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Most people take a second to filter the thoughts in their head into two categories: ‘things that should be said’ and ‘things that should never be said’. Then they act appropriately, keeping dark fantasies and dirty thoughts in their head as they should, and chatting normally with others like a regular human being.
Rick generally refuses to think before he speaks. He has no problem being rude or saying scarring shit that makes others think less of him. Rick is a genius, he’s above everybody else, he doesn’t care what others think, and he certainly doesn’t like holding things back. If he has a thought, it’s about to become everybody in earshot’s problem.
It’s not until now that he realizes that it’s a bad habit.
It’s not like Morty is even doing something sexy . Hell, most of the time it seems like Morty is incapable of doing anything even remotely sexy.
But maybe Rick likes that.
They’re at the dining table for breakfast when Rick cracks a joke. ‘Cracking a joke’ being the more polite way of saying he’s verbally dressing down Jerry as per the norm. Generally Morty doesn’t like it when Rick insults Jerry for just daring to exist at the same table as him, but one of the insults must have tickled Morty pink because he suddenly snorts out loud, ugly laughter.
Morty also snorts out the milk he had been drinking. It bursts out his nose, combined with his mucus to make a gross, slimy off-white liquid that sticks to his face and stains his shirt. He looks like the end screen of the porn videos he tries to ‘secretly’ watch when trips on the ship go on too long.
Rick’s mouth reacts so quickly, not bothering to get the go-ahead from his brain, that he manages to speak before anybody can voice their disgust for Morty’s milky misery. “Fuck, I want you so bad.” Rick states, staring right at Morty.
The words are out before he knows it, so he gets to process his verbal blunder right alongside his family.
Morty’s face, which had been scrunched up in mirth and was quickly switching to pain because the sensation of liquid coming out of his nose was unpleasant to say the least, manages to switch out of pain and into confusion in record time. He’s coughing, trying to get the liquid out of the wrong tubes, but still his brow scrunches together and his barely-open eyes find Rick’s face, looking up at the old man as if there was any sort of second half to that statement that could possibly make it mean something besides the blunt confession it was.
Rick stands up quickly, his chair being thrown back so fast it makes a loud clattering as it hits the wall. Rick tries to keep his face as blank as possible as he walks out of the room, only quickly glancing at the rest of his family’s faces and seeing their confused faces.
Rick walks right into the garage, jumps into his ship, and leaves the Earth’s atmosphere in record time.
He sits there, out in space, still within orbit but turned outward so he doesn’t have to look at the planet he just fled in disgrace. His hands don’t even reach for his flask, he just sits there limply.
Rick’s biggest enemy is and always has been his own mouth. There is nobody and nothing else that has ever gotten him into as much trouble. He’s been called ‘silver-tongued’ and ‘charismatic’ more times than he can count, but the reality is that his stupid mouth can only talk him out of approximately one third of the situations it puts him in.
And usually that’s fine because what his mouth can’t fix, senseless violence and his absolute genius can .
But Rick isn’t about to gun down his family and right now his brain is drawing a blank. The memory gun is his first thought but while it works on Morty just fine, the little testing Rick has done has shown it definitely isn’t calibrated properly for Beth, Jerry, and Summer.
It works on Jerry’s conscious mind, but he ends up having nightmares about his missing memories. It also seems to work on Beth on the surface level, but the second she starts drinking she somehow manages to start remembering what Rick tried to erase.
And Summer?
It just straight up doesn’t work on Summer.
It blinds her for a moment like the flash of a polaroid but that’s it. There’s a reason he picked her as the designated memory-retriever.
Rick’s restless hands reach underneath his chair, rummaging through bottles until he finds a full one. He unscrews it and downs it, hoping the alcohol will help him relax enough to think of some other way out of this.
He goes through bottle after bottle, with no thoughts in his head besides how fucking stupid he is.
‘Smartest man in the universe’. What a joke.
Rick’s fingers tap anxiously on a bottle. He thinks about Morty, about his dumb, ugly little face covered in snotty milk and scrunched in that dumb, ugly little confused look. What a dumb, ugly little child.
And Rick looked him right in the eyes and confessed that he wanted to plow that scrawny, acne-riddled, dirty, sticky moron. Rick saw snot and milk dripping from Morty’s nose, right after he snorted that grating, scratchy laugh, and he wanted nothing more than to push the boy under the dining table and add to the sticky fluid coating him. So much so that he vocalized his desires out loud for the whole family to hear.
