Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

7:35am 

Monday, September 13th

Smith Family Dining Room

“-Cousin Diane is coming to visit tomorrow.”

Beth’s words cut through the fog of the family’s regular, brutally boring, breakfast conversation and prompt Rick to clarify.  

“W-what? What are we talking about?”

“Haven’t you even been listening, Dad? Cousin Diane, she’s visiting tomorrow.”

“I was- I am listening. Now. You don’t have any cousins.”

“What? Yes, I do. You know her. Mom’s sister Marlene’s daughter, named after mom in memory of her. You know Cousin Diane, dad.”

“Nope. Not ringing any bells. Is this, are we doing another parasite thing? There’s no cousin… Morty! Stop looking at porn on your phone and back me up here.”

“It’s not porn, okay, and no I’ve never heard of Cousin Diane. Sounds fake, but i-if you’re locking down the house for parasites let me out first. I can’t miss the first day of school.”

“Great assist, Morty. Good to know you’ve always got my back. Quick question, sweetie, did your Aunt Marlene die before or after your mother?”

“After, she did a beautiful eulogy at mom’s funeral. Not that you would know that since you were off ‘saving the galaxy’ at the time and that’s why Cousin Diane had to grow up in foster care because I was too busy raising an infant and attending medical school - Jerry! Stop playing with your food and just eat it - to take her in.”

“Mom, is grandpa Rick getting dementia?”

“You wish, Summer. Then maybe I’d forget that rumor about you shampooing your pubes-”

“How’d you hear about that? Morty!”

“-And Beth stop blaming me for every f-fucked up problem this family has. You want, you wanted me to what? To adopt ‘cousin’ Diane - and notice how I’m also using air quotes because that’s going to be important later – I’m not, I wouldn’t have done that. She’s not even related to me. That’s a fucked up, messed up, thing for you to insinuate I should do. Or would do. Also, I know I’m being a real stickler about this, but I feel it bears mentioning again that I didn’t abandon you, and there was no ‘cousin’ Diane in my universe for me to-”

“Yeah, okay dad, I get it. There’s infinite versions of you and infinite versions of me and the only constant in all of them is you can’t be bothered with your family’s little problems.”

“That’s not true, b-but also I don’t think you should invite this cousin over. I think the best thing for everyone involved is we just forget about her, cut ties forever, and move on with our lives.”

“That’s great, dad, we can talk about it in therapy. Summer, she’s going to be staying with you in your room so make a spot for a mattress on the floor.”

“Cool, I’m going to ask her to drive me and my friends around and buy us beer.”

“Absolutely not! Also, if you and your friends want a cool, safe, parental figure to experiment with alcohol around, why wouldn’t you ask me?”

“Uhh, because it’s not cool to ask an alcoholic to buy you alcohol. Duh, mom.”

“Okay! That’s enough of… I’m going to work. Summer, clean your room. Morty, go to school. Jerry… just, whatever.”

“Bye honey! Love you!”

“Bye mom! L-l-looking forward to meeting cousin Diane, she sounds cool! Grandpa Rick, will you drive me to school? You promised.”

“...”

“Grandpa Rick?”

“...”

“Rick!”

“Argghh! Fine!”

“T-thank you.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

Chapter 1

10:42am 

Monday, September 13th

Rick’s Garage

After. Marlene died after Diane had in this universe, which means it’s very slightly possible that the young, grieving Rick from here might have… No, better not to speculate until he’s sure. He hasn’t even seen this cousin Diane yet maybe-

Uh-oh.

Off a shelf bolted into the ceiling of the garage, Rick pulls down what’s left of the things owned by the dead version of himself that used to live here and goes through them. Unfortunately for his theory that maybe he has nothing to do with Cousin Diane, he’s now holding evidence that seems to indicate it actually is all his – well, his other his – fault after all. Inside a latched metal box, he finds several things including a dusty beta max tape, his wedding ring, some old photos, and an even smaller, internally powered and heavily insulated, box that hisses out cold air when he opens it. Inside that box is a cushioned shelf with space for three tubes. 

There are two tubes inside labeled: Diane clone egg #2 & Diane clone egg #3. 

Oof, that’s not a good sign. There is no test tube labeled Diane clone egg #1. 

He’d had a similar idea, sure, in his tortured phase after his wife’s death - not that he’d ever go through with anything like that, christ! - and, yeah okay, that’s how he knew exactly what to look for in the mess of his other-self’s past life. Now he’s found it, the box, the eggs, and has no idea what to do with this information. What a shit show.

His Marlene died in her early twenties and was Diane’s only living relative even then. At the time of Diane’s death – although she would have died several years later in this universe - his cloning technology had been in it’s infancy. Even if he had wanted to - not that he had - do something obscene like dig up Diane’s body and create some kind of perfect clone egg ready for implantation, the whole thing would have worked much better with the living cells of a biological relative as well as, ideally, a female relative’s functioning uterus to implant them in whom he could then monitor. 

Yeah, like some fucking sicko. And what exactly would be the point of all of that? To have a baby Diane, a child 40 years younger than him to obsess over until he lost his mind. 

Reeeeaal classy.

What exactly are the moral implications of impregnating an unknowing woman with the clone of her dead sister? Is this better or worse than that the whole space-Beth-clone thing?

The two vials he’s looking at now must be the backups in case the first egg didn’t take, but it did. Of course, it did. He is a genius after all. Yes, even the piece of shit Rick from this universe who created this whole mess for him to clean up, unfortunately.

He can burn the evidence now, the remaining clone eggs, whatever incriminating evidence is on that beta max, and the photos and the ring for good measure too, but why? Beth’s obviously lived this long without realizing her cousin is a clone of her mother, and not just a genetically similar relative. Why cover his tracks now? These things aren’t doing anyone any harm being here. He can just put them back.

Anyways, he found what he expected and will be ready when “Cousin” Diane comes through the door. Totally ready. No problems at all. No big deal.

Doesn’t matter.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

4:17pm

Tuesday, September 14th

Smith Family Living Room

“Morty!!”

“What? Jeez, what Rick?”

“What are you doing?”

“J-just sitting here. What does it look like?”

“Wanna go on an adventure?”

“No, Rick, Cousin Diane’s going to be here soon. I wanna meet her.”

“Screw that, Mort-”

“Dad! You’re here, thank god. Okay everybody, sit down. She just texted me, her taxi’s pulling into the neighborhood.”

Beth pushes Rick down into the couch with the strength of woman who routinely coerces horses into going places they don’t want to go. Summer appears from the kitchen and sits down next to him without looking up from her phone. Jerry either silently teleports into the easy chair or he’s been there this entire time. 

Beth dances excitedly from one foot to the other until Summer gets annoyed enough to snap at her.

“God, cool it, Mom. It’s just a cousin not the queen of England or something.”

“I know, but she’s family and after the whole thing with the foster care, I just want to show her this is a good family and she’s part of it. And, I don’t know, in a weird way I kind of want her to be proud of me. Us. All of us.”

“Yeah, w-weird.” Rick says, and the suspicious look Morty gives him is a good reminder that he needs to keeps his mouth shut about all of this. Cloning Beth was bad enough. If she figures it out about cousin/mother Diane… Nope, not an option. 

A knock on the door just so happens to coincide with the completely unrelated quickening of his heartbeat. 

“Cousin Diane,” Beth says opening the door. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“I’m so happy to see you too, Beth, it’s been so long!”

Rick doesn’t care about any of this so he stares straight ahead at the muted tv while everyone else turns in their chairs, straining to get a look at the visitor. 

“Everyone, this is Cousin Diane.”

“Hi, Cousin Diane.”

“Hi Summer. Wow, you’ve totally grown up! And you too, Morty!”

“Oh, yeah. Well, you know, fifteen now. And you, look at you. It feels like we’re meeting for the first time, like this. Seeing each other like this. It feels so new, for me anyways. Just because of how long it’s been since we saw each other before. Which we did.”

Jesus, Morty, don’t strain yourself.

“Hi, Jerry.”

“Hello, Diane, looking lovely as ever.”

“Eww.” Summer says in a voice which has yet to lose all of its early teenage venom.

“Yeah, don’t be gross Jerry.” Beth says.

“What? I was just paying her a compliment.”

“Anyways. Dad, don’t you want to say hi to Cousin Diane?”

“Hi, I’m Rick.”

“Right, yes, we met before, but that was a while ago.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t me.”

“Oh.”

“Beth, did-didn’t you explain this to her.”

“Well, I was going to, but it didn’t really seem like a conversation to have over the phone.” 

Beth’s avoidance issues aside, Rick is relieved to see the woman in front of him isn’t a perfect clone of Diane. Well, she is - of course she is, he made her, and a sophisticated facial recognition software wouldn’t be able to tell the two of them apart - but his other self obviously realized it might freak Marlene out a little to watch her daughter turn into a carbon copy of her dead sister so he altered the genes for her hair and eye color to soften the resemblance while leaving everything else intact.

Jesus, so that’s really all it takes to fool these assholes. The resemblance otherwise is disgustingly obvious, and yet no one’s ever figured out the truth thanks to a few genes anyone with an electron microscope could modify. What, just because you give birth to a girl and raise her from infancy, you think she can’t possibly be a clone of your dead sister? Marlene, maybe, but he had almost expected better of Beth. 

“Doesn’t she look just like mom?” Beth asks him as though he’s supposed to think that’s a good thing. 

“Yeah, I guess. She looks more like your- more like Marlene. Same hair and eyes.”

“Really? Thank you. No one ever says that.” Cousin Diane sounds just like the woman she was cloned from too, but maybe Beth doesn’t remember what her mother’s voice sounded like anymore. 

“I didn’t know you spent time with Aunt Marlene, dad.” Beth says.

“Well you don’t know everything ever about my whole life do you, sweetheart? Alright, daddy’s going to the garage now. Welcome to the family Cousin Diane. Watch out for Jerry.”

“Hey!”

“Bye, Grandpa Rick.” Morty and Summer say in unison.

“Well, I think that went well.” He hears Beth say just before he closes the garage door. 

- - -

[Fwoop]

His portal opens and he steps through.

WELCOME TO BLIPZ AND CHITZ

Nope. This is not where he wants to be tonight. 

[Fwoop]

Much better. No one at this bar greets him with a fake smile, or any smile at all because no one at this bar greets him. In fact, he has to work harder than should be necessary considering no one else is currently ordering to even get the bartender to make his drink. Perfect. 

He’ll spend the rest of the night here and tomorrow he’ll go home and everything will be back to normal. 

Totally normal.

Just a few… One or two more…

Um…

Rick has just…he’s just. Well, he’s just for officially the third or fourth or…

Gotten his buzz on. He’s just gotten his buzz on when trouble walks through the door. 

“Rick. I found you. This is the fifth planet I searched looking for you.”

Oof five is not a high number. Is he losing his edge?

“Pers. Drink with… here to have a drink with me? Or do you still hate me?”

“No to both questions. I’m here because your grandson contacted me. He was concerned about your behavior and says you haven’t been home in several days. Something about a female member of Beth’s family who may resemble your dead wife, Diane.”

“Boy you really- you sure- you know how to phrase things Pers. Soften the blow. I-i-f you wanna know-”

“I do not.”

“She doesn’t resemble my dead wife. She is my dead wife. But if you tell anyone that I’ll kill you. How long did you say I was gone?”

“Three Earth days according to Morty.”

“Well in that case, BP, have a drink with me. I’m buying.”

“No, Rick. I’m not here to have a drink with you. I’m here to encourage you to go home. Your family is worried about you.”

“You’re really… You’re- you’re not who you used to be, Pers.”

“Neither are you, Rick.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

9:58pm

Friday, September 17th

Smith Family Living Room

[Fwoop]

“Grandpa Rick!”

“Rick, what the hell man. You k-know, we were worried about you.”

“Hi Sum-Sum. Gramp-grampa missed you. He brought you this, um, pack of gum. I didn’t bring shit for you, Morty, because you’re a fucking snitch and you went, and you cried to Bird Person and ruined my good time.” 

“You told on grandpa to Bird Person, Morty? Not cool.”

“Shut up, Summer. I was worried, you know? He m-missed the whole week of fun stuff we did with Cousin Diane.”

“Did you ever think that maybe that was on purpose, Morty, huh? That maybe I don’t want to spend my precious, and fleeting I might add, time left on Earth sucking up to this family?”

“Having fun with people isn’t the same as sucking up to them.”

“Agree to disagree. Because you’re wrong.”

“It’s okay,” Summer chimes in despite the fact no one, not one person ever, asked her opinion, “You’ll have plenty of time to get to know Cousin Diane since mom said she can live here while she finishes up her master’s degree.”

“What?! No!!”

“I know, It’s going to be awesome. Girl’s year! Just as many girls as boys. We are going to own this house! Get ready for the raddest girl’s year ever. Three girls in the house and you can’t even, like, jack off about it because we’re all related to you. Girl’s year! Oh yeah!”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

12am

Saturday September 18th

Summer Smith’s Bedroom

Cousin Diane is dreaming. 

She is dreaming of familiar places and familiar people, and familiar images and she is safe. Safe. Safe. Safe. 

And then suddenly she isn’t. 

She has never been here before. This place that smells bad and looks frightening. Jam–packed with metal and rotting things and debris and scrap. Scrap, yes scrap. This is a scrapyard. 

She is walking through it and over it like she belongs here. Her mother Marlene had grown up in a scrap yard with her aunt Diane owned by their father, her grandfather, and look! There her mother is! A teenager here. Young and happy and beautiful. In this dream, Diane and Marlene walk through the scrapyard together laughing and talking and now all is good again. 

The air is warm with summer.

All the confusion disappears, and her heart fills with the joy of easy conversation and camaraderie.

She is no longer frightened. This is a happy dream. 

This dream feels so real. 

“So that’s that.” Her young mother Marlene says. “I’ll never be hip if I don’t have a bag like Cindy Smelton’”

The two of them laugh uproariously. It’s funny because they do not want a bag like Cindy Smel-ton’s.

“Oh no.” The words come out of Diane’s mouth like it’s preordained, as though she’s reading from a script. “Whatever will you do? I guess you’ll just have to spend your whole life alone.”

“Yes! A spinster!”

“With cats!”

“So many cats!”

“And no one, but your dear sister to keep you company!”

The two of them join hands and giggle, holding to each other tightly. Inside her head, Diane thinks, Sister?

Her mother/sister yanks her hand hard putting an end to their shared giggles. 

“Who is that?”

Diane looks towards a trailer that is so - home - decrepit she can’t believe anyone lives there. Waiting just outside the trailer is the person Marlene’s asking about. 

“Jeepers,” Diane says, the words coming out of her mouth without any input from her brain. “Look at his hair!”

Diane is looking. She is looking. Oh my god, that guy kind of looks like Uncle Rick. If Uncle Rick was a teenager. And super awkward. And kind of-

“He is totally looking at you.” Marlene says, and a hot flush runs all the way down Diane’s body completely unrelated to what she feels for the real Rick which is nothing at all because he’s family.

“Shhh. He is not.” 

“He totally is.” 

Whether or not he is looking at her, he’s definitely walking over this way. 

“Excuse me ladies, y-y-you don’t happen to own this place do y-you?”

Oh shit, that is totally Uncle Rick. This is such a weird dream.

“Uh… no.” Marlene says with a little more sass than necessary, but no one ever accused mom of being overly polite. 

“Our father does.” Diane says, sounding a lot kinder. 

“Oh, w-well I couldn’t help but notice you have a good three-quarters of a Lotus engine there, and I was wondering if I couldn’t take it with me. I-I-I don’t have much money, but I could pay by fixing some stuff up around here. For instance, I see-”

“Our daddy fixes stuff up just fine. And he only takes cash.”

“Marlene! You shouldn’t speak for him.” Diane pinches her sister/mother’s side hard although it’s something she would never have done in real life. “Daddy’s out now, but you could probably take it, as long as you promised to come back later and fix stuff up.”

“I would.”

Marlene is looking at her, scandalized, but so is Uncle Rick and it’s his eyes that are causing her body to warm up in a way unrelated to the summer sun. Mentally, she has no idea where the words leaving her mouth are coming from, but physically, she’s feeling everything this body is. Heat running up her cheeks, down her legs, gathering up into the pit of her stomach and just below.  

Her uncle Rick says, “I’ll come back. I-I-I will I promise. Don’t s-sell it to anyone e-else, okay?”

Why is he so young? In this dream his stutter is worse than real life, as if he hasn’t yet discovered the best way to divert from words he can’t get out. Or maybe it has more to do with the intense way he’s looking at her.

In answer to him she says. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Kay, bye.” Marlene says, unapologetically dismissive.

“Come back soon!” She calls after him even though twenty-five-year-old Diane would never be so obvious flirting, the impulse had been teased out of her long ago. 

“What a square.” Marlene says when Rick’s barely far enough away to not hear her. 

“Yeah, total square.” She agrees with her sister though it sounds less sincere when she says it. 

• - -

So weird. When Diane wakes up, she’s forgotten the rest of her familiar dreams, but not that strange scrapyard encounter. That she remembers with perfect clarity. 

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

4:25pm

Saturday, September 18th

Smith Family Kitchen

“Beth, I really think you need to reconsider this. Think, think about the trauma you’re inflicting on Summer, you know. Making her share a room like that. It’s not right. It’s inhuman, inhumane. 

“Lots of kids share rooms, dad. It’ll be like living with a big sister she never had because I was physically too young to have any kids before I had Summer. Diane told me just yesterday how happy she is to be here with family, and how happy she is for us that you came home. Now you want me to tell her to leave?”

“Okay, b-but have you considered you don’t even know this woman that well. I mean, Cousin Diane. Kind of weird we’ve never even seen her and now she’s going to live with us.”

“Listen, dad, I know what this is about. Yes, change is hard, and, yes, this is going to be an adjustment for the family-”

“It’s not like that! I can change. I-I love change. It’s just a weird, this is a weird situation is all. Back me up here Jerry.”

“I think that Beth is right about everything always.”

“Aww. Thank you honey.” 

“Goddammit, Jerry, you’re fucking useless. I’d put your goddamn balls in a vice and rip them off if you had any.”

“Dad! Apologize to Jerry!”

“No!”

“Fine. But were talking about this in our next session with Dr. Wong.”

[Fwoop]

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

2:56am

Wednesday, September 22nd

Rick’s garage

“Are there any diet cokes in here?”

“Why would there be any diet cokes in here? What part of all this makes you think, oh yeah, I’m probably- I’m gonna find a fucking diet coke in here?”

“I don’t know. Some families keep extra soda in their garage.”

His garage. His sanctum. The last place in the house safe from her and now she’s here too, asking for Diane’s favorite drink, and, no, this is not some simulation built by super-advanced organisms designed to torture specifically him. He’s already checked several times. 

“Well, there isn’t any soda in here. None that’s drinkable by humans anyways. So, you know, goodnight.”

“Okay, well that’s alright I guess. No biggie. But you’re up, and I’m up. It’s been years since we’ve seen each other, Uncle Rick. We could chat for a bit if you want.”

“I don’t.”

“You liked me a lot better the last time we met.”

“That wasn’t me. I thought Beth explained that to you.”

“I think she started to, but there was this whole tangent about how you were gone for a while, and then there was crying. Like, a lot of crying. So, I’m still not sure I completely understand.”

She ignores the glowing portal gun on the workbench to look at him, and the whirling hologram of planets Earth scientists have yet to discover to look at him. Hell, to a human who’s never been off planet, the plumbus stuck to the wall to her right should be more interesting than his face, and yet…

“Look, all you need to know is the Rick you met before was a perverted narcissist, and I’m not. Now, get the fuck out of my garage before I murder you.”

“Morty said you might say that, and that if you did, I should just ignore you. Unless you’re holding a weapon, in which case I should run, but you’re not so I think I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“One, you should never listen to Morty. He’s fucking stupid. Two, I am a weapon.”

Cousin Diane pauses for a beat to take in what he said, and then bursts out into laughter that it sounds exactly like… ugh.

“K-kind of rude to laugh, but okay.”

“Hahaha! I’m sorry! That was just so funny the way you said that.”

“Laugh it up. For the record I’m wanted in several galaxies.”

“Okay, okay. I believe you. I really do. I’m sorry.”

Still a little insulting the way she’s wiping tears out of her eyes, but he accepts her apology anyways. 

She says, “Do you really want me to go? Because I can go.”

Yes! Yes, she should absolutely leave before something stupid happens. So many stupid things that can happen, most of them involving murder. Or that other thing, the one where you murder yourself except it’s not called that because supposedly it’s different from other kinds of murder for some unknown reason.  

“It’s whatever, b-but I’m busy, you know. I don’t have time to be watching you, watching on what you’re doing.”

She holds up her hands for him to see as though that’s proof she won’t get into any mischief. With some suspicion, he turns back to his workbench but can’t remember why he started building this gadget in front of him. Something about the annoying squeak in his chair? And that had been what he was trying to fix? It’s impossible to remember while more than half of his mind is listening to her progress through his garage. 

“Don’t touch anything.” He warns. 

“I won’t.” She says. “What’s this?”

“Nothing your mind could comprehend.” He doesn’t bother turning around to see what it is she’s pointing out.  

“Ah.”

This goes on for several more minutes before he can’t take it anymore. 

“Isn’t this- why aren’t you asleep? Isn’t this the time normal people sleep?”

“Normally, yeah, but… can I ask you a question?” 

“Go for it I guess.”

Her hesitation almost makes it seem like there’s something serious on her mind, but he ignores the guilty urge to look towards where the box of extra clone eggs is hidden.

Looking him right in the eyes she says, “Can you drive me to the gas station to get a diet coke?”

“This is about the fucking diet coke?!”

“I’ve really been craving one!”

“This- this is- I can’t believe you’re bothering me with this. This is super embarrassing for you.”

“Please! I don’t want to take Beth’s car without asking. And you’re already up. C’mon uncle Rick, what’s the big deal? It’d take me thirty minutes to walk.”

He’s had this conversation before. Not for several decades, and not this exact conversation, but one so similar it’s making his chest tighten in a way that Dr. Wong calls emotions, but which might also just be late night indigestion.

“Yeah, alright.”

“What, really?”

“I said y-yes. Do you want me to change my mind?”

“Nope.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

“There. Are you happy? Can I go home now and get back to my important science-type stuff?”

“Yes. Thank you, Uncle Rick. Sorry I bothered you with this, it’s just I’ve been having the strangest cravings since I got here. Stuff I never even liked before.”

“Is that true? Did you not like diet coke before you got here?” Other than the fact that he hadn’t actually been there when this clone was made, given her age she’d also likely be one of the first, if not the first, full-human clones the Rick in this dimension ever made. If only she’d been a clone of literally anyone else, he’d be very interested to know the particulars of how the technology worked out without his interference for so long. If only she wasn’t, you know, her.

“No! Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. I-I’m not interested.”

“So you don’t want me to tell you if I liked diet coke before I came here?”

“That’s c-correct.”

“...Uncle Rick?”

“What?”

“What did you mean when you said the version of you that met me before was a perverted narcissist?”

“Nothing. You were listening to that? You shouldn’t listen to that- to me- when I talk.”

“Okay.”

“Unless it’s important. In which case you should definitely listen to me.”

“How will I know the difference?”

“I’ll tell you. Don’t f-fucking strain yourself.”

At least she got her soda in a bottle. Diane always used to get cans which she would then pour over ice in a glass, but this woman is not Diane.  Her choice of drink is a coincidence.

“Does this…ship have a radio?” She asks, looking at his dashboard curiously.

“No.”

[Activating radio] the ship’s voice says. [Select music]

“Turn off-”

“Neil Diamond.” She says before he has a chance to get his words out.

Rick yanks back on the steering wheel just as the music starts, and the ship screeches to a halt in the middle of an empty intersection falling to the ground with a sickening lurch.

“Uncle Rick! What’s going on?”

“Alright ba- Alright, Cousin Diane. Listen g-good, because this is it. This is your one, and only, chance to level with me. If you tell me, right now, y-you be straight with me, then I won’t harm you or do anything weird to you ever. Promise.” 

“What are you talking about? You’re kind of freaking me out.”

Kind of. Kind of. He’s kind of thinking about vaporizing her right now and wiping the whole family's memories about her entire existence, and it’s kind of freaking her out.

“You need to tell me right now how much you know. Which part of this are you aware of? What have you been told?! You have to tell me. Tell me right now!”

“What?! What am I supposed to say?”

“Do you know she loved Neil Diamond? Do you know about the diet coke?! Are you doing this to me on purpose?!!”

This is a reasonable freakout. Clone eggs like the kind this Diane grew out of do not have the memories of their original DNA holders. They don’t. This is a trick. It has to be a trick. The way he’s feeling right now seeing her face and hearing this music is all screaming at him that this is some sort of trick.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!!” Cousin Diane looks properly freaked out now that he’s grabbed her by the shirt, and good. If this is some sort of ploy by one of his enemies to make him lose his mind, he’ll kill her. He’ll fucking kill her.

“Tell me! You have to tell me! Are you here to fuck with my mind!?”

“No, Rick, I swear I’m not!”

“Say it so I believe you.”

“I’m not fucking with you. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I like Neil Diamond. At least, I think I do… I… it just came to me. Like the diet coke.”

“It just came to you?”

“Yes! Yes. I don’t know… I don’t know what’s happening.”

“That’s all? T-t-there’s nothing else you want to tell me?”

In her eyes he sees…something. Innocence? Maybe. God, it’s so hard to tell when he's looking at her face.

“I…”

“C’mon. It’s okay. Y-you can tell-tell your Uncle Rick. It’s okay.”

He lets go of the collar of her pajama top and leans back into the driver’s seat. They both ignore the car that honks at them the entire time it’s driving around the ship and through the intersection. 

“Turn this fucking music off.” He says to the car. He had seen something in her eyes. Innocence, yes, but something else too. His own craftsmanship. He had made her and if he had made her then whatever’s going on here is his own doing and if whatever’s going on here is his own doing then it probably is a conspiracy meant to torture his sanity. But there’s no use freaking out about it now.

Cousin Diane looks at him warily as he drinks from his flask, her own bottle of diet coke forgotten.

She says, “I…guess that since I’ve got here, I’ve had a few weird dreams.”

“Weird dreams?”

“Yes, of us. Sort of.”

“What do you mean of us? You and the other me you met?”

“No…more like. Well, you’re different. Younger, and nicer. And I’m younger. And my mom is there, but she’s… it’s kind of hard to explain. It is like dreaming, and when I come out of it I have these weird cravings for things like Neil Diamond, and diet coke, and this ice cream that I always used to hate because it was too tart but now I can’t get enough of it.”

“Raspberry lemon sorbet.”

“Yes! Oh my god. How did you know that? Do you know what this is?”

Her look becomes one of suspicion. Diane’s look of suspicion. Exactly the same way she would look at him when he’d say he’d be on time for dinner tonight for sure.

“Bad craftsmanship.” He says to himself more than her. “Don’t worry, ba- don’t worry, s-sweetheart. Uncle Rick’s gonna fix it. You know, it took me years to perfect cloning, human cloning, and I’m me. I’ll fix it. I just need to think for a bit.”

“I don’t… um, did you say clone?”

“Shhh. No, of course not. Don’t even worry about it. Uncle Rick’s gonna fix it. Gonna make you forget allll of this. Don’t even worry about-”

“Why did you say clone?”

“Go, go, Sanchez ether.”

“Wait-”

Thank god he didn’t get rid of that memory gun like Morty wanted. He’ll erase tonight, put her back to bed, and find out just what the hell his other self messed up so bad tomorrow. Everything going to be fine. Just. Fine.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

2:56am

Thursday, September 23rd

Rick’s garage

“Hi, Uncle Rick. Weird question, but you guys don’t happen to have any diet cokes in here, do you?”

“There’s a case on the bottom shelf there.”

“Seriously? Oh, thank god.”

“Yeah, thank god.”

“It’s just an expression, Uncle Rick.”

