Let The Ricks Fall Where They May

Written by Kat_Aclysm
Beta Read by Unlvcrjchick
Rated: - T for language

Disclaimers + Copyrights: Rick and Morty disclaimer stuff here write something clever, I don't own a thing.

NOTE: This is a nice and settled slice of life chapter, for once. Sorry it took so long. Enjoy!

Chapter 35 – Ricktermission

December 18th, 8:30am, Citadel Time, 2001
Cross-Temporal Rift Nebula, Location Classified
Citadel Of Ricks, Dimension Number Classified

Something felt off that morning. Ricktus couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, but as soon as he'd connected his prosthetic limbs and taken his first steps for the day, he felt like even his sense of balance had been affected.

Figuring it was probably nothing but a startup glitch, he made his way over to the kitchenette to turn on the coffee machine. However, he quickly discovered it wasn't there, and made a slight huff at the minor inconvenience. Looking around the room revealed its new position immediately - he saw it over on Rick's workstation in several pieces, alongside what looked like the outer case of a portal gun, as well as some other electronic parts that he didn't quite recognize.

The perpetrator was still at the scene of the crime. He was hunched forward in his chair with his head resting down among some other unused components from the devices he'd dismantled during the night, drooling out the lower side of his mouth, and loudly snoring; he'd fallen into old habits and pulled another all-nighter, and then passed out from exhaustion sometime during the earlier hours of the morning.

Sighing at his discovery, Ricktus came up beside the scientist's chair, folded his arms, and began tapping his foot in irritation. "You are absolutely unbelievable, B-526... are you completely incapable of following simple orders? Or do you-HOLY SHIT!"

His sentence ended abruptly as he was rapidly launched into the air. He was flipped upside down and his heels hit the ceiling half a second later, his left prosthetic limb dislodging from its biomechanical juncture in the same movement. Before he could say or do anything else, he had already crashed back down onto the floor again in an uncoordinated tumble.

The noise woke Rick with a sudden start, and he sat bolt upright with both arms raised in defense as if expecting an attack; after everything he'd been through, it was an instinctive reaction by now. "Wh-wh-what the hell!?"

"What do YOU mean 'what the hell'? Shouldn't I be asking that?!" Ricktus instantly retorted as he awkwardly pushed himself back to a sitting position. "I'm used to tripping over my own feet every now and then, but... what WAS that? What have you done to me now?!"

Rick's arms dropped to his sides; now that he'd heard the familiar voice and remembered where he was, he was able to relax again. "Hey wait, why are you blaming me for your problems?" Needing more time to blink the sleep out of his eyes, he glared down at the blurry shape nearby instead.

"Let's just say it's an educated guess based on past performance, which places you straight in the position of prime suspect." Ricktus matched his expression. "Now, are you going to tell me what you did? Or are you going to be evasive? Turnabout is fair play after everything I've done to you and it would be well deserved, but... it is not appreciated."

When the two images of the other Rick became one and he realized whom he was looking at, a huge grin grew across the scientist's face. "Oh yeah... that."

"That? THAT?!" Ricktus's eyes widened and he bristled with anger. "So you're guilty? You admit to toying with me again?!" Once he had snatched up the detached limb, he locked it back into place and returned to his feet. "You seriously have to stop with all your secret modifications, B-526... I thought we were finally on the way to putting our differences behind us. Obviously, I thought wrong!"

"Ugh, would you quit your whining already? I only made the one adjustment before, a-and I didn't do it to be spiteful... even though you gotta admit how funny it was to see you repeatedly fall on your ass." Stifling a chuckle at the memory, Rick swiveled around in his chair to check on Morty, relieved to discover that he was still sleeping. "I just provided you with another upgrade during the night. It's gonna be awesome. You should be thanking me."

Struggling to hold onto his composure, Ricktus grabbed the nearest armrest of Rick's chair and swung it back so he was facing him again. "You make it sound like nothing! Do you think I enjoy it when you tamper with my property without my permission, while I'm asleep?!"

"Huh... so it's OK when you're awake?"

"You know that's not what I meant!" Ricktus was about to add more, but he realized how aggressive he was sounding as he backed away again. "I'm not questioning your judgment. I only wish to express my concern over your complete lack of foresight. You didn't consider what I wanted, but you did it anyway."

"Actually, I did." Rick was quick to respond. "Just like the first upgrade, it'll take some getting used to. But you adapted, and once I showed you how to adjust the sensitivity setting for yourself, I never heard about it again. You must've liked something about what I did."

"Well... I was distracted with much bigger concerns at the time to give you detailed feedback, but," Ricktus struggled to say the next words because it meant admitting to being wrong yet again. "My augmentation was close to needing repairs anyway. Your craftsmanship is truly superior to the original design. I... appreciate the extra mobility."

"See? It was something that you didn't even know you wanted." Rick grinned, practically beaming with pride. "And I believe that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Yes, well," Ricktus looked away uncomfortably. "Don't get used to it."

"The more I think about your predicament, the more contradictory you are." Rick leaned back in his chair, becoming thoughtful. "Why could you build your own spaceship, but not repair your own prosthetic gear? A-and you hacked my portal gun, too..."

"I, ah... I think you might be overestimating my abilities, B-526. Sure, I built a spaceship, but that doesn't mean it was any good. To be honest, I'm surprised it even flew at all..." The other awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "I used to be able to work with precision in a confined space. When my eyesight was better, I was the world's best pediatric surgeon, among other things. But working with small electronics is your speciality, not mine. As for hacking your portal gun to contact you initially, I had a lot of help from the Citadel for that." He folded his arms again and raised an eyebrow. "And we've drifted far from my original question... all I'm asking for is a simple answer here. What did you do to me this time?"

Rick's expression hardened, anticipating another argument. "I already told you. If you end up hating your new upgrade that badly, then I'll take back everything I did. My only condition is that you gotta answer one more question for me first."

The doctor looked skeptical now, but it didn't sound like a bad trade-off to him. "...go ahead."

Rick considered it carefully before asking, half expecting not to get an answer at all; he assumed that it was still a touchy subject. "If I remember correctly, you said that you got your biomechanical augmentation because of personal preference and time constraints, right?" Despite the gruffness of his voice, he was genuinely curious. "Now that you've got no deadlines to meet, all the time in the world to fuck around, and enough cash to pay for it with overkill, are you gonna get rid of them?"

"No," the answer was instant. "I've gotten used to them. Believe me, I've already entertained the idea of growing a replacement pair of biological legs many times... both through cloning techniques, and advanced stem-cell therapy. But it would mean months of pain and suffering, not to mention the rehabilitation and learning to walk all over again... again." He made a discontent sound at the thought. "Plus the end result would be boring. Think about it - if both of your legs were crushed and amputated, would YOU want to go back to being normal? What would be the point, especially when you have the option of getting rocket boosters installed one day?"

"Oh wow, really?" Rick perked up at the admission; he hadn't expected it at all. "Boy am I glad to hear you say that, because that day is today."

All the other emotions faded from Ricktus's face, leaving only confusion and mild alarm. "Ah, pardon me...?"