It’s certainly not the first time he’s felt the urge to wreck Morty, but usually he keeps his mouth shut about it. He takes those thoughts and drowns them under a sea of booze until they can resurface again in the darkness of his room at night, when his back is against his scratchy cot and his hand is stroking his erection.
Maybe that’s the issue, he shouldn’t have been thinking of Morty every time he got himself off. He shouldn’t have been feeding this ungodly attraction. He’s only made it grow and deepen, and now it’s constantly scratching on the back of his brain.
God knows he can’t blame this on Morty. The kid does everything he can to appear as unattractive as possible. From his annoying voice constantly pestering Rick to his disgusting teenage boy body odor. Rick has considered giving Morty deodorant as a very direct way of telling him he stinks, but Rick’s busted brain actually enjoys the rank smell.
Rick has seen Morty barf, piss his pants, eat alien garbage, be covered in alien placenta, avoid showering for two weeks, sniff his own pits and gag, pick his nose until it bleeds, and he’s even caught the boy scratching his balls and sniffing his fingers. He’s seen Morty doing an assortment of unattractive things.
And as sick as it all is, it only makes him want Morty more.
It’s not like Rick hasn’t had unattractive partners before, his standards are so low they’re buried under the floorboards, but they still tried their best to entice him. They tried to be sexy.
Morty seems to be on a mission to try to be as unappealing as possible and it’s all backfired. Rick wants him more than he’s ever wanted anyone . So much so it scares Rick sometimes how down bad he is for Morty.
But he’s managed to keep it all under wraps, managed to keep his hands to himself (mostly). As much as he crows about not caring about morals or feelings, he’s never wanted to scar Morty with the disgusting knowledge of his incestual feelings. It’s not fair to Morty. Rick would rather lust in silence, it helps to keep the guilt at a minimum.
But now it’s all been fucked up.
How can he possibly explain away what he said? The way he stared at Morty, eyes darkened with lust. He may not have explicitly monologued about all the ways he wanted to make Morty moan from under himself, but it’s not like he slipped out a double entendre that could be explained away as a ‘misunderstanding’.
Maybe they didn’t hear him?
They didn’t look disgusted, or even stunned, just kinda caught off guard. And considering how fast Rick stood up, maybe it was because of how his chair hit the wall. His sudden exit.
But Morty looked right at him with those wide brown eyes, searching Rick’s face for an explanation. But he was laughing pretty loud. Maybe he heard Rick’s voice, but not what he said?
Rick wrings the neck of the bottle in his hands.
Rick really only has two options, fuck off forever and never have to deal with the shame of their disgust, or come back home and possibly face the music.
Or possibly face nothing, if he’s lucky.
By the time Rick is landing the ship in front of the garage, it’s just about dinner time. He stumbles out of his ship, burping loudly. The drink should hopefully numb the sting a bit if they start screaming at him the moment he walks in.
They don’t.
Jerry is setting the table, Beth is dishing up plates, and the kids are on the couch, watching television. Beth notices him come in from the garage and pulls out another plate, presumably for him.
“Hey, dad.” Beth greets. “You left breakfast so suddenly, I had no idea if you’d be home for dinner.”
“Uh, yeah, I did.” Rick says, leaning in the doorway, watching her dump spaghetti onto the plate and hand it over to Jerry who sets it at Rick’s seat. Jerry doesn’t even bother looking at Rick, but that’s pretty normal, as looking into Rick’s eyes tends to cause Rick to blow up at him.
“Can you tell the kids dinner is ready?” Beth asks as she pulls a sheet pan of garlic bread out of the oven.
“Sure.” Rick agrees. He heads into the living room. “H-hey, Sum-sum, Morty, dinner time.”
Morty jumps at the sound of Rick’s voice, and Rick’s heart leaps into his throat along with him. But then again, Morty is an anxious kid. He always jumps when Rick shows up unexpectedly.
Summer looks up at him with bored eyes, but there’s something that feels forced and fake about her teenage indifference. Something flashing behind her eyes as she looks at Rick. But then she’s looking back at the phone in her hand and standing. “Whatever.” She says as she walks past, into the dining room.
Maybe Rick just imagined that, with his brain cranking out worst-case scenarios.
Morty is quick to follow his sister and Rick is right behind them. They all sit down for dinner.
It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
There should be some inane conversation that Rick is tuning out, but instead there’s nothing for the longest time. Is there always this much dead air during a meal? Did nothing worth talking about happen today? Or are they waiting for Rick to speak up, to explain his slip-up from this morning?