“Whatever.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

2:12pm

Monday, October 18th

Planet X3 ɑ

Finally. It’s finally happened after all these years (well, weeks, but still). Whatever. Doesn’t matter. The point is, he’s finally done it. Finally hunted the bastard down.

There he is, on his knees in front of Rick where he belongs, the owner of the space-buffet who’s been leaving menus under his windshield wiper at Blips and Chitz. Okay, it wasn’t actually that hard to find the guy, what with the restaurant address being on the menu and all, but he’s a busy guy and this is the first chance he’s actually had to do something about it. 

“Oh my god, man!! Why are you doing this?! Did we get your order wrong??”

Rick fires a few more shots into the kitchens while screaming patrons flee and the restaurant owner cowers on the ground in front of him. 

“This has nothing to do with your food, which may or may not be delicious. I wouldn’t know. I haven’t tried it. Nor will I ever try food from an establishment where the owner, the p-person, puts their grubby mitts on my ship, touches my ship just to put their stupid fucking menu on it. If I wanted your menu I would come to your place of business and get one.”

“I’m sorry, man! But I’ve got bills to pay. I got a family to feed. I’m just trying to get my name out there.”

“Well you shouldn’t have done that on my ship! Now I’ve gotta, I’m gonna have to kill you. I’m gonna rip your skin off. Rip it off inch by inch.”

“Oh god, man! Please don’t!”

“And that’s just the start. Then after that, I’ll sew that skin back, I’ll sew it back on you and rip it off again.”

“Why?!”

“And there’s more. There’s going to be so many awful, horrible more things I’m gonna do to you. It’ll never end! It’ll never- Hold on I gotta take this call. Hello?”

“Hi Uncle Rick. Is this a bad time?”

“Uh, n-no. It’s fine. What’s up?”

“Oh good. It’s nothing urgent. I was just trying to hook up my new Playstation to the TV and I can’t figure out why it’s not working.”

“M-morty would know. Is Morty there?”

“He’s at school, but it’s okay. I can just wait.”

“No, it’s fine. What version is it? Is it a new one?” He waves his gun sharply and mouths don’t fucking move to the restaurant owner who has that look in his eyes like he might try to make a break for it while Rick’s distracted.

“Yeah, it’s new.”

“Okay, so there should be an HDMI cable in the box that came with it.”

“That’s not the one that plugs into the wall, right?”

“Right. T-that one’s important too, but the HDMI cable it’s-it’ll be a few feet long, and the plug’ll look the same on both ends, and you’ll wanna plug one side into the Playstation and one side into the TV. Got that?”

“Yes. Okay…”

Rick listens to the sounds of her moving around on the other end of the line while above him the parts of the restaurants roof he hasn’t yet shot full of holes creak and groan, reminding him he should probably get out of here before the whole place collapses in on itself. 

“Done.” She says finally. “But the TV still says no signal.”

“You’re probably on the wrong input.”

“What input should I be on?”

“That depends on where you plugged the… You know what, fuck it. I’m coming home. I-I’ll be right there.”

“No, Uncle Rick. Don’t do that for me. I’m sorry I can figure it out.”

“It’s fine, I’m done here anyways.”

He hangs up the phone and points a finger at the restaurant owner while opening a portal. 

“You are so fucking lucky. Don’t you ever forget that, and don’t ever touch my shit again.”

[Fwoop]

“Okay, I think I’ve got it now.” Cousin Diane says as soon as he walks out of the portal and into the living room, but he doesn’t have to be a genius to see that’s not the case. The TV still says no signal. 

“Didn’t you read the instructions?” He asks.

“I bought this off some guy on the internet, so there’s no instructions. Also it’s kind of sticky.”

Rick looks at her like he’s trying to decide if she’s serious.

“H-how are you in grad school and you don’t know how to hook up a fucking Playstation?”

“We didn’t have a TV at the group home, and I was too broke for video games when I was getting my bachelors.”

“Boohoo. Oh what, what a tragic backstory.”

“I didn’t say it was tragic, I said I didn’t have one.” 

She shrugs and Rick does not think about his late wife’s similar impoverished upbringing because that would be counterproductive to his decades-long goal of shoving every thought he has about Diane into the depths of his mind where they can’t bother him ever.

Having lived with Jerry this long, he knows enough to check behind the TV and make sure the HDMI cable is actually plugged in before trouble-shooting anything else.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

4:38am

Wednesday, October 27th

Summer Smith’s Bedroom

Diane is dreaming again. She’s is dreaming that Rick comes back. He…

He comes back. For the lotus engine, then the broken Delco record player, a pile of retired city streetlights, a few damaged hubcaps, any and all sheet metal her father's willing to part with. He comes back so regularly daddy finally agrees to let him help repair stuff around the place, and Marlene stops calling him that weird boy and begrudgingly admits she can remember his name. 

Inside her dream, Cousin Diane knows all of this in an instant. It’s as if she's always known, as if the memories of Rick ingratiating himself into this family are some deep buried secret she's kept hidden away and not just a vivid fantasy her mind made up in the .5 seconds it took her to go from awake to unconscious. 

Tonight, she knows all of these things and is thinking-

why is this happening? Is this seriously because I don't have a dad? Is that why I'm dreaming about Rick? I didn't think it was this bad, could I be any more cliché?

-while watching a much younger version of her Uncle Rick sweat under the hot noon summer sun as he inspects a magnetic crane alongside a burly, equally sweaty, man her mind insists on calling daddy. 

Marlene is inside, she is always inside when Rick comes, pouting because she doesn't like Rick, and Diane isn't stupid she knows Marlene doesn't like Rick specifically because she does like Rick, but that is so foolish. Rick is just some boy, a nice boy maybe, but nice boys are always looking at girls without any intention of doing anything but looking. Especially girls from the local scrapyard, girls whose daddies sweat through their ripped tank tops working outside, girls whose mothers left and their fathers never remarried and there isn't anyone at home to raise them to be proper ladies. Those girls never get asked out. Not by nice boys with nice families like Rick’s--

"Diane!"

"Yes daddy?"

"Go get me some water or something. It's hotter than a cow’s tit out here."

"Yes daddy!"

By water or something did he mean a beer and if she brings him a beer should she bring Rick a beer too or would daddy not approve of that they seem to get along fine but maybe not that fine no she'll just get them both lemonade that's the best thing--

Wow what a riveting fucking dream, Cousin Diane thinks. She's just so happy she's going to wake up feeling like absolute horse shit, as if she hasn't slept at all, all for the incredible opportunity to experience this arresting story of woman gets two men lemonade. 

Should she be drinking more alcohol before bed? Would that make her dreams more interesting, or is the truth that underneath it all she's just a boring-ass person and this is the best her dreams can do? Fucking depressing. Just let it be morning already, she'd rather sit through an econ lecture than be stuck here obsessing over the way her uncle looks as a young man drinking a glass of lemonade she poured just for him, with ice in it and everything, and she definitely doesn't want to watch him take one of those ice cubes out of the glass and rub it on the back of his neck while the melting water from it makes the grease run down his hands. Especially not while the man called daddy is standing just a few feet to her left making it all the more awkward the way her body is reacting to watching Rick run his wet, greasy hand  through his mussed, sweaty hair.

Lord, she should have stayed inside with Marlene. 

"Thanks, sweetheart." Daddy says when he hands her back his empty glass. "I'm gonna go get the winch, you take off those nice clothes and put on something else so you can help us get her back in commission." Her being the magnetic crane which has been silent and broken for months, but now Rick's looked at it for half a day and it's going to be up and running again.

"And get your sister too."

"Sure daddy." 

"I don't want to hear she's been on the phone all day again."

"No, I think she's reading."

"Alright."

She's turns back to Rick to get his glass too before she goes inside, but he doesn’t hand it to her. He's watching her father walk away intently, and when he's far enough away to be out of earshot, Rick turns to her. She can see his confidence, a sort of passionate purposefulness he always has when he's fixing something or searching for a new part, carry over into his conversation with her. It’s a new thing, and it’s not something that happens with everyone – especially not when he’s talking to daddy or Marlene and his stutter gets progressively worse the more he talks. Not that she's getting a big head or anything! It's just something that she's noticed.

"I-I get the feeling your dad really doesn't want me to ask you this, but I think we can both agree we're past the point where we have to do everything our parents say just because they say it." The words tumble out all at once like he's been working himself up for it.

"Oh, really. Is that what you think?"

"You don't?"

"I didn't say that."

"Well either way, and maybe you're going to turn me down a-a-and that's fine, but I wanted to ask so I figured I should. Do you want to come watch me play music at the roadhouse tomorrow night?"

Even under the hot sun she can feel herself blushing at the unexpected question. Asking her out! He’s really asking her out. Or is he? Maybe he’s just trying to spread the word about his band. Fill the house with warm bodies so to speak. Or something; she’s never been asked to go see a band play music before.

"Like music? Live music? Well, you're right about one thing, my daddy really wouldn't want you to ask me that."

He stares at her intently, looking unbothered by the idea her father might not approve of him or his music.

“A date? You pick me up and take me there and we go together, just the two of us?” She clarifies.

He nods and then says, "Are you bl-blushing because you’re gonna to say yes, or because you're gonna to say no?"

"It's rude to mention that!" Diane touches her cheeks self-consciously. He’s right, they’re burning hot under her fingers.

"I-i-it's just, it could be e-either, and it's driving me crazy not knowing."

"It's just the sun. It's hot out."

"Really? Because you were-weren't doing it a minute ago."

"You're unbelievable, Rick Sanchez. Maybe I will say no." 

"So you might say yes? Come on, your dad’s coming back." 

"Yes. Alright, I'll go, but I'll have to lie to him about it and I don't like doing that."

"I'll make it worth it."

"Gimme that glass." 

She snatches it out of his hand and starts walking away before daddy can ask what the hell it is they're talking about. Or notice how hotly she’s blushing.

"Sure. G-go put on something you can get dirty." Rick says quietly to her as she walks away.

The nerve! Diane desperately wants to turn around and shoot him the dirtiest look he's ever gotten but doesn't dare. She can feel the heat spreading all the way down to her neck now and won't give him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply he's made her blush.

His band will suck. It will be the worst date ever. It better be, because otherwise she might be in deep trouble. A boy like Rick Sanchez could break her heart; she doesn’t need a mom around to tell her that. 

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

12:18am

Tuesday, November 2nd

Rick’s Garage

“Okay, sit right here.”

“Not to make a slightly weird thing even more weird, Uncle Rick, but is there any reason you asked me to come into the garage alone in the middle of the night?”

“Y-yes, but don’t feel like you need to worry about that ba-ba-you. I just need to ask you a few, a couple, of questions, and then we’re all good.”

“...Okay, um, just out of curiosity. Have you maybe been drinking a little more than usual tonight?”

“Don’t love, don’t care for the…the judgmental tone.”

Not that she’s loves being judgmental about it either, but Rick burping in her face really isn’t helping this whole thing feel less weird.

“For the record, the- my drinking- maybe I wouldn’t drink so much. It’s got nothing to do with what we’re doing now, but maybe I wouldn’t drink so much if I didn’t have to do this thing we’re doing that’s bringing up all my shit. N-no more questions. Except mine.”

“...Okay.”

“Are you experiencing more, still experiencing, ‘dreams’ about me, about the two of us, as teenagers?”

“How could you possibly know about that?”

“Y-you need to relax. Take a chill pill. You told me.”

“I did? When? I don’t remember that.”

“Answer my question, and I’ll explain everything. I promise.”

“Yes, I’ve had more. I guess, but it’s not like I’m trying to make it happen.”

She tries to explain further, but he’s obviously not interested in any of that. Everything she says only seems to make him even more frustrated.

“Fuck, I thought that would work.” He says cryptically.

“What would work? Uncle Rick, do you know what’s going on? This is all kind of starting to freak me out.” Sitting here in his garage isn’t helping. Among other things, there’s a scalpel and a pair of metal calipers on the work bench behind him.

“Shhh. Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s all, Uncle Rick’s got it all under control. Just look right here at this thing.”

“What is that thing?”

[Bzzt]

…

Diane looks around her at the garage. The last thing she remembers is Rick texting her asking if she would come down to see him, alone.

“Not to make a weird thing any weirder, Uncle Rick, but is there any reason you asked me to come to the garage alone in the middle of the night?”

“Nope.”

“What, seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. I don’t need you for anything. Goodnight.”

“Okay…”

“Fuck off. And close the door behind you.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

3:42pm

Wednesday, November 3rd

Smith Family Kitchen

“It’s so obvious you’re staring at her, dad.”

“Why don’t you mind your own business, space daughter. And for your information I’m not staring. This part of the kitchen just so happens to overlook the dining room where she just so happens to be studying. Now keep your voice down, please.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

“Why didn’t you mention her to me?”

“Why would I mention her to you? You never mentioned her to me either.”

“How could I? I didn’t know there was a Cousin Diane.”

“Are you serious? You forgot your own niece? I know Marlene was just Mom’s sister, but I didn’t think you were that cold.”

“I’m know I’m harping on this a lot, but I think it’s real important people understand I’m not your Rick. That’s not my niece.”

“Whatever. You’re all Ricks, what does it matter?”

“T-trust me. It matters.”

“Well, whatever universe you’re from, I know why you’re staring at Cousin Diane.”

“Oh y-yeah?”

“Yeah. She looks a lot like mom, doesn’t she?”

“I guess. In some ways.”

“Some ways? Please. I mean, I kind of look like mom, but her? She could be mom. Except for the hair. She has Aunt Marlene’s hair.”

“And eyes.”

“Oh yeah, her eyes too.”

Space Beth takes another sip of her wine and says, “I know you miss her dad, but my advice is don’t be a creep to cousin Diane. The kids really like her.”

“A creep? Oh, p-please. You haven’t seen what a creep I could be, how much I hold back for this family. You don’t even know how not creepy I am on a daily basis, and that’s for your benefit.”

“Gee, thanks, but maybe you should try a little harder.”

“I-I’m not going to take that from someone who, someone like you. You know, your kids are in there studying too. I don’t see you rushing in to help them with their homework.”

“That’s because they don’t need my help. Just like I didn’t need yours.”

“Exactly.” Rick burps and drinks from his flask at the same time his daughter takes a sip from her wine glass.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

9:38am

Friday, November 5th

Rick’s Garage

The floor hatch in the garage is open, but Rick’s nowhere to be seen which is exactly the opposite of what Cousin Diane was hoping to find when she came in here looking for him. Unfortunately, the strange glowing pink slime she just discovered on the living room ceiling is growing at an alarming rate, and no one else is home to deal with it. 

“Uncle Rick are you down there?”

Nothing. No answer. Just strange beeping sounds coming from whatever room lies below this hatch. 

Shit.

She lowers herself onto the ladder and climbs down tentatively. 

“Uncle Rick?”

Still no answer and also it’s super creepy down here. Definitely nothing like the sterile, well-lit labs she’s used to at school. 

She looks around. The room’s not huge and it’s obvious he isn’t in here but, horribly, she sees there’s an elevator on the far wall which means there must be even more floors down below this one. The thought makes her feel claustrophobic. How far down can this place really go?

“Rick?” Still no answer. “Um, computer? Can you hear me?”

Nothing, and now also she feels silly. 

Because she really doesn’t want to take her chances with the elevator, she starts looking over the stuff on the workbenches lining the walls thinking she might find something useful even though the low-lights make it hard to see clearly. Why the fuck would anyone keep a lab so dim? Ignoring the things that look obviously dangerous, she continues her search kind of hoping she might find a bottle labeled ‘mysterious pink living room goo cleaner’ or some such thing, but it’s all strangely shaped tools and guns and orbs and… a glowing blue and black box catches her eye. She reaches out for it.

“Diane! Don’t touch that!”

The sound of Rick’s panicked voice behind her startles her so bad her hand jerk and taps against the box anyways. Without warning, something that feels like a hand with incredible strength grabs the back of her shirt and yanks her ten feet across the room until she slams into Rick who’s standing in the now-open doors of the elevator. 

“Oh, Fuck, Diane! What have you done? You’ve killed us both!”

“I’m sorry Rick! I didn’t mean to!!”

Where she had been standing only second ago, a hideous blue creature has appeared, springing fully formed out of the tiny box. It’s all the more grotesque for how strangely human it looks.

“HI! I’m Mr. Meeseeks. Look at me!”

“What is it, Rick?!”

He’s holding her tight around the middle, keeping her from running away even though she’s really starting to freak out now that the creature is making its way towards them. 

“Look at me!” The thing squawks at them like a threat.

Talking low, directly into her ear, Rick says, “It’s a Mr. Meeseeks, the most dangerous creature in the galaxy. It won’t stop until it’s had its way with you. You’ve really fucked yourself, Diane.” 

“It was an accident, Rick! Don’t let it hurt me!”

Beth had warned her, too, not to touch anything in Rick’s garage ever without his permission, and what had she gone and done?? He’s trembling against her with what feels like laughter but must be fear. Meanwhile, the thing keeps getting closer and closer.

“Hi! I’m Mr. Me-”

“I know what you are you sick fuck! Stay away from us!” She screams and tries to kick at the monster, but Rick’s grip is strong enough to hold her back. 

“Look at me!”

It’s getting so close! In another second it will be able to reach out and touch her. Her heart feels like it’s going to pound out of her chest. She pushes back against Rick as hard as she can to get away from it, but he doesn’t budge. 

When the thing is reaching out, inches away from touching her, Rick says calmly, “Mr. Meeseeks, I need you to kill yourself.”

“Okay!”

Instead of advancing on her any further, the ‘Mr. Meeseeks’ changes direction and picks up a gun from one of the workbenches she had passed over. Without hesitating, it points the barrel at its own head, pulls the trigger, and dissolves into a puddle of blue goo. 

“Oh my god, Rick!!”

“I know, right, yeesh. Not the way I would have picked to go.”

“What just happened??”

“What just happened is you touched something you didn’t understand, and then you made it my fucking problem.”

Rick finally lets her go and walks over to retrieve his gun from the puddle that had been, only seconds ago, a living being. 

“You said that thing was going to kill us!”

“And it could have. Along with anything else in this room which is why you don’t touch my shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Great. I’ll be sure to take that a-apology to the bank so the teller can explain to me how worthless it is.”

She tries not to think about the Rick in her strange and alarming dreams too much when she’s interacting with real-life asshole Rick, lest she get whiplash. Straightening her shirt and rubbing a hand over her chest, she wills her heart to stop racing.

“Is this a bad time to tell you there’s some sort of weird pink slime aggressively taking over the living room?” She asks.

“What pink slime? There’s pink slime ta-taking over the living room and you let me do this bit with the Meeseeks?”

“I didn’t know you were doing a bit!”

“Yeah, alright. That-that one’s on me.” 

Rick climbs the ladder to poke his head out of the hatch, pulling it back down just as quickly. 

“Oh, shit.” He says.

“Oh shit, what?” Diane asks, still down on the lower level. 

“Oh shit you let me fuck around with the Meeseek while Florpian Slime has taken over the whole house!”

“I don’t know what any of those things are! Is this another bit?”

He jumps down from the ladder without answering her and grabs the gun that turned the Meeseeks creature into goo. Pressing a button on it causes the gun to rearrange itself mechanically until it’s an inside out version of what it was before. 

“A-a-alright, listen, you stay down here. Don’t move, and I’m going to go up there, fix this and -” Above their heads, the garage gives a terrifying, structural-sounding groan. “Never mind, you better come with me in case the whole place collapses and you suffocate to death down here.”

“What?”

“Orrr, more likely, panic and injure yourself. Climb the ladder, but the second you get up there, don’t stop, just run out of the garage and into the street. Understand?”

“What is Florpian slime?”

“No! We don’t have time for questions. Every second we’re down here that slime is getting closer to taking down the house, and it if traps us both down here we’re fucked. Like actually fucked. Get-get-climb up the ladder. Now!”

“Okay, okay… Oh my god…”

“No! Don’t stop climbing what did I just tell you?”

“Uncle Rick, it’s everywhere.”

“Yes, and extremely corrosive. So, move!”

Losing patience with her, Rick puts his hands on either side of her legs on the ladder rungs and starts climbing up while straddling her. As soon as he gets to the top, he reaches down, grabs her by the arm and pulls her up. All around them goo is oozing down the walls of the garage and dripping in globs off the ceiling. 

“Ouch! Shit!” A drip of the stuff falls onto her arm and burns straight through her shirt sizzling against her skin. 

“Garage, open the door and get her out of here.”

[I will - I - Eject - I will eje- Rick, I don’t feel so good]

The machine inside the walls of the garage gives a few unhappy clicks and falls silent. Beneath the corrosive goo the house is beginning to smolder and dissolve.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Rick curses. 

Wizening up to the fact that they actually are in danger, Diane sees the garage door opener on Rick’s workbench and makes a break for it before the goo can dissolve that too. Unfortunately, she doesn’t think to look up before she does.

“Noooo!” Rick yells, but he’s too late to warn her.

A second after she hits the clicker, Rick whole body slams into her, knocking them both to the ground just as the largest glob of slime yet falls off the ceiling directly above their heads. He holds out his lab jacket like a cape, covering them both, and an electric blue mesh hisses into existence around him and the jacket protecting them. She curls up in a ball under him until it’s over.

Oh, shit. If he hadn’t jumped on top of her, that probably would have killed her. In a Rick-sized outline around them, the floor is burning and dissolving. 

“Rick, are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer. Diane’s starting to realize she’s maybe never seen Rick Sanchez angry, because she’s definitely never seen him look the way he does now. 

“Fuck!” He yells while grabbing the inside-out gun from his waistband. Still laying on top of her he starts shooting wildly at the walls and ceiling. Everywhere the beam from his gun hits, the slime turns from a gloopy ooze into solid crystal-like formations. Only once the entire garage is no longer dripping does Rick take his weight off of her and stand up. He points to the now-open garage door, and, trembling, Diane walks out into the driveway. From the street, there’s no evidence of anything foreign taking over the Smith household. 

Rick goes from the garage into the main house, and she watches the progress of his ray gun flashing through the windows as he goes room to room freezing the slime. 

When it’s all said and done, and he’s frozen all the goo into crystals so it’s safe for her to return inside, the two of them arm themselves with rakes and broom handles and spend the better part of three hours knocking the crystalized slime off the ceilings and walls. All things considered, the place doesn’t actually look too bad after they get it all down. A few holes in the plaster and carpet, but Rick patches those up, and now all the place needs is a serious vacuuming. 

The entire time they spend knocking crystals off the wall, he remains completely silent. Diane hasn’t said anything either, but her silence is more of a result of his than a personal choice. She can feel the anger emanating off him and doesn’t know what to say. 

“Let me see your arm.”

She jumps a little hearing him talk for the first time in hours. In lieu of vacuuming, he’s sent out a strange little alien thing that apparently lives in the walls of the garage, and was thankfully unharmed, to clean up all the crystals off the floor so it seems like their work is done.

“The-where the Florpian. Just show me.”

She rolls up her sleeve to show him the small welt left behind by the acidic goop. With a flourish, he pulls out of his lab coat the largest needle on a syringe she’s ever seen.

“What is that?!”

“H-hold still.”

“Hell no! Are you crazy?”

“Do you want to turn into a Florpian, is that it? Want to spend the- spend your whole life as a sentient slime blob? That sound good to you ba- Cousin Diane?”

“Are you saying this stuff was sentient?”

“Just hold still. It won’t, you won’t even feel it.”

Of course, he’s lying. 

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

11:27am

Sunday November 7th

Smith Family Living Room

“I’m super bummed my Playstation got ruined by the slime.”

“Y-yeah. That really sucks, Cousin Diane. I’m sorry. You know, I-I bet Rick could make you a new one if you asked.”

“That’s okay. I think he’s still mad at me about the whole fiasco. Anyways, I like your console too. This is fun.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to lie. This game is the worst.”

“Nooo. I like it. I bet if we could just figure out how to chop down one of these trees we could survive the vampires outside the forest.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

1:14pm

Sunday, November 7th

Rick’s Garage

“R-rick, are you seriously so mad at Cousin Diane you won’t make her a new Playstation.”

“This is literally the first I’m hearing about this Morty, why does everyone in this house feel the need to blame me for all their bullshit problems?”

“C’mon Rick you know t-t-that’s not true. I’m just asking if you won’t make her a new one because you’re mad at her.”

“I’m not making her one because she didn’t ask, and also, Morty, no I’m not going to build her a whole new Playstation because if I was going to build a gaming console, and I could, it wouldn’t be a fucking Playstation.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

4:57pm

Sunday, November 7th

Smith Family Living Room

“Here’s your Playstation.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah, well, Morty said you missed your old one and that you wanted to play the sims on it or whatever. It should play all the same games your old one did.”

“Thank you!”

“No hugs!”

“Right, sorry. But thank you! I’m going to set it up right now.”

“Yeah, sure. Enjoy it or whatever, but you should know I’m only giving it to you on one condition, and it’s non-negotiable.”

“Oh, okay. What is it?”

She’s thinking something along the lines of do his dishes forever starting now, and is confused when he pulls a long silver-chained necklace out of his lab coat’s pocket. 

“You need to wear this. You wear it all the time. At school. When you shower. When you sleep. You never take it off.”

“Uhhh…and I have to do this to keep the new Playstation, right?”

“Yes.”

She takes the chain from his hands, and for a second when she touches it the whole thing sparks electric blue like the protective mesh around Rick had when he shielded her from that slime. She can feel it around her as soon as the necklace touches her skin; like some sort of latent electric field. Is this how Rick feels all the time?

“That’s…” She’s sort of at a loss for what to say. 

“Look, the necklace, it’s not a sex, you know, thing alright. I don’t do that kind of shit without consent. I’m not a creep.”

“No, I don’t think you are. I just…this is about the slime, right? Because I’m not trying to hurt myself or anything. Or be purposefully stupid. I just… it was only one second. A mistake.”

“Look, I-I could come up with a whole thing about Beth and the kids and them not losing any more family, but I’m not in the mood. Do you want the Playstation or not.”

“Yes…? Yes. I do. I’ll wear the necklace, then, I guess. No big deal.”

“Never take it off.”

“I won’t ever take it off, Rick. I promise.”

But she is, of course, lying.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

8:31pm

Friday, December 3rd

Smith Family Kitchen

“So? Are you excited about your date tonight?” Beth asks, her after-work glasses of wine already showing themselves in the cadence of her words. 

“Honestly, more nervous than excited. It’s been a while.” Diane picks at a string on her dress. Beth had helped her pull down an old box of Marlene’s things from the attic since her own wardrobe was lacking. A lot of the clothes were musty and helplessly out of style but some, like this dress, leaned more towards a chic sort of vintage. She had no idea her mother had such great style and always saw her as a more buttoned-up type. 

“I’m kind of jealous. You get to go out, meet a whole new person, maybe fall in love. Anything could happen.”

“I guess, but don’t talk about love. This is the first date. We’re just meeting each other.”

Even if she wanted to, she’d wouldn’t be able to explain to Beth what it is about this date that’s making her feel so strange, uncomfortable even. This is supposed to be a good thing. The whole reason she downloaded that app was to get out there and do things like this, and Beth had gone out of her way to help her get ready. It would be unthinkable to bail on it now just because she’s feeling a little bleh about the whole thing. 

She says, “Thanks again for getting those clothes out of the attic. I don’t own a single dress that doesn’t scream ‘I bought this for a job interview!’”

“My pleasure. Gave Jerry something to do anyways. I think some of my mom’s stuff is mixed up in there too, but I haven’t had a chance to go through it yet.”

The thought of Aunt Diane’s and Marlene’s things together gives her an idea. 

“You know what we should do? We should wear some of these clothes out together like a sister date! Or cousin date I mean. Or is that super weird?”

“It’s not weird at all. I love it!” Beth says sounding genuinely excited. 

“Yay! Oh, it’ll be so fun. Man, now I’m kind of bummed I’m wearing this dress out for a lame guy date. Should I go change?”

“No! You look so cute. You’re so young, and unmarried, and free. I’m jealous. No, I’m not, just kidding. I love my family. Jerry and I are in such a great place. Oh, hi dad.”