"What I installed is like a set of rocket boosters, but waaaay more energy efficient because I'm not a hack, and because I was working with existing power limitations." Rick pushed his chair out from his workstation, then stretched his legs and pointed his toes forward in an attempt to demonstrate. "I modified two antigravity generators and installed one in each of your heels. Pretend you're standing on your tippy-toes if you wanna accelerate. Pull your feet back and point your heels to brake. The angle of your foot determines your speed once you're airborne, so... get outta here and go play with it."

Ricktus just stood there, not really sure how to process the new information. After it was quiet again, his attention drifted downward and he stared at his own feet; the explanation had raised more questions than it answered. There were already several he wanted to ask, but he chose the most obvious one first. "So let me get this straight. You did this during the night without my consent, and... you destroyed our new coffee machine so I could defy gravity and fly?"

"Yeah! Isn't it awesome?" Rick was grinning all over again as he slid his chair out the rest of the way and stood up. "The controls are so simple, I'm sure you'll have it mastered within hours. You'll be zippin' around the Citadel airspace so fast that it'll piss off all the guards, no doubt. They won't know what they're in for." He turned away and headed for his unopened shipping boxes. "Just don't tap your feet unless you wanna initiate an emergency-launch." He paused in consideration of the words. "Oh. Yeah, don't do that again. I should probably alter how that feature activates."

Ricktus didn't seem any happier once Rick had finished speaking, even though his words had been somewhat reassuring. "Does this mean that you're volunteering to do all of my future upgrades and maintenance? Because there are more things I'd like to incorporate into the prosthetics as soon as possible. A hidden gun compartment would be particularly convenient."

"Yeah, it's gonna be a constant work in progress. I'm sure there's gonna be room for all the ideas you wanna add now, as well as the ones you haven't thought of yet." Rick sounded disinterested, but nodded anyway. "And hey, speaking of playing with your stuff, all your remaining serum project crap was sent to me, wasn't it? Did you wanna keep anything before I completely screw it all up?"

The question caused the other to stop and look up at him again. "Ah... you're really serious about solving that, aren't you?"

"Yeah, it's just bugging me now." Rick admitted as he tore the lid off the top box, took out his new holo-projector and placed it on the armrest of the couch for safekeeping. "I know it's your special thing, but maybe I just need to look at it from another perspective. Y'know, because you're me and-"

"Yes, I understood what you meant." Ricktus cut his sentence short. "But no, I don't want anything to do with it anymore. It got me into a lot of trouble, so it's better off forgotten."

Rick stopped to stare at him for a moment, shrugged it off, and then opened the next box to sift through. "You're never gonna get anywhere with that dumb, defeatist attitude. If you wanna win big, then you gotta go all in. Go hard or go home, y'know? Who knows how close you were. Why give up now?"

Over on the double bed, Surgeon Rick slowly sat up; he'd woken up after hearing the initial crash, but the conversation that had taken place after it sounded far too important to interrupt. Now that it sounded like it was done, he cleared his throat to draw attention to himself, looking troubled; he was about to heed Rick's advice and use it in a completely different way. "Hey, uh... can we talk?"

"About what?" Rick scowled immediately but didn't stop what he was doing; in his experiences, nothing good ever came of those words. "Are you gonna blame me for your problems, too?"

"Um, why don't you make yourselves comfortable on the couch?" Surgeon Rick casually evaded the question and got up to stretch. "I'm callin' to order the first official apartment meeting." His face went blank as he wandered towards the bathroom, but he was filled with trepidation; he felt like he was about to risk everything they'd just established and lose.

Ricktus's eyes tracked Surgeon Rick's movements as he tried to gain some insight from what was about to happen, but he couldn't read anything and he looked clueless as he took his regular seat on the couch. "What have you done now?"

Rick didn't answer, but he removed his hands from the box and folded his arms. His whole posture suddenly became rigid and his expression hardened as he heard the ceramic-scraping noises coming from the next room; he knew exactly what they meant, and what was about to happen. "Oh shit... Here we go again."

"So the flushing mechanism on the toilet got jammed earlier this morning," Surgeon Rick started his story from inside the bathroom. "I didn't call housekeeping because it was nearly 5am and I figured I could fix it myself. Well, you see, I did... but I found a little problem." He appeared in the doorway again, holding up the dripping-wet bottle of whiskey he'd just pulled out of the cistern tank. "This was blocking the way. Do either of you know how it got there?"

Ricktus turned his nose up at the very suggestion that it might have been him. "Please... don't look at me, I'm not THAT irresponsible. Besides, I wouldn't be caught dead drinking that. Perhaps either one of you would care to explain instead?" Even though he had left the question open, he turned his head and cast an accusatory look straight back at Rick.

Rick instantly challenged him with a wild-eyed, defiant glare of his own; he wanted to shut down the conversation, to yell, or to storm off in a wild rage and avoid the issue like he'd always done. But as quickly as his anger had spiked, he remembered how badly he had treated Birdperson in similar circumstances and he let out the tense breath he had been holding in instead.

The whole scenario felt hauntingly familiar. Just like them, Birdperson had also been concerned for his welfare not long ago, but because of his fiery disposition and a strong desire to defend himself even when wrong, he'd pushed away a staunch ally and his best friend, only to feel terrible about it and apologize far too long after the fact.

After another moment of silence had passed, the scientist's shoulders sank and he lowered his head; there was no point in getting angry. Now seemed like a good time as any to curb his bad behavior and start facing this problem, and it was reassuring to know that the others had actually grown to like him beyond caring for him due to preexisting work obligations.

If he had to admit it to himself, he had grown to like them as well, even if they were both frustratingly irritating most of the time.

With a small shrug to defuse the tension, Rick averted his gaze back down to the contents of the last box he'd opened. "D-do I even need to say anything? I guess I gotta find a better hiding place next time..."

"I'm not mad," Surgeon Rick urged in an attempt to assure him. "I-I just... I know more than anyone how hard this shit is to deal with. An addiction is an addiction no matter how you look at it, and you're not gonna get over it just 'cause a bunch of idiots are telling you 'no'." He took three paces forward and gently placed the bottle down on the coffee table, finding it easier to look at than the others around him. "Oh man, why did you have to go and do this...? We have an obligation to report it, a-and you know how Riq IV is gonna react, right?"

"No, actually, I don't." Rick's mouth twisted into a firm pout, but he didn't look up. "Enlighten me."

"He'll either send someone to watch you 24/7, or it'll become our next work assignment." Ricktus replied for him. "I know how much you hated the guards following you around the Citadel, but a personal assistant would monitor your every move. You wouldn't have an inch of privacy or freedom anywhere. It wouldn't get much worse for you, unless they put you in lockup."

"What's that?"

"It's a timeout, soundproof room where you can throw as many tantrums as you want and wash out without hurting yourself." Surgeon Rick jumped in before his colleague could answer this time. "It's basically a padded cell with a window. My first memory of the Citadel was waking up in one of them. They're not fun, yo."

