oh, right—I have to go pack everything, or Mom will lose her mind tomorrow. Shit. The bright side of this adventure is that you’ve got a cute skirt and I got twelve phone numbers I’m definitely never going to call," Summer said, stroking her hair before getting out of the passenger seat and glancing sideways at Rick for a second.
Morticia was about to get out of the car when she saw Summer entering the house, but Rick stopped her by locking the door. "Why don't you tell me about that heart surgery—the one I know nothing about? We’ve got plenty of time," Rick said, looking at her and gesturing toward the passenger seat.
"Oh, geez, were you listening?" said Morticia, moving to the passenger seat and starting to play with her hair.
"Every word—now confess, or I play the recording," said Rick, causing Morticia to start pulling at her hair.
So they're both in the car, ready to have the most awkward conversation in the world.
"Y-you were too drunk and talking about taking your own life, and I was s-s-so scared you’d leave me, so I just encouraged you to drink more... and you built a machine to perform the operation I’d suggested. The next day you didn't remember a thing, so I thought I could live with that secret," Morticia said, looking down.
"D-damn, I guess I have to create something to reverse that and—of course—something so I don't drink so much; this can't happen twice," Rick said, leaning back in his seat.
Morticia felt guilty until Rick stroked her hair; he was gazing at the car's ceiling, searching for the right words to tell her what came next.
"The reason those guys hate me is that I performed a tubal ligation on you; I guess we're even now, considering the heart thing," Rick said, unlocking the car doors.
"Haha, yeah." Morticia hadn't the faintest idea what Rick was talking about, though it sounded like something very technical and painful.
"And look, that chastity guard—I swear I wasn't being a pervert; I just didn't want some *Alien*-movie-style shit happening to you, so I put a protective membrane on so no penis could get near you," Rick said, trying to sound reasonable.
Morticia had no idea how to respond to that—thanks for protecting her non-existent virginity, which she had surely already lost the time he asked her to smuggle mysterious test tubes in her vagina.
"S-sure, Rick... hmm, I need to wash my pants, and I think I'm a bit chafed from not wearing underwear for so long. The other Rick lent me his boxers, but they were way too big and had weird stains on them," said Morticia, feeling a burning sensation on her inner thighs; she needed to take a shower urgently.
Rick gave her a strange look, making Morticia frown.
"You look a little too comfortable talking about how you wore a total stranger's underwear," Rick said, prompting Morty to give him an irritated nudge with his elbow.
"Don't be weird; I just asked a version of you to get me some clean underwear. In the end, a Morticia gave me hers, and now here I am," said Morticia, downplaying it.
"And definitely getting a vaginal infection from wearing someone else's underwear—g-great idea, Morty; you really live up to your name," Rick said sarcastically.
"E-eat shit, you decrepit old man; I just wanted to pee. None of what happened is my fault—t-this was all *your* fault. Try being nice for once and stop getting into trouble, you asshole," Morticia said, opening the door and flipping him off, a big "fuck you" written all over her face.
"I'm being very nice, Morty. Just because I'm not kissing your ass like those weirdos doesn't mean I'm not being nice. After what you put me through, I ought to turn your organs inside out and leave you hanging on a hook right here in the garage—but I'm not doing that. So don't be an annoying bitch and stop complaining," Rick said, taking a swig from his flask.
"Go fuck yourself, you weird old man; I’ll never be one of those Morticias who give their Ricks a paw. You have no control over me, bitch," said Morticia, entering the house and slamming the door.
And just when he was left alone, Rick took out a device very similar to Morticia's earrings and a projector; he got out of the car and headed into his room, intending to check what had happened before the connection was cut off because of those Ricks.
And just as he was about to connect the memory drive he had recovered from the semi-destroyed machine, he received a call from someone he hadn't expected at all.
"Shit," he cursed, shutting everything down and sealing himself inside his ship, activating soundproofing just in case there were prying ears.
A soft, simple, and slightly nervous voice came from the phone—a voice he hadn't heard in a while.
"R-Rick, are you there, or did you j-just answer while half-drunk?" It was Morticia's voice—a bit more mature and serious than the one that was surely throwing a tantrum in her room.
He didn't answer; instead, he took out a recorder that played the sound of his snoring to pretend he was asleep.
"Oh, right... I—I guess you're asleep; I should just hang up. And shit, why did I even call? I'm an idiot." One could hear Morticia starting to bite her nails; Rick was tempted to step in and scold her, but he stopped himself.
"Well, I suppose you're recording this conversation, aren't you? Honestly, I used to be certain about these things, but after all this time, I'm not sure if I really know you." Rick squeezed the recorder, holding it closer to the cell phone's speaker.
"—...sleeping soundly; I seem to recall you slumping drunk over the dashboard and me having to drive us home. You know, now that I think about it, I’m not sure I’d let little Rick drive in my place—that sounds like a terrible idea, seriously. Although, well, five years have passed, and he’s getting to be a big boy now." Morticia’s laughter only deepened Rick’s bitterness.