Diane turns around to see Rick’s just come in through the garage door. He’s paused mid movement holding onto the door handle staring at them, or her, she can’t tell. 

“Doesn’t cousin Diane look cute? She’s got a date tonight.” Beth continues when Rick doesn’t respond to her greeting. 

For a few long seconds, Diane really thinks he isn’t going to say anything and the three of them are going to stand here in awkward silence until she has to leave, but then he blinks and says, “Y-y-yeah. Real nice.”

“Oh, and I found of box of Aunt Marlene’s stuff in the attic. I was wondering if you could help me go through it and see if any of it belonged to mom.”

“Sure, sweetie. Whatever you want.”

“Thanks dad, I think that will be good for us! And he’s gone.” 

Sure enough, Rick walked back through the door into the garage without even waiting for Beth to finish her sentence. 

“Anyways, have fun tonight. Stay out at late as you want. You can do that because you’re an adult, unlike me the last time I was dating.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

11:07pm

Friday, December 3rd 

Rick’s Garage

Rick fires up the camera on his monitor. When he’s been drinking this much it’s always good to make sure there’s a record of what he gets up to in case he wants to undo it later. 

“This is uh… project cleaning up my own- my other me’s - stupid, dumb, bad shit they did even though it’s not my fault but now it’s my problem.”

[Succinct] the garage computer says to him through speakers he had to replace after the Florpian slime incident.

“Hey! No one asked for your, for you to- I’ll, you’ll know if I want your comment. Anyways we’re on phase seventeen of the project, as you - me - I know, and by now I think we can assume the unwanted memories can’t be extracted or blocked, and whatever this is it isn’t faulty DNA caused by my counterparts inferior cloning technology. S-so out of the infinite possible solutions, I’ve eliminated two.”

[Perhaps these memories exist because Diane loved you, and that love is a part of her DNA]

“Ir-irrelevent. Even if love could be programed into someone’s DNA, and trust me on this one you don’t want to go down that road, it would have shown up on her blood samples. She’s not Diane. She was born as a baby, has all her own memories. Whatever did or didn’t happen between me and the real Diane shouldn’t have any bearing on that.

[And yet it does]

“Yeah, I’m aware of the problem. What are you trying for, most redundant piece of machinery award? I asked you to help me not tell me shit I already know.”

[Perhaps we should eliminate the problem]

“Cool it with the we shit, and no one’s killing Cousin Diane.”

[I’m only saying what you’ve programmed me to say]

“If only that were true.”

[So, what are you planning on doing?]

Through the garage door comes the quiet sound of the car pulling into the driveway, accompanied by the muffled music of Neil Diamond. 

“M-my dead wife was reincarnated as my daughter’s cousin, who she’s currently using to address her unresolved issues about being an only child, and every day we both spend in this house, the risk of me slipping into a major depressive episode, or worse, grows. So wh-what do you think I’m going to do?”

[Sounds like one of those Isekai animes Morty watches]

 Outside the door, the music continues to play, and he’s starting to get worried she’s going to wait out the whole song before she turns it off. 

“Goddamit, what’s she doing out there?”

To save time, or because he’s lazy, or simply because he can, Rick teleports directly into the passenger seat of the car and shuts off the stereo. 

“Rick?! What the- hey I was listening to that!”

“Yeah. Loudly. Y-you know, this is the suburbs, Diane. You can’t just go playing whatever you want at all hours. The neighbors will talk. Gene’s a real fucking gossip about that shit.”

“It’s Neil Diamond. How is that offensive to anyone?”

“Oh, what, because he’s some white guy he’s not offensive.”

“What? No, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Well maybe you should think before you speak, babe.”

For a fleeting second he almost smiles, and then he realizes who he thought he was talking to and all the humor leaves him like someone’s pulled the plug out of a drain. 

“Goddammit! Goddammit!”

He hits the station wagon’s dashboard with enough force to leave a dent and she has to grab him by the lapels of his lab coat to get him to stop. 

“Rick! Don’t! You’re going to set off the airbag! What is your problem tonight?”

“You are my fucking problem!”

He can’t even think about how she’s wearing one of Diane’s old dresses because if he does he might do something really stupid with a ray gun and end up breaking Beth’s heart again. 

“I don’t understand. What am I doing wrong?” Cousin Diane asks, looking hurt. As if she’s the one who has any right to be upset here.

“Everything! You’re a fucking mistake. Don’t you know that? Why don’t you fuck off and leave my family alone?! …No, hey-hey don’t start crying. D-don’t, I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s fine! Do whatever you want. Beat up the car. I don’t care.”

Diane gets out, but she doesn’t slam the door. He would have slammed it. 

[Fwoop]

He grabs his memory gun from the garage before portaling into the kitchen to catch up with her. At this point he’s used it on her so many times she’s on her way to tying Morty’s record. 

“Cousin Diane, just listen to me.”

“I don’t feel like talking right now, okay? I had a really shitty date, and now I just want to go get some sleep.”

“You had a shitty date? I- That sucks. If you stop for one second we can talk about it.”

“No, thank you.”

The stairway light flips on without either of them touching the switch. Morty’s standing at the bottom of the stairs in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes. 

“What’s all the noise? What’s- Rick, why do you have your memory gun?”

“Memory gun?” Diane finally stops and looks at him.

“Goddammit, Morty, now I gotta do both of you.”

“F-fuck no, Rick!”

Morty launches himself at Rick before he can react and the two struggle over the gun. 

“Not again!”

“This is for your own good!”

Rays shoot out of the gun hitting the walls and furniture without causing any damage until one of them strike Cousin Diane in the chest. 

“Rick! What did you do?”

“What did I do M-morty? What did you do?”

“Oh my god, what just happened? Where did the sun go? How did I get here?”

“Oh crap. Stop tugging on it Morty, I need to check the settings.”

Rick’s pleas do nothing to sway his angry grandson. The more Rick tries to wrench it away from him, the harder Morty fights him, until their struggles dislodge the glass bulb on top of the device sending it plummeting towards the hard floor of the entryway. Focused on catching it before it can shatter, Rick lets go of the gun and reaches out for the glass bulb. Taken by surprise when his grandfather suddenly lets go, Morty reels backwards with the memory gun in his hand. 

The sound of glass breaking is accompanied by a plastic crunch. 

“Great. That real great Morty. Reeeeaaall great.” Rick says, surveying the broken glass on the ground while Cousin Diane stares blankly out the living room window. 

“Fuck you, Rick. I’ve always hated this thing!” 

Morty throws the gun onto the ground and begins stomping on it as hard as he can, shouting at Rick in between stomps. 

“I said don’t!”

“Use it on me!”

“Again!”

“It’s for your own good.” Rick pulls Morty away from the gun, but the damage is done.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

5:36pm

Monday, December 6th

Dr. Wong’s Office Interior

“Rick, what I’m hearing from your family is that one of your devices went off when Cousin Diane was nearby.”

“...”

“It sounds like it had an adverse effect on her. It caused her to lose two weeks of her memories which has affected her progress at school. Is this correct?”

“...”

“Rick, I think it would be good if you could acknowledge that this happened.”

“What happened never would have happened if Morty-”

“Don’t put this on me, Rick!”

Doctor Wong holds up her hands to interrupt the two of them before another fight breaks out. 

“It’s alright,” She says to Morty and then looks at Rick, “Morty has already taken responsibility for the part he played in this. We’re talking about you now.”

“...”

“Rick, why do you have a gun that erases people’s memories?”

“Yeah, that’s a very good question, dad.”

“Beth, let’s try to keep the judgment out of this for now and hear Rick’s side of the story.”

“Maybe I have it because maybe some people can’t handle how shitty the universe really is.”

“Morty, you said that Rick has used this device to alter your memories in the past. Do you agree with him that you couldn’t handle the reality of these removed memories?”

“No! He doesn’t even ask. He just assumes. Maybe I want the bad memories, Rick. The bad and the good.”

“You don’t know what a bad memory is you little shit! Don’t come crying to me the next time Jessica turns you down for being a pathetic little asshole.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be a pathetic asshole forever, Rick. How am I supposed to learn if I keep forgetting?”

“You’re not a pathetic asshole, honey.”

“No, mom, you’re wrong. Sometimes I am a pathetic asshole. It s-sucks and it’s e-e-embarrassing and maybe I want to forget but it’s not right! It’s not right to pretend the bad stuff never happened!”

“Thank you for sharing that, Morty, and for what it’s worth I think you’re exactly right. Now that the memory gun has been destroyed, maybe you can all as a family agree to stop following that first instinct of sweeping things under the rug, and work together to address things in the moment before they fester.”

“I think that’s a great idea.”

“I agree with Beth.”

“Sure.”

“O-okay.”

“.... whatever.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

2:39am

Wednesday, December 8th

Summer Smith’s Bedroom 

After the dream where young Rick asked her out, Cousin Diane is not exactly hoping she gets to see his band play, because that would be weird. It would be weird as hell to be hoping that, when she falls asleep, she'll get the chance to imagine that her uncle is a teenager who's asked her out on a date to watch him play music at a bar. So, she doesn't hope. Or she does, but doesn't allow herself to think about that hope at the very least.

Come on, please. Can we be a little normal for one night? Is it really that hard?

Apparently, it is. There's no denying the thrill she gets when her eyes fall closed, her head on her pillow, and the dream she’s been waiting for finally materializes. Standing on the stone steps of the only library in a town she’s never been to/grew up in, and there’s Rick picking her up in the kind of station wagon even Cousin Diane knows used to be called a 'woody', his guitar in its case in the back seat.

She smooths down the sides of her skirt self-consciously as she gets into the front seat. There's no center console or anything, it's all just one long seat across the front, so technically she could sit right next to him but chooses to buckle up in the seat by the window instead.

Come on, dream Diane, don't be like that. You look hot! She urges herself, but it’s no use, she doesn't feel hot. She feels like Rick has surely noticed by now that she's only got two good outfits, and one skirt and it's not even a very nice skirt, just one she convinced daddy to buy last year so she'd have something more formal to wear to their once-yearly church visit at Christmas, and it's probably not at all the kind of thing Rick was hoping she'd wear tonight but at least her hair’s done up. She did it in the library bathroom, of course, so Marlene wouldn't notice before she left the house and ask why she was getting all gussed up just to go study. 

Mention his guitar! Ask him what kind of music he plays! This does not have to be so awkward, please, but like always in these dreams, Cousin Diane is only a passenger and completely unable to change the outcome in any way.

Rick turns on the radio but can't pick a station. To be fair this town has a pretty poor selection, but she doesn’t stand his fiddling with it for long before she's pushing his hand away from the knob gently and switching it off. 

"Let's just talk." She says. "I was trying to decide all last night what kind of music I thought you played."

This makes Rick smile as he drives them out towards the edge of town. 

"A-and?"

"Country music." She says more for a lack of any real certainty than actually believing that’s the case. The more she thought about it last night, the more unlikely every option seemed.

"Yeah, if they pay me to." Rick says with a shrug.

"But you don't like to."

"No."

He's still smiling, still waiting for her to guess. 

"Then rock and roll." It seems like the obvious choice, but his acoustic guitar tells her that’s probably not the case for tonight.

"Wrong a-a-again. Do you like rock, rock and roll?" He asks.

"I guess. Depends on the type. Fine, next guess. You’re a Beatles cover band. Right? I know it. Next summer you'll have your hair all grown out just like Paul McCartney. It's what all the boys who want to rebel against their parents are doing."

Rick groans.

"Is that really what you think of me?” He says, “I-I like my parents."

"I thought you didn't want to listen to what your parents say."

"I-I-I don't think they should be allowed to make decisions for me, but I'm not d-dumb enough to make a bad decision just to spite them."

"Okay. Rebellious, but not too rebellious."

"More r-rebellious than the Beatles. Just not against my parents. I'll give you a hint, i-i-it's my dad's favorite genre."

"I don't know your dad!"

"Not y-yet, but he's gonna love you. You two have so much in c-common."

Diane's unable to hide a stupid smile at the presumption she’s going to be meeting his father at some point, but Rick is watching the road too intently to notice, or at least she hopes so.

"Okay, so folk music." She guesses.

"So that’s your favorite? Folk music." Rick asks eagerly as though that's what he's been aiming to find out this whole time.

"I didn't say that!"

"Okay, so what kind of f-folk music? The classics? Are you a Woody Guthrie fan. You can tell me if you're into really old, scratchy records of men crooning about working in the fields. I won't judge if that's-- if you think that's the best kind of music."

"We're talking about you. Don't change the subject. My next guess is jazz." 

"You're really just work-working your way down the whole list, huh?"

"Well I don't have much to go on. Seems like the most efficient way. Okay then, next guess. Rhythm and blues?"

Rick smiles.

"I guess you were right, that was the most efficient way to do it. O-only took you six guesses."

She looks at him disbelievingly, almost hurt he thinks she’d be so easy to fool.

"You are the biggest liar, Rick Sanchez. We're going to get to this place and you're going to be singing 'Can’t Buy me Love,' I know it. Rhythm and blues.” She scoffs, “They don't even have that kind of music at Rocky's."

"First, I didn't say I'd be singing. I-I'm just playing guitar tonight. No, scratch that. First, I would never sing ‘Can’t Buy me Love.’ I-I’m not, that’s not, t-that wouldn’t happen. And, second, we're not going to Rocky's. This place isn't in town. That’s, um, is that okay with you?"

"Oh…” Out of town. For whatever reason, Dream Diane hadn’t thought that might be an option. “No, that’s totally fine I just..." 

She's just… never been to a bar that plays rhythm and blues music, and she's spent pretty much her entire life in this town which she likes to think is stupid and small until it comes times to leave it, and she had been perfectly happy to laugh along with Marlene when she called Rick a square, but the question’s always been there if it isn't the two of them, with their silly inside jokes, so fast to make fun of everyone else, who aren't actually the squares.

If she was a little uncomfortable with herself when this date started, she’s feeling doubly so now.

"You think I'm just some silly little girl don't you?"

"No." Rick says, sounding surprised she would think that. 

"You thought if you told me where we were really going, I wouldn't come with you."

Now he has the decency to look at least a little guilty.

"I didn't lie to you. We are-- It is a roadhouse."

"Well, you could have been more specific. I would have still come, just so you know."

The sit in silence as they drive past Rocky's roadhouse and continue out of the town limits. Until she thinks he's had enough time to feel bad, and also, she's started to miss talking to him.

"So, who's going to sing, if you don't sing?"

"Friend of mine, guy named Louis. He’s there every week and sometimes when his regular guy is out, he pays me to come play for him. He's great. Y-you really will love it. I promise." 

"I better. You can't even imagine how much trouble I'll get into if daddy finds out I've left town."

"He won’t find out." Rick says it as if he has some kind of supernatural control over who knows what when.

"You're pretty sure of yourself for someone who'll be out of a job if we get caught."

"Job? I don’t… Oh, you mean when I fix that stuff. I-I just do that so I can see you."

Diane says nothing and after a few seconds Rick turns away from the road so he can look at her.

"You're doing it again." He says with a smile.

"No, I am not." Diane cranks the window down hurriedly so the night air can cool her face. 

“It’s nice. L-looks good with your freckles.”

Thankfully for her dignity, they’re arriving at the venue and he’s out of time to say anything else to make her blush, but when they pull into the gravel parking lot of a place called Riverside Roadhouse she has a whole new set of anxieties to worry about.  Half an hour ago she might have considered herself a fairly worldly person - maybe a little sheltered, but certainly not naive - but now she starting to see the ugly truth and there's no going back.

She doesn’t know this place. Rick has brought her to possibly the only joint within twenty miles that could make her feel completely out of her depth, and now he expects her to what, loiter at the bar, alone, while he goes on stage for hours? Impossible. She's never felt so shy. The other people here hanging out in the parking lot and walking into the bar are a mix of ages and races and different styles of clothing, but the one thing they all have in common is looking more effortlessly cool and at ease than she ever will. No familiar faces. No one wearing clothes like her.

She grabs Rick by the arm before he can get out of the car.

"Rick, I can’t go in there. I'm dressed like I'm going to church."

"What are you talking about? You, you look great."

"No, I'm serious. There's no way."

"Hey, don't– don't worry. It's okay. I come here all the time, no one's gonna give you any trouble. Come on. Just come in for two seconds and i-if you hate it, we'll leave."

She lets go of his sleeve so he can get out, but indulges herself in a nervous whine as he walks around the car to open her door. 

Her options going in to the place are follow behind Rick like a nervous puppy and risk getting lost in the crowd, or cling to Rick's arm and hope her tight grip cuts off his circulation as punishment for bringing her so far out of her comfort zone. She chooses the second one.

Seriously, some of these people look like they could be on television getting interviewed by Jonny Carson, and she's walking around with dirty keds. 

Even being weighed down by both her and his guitar, Rick manages to maneuver all the way to the front of the roadhouse’s bar where a small stage sits only a few feet above the rest of the floor. 

This is it, he's going to leave her to fend for herself while he goes up and plays, and she was too foolish to even bring her own money to get a drink, and that's if they'll serve her here, being underage. Rocky's would have served her. Maybe not all night, but at least a beer or two. 

"Forget about Rocky's." Rick says as if he can read the train of her thought by just the expression on her face. He leans close to her ear so he can be heard over the crowd. "Come on. I want to introduce you."

He helps her onto the stage and walks them towards the antique looking player piano where a black man in a wool suit sits tapping thoughtfully at the keys. He’s as big and broad-shouldered as her father, but probably at least twenty years older judging by his curly white hair and grey beard. When he sees the two of them coming over he smiles and holds his hand out to shake Rick's.

"Saved my ass again, Sanchez, but I guess that's the way it goes when you hire college kids. They realize pretty quick they don't want to be working nights when everyone else is out playing."

"You could just solve all your problems and hire me full time. W-when have I ever not shown up?"

The man, Louis she assumes, shakes his head.

"Not going to happen, kid. You are going to stay in school. You are going to graduate. And you are not going to waste that mind playing blues at a bar when you are my age."

Rick doesn't look satisfied with that answer, but he shrugs it off and gives her an encouraging nudge.

"This is Diane. Diane this is Louis."

"It's nice to meet you." She says holding out her hand which he takes in both of his. Like Rick, his fingers and palms are tough with calluses. 

"Nice to meet you too Diane. You'll have to forgive me for being surprised. When Rick told me on the phone he might be bringing a beautiful lady with him, I just assumed he was lying. I'm happy to see he wasn't, this time, but you should know you can't trust a word that comes out of this kid’s mouth." 

Louis and Rick share a look of friendly antagonism, and Diane lets out a laugh, grateful for the compliment Louis paid her. 

"You know, Mr. Louis, I think I have to agree with you there. When Rick invited me, he made it seem like he was going to be playing all by himself. Didn't mention anything about you." 

This makes Louis laugh, a booming sound that can be heard easily over all the other conversations happening around the bar.

"That- that’s not true. She assumed." Rick says, pouting over their collusion at his expense, and she touches his arm, smiling an apology. 

"It's alright though. I'm glad he did. I probably wouldn't have come if I realized how crowded this place would be."

Louis looks around skeptically. 

"You should come back tomorrow,” He says. “it's twice as busy on Saturday,  but don't worry, we won’t make you stand at the bar. Take one of the tables up front so you can listen to him play." 

She's about to tell him not to bother just for her, but he's already waving someone over and making the request.  A high-backed armchair with a beautiful embroidery that's been worn thread-thin with use is brought out from one of the corners of bar and placed next to one of several tables near the front of the stage for her to sit in. 

After a few more minutes of talking with Louis, Rick walks her over to the chair. He squats next to her while she sinks down into it feeling a little like a queen. 

"Want something to drink?" He asks.

"Will they serve us here?"

"Not alcohol, but I get you a coffee or soda."

"A diet coke?"

"Yeah."

When he brings it back to her, she sips it thoughtfully knowing he should be over with Louis getting ready to play but he's lingering here by her instead.

Finally she makes up her mind to just say it.

"Rick, don't be so nice to me, okay? I'm scared I might fall love with you."

It’s a stretch, an exaggeration. Obviously . This is their first date. He is just some guy. This is hardly a fairytale setting. This is… this….

He looks at her blankly until she's certain she's just made a huge fool of herself. Then, finally, he says, "I hope you do. Otherwise it's going to be pretty awkward when I ask you to m-marry me."

Then, because he always has to have the last word, Rick walks away before she can even think of how to respond to that, and she's left alone with her diet coke surrounded by people and conversations buzzing with energy. Left alone to hear those words play over and over in her head until it's finally replaced with the sound of his guitar.

Louis is amazing. He’s easily good enough between playing the piano, harmonica, and his powerful voice to be single handedly responsible for the size of the crowd in this out of the way bar. But she's only got ears for Rick. So much so that she silently vows to come back here on a different night, when Rick isn't playing, so that she can give Louis' music the attention it clearly deserves.

Just not tonight. Tonight the sounds Rick's fingers are creating on the strings of his guitar are the only thing she can hear. The low chords and high, it doesn't matter, all of them are thrumming directly into her body like magic. Like he's playing to her soul; on her soul; in her soul. She never wants it to stop, has no idea how much time has passed when Louis finally calls a break halfway through the set to rest for a minute and have a few drinks, and she's still thinking about what Rick said about marrying her when he brings her another diet coke and now it's her turn to look at him blankly, completely at a loss. 

Nothing has ever prepared her for feeling like this.

When Rick stands next to her she feels a wave of contentment, and when he walks away again she's at a loss, and when he looks at her she feels okay again, until he has to look back at the rest of the crowd, and she's missing him immediately and so intensely it's almost unbearable. She wants to hear him play every song again each time they finish one, and can't stand the way the night is slipping through her fingers.

When the whole set is finished, and it does eventually finish despite her willing it to continue forever, she agrees with everyone else at the bar and on the dance floor who beg Louis and the bartender loudly to keep going, to keep serving, to not let the night end just yet, but there’s no convincing the people who work here. They’re ready for the shift to be over.

She watches comfortably from her chair while Rick shakes hands with a few of the more sociable people who were listening. It’s so comfortable in this chair, and so far past the normal time she stays up, she kind of wants to just fall asleep here even though she knows she can’t. She has to get up, to say goodnight to Louis at least, and to go home. Home. She hates thinking about it. It must be past 1am now, and Marlene with probably be furious with her and Diane will have to tell her something. 

“Ready to go?”

Rick holds out his hand to help her out of the chair and she wants to tell him no. No, she’s not ready yet, they’ll have to stay here forever, he’ll have to keep playing for her, he’ll have to carry her if he wants to make her leave, he can’t take her home they’ll have to go away somewhere far somewhere they can be together every night, all night. 

“Sure. I just want to say goodnight to Louis.”

Out in the parking lot she shivers, but he doesn’t have a jacket to give her. He’s played the whole night in his sweater vest. She leans comfortably against his chest instead while he rubs her arms to warm them and waves to a few people getting into their cars who know him by name, and as soon as both his guitar and her are safely tucked into the car he gets in himself and turn the heaters on so she can warm her hands. This time she scoots all the way down the seat so she can be next to him. 

As he pulls down the driveway to her father’s yard, lights off so they don’t get caught, she breaks the last few minutes of comfortable, sleepy silence to say.

“I don’t want to go back Rick. I want to go somewhere with you.”

One of his hands is resting on the steering wheel. The other is around her shoulders. He looks at her, but it’s too dark to make out his expression clearly. It’s not until he’s so close to her face it’s impossible to mistake his intentions that she realizes he’s going to kiss her. 

When their lips meet for the softest, quickest few seconds of her life, all the things that were ever tight inside Diane loosen all at once.

“Say it again.” He says, but suddenly she’s lost her nerve. Something about his tone tells her, intuitively, that he’s not messing her around. That he might actually do it, take her somewhere far away, right now right this very second if she asks, but she can’t do that. Love is great, but family is a responsibility.

“Good night Rick Sanchez,” She says instead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, and the next day if you’re lucky, and the next day, and…”

She closes the car door as softly as possible, not wanting to wake daddy.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

7:26am

Wednesday, December 8th

Smith Family Dining Room

Diane chews and chews and chews at her pancakes, but the bites never seem to get any easier to swallow. She can’t remember ever being this exhausted. Not even in her final push to graduate with her bachelors, and to make it worse, Uncle Rick is sitting right next to her eating and talking to Morty animatedly and every time his elbow brushes her arm she feels an intense blush warming her from her neck to the tips of her ears. 

“How did you sleep, cousin Diane?” Morty asks possibly noticing the way she’s nodding off into her plate.

“Super weirdly, little cuz. Thanks for asking.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

7:47pm

Wednesday, December 8th

Smith Family Dining Room

Rick walks past Diane studying at the table to get a beer from the fridge, then walks past her again on the way back to the couch. 

He does this two more times. 

On the final time he can’t take it anymore.

“T-that’s not gonna work.”

“What do you mean? It is working… I think.”

“Just because you can plug numbers into an equation doesn’t mean it’s the right equation. Why are you trying to calculate velocity?”

“I’m not, I… shit this is the wrong equation isn’t it? I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m going to fail.” She lays her head down on the open text book and lets out a pathetic sigh. 

Looking at her Rick says, “If it makes you feel any better, no job that requires just a master’s degree is ever going to pay so much more that it will actually cover the cost of the loans you took out to get it.”

Diane lets out an even more pathetic groan.

“Rick, can you help me pass this class please?”

“I can hack your teacher’s computer, but I’ll tell you the same thing I tell Morty, no one’s gonna believe anything higher than a C.”

“Thanks, but that’s not what I meant. Can you help me with this report so I have something to turn in.”

Rick pulls the book and her papers from under her head, sits down, and starts scribbling.

“Wait! Slow down. Show me what you’re doing so I can understand.”

Now it’s Rick’s turn to groan.

“Ughh. Fine.”

-          -          -

“Okay. Alright. I think I get it now.”

“D-don’t tease me because the last two times you said that-”

“Wait, what does this number mean again?”

“That number? That number? Are you fucking kidding me because if you don’t understand that number, t-there’s no way any of this makes sense to you.”

“Arghh! It doesn’t! I’m sorry Rick I’m trying, but I hate this class. I don’t understand why there’s so much mathematics in this course at all it’s not like I want to be a stupid physicist. No offence, or… are you a physicist?”

“What I am can’t be described by one word, but if you’re asking if it involves physics, yes it does. Along with everything else in the universe.”

“So basically, I’m screwed.”

“B-basically.”

“Fuck. I’ve changed my mind about higher education. I don’t want to do it anymore. Why’d you only erase two weeks? Why couldn’t you have taken the last five years out of my head while you were at it?”

Rick doesn’t say anything and internally Diane winces.

“Sorry. I know we haven’t talked about it. I’m not really mad or anything. Morty explained it was an accident.”

“Yeah, well, if Morty hadn’t gotten all worked up like usual. I had it under control.”

“Sure. No, totally… and, um, you’re not going to build another one of those memory gun thing?”

“No. Th-the whole thing was more trouble than it’s worth. Just forget about it.”

“Right… Kind of related, but not really. Is there anything else you’d recommend that could maybe get rid of memories, or thoughts or whatever, that you don’t want.”

“Drinking helps.”

“Not exactly what I was thinking, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You-you’re talking about the dreams you have, right? The ones where I’m younger and you’re… you’re... not you.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Let’s just– we already had this conversation a few times, so let’s just skip passed it. You told me.”

“A few times?”

“Yeah, it must have been in those memories Morty erased. I guess.”

“So… do you know why it’s happening? I mean, I told you for a reason, right? Because I think it’s starting to get worse recently. It’s kind of freaking me out actually. Like, a lot.”

“No, I don’t know why it’s happening, and I don’t know how to stop It, and it-it’s probably getting worse because of all those memories that got erased due to, you know, someone fucking up, so do whatever you want with that. Not to state to the obvious, but have you t-tried just not doing it?”

“Yeah, actually. Funny enough that was the first thing I tried. And the second. And the third. And-”

“Alright, alright. Just figured I’d ask. You never know with this family, the stupid shit they don’t do before begging me to fix their problems.”