"Yeah, I can imagine." Rick screwed up his face at the description. "Don't send me there. I don't wanna get separated from Morty again. He has more than enough reasons to be fucked up as it is... d-don't add to them."

The doctor unconsciously brought a hand up to his chin and made a thoughtful hum. "Yes, you're right. But there's another solution here that neither of you are seeing."

"Huh?" With both brows raised, Surgeon Rick stared back at him. "Like what?"

"Think about it," Ricktus made a grab for the whiskey bottle as he began his pitch. "If this disappears and we pretend that we didn't see it, then it's like it never happened. Everything goes back to how it was. No harm, no foul."

"Dude, what? That sounds way more like me than you." The surgeon narrowed his eyes, instantly suspicious. "You, my friend... for as long as I've known you, you've always been a stickler for the rules. You're probably the most uptight Rick in the entire multiverse! And you always, ALWAYS fall in line with authority and do shit by the book. This ain't like you... is something happening? Talk to me."

Ricktus allowed his fingers to play with the wax seal on the neck of the bottle as he composed an answer in his mind. "Look... you don't need to tell me how serious this is, C-711. Mixing alcohol with medication can be extremely harmful, even if you don't consume it in large quantities. But it's also the attending-physician's job to analyze the situation as a whole, and to decide what the best course of action is, especially when the patient poses a risk to himself or to others."

"So you ARE doing it by the book?" Surgeon Rick sounded vaguely impressed. "Do I wanna know what crazy idea is goin' through that head of yours?"

"It's not crazy. It's just logic and reasoning. Sending Rick B-526 to lockup might be a good outcome for him, but he's also right - it would pose a terrible dilemma for his Morty, and it will do more harm than good." Ricktus gently set the bottle back down and motioned to it with a hand. "Ordinarily, I would have agreed with you if this had been open. It's not."

"So?"

"So I am obliged to show leniency," the doctor returned before the other could get another word in. "Instead of succumbing to the pull of addiction, he made a clear demonstration of willpower and managed to abstain. Having that temptation so close by would drive even the best of us insane. It means he's trying. That deserves to be acknowledged, not punished." He turned back to face Rick again. "In light of all the evidence, I'm going to ignore this transgression. However, do not mistake it for tolerance - if this happens again, I WILL have to report it to the Council. Do we have an understanding?"

Rick thrust his hands into his pockets and muttered something vaguely resembling a 'yes'; he looked far more like a scolded child than the adult he was supposed to be.

"Good," Ricktus nodded, satisfied with the outcome. "You know, B-526... I have to say, I'm quite impressed. Despite all the safeguards in effect and the fact that not one single bar in the entire Citadel is allowed to sell you alcoholic beverages, this still somehow found its way in. Am I allowed to know how?"

Rick didn't look at him. "No."

"Is it the only one?" Both curiosity and annoyance rose in the other's voice. "Is there anything else to declare while I'm letting you off the hook?"

"No. There is NOT." Rick confirmed through gritted teeth, his attention on Morty's door now; even though he was making a concentrated effort to not lose his temper, it was starting to fray. "Are... a-are there any other issues you wanna raise while you have me by the balls?"

"No, I don't believe so. C-711 did the right thing by bringing this to my attention, but if it's the only one, then no further discussion is needed. Let's just hope for everyone's sake, especially for your Morty's, that you are indeed telling the truth." Ricktus relaxed his expression again, willing to let it go now that he'd said everything he'd wanted to say. "Now, let's drop this and never mention it again."

Fumbling through his pants pockets, Rick found the crumpled-up prescription he had stuffed in there from yesterday and carelessly tossed it over the backrest of the couch, using the last statement as a cue to retreat; his mind had since switched back to thoughts of self-preservation and escape, and now seemed like a good time.

He kept his face neutral as he moved around the couch and across the room, outwardly appearing unfazed by the discussion that had just taken place, but on the inside his mind was in turmoil; he felt pretty certain that walking away was the very definition of 'not dealing with it'. He was also upset about having his secret stash being confiscated, and by the time he was at the doorway of Morty's bedroom, he stopped to look back at the others, unable to help himself.

"I-is this going to be forever...?" It was hard for the scientist to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "What are you gonna do with my whiskey?"

"Why did you throw this away?" Ricktus dutifully ignored the question in favor of picking up the piece of paper to wave back at him. "You know you have the authorization to keep it, so I can only assume that you did it out of spite. Take a moment to calm yourself, B-526. Being irrational and childish isn't going to do you any favors."

"Shut up and answer me!" Rick hissed back. "What's gonna happen? Are you gonna tip it down the sink, o-or quietly dispose of it? If you're gonna drink it all, a-at least let me taste some before you steal it..."

As Surgeon Rick glanced back and forth between them, he felt like he had to intervene. "Yo. At the end of the day, it still belongs to you. But uh, you're not allowed to have it, so it's complicated."

"Indeed." Ricktus agreed. "The best I can do for you is put it in safe storage until a time comes when it can be returned to you."

"So... you're saying... I CAN have it back eventually?" Rick knew how desperate he sounded as he spoke, but he just had to know. "When? Because nobody can give me a straight answer."

"Like C-711 said, it's not that simple," the doctor made a discontent sound as he actually considered the question seriously. "We would have to run another series of blood tests before I could even begin forming an educated opinion. But I'm sure that Riq IV will demand another progress report soon enough, and I'm positive he'll also want to know how well your new liver is surviving." As he continued, it was clear that he was thinking out loud rather than directly talking to anyone. "Don't quote me on this, but if everything returns to normal, then... it might be a possibility down the line. But no qualified physician in his right mind would EVER advise you to drink again, and it would be foolish to even attempt it-"

"It's a fuckin' dumb idea, bro." Surgeon Rick cut in. "You know me by now. I'm like, the biggest party animal in the Citadel. So when I'm advising you against it, you KNOW it's serious shit. Anyone who's undergone a liver transplant should be avoiding drinking at all costs. Your new liver needs everything goin' for it, and putting it under stress could make it fail like the first one. Alcohol is your enemy now... you don't need it to have fun."

"Yeah, a-and you don't need hands to jerk yourself off, but it certainly fucking helps!" The scientist sharply quipped back. "Not even one shot? I just wanna taste it."

"Do NOT push your luck or my patience any further, B-526." Ricktus rose to his feet, his tone icy and authoritative. "What you just got away with should be more than enough for you. Take it and run."

"Yeah, but..." Rick fumbled for something witty as he tried to get the last word in, but couldn't think of anything and grumpily shut the door instead.

"Well, that could've gone worse. Should I go after him?" Surgeon Rick wondered aloud. "I don't want him thinkin' I'm a snitch."

"If I were you, and I am, I would leave me alone. He'll get over it before long." Ricktus raised a hand to stop him. "Trust me, retaining your pride is difficult when you're in the wrong. If you don't act like it's a big deal, then it isn't."

"But it kinda is, and he won't see it that way." The surgeon turned his attention towards the closed door. "I dunno... feels bad, man."