Rick sure as hell isn’t talking about it unless pressed.
The mood has long become awkward before Summer finally breaks the silence, yakking on about something that happened in school the previous day. Rick doesn’t care about what she’s saying, but he’s glad she’s making things feel normal .
Rick has almost managed to clean his plate before Beth asks him, “So, what did you do today, dad?”
“Huh?” Rick asks, looking at her, trying to judge if she’s asking genuinely or about to twist this into some kind of confession. “N-nothing, really. Just sat in- just did some space shit. Nothing exciting.”
“It’s rare you don’t take Morty with you, especially on a Saturday.” Beth notes.
Rick freezes up at the mention of Morty’s name. His eyes dart to the boy, wondering if she’s trying to imply something. Morty doesn’t seem stressed, he’s chewing with his mouth open as per usual. Disgusting little boy, how Rick aches for him. “Didn’t need him.” Rick mutters.
Summer scoffs. “You never need him, grandpa Rick. It’s not like he’s good for anything. But usually you want him,” There’s a pause as she sends a text under the table and it feels too much like the end of the sentence, “To join you on your adventures.”
“Hey!” Morty exclaims, offended. “I’m good for things! An- and I help Rick out a lot!”
“Yeah, I’m sure you do.” Summer says as sarcastically as possible.
As Summer and Morty start bickering, Rick finishes up his plate and slips out as quickly as possible. Dinner was going smoothly but he didn't want to overstay and push his luck. It’s pretty stupid for him to be nervous considering he’s going to have to sit with them every night and eat, but maybe with the days passing even if they did hear they’ll be less sure each day that goes on without anybody bringing it up.
Maybe they’re all waiting for somebody else to mention it, and he can sort of silently gaslight them by pretending he didn’t just mention he wanted to fuck Morty until one day they each decide it must’ve been their imaginations.
Or maybe they just didn’t hear him.
If Rick were the kinda guy that prays, he’d be praying for that.
As it is, he isn’t, so instead he settles into the garage and continues tinkering on the newest upgrade for his robotic arms, a built-in stun prod. Unfortunately it seems to keep shocking him when he uses it, rendering it pretty much useless.
Rick sits in silence, nothing but the sound of screws turning and electricity crackling to entertain him. Usually after dinner Morty comes into the garage with him and watches him work.
But Morty never comes.
It gets so late that even Rick’s eyelids are drooping, and Morty doesn’t even poke his head in to say goodnight.
He has to know.
Doesn’t he?
Why else would he not come around?
Rick leaves his desk a mess and moves to exit the garage, only to find the door is locked from his side. He must’ve locked it when he came in because he was feeling so stressed about talking to his family. It’s no wonder Morty never came by, he couldn’t.
Rick pauses as he passes by the stairs. He should really go to bed, but he can’t press down the need to see Morty one more time. He creeps up as silently as possible, pushing open the door which had thankfully already been open a crack.
Morty is already tangled in his sheets, the thin cloth half sliding off the bed as Morty is posed almost like a ballet dancer mid prance. Morty lets out a sudden and loud half snore as he tosses over to the other side of his bed, letting the sheet finally fall free.
Rick is gliding into his room like a silent ghost before he knows it. He picks up the discarded blanket and gently lays it over his grandson. Morty makes a small incoherent mumbling sound and snuggles into the blanket.
There’s words like ‘I love you’ and ‘goodnight, darling’ lingering on Rick’s tongue but he chooses to swallow them down and instead leave as silently as he arrived. As he exits the room and turns to go down the stairs he comes face to face with Beth.
Her eyes are dark and bloodshot. She’s obviously been drinking. They both stand in silence for what feels like too long. Her eyes finally travel from Rick to the door he just exited, the door leading to Morty’s room.
But they don’t linger there for long. She looks back at Rick and says, “Goodnight, dad.” Before walking past him into her own room.
Rick can’t bring himself to say anything back, his voice is caught in his throat along with all the air he should be breathing.
Sunday is dreary. It’s raining outside and the cold has chilled the whole house. Morty sneezes into his own bowl of chicken noodle soup and then slurps up a spoonful. Beth has been fretting about him all day, placing the back of her hand against his forehead and handing him tissues to discourage his habit of dragging his arm along his snotty nose.
Summer stays up in her room, video chatting with her friends, not wanting to be around her contagious brother. Jerry doesn’t fret as much as Beth, but he stays in the living room with them, watching tv and bringing Morty plenty of hot honey lemon tea to soothe his throat.