“I’m not begging, Rick. I just wanted your opinion before I drop a bunch of money on a doctor I can’t afford who will probably talk to me a whole five minutes before sending me out the door with the bill.”

Rick looks up from the paper she has to turn in where he’s been doodling what can only be described as a giant space tit orbiting a ringed planet.

“If you don’t want to be around me, I understand. Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. I-I-I can even help you think of something to tell Beth about it, if you wanted to, you know, avoid me.”

“Why would I want to avoid you?”

“Seeing me it could be making it worse. Maybe it’s best we don’t, aren’t, around each anymore. At all.”

“I don’t want to not see you anymore, Uncle Rick. I don’t think that would make me feel better. You were right the first time. I just have to push it to the side and not think about it. It’s probably just stress from school or something anyways.”

Diane looks closer at Rick’s face for a few seconds and whatever she sees makes worry scrunch up her brows.

“Or are you saying that because this is weird for you? Rick, I swear I’m not trying to dream about you on purpose. They’re not even that strange. Basically normal dreams. Did I tell you all the, um, I just mean… What exactly did I tell you about the dreams?”

Rick waves her off.

“Don’t even– don’t even worry about it, Cousin Diane. There’s no weirdness over here. Everything’s all good on this side of, you know, over here in ricktown.”

It’s not an answer to her question, but she doesn’t ask again. 

“Okay. Good. I’m glad then, because you’re family and I want everything to be cool between us.”

Rick opens his mouth to say something more, but Diane’s cellphone buzzes and she cuts him off with an apology.

“Shit, sorry Uncle Rick. I have to go or I’m going to be late for my date. Thank you for all your help with this. With the report, I mean.”

She kisses him on the cheek in a distracted, familiar way while gathering up her papers from the table. 

“Date?” He asks.

“Yeah. Apparently, I went on a date with this guy before the whole ‘memory incident’, and anyways he texted me about it so I had to explain the whole thing and how I couldn’t remember. He was super cool about it though, and said we had a great time and should go out again. He’s on his way to pick me up now.”

“Uh-huh. Well, um, have a good time on your date, Cousin Diane.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

9:58pm

Wednesday, December 8th

The Shoney’s on Pine Avenue

“Who takes a date to fucking Shoney’s.” Rick says grumpily for at least the third time.

“You love Shoney’s.” Morty doesn’t even bother looking up from his phone to reply. 

“Not for a fucking date. I have class. I’m not some high-school sophomore after homecoming.”

This is a pointed insult referencing Morty own embarrassing homecoming night which he probably wishes now he’d never told Rick about in the first place.

“You don’t have to be rude. I’m here. I’m helping. You said Cousin Diane was in danger, b-b-but I’m starting to think this is all about watching her on her date. Space mom said you might be weird about Cousin Diane, and I didn’t believe her, but, you know, I’m starting to wonder, Rick.”

“What about this doesn’t seem dangerous to you, Morty? She’s on a fucking date in a Shoney’s.”

“She looks like she’s having a pretty good time. Come one let’s do something else. Anything else.” 

“You want to bail, Morty. Bail.”

“I don’t want to bail. I want you to come with me somewhere. It doesn’t even matter where. We can go buy guns on Garflack 9 if you want. Let’s just get out of here.”

“Look at you, Morty. Advocating for crime now. I never would have guessed you of all people would get cool.”

“If it stops you from doing whatever this is, I’m down for it.”

“They’re paying the tab, alright? We’ll follow her home and then we’ll go somewhere.”

Morty lets out a long sigh but doesn’t argue anymore. Conversationally, he says, “Look. He is paying the bill for both of them. H-h-he can’t be all bad.”

“So any old shithead can pick up the tab and he’s good in your books? Maybe I should be more worried about who you’re dating, Morty.”

Cousin Diane and her date walk out the door of the restaurant and pause to pull on their jackets. Rick turns on the ships camouflage. They’re parked directly next to said-shithead’s car, and he doesn’t want Diane to notice they followed her unless it’s necessary. 

“Huh, it kind of looks like she doesn’t want to go with him.”

“Oh, look at– Look who’s Mr. Observant now.”

“No, seriously Rick. I think they’re arguing.”

He’s right. Now that the two of them are out of the restaurant it’s easier to see the mutual antagonism between them.

“Are you sure, Morty. Because I-I’m pretty sure he can’t be a bad guy. He did pay the tab after all.”

“Fuck off, Rick.”

After a minute of what looks to be a tense conversation under the restaurant’s awning, Diane turns up her shoulders against the guy and pulls her phone out. Maybe she’s calling Beth, or an Uber, or him. That’s…

Diane’s date waves her off with frustration and starts walking towards his car like he intends to leave her there, but after a few steps his shoulders slump and he turns back to her again. 

“Rick, let’s just go get her.”

“A few important lessons about interfering with other people’s business, Morty. First, don’t. Second, if you do, always wait until after they’ve learned their lesson before stepping in. Otherwise they’ll just blame you for all the shit that goes wrong.”

“I don’t think those are great lessons, Rick. I-I-I don’t like that she’s out in the cold with this guy when we could just pick her up.”

Morty makes like he’s going to get out of the invisible ship, giving away their position, but Rick grabs him by the shoulder and pins him back to the seat. 

“Not yet.”

They both watch Diane put her phone away as her conversation with the man starts up again. His lowered head hints at repentance, and the longer they talk the more relaxed the set of Diane’s shoulders gets, until finally the two of them leave the well-lit entrance of Shoney’s and walk into the dark parking lot towards the man’s car.

“Rick, I don’t think we should let her ride home with him.” Morty says like he’s trying to insinuate Rick should do something about it after spending the last hour insinuating what Rick was doing about it is weird. 

Not yet. Everything still might turn out fine. 

And it still might’ve, all the way until the guy opens the passenger door for Diane and she hesitates. Maybe all she’s feeling is a sudden intuition that something is off, but whatever it is, her date doesn’t like her hesitation. He puts a hand on her shoulder and tries aggressively to push her towards the open door. The expression on Diane’s face goes from ‘maybe this is a bad idea’ to ‘oh shit’ very quickly. She tries to pull away, but the man grabs her by the arm before she can get anywhere and tries again to force into the car. 

“Okay, now.” Rick says at the same time Morty is already grabbing for the door handle to get out of the ship. 

Rick jumps out the door on his side of the ship and the way he pops out of the camouflage must make it seem to both Diane and her date that he’s appeared out of thin air. 

“What the fuck?”

“Rick?!”

In his surprise, the guy’s grip on Diane’s arm loosens. Sensing it, she makes like she’s going to run towards Rick but he grabs her again before she can this time by the hair, pulling tightly.

“AHH-”

Diane doesn’t get half a scream out before the chain around her neck senses the potentially damaging amount of force being applied to her hair and does exactly what it was programmed to do. A protective forcefield activates around every atom of Diane’s body and repels the hand grabbing at her hair. Letting out a yelp of surprise at seeing the woman he was just on a date with suddenly flair up into a brilliant electric blue, the guy jerks back at the exact wrong second, and Rick’s first shot goes wide, hitting the open door of the car and covering it in a solid sheet of ice.

“Goddammit.” He hates missing. Fucking embarrassing. 

“Uncle Rick?” Diane says, her voice sounding stunned. At the same time there’s a thud to his right telling him Morty’s jumped out onto the pavement.

“Morty, stay in the ship!”

Unwilling to be caught by the same trick twice, the guy doesn’t so much as acknowledge the teenage boy who’s also appeared out of thin air. He reaches past the icy door under the passenger seat of his car with purpose. 

Rick watches with frustration as Diane’s shitty date pulls a handgun out of his car. She’s standing there uselessly right in his line of fire, and of course Morty hasn’t listened to him either. No more than five seconds have passed since he got out of the car and he can already sense this whole thing is turning to shit.

“Diane, get down!” He yells, but she does something stupid instead. Seeing her date pull a gun out of the car, she lunges at the armed man whom she should be running away from and tries to divert his aim away from Rick. At the same time, Morty shows up at Rick’s side thinking he can help even though this is clearly not a situation that requires a Morty. 

The whole fucking family is going to spend a week, minimum, in emergency combat training after this, and he doesn’t want to hear one single word of complaint about it.

He’s failed to anticipate Diane’s suicidal lunge at the man, and his second shot hits her in the arm bouncing off her protective mesh harmlessly. A loud retort, a muzzle flare. Diane succeeds in preventing her date from shooting Rick, a minor inconvenience his implants could have fixed in seconds, and instead Morty crumples to the ground with a pained yell. 

In the silence after the gunshot, Diane sees her youngest cousin crumpled on the pavement.

“Oh my god, Morty! Are you okay?!”

Rick finally has his shot and the whole thing is over in less than a second. His ice beam encases its victim in a single, glossy chunk of frozen water formed by pulling moisture out the surrounding air. Perfect craftsmanship; not that anyone notices. 

“Morty, are you still alive?”

“Oooug, Rick. My head.”

Diane is still telling Morty how sorry she is, pressing her hand to the wound on his forehead ineffectually as it leaks blood between her fingers.

People are coming out of the Shoney’s to investigate the gunshots. 

“Okay. Time to g-g-get up, Morty. Ship un camouflage.”

The ship turns from a see-through shimmer into its solid self, and Rick grabs Morty under the shoulder hoisting him up. Diane is shaking as he guides her to the ship as well, stammering out words and trying to get a better look at the ice sculpture of her date behind him, he ignores her protests and pushes her into the ship. The concerned Shoney’s staff and customers are coming closer, but he closes his door and takes off before anyone can get a good look at them. 

“Let me see! Take your hand away.” Rick pulls at Morty’s fingers so he can get a better look at the kids face. There’s a lot of blood, but that’s about all. 

“Is it bad, Rick?”

“How did you guys get there so fast?”

“No, it’s not b-bad. Don’t be such a turd. It was just a graze. It grazed you. Stop touching it.” 

“Well, it h-hurts.”

“Because that’s what bullets do, Morty. They hurt people.”

“What happened to Eric?”

“Can you fix it?”

“I’m trying. Stop fucking moving.”

“What was that you guys? What happened back there?? Was that a gun??”

Even with blood still oozing from his temple, Morty turns around in his seat to take one of Diane’s bloody hands in his own. 

“Rick and I were there b-b-because Rick loves Shoney’s, and w-we were going there for dinner when we saw you in the parking lot. It looked like it was getting heated, so Rick stunned Eric, but he’ll be okay. Everything’s fine now and we’re going home.” 

“Did you get shot, Morty?”

“Y-yeah, but it’s okay. It just grazed me. Rick will fix it.”

He will, and it is, but damn. When did Morty get so good at lying?

Diane seems to take his words at face value and leans back in her seat, but she continues to shiver as she stares wide-eyed out the window. 

After fixing the gash on Morty’s head they all do a clothes swap, pulling off anything with blood on it and replacing it with the spare clothes Rick keeps stashed in the ship. He takes off his lab coat and passes an extra blue shirt back to Cousin Diane who removes her soiled date-night blouse without a word. It’s probably the most depressing, least sexual, close-quarters-everybody-strip scenarios he’s ever been in. 

The soiled clothes all go into a sealed bag where they are incinerated immediately, and yes, not that anyone’s asking, but the energy generated by his trash incinerator is reused.

Oh Rick it’s so sexy how carbon neutral you are, is what people would be saying if they had any brains. 

“Rick, are we going home?”

“Y-yeah. We’re going home.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

4:25pm

Thursday, December 9th

Smith Family Living Room

[In other news, a bizarre happening at the local Shoney’s, where last night around 9pm patrons reported hearing gunshots from the parking lot. When cops arrived on the scene, they were greeted by a strange sight indeed. Let’s go to our correspondent on the scene, Jared. Are you there, Jared?

Yes, I’m here and what we’re looking at is the sight of the tragic murder of Eric Tagler. After receiving reports of gunfire in front of the Pine Avenue Shoney’s last night, cops arrived to find Mr. Tagler completely encased in a block of ice beside his car. It’s been reported he was alive when paramedics arrived at the scene and could been seen blinking beneath the ice. However, he died at the hospital shortly after being defrosted. An unregistered gun was also found at the scene, but the cops currently have no leads and are asking any members of the community who may have information about this grizzly murder to please come forward.]

[Click]

“You see Morty. Some–sometimes things work themselves out.”

“Yeah, Rick, I guess so.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

12:07am

Friday, December 10^th

Summer Smith’s Bedroom

Diane, you’re dreaming, she thinks to herself, but it’s no use. This is going to be another one of those. Another one of those Uncle Rick in his teen’s dreams. One of those ones where her mother is her sister and she is herself but also not herself. At first she had thought she was her aunt in the dreams, it’s the only thing that makes sense in context, but now she’s not so sure. She doesn’t feel like her aunt, whom she was born too late to ever meet. In these dreams she feels like herself. It feels like these things are really happening, and happening to her, even though she knows they’re not. As soon as she wakes up she’ll be right back on her own mattress, in her own life, and nothing that happens here will have really happened there where it matters. What happens here doesn’t matter it isn’t real. 

It feels so real.

She’s kind of amazed she hasn’t suddenly gone grey with the stress these dreams have been putting her through. Coupled with the fact she can’t tell anyone but the less than helpful, and terminally uninterested, Rick. Who else would she tell? Who would possibly be the right person to confide in about the increasingly frequent, and inappropriate, dreams she’s been having about her widower uncle in which she plays the part of his dead wife in order to act out hot and heavy teenage fantasies? It’s disgusting. She knows it’s disgusting. 

She can’t make it stop. 

Oh, god. It’s happening again. She’s sneaking out of the scrapyard trailer’s smaller bedroom she shares with her mother

sister

mother

sister Marlene, and she already knows exactly where she’s going. To Rick. It’s always to Rick. Ever since her first dream like this in which Rick had shown up - looking like such a square as Marlene had put it - with each successive one the two of them have become closer, more familiar, bolder in each other’s presence, encouraged by what any casual observer could see is mutual attraction. Love even. 

She is not a casual observer in these dreams. She is right there, in the action, feeling every hot flush and rapid heartbeat when he takes one of her hands into his own, rough, dirty, hot, damp, trembling like he’s just as excited and terrified by this whole thing as she is. 

They’ve gotten too close, too attached. They cannot spend more than two or three nights apart before they have to sneak out and see one another. They are going to be married. They are going to be burnt alive, at the stake, if her father ever finds out what she’s been doing with this boy, this nerd, this square he hires sometimes to fix stuff around the yard, paying him in nothing but useless junk. 

Nothing is useless to Rick. He’s a genius. A madman. An inventor. A god. He’s shown her things she never would have thought possible - lights that run on nothing at all, television that picks up bizarre shows from other countries no antenna needed, a ship he says could take her to outer space, once he finishes it that is - and she believe in every crazy idea and plan he tells her. Believes it with her whole heart because she is head over heels for him. Out of her mind with it all, and because life is good and good things happen to good people, it seems like he just might be head over heels for her too. 

They are going to have the most amazing life together. She can feel it. Tonight, is going to be just the start. The beginning. She’s already made up her mind about it, about giving this thing of hers to Rick, even though her daddy would absolutely fucking blow a gasket if he found out, and Marlene would absolutely fucking tell him if she found out. It doesn’t matter, Diane’s already made up her mind. 

She’s going to have sex with Rick. Lose her virginity. Even though the real Diane, the one laying unmoving in bed on her younger cousin’s floor, had already lost her virginity half a decade ago - she’s going to experience it again tonight. The losing of it. The first time. All over again, but this time with a delusional reimagining of her uncle as a teenager. Great. Good.

She can’t make it stop. 

Whose thoughts are these?? She is not a virgin. She does not want to have sex with her uncle Rick.

She is entering in the four-digit code to the padlock that keeps the gate closed at night. Silently her fingers lock each tumbler into place with the ease of practice. 

1-9-3-2

Normally in dreams you can’t see the numbers, but she sees these ones just fine. Remembers them later even, more clearly than she remembers her own phone’s lock code.

She walks down the paved drive from her father’s yard almost a quarter of a mile in the cool, early fall night air under the moonlight, the soles of her keds moving as silently over the ground as she can make them, until she sees him waiting at the turn out to the main road standing impatiently by his parents station wagon - not his ship because in this dream it is 1966 and his ship hasn’t even been finished yet - but there he is.

Inside her chest, her heart is pounding in a way it shouldn’t be for Uncle Rick. Unless, unless, unless he was seventeen and she was seventeen and it was - is - the middle of the night and the two of them are about to go off and do something they can never take back, something they will never want to take back. 

She gets in his car, her heart still pounding, and it smells like cigarettes - his father’s - and cologne – his - and when he starts the car she can see he’s nervous too. It’s in the bounce of his knee and the agitated way his wrist twists when he turns the key. 

“Where do, do you want to go?” He asks.

“Somewhere we can be alone.” She says, and just the saying of it makes her feel giddy and guilty in equal measures because in this dream to ask to be alone with Rick can only mean one thing, and that one thing is everything. 

He takes off, and she doesn’t bother to ask him where he’s taking her.

Her face feels like it’s on fire, her hands and feet too, her whole body flushed with the exhilaration of being alone in the car with Rick. A private place she can freely touch her hand against his where it’s resting on the wheel, or run her fingers through his stunning hair if she desires; an action which makes him miss second gear completely and stall the car in the middle of the dark road. She doesn’t do it again, doesn’t want anything to get in the way of them making it out of the city tonight. 

He takes her up to the hills. She had said she wanted to be alone with him, and now they are alone. Very alone. Pulled off the road on a remote overlook, thirty minutes away from the nearest streetlight. After he parks, she rolls down her window to let in the fresh air and hopefully cool the flush on her cheeks. Cousin Diane wants to say something to break the tension but can’t, not until her dream persona is ready. She can’t even choose where her eyes are looking. For all intents and purposes, she is simply here as a passenger in her own body, along for the ride. 

After a few minutes of idling, Rick shuts off the car and with the engine silent, the sounds of the woodland nightlife around them can flow in through the window. Owls hooting, calling out to one another, the low constant background noise of crickets chirping, frogs croaking. 

If only he would say something, anything, to break this tension and quell the nervous flutter of her chest. 

She says, “Rick, I want to be with you. Tonight.” She emphasizes the word as if it isn’t already clear from everything else she’s done so far, but maybe it’s good she says it. Young Rick seems to take some courage from her words, and leans across the center seat to kiss her, wrapping his arm around her waist and sliding her across the vinyl to be closer to him. 

Why are the steering wheels on old cars so big? She can’t sit in his lap in the tight space even though she wants too. Cannot make any moves of her own that this seventeen-year-old version of herself wouldn’t make as well, so they kiss, but it’s slow, tentative, a little sloppy, but every night they spend like this improves their technique.

They kiss, and this isn’t her first kiss with her uncle in her dreams or even her second or third, but no matter how many times it happens her body still responds to kissing Rick in a way it’s never responded to anyone else in real life ever. Love. This is love, and it’s so easy for Cousin Diane to tell now that she’s here experiencing it, how much every other relationship she’s had when awake pales in comparison. They fit together perfectly, her mouth his mouth. She pushes up against him and he pulls her closer, and this is right. So right. She doesn’t want to be anywhere else, doesn’t want to think of anything else but the soft skin of his stubble-less cheek and the heavy scent of his cologne and the hot feeling of his skin on her bare back as he shimmies his hand up her shirt to pull her even closer. 

This is good. So good, and it is only good because it is Rick and no one else.

Oh god, Cousin Diane thinks, have I never been in love before?

How are any of her future partners going to compete with this fucked up, made up, nonexistent version of Uncle Rick who lives only in her mind?

There is a hint of alcohol on his breath, but it’s only mouthwash; as if he had swished some just before she got into the car in anticipation of them doing this together. Their kisses feel so tentative when what she really wants to do is let her tongue glide against his and lick the back of his teeth and the roof of his mouth and maybe suck on his tongue a little, but she’s stuck in the agonizing limbo of passivity while her hands ache to go to his hips or hair or anywhere and yet refuse to move from her sides.

Come on girl, I thought you wanted to get some tonight!

But vague sentences about being together seem to be the extent of dream-hers willingness to lead, and it’s up to Rick to move this along if that’s what’s going to happen. He pulls his lips away from hers and brings them to her neck for more feather-soft, teasing kisses, that cause warm feelings of arousal to spread through her. 

“Rick I’m nervous.” She says, whispering even though there’s no one around for miles to hear them. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, pausing his soft kisses so he can look at her with those intelligent blue eyes so incredibly similar to the ones Cousin Diane sees in the Smith household pretty much every day. 

“No, I just…I don’t know what I’m doing. What if I get it all wrong?”

“Well, I don’t know either, but I t-t-think maybe if we’re doing it together, and w-we’re enjoying it, then maybe we can’t do it wrong. If we both like it, that’s right enough for me.”

“What if you don’t like it?”

“I’ll like it.”

For a moment, Rick’s voice loses the last of its youthful insecurity and becomes almost a perfect imitation of himself, decades older. The sound of it thrills Cousin Diane and emboldens her dream persona. She brings her hands to Rick’s hair and pulls him into another kiss. 

“Oh yeah, baby,” Rick says, talking into her mouth as he presses her down into the long vinyl seat and lays on top of her. 

She's still wearing the dirty jeans she grabbed off her floor and pulled on in the dark, worried she might make too much noise and wake Marlene, and Rick has on his own perpetually grease-stained blue jeans, but when he lays on top of her and she spreads her legs for him no amount of clothes can disguise his physical excitement for her. The feeling of it pressing into her hip is incredibly validating, thrilling, hot and a little frightening.

His hips grind against hers, gentle enough at first but with increasing urgency. They continue their deep kiss, neither one of them holding anything back, until she's not sure whose spit she's tasting, hers or his. His hand goes down to the hem of her shirt and Cousin Diane wants to arch her back and help him remove it. She wants to feel her bare breasts exposed to the cool night air and Rick’s cool, hungry eyes. For once she's pleasantly surprised when he dream body does exactly what she's urging it to and lifts up, helping Rick’s eager hands pull the shirt up over her head and off. 

He's staring. Looking at her breasts unabashedly until she thinks she'll shatter under the intensity of his gaze, but she doesn’t ask him to stop. Her thoughts are mixing with those of dream Diane, becoming inseparable. She wants to be beautiful for him, for Rick. Wants to be the only women he ever sees like this, the only woman he ever wants to see like this. 

He's looking at her like she will be. Openly in awe. In worshipful silence he brings a hand to her chest and holds one, squeezing it gently. It makes her feel good like the soft sway of a boat a sea, deliciously calm waves of pleasure that pulse through her body concentrating at the dampening spot between her legs. Then he pinches her nipple, still gentle, still just exploring, and he rolls it between his fingers in way that turns those gentle waves into something more intense. She gasps and arches up into his hands. Encouraged, he does the same to her other breast, squeezing a little more firmly this time, and again she's unable to contain her pleasure, pushing her hips up into his. The reality of his solid dick when it presses back against her is inescapable. and her heart races with the knowledge of what they're about to do. What they’re about to do if Rick can ever stop playing with her breasts, that is; he might not be able to. Certainly she isn't discouraging him. Not when every playful tug on her nipple is getting her panties steadily damper, and not when he takes a whole handful and squeezes until she can feel every rough inch of his palm on her skin.  

If he put his hand down her pants right now and felt how wet she was, would it shock him? It's certainly shocking her how much she's enjoying this. Scandalous. She brings a hand up to her face to conceal a smile, but rather than offended, Rick looks happy to see her amused.

Looking into his eyes, dream Diane can't even imagine what Rick’s about to do next. For some reason, doesn't even consider it an option until he's literally doing it, leaning over her chest and taking one of her nipples into his mouth. Tasting it with his tongue first before putting his lips on it and sucking. 

"Rick!" She says his name like a curse, gasping in pleasure and surprise.

She brings her hand to his head and pulls him tighter to her chest without thinking, but it doesn't deter him. He sucks harder flicking his tongue against her nipple over and over again until her hips are moving against his rhythmically, rubbing against his crotch in a way that must be driving him crazy but he doesn't let up. The thrill of his tongue and lips sucking her skin jumps up several notches again when his teeth enter the mix. Lightly at first, but with increasing pressure when she responds positively. He nips her teasingly, not letting go until she wraps her legs around his tightly, digging her heels into the tops of his thighs until his mouth slackens with a moan. 

“Rick, I’m ready.” 

He releases her breast looking up at her with eyes wide and so full of wonder it’s almost embarrassing.

“Yeah, okay.” He says, but he doesn’t look as sure of himself as he had only seconds ago.

Much like removing her shirt, they’ve never gotten this far any of the other times they fooled around. Taking some of the pressure off him, she reaches down to unbutton his pants and doesn’t back down, not even when her fingers brush against the bulge straining in the fabric of his jeans and he lets out a sharp gasp. She pops open the button, unzips his zipper, and slides her hand into his pants feeling up his erection through the fabric of his underwear. 

One of his hands goes down to cover hers, pressing it more firmly against his dick impatiently seeking out the sensation of her palm rubbing against it. 

She pulls her hand away, not because she isn’t enjoying touching him, but she meant it when she said she was ready. If what she can feel in his pants is an indication of anything, he’s ready too.

She helps him pull off his shirt, and then they both go to work pulling off their own pants, doing their best not to bump into each other in the small space.

He gets his off first and, seeing him completely naked for the first time, she pauses, pants still caught on her ankle. Now she’s the one who’s staring, unabashedly amazed, at him. She’s blushing again, hot from the bottom of her neck to the tips of her ears. 

“Yeah.” Is all Rick says. He’s kneeling between her legs, towering above her, hunched over where the car ceiling is too low to accommodate his head. His pants are completely off now. His erection plainly visible in the moonlight. 

Maybe she hasn’t been prepared for how much a part of him it is. Protruding from his hips, his pubes a perfect counterpart to the hair on his head. Maybe it just looks really big in the semi-dark. Maybe they’re all that size. Maybe-

That’s one hell of a cock, the real Diane’s thoughts cut through the haze of her dream counterpart’s nervous rambling like a knife. And why shouldn’t it be a perfectly magnificent specimen? This is her wet dream after all.

When a little too much time has passed and she still hasn’t said anything or finished taking off her pants, Rick says, “I-if you changed your mind, it’s okay. We could-”

“No! No, I haven’t. I just, I wasn’t thinking about it being like… that before. Not that there’s anything to be thinking about. There’s nothing, obviously, wrong with it. It’s perfect. It really is. I’m nervous, Rick, that’s all.”

“Me too.” Rick says, and he takes one of her hands in one of his and brings it to his bare chest where she can feel his heart beating rapidly. He stands very still, breathing, and lets her feel it until her own racing pulse begins to calm. 

Love.

She times her breath to his and exhales all her remaining nerves. 

This is Love.

When she lifts her head up to meet him, he brings his down to meet hers, and right in the middle they kiss.

Her feet push her pants the rest of the way off, and his hands go to her thighs spreading them wider so he can fit all the way between them as he lays on top of her pushing her back down into the vinyl of the front seat now sticky with her body heat. 

“Okay,” Diane says between breathless kisses. “If you’re ready, I’m ready.”

“I’m r-ready.”

If Cousin Diane had any idea, any at all, that she is about to intrude on the very real memory of her aunt and uncle’s very real first time in the front seat of his parent’s station wagon on a warm September night in 1966, she would have fought a lot harder to get all this to stop. To break free from whatever spell is holding her here. How could she ever forgive herself for such a shameful violation in someone else’s personal life?

 But she doesn’t know. 

She doesn’t know the gentle words of encouragement spilling out of Rick’s mouth for her to hear are not actually for her at all. Doesn’t know the gasps coming out of her mouth aren’t hers. Doesn’t know that the way Rick’s hands tremble when his spreads her legs and guides himself in isn’t an invention of her mind. She doesn’t know the sharp stab of pain followed by the exquisite sensation of Rick filling her up was never meant to be felt by her.

Oh, god, it’s the most incredible thing that’s never happened to her, and she has no idea what’s really going on.