"Then do whatever you want. It IS our new boss's motto, after all." Offering him a brief smirk, the doctor headed to exit the apartment. "You've never needed my help to get yourself into trouble before. Why are you asking for permission now?"

"For real?" Surgeon Rick initially raised an eyebrow, but quickly gave him a lopsided grin in return. "Holy shit, is that the old you talking? Because you're actually cool when you're not acting on your dumb, rigid sense of duty."

The other merely shook his head in reply, only pausing once he was at the door. "Oh, someone needs to supervise Morty while I'm out. I need to put B-526's whiskey in a secure lockbox and buy a new coffee machine. I won't be gone long."

"Aww man, it's broken already?" The surgeon asked, but the door had already shut and he didn't get an answer. "Damn..." He risked a glance in Morty's direction, but quickly discovered that the little boy was still asleep and lazily drifting across the active field of the modified antigravity device that Rick had made for him last night.

Pleased with his findings, he turned his attention to Morty's bedroom instead, and without even bothering to knock, he let himself in.

He found his dimensional counterpart immediately; the scientist had already kicked his shoes off and buried himself under the blankets of his new bed, and now a Rick-sized lump lay curled up in the middle, his head not visible.

"Hey," Surgeon Rick offered, sounding both hesitant and a little cautious. "I'm sorry about shit happening like that, but you wanna know why I ratted you out? I swear, I'm not a snitch... snitches get stitches."

He didn't get a response, but the mass shuffled about as the occupant made himself a bit more comfortable.

"Look, I didn't do it to fuck with you," the surgeon began, finding the one-sided conversation all too familiar; he remembered justifying his actions just like this back when they were in the escape pod after the ship's self-destruct mechanism had been triggered. "I just wanna help you - that can't happen if you're only gonna hide shit from us. I know you got hooked up with that therapist for talking about your issues now, but I've lived it... and I know I'm not strong like you, but if you ever wanna pick my brains and draw from my experiences, you can. You know you can always talk to me, right?"

When nothing was said, he started rambling, just saying whatever came to mind. "My daughter is talking to me again because of you, bro. You don't have that anymore. And that's REALLY fucking uncool, but... you don't have to suffer it alone. Not even all the alcohol in the multiverse is gonna help you with that... so why bother?" He paused to exhale a heavy breath, then kept going. "And if you're mad at me for what I did, that's fine, but I'd do it again if I had to save your ass. If I didn't give a shit, I wouldn't have said anything at all, so there's that. A-am I making sense? Shit, I don't want this to ruin whatever we had, bro... we're still cool, right? Please don't fire me..."

Rick was silent as he listened to it all; his psychological cravings were as present as they always were, but they couldn't twist or distort the fact that Surgeon Rick had made the right choice about reporting him, even if he loathed it and the position it put him in.

With a sigh of resignation, he finally flicked the covers off his upper half, sat up, and gave his dimensional counterpart a tired, yet firm look of disapproval. "What...? Why the fuck would I fire you? We were never not cool apart from the time you did that bullshit bit about being dead."

With a guilty look on his face, Surgeon Rick glanced off to the side. "Yeah, sorry about that again, bro... I didn't think it through."

"Damn right you didn't." Running a hand through his unkempt, flopped-over spikes, Rick carefully contemplated his next sentence. "But uh, it would take a lot more than a stupid bottle of liquor for me to wanna wipe you outta existence. I'm not that petty, y'know. And I already knew you got my back, so... whatever. Stop being so damn insecure. Cut it out - you're fine."

"So you're not mad?"

"I'm tired..." Rick pulled the covers back over his head and lay down again. "If you wanna help me right now, you can go away and leave me to nap. I've been awake all night long doing important science stuff, a-and I've barely started what I need to finish."

Giving him a nod of understanding, Surgeon Rick backed up towards the door again and slipped out of the room. He would have been so much more pleased with the outcome if not for the comment about his insecurities; he knew it hadn't been made in spite, but it still bothered him. He had more than a few good reasons to be that way, most of them being his own fault. But he wasn't about to argue with Rick about it, or impose himself on him any longer than necessary, and not while he was the cause of all the positive changes in his life.

He simply sat down on the couch again and kept an eye on Morty as instructed, allowing his mind to wander. Having stability made him feel better than he had in a long time, but it also gave him complex feelings to deal with; his biggest fear was that none of it would last because he always had a way of screwing it all up somehow.

It was nice. It was also scary, and definitely not what he was used to, but nice.

The rest of the week would have gone by a lot more smoothly if not for Rick's insistence on running potentially hazardous experiments at his workstation. It earned him criticism from the others despite the fact that he'd given Morty his own set of safety goggles to wear whenever he sat in his lap, hung around his feet, or even the surrounding floor space nearby.

The situation finally came to a head on Wednesday evening through one unfortunate mishap; Rick had spent the entire day carefully mixing up various chemicals in preparation to strip away the curative-serum's impurities while he fractionated a small batch of vials with a centrifuge he had borrowed from the Citadel infirmary. However, once the machine had been switched off and was allowed to slow down, it started to vibrate.

Thinking nothing of it, the scientist pushed it off to one side to settle while he tried to pry the metal valve off another serum vial with a flat-headed screwdriver, only to have to cover his face mere seconds later; the lid of the centrifuge was flung off its hinges as the contents inside began to explode. The next thought that ran through his mind was to protect Morty, and he yanked him up off the floor, turning his body away as eight loud, consecutive pops sent tiny fragments of shattered glass hurtling at his back, across the surface of his workstation, the floor, and even into the rest of the apartment.

Morty had no idea what was happening, but it was over as quickly as it had begun and he tightly latched onto his grandfather with both arms; he didn't know what the source of the noise was or if it would happen again, and he loudly whimpered in fear.

"Shit... you're safe, Morty. I-it's nothing. Don't cry, OK?" Rick's tone was instantly apologetic as he tried to console the youngster by patting him on the back while he checked him over for cuts and injuries; he didn't find any and sighed in relief. "Sometimes that shit just kinda happens."

The commotion had also attracted the attention of Ricktus and Surgeon Rick, but the scattered glass and cloud of pink smoke dissipating in the air was more than enough to tell them everything; they'd both conducted the same experiment many times before with the same end result.

"Goddamn it, B-526... this is exactly what I warned you about. That certainly wasn't nothing! Didn't you read ANY of my research?" Ricktus was furious, but he kept himself contained as he stood up to assess the situation, first and foremost concerned for Morty's health and safety. "If you'd bothered to skim through it at all, you would have learned straight away that there's nothing you can do to alter the serum's composition, even in its specialist vacuum atmospheric vials. The concoction is barely stable as it is... it took us MONTHS of hard work to get it to the state you're playing with now. If you add or remove anything, or separate its contents as you just did, it becomes prone to catching on fire or exploding."

"That wasn't an explosion!" Rick defended himself as he shifted Morty onto one arm, then pulled off his protective goggles with his free hand, setting them on his forehead. "It was, uh... an unplanned rapid disassembly."