Rick feels like a background character, like a piece of furniture or a prop rather than a family member. He’s faded into the background, deadly silent as though speaking a single word could set off a nuclear bomb. He tries not to look at his family too often, hoping they’ll ignore his presence, his words, if he ignores them first.
Nobody says a word to him all day.
And when it gets late and Morty is getting sleepy on the couch, huddled up in a cocoon of blankets, he starts leaning forwards.
And Rick’s heart sinks.
Morty always, always leans towards Rick when he starts falling asleep on the couch. Late at night, during boring movies, his head will undoubtedly end up on Rick’s shoulder as his eyes shut for the night. Rick will roll his eyes to show the rest of the family that he finds it annoying, but it’s his favorite part of movie nights.
And then Rick is the one who gets to carry Morty upstairs, tuck him into bed, but tonight keeps getting more off track as Jerry scoops Morty up for the night. Morty is already dead asleep, hanging limply in Jerry’s hold, and that makes Rick feel a little better. Morty always snuggles into Rick’s chest when he’s the one holding Morty.
Beth yawns and gets up herself. For the first time that day her eyes drift to Rick. “I’m going to bed now too. Don’t wake Morty up for any adventures, dad. He needs his sleep.”
“I know.” Rick says. “Goodnight, sweetie.”
Beth heads upstairs and Rick stays on the couch, numbly continuing to pretend to watch the movie playing on the tv.
Morty doesn’t go to school on Monday. He doesn’t leave his room at all. Whenever Jerry is busy, in the bathroom, cooking lunch, tending to his bees, Rick takes the chance to peek into Morty’s room. He desperately doesn’t want Jerry catching him, even though he’s doing nothing wrong.
He’s just checking in. Just watching the slow rise and fall of Morty’s chest from under the blankets as he snoozes the day away. Even he doesn’t know why he’s so obsessed with seeing Morty, maybe it’s the fear that this could be the last day. That he could be kicked out of his home, kicked out of Morty’s life, at any moment.
Rick miscalculates the amount of time he’s spending watching Morty and is still there when Jerry walks in with a fresh glass of ice water. Rick freezes like he’s been caught with his dick in his hand as Jerry gives him a dirty look.
Jerry shoos the old man out as he places the water down on Morty’s bedside table and then quickly follows Rick out. “Rick!” Jerry stage whispers. Rick feels his heart burning, dreading Jerry’s scolding, Jerry's accusations, but they don’t come. Instead, Jerry says, “Let him sleep. He doesn’t need to be getting into any sci-fi nonsense today. He’s really sick.”
“I wasn’t planning on bothering him, Jerry.” Rick half-heartedly argues back.
“Then what were you doing?” Jerry questions, and Rick regrets saying anything at all.
What was he doing? Watching Morty sleep? Yeah, like that’s not creepy at all. “I was just… Just making sure his fever wasn’t getting any worse. Last thing I need is for his brain to melt out his skull.”
Jerry stands there, arms crossed, looking unconvinced. At least Rick thinks he looks unconvinced, maybe he’s just annoyed like he usually is with Rick. “Just leave him alone.” Jerry finally says before heading back downstairs.
Rick doesn’t check on Morty again until he’s certain everyone is asleep.
On Tuesday Morty is back in school, and right before Beth heads out she tells Rick to let Morty stay on Earth for the day. Apparently he’s well enough for school but not well enough for adventures. Rick thinks about saying something along those lines, but chooses to keep his mouth shut instead.
He spends the day in the garage, waiting for Morty to get home, but even well after the school day ends, Morty never pops in. When Rick gets tired of waiting for Morty to come to him, he decides to go to Morty.
Morty is napping on the couch, Summer sitting next to him texting away on her phone. The tv has been set to mute and Summer’s eyes immediately dart to Rick when he steps foot in the living room. They narrow in a glare as she holds a finger to her mouth in a shushing motion.
Rick’s natural instinct is to get loud and insult her for daring to tell him to shut up, but he swallows down the anger and simply turns around to go back inside the garage.
Rick doesn’t come out for dinner. He doesn’t check on Morty again. He doesn’t even bother heading back to his own room to sleep for the night.
He spends Wednesday much the same, hiding in the garage, drinking until he can’t see straight. He doesn’t look at any clocks, doesn’t get any knocks on the door, he has no idea what time it is as he phases in and out of consciousness.
When he finally comes out into the kitchen, it’s Thursday night somehow.