All she knows is how amazing it feels when Rick grabs her by the hair, buries his head against her neck, and thrusts the rest of the way in. He fills her up so completely that even when she wants to clench and tighten around him she can’t. There’s no room to clench, nothing to tighten. He’s taking up every available inch inside her, and the feeling of it is fueling the endless moans pulling the air out of her lungs faster than she can refill them.

Rick is holding back; his body full of tension, and his panting breath hot and hard against her ear. One of his hands keeps gripping her shoulder tightly, loosening only when he’s thrusting inside her uninhibited and then tightening again when he tries to slow back down, as if he can either control how tightly he holds her or how intensely he fucks her but not both at the same time. 

It’s alright, his tight grip doesn’t bother her any more than his casual possessiveness does when they’re out together. It’s nothing compared to how tightly she wants hold him or how possessive of their relationship she feels, and tonight any pain his fingers are causing on her shoulder is a perfect counterbalance to the lingering ache of him being inside her. The two sensations dull one another, and leave her wide open to experience the pleasure of what they’re doing instead. 

Pleasure that’s in her toes, her fingertips, her thighs, her stomach, her head. Pleasure like electric warmth running through her veins, making her skin flush and heating her from the inside out. She feels another spike of it every time Rick moves, doesn’t move, breathes, doesn’t breathe.

He holds her to his chest, slick with sweat, and keeps thrusting inside her and moaning her name and telling her how good she feels until something powerful begins to build up inside her. Something inseparable from the feeling of Rick’s cock as he pulls it out of her and slams it back in with increasing speed, no rhythm. His hand on her shoulder is loosening again, and she can tell he’s working himself up to his own climax but she’s not ready for it to be over yet.

“Rick, wait. Not yet, don’t stop. Not yet, please, it’s too good.”

The groan Rick lets out is loud enough to prompt an answering cry from the nearby owl, but he slows down. Relaxing his hips and coming to a rest all the way inside her deep and perfect and she knows nothing is ever going to be the same for her after tonight. She is never going to not miss this feeling of the two of them being so perfectly one. 

“I’m sorry.” She says, feeling the way his thighs are trembling hard against hers.

“No, you’re right babe. You’re right, n-not done yet.”

This time when they kiss there’s no hesitation, nothing chaste about it. His tongue goes straight into her mouth and explores it greedily. His hand leaves her shoulder and goes back to her breast, pinching her nipple and rolling it between his fingers like he had before. She melts into his touch, into the feeling of a fire in her belly spreading out to her limbs, especially when he pulls away from their kiss and brings his tongue to her ear instead. Starting at the lobe he licks all the way up to the tip, slowly, not missing a single inch while at the same time his fingers pinch her nipple tighter and tighter creating pleasure like a wave inside her, greater than anything she’s ever experienced. Then he starts thrusting again, slow and languid like they have all the time in the world, still licking the inner cusp of her ear. 

“Rick! Rick!”

“Oh, fuck babe.”

Rick never swears, not in front of her at least, and the word sounds so good coming out of his mouth her whole body responds to it. Already so worked up, so overstimulated. Everything is good, so good, she falls right over the edge and-

And cousin Diane wakes up with a sharp intake of breath on her mattress thinking:

That’s not true. That’s not true. Rick swears in front of me all the time. Says fuck every other word. Sometimes it’s the only word I hear him say all day.

And:

What the fuck was that? What the fuck? What the fuck?

Unlike a regular dream, nothing Diane just experienced is fading away. She remembers it all, every feeling and emotion, as if she’d just lived through them in reality. Tentatively, she reaches a hand down to feel under her underwear half expecting her fingers to come away wet with virgin blood, but there’s no blood - of course not! - and she’s no more wet than she’d expect to be after waking up from a sex dream. 

Flopping back onto the bed she listens to the comforting sounds of Summer’s snores.

Well, shit. That was… not cool. Rick is her uncle. Not by blood, maybe, but marriage, and he’s Beth’s father. Whatever weird daddy issues he’s dredging out of her need to be shoved back down and fast before this gets any more out of hand. She can’t keep losing sleep like this, and she definitely can’t keep doing whatever the fuck that was. 

For fuck’s sake, woman, get ahold of yourself.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

12:12pm

Friday, December 10th

Rick’s Garage

“Uncle Rick?”

Rather than the usual smells - motor oil and cleaning products mostly, or occasionally that strange stagnant air she usually associates with thunderstorms - today the garage reeks of melted plastic. Rick grunts by way of greeting from where he’s hunched over his workbench working on the source of the smell. 

“I was wondering.”

Diane’s full of nerves about this conversation, but isn’t sure where else to turn. For the past three months she’s been having increasingly vivid dreams about her late aunt’s husband, and because the world is a bad place where bad things happen to good people, the subject of these dreams might also be the only person who can help her with them. 

If only she could remember what she’d already told him about all this, but if they ever had a conversation about it, those memories - along with the rest of a two-week block of time - had been erased in an accident. Now there’s no way of knowing how much he knows without asking him how much he knows which is an impossibility because the whole thing is already so unbearably embarrassing. 

Unsure how to phrase what she came here to say, Diane takes a seat on one of the stools and watches Rick work in silence. 

“Han-han– Pass me that screw driver.”

She does so without comment trying to will her traitorous cheeks, so prone to inappropriately timed blushes, to stay colorless when his hand brushes against hers to take it. If she were to get up and leave right now, he probably wouldn’t even notice. On the other hand, if she doesn’t say something now her only other option is to continue experiencing vivid dreams of a man her mother had once described as ‘more hopelessly obsessed with himself than narcissus.’ She’s already failing one of her courses, she can’t afford to lose any more sleep. Last night had been the worst one yet, and she woke up feeling as though she’d spent the whole night running laps instead of passed out on her bed. 

“Uncle Rick, I know I brought this up before but I was wondering if you had any more thoughts about those weird dreams I told you about? I’m starting to get headaches too, sometimes, when it happens. Should I go in for a brain scan or a blood draw or something?”

She’d seen Rick heal broken bones and bloody gashes in seconds. Is there really nothing he can do to help her with this?

“J-just ignore them.” He says without looking up. “Try not to think about it.”

“I have tried, but they’re only getting worse.”

“Try harder.”

“I am trying harder. Do you think I want this to be happening?”

Without realizing she’s going to do it, she grabs Rick by the arm of his lab coat, demanding his attention. Maybe these dreams have given her a false sense of intimacy with him, but she also knows better than to think she’d be safe from his anger if she does something that really pisses him off. 

Instead of shaking her off, he stands up and leans into her space until she has no choice but to sit down on the stool again. 

“What do you want, Cousin Diane?”

“I want them to stop.”

But maybe that isn’t what she wants. Maybe what she wants is staring her right in the face, looking her up and down with those intense and inscrutable blue eyes, and maybe the dreams are only her subconscious manifesting those desires. 

“I’ll look into. N-no promises.”

She thinks he’s going to go back to work now, because that’s what Uncle Rick does when he finishes talking at you. He goes back to work on whatever new idea won’t leave his mind and stops caring about anything else going on. 

Except he doesn’t go back to work, and she doesn’t let go of his lab coat, and his eyes continue lingering on all the places it’s generally not considered polite for them to linger on. 

A crazy idea starts to form in her mind. Maybe they should kiss. Nothing weird, nothing sexual. Just a light brush. A gentle, familial, press of her lips on his. 

Unfortunately, kissing Rick softly is only the beginning of what Diane fears she wants. 

She might have actually done it too - and then what would have happened?? - but the moment of opportunity passes when Rick pulls away from her. His eyes, so thoughtful the moment before, are now alight with clarity.

“Get out.”

“What, now?”

“Yes. Get out.”

“Okay, okay. I’m leaving.”

-          -          -

Self-analysis is a masturbatory trap better suited to assholes who think every shit they take is worthy of its own documentary, so needless to say he isn’t going to waste any time thinking about what he had just been considering doing to Cousin Diane. 

It doesn’t matter anyways, what he’d been thinking about before he remembered the beta max tape, only that he had remembered. 

And there it is, tucked into the same case that held Diane’s backup clone eggs, a real relic of the late 1900’s. Beta Max, the peak of design perfection. Apple fucking wishes. 

If the other Rick who lived here had caused what’s happening to Diane’s memories, the answer could be in this tape. 

Rick goes down to the subbasement to watch the video in private and is immediately glad he did.

Yeesh what a piece of shit this Rick is, and it’s not just his post-grunge nose ring either. This asshole has the gall to mourn. To mourn a Diane he could have saved. It was pancreatic cancer for fuck’s sake. All he had to do was not abandon her and their five-year old daughter, but no, sure, cry about it. 

On the plasma screen above where Rick’s watching the tape, ninety-six red dots pulse over various places in a zoomed-out map of the explored multiverse. His explored multiverse. Of course, there are infinite more places in the multiverse, and thus infinite more possible locations for dots to exist, but he likes to think he’ll finally hunt down Rick Prime in a location they’ve both been before. It has a better sort of symmetry about it. Not to mention the alternative – that Rick might search until the end of time without so much as hearing about the place Prime is really hiding – isn’t exactly conducive to the mentality he needs to have if he is going to keep searching.

If only Rick could figure out how Prime fools his scanners so effectively. Lack of more obvious cybernetics might keep him from setting of most government alarms, and allow him the use of pretty much any form of transit or lodging he wanted, but it doesn’t explain how he hides his Rick brainwaves. Not that C-137 doesn’t believe the technology exists but, like most Rick’s, he himself had jumped on the use-a-Morty bandwagon years ago and never looked back. Now, it’s biting him in the ass. If he can’t figure out how Prime’s cheating his sensors without a Morty, he’ll never be able to track him down.

One of the blinking dots sits directly above Earth in this dimension. He’s here, how often and where and why are things Rick tries not to think about too much. Prime wants him to be thinking about those things, buts it’s only a smokescreen. If that murderous bastard is going to be caught anywhere, it won’t be here.

[I– i-it’s got to. I-I-I] The Rick on the video says.

Yeah this is insufferable, but Rick resists the urge to fast forward. In between all the blubbering, he’s beginning to get to the bottom of this Rick’s motivations. 

“Grandpa Rick, are we doing anything today?”

He hadn’t noticed the elevator opening or Morty walking in here like that and doesn’t appreciate being snuck up on. 

“No, go away.”

“Aww. Come on. You said something about going to that club in the Andromeda galaxy. We could do that, right?”

“What part of ‘go away’ are you not- is so fucking difficult for you to understand?”

On the screen his counterpart says something about zygotes that’s probably important, and now he’s got to rewind the video to hear it. Morty walks further into the room and starts poking around his shit.

[T-t-t-the patient, the, fucking, Marlene, she can’t know. I’ll alter her memory, I-i-i’ll…]

At this point the Rick on the screen loses his drunken battle with consciousness, and slumps forward with a loud snore causing another Rick thirty years later to curse in frustration. 

“Do something when you were too drunk to remember again?”

He’s going to pretend he didn’t hear that, which is very fortunate for Morty. He fast forwards the tape until the younger Rick jerks awake again.

“Wow, you didn’t look so bad back then.” Morty says and Rick opens a portal directly below the kid, buying himself a few minutes of peace before the little shit finds his way off his bed and back down the hatch again. 

Which he does.

“What about Garflak-9 we could go there again.”

“Don’t you have school?”

“Half-day.”

[By increasing the-]

Yada yada yada. He understands how to make a human. None of this explains how Diane’s memories are somehow being transmitted through her DNA. 

“What is he - you - talking about?”

“Typical… unhelpful… bullshit.” Rick mumbles and gives up on watching the video to shuffle through the stuff on his workbench that he doesn’t need or care about right now. He just wants something to do with his hands, and maybe right now is a good time to decide what it is he wants to do with this Plasmium cylinder.

“Ewww.” Morty says and Rick follows his eyes up to the screen where younger - piece of shit asshole wife-abandoning - Rick has taken out a red and yellow worm covered in a viscous goo it seems to be excreting. The whole thing is about two feet long with four segments bisected by rings of soft spikes so pliant they almost look like they could be made out of cake frosting. 

“What is that thing?” Morty asks, and Rick hates the question because the only answer he can truly give is ‘I don’t know’. 

“What do you want, Morty? I’m supposed to know every fucking creature in the f-fucking– The universe is big. It’s a big place out there. What is that thing?” This last part he directs up at the A.I. which inhabits his garage and subbasement. 

[Well if you don’t know I don’t– Oh, wait, yes I do.]

Of course it knows, because the Rick who actually programmed it knew. 

“Gross Rick, what’re you doing?”

Like Morty, Rick is also watching the screen. Unfortunately, unlike Morty, he understands perfectly well what it is they’re seeing. Christ, isn’t it obvious? Isn’t it fucking obvious?

Morty’s right though, it is gross. An absolute fucking perversion, unacceptable, and this is coming from him. The guy who has seen so many awful, terrible things that could fuck a person up for life, but this? This is bad, even for him. This is going to make him vomit. Literally. His hands are starting to sweat and his lunch, which only seconds ago was sitting so comfortably in his stomach, is now preparing to jettison itself back up his throat. 

He’s really going to be sick.

The Rick on the screen has pulled out a tray from the workbench he’s sitting at - not the one here fortunately, the one on the screen is one that was in his garage at the old house, the one Diane lived in until she died - and on the tray sits a perfectly cleaned human brain. It’s not much of a stretch to imagine whose brain it is, this is the cloning Diane video after all. 

Still blubbering and crying, the younger Rick pulls on a pair of latex gloves and picks up the brain with gentle tenderness pure scientific inquiry wouldn’t require. 

[T-t-they should have watched you better, babe. S-should have watched you.]

“Ugh. Is he going to feed that to the worm?” Morty asks, always a bastion of scientific knowledge and advancement.

Rick doesn’t respond, and after a second the A.I., eager after its misstep with his question earlier, does it for him. 

[Most likely. That is a Snubon Tunnel Worm from Planet X-19.11, most well-known for its unique ability to eat, and excrete, the neurochemicals and electrical impulses humans refer to as memories. After it’s larval stage the Tunnel Worm becomes a predator, feeding on its prey at the command of a single brood queen that can control upwards of ten thousand of her spawn throughout the span of her life. As hatchlings, the Tunnel Worm larva are given vocal commands by their brood queens which stay imprinted on them for their lifetime. These commands tell them when to begin and end feeding on prey. This allows the brood queen to control food supply during times of scarcity. A competent brood mother has been known make a single prey last her hatchlings seven rotations around the Snubon sun, or about 15 Earth years. These Tunnel Worms have been used for centuries by the local population of–]

“That’s enough. I’m trying to hear this shit.”

“Seriously, Rick, this is kind of fucked up even for you. That’s definitely a human brain.”

“Don’t worry. She was already dead when I took it.” 

Ugh, why did he say that. His stomach does another unhappy lurch. 

Together, he and Morty watch the whole thing. From start to finish. What else are they supposed to do? One lurching bite at a time the - what did the computer call it? Snubon… something - worm eats Diane’s brain which means whatever coffin they buried her in in this universe must be a few pounds light. Rick watches with his mouth full bile and his sweaty palms digging into the back of the chair in front of him. He watches because it’s his. Maybe he didn’t do this in his own timeline, but he damn well could have, or something equally perverse Diane didn’t deserve. How close had he come in those days and weeks after her death. Yeah, this could have just as easily been him and she had always told him it would come to this, that sooner or later he’d have to live with the consequences of his own brilliant mind. 

“Well, that’s just great Rick. T-that was really great. Super glad we watched that together. Whose brain did you say that was?”

He doesn’t want to open his mouth to answer, but maybe vomiting all over Morty would have been kinder than letting the A.I. answer for him.

[If I had to guess, based on context of the video, I’d say it was your grandmother’s.]

While the Rick in the video finishes his macabre job of transporting the worm into the clone egg with a shrink-ray, microscope, pipet, and the still hands of a surgeon, Morty absorbs the new information in silence looking very pale. The kid’s taking his unhappy time processing everything, but the tension in Rick’s gut has started to ease up. He isn’t the only one who has to know. He isn’t the only one who has to see all the vile and profane things he’s capable of. As long as Morty is there to see them too, at least he isn’t alone. 

Morty now looks like he might be the one to vomit, but Rick’s feeling better. His counterpart on the screen is holding the petri dish he just pipeted the now microscopic worm into - the petri dish that will one day become Cousin Diane - and cooing at it.

[The-there. It’s aaalll better now, babe… All be– I– I fixed, I fixed it. I’ll tell you when… I’ll tell you– say the words, and you-you’ll be better. We’ll be together. Just us, the two of us. Rick and Diane, baby. I– I fixed–]

The video ends abruptly and that’s it. There’s nothing else on the tape. 

Rick can feel Morty’s accusing eyes on him, but he’s too busy thinking to acknowledge it. I’ll tell you when - that’s what the Rick had said. It must be some sort of activation code. If what the computer said about brood queens and vocal commands is correct, and that Rick had been present when the thing hatched, he could have taught it to destroy and implant memories using whatever words he wanted. 

The first phrase, the one to activate the worm must have been something subtle, something meant to be heard by cousin Diane and then ignored. Not that it matters, he’s obviously already accidentally triggered it. But the second one? The one to stop it. It could be anything. Fucking anything. How is he supposed to know? He starts fast forwarding through the rest of the blank tape just to make absolutely sure there’s nothing else on it. 

“You’re a s-sick fuck.”

“Not me, Morty. Him. I feel like that’s going to get lost here and I really want to keep emphasizing it.” 

“No. No! You don’t get to say you’re not Rick just because you don’t like what Rick did… Rick. It doesn’t work like that anymore. You’re all responsible.”

Damn, it’s as though knowing some version of his grandfather had dug up his grandmother’s body, opened her skull, removed her brain, and fed it to a worm was really getting to the kid. He’s on his feet now to lecture Rick. 

“Calm down, geez. That president Morty sure got to you, huh?”

“This isn’t about him! Where’s grandma?” Morty’s voice cracks in a way Rick mostly doesn’t care about but also kind of doesn’t like to hear.

“Mountain View Cemetery. Right off I-70, Morty, you can’t miss it. You can see her from the fucking freeway.”

“Fuck you, Rick. What was that?” He points to the now blank monitor. 

“Morty, I’m not going to explain to you– explain science to you that you can’t understand. Trust me, it-it’s a waste of time.”

“Did that worm eat grandma’s memories?”

“Okay. Fine. I guess you can understand. Look who’s the big, Mr. Smarty-pants now.”

“...”

“What do you want from me Morty? Yeah, it ate her memories.”

“Are they here now, in the lab?”

[If I had to guess–] The A.I. starts up again.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Rick becomes so angry, so quickly, Morty backs away from him looking wary. The computer shuts of its voice program with a click and doesn’t attempt to speak again. 

“You know, Morty, I-I wasn’t gonna tell you this.” When Rick speaks, his voice is quiet and even again.

“I-It’s okay, Rick. Actually I just remembered about this thing I have to do. You know, I forgot but it’s actually pretty important so I better get going now and– but I’ll see you later, okay.”

But before he can go anywhere, Rick grabs him by the shoulders in a grip there’s no breaking free from. 

“Cousin Diane is a clone, Morty. She’s a clone.”

“No, Rick. Come on. I don’t want to hear that.”

“The me who lived here before, the one on that video, he cloned his dead wife. He cloned grandma, and now she’s living with us, Morty. She thinks she’s your mom’s cousin.”

Morty lets out an uncomfortable moan, but this unburdening feels incredible for Rick. He should have done this ages ago. 

“And now there’s this worm inside of her, you saw it Morty, and it’s got all of grandma’s memories and pretty soon she’s going to think she is grandma, and it’s getting worse, I made it worse, I’ve been erasing her memories, giving the thing less to eat, and there’s no one to tell it when to stop. Soon there’s not going to be a cousin Diane. It’s just going to be this horrible walking homunculus that thinks it is Diane. Do you see the problem? Do you see what I’m dealing with here?”

Rick gives Morty a rough shake and the boy responds with a whine which is usually a pretty good indication he’s beginning to grasp the situation. 

“But it’s alright Morty, I can fix it now that I know what the problem is. All we gotta do is we gotta find this worm, this… um…” 

He waits for the computer to sense his hesitation and finish the sentence for him, but for a few seconds too long, there’s nothing but silence.

[Oh, am I allowed to speak now?]

“T-that’s it. I’m disabling you.”

[The Snubon Tunnel Worm from Planet X-19.11]

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Rick, can I go now?”

“Hold on a second, Morty, I’m almost done here.”

[Unfortunately, it’s extinct now.]

“What?!”

“Ow, Rick, you’re hurting me.”

[I’ve just scanned the new, new galactic republic’s data banks and learned they were hunted to extinction almost one Earth decade ago. I’m transferring all the information to your computer now.]

Rick lets go of Morty and sits down in front of the monitor. There are hundreds of diagrams, studies, and detailed reports on the worm. Apparently these things were pretty useful, which is probably why they’re not around anymore.

“U-u-um, Rick?”

“What? In case you weren’t listening, Morty, if I can’t get this thing out of Cousin Diane’s head, she’s going to start believing she’s your grandmother and nothing will convince her otherwise.”

“Is there anything I can do to help with it? With cousin Diane.”

“No. Go ride your bike or something.”

“I don’t own a bike.”

“Then go suck neighbor Gene’s cock, Morty! I don’t care. Was seeing your grandmother’s brain devoured in HD not enough of an adventure for you? Christ, maybe next time you’ll listen to me when I say I’m busy.”

“Alright, alright.”

Rubbing his sore arms, Morty gets back in the elevator and leaves Rick behind, hunched over his keyboard, illuminated by the glow of the computer screen. 

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

9:32pm

Sunday, December 12th

Rick’s Garage

“Sooo, Morty’s been staring at me a lot lately.”

“Yeah? W-well he’s a kid. What do you want?”

“He’s not a five-year-old-it’s-cute-to-stare-at-your-cousin-kid. He’s halfway through high school.”

“Physically, maybe, but mentally?” 

Rick puts down the calipers he was using to measure her head and writes another number on a sheet of paper while Diane tries not to think about how these measurements are going to help with her intrusive fantasies which Rick has, at least, finally agreed to do. As to what changed his mind about helping her, he refuses to share, but she considers the whole thing a win anyways.

“Do be like that.” She chastises him for his comment about Morty. “You know Beth had him tested. He’s right where he’s supposed to be for his age, more or less.”

“Less.” Rick agrees with an accompanying burp.

His hands massage into her hair, feeling around for who-knows-what, and there’s nothing familial about the way it feels to have him standing so close in front of her while she sits on a stool and lets him do pretty much whatever he wants to her body while also taking down notes and occasionally scanning her with things. At one point, he stands so close to her while looking at her ears she has no choice but to inhale a deep breath of his cologne, and after that it’s pretty much over in terms of keeping her face from turning a stupidly revealing shade of pink. 

Scanner in one hand, her chin in the other, he has no qualms about knocking her knees apart so he can stand between them and get a better view looking straight down into her eyes. 

The jury’s still out on whether or not she’s going to survive this whole experience intact mentally. 

With a sigh that sounds slightly frustrated, Rick tilts her head back down breathing straight into her hair as his fingertips once again explore the sensitive spot behind her ears.

“Uncle Rick.” She sounds almost like her youngest cousin the way her voice cracks. 

“Y-yeah?”

“Um, I don’t know if this is relevant, but I forgot a song today.”

“How do you know? If, if you forgot it.”

His hands are on her neck now, still exploring, fingertips dipping just below the edge of her shirt collar. Is all this really medically necessary?

“How do I know I forgot it? It was in my playlist titled Favorite Songs Ever and I was listening to it and that song came on and I’ve never heard it in my life. Literally never. I have no memory of it.”

“Maybe you added it on accident.”

“It’s got thousands of listens. Look, I’ll show you.”

In order to wiggle her phone out of her bunched-up pants pocket, she has to lift her hips up which she does without realizing Rick is standing too close for this, and her crotch bumps up against his lower belly for the tiniest second. She drops her hips immediately forgetting about her phone. Rick gives no indication he noticed anything at all. 

“It’s alright, I believe you.” He says. 

He takes half a step away from her and lowers his hands from her neck where her pulse is now beating twice as fast as it had been only seconds ago. While he scribbles down more notes to himself, she tries to read them but doesn’t recognize the letters he’s using let alone the words.

Attempting nonchalance she asks, “Do I have a brain tumor?”

“M-maybe,” He says not looking up from his notes. “But that’s not your problem.”

“Oh.”

It’s hard to imagine how a brain tumor wouldn’t be a problem, but trusting Rick is more or less a requirement if you reside in the Smith household. 

Before she can ask what he thinks the problem is, if not a brain tumor, a flood of water seeps in from underneath the garage door and spreads quickly along the garage floor. 

“Rick!” She says, trying to get his attention away from his notes as she draws her feet up higher on the stool. Rick looks down at the water, almost high enough now to spill into the tops of his shoes, and lets out a sigh. Across the room, without either of them touching the button, the garage door has begun to open, letting in the cool night air and also more water. The whole garage smells like the ocean now. 

Rather than investigating the opening door, Rick leans across her body to get to one of the shelves behind her. An action which just so happens to put his armpit close to her face for the world’s longest second before he leans back down with a CD player in his hands. 

Handing her the plastic disk player, he holds the headphones in front of her face.

“Put these on, and d-don’t try to take them off for any reason. Understand?”

She nods and he puts the headphones firmly over her ears. Just before he reaches between her fingertips to press play on the diskplayer, she hears a voice call out “Richard!” and thinks excitedly, I know that voice! But then Elliot Smith starts playing over the headphones and she can’t hear anything but that.

Is Rick and Elliot Smith fan? Huh.

No longer concerned about the water - because Rick will take care of that - or the figure standing just outside the garage - because Rick will take care of that too - Diane is content to sit on the stool, where there’s no chance of her feet getting wet, and watch the scene while listening to a singer she hasn’t thought of since high school. 

As the person entering the garage comes into view, she realizes she must have been mistaken about recognizing the voice. She does know who he is, but only because she follows Beth’s instagram account where photos of her, Jerry, and this man (...fish? Fish-man?), Mr. Nimbus, occasionally pop up. Usually taken at extraordinarily expensive looking hotel rooms, and with a few too many fire and eggplant emojis to be entirely appropriate. 

What is it about Beth and Jerry’s wealthy third that had Rick looking so serious when he put these headphones on her and made her promise not to take them off? She can remove them if she wants of course, they’re not stapled to her head, but that would be such a Jerry move. Jerry always stubbornly refuses to listen when Rick tells him to do something, and that’s why Jerry’s always ending up with broken limbs and chemical burns and distended lungs and any number of other things that could all be avoided if he just listened to Rick. She does not want to be a Jerry, so the headphones stay on. 

It makes her curious though, very curious. Especially given the way Mr. Nimbus is looking at her. Like she’s some sort of mysterious marvel, but not in the good way. More like how someone would look at something both fascinating and grotesque. A two-headed cow for example, or Morty’s poorly hidden stash of alien porn. She can’t imagine what it is about her that’s making him look like that; even if he isn’t used to land-based people, he has been fucking Beth and Jerry at least. She can’t possibly be that much more grotesque than them. Self-consciously she smooths down her hair where Rick’s hands have agitated it. 

When Rick notices her noticing Mr. Nimbus looking at her, he stands between the two of them to block their view of each other. At first, it looks like a normal conversation is happening between the two of them, but maybe that’s only because she can’t hear their voices or see their faces. 

Without warning, Rick goes flying across the room and slams into the other side of the metal bench in front of her, making the items on it rattle. She lets out a surprised yelp, but doesn’t have time to do anything else before Rick is back on his feet again brushing off the violent shove, and it was a shove. Nimbus’ hands are still extended, trembling with rage or exertion or both. 

Again, he’s looking at her like she’s done something to disgust him, but this time his glare sends a shiver down her spine. What sort of person has the strength to do that to Rick? Rick. Rick who picked up the fridge last week with one hand so Summer could look for her lost earring. Rick who regularly gets into fist fights with people twice his size over random-ass shit like stealing his parking spot at the mall. Rick who saved her life when her date-from-hell decided she was going to get into his car whether she wanted to or not. Rick had killed that guy. He thought she didn’t know but she did. Rick had killed him with his ice freeze ray gun and he had done it because he is a dangerous fucking guy. It’s just one of those things about Rick you figure out and then decide it doesn’t matter because you think he’s pretty cool anyway.