"Oh, right—when you left, he didn't even have a name yet, so you probably don't know him. It's Rick; I named him after you. I had planned to call her Diane, like Grandma, but a boy was born... and don't get me wrong! I adore him; he and my husband are my reason for keeping going." Morticia's voice sounded so clear and happy.
"It’s a bit weird, though—you insisting I abort it and then naming it after you is strange... well, my husband thought it was weird, and Mom, Dad, and the therapist did too. The only one who supported me through it all was Summer; she said something about it being your karma. Anyway, I didn't see it that way—after all, you’re my hero and I love you. You were the only one in this family who cared about me when I was nothing but the dumb kid." Morticia’s voice was happy, as if she were genuinely getting something off her chest; Rick pulled out his flask—he was going to take a big swig once she finished.
"I know you suggested the abortion because you were worried about me—worried I’d end up like Mom—and it didn't help that my husband's family was pushing us to get married when we were just fifteen. Y-you’ve never handled change well, especially not such abrupt changes." Morticia’s voice grew more distant, as if Rick’s head were filling with cotton.
"—And then there’s the whole dress thing... I’ll be honest, I never thought you were the kind of person who cared about that sort of thing. I mean, you fought with the groom’s family so I could wear the dress I wanted, and that was special to me—though I’d understand if it wasn’t special to you. I mean... the truth is, I have no idea if you ever saw me as anything more than your co-pilot on the ship." Rick rested his hand on his forehead, overcome by sadness.
"But you know, you were more special to me than anything; if, instead of disappearing that day, you had asked me to go with you, I would have. I loved you so much—and I didn't love myself at all. If you had dragged me to hell, I would have gone happily. The doctor calls it codependency; she prescribed me medication shortly after little Rick was born—postpartum depression, she called it. But you know, I already felt that way—before everything: the baby, the marriage, you, the adventures. I knew something was very wrong with me, and I couldn't fix myself," said Morticia, sounding more reflective than happy.
"I miss you—I’ve been missing you for years—and I’m still waiting for the day you crash your ship into my garage and my life returns to its usual chaotic mess." —their voice finally sounding clear again.
"So if you see this recording—if this recording reaches you—please, tell me if you are out there somewhere. And if so, I want you to know that I forgive you for abandoning me," said Morticia.
"Rick, I forg—" Static was heard, and the call cut off.
Rick turned off the recorder—both the one that had captured the call and the one playing the snoring sounds—deciding it was a good time to have a drink and wallow in misery for a while.
Yeah, this wasn't his original dimension; Morticia wasn't his original Morticia either—nothing was damn well original in any sense, except for the fact that Pepsi was more popular than Coca-Cola, and that was it. His original granddaughter had gotten pregnant and married a good-for-nothing, and he’d run off to another dimension like a fucking coward because he couldn't face it.
He took out his wallet—where he kept a photo of his granddaughter from before the disaster—and couldn't help feeling stupidly useless, trying to console himself with the fact that his Morticia—*his* Morticia—was safe: safe from early marriage, safe from pregnancy, safe with him.
He had mocked the other Ricks, calling them disgusting, horrible assholes, but he was no different—getting worked up just because his teenage granddaughter finally fucked someone and was expecting a baby.
In retrospect, he was a bit jealous because those bastards could be as gross as they wanted with their Morticias and get away with it—he’d had her tubes tied, whereas they were surely fucking them—so who was worse in that regard? Not him.
If *they* were the disgusting ones—with their public displays of affection and their sick, groping behavior—then they were unpleasant to look at, listen to, or even speak about.
He could still remember those guys placing their aged hands on the backs and hips of their Morticias, while they talked and judged him as a disgusting criminal.
"You're a piece of shit who takes advantage of his Morticia—someone who can't say no to him," Punk Rick had said—but honestly, his Morticia's nipple piercings looked painful, 14 years old girl.
"Truly the un-upgraded scum," said Cowboy Rick, who was known for shooting his previous Mortys.
"Face justice or perish"—and, of course, Rick the soldier, coming from a regime, was definitely the best person to decide what is just and what isn't.
Then again, obviously they hadn't said it themselves—a Rick doesn't meddle in another Rick's business. Their Morticias likely had a savior complex; Rick cured his partner of that by forcing her to choose between him and entire civilizations—and well, he's here, isn't he?
And as for his heart, he already had a hunch that he’d undergone that operation—though he thought he’d had it done with some alien during a drunken binge, not with Morticia.
He never intended to fix it, but if Morticia was involved, it became a major problem.
He took hold of the edges of the photograph and began to tear it up; right, he wouldn't look back anymore—he had enough to deal with in the present. From his pocket, he pulled out a photo he had taken when Morticia was trying on the white dress in the fitting room; she looked very flushed—not at all used to anything feminine—as she tugged at the edges of the dress. She was lovely.