Rick stumbles over to the fridge and finds leftover meatloaf waiting for him. He jumps a little when the kitchen light turns on. Beth is in the doorway. “Oh, dad.” She says, “I haven’t seen you all day. Are you okay? You’ve been acting… Off lately.”
The way she stands there so casually, looking at him like everything is fine, like he’s not a monster, is freaking Rick out. “What do you mean, sweetie?” Rick asks as he grabs a fork and starts eating the meatloaf cold.
Beth shrugs. “I don’t know, just… You know, you’ve been a little quiet. Is everything okay?”
Rick hates the question. He wants to spit it back at her, to finally get her to say something to him, but he doesn’t want to give her the chance. He doesn’t want to poke the bear. “I… I’m just worried about Morty.” It’s not a lie, he really is. Just more for what Morty knows rather than the boy’s health.
“Yeah, Jerry said he caught you in Morty’s room the other day.” Beth says, and Rick hates the word ‘caught’ being used here. It makes him feel guilty. “He’s doing better. I thought you’d know, since you check in on him so often.”
Her voice sounds so odd when she says that, the words are heavy, weighted down with underlying meaning that Rick isn’t sure is intentional or not. Rick shrugs, trying to dislodge the words from his shoulders. “I care about him.” Rick mutters, like it’s an excuse, like it’s an explanation for the questions Beth isn’t asking.
“I know you do.” She states it so finally, like it’s a fact of the universe, as if it’s so plain to see even strangers on the street would be able to tell at a glance. As if Rick is obvious in his care of Morty, despite his constant attempt to appear aloof and uncaring. She may as well have said ‘ everyone knows you do’.
As insulting as it is, it lightens the heaviness around his heart. She knows he cares about Morty. Which mean that either she has no idea how much Rick wants to fuck her little baby boy or…
Or something Rick hadn’t dared hope for. She’s okay with it.
Because she knows he’s restraining himself and won’t touch Morty? Or because she just doesn’t give a shit if he does? With Beth he can never be too certain.
“Want a glass?” Beth asks, breaking Rick out of his thoughts.
“Oh, uh, yeah, sure.” Rick agrees, taking a glass of red wine. “Thanks, sweetie.”
“I appreciate you letting him stay home for the week.” Beth says, swirling her glass of wine. She stares into the liquid rather than look at her father. “I know how hard it is for you to leave him alone.” Her tone is teasing and she smirks as she says it, laughing a little to herself.
It floors Rick. She has to know, she wouldn’t say that if she didn’t.
… Would she?
After laughing Beth lets out a little sigh, downing the rest of her glass. She places it in the sink, for Jerry to clean tomorrow. “Have a good night, dad.” Beth says, patting her father on the shoulder before heading back upstairs.
Rick can’t finish the meatloaf because his appetite is gone.
Again on Friday, Morty doesn’t bother knocking on Rick’s door after getting home from school. Rick doesn’t wait to seek him out, though, he’s out and looking for him around the house almost immediately.
Rick finds Morty in Summer’s bedroom, the two of them arguing as siblings tend to do. Though, Rick has no clue what they’re arguing about, having come in at the last possible moment.
“Well, I’m gonna ask!” Morty says before turning towards the door, freezing when he spots Rick.
Summer grabs Morty by the shoulder. “Hell no you aren’t! You’ll fuck up-” She spies Rick as well, tensing up for only a moment before glaring at the intruding man. “Holy shit, grandpa Rick, you ever hear of something called ‘privacy’ ? I know you creep into Morty’s room whenever you want but I’m not allowing the same for mine.”
Rick glares right back at Summer, not appreciating the call-out. “Shouldn’t have left the damn door open then, Sum-Sum.” His eyes move to Morty, who’s managed to squirm his way out of Summer’s grip. “Hey, M-Morty, you wanna-”
“Sorry Rick, I’ve got stuff to do today.” Morty says, speed walking out of the room without so much as a glance towards Rick.
“Oof.” Summer says, smirking at Rick. “Rejected.”
Rick flips her off and she returns the gesture.
Morty spends the day doing chores. Rick spends the day trying to look like he’s not waiting for Morty’s attention even though he most certainly is. When Morty finally heads to his own room, to do his homework, Rick stands in the doorway, trying to look chill.
“So, Morty…” Rick tries.
“Unless you’re g-gonna help, Rick, just leave me alone.” Morty replies.
Rick, who is definitely not sulking, slips into the garage to drink. He’s late to dinner, having forgotten the time. When he heads in, he gets to grab the tail end of another argument.