Now this Mr. Nimbus is picking a fight with Rick and holding his own, and Diane is starting to think she’s getting mixed up in a whole wrong-place-wrong-time type scenario and should bail, or at least go into the house and bring Beth out here to talk to the two of them. 

Unfortunately, this entire thought process is happening while Speed Trials plays loudly into her ears which is really fucking up her ability to make decisions. So fucked up what happened to him. Why had she ever stopped listening to his music?

Uh, oh. While she sits there unable to decide about doing anything, Nimbus is really starting to get angry. He keeps yelling and gesticulating at Rick and, surprisingly, rather than argue back Rick appears to be trying to placate him. Again, Diane feels an uncomfortable twist in her stomach. She doesn’t like to think there’s anyone in the world Rick would rather pander to than fight. 

The headphones she’s wearing are incredible at sound blocking despite looking like any ten dollar pair you might get at a gas station, and she can’t hear anything they’re saying, though she can see a few recognizable words and phrases leaving Mr. Nimbus’ mouth. 

No

Wrong 

What the fuck

Twice she thinks she sees her name, but that can’t be right. She’s never even met this guy.

Absent of any ideas about what they’re actually arguing about, Diane makes up a conversation in her head.

<What the fuck, Rick!> She imagines Nimbus is saying, trying to match words with his violent hand gestures. <I love fucking your daughter so much!!>

<I think it’s great you fuck my daughter, and I’m perfectly happy for that to continue.>

<It is so fucking great! I’m fucking screaming at you because of how much I love it!>

<Good. It’s all good, man. You should keep fucking my daughter. Don’t even trip.>

<No, you don’t understand Rick. It’s fucking awesome and I’m going to keep doing it! And also! Also! I’m going to fuck her husband too. Fuck him so good he’s going to forget there was ever a time he couldn’t swallow hot dogs whole.>

Diane has no idea she’s going to start laughing until she does. The strange sensation of feeling her chest vibrate with it, but being unable to actually hear it only fuels her nervous euphoria and makes her laugh harder. 

After half a minute passes, she’s finally able to calm herself down and looks back up at the arguing pair. Her chest is aching. They are both looking at her with almost identical faces of longing, but it’s not the kind of longing anyone might want to be gazed at with. It’s more like how a someone would look at a freshly drowned corpse they could have saved if only they got there a minute earlier. Any remaining humor she’s feeling withers under their dual stares. 

“Sorry. You guys just looked so silly.” She says to them with no idea how loud she's speaking. 

Rick holds his hands up to stop him, but only half-heartedly, and Mr. Nimbus walks right past on his way to Diane. 

There’s a moment where she wants to shrink away from him, but what’s the point? Where would she go? The gentle music in her ears coupled with weeks of poor sleep have dulled her sense of fear.

Up close, he smells like literal sex on a beach and his eyes are shockingly, almost beautifully, fish-like. He puts his hands on the headphones, just like Rick had, and removes them from her head. She flinches at first, half-convinced something terrible will happen when he pulls them off, but nothing does. No one moves; he continues to stare at her and, for lack of anything better to do, she stares back. 

“You look… like someone I used to know.” He says, his hands still holding the headphones and resting on her shoulders. It’s not what she’s expecting him to say.

“Really, who?”

She asks it without thinking, but maybe she should have guessed. It’s a comparison that’s followed her most of her life. 

“Her name was Diane.”

“Right, my aunt.”

She doesn’t know what else to say and wishes Rick would step in and give her an excuse to leave this situation. 

Nimbus looks back at Rick and there’s something so intimate and knowing in their glances that, for a second, she can’t help but wonder if these two crazy old bastards aren’t going to try to double-team her right here in the garage or something. 

God, she really needs to get some sleep. Is she the one acting weird here, or they?

“You knew my aunt? Aren’t you, um, you’re Beth and Jerry’s friend, right?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, but I’ve known Richard a lot longer, and I knew your… aunt too.”

She tries not to smile at the formal use of Rick’s full name, knowing Rick wouldn’t like it if he thought she was making fun of him. 

“Your aunt was–”

“Leave her alone.” 

Rick cuts him off and sounds very serious about it, but when she looks over at him, she sees he’s smiling, chill and disarming. 

“Come on Nimbs, let’s go. We’ll go any-anywhere you want. It’s all– It’s water under the bridge.”

“Sure, Richard. Everything’s always water under the bridge with you.”

There’s a bitter sarcasm in Nimbus’ tone. She really wishes he would take his hands off her shoulders and can’t get the memory of him pushing Rick across the room out of her mind. 

Even as she’s looking past him at Rick, she can sense Mr. Nimbus’ fish-like eyes on her. 

“This isn’t right, Richard, but I suppose you know that.” He says, patting her on the shoulders before letting go. 

She wants to know what he’s talking about; wants to get up and leave this weird-ass situation behind; wants Rick to stop dicking around back there and get this guy away from her.

Finally stepping away from her, Mr. Nimbus says, “You’re right, though. Let’s go get that drink.”

This makes Rick smile. He opens one of his portals and then they’re gone. Just like that. No goodbyes, and now Diane is alone in the suddenly silent garage where puddles of salt water are drying on the ground. 

There’s still music playing from the headphones hanging around her neck. 

While she watches, a starfish the size of a large dog, walking on two of its points like legs and carrying a fancy gift basket, trots past her and enters the house like it belongs there. 

Something giddy and terrifying rises in Diane’s throat like a laugh might, but she has the feeling that if she let it out it might actually be a scream.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

⛛⛚

◷ ⬡◠◍ ◇

◖⊖⋚⊡

“This is an intervention, Richard.”

“What the fuck?”

Rick turns immediately to go back through the portal, but Nimbus blocks his path. Grabbing the portal gun out of his hand, he pushes Rick onto one of the chairs that’s been set out. 

“Fuck this!” Rick stands up to confront Nimbus about his portal gun, but Bird Person gets up from one of the other chairs and stands between them. The bar is totally dead, as if they’d rented the whole place out for this little charade. What’s even more infuriating is Nimbus made Rick feel as though he had picked this place. Is he really that predictable?

“Don’t push me.” He warns Bird Person.

“Sit down, Rick.”

“Yes, Richard. Grace us with your presence for a little while.”

“Et tu Squanchy?” He asks, but that squancher won’t even meet his eyes. 

It’s only the three of them. All his other friends are dead.

“If this is about the alcohol, that ship has sailed.”

“You know it is not.” Bird Person says, sitting down again only when Rick throws himself into his own seat.

He takes the flask from his coat, drinking and looking sullenly at the pitiful party of people who’ve assembled to pester him.

Hell, maybe it doesn’t matter what this is really about; they’re basically only one good song and a few drinks away from a potentially great party.

“A-alright let’s get this over with then.”

The look the three of them share about him is patronizing and flames the anger in his gut, but he fights it back down. 

“Richard, you’ve done a lot of questionable things in the past, but I thought we both agreed when you returned that she was off limits.”

“You don’t know half of what I’ve done, and you didn’t make any agreements with me. The Rick who popped your cherry on your daddy’s shell bed is dead. He’s buried in my backyard. I only honor that contract because I’m a nice guy. Don’t forget that.”

The frown on Nimbus’ face is a big improvement over that self-serving ‘worried about you’ bullshit. 

“It does not matter which dimension you come from Rick,” Bird Person chimes in. “You are here now, and we are worried. Whether or not you appreciate, or desire, our care is immaterial. Is it true you’ve cloned your late wife, Diane, with the intention of reimplanting the memories of your life together?”

“N-no. Get your facts straight.”

Bird Person looks uncertainly at Nimbus who says, “That’s not what Mortimer said.”

“Fuck that kid.”

“Don’t curse your family, Richard. It’s bad manners.”

“Well he’s fucking stupid, so if that’s where you’re getting your information from, don’t blame me when you end up with nothing but your dick in your hand.”

“I’ve just seen her.”

“T-that’s different. It-it’s complicated. Can we put some music on or something?”

“Rick, I don’t like this.” His traitorous friend finally pipes up. “For you, I mean. We can’t squanch through all this again. Leave it in the squanch where it belongs.”

“Am I missing something here, guys? I’m fucking agreeing with you. It’s in the past. She’s in the past. I-I’m gonna put on some music.”

He goes up to the bar’s juke box but can’t operate it without flurbos. 

“Pers, spot me some. Come on, you know you owe me.”

They’re all staring at him like they want him to lose his cool. 

“What do you want from me, huh? You want me to shoot her? Want me to blow her brains out all over Beth’s carpet? Beth thinks she’s her cousin.”

He kicks the nearest table, meaning only to topple it, but underestimates his cybernetic heel and accidentally splits it in half instead. Both sides fall away from each other and land on the ground with simultaneous thunks which actually looks way cooler than what he had been trying to do.

His friends look at him thoughtfully.

Nimbus says, “I think we have some things to discuss.”

“Fine, but first.” Rick takes out a second portal gun from his pocket and portals away, returning seconds later with a sack of flurbos for the juke box. 

-          -          -

“And, a-and, and,” Rick is good and properly sloshed now, the music is bumping, and he has never met, nor would he care to meet, 90% of the people in the bar. Around him are the only three people in this solar system he could maybe possibly consider giving a shit about, and this night’s actually turning out to be pretty alright. 

The only things that might make it better would be if Squanchy could lighten up and stop looking so fucking guilty, if Bird Person would chill out and have a few drinks, and if Nimbus would stop trying to reminisce with him about his dead fucking wife. She’s dead, and he’s spent more time thinking about her in the last three months than he had in the thirty years prior.

“And it’s not her - Cousin Diane - she was born. She’s a person, a different person.”

Nimbus still doesn’t look convinced. 

“Then why did Mortimer say she has all of Diane’s memories?”

“Because he’s a fucking idiot, that’s why. It’s– there’s– neurons. He could never understand.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me. I can always tell.”

“The thing he is not telling you is the truth. That is how it always is with him.” Bird Person adds unhelpfully.

“W-will you fucking lighten up, man?”

All around them random strangers are partying and living it up, taking advantage of the open bar Nimbus paid out for the night, and he’s stuck here arguing semantics with these assholes. It’s starting to make his skin itch. He’s going to tear Morty a new one when he gets home. 

“I know her, Richard. That’s not her. You’ve created some horrible copy, and why? What exactly is your plan for all this going forward?”

“My plan is to keep being better than you in every possible way. I’m sure the rest will work itself out like it always does.”

“Your plan with the clone?”

“Nothing. She’s graduating. She’ll move out, and then Beth and her will call each other once a month and say ‘oh gosh, oh boy, we should really get together more’ and t-that will be that.”

“You are lying. You will never let her live her own life.”

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up about it?!” 

Rick has had about as much as he can take with Bird Person acting like he needs to apologize for saving his fucking life.

“She’s dying isn’t she?” Squanchy’s voice cuts through his staring contest with Bird Person like a punch in the gut. Why would he say that? He doesn’t know that.

Squanchy continues, “She’s squanched, right? I can see it in your eyes. Something you can’t fix and you’re already squanched up about it.”

That… that’s not necessarily true. He doesn’t have all the scans yet, there’s no guarantee he won’t be able to get this worm out of her brain without permanently damaging it. Even if all those reports from Snubon agree on the same thing, that the Tunnel Worm has a 100% fatality rate without the brood queen’s vocal command. The stupid thing is he is the brood queen he just has no idea what it is he’s supposed to say to get that thing to stop eating away at her. But none of that means anything, he’s Rick fucking Sanchez, he’ll figure something out.

Not that any of that explains how Squanchy could know just by looking at him. No one can read him like that. It’s a guess, it has to be, a wild shot in the dark that miraculously came close to its mark, but now he’s been silent so long he’s basically confirmed it. He takes Bird Person’s untouched beer off the table and chugs it. 

“What do you want from me?” He says when he’s finished.

“We are only worried about you,” Bird Person says, which is a fucking joke that wasn’t funny the first time and sure as shit isn’t funny now.

“Worried? You’re worried what I’m going to do when she dies again. Well, maybe you should be. Maybe I’ll trash this whole fucking universe when I’m done with it.”

“I don’t give a squanch about this universe, Rick, I care about you.”

“I already saw you lose her once, Richard.”

“You didn’t see shit.”

Tired of this sappy shit, he looks to Bird Person for some more disdainful glaring which, while annoying, is at least not as gut-churningly uncomfortable as whatever the other two are doing.

“Is it true? She will not survive?”

“Not y-you too, man. What do, what does it matter?”

“Everything matters with you. The little things most of all.”

Nimbus asks, “Why won’t the clone survive? What’s going to happen to it?”

“The worm in her brain is going to eat every memory she ever had and replace it w-wi-with others. Without the deactivation phrase, when it’s finished doing that, it will keep going but in reverse. Eating the memories it implanted and re-replacing them with the old ones except this time it will go faster because it’s already processed everything once. That’ll keep happening until she’s forgetting who she is every other minute. Until finally her brain’s got nothing left for the worm and it kills her– Yeah, I’m gonna need like five more of these.” He says to a passing server while his “concerned” “friends” share glances with each other.

“And you are certain this will happen?”

“Can’t you just take the worm out a different way?” Squanchy asks like maybe Rick hadn’t thought of that. Oh, yeah, just take it out. Fuck. 

“M-maybe. Nothing that would kill it wouldn’t also fry her, you know the clone’s, brain. To get it out? It’s smaller than a micrometer, moves through her synapses like electricity, and I’d probably have to excise parts of her brain she’d rather keep to do it… but maybe. Maybe I could.”

“Maybe? But you’re not sure?”

Rick doesn’t love the vibes he’s getting from Nimbus who seems way to invested in all this for a concerned friend.

“If I was sure, I’d have done it already. S-sorry, you’ll have to excuse how irritated I sound, it’s just that none of this is any of your fucking business, and I-I mean that sincerely.”

“Your sanity is the business of your friends.”

“Thank you, Nimbus, I’ll be sure to have them write that one on your gravestone. It’s too bad you don’t have any friends.”

“When she dies, you may come stay at my nest for a while.”

Rick looks at Bird Person silently while the waiter drops off the round of drinks he ordered. 

“Actually, I think he’d be more comfortable at my squanch since there’s no kid running around. Right Rick?”

If all of this did make Rick feel something - and nobody said that it did - then he’d at least have the decency to hide those feeling behind the glass of beer he chugs while they bicker. He wants to berate them for all of this, for everything that’s happened tonight, but that’s not what comes out when he finally opens his mouth. 

His beer empty, he drops the glass and says, “She’s gone though, right? Like, s-she, she’s not here anymore. She can’t see me.”

“She’s gone, Richard. There’s no more for her. No pain. No regrets. Nothing else. It’s all done. You can let her go now.”

Let her go. Sure, a man can let anything go if he tries hard enough.

Have you caught the man who murdered our daughter?

Have you

Have you

Have

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

2:45am

Thursday, December 16^th

Summer Smith’s Bedroom

The sensation no longer surprises Diane, sinking through her sheets, falling into another woman’s body and life, living out realistic scenarios during what is supposed to be a restful night’s sleep before school. No rest tonight, but a more care-free part of herself thinks maybe that’s a fair trade to lucid dream so vividly.

Seagulls squawk overhead, children scream with joy and excitement, and close-by waves are breaking against the shore in a perfect, natural rhythm. It’s a gorgeous, if slightly chilly, early spring day at the beach, and she’s wearing a new sundress Rick bought her with some money he got selling patents. Beside her, Marlene is wearing the same old sweater and corduroys she always is, having refused Rick’s sincere, if a little clumsy, offer to buy her a dress like Diane’s. All this knowledge falls seamlessly into place the same way she suddenly knows there’s a diamond ring stashed in the glove box of Rick’s station wagon – yes, it’s Rick’s now, a gift for his eighteenth birthday – that she had to take off and hide because Marlene doesn’t know she and Rick are going to be married yet.

They are going to tell her today. They have to tell her today because in two weeks Diane will be eighteen herself and they’ve already decided that will be the day. They won’t be apart even one second longer than necessary; it already feels like she’s been waiting to marry Rick Sanchez for her entire life.

It’s been almost a year since they met.

She’s very nervous about today going wrong. After just raising the idea with Rick’s parents went so horribly – they’ve never been anything but good to her, and Diane loves them both, but Rick’s mother had a fit upon hearing they planned to marry before finishing high school and that neither of them intended on attending college – she suggested to Rick they tell Nimbus and Marlene together.

More as an attempt to rip the band aid off quickly, all at once, than because Nimbus and Marlene get along well; they don’t.

Somehow, all of this is so perfect. So obvious, yes. Falling asleep, Cousin Diane had been sick with worry over school, and now that worry has been seamlessly translated by her subconscious into worry about a fictional sibling accepting her chosen path in life. Even Mr. Nimbus is here. After their awkward encounter in the garage, she’s not surprised at all to find he’s entered into her dreamscape in the form of Rick’s adolescent best friend.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

Diane slips her hand into Marlene’s as the two of them stand by the station wagon in the beach’s parking lot looking out towards Rick who’s waded out to his knees in the water, pants rolled up, waiting for Nimbus to show.

“I wish we could have come her just the two of us.” Marlene says, but she doesn’t pull her hand away. A good sign. Today is going to be a good day.

“Next time.” Diane gives her sister’s hand a squeeze.

Nimbus floats out of the deeper water and glides towards Rick flashily while the other beach-goers watch astounded. Marlene sighs, exasperated, and secretly Diane agrees. Nimbus is a good dude, and Rick’s closest friend, but sometimes he can be… a little much.

“Diane.”

“No, no. Everything’s going to be great.”

Rick and Nimbus greet each other in the waves and start making the trek back through the sand towards the two of them.

“He’s barely dressed. We can’t be seen with him. It’s obscene.”

“We won’t go back to town, no one’s going to see us. We’ll get some burgers and park. It’ll be good I promise. Humor me, please.”

“You’re not the one who has to sit in the back with him.”

“Then sit up front with me and Rick.”

“Ugh, that’s even worse.”

There’s no way to signal to Rick, as he walks up to the two of them, that maybe now’s not the right time for him to grab her around the hips and swing her into his arms for a kiss, and no way to keep her hand from pulling out of Marlene’s when he does. Nimbus, at least, reintroduces himself to Marlene like a gentleman, and despite her disapproval of his outfit, Marlene turns down her scowl a few notches when acknowledging him.

“Alright, let’s get the- get out of here.” Rick says, opening the passenger side door and pulling the seat forward for Nimbus and then Marlene to squeeze in. Diane gives his arm a squeeze before she gets in to the front seat herself, looking for encouragement, anything to loosen the tight knot of nerves in her chest, and he pulls her into a tight hug.

“Don’t worry about it, babe. Everything’s g-gonna be just fine.”

She gives herself until the count of three to take in his smell and relax herself, before pulling away and ducking into the front seat. Rick closes the door behind her and walks around to the driver’s side.

“So Nimbs,” Diane turns around in her seat to talk to him. “Rick says you’re on the fast track to succeed your daddy now. Is that right?”

Nimbus’ smiles always look so sincere and come so easily; it’s one of his several good traits that Marlene simply refuses to see.

“Well, the politics of Atlantis are slightly more complicated than that, but essentially yes.”

He also has the good manners to ignore Marlene’s eye roll, which Diane is grateful for.

Starting up the car, Rick looks in the rearview and says, “Y-yeah, because patrilineal monarchies are real complicated. No-no one’s ever figured those things out.”

“Don’t act all high and mighty, baby.” Diane chastises. “If Nimbus says it’s complicated, it’s complicated. I don’t see you inheriting a crown.

She rubs her hand playfully through Rick’s combed hair, mussing it up. It’s exactly the kind of thing that happens in these dreams that could get Cousin Diane in serious trouble if she slipped up and tried something like that with Uncle Rick in real life. This Rick only smiles and pinches her side teasingly.

“Exactly Richard, or have they started giving royal titles to mid-tier factory workers like your father now?”

“Why do you call him Richard?” Marlene asks before Rick can defend his father, and Diane reminds herself to be happy her sister’s joining in the conversation at all.

“Because, fair Marlene, I have class. Unlike our mutual friend here.”

“Hey! Are you talking about Rick, or me?”

“You, classless, Diane? Perish the thought. I’m merely questioning your taste in men.”

Another thing he and Marlene have in common; it’s a miracle those two haven’t fallen in love themselves. If only they would, then maybe some of this guilt would wash off of Diane like a grease stain and leave her feeling clean again.

“I guess it’s fortunate I don’t have to explain myself to you.” She says to Nimbus, but, still filled with jitters about the purpose of this outing, the words come out a little harsher than she intends. Between them, out of view off the back seat, Rick gives her hand a comforting squeeze.

“So who’s paying for these burgers?” He asks; it’s such a Rick joke. He is, of course. “What? No takers? F-fine.”

“I would have made sandwiches, but Diane said I shouldn’t bother. Apparently you’re doing pretty well for yourself. What is it you’re doing? Selling Bibles?”

“Patents.” Diane corrects her sister unnecessarily. Marlene knows it’s patents.

“Oh, right.”

“Bragging about me?”

“I didn’t say it like that. All I said is we’re getting burgers so she didn’t need to make sandwiches.”

“What,” Nimbus pipes up, “Is a sandwich?”

Diane flushes self-consciously before her face can catch up with her brain and realize he’s confused about the concept of bread and not making a comment about the kind of food she and her sister can typically afford to eat.

“It’s like a flat burger.” She says.

“Ah, well, all the more reason to be excited about my first burger.”

“Do you eat meat?” Marlene asks, sounding interested.

“Not yet, but Rick gave me a very extensive lecture on these cows your kind raises to consume, so I think I’m prepared.”

“We don’t only raise them to eat. We also breed them, and keep them for their milk.” Marlene says.

“”Yes, it’s all very quaint. Practically civilized.”

“Well, I’m sure your kind has evolved beyond such quaint things. You’re all vegetarians then?”

“Quite the contrary. Fortunately aquatic life has evolved to care for itself and doesn’t require any intervention.”

“How odd, some people might say animal husbandry is more civilized than hunting. It’s very interesting to hear such a different opinion.”

“Okay! H-here, we’re here. Who’s, what’s- what’s everyone, who’s ordering what? Nimbus, burger. Babe, cheeseburger. Marlene?”

“I’ll have a cheese sandwich.”

“Y-yeah.”

Now it’s Rick’s hand squeezing hers too tight.

He turns his lights on and rolls his window down signaling to the roller-blading waitress they’re ready to order.

“One cheese sandwich, one burger, and two cheeseburgers.” He says to the waitress, while Diane wonders if maybe they shouldn’t call the whole thing off for today.

Always so intuitive about her thoughts, as soon as he finishes ordering, Rick turns in his seat to face the back.

“So there’s something w-w-we need to talk to you guys about.” He says and Diane squeezes his hand hard enough to hurt. One of their palms is sweating and she thinks it might be hers. The scene with Rick’s parents had been bad enough, but she wants Marlene's support on this so bad it creates a physical ache in her chest every time she thinks about it.

“What is it, Richard?” Nimbus says when the silence stretches out, and Diane wonders if his concern will extend beyond their announcement. She’s not blind, she knows exactly how he feels about Rick and, by extension, about her relationship with Rick.

“We, we’ve been going together for a while now.”

“Almost a year.” She adds, hopefully helpfully. He sounds nervous, but determined.

“Yeah, and I’m sure. I-I know.”  

Nimbus looks confused. Marlene’s facial expression is a mystery; Diane’s to afraid to check.

“I-it’s done. It’s already decided, but we- shit!” A knock on the window startles Rick in the middle of his sentence. The waitress has returned with their order.

While he takes the bags of food and pays her, Diane summons up the courage she needs to look at her sister. Marlene looks like she’s awaiting sentencing in a murder trial.

“Diane, what’s going on?” She asks.

“It’s nothing. We should eat first, and then we can talk about it.”

“It’s not nothing.” Rick says.

“I know. I know, but I just think maybe we should eat something first and then-“

“Tell me you’re not doing something stupid.” Marlene cuts her off.

“I don’t think that, I don’t think it’s your place to tell your sister her choices are stupid. You aren’t her-“

“Rick! Not helping.”

Diane reaches back, hoping her sister will see these recent arguments they’ve been having are nothing compared to their whole history of friendship and reach out for her too, but Marlene shrinks away.

Hurt, she pulls her hands back to the front seat.

“Let’s just eat, and we can talk about all this after.”

“We’re getting married.” Rick says, and Diane can’t even be mad at him because he’s talking to Nimbus, and it was her idea to tell the two of them together.

“You are being so stupid.” Marlene says to her.

“Don’t say that.”

“I think I might have to agree with Marlene on this one, Richard.”

“We’re asking for you, for your support.” Rick says.

The tensions in the car have shifted. Now Marlene and Nimbus are on one team, united against them.

“We’ve thought about this a lot, and we know it’s the right thing for us.” Diane enunciates, forced to talk slowly by the threat of tears making her throat tight.

“We’re perfect for each other.” She adds. So confident in her and Rick’s love, the idea it might force some kind of epiphany in Nimbus and her sister doesn’t seem impossible.

“Don’t do this.” Marlene says, looking at her beseechingly as if holding on to an equal hope her own words will force an anti-epiphany in Diane and wash away these thoughts of marriage.

“What? No, Rick and I love each other. This is a happy thing. We’re happy, and you are, please. You’re happy for us.”

“I can’t help but wonder if you’ve thought this through.”

“He’s your best friend!” Diane shouts at Nimbus because she can’t shout at Marlene and she couldn’t shout at Rick’s parents. Rick puts a calming hand on her cheek and wipes away a tear.

“We’re d-doing this, and we’d like your support.” He says. “N-n-now let’s eat our food, and talk about it. You can say c-congratulations, if you’d like.”

Looking at Diane, Marlene doesn’t acknowledge the wrapped sandwich Rick tries to hand her.

“You are so blind. You won’t even listen to me when I try to tell you what he’s like. He doesn’t love you, he thinks he owns you! If you do this, you’ll regret it.”

Her words are so cruel, something either breaks between the two sisters or it was already broken and Diane simply hadn’t noticed before. All she can think about is how much the words must hurt Rick and how horrible Marlene is for saying them.

“Take that back! You don’t mean that. I know you’re upset, but I need you with me on this, please.”

“He’s crazy, Diane! You can’t marry him!”

“Why would you say that? How could you say something like that?”

“Look at them bicker, Richard. Is this the level of conversation you want for the rest of your life? She’s beneath you.”

It’s like being kicked in the gut, twice. Tears aren’t enough; she’s stunned, winded by the dual betrayal.

“Get out.” Rick says to Nimbus.

“Let me out.” Marlene says to her.

Marlene reaches over the seat grabbing for the door handle at the same time Rick wrenches his own door open and reaches into the back, grabbing for Nimbus’ hair like he intends to drag him out of the car by it.

Diane wants to stop Marlene from leaving the car, but it’s hard to make a case for it when Rick and Nimbus are getting into a physical confrontation over the back of the seat, rocking the car as they grab at each other’s arms and hair in a way that could still be considered rough-housing; but one well-aimed punch away from turning into something serious.

When Marlene starts kicking the back of the chair demanding to be let out, Diane relents and opens her door. Marlene barely waits for her to get out before climbing over the front seat. On the driver’s side, Rick has managed to pull Nimbus out of the open door and the two of them continue their fight on the dirt ground of the parking lot, trading insults and punches.

Diane’s going to pull the two of them apart before this can get any worse, but Marlene grabs her around the middle and holds her back.

“Look at him! Look at what he’s like. You want to marry him?” She says, clinging to Diane while she tries to break free.

“Let me go! Rick!”

The other diners at the drive-in have noticed the fight, and several of them are getting out of their cars and looking at each other awkwardly, as if deciding if they’re going to intervene or not.