"I should have known what you were up to," the bite was gone from the doctor's voice and he became regretful. "I know more about it than you do. I should have stopped you much sooner. Did your Morty get hurt?"

"Nope... it scared him, that's all." Rick brushed some of the pink dust out of Morty's hair. "Now that it's quiet again, he's fine. Aren't ya, buddy?"

Still tightly clinging to his grandfather, Morty's distressed expression answered Rick's question better than words could have.

"So you guys are OK? Thank fuck for that." Surgeon Rick came up to stand beside them, sounding considerably more sympathetic. "Geez, open a window or something... that stuff's not toxic, but your body already didn't metabolize it once. You don't want it crystallizing in your lungs."

"Is it easy to clean up? I don't want the apartment out of action for too long." Rick wondered as he brushed off the pink particles now accumulating on his lab coat. "Should I wear a respirator next time?"

"There shouldn't BE a next time. If you wish to stubbornly persist with performing experiments on my serum, then don't do it here!" Renewed anger rose in Ricktus's voice as he sharply instructed him, then waved a hand in Morty's direction. "I'm glad that you had enough sense to provide your Morty with eye protection, but he could have been injured or much worse. Children should NEVER be present around unsafe science. No, this cannot be allowed to continue... you need to pack everything back up and take it to the Citadel laboratory. Show your gold badge to the Lab Ricks and demand special treatment. If they don't let you in, then threaten them by mentioning Riq IV."

Rick furrowed his brows at the suggestion, but couldn't think of a good enough reason to disagree; even though he wanted to continue working on removing the serum's impurities because it was just going to stay in his mind and irritate him until he succeeded, keeping Morty safe from harm was a much higher priority than any desire he had for more scientific tinkering.

With a reluctant nod, he concealed his feelings behind a deep scowl. "Ugh... fine! But one of you is gonna have to come with. I can't leave Morty here if he's only gonna cry about me being away, b-but I still have important shit to do! I can't be pandering to his every whim and demand. That's how you end up with spoiled, shitty brats."

Although the doctor disagreed with him about the last line, he still gave his own nod in return. "Yes, that can be arranged. All you need to do is direct us accordingly. We are in your servitude, after all."

Slapping a hand against his forehead, Rick growled in frustration; he'd explained how he felt about the Citadel's hierarchy more than enough times and didn't want to do it again. "You wanna know how you can help me right now, right this second? Go get the damn vacuum cleaner."

While the other Ricks busied themselves with cleaning up the broken glass and fine layer of dust that had landed on every surface within a three-yard radius of the explosions, Rick took Morty into the bathroom to wipe him off with a damp washcloth. Even though the task only took a few minutes, he was pretty certain that half the neighborhood could hear the loud squealing that ensued.

Once he was allowed to return to his workstation, Rick packed everything related to the curative serum back in its original box, noting with a vague degree of concern that all he had left to work with were five vials, and one of them was damaged because he'd never finished tampering with the metal seal on its top.

As he picked up a reel of packing tape to seal the box again, he hesitated; all his years of experience told him that he wasn't going to have enough to use properly. There were just too many variables for him to reliably experiment on just five batches, especially if their contents were highly reactive.

Going silent, he pondered how to solve the dilemma. Almost immediately, his train of thought took a different route entirely - he didn't even have to use them at all. All he needed was the serum's ingredient composition - if he had that, then surely he could easily work out which aspects of it were trash, and isolate the serum's active ingredient.

Then, another crazy thought came into his mind – maybe the impurities weren't impurities at all.

Shaking his head, the scientist took out a blank piece of paper and quickly scribbled a note for the Lab Ricks:

"To the douchebag reading this,

I need you to break the liquid medicine contained within this box down into its base elements and compounds, and to send me a list of the ingredients in order of least-to-most volatile. Store them in whatever isolated environmental container it takes to keep them stable. There's also a bunch of dumb research at the bottom - read it and learn what's been done before so you know how not to fuck it up.

This is super important to me, so I'll pay you whatever ransom price you want for the work. I need it done ASAP. Drop all your shit and make this your number-one priority.

I have a gold badge, so again, don't fuck this up for me.
- Rick (B-526)"

After reading through the note again to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, he dropped it on top of everything else. One way or another, he was determined to solve this scientific puzzle like each one before it, not caring if he had to do it himself or have the Lab Ricks do it for him.

"Hey, uh," Rick called out to the others once he had taped the box back up. "Which one of you idiots wants to run a package down to the lab for me?"

Friday morning began with an unwelcome intrusion into the apartment; Surgeon Rick was barely awake when he heard the front door unlock and creak open, and then the footsteps of a whole team of shadowy figures as they hastily made their way inside.

When he saw the metal glimmer of a gun barrel in the dark, he jerked up to a sitting position and yelped out in protest. "Hey, hey, heeeey! What the hell are you doin'?! You can't just barge your way in here!"

"Actually, we can," a gravelly, unhumored voice spoke as it came towards him, and then its owner reached over to turn the bedside light on, thrusting a sheet of paper under the surgeon's nose in the same movement. "Here's a signed permit from Riq IV allowing us to access any room in all the apartment blocks this side of the Citadel."

Surgeon Rick sleepily stared at it, then up at him; he was one of the Ricks from his old surgical team, and was also dressed in the same ridiculous clinical scrubs that he often wore himself. His gaze quickly drifted towards the other unwanted arrivals, and he made note of two more surgical Ricks, along with five fully armed Guard Ricks who were standing near them.

"Great..." He made a noise somewhere between a yawn and an exasperated sigh, knowing that whatever reason they were here for was not going to be good. "Is there another mass-casualty situation? Do you need my awesome surgery skills?"

Without even bothering to ask for permission, the surgical Rick took an aural thermometer out of his top apron pocket and placed it in Surgeon Rick's right ear. "Are you the asset?" His eyes fell on the other Rick beside him on the bed. "Is that the asset?"

"What if he is? What's it to ya?"

"Our intel has informed us that the asset lives here. Protecting him is our highest priority." The other Rick blandly responded as he checked the readout on the device in his hand. Finding it satisfactory, he put it away again and waved one of his colleagues over. "Have you, or has anyone else on the premises experienced fever, rash, or a headache in the last 24 hours? The Council is ordering us to isolate any Ricks with suspicious symptoms and to immunize the rest. Now stay still, otherwise this is gonna hurt a lot."

When he saw another member of the surgical team coming towards him with a needle gun, Surgeon Rick clambered over Ricktus to get away. "Oh geez, there ain't no way in hell you're gonna stab me with THAT thing! Why don't you just back the fuck up and tell me what's goin' on?!"

"The Citadel of Ricks has been placed on emergency lockdown until further notice. Yesterday, one of our new arrivals was rushed to the infirmary after presenting with a mysterious illness that was later identified as a dangerously mutated strain of Rickettsial irrumabo.We did what we could for him, but he died six hours after coming in. It's so swift and so deadly that it's already killed off four of our staff, along with 24 other patients since midnight. Now it's a threat to the whole Citadel population, so everyone needs to lock themselves indoors to prevent a pandemic outbreak from occurring." The other Rick moved around the far side of the bed to corner the surgeon. "Which is where you come in... stop moving and let me do my job. Are you afraid of needles?"