“I told you ‘no’ and that’s final, Summer.” Beth says sternly. “You need to stay home and watch over Morty tomorrow.”
“Why do I need to watch Morty? He’s fourteen!” Summer complains.
“You need to make sure Rick doesn’t take him-” She cuts herself off, having just noticed Rick’s presence. “Oh. Dad. Hi.” She says, trying to sound casual now.
Rick desperately wants to know the rest of that sentence. Mostly, he wants to know if there is a rest of that sentence. He wants so badly to ask but he doesn’t want the answer, so he doesn’t. Instead he sits down to dinner.
As he does, Summer stands up, abandoning her meal. “I’m done.” She mutters angrily.
Dinner is very quiet with Rick at the table. Morty’s head is practically in his plate as he mopes and picks at his food. He doesn’t look at Rick, but he also doesn’t look at Beth or Jerry, so Rick isn’t sure if it’s personal.
After dinner ends, Morty heads up to his room and shuts the door, locking it. Well after it hits three A.M. Rick stands outside of it, drinking from his flask.
For most of Saturday, the kids spend the day with their doors closed, not even coming out for lunch. Beth rolls her eyes at the empty seats. In the evening Beth and Jerry get ready to leave the house, all dressed in their nicest clothes.
“Where you two going?” Rick asks from his spot on the couch. Empty bottles litter the table to soothe the not-so-empty fears littering his mind.
“It’s our wedding anniversary!” Jerry answers, pleased as punch. “I booked us a reservation at the fanciest restaurant in town months ago.”
“But then it burned down.” Beth says. “So we’re going to Olive Garden.”
“But that’s not gonna stop us from dressing nice and having a good time~” Jerry says sing-songy. “So we might be home late .” He raises an eyebrow, his voice full of implication.
“But we might not.” Beth says, boredly rolling her eyes at her husband. Her gaze gains a shrewdness after that as she stares down Rick. “So don’t get up to anything funny .”
And it’s not like Beth hasn’t said something along those lines to him a million times before, but Rick hates how it sounds this time. Like it translates to ‘I better not come home to find you balls deep in my son’.
Rick really wishes he could figure out if Beth is actually putting that implication in the words or if Rick’s brain is shoving hidden meaning where it doesn’t belong. He’s getting so tired of fretting, so tired of wondering. He wants so badly to ask.
But he’s too afraid of the answer.
They head outside to leave, and it takes only ten minutes before Rick can feel a presence behind him and hears the front door opening again. He whips his head around to see Summer, trying to sneak out.
Her eyes catch his.
“Don’t say shit.” Summer says, not quite threatening because trying to threaten Rick is a mistake she’s not about to make, but not quite pleading either.
Rick is standing before he knows it, half-full bottle in his grasp. He slowly makes his way towards Summer, who refuses to close the door. Her expression is defiant, but Rick can see the worry in her eyes. He can also see the car in front of their house, full of teenagers, probably waiting to pick her up and take her away.
Rick should probably take interest in where she’s going, how long she plans to be out, maybe he should warn her that her parents may be home soon. Maybe he should say anything other than, “Aren’t you sup- supposed tUURRP- to be protecting MoUURRghty from me?” But he’s drunk and he’s stressed and he can’t take this anymore .
Summer rolls her eyes and sighs. “As if I could. As if anyone could.” She steps out the door, shaking her head. “You’ll do what you want, and that’s that. Why should my night get ruined because of it?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer, shutting the door in Rick’s face.
Only a minute or two after the car peels out of their neighborhood, Morty is rushing down. “Oh geez, did she leave without me?” Morty asks, looking out the window.
“Yup.” Rick answers, still in front of the door.
Morty grits his teeth. “Man, what a bitch .” He mutters. He turns to look at Rick. Rick stares right back at him.
Morty looks nervous, biting his lip and fidgeting with his sleeves. Rick wishes he was the one biting Morty’s lip. He doesn’t notice he’s been walking towards Morty until he’s looming over the boy. Morty shrinks back instinctively, staring at his feet.
Morty’s mouth opens and closes a few times, a question going unsaid. Rick wants it, Rick needs it. He needs the question, he needs the answer . Morty is sweating under Rick’s expectant gaze, stressed and nervous in his presence.
Morty is always nervous around Rick, but Rick wants to know if this is because of something more. Is Morty afraid of him? Is Morty attracted to him?
Does Morty hate him?
…
Does Morty love him?
“Rick?” Morty finally seems to find his voice and it’s soft, hesitant. Scared. “I… I need to ask you about something…”