In her struggles, Diane’s elbow connects with Marlene’s stomach who lets her go with a disgusted scoff.

“Fine! Do whatever you want, Diane, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Her words have no impact, Diane is already running around the car to help Rick. She grabs Nimbus’ arm, but isn’t prepared for how strong he is and he shakes her off easily. Seeing a woman join the fray, the unsure diners make up their minds and start running over to break the two men up.

The waitress is coming over too, lifting her roller skates up to run as if she thinks skating on them would be too ridiculous of a way to approach a fight.

“Break it up! Dan’s already called the cops!” She says, but Nimbus ignores her and it’s out of Rick’s control now. On his back, pinned down, he’s given up on fighting back in favor of protecting his face from the worst of Nimbus’ assault.

“Nimbs, stop!” Diane throws herself at Nimbus again and this time, with the help of several bystanders, they manage to pull the two men apart.

Practically uninjured, Nimbus brushes dirt off his skin and gills while Diane falls to her knees beside Rick, still laying in the dirt, bleeding from his nose and a split lip. His arms are still shaking and he doesn’t bother trying to pull himself up.

“Oh, Rick. I’m sorry, this wasn’t how today was supposed to go.” She says, licking a finger to wipe some of the dirt off his cheek.

“Save your tears, he’s fine. He should know better by now than to pick a fight with me.”

“Fuck off.” Swearing is not something a girl from her circumstances can typically afford to do, not unless she wants a reputation for being uncultured, poorly-bred trash, but she makes an exception for Nimbus. He obviously already thinks of her like that anyways.

“D-don’t babe. Don’t worry, it’s okay.”

“The cops are here.” The waitress says unhelpfully, everyone present can hear the sirens.

Rick groans in pain, but manages to sit up. Nimbus throws him down an embroidered handkerchief he was keeping she can’t even imagine where, and Rick uses it to put pressure on his bleeding nose. The crowd of concerned onlookers disperses at the arrival of the police.

“I’ll take care of it.” Nimbus says cryptically and walks towards the sounds of the sirens.

“Where’s Marlene?” Diane asks, unwilling to leave Rick’s side to search, but worried her sister might have walked off somewhere in all the commotion. Turns out, she doesn’t need to worry. Marlene is standing by the hood of the station wagon, arms crossed, staring of into the distance. Once his nose stops bleeding, Rick wipes the rest of his face off and stands up, putting the handkerchief into his pocket and helping Diane to her feet as well. As soon as she’s up, he pulls her into a tight hug.

“That could’ve gone worse.” He says.

She snorts into his shirt.

“They hate me.” She groans against his chest, unaware how true those words are going to sound until she says them out loud.

“No one hates you, babe. Nobody could ever hate you.”

Rick continues to hold her, and she wraps her arms around his middle too, clinging to him tightly.

“You-you’re not changing your mind, are you?”

“Never. I’m going to marry you, Rick Sanchez, and we’re going to be together forever.”

“That’s right, babe. Forever. I promise.”

Nimbus comes back, but she keeps her head buried in Rick’s shirt, unwilling to look at him.

“I’ve gotten it all sorted out. The officers agreed to drive the ladies home. Or me, if you’d prefer.”

“I want a ride home.”

Diane finally pulls away from Rick’s chest so she can address her sister. 

“Marlene, don’t be like this. Rick’s going to drive us home.”

“No thanks. You shouldn’t drive home with him either. Come back with me and we can talk.”

“Maybe you should-“

“No! I’m staying with you, Rick. I don’t need her approval, and I sure as shit don’t need her permission.”

“So that’s it? You’re not going to come home. What do you think daddy’s going to say when he hears about this? I’m not going to lie to him for you. And you’re just fine with this, Rick? With her throwing her life away.”

“H-however Diane says it is, that’s how it is.” Rick says with a shrug. He’s talking at Marlene, but it’s clear from his tone that the words are meant for Nimbus as well.

“Fine. Good luck then.” Marlene walks over to where the cops are alone.

“I owe you an apology, Diane. What I said before-“

“You can go too.” Rick cuts him off.

“I’m trying to apologize, Richard.”

“She doesn’t need it.”

“No it’s okay. I want to hear it, Nimbs, really. No more yelling today, please.”

Nimbus, the king of unnecessary flourishes, sinks into a low bow and takes both of her hands in his.

“Diane, what I said was unforgivable. The truth is you’re worth a thousand of Rick, and I was only worried with your happiness in such a pairing.”

The truth is that Nimbus is practically a demigod where he comes from, a literal crown-prince, and he’s in love with Rick and he hates that Rick loves her instead, but she’s already lost her sister today and can’t stand the idea of Rick losing his de-facto brother as well. So long as it keeps the three of them from splitting up, the truth can remain unsaid.

“It’s okay, Nimbs, I forgive you. You’ll be at the wedding, right?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

Yes. Oh, god, yes. Just one. Even if that’s all they get is just one. She’ll never forget what he’s doing for them, saying they don’t have to stand alone on what’s supposed to be -what’s going to be – the best day of their lives. Even if he doesn’t agree with what Rick’s doing, his support means everything. She knows it, she knows because her own support will probably not be there – Marlene is not known for her sudden changes of heart – and she knows exactly how not having it feels. As long as Nimbus is there, Rick will never have to feel what she’s feeling, and that means everything.

Putting his cruel words behind her for good, she pulls Nimbus into a hug as tight as the one she’d given Rick. His lack of clothing and strangely place gills have grown on her and it no longer embarrasses her to be this close to him. Not trusting herself to speak, she tries to convey her gratitude through physical touch alone. After a few stiff seconds, he relents and pats her on the head.

“There, there. If Richard loves you, then I love you too. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better Diane.”

“Anything you want. Anything you want ever, Nimbs, just ask. I was so scared we were going to be alone.”

“You never will be, I promise.”

When she looks up, Nimbus is looking at Rick and not her, but it’s okay she feels love for him anyways. If only because he’s Rick’s friend, but that’s enough. It’ll have to be enough.

It’ll-

Diane is wrapped up in Nimbus’ arms. Diane is surrounded by dirt and old cars and the smell of uneaten hamburgers. Diane is with her friends and things aren’t perfect, but she’s safe. Diane-

It’s early morning and Diane wakes up in a tangled mess of sheets and a thin sheen of sweat, feeling overwhelmed and feverish.

Where’s Nimbus?

Where’s Rick??

They were just here. Where did they go?

“Are you alright, Cousin Diane?” Summer’s voice snaps her out of it like a splash of cold water.

“Yeah I, um… I was just… dreaming, I guess.”

“You look like you might be sick.”

Summer gets down off her bed and sits next to Diane on her mattress, reaching out to feel her forehead.

“You’re, like, super hot. I don’t think you should go to school today. Want me to get mom?”

“Yes. No, I mean, no. It’s okay. It was just a bad dream. But I think you’re right. I think I’ll stay home today.”

“Okay, well, text me if you need something. Or dad. He’s always here anyways.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine. Just a bad dream.”

“Were you crying?”

Diane touches her cheek where, sure enough, a dried track of tears sticks to her fingertips.

“I think it’s just the fever,” She says.

“Okay, but, like, you know you can call me, right? Anytime, about anything.”

“I know, Summer. Thank you. You’re a really good cousin.”

“We’re family. That’s kind of the whole point. Get some rest, okay?”

“I will. Thanks.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

3:45pm

Wednesday, December 22nd

Smith Family Dining Room

Run-on sentences. Missing citations. Had she really turned this paper in? She doesn’t even have a vague memory of doing so, and now Professor Sloan has given it back to her with the embarrassing blessing of granting an extension so she can fix the worst of the errors. She’s read the paper all the way through twice now and still can’t remember what point she was trying to make with it. 

What does any of this mean?

Tears drip down her cheeks and onto her keyboard. She’s been crying so much lately. If she got a brain scan right now, what would it show?

What if it is cancer and she missed her chance to catch it early? Not that it matters. She didn’t have insurance three months ago and she doesn’t have it now. Rick keeps telling her it will be alright, but it doesn’t feel alright. It feels like something is very wrong. 

She’d pester Rick more about it right now, but he’s in the garage with Morty and she doesn’t want to worry her younger cousin with her tears. 

She’s not ready to die yet, but then maybe no one ever is.

[Fwoop]

A green portal appears next to the table and Morty walks out of it even though she saw him walk into the garage less than twenty minutes ago. Also, he’s now wearing the most adorable costume with a hat and jacket that makes him look like a little security guard. 

“Not your Morty.” He says, cutting her off before she can tell him how swanky he looks. Right on his heels, Rick walks out of the portal as well, wearing a matching outfit that, rather than making him more adorable, gives off an authoritative and imposing presence the less family-minded part of her can really appreciate. A gun she’s never seen him with is hanging off his belt, and also he’s wearing glasses.

“Rick, when did you get–”

“Not your Rick.”

“Right…uh. Oh.” She gets it, kind of. Rick has told her before there’s other versions of him and Morty out there, but it’s jarring to see them walking around inside the house.

“Where’s your Rick?” Rick snaps at her and she looks at him blankly, not sure if this is a cops-at-the-door situation where she’s supposed to tell him she’s never heard of such a person. 

“Whatever,” He says when she doesn’t answer. “I’ll find him myself. I know he’s here. C-137! C-137!”

“What?!” The door to the garage slams open and the Rick she’s fairly certain she saw walk through it half an hour ago comes back out looking annoyed. “Ohhh. Looky what we have here. Don’t you both look fancy. Morty come get a load of this.”

Morty sticks his head out from behind Rick in the doorway and laughs at his doppelganger.

“Nice suit,” Her Morty says. “D-does your Rick make you suck his cock too after you lick his boots?”

“Morty!” She says, shocked by his casual profanity that’s usually not on display when she’s around, but any impact her admonishment might have had is cancelled out by Rick saying “Nice one,” and curling his fingertips around Morty’s. The two of them drag their hands away from each other in a sort of half handshake salute while the interloper Rick pats his Morty’s head comfortingly. 

“Don’t listen to them. Y-you look good.”

Just another normal day in the Smith house.

“Alright, enough fucking around. What do you want?” Her Rick moves out of the doorway and comes further into the kitchen with Morty less than half a step behind.

“All Dianes are to be registered at the new, new citadel with the new, new council by order of the new–”

“A you fucking serious?”

It’s Morty who says it, but Diane is struck sometimes by how similar his mannerisms are to his grandfather. Also, wait, did that Rick say all Dianes??

Her Rick turns to his Morty and says, “There’s infinite versions of me, Morty, infinite. They’re-they’re just gonna keep doing this same shit forever.”

Whatever that means, Rick’s words leave Morty looking very dejected.

From his jacket, the security guard Rick pulls out a very fancy, embossed envelope and hands it to her Rick who tears it open carelessly and reads the contents with a deepening frown. When he finishes, he folds the paper back up and tucks it into his own coat pocket.

“Okay Morty,” He says, “Let’s go see what these fuckers are up to now.”

“What, seriously?”

“Yep. You too.” He says, pointing at her.

“Me what?”

“You’re coming with us.”

[Fwoop]

“Through that?” She’s always been kind of curious, but mostly terrified, by Rick’s preferred method of travel, and isn’t certain she wants to learn more right now. 

“Yep.”

Rick picks her up off the dining room chair like she weighs nothing and tosses her into the glowing green goo.

So much for editing that paper.

[Fwoop]

She tries very hard to twist herself midair to land on her feet, but maybe she should have just trusted the position Rick threw her in. The whole experience is very disorienting, anyways, and she winds up flat on her back on pavement, looking up at Rick and Morty as they walk through the portal. Rick holds out his hand which she gratefully accepts and pulls her back onto her feet with no effort on her part. 

The security guard Rick and Morty walk through their own portal next to the one she was tossed through and look at her Rick expectantly. 

“The council’s this way.” Security guard Rick says.

“Great. I’ve got a message you can give them.” 

His message is predictably obscene and hilarious to both Morty and Diane, who laughs despite feeling a little bad for the sharply dressed Morty who looks like he could use a hug. 

“Nah, I’m just kidding. I do have to go with these guys. Morty, watch your cousin, and I’ll, um, I’ll find…”

Rick’s words drift off as he looks over their shoulders. In front of her Diane can see they’ve come through the portal into some sort of small city filled with colorful buildings and futurey looking infrastructure. It sort of reminds her of Tomorrowland in Disney World, except all of the shops, posters, and advertisements appear to be catering specifically to Rick and Morty.

It’s a little disconcerting, but if she thinks that’s weird, she’s definitely not prepared for what she’s going to see when she follows Rick’s gaze and turns around. 

Just behind her and overhead, a very large sign flapping about thirty feet in the air declares:

WELCOME TO DIANE DAYS!

…What?

They’ve portalled right onto the edge of what appears to be a several blocks long, open air festival. Except, unlike any festival she’s ever been too - holiday weekends, fall celebrations, summer fireworks - this festival is, um, her themed. In fact, now that she’s listening, she can hear that the music coming out of the streetlamp mounted speakers is one of her favorite songs (one of the ones that she still remembers at least). 

Streamers and glitter decorate the street in her favorite colors. Stuffed animals - including a perfect replica of one she used to own as a child, and a sewn together pair made to look like her and Beth holding hands - are stacked for sale on carts. The stalls are selling all her favorite foods. Photobooths offer cute outfits and filters to take pictures with her cousin Morty. Racks in front of stores display replicas for sale of the exact outfit she’s wearing now. 

Oh, also there’s about a hundred versions of herself that she can see following behind their Ricks and wearing expressions of wide-eyed wonder identical to her own. Well, not perfectly identical. Unlike most of the Ricks and Mortys she can see, the Dianes - the hers - all are sporting vibrantly different hair and eye colors. From bubblegum pink to Jet black and every color in between. Diane’s walked into a stylist's wet dream, getting to see every possible combination she could ever hope to try all at once.

She turns to ask her Rick about it, but he’s already walking away with the guards. Nervous, she holds out her hand hoping Morty will take it and feeling a little better when he does. He smiles at her. 

“It’s a lot at f-first.”

“What if I lose you in the crowd?” She squeezes his hand a little tighter.

As an answer to her question, he buys them something called Morty Dazzlers in matching green colors and they both wear them around their necks. 

“Okay. I d-don’t know how long Rick will be. Is there anything you want to try?”

She looks around. Every Diane she makes eye contact with gives her a tentative smile and she gives them an identical one in return. 

“Should we go register?” She asks, pointing up at the many signs urging them to do so. 

“No, I don’t think Rick would want us to do that.” Morty looks uncomfortable at the idea so she lets it go, trying to come up with a different one. 

“Okay, um,” There’s a lot to look at. Her eye catches on a poster to her right; the glue on it looks fresh. It’s like a replica of those old red-scare posters from the twenties and shows a Rick in contrasting red and black colors holding his finger up in a shushing gesture. The text reads: KEEP THE SECRET/loose lips sink ships. In the background a silhouette of Rick’s ship is shown crashing into a mountaintop. It’s very artsy, and she sees several such posters in similar veins scattered around, but can’t imagine what secret the Ricks think is important enough they have to so insistently encourage each other to keep it. 

Morty notices her looking at the poster and tugs on her hand. 

“Hey, would you want to, we could go over to the photo booth and take pictures. If you want.”

“Yes! Can we? Or is it too embarrassing for you? They even have these little doggy ears we can wear!”

The thought of having photos with her younger cousin fills her heart. Even without her recent memory issues, living with Beth has really brought home how much time with her family she’s missed. 

“Yeah, we can wear the doggy ears.” He’s obviously indulging her, but she doesn’t even care. She’s going to keep these photos with her for the rest of her life, even when the time comes that she can’t remember having taken them. 

-          -          -

Rick follows the guards to the new, new capitol building where the new, new leadership is waiting for him. What assholes, but he was intrigued by that letter. If it’s true that almost 30% of catalogued Ricks are now facing the same, or similar situations with their own Diane clones, he might find the answer to his problem here. 

“Looking good.” He says to one of them many ornate gold statues of himself lining the building, ignoring the guards calls for him to shut up and keep moving. Such a shit show, is he ever going to stop paying for the part he played in building this place?

Inside the inner chambers and behind a door tall and wide enough to all a whole hoard of Mortys through at once (not that Mortys are allowed in the inner council chambers) sit three Rick’s in their golden high-chairs. He’s a little surprised they don’t have crystal binkies and babas to match. Only three for now, but that will change soon as old, corrupted channels are revived, and the Ricks that can’t be paid off with money are given increasingly meaningless titles of power, and on and on until once again…boom! The whole thing implodes on itself. It’s all so disgustingly human, and he hates what that says about him. 

“So, Rick C-137, as you can see, your most recent attempt to annihilate your fellow Ricks has once again failed.” Says the council member in the middle seat who’s decided mohawks and cybernetic eyes are due for a comeback. Which, damn, he’s kind of right.

“That was all your doing. That had nothing to do with me. Mortys won’t live in the dirt forever, but I’m sure you figured that out this time and the same thing isn’t going to just happen again.”

The council members share a look.

“Our Mortys have it better than in any previous citadel.” One of them says. 

“Whatever.” Rick has to fight the sudden urge to drop his pants and shit on the polished marble floor. His tolerance for Rick-politics is at an all-time low, but he did come her for a reason. 

“What’s the deactivation phrase?” He says, making it sound like a question to be polite, but it’s really not. He isn’t leaving here without it. 

The council members share another uncomfortable look and Rick lets his hand drift towards the holstered ray gun under his coat.

“What?” He demands when none of them speak up. 

The Rick on the far right in full cowboy getup says, “What, what do you think it is?”

“Are you fucking serious?” Rick looks down to share an annoyed look with Morty, but Morty’s not there. Right. 

“The c-council acknowledges your particular uniqueness as a rogue Rick, C-137, and as such we were hoping… hoping that you remembered.”

“I don’t remember because I didn’t fucking remove our wife’s brain and feed it to a worm! Now find me someone who did so I can be done with this shit.”

“C-can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It was… a difficult time. We all over-indulged. I don’t have to explain this to you, asshole.” Cowboy Rick says burping loudly and looking down on him disdainfully. 

“We can’t all have a drinking problem!” Rick shouts, but not because he thinks it’s true, he knows they do. He’s just frustrated. 

“You probably killed the only Rick who remembered during one of your rampages, and now we’re all fucked.”

“I don’t have to listen to this shit. Someone here remembers.”

The council member on the far right, a Rick in a slick business suit, speaks up for the first time.

“Of the seven thousand, four hundred and thirty two cousin Diane’s registered today, so far none of the Ricks have reported knowing the deactivation phrase.”

Seventy-five hundred. That’s nothing, drop in the bucket, but even if there is a Rick out there somewhere who knows the phrase, how are they supposed to track him down if he doesn’t declare himself? Finding a needle in a haystack would literally be easier. At least there’s a finite amount of hay. 

So, this is another dead end. 

“Welp, thanks for nothing fuckheads. M-might steal that mohawk idea though. It’s…yeah.”

He takes out his portal gun, but pauses just long enough to hear the council’s final thoughts. He has come all this way after all.

Business suit Rick says, “Whoever did what to Diane, and whoever remembers what, doesn’t matter now. All Rick’s wake up to consequences eventually. We just want to figure this out.”

[Fwoop]

What a load of horse manure, or maybe not. He’ll have to run that one by Morty just to be sure. That little shit’s the only who can tell the difference when it comes to the things Ricks say sometimes. Speaking of which, there he is. 

-          -          -

“Look, there’s Rick.” Morty tugs on her sleeve and points through the crowd at a Rick walking towards them. 

“How can you tell? He looks just like all the other ones.”

“I just can.” He says.

Diane tries to scrutinize the Rick Morty’s pointing to for some tell-tale mark, but can’t see anything distinguishing. He does, however, seem to be making right for them so she supposes Morty must be right. 

“Nice Morty Dazzler, Morty.”

“Did you finish your business?”

“Yeah, I guess. Ready to go?”

“Actually, Rick. W-we were going to stay a little longer. We wanted some doughnuts.”

Rick looks over towards the doughnut stalls. There’s two, one is for glazed doughnut, which makes perfect sense given this whole festival is her-themed and she’s had a craving for glazed doughnuts all week, but the other one… Cinnamon swirls? Has she ever liked cinnamon swirls? At first, she can’t remember ever even eating one, but that’s not right at all. She does remember eating cinnamon swirls when her mother was alive. They used to buy them every Saturday for breakfast, didn’t they?

“Which one do you want?” Rick asks looking at her, but she can’t answer right away because a sharp pain has flared up suddenly in her head, stabbing at her brain behind her right eye. She gasps and brings her hand to her head, but the pain is gone as suddenly as it started. A little shaken, she lowers her hand. It’s pretty obvious Rick noticed, but maybe Morty hadn’t.

“Um…” She has to blink a few times to get her focus back. “I know the line’s longer, but I’m kind of dying for a glazed doughnut right now.”

“Then let’s get glazed doughnuts!” Morty says immediately, always so kind and accommodating. God, there’s no end to the love she feels for that boy and his sister, and pride too. They’re just such good kids. So, like their mother. 

The next time she blinks it’s to try and hide her tears. She’s been crying a lot lately, but at least these are good tears. 

“Oh, Rick, I almost forgot. We got you this.”

Rick looks at the Morty Dazzler in her hand with about the amount of disdain she expected him to have for it. Maybe a little more than she expected even. 

“So I can tell you apart.” She explains, still holding the necklace out in a way she hopes invokes her own - kept - promise to never remove the chain he gave her. Even so she probably wouldn’t bother trying to get him to wear it, except most of the other Ricks are. It’s true, somehow most of the other Dianes and Mortys have convinced their Ricks to don vibrantly colored Morty Dazzlers. All around, they shimmer around Ricks necks in the sunlight and add even more chaotic coloring to the already vivid festival. 

Looking like he’d rather extract one of his own teeth, Rick snatches the Morty Dazzler out of her hand and pulls it over his head.

“Happy?” He asks sounding like he’s in a foul mood, but looking at him she thinks maybe he’s not in a foul mood at all. Maybe. 

“Yes.” She flashes him her most genuine smile, but his face only sinks further into a frown. 

They make it into the line for glazed doughnuts and join a throng of other Dianes with their bedazzled Ricks and Mortys. The Diane in front of her is worrying loudly about her poorly received essay, and pretty soon they’re all talking about it while their Ricks scowl and their Mortys show each other things on their phones. Just as it seems none of the Dianes have any good ideas about the essay, a particularly studious one with round glasses and deep burgundy hair pulled up into a slick bun says she’s figured out how to pass the class and everyone turns to look at her.

“You fuck Professor Sloan.” She says to the expectant crowd like it’s obvious. 

The crowd erupts. Not the Dianes and Mortys, but the Ricks who start yelling at studious Diane’s Rick, but quickly move on to yelling at whoever’s closest. When punches start getting thrown, her Rick grabs her by the arm and drags her up to the front of what used to be a line but is now more of a chaotic mass of bodies flashing with the occasional green burst of a portal. 

Only when her hips are pressed up against the counter of the doughnut stall does Rick let go of her arm, but he stays close, pressing up against her with his chest to her back to shield her from the worst of the fighting going on behind. Morty’s not so lucky. Rick continues to hold him by one of his skinny arms with a grip so tight it could leave bruises. Not that the boy’s complaining, if anything he looks a little bored. 

“Three glazed doughnuts.” Rick says, and the doughnut-shop Rick rolls his eyes.

“Oooh, real original.” He says, ignoring the chaos going on behind them like it’s an everyday occurrence. 

Rick pays and the doughnut-shop Morty brings them out three fluffy, perfectly glazed, and heavenly smelling doughnuts. They’re fresh out of the fryer and steaming hot, but it doesn’t matter. As long as she’s wearing the chain Rick gave her, she can touch and eat food as hot as she wants, or cold, or hell, she could probably eat a bag of jagged rocks if she wanted. The only pain she’s felt in weeks has been her occasional piercing headaches, and those always go away after a few seconds. 

“They’re lying to you!!”

Diane jumps at the sudden outbursts coming from a Rick she hadn’t noticed in an alleyway to the left. The three of them had moved away from the arguing crowd at the stall and been enjoying their doughnuts in mutual food-filled silence, so she wasn’t expecting more yelling so soon. 

“They’re lying! You’re not her. YOU’RE DYING!”

The Rick continues to yell, and despite there being dozens of other Ricks and Mortys around, she almost gets the feeling he’s saying this to her.

She opens her mouth to ask her Rick what that one is talking about, but before she can say anything two security guard Ricks appear out of green portals and shoot the yelling Rick with identical guns. 

He disappears.

“Oh my god! Is he okay?” She says.

“No.” Rick says at the same time Morty says “Yes.” They shoot each other identical looks of disdain so similar to one another without realizing it it’s almost cute. Or would be cute, if that Rick hadn’t just been vaporized. She appreciates Morty trying to protect her feelings, but the pile of ash on the ground tells its own story. 

You’re dying!

Oh, yeah. She’s been suspecting that might be the case for a little while now, but this feels like a sort of psychic-coincidence confirmation of her fears. Maybe. Or maybe that Rick hadn’t been yelling at her at all. He looked deranged. But still…

You’re dying

Her? Or all the cousin Dianes?

Diane Days. The festival. The photobooths. The indulgent Ricks and their Morty dazzlers. 

Is this a goodbye? One last hurrah. Is she overthinking this, or could it really be her emotionally constipated uncle’s attempt of softening the blow of some terminal illness he discovered when examining her?

Damn.

Morty takes her hand in his and gently squeezes it. 

“I-I wouldn’t worry about that, cousin Diane. Ricks, you know, always saying crazy things.”

She smiles back at him.

“Oh, totally. Honestly, I was just thinking about how much I fucking love this song.” She lets the curse slip out because Rick’s probably got the right idea, Morty is old enough now to decide for himself what language he wants to use.

Also it’s true, she does fucking love the song that’s playing over the street speakers now. So much so that when she was a young girl she had choreographed, and memorized, a whole dance routine to it that she performed - to wild applause - for her mother in the living room of the one bedroom apartment they lived in before her death. 

This will be only the second performance of that dance in front of other people. A completely unexpected - though widely anticipated - encore by the extraordinary singer/choreographer/performer Cousin Diane! 

In a circular, central area of the block several Dianes are already gathering, dusting off dance moves that haven’t seen the light of day for almost two decades.

“I’m so sorry you guys, but I have got to get in on this.”

She finishes the rest of her doughnut in a gulp, and leaves her uncle and cousin behind to join the growing group of herself in the middle of the street. There’s a moment of self-conscious hesitation but, encouraged by all the surrounding Dianes doing the exact same thing, her arms start moving, and her feet fall into step, and the moves made for her, by her, come back like a gift sent into the future by her younger self meant to be opened only when she really needed it. 

Surrounded by herselves she dances, showing off the moves - some of which may have been stolen from popular music videos at the time - in all their glory while twenty other versions of herself do the same thing, and some Rick somewhere has turned up the music in the speakers and she starts singing along too, feeling euphoric. 

There’s no shame or embarrassment, nothing’s cringe when you’re all cringe, and while all the hers dance, she can see them from them from the outside for what they really are. Creative, beautiful, free, unique even in their similarities and too awesome to ever be contained in the trappings of one clearly-defined womanhood. She’s only one person - a fun, slightly ridiculous person it’s true, but only one in billions - but if these women around her are extraordinary, and she can see that they are, then maybe she is too.

Irreplaceable even.

She sings giddily to the woman next to her, who sings right back, and improvises when she can’t remember the moves, and when the songs finally ends she’s not the only one clutching at a stitch in her side from the sudden burst of activity.

For a minute, the only sound in this corner of the citadel is the triumphant laughter of Cousin Dianes who have momentarily forgotten anyone ever told them it wasn’t lady-like to bust a move to their favorite song in the middle of the street.

Still clutching her side and grinning like a loon, Cousin Diane makes her way back to her Rick and Morty.

Out of breath she says, “Okay… sorry I just… I had to do that real quick.”

“Y-you know, Rick, cousin Diane seems like she’s having a good time. May-maybe we could stick around for a little longer.”