"NO!" Surgeon Rick shot back a little too quickly.

"You are, aren't you?" The other Rick let out a cruel laugh and closed in on him. "Don't be such a baby. It'll be over before you know it. Unless you'd rather die?"

"Oh my god... just shut up and let it happen..." Ricktus groaned from his place on the bed, then sat up to rub his eyes. "A simple vaccination isn't going to kill you." He extended his own arm, presenting it to the surgical Rick as if giving consent to being inoculated. After it was done, he clamped his index finger over the tiny wound site to stop the bleeding. "The asset is asleep in the next room, assuming that C-711's crying didn't wake him up already. But I don't advise calling him that if you want him to remain cooperative - he's insufferably prideful and stubborn, and he'll make your job SO much more difficult if he decides he doesn't like you."

"So... he's just like every other fucking Rick in this goddamn Citadel, then?" The surgical Rick deadpanned back. "Got it. Thanks for the tip, asshole." He reloaded the needle gun and shot Surgeon Rick in the shoulder while he was distracted, then made his way into Rick's room without another word.

"HEY!" The surgeon stumbled backwards, though it was more because of the violation to his personal space than the sharp pain.

The first surgical Rick loudly snickered to himself as he followed after the second, while the third stayed back to place neon-green identification bands around the wrists of the newly immunized Ricks, marking them as safe.

Although the commotion was heard somewhere in the depths of Rick's sleeping mind, it was quickly forgotten and melded with his dreams. He didn't notice the new arrivals coming into the room, nor did he move when they approached his bedside. He didn't flinch when he was shot with their needle gun, and only uttered an irritated mumble when his wrist was banded as well.

Morty didn't seem to care when the same thing happened to him, but his little hand lazily scratched at the site where he had just been poked; he was happily curled up against his grandfather's side and far too deeply asleep to worry about such minor things.

It was only later in the morning that Rick became aware that anything had happened to him at all; he finally stumbled out of bed and wandered into the bathroom to relieve himself when he discovered the neon-green band around his wrist. After carefully repositioning himself in one hand, he raised up the other to examine it more closely.

"Hey dipshits," he called out to the others. "What the hell is 'C15N28-B' supposed to mean? Why the fuck did you idiots tag me? A-am I just a number now?"

"We all are," he heard the reply from just beyond the door, but couldn't tell who was speaking. "It's a vaccine batch identification number. Congratulations, B-526 - consider yourself part of the herd immunity collective."

"Wh... w-what the fuck are you talking about?"

"The Citadel has been quarantined, which means we're stuck inside until the order is lifted again. But we've also been vaccinated, so we get to survive this time around." Ricktus answered as he moved to stand in the doorway, a little surprised to discover that Rick would leave it open after being so protective over his privacy on previous occasions. "I must still be in their bad books because they didn't even think to ask me about joining their immunization team."

"Who gives a shit?" Rick flattened his brow as he zipped up his fly, then reached forward to pull down the flushing mechanism on the toilet. "Maybe they're not bothering because they know you're untouchable now. Keep pursuing your own goals and don't think about it." He walked over to the sink to wash his hands.

"I suppose you're right," Ricktus conceded, "but I want to feel useful again and this would be the definition of that – I would've been able to use my expertise where it's needed the most." He paused, then approached his next topic cautiously. "Speaking of which... how are you feeling? Have you had any back pain recently? Obviously your kidneys are still functioning, but are you still passing crystals?

Rick turned his head just enough to glare back at his dimensional counterpart. "Those are some pretty fucking personal questions, don't you think?"

Backing away from the door again, the doctor made a little indignant huff. "I may have signed you back over to Riq IV, but he still put me in charge of your surgery aftercare, so I need to know these things. To you it might be personal and intrusive. To me, it's just diagnostic."

After turning the tap off, the scientist reached for a towel and dried his hands, his tone becoming quiet and sincere just long enough to answer the question properly. "I-I'm OK. I'm tired of not being able to do much, and I'm sick and tired of being tired all the time. But I'm OK there." And just like that, he was back to his old grumpy self. "Aww man, are we really stuck here and locked up all day? I-I'm already bored outta my mind. I don't wanna do this anymore!"

"Hmm, that makes two of us." Ricktus agreed in a dry tone as he unbuttoned his nightshirt and turned away to change into his uniform for the day; even though he knew he wasn't going anywhere, he was still doing it out of habit.

Despite Rick's initial objections, the day itself didn't pan out too badly; Surgeon Rick reclaimed the double bed and continued with some more heavy reading, while Ricktus returned to his self-designated spot on the couch and busied himself by text messaging the other medical Ricks he knew, determined to learn as much as possible about the current outbreak.

Meanwhile, Rick sat on the other cushion with Morty and attempted to keep him entertained with his slew of toys. However, it wasn't long before the little boy grew bored; he'd gotten used to playing with them and solved their puzzles, so they couldn't hold his interest anymore. Instead, he opted to make his own fun by climbing down onto the floor and looking around to see what other mischief he could get into.

He almost instantly gravitated towards Rick's workstation, knowing full well that everything on it was forbidden for him to touch, making it all that more tantalizing to his curiosity.

"Morty, NO." Rick's tone was a sharp warning but it didn't do anything, forcing him to stand up and retrieve his grandson before he could get too far.

This same repetitive back and forth would go on for the next hour, with increasing levels of volume from both parties until Morty was finally yelling at his grandfather out of sheer frustration; being denied so many times had worked him up into such a state that he was on the verge of a tantrum.

"Yo! What the hell would you use vamolcrium for?" It sounded like Surgeon Rick had randomly thrown the question out there, but it was a diversion tactic; he wanted to give his boss something else to think about other than the baby currently screaming at him. "I skimmed over this chapter because it's a whooole lotta bullshit. Whoever wrote this crap constantly goes off on tangents about how much faster the reader could make their ship go if they tweak their ship's fuel system."

"If you're smart, you wouldn't use it for anything!" Rick sharply bit back, but at the stupidity of the concept, not the surgeon. "That stuff is hot garbage, literally – it'll hold together in the vacuum of space, but it'll either melt or vaporize the instant you enter a planet's atmosphere. If you're THAT desperate for parts, you'd be better off building a spaceship out of the common stuff you'd find in your own garage."

The apartment became quiet again, but Ricktus was becoming discouraged; the contacts he was speaking to were also medical, silver-ranked Ricks, and had about as much access to the Citadel's information network as he did. Halfway through the next text message to one of them, it occurred to him that his new boss would have a higher level of access, and he cleared his throat to draw attention to himself.

"Hey, ah... B-526," as he spoke, he sounded overly polite; at least he was good at forcing that part. "Can I borrow your laptop for ten minutes?"

"I would've thought that granting you permission to do all my work for me meant that you could abuse my property for whatever underhanded scheme you wanted to plan, no? But I guess I still have to spell everything out for you." There was no malice in the response, but Rick just couldn't believe how dense this version of himself could be sometimes. "But now that you mention it... if you can answer another question for me, you can have it as long as you want."