He tucked the photo into his wallet; he wasn't going to have any regrets or dwell on past mistakes. He was a Rick—he wasn't just going to sit idly by. He was going to fuck them up—fuck them up so bad they wouldn't be able to sit down for weeks! Okay, that sounded way too sexual; let's just leave it at "fuck them up."
A malicious smile spread across his face as he plotted how to utterly destroy the group of Ricks who thought they had the right to criticize and vilify him.
And with Summer away, Morti will be stuck to him like a pleco—it’s basically a family vacation! The two of them chasing after morons; finally, his bloodhound will get a taste of rabbit meat (which sounds weirdly like a couple's getaway).
Extra round!
Morticia was trying to fall asleep, using the Chiikawa plushie as something to cuddle; the day's events were mingling with what seemed like the lingering traces of hallucinations from the scenario-recreating machine.
"Morticia, you don't have to hide anything; we know what happened, what you suffered, and we support you,"
"He left you to be kidnapped by a stranger and then put into a sick machine,"
"you have to start telling Grandpa to go to hell when he forces you to do something you don't want to do. You can't live like this forever; you're almost fifteen,"
"Not every Rick is lenient with his Morty; plenty are irredeemable pieces of shit."
And likewise, her shameful responses—attempts to protect Rick—that could only come from a foolish teenager.
"I was going to the bathroom; he didn't know that would happen. You don't understand—this was my fault. He didn't do anything wrong, so don't talk about him as if he were a bad person,"
"Just because you like sucking that old man's dick, it doesn't mean I do; I'm different from you guys,"
"Rick and Morticia—ten years, a thousand years."
The second one was especially embarrassing because it reduced their connection to nothing more than fucking and sucking cocks; she wasn't usually that brazen—no—and yet she said it.
She started to feel cold, so she snuggled closer against the stuffed animal Rick had bought her—after she had told him it was silly and that he was just wasting his money.
Maybe it's because it was very late and she had been very busy, but she fell asleep peacefully.
Or rather, she *was*—until she woke up to the cold sensation on her nipples, with Rick looking like an expert surgeon as he drew on her chest with a damn blue marker.
"Oh, shit—you were supposed to be asleep. Well, I wanted to look at my drunken handiwork for a bit; I hope you don't mind," said Rick, being pushed away by Morticia, who was bashfully covering herself with the sheet.
"You weird asshole, leave me alone!" Morticia shouted, running to the bathroom with her cell phone in hand, drawing a sigh and a complaint from Rick.
"Why are you acting like this? I’m the victim here—remember, you manipulative bitch?" Rick said, removing his surgical gear.
"Oh, fuck you. I'm going to Google what you did to me, and if it's some piece-of-shit thing like super-cancer, you're dead to me," said Morticia, while Rick leaned against the bathroom door with a mocking grin.
"Go ahead, do it—it's called a tubal ligation; I'm the only one who can undo it anyway. Checkmate, Morty," Rick said, taking a swig from his flask with a grin stretching from ear to ear, waiting for the sound of the collapse.
"Oh, oh, ohhhhhhh God, noooooooo—what the hell is wrong with you, Rick?! Permanent sterilization?! What the shit is your problem? At least Stephen King let the kids screw each other before sending them to hell!" Morticia complained, causing Rick to raise an eyebrow.
"Did you read the book?" Rick said mockingly.
"F-fuck you, Rick—you're dead to me until you find a way to undo it," said Morticia, sounding like a furious squirrel.
"Sure, but first let's say goodbye to Summer," said Rick, stepping away from the door.
Morticia emerged from the bathroom, dressed in the white gown and wearing the entire ensemble from the previous day.
"Not a word, Rick—I’m in no fucking mood for your idiotic comments—so follow me in silence, you psychopath bitch," Morticia said, stomping along in a fit of temper.
"Fine, you're a whiny, dramatic bitch," Rick said, following her anyway.
Families—they’re complicated, and sometimes they don’t feel like a family at all. It’s like, "You bitch, why are you touching my stuff? What the hell is wrong with you? Do you want me to kill you? Why are you projecting your own insecurities onto me, you insecure bitch?"—that kind of stuff that makes you say things and scream.
"You feel happy taking my father away from me, you little whore," said Beth, too drunk to be held responsible for her words.
"Oh, sure, I want to steal the alcoholic bastard who gave me a fucking tubal ligation—have some goddamn sense, Mom!" Morticia shouted back.
"You did *what* to my daughter?" Jerry said furiously, on the verge of coming to blows with Rick.
"Shit, Jerry, get over it. I'm doing her a favor; teenagers that age are just horny dogs trying to mate with anything." Rick replied, also very drunk.
"We haven't even fucking made it out of the garage entrance!" Summer shouted, looking exasperated and tired.
Yeah, family—a fucking nightmare that reminds us why kidnapping victims develop Stockholm syndrome.