Rolling his eyes, the doctor was tempted to just ignore him. However, he knew if he did that, he wouldn't get what he wanted, so he quickly caved in. "Fine... but are we really going to play this game again?"

"It was never a game, but sure." Rick shrugged. "Back when you idiots first dragged me to the Citadel and we were sitting in that diner discussing naming conventions, you told me you gave yourself your own dumb name to stand out and to be different. But why specifically 'Ricktus'? I-it's stupid. I'm still never calling you that, no matter how much I might respect or disrespect you."

"Ah, yes... that." The doctor made an uncomfortable clicking sound with his tongue. "It wasn't particularly well thought out in hindsight. When I was filling in my own registration forms for the Citadel, C-711 suggested it as an amusing nickname. I wrote it down to humor him, but I didn't consider how much of an impact it would have... now it's permanent."

"Don't sound so cut up about it, bro. It's still funny and it always will be." Surgeon Rick called out from his place on the bed; his tone was mostly playful, but it still carried an air of seriousness. "You never smiled back then and you still don't smile now. It's clever and ironic. Just keep rollin' with it. Besides, YOU were the one who chose it in the end, not me. You're still a Rick. It's not that important."

"Of course... even though it's on every form I've ever signed, every identification card I own, and engraved on the back of the silver pin that I have to wear everywhere." Ricktus stood up and moved towards his boss's workstation to retrieve the laptop. "Yes, it's not important at all."

"Ugh, would you shut up? You're placing way too much value in what a dumb piece of paper says about you." Rick stood up, carrying Morty with him; at first it looked like he was following the doctor's lead, but he quickly detoured towards his glass balcony door. "It doesn't have to define you. If I were to call you an idiot, or 'doc', or even 'dumbass', would I be assigning you a name of my own, o-or would I be giving you a title? Whatever it is, it's about as relevant as your records here at the Citadel. When all is said and done, none of it matters - only you get to decide which one works for you."

"But that's stupidly simple..." Ricktus muttered as he sat in his boss's chair and opened the lid of the portable computer.

"Because it's meant to be. You're putting way too much thought into it, doc. Stop." Rick grumpily returned, then turned his gaze towards the Citadel concourse outside. From his vantage point, there didn't appear to be a single soul anywhere below - not a uniformed guard, nor a generic-looking Rick in a lab coat.

No signs of life.

Just like Bird World when he had last visited it, the Citadel also looked like a ghost town.

"Ugh, gross... how long is this lockdown crap gonna last for?" The scientist promptly changed the subject, more concerned with the question on his mind. "And think about how many other Ricks don't wanna be locked inside - do you know what a bunch of pissed-off geniuses would be capable of? Man. I-I sure as hell don't wanna be here when that ticking time bomb goes off."

"Nobody knows for certain," the response was almost immediate, and then the doctor started to read aloud from the screen; he'd wasted no time accessing the gold-rank information network using his boss's login details. "Quantum Rick has already released an official statement – once all the affected Ricks have been adequately protected against the current threat, everything should open for business again within five hours." He paused to read the rest of the announcement. "There will also be further delays while the Citadel is sprayed to eradicate any remaining bacteria in the atmosphere."

"Why would Quantum Rick be making statements about infection control? Isn't he like, the one who does the Citadel's math equations and shit?" Surgeon Rick wondered, finally looking up from his book. "He normally just sits up on the podium with the rest of the Council during the assemblies and doesn't say anything."

"Yes, I'm aware, but any Council member has the authority to speak in exceptional circumstances." Ricktus firmly reminded him, his face serious as he turned his head to glance back at his colleague. "A sudden shutdown of the entire Citadel would count as an exceptional circumstance, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right, you..." Surgeon Rick trailed off, the rest of his statement devolving into an indecipherable mutter. "I dunno, man. Something just seems... off about it. Remember the last lockdown? We were workin' on the ship at the time, so we weren't allowed to come back to the Citadel at all while it was happening. But Riq IV wouldn't stop blowing up our datapads with evacuation orders and progress-report bullshit. It's always been Riq IV's job to calm down the masses and speak for the Council of Ricks."

"I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation behind it, C-711." The doctor's tone was growing stern and impatient. "To me, it sounds like you're bored and want to wildly speculate. Not everything has to be a conspiracy, you know. Maybe this really IS nothing more than another lockdown incident - we even have the wristbands to prove it."

"Ugh, whatever!" Surgeon Rick tossed his book onto the nightstand and stood up to face him. "I'm just sayin', it don't feel right. It pays to question things that are outta the ordinary, man. You can not worry about it all you want, but our boss told us to think for ourselves. And if something stinks, there's usually a turd nearby."

"I don't mean to discredit you, C-711. I just don't think it's worth getting worked up about." The other's expression softened slightly. "Instead of winding yourself up into a frenzy about an unfounded accusation, why don't you keep calm and examine the existing evidence to draw a reasonable conclusion?"

"But I just did!" The surgeon raised his voice in protest.

"Did you really?" Ricktus challenged him with a raised eyebrow. "Think about it. And I mean really, really think about it - if there were a genuine medical crisis, we would be the first Ricks to know about it, to be deployed, and to die, now wouldn't we?"

"But they didn't call you, did they?" Rick chimed in with a smug grin on his face. Even though he sounded like he was trying to stir up more trouble, he'd mentioned it again to make the doctor think about it.

It seemed to work, because Ricktus made an indignant huff, swiveled around in the chair again, and hunched forward; although he tried his best to force his default serious expression, his posture was tense and he was pouting.

Not liking the direction in which the conversation was going, Surgeon Rick walked across the room to pick up Rick's acoustic guitar and made a peace-offering statement instead. "Eh, listen up, man... you're right. We don't know what's going on, and both of our opinions are valid. But all we can do is chill and wait 'til the lockdown order is lifted again before we find out what's really goin' on. So why don't we try to enjoy the time we have?" He began to strum the strings and momentarily paused to adjust the tuning keys. "Wait, I am allowed to play with this thing, right?"

"I haven't touched it since it got here," Rick shrugged again. "So is it really mine?"

"What is that supposed to mean? Is that a dumb, cryptic puzzle? Fuck off." The surgeon shot back good-humoredly. "Do you wanna hear me play or not?"

"I think I would rather step outside and risk letting the bacteria kill me..." Ricktus groaned back, but despite his words, he stayed seated.

Soon enough, the apartment was filled with the sound of music. Rick had never actually heard Surgeon Rick play the guitar before, and if he had to admit it, he was in awe – the surgeon was every bit as good at it as he was. Even if he was self-taught, the scientist was more than certain that he would have ended up in his own band had his dimension's set of circumstances been more similar to his own.

Casting a subtle glance back at the screen of his laptop revealed that Ricktus was already back at work, asking his medical peers why Quantum Rick was sending out the infection-control orders and not Riq IV; he'd obviously taken Surgeon Rick's suspicions to heart and wanted to investigate them further.

He remained standing at his balcony glass door, still holding Morty securely in one arm, rubbing the youngster's back in slow, gentle circles to keep him happy. He was secretly amused and pleased by what was happening around him – he was witnessing his new underlings thinking for themselves and actively questioning their reality, just like he had encouraged them to do.

He didn't know if he was rubbing off on them, or if they were rubbing off on him, but maybe they would be OK on their own after all.

"Hey man," Surgeon Rick talked over the sound of his own strumming. "Can we set up a studio when we move into the new apartment? You still owe me a jam sesh."

Rick couldn't see any reason to disagree. "Sure, buddy. Whatever you want."

Sunday morning couldn't have come fast enough. Even though the quarantine order had been lifted by the middle of Saturday, it didn't matter. The upcoming Citadel assembly meant everything; being cooped up for so long had made it difficult for Rick to maintain what little was left of his sanity. He needed to get his sutures removed, to get more of his freedom back, and to resume trying to figure things out on his own without everyone around him distracting and doting over him like he was an invalid.

Moving into a bigger apartment was also something to look forward to - as much as he had grown used to the company he kept, having them all squashed into such a small space was wearing thin on his patience.

In spite of his eagerness to move forward, he still didn't want to get up when he felt the gentle tug on his arm; he was comfortably warm and snuggled up in bed.

"Hey, B-526. I let you sleep as long as I could, but it's time to get moving." The sound of his own gravelly voice gently prompted him. "You've got an urgent message from the Citadel laboratory on your datapad. They want you to contact them as soon as possible." A pause. "You also received mail from the Council of Ricks that contains a complimentary hair-salon coupon, so you can make yourself look well-groomed for the assembly later today. You're certainly not going to it as you are."

Rick pulled the bed covers over his head. "Give... gimme f f-five more minutes," the rest of the sentence vaguely resembled 'I'm sick' and 'I'm sick of you'.

The next thing he felt was a forceful tug of his bedding as it was unceremoniously yanked off his face, and a firm hand on his forehead as it felt his temperature, giving him the perfect opportunity to glare up at the other Rick currently annoying him. He immediately found himself face-to-face with Ricktus, who was closely watching him with a serious, yet condescending expression all over his face.

Rick rolled his eyes - of course it had to be him.

"You're sick?" The doctor repeated the one word he had recognized and turned it into a vaguely concerned query. "An adverse reaction to immunization typically doesn't manifest this long after exposure. Being in a brand-new environment might make you prone to catching whatever communicable illnesses are going through the community, but you've been here long enough that it shouldn't be an issue by now." He stepped back, stood up tall again, and brought a hand to his chin to tap it thoughtfully, his mind running through other potential possibilities. "In what way are you feeling sick? Because you're not running a fever. Muscular soreness? Headache? GI-tract upset?"

"None of the above," the response was practically growled back. "Vertigo." He said the first thing that came to mind as he pulled the covers back over his head and shifted about, trying to get comfortable again.

Only half a second passed before they were ripped off a second time; Ricktus was determined to push his way through the other's stubbornness, and wasn't going to back down until he got what he wanted. "Vertigo?" He repeated again, this time asking for elaboration of the symptom.

"Yeah. Vertigo-ing the fuck back to sleep." Rick grumped. "I'll get up on one condition and one condition only."

The doctor met his offer with a sigh of resignation. "Fine. Name it."

With an uncomfortable grunt of effort, Rick finally sat up and reached out with both hands to scoop Morty out of the antigravity field he'd been resting in over the course of the night; the scientist had since moved the invention next to his bed so the little boy could sleep in it while still remaining close to him. Morty had taken an instant liking to it and preferred it over his own crib, and it made a nice compromise; Rick was still medicated on postoperative prescription drugs, so it meant that Morty could still sleep at his side without risk of being rolled onto or smothered.

Before Ricktus knew what was happening, Morty was shoved straight at him, causing him to momentarily stumble off balance as he struggled to securely hold the squirming youngster. "Wait, what kind of condition is this? I don't understand."

Rick stood up to stretch his arms high over his head, a devilish smirk growing across his face. "You're on diaper duty, b-because I don't wanna do it." He slipped out of the room with a loud yawn, not bothering to wait for a reply.

Ricktus was left standing there with a repulsed look on his face, feeling like he'd just drawn the short straw.

Out in the main room of the apartment, Surgeon Rick was dressed for the day in a freshly ironed uniform. He tapped his left foot, waiting impatiently; he'd already laid out the medical supplies he needed for the simple task he was about to perform, and invitingly patted the space beside him on the double bed as soon as he saw the scientist emerge from his room.

"Get your ass over here, bro." The surgeon was quick to get to the point. "We still got plenty of time before your grand introduction to the assembly, but I'm not takin' my chances today. I need you to remove your shirt right away and lie down for me."

"Wow, so direct... you're not even gonna use a cheesy pickup line on me first?" Rick was openly smirking as he walked across the room, yanking off his shirt just as instructed. "How impolite."

Something resembling amusement cracked through Surgeon Rick's expression; he wanted to laugh and join in with more low-brow jokes of his own, but he knew how important the day was and that the stakes were far too high. Uncharacteristically, he stuffed it all down and forced the seriousness back onto his face. "Yeah, it is," he picked up a pair of scissors and snipped them in the air twice, "but sometimes you gotta be pushy if you need to get shit done. Now, shut up and lemme do this thing so neither of us have to think about it ever again."

Giving his dimensional counterpart a nod of understanding, Rick lay down and stared up at the ceiling while the other cut through the layers of bandages wrapped around his torso and plucked out his stitches - for such a key moment in the healing process, it felt inconsequential and even a little boring. After it was done, he sat up again and traced his finger along his pink jagged scar out of curiosity; it would serve as nothing more than another permanent marker, and perhaps as a souvenir of his most recent brush with death.

At least he had another good story to tell Morty one day; that was, if he ever managed to gather up enough courage to tell him about everything that had happened.

"So that's it then?" The scientist looked wholly underwhelmed, his tone of voice echoing his feelings on the subject. "I can just... get up, walk away, and carry on?"

"You can do whatever you want, brother." Surgeon Rick grinned, repeating his own motto back to him. "Like the doc ordered, you still gotta take it easy until your guts finish healing up, but yeah, that's it. Get the fuck outta here a-and go live to die another day."

With another nod, Rick retreated to deal with the most pressing thing on his mind: washing the accumulated grease out of his hair and having the ability to take a proper shower for the first time in over a week. After spending perhaps too long on the task, he tidied and sculpted the stubble on his chin with a razor, unwilling to lop it off entirely; he liked how it made him look, and it gave him a degree of uniqueness from the other Ricks around him.

Despite not wanting to stand out and look different, the sentiment was there all the same.

Once all his outstanding issues were sorted and he was finally ready to leave, he plucked up his gold badge along with Morty, and gave the call for the other Ricks to follow.

Although he'd been forcefully dragged to the Citadel against his will in the beginning, now he was here to drink liquor and kick ass.

And he wasn't allowed to drink any whiskey.