Diane looks around at all the personally catered booths and stalls they haven’t had a chance to explore yet. A few down is one sporting TVs and classic playstations just like the one teenage Beth had owned. It looks like she could purchase tokens to play their favorite Barbie horse game she had completely forgotten about until seeing it again just now.

“I wish Beth could see this.” She says regretfully, and Rick lets out a groan fit for the world’s most magnanimous and long-suffering man. 

“Fineee. Stand back.” He checks the watch that isn’t always there because it lives in his skin or something, and then aims his portal gun about ten feet off the ground in front of him and fires. 

From out of the portal fall Beth, Jerry, Summer, their dining room chairs, a whole dinner, and about three-quarters of the dining room table straight from the sky and into a pile on the ground.

For a second everyone is silent, and then Jerry starts yelling. 

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

1:19am

Thursday, December 23rd

Smith Family Living Room

It’s after Midnight when they get home from Diane Days, and rather than go to bed, the family decides to watch some interdimensional cable together. Festooned with their festival prizes and souvenirs, they all squeeze themselves into the living room couch and chair and fall asleep one-by-one until it’s just Rick left awake, pinned between Morty on one side and Cousin Diane on the other. 

Or so he thinks until, in the silence between commercials, Diane lifts her head from Beth’s shoulder and leans it on his instead, breathing into the fabric of his lab coat in a way their familial relationship shouldn’t really allow for. 

Quietly she says, “Thank you, Rick. That was the best day of my life.”

A few minutes later he feels her breathing change as she falls asleep. 

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

8:27pm

Friday, December 25^th

Smith Family Bathroom

One of the less than ideal things about sharing a bedroom with her teenage cousin – other than the occasional sleepovers Summer has for which Diane is forced to graciously give up her floor mattress in favor of the couch – is that there is no reasonable expectation of privacy. Not that she minds changing, or doing her hair, makeup, lotion, or any number of other personal things around Summer, who is typically too tied up in her own self-image to worry about her Cousin Diane’s skincare routine.

It’s more that she doesn’t have the privacy to be sick while living in Summer’s room, and she’s sick a lot lately. Verging on more often than not. Today, it being Christmas and all, she spent the entire morning and afternoon with the family, happily, but all the conversation, and gift-giving, and merriment had left her completely drained. Until, after dinner she had no choice but to go upstairs and lay down.

It didn’t help. Within minutes of closing the door and laying down in the dark, her headache went from a background throb to a constant, jagged and piercing pain. Asprin won’t help, it never does, but she takes some anyways just to satisfy herself with the knowledge that she tried.

Now, two hours after removing herself from the Christmas evening festivities to ‘relax,’ she’s in the bathroom puking up Beth’s incredible dinner under the harsh white lights with the fan running to help cover up the noise. The dinner had been good, but she’s in too much pain to keep anything down.

Sweating and shaking, she gets sick as quietly as possible, until finally there’s nothing left to come up. She cleans up, erases any trace that might tell anyone else in the family something is wrong.

By the time she’s done, going back to bed isn’t an option. Ten minutes ago she heard all the Smith’s going to their rooms, all except Rick whose voice had been absent from final, sleepy ‘Merry Christmas’s’ and ‘good nights.’

As much as she’d love to gush with Summer over they gifts they both got, or even just lay there and half listen to her cousin talk on the phone to some friend or other, she can’t tonight. Nothing good could come from making an appearance in front of the family looking so pale and clammy. So sick. Especially not the kids.

She goes downstairs instead, where a quick raid of Jerry’s desk produces a bottle of gin he once told her he used to “get the writing juices flowing.” It’s almost completely full.

She’ll replace it the next time her financial aid comes in. Or not. What’s the likelihood he even notices it missing? In the kitchen she drinks a few fingers of it from a plastic cup, taking it straight in the hope it will wash the last of the bile taste out of her throat. To make up for wasting Beth’s dinner in the upstairs toilet, she scrapes off and washes the families dishes – left behind on the kitchen counter for any of them to grumble about tomorrow like usual. While she washes them, she hums ‘Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer’ a little louder than she typically would, even today, hoping to drown out the muffled noise of Beth and Jerry having sex overhead.

When Rick comes into the kitchen through the garage, he brings with him the unmistakable smell of weed. How festive. He sets his bong on the counter next to the dish soap she’s using without a word and waits.

“Isn’t there a sink in the garage?”

“I’ve got it hooked up to… don’t worry about it, but also don’t use that sink for anything, anything you don’t want to disintegrate.”

“Good to know. You didn’t happen to take the stockings I was handwashing out of their first?”

“No.”

“Cool. I’ll, just, buy new ones then.”

She puts the last dish into the dishwasher and takes the bong off the counter, dumping the unpleasantly fragrant water into the sink while Rick gets a beer from the fridge.

“Don’t you have a device that can do this?”

“Yeah, I’m looking at it.” He says with a burp, and her answering glare is ineffectual. She can keep washing his shit or not, he doesn’t care. She resumes while the sounds of Jerry keening upstairs invade the following silence.

The bong itself isn’t even that dirty, but Rick’s chaotic need for everything in his presence to be either covered in ten layers of grime or spotlessly clean, and nowhere in between, borders on OCD so she doesn’t question it. Whatever was in here couldn’t have just been weed – the smell is slightly off and when she runs her soapy hands along the bowl to clean it out they start to feel tingly and numb.

There’s no point asking him what he was smoking, the answer would only be ‘nothing your tiny, puny, pathetic mind could comprehend,’ or some variation thereof. Instead she says, “What was aunt Diane like?”

Is it cruel to ask a man about his dead wife thirty years after her passing, or just blasé? In most cases, she’d say it’s a fairly normal question between uncle and niece, but with Rick, who knows.

He burps again.

“Was she nice?”

“She was…” He starts, but after a long pause she knows he’s not going to finish that sentence. Her fingers are still tingly, but the pain in head is finally receding.

“How did you two meet?”

“I watched her at school. She never noticed me.”

“Was she popular?”

“No. She m-mostly hung out with her- with your mom.”

Rick’s words thrill her. He was there. He was there and now he’s the only one left alive who can tell her anything about that time in her family – something her subconscious has obviously been aching for – if only he’ll suffer her questions about it.

Maybe he will tonight. Whatever was in his bong has left her feeling weightless and completely dissipated her headache just by touching it, and Rick had been smoking it.

She starts to rewash the clean glass, giving herself and excuse to continue the conversation.

“So they were friends? Mom and Aunt Diane?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Really? Mom didn’t talk about her much that I remember.”

“They had a falling out.”

“Over what?”

“Ask me something else.”

Rick, who’s finished his beer and is hovering over her shoulder watching her progress, grabs her hand and moves it under the faucet so the warm water can finish washing off the excess soap she’s been rubbing onto the glass. 

“…Okay. What was it like? I mean, what was it like for them growing up. Mom always made it seem like it was hard living with her father. Like they were too poor to afford food sometimes. Is that true?”

“It w-wasn’t exactly, you know, the Four Seasons. They grew up in a scrapyard, and I’m talking about a town that wasn’t a tourist destination. We had two gas stations and one of them doubled as the pharmacy.”

“Sounds quaint.”

“Sure, if you think h-hell is quaint.”

“Maybe you just think being quaint is hell.”

“Toché. You, you really got me figured out.”

“Is that why mom and Aunt Diane had a falling out? Because she got out of town with you and left mom behind?”

Rick sighs.

“They had a falling out because your mom was the only person smart enough to see me for what I really am. If Diane had listened to her, s-she’d still be alive.”

“Wasn’t it cancer? How is that your-“

“Enough questions.”

The hand he’s not using to hold hers under the water comes up to cover her mouth. Just like at the doughnut stand, he’s crowding behind her with his chest against her back, but now there’s no danger lurking behind them to justify it. He’s only holding her because he wants to.

Maybe whatever he was smoking is like ecstasy. He takes his wet hand out of the sink and brings it to her stomach where water drips off of it and onto the waistband of her pants. His palm on her mouth and breath by her ear both smell like the pungent water that came out of his bong.

The way he’s holding her doesn’t feel like he’s trying to seduce her. If anything, it feels like he’s trying to hug her. Even when his grip tightens, the desire to make him stop never materializes. Being held by him feels like being held by the husband she never had and, up to this point, never wanted. She sets the bong down in the sink and brings her hand up to cover his on her stomach, relaxing into his embrace. He lowers his other hand from her mouth and wraps it around her chest, holding her tighter.

For a long while they stand like that, the water in the sink still running, Beth and Jerry finally silent upstairs. Then without a word he lets her go, and she knows before he does it that he’s going to take his bong and go back to the garage pretending like none of this ever happened.

Sure enough.

“Merry Christmas, Uncle Rick.” She says, shutting off the water, but only after the garage door has closed behind him.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

3:53am

Saturday, December 26^th

Summer Smith’s Bedroom

The second Diane falls into this dream, she’s filled with sickening dread. Stomach clenched with anxiety, she looks over at Rick beside her in the front seat of the station wagon.

“I don’t think I can do this.” She says to him.

“Okay.” He puts the key back into the ignition, but she grabs his hand to stop him from turning it. There’s a tasteful diamond ring on her finger.

“Wait, no, I have to.”

Outside, it’s pitch black and rain is pounding hard on the roof of the car showing no sign of letting up. Not that she needs daylight to know where they are; where they’ve come back to. Rick’s headlights are shining on a steel gate with a padlock.

Daddy’s scrapyard. She hasn’t been here since Marlene told him she and Rick were getting married and he kicked her out. Now she’s back because…

Oh, no. Hell no. Fuck this. Rick is right, they should go. Now. This is a terrible idea. Not that she has any choice; her dream self is determined and wrenches open the door, walking into the rain with Rick right on her heels.

“Wait!” He grabs her by the shoulder, but she shakes him off and presses the buzzer on the gate connected to the trailer. “Let’s j-just think through this first. We-we’re not going to fix anything tonight.”

“You don’t know that!” She presses the button again, holding it insistently in a way she knows won’t be ignored.

“Babe, they’re not here! Let’s come back tomorrow.” Rick tries to herd her back to the car but hesitates to restrain her physically.

“No! I know she’s in there. Marlene! Marlene!”

She calls out to her sister, but under the pounding rain it’s possible anyone inside the trailer wouldn’t be able to hear her. Diane doesn’t give up, though, she can’t. She’s too scared about what’s coming. All this time she’s been waiting for Marlene to call – waiting for Marlene to at least take her calls – but she can’t wait anymore. She’s too scared. She needs her big sister to be with her on this and she’s almost out of time.

“Marlene please!!” She presses and holds the buzzer again, refusing to give up.

“Baby, let’s go. We’re going home now. You’re acting- it’s the hormones. I told you about-“

“Don’t talk to me about hormones, Rick Sanchez!” She pushes him away and slaps at his arms when he tries to come close again.

When she attempts to open the padlock and the code she knows, the same one she’s used on this gate since she was a child, doesn’t work, she lets out a scream of frustration while rain water runs down her face and into her mouth.

“Fuck.” Rick curses, sensing he’s not going to be able to reason with her. He’s been swearing so much more lately.

“Marlene!”

“Baby, b-back up please.”

Rick went to the car, but he’s back now with a modified welding torch to burn through the lock, but he won’t do it until she’s backed up several feet.

“I’m just going to talk to them.” She says as the lock splits under the gate open wide enough for her to walk through.

“I know but, and I’m not saying this for them, or me, you can’t get too excited or-“

“I’m not going to pop this kid out in the middle of the yard, Rick. I’m just going to talk to her.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

He follows her through the rain, their shoes squelching against the wet dirt, but they don’t get far before the front door opens and lets out a triangle of light from inside. Whether it was the buzzer or the yelling or the sparks from Rick’s torch, something has finally caught the attention of the people in the trailer.

“Marlene!”

“Diane?! What are you doing here? Haven’t I made myself-“ Marlene’s angry voice cuts off when Diane walks into the light and she sees her belly. Even through the rain, she’s more than far enough along for it to be easily noticeable.

Laughter rings out across the yard. Mocking, angry, pitying, pained. Diane can hear her sister’s pain in her laughter.

“Marlene, that’s enough. I’m tired of this.”

“So this is what you’ve been calling me about, and you brought him so I’m guessing you’re not ready to make up.”

“I’ve been calling you about the news. You never pick up. We had to come all the way out here.”

“Well, I’m sorry you had to come all this way. No body asked you to.”

“Why are you being like this? Why are you always like this? You knew we couldn’t live here together forever.”

“You really think it’s that? It’s him.”

“He’s still here! We’re happy! You were wrong. Please, all I want is your support. I miss you, Marlene. I forgive you.”

“You forgive me? You left! You left, Di. You picked him, and I don’t care what you do.”

“I know you don’t mean that.”

“You don’t know. How could you know? You’re not here anymore.”

“Can we just, it’s pouring. Can we come inside?”

Marlene looks at Rick with undisguised disgust, and that more than anything convinces Diane it was a mistake to come here. She loves her sister, misses her constantly, but Rick has to come first. Him and now Beth too. They’re her family.

“No you can’t come inside. Good luck. Call me when he gets bored and leaves you.”

“You’re going to regret saying that.” Diane spits out, hoping with a surge of vindictive spite that her words haunt Marlene as much as her sister’s words have haunted her all this time since they last spoke.

Diane turns around to walk away. If only she could leave this aching sorrow behind her as easily as Marlene has thrown away their relationship.

“Jesus Christ!” Rick shouts, reacting to something behind her she can’t see, and he grabs her by the arm more forcefully than he ever has, dragging her behind him so she has to look around his shoulder to see what spooked him.

“Daddy, put that away.” Marlene says to their father who’s stepped out onto the porch to stand by his eldest daughter holding a shot gun at his side.

“What’d you do to my gate?”

“We just, j-just wanted to talk.”

Rick’s grip won’t let her move out from behind him. He’s walking them backwards slowly, but the rain has turned the dirt of the yard into mud, and Diane’s feet have lost all confidence in their grip. Her shoes slide unsteadily against the ground with every step backwards Rick forces her to take.

“Nothing to say ain’t been said.”

Oh lord, it sounds like he’s been drinking.

“That’s alright. We w-were just leaving.”

“Trespassing is what you’re doing. That you back there Diane?”

“Yes, daddy. I-“

“Told you not to come back didn’t I? Thought you had it all figured out.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. He had told her not to come back, in anger, when he kicked her out, but he’s had plenty of time to cool off. She never thought his ban was intended to be permanent.

With unsteady hands, Rick’s efforts to push her back continue, but she’s fighting against him. Can feel herself fighting against him even as her rational mind is telling her to leave.

“I had to come see Marlene. I tried calling!”

“So you felt you could come by, break my property-“

“You changed the locks!”

It’s nothing really, in the same way Daddy threatening to kill the tax man under his breath and that one time he broke that one guy’s finger when he tried to steal from them is nothing, but her father aims his gun far above her and Rick’s heads and pulls the trigger. The gun makes a sound like sheet metal dropped from a great height and lights up their reunion like a bolt of lightning.

It's not nothing to Rick, who’s never understood her father the way she and Marlene do, and he grabs her hand like they’re going to make a run for it. Except, he doesn’t expect her to resist and ends up pulling hard enough to make her shoulder hurt.

“Ow! Relax. It’s nothing. Give me one second, I want to talk to them.”

“What?!”

“Daddy, don’t! She’s pregnant.”

Marlene wrestles the gun away from their father who gives it up easily in favor of walking off the porch towards the two of them. Realizing before she does that he’s not coming over to talk, Rick gives up on running and gets between the two of them with his hands out in a pacifying gesture.

“Daddy, Rick and I are going to have a baby-“

Any of the foolish, sickening hope left inside her dies on impact when her father’s fist connects with Rick’s face and he goes down into the mud.

“What are you doing? Stop!”

What a stupid, stupid girl she’s been. Never once assuming the two of them would be in physical danger, she’d brought them here in the middle of the night thinking this baby would change things, and now Rick’s paying for her foolishness like he always does.

Her father is down in the mud now too, hitting Rick like he’s got years of pent up anger, and she’s too scared to know what to do. Her feet won’t move. She looks over at her sister and their eyes meet. Marlene’s got the shot gun, she could…

Literal sparks fly between the two men on the ground. Her father cries out in pain as Rick’s welding torch burns his arm, but the distraction doesn’t last long and he’s soon wrestled the torch out of Rick’s hands. He tosses it to the side without bothering to figure out how to use it.

Diane’s feet move, unstuck from the ground by a need to protect Rick and not self-preservation. She flies across the mud, so divorced from the idea of slipping her feet find purchase against the ground in a way they never could have if she’d actually been trying.

She reaches the door of the station wagon, praying Rick didn’t lock it after he got the torch. He didn’t. The door swings open for her easily, and from under the front seat she grabs the tire iron. For a second, as she’s reaching under the seat, he head is out of the rain and she realizes how freezing cold and wet she is, but there’s no time to worry about it before she’s back out in the rain and running from the car without bothering to close the door.

As soon as she gets back to the fight – and Rick is still putting up a fight, despite being outmatched by both her father’s weight and drunken rage – soaking wet and more than eight months pregnant, Diane raises the tire iron above her head and starts hitting her father with it as hard as she can, terrified that if she doesn’t separate the two soon, Rick’s going to be the type of hurt that can’t be fixed with an ice pack.

At first she can’t bring herself to hit her father in the head, but when the blows to his back and shoulders don’t make him stop, she finally does. Just once, right above his hairline, and he finally rolls off Rick, clutching at his bleeding head and cursing out the both of them.

“Get out! Get out!” Marlene screams. She’s finally decided it’s worth coming out into the rain to yell at them, and her voice reaches a pitch Diane hasn’t heard since their early childhood. Bloody and disoriented, Rick is attempting to stand with Diane’s limited help when Marlene walks over to them pointing the shot gun at him.

“Leave!”

“We’re leaving! We’re leaving!” Diane says. Supporting as much of Rick as she can, she stares at her father trying to make sure he’s still breathing and he’s going to get up and be okay and she didn’t seriously hurt him.

“Don’t ever come back!” Is the last thing her sister says to her for many years.

Feeling a terrifying pain in her stomach as she pulls herself into the station wagon, Diane reaches over to steady Rick’s hand as he puts the key into the ignition. Wiping blood and rain out of his eyes, he starts backing up down the long drive. She would do it, but can’t. It’s been almost a month since her belly’s gotten too big to fit behind the steering wheel and still give her enough room for her feet to reach the pedals. He keeps saying he’ll build her something, but hasn’t, and she’s starting to suspect he likes being the one to drive them everywhere. Or maybe he simply doesn’t trust her behind the wheel. Maybe she doesn’t trust herself, and that’s why she hasn’t pushed the issue.

“Rick, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She’s not even sure he sees her, he’s focusing very hard on the task of driving, but it feels good to say the words anyways. She rubs her stomach uncomfortably, afraid of the pain and wishing Rick would talk to her. Look at her.

“Something’s wrong.” She says. The pain is getting worse, radiating out from her abdomen, and she’s so scared she’s done something that put Beth in danger.

“What? N-n-n-no. Everything’s fine, babe. Everything’s fine.“ Rick says as he finally finishes backing up and puts the car into drive.

“No, Rick, I mean something’s wrong.”

She hasn’t even been able to buckle herself in. With one hand on her stomach and the other on the dash, she lets out a loud moan when a fresh wave of pain hits her.

Barely out of the driveway, Rick hits the brakes and puts it in park so he can look her over.

“What’s wrong? What is it?”

“My stomach, Rick. I’m so stupid. We need to go to the hospital.”

“Baby, there’s no hospital here.”

“I know.” More pain. How could she do this to Beth? If something happens she'll never forgive-

No! Nothing can happen to Beth! It’s unthinkable.

“We need to go now!”

Rick’s right, there’s no hospital in this stupid, shitty-ass town. There’s only one servicing the entire county and it’s forty minutes away.

“Okay, we’re going. Hold on, baby. Everything’s fine.”

But, of course, it’s not.

Thirty minutes later and the pain is so bad, each new wave leaves her doubling over in the seat fighting back screams and tears. Rick is timing her contractions, his speed increasing as the interval between them decreases. Even going well over the speed limit - in the rain, on the dark streets she never thought of as ‘country’ until her and Rick moved somewhere that wasn’t – they both know they’re not going to make it.  

“Rick, she’s coming. I know she’s coming.”

She’s not being dramatic; it’s no sixth sense. She can literally feel that she’s about to give birth, and if Rick is scared by the prospect he’s got nothing on her current mental state.

“Just a few more minutes, baby. We’re almost there.”

“No, Rick, now!! She’s coming right now!”

“Yep.”

Rick pulls them off onto the shoulder as quickly as he can safely, but it feels like an eternity to Diane who’s lying along the seat now no longer able to hold back her screams. The last contraction started and hasn’t stopped, and dropping a bowling ball from a hundred feet in the air onto her stomach would be less painful than what’s happening inside her body right now.

Beth is coming. So eager to get started on her life, she couldn’t wait twenty more minutes. Just like her father. Already like her father. What if something goes wrong? This was supposed to be in a hospital. They had a plan. Now she’s ruined everything with this stupid trip to come out and see her stupid sister who doesn’t even want to see her. Who hates her.

“Okay, baby. You know what to do.” Rick has come around the other side of the car and opened the passenger door, and now he’s looking at her like he’s got nothing better to do tonight than deliver their baby on the side of the road in the pouring rain.

She shuts her eyes against the pain and shakes her head. This is all wrong. It can’t be happening like this. Everything inside her body is dying to get Beth out, but mentally she’s not ready to breathe and push. Not like this. Not on the side of the road. Beth can’t come into the world like this there was supposed to be a bed and nurses and soft blankets and family.

“Everything’s all wrong!”

Hand on the roof of the car, leaning in like a hooker propositioning a john, Rick smirks like he’s the king of the world and this is no big deal and says, “You’re going to be her everything, and I’m not going to let anything happen to e-either of you.”

“You’re so stupid, Rick Sanchez. I hate you!”

“I l-love you too, Diane. Now, you ready to do this or what because we could have been at the hospital by now.”

The only answer he gets in return is another scream. She’s out of time. It’s happening and neither her nor Rick nor god himself could keep Beth from coming out now that she’s decided that’s what she wants to do.

She holds her breath and pushes and trusts Rick and experiences a pain that outstrips anything she’s even imagined. Every woman she’s nervously asked has said some version of the same thing: it hurts, but you forget.

This is not the kind of pain you forget. Without Rick, it would not be the kind of pain she could endure either. Not even for Beth who is, and always will be, more important to Diane than her own life, but there’s no room in Diane’s head for that kind of sentimentality right now. What she needs is support. For someone to tell her what to do, when, because there’s no break in the pain anymore and no amount of preparing can help once she’s past the point of being able to tell if there’s air in her lungs or not. Rick is perfectly happy to tell her what to do. He even keeps his encouraging updates free of all the unpronounceable medical words he knows she hates, and doesn’t complain when her nails leave what will probably be permanent marks in the seat-back’s leather.

The final push is like letting go of the monkey bars after hanging on past your furthest limit, times a thousand. Powerful relief leaves Diane gasping and sobbing as her arms give out and she falls onto her back on the seat staring up at the interior light of the station wagon whose yellow glow will be the first thing her crying daughter ever sees.

Listening to Rick shush their daughter, the thought she might bleed out and die in the car as so many other women have died during childbirth is both far away and very close. How can someone experience pain like that and not be dying? She needs to hold Beth, but her body has just experienced the trauma of its life, and her arms aren’t ready to support her yet.

One minute of rest, and then she’ll hold Beth.

Craning her neck, the only muscle left in her body still willing to listen to her, she looks at Rick’s face, covered in blood – both hers and his –  looking proud, holding their daughter under the roof of the car to protect her from the rain,

She says, “That could have gone worse.”

Lord, how she loves to make him smile. Everything she could ever want, in his arms and in his smile.

A family. Her family. Her…

• - -

Cousin Diane comes back to herself not like waking up but like coming back to herself. For the first time, she hadn’t been present in that dream at all. No trace of her own thoughts, she had experienced all of that as a completely different person. Not only that, but the pain she just lived through – dreamt through? – felt completely real and worse than anything she’d ever experienced. Even after waking up, the memory of it leaves her curled tightly into a ball on her damp sheets for minutes until her body finally accepts she’s not actually in any pain at all.

Her sheets aren’t wet from rain, she’s sweat right through them, and the tear tracks on her face are still fresh.

She needs to talk to Rick. Not in an, ‘oh boy, I really need to have a conversation with Rick at some point’ sort of way either. She needs to talk to him now. Right now.

Pulling herself off the bed, she’s not sure her legs will support her weight until they do. It feels like her whole body has gone through something horrible, but it’s all in her mind. Physically, she’s fine. Emotionally….

A knock on Rick’s door, and quick peek into his room, tell her he’s not there. He’s in the garage. Bent over his work bench dripping liquids from a pipet onto what can best be described as a pile of pink shit with tiny hands and eyes.

“Uncle Rick?” She taps her knuckles on the already open door to alert him of her presence. He points at the shelf near her without taking his eyes off the shit-blob creature.

“Blue bottle. Second shelf to the bottom.” He says.

She brings him what he’s asking for.

“Uncle Rick, can we talk?” His grunt sounds vaguely affirmative so she continues. “I had- Actually, I was kind of wondering if you could tell me what it was like when Beth was born. I mean, how did it happen? Her birth.”

That gets his attention, and he puts the pipette down and covers the blob with a glass case.

“Why the sudden interest in childbirth?”

“It’s nothing like that. I was just curious. That’s all.”

“At,” He looks at the clock on the wall. “Five in the morning.”

“Would it be more appropriate if I came back at six?”

Looking at her intensely, he says, “I don’t remember.”

She doesn’t believe him, but doesn’t know how to say as much without sounding rude.

“You don’t remember your only daughter’s birth?”

“I’m a shitty dad, just ask Beth.”

“Were you there? I know it wasn’t as common back then, for the dad to be in the room.”

She’s fishing, trying to get him to confirm Aunt Diane had Beth in a hospital. Even that detail can put to rest some of the wilder theories that have been growing rampant in her mind recently.

“Yeah, I was there.”

“But you don’t remember?”

“Not really.”

He grabs his notebook from the other side of the work bench and starts scribbling on it.

“What are you writing?”

“The formula that’s going to cure the entire Zenonian population’s infertility before they go extinct completely.”

“Sounds philanthropic.”

“It’s not. If you knew them, y-you’d understand. Trust me.”

“Okay. So did she get an epidural… or?”

“What?”

“Aunt Diane. When she gave birth to Beth.”

“No.”

“Oh, cool. Like, as a personal choice?”

Rick puts his notebook down and stands up.

“A-as much as I’m enjoying this discussion, talking about my dead wife’s birthing decisions, and I am, let’s not be unclear about that, I have a lot of work to do.”

“Right, sure.”

He’s herding her towards the door, and she’s sure once he gets it closed behind her it’ll be locked tight.

“One last question. Were you serious, about booze stopping the dreams?”

“Can’t hurt. N-now fuck off now. For now. Come back later. Gran- Uncle Rick’s busy.”

And with that, the door is closed behind her. 

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

12:33pm

Saturday, December 26th

Rick’s Garage

“I’m sorry. It was my fault. I killed you. I miss you. I love you. Fuck!”

Hands on her cheeks, face inches away from hers, Rick practically roars in frustration and Diane doesn’t even flinch. They’ve been at this for the better part of an hour, and so far Rick has done nothing but say sentence after sentence at her. Some innocuous, others intimate or obscene, all said in the exact same emotionless tone, and anytime she’s tried to ask what’s going on he snapped at her to stay quiet.

“Beth’s safe. I’m with Beth. I’ll take care of Beth. I’ll protect Beth. Nothing?”

“What? Oh, um, I don’t know. What exactly am I supposed to be waiting for?”

“I’m hoping we’ll know it when it happens.” He says cryptically. 

Honestly, if last week Rick hadn’t flown her to Mexico in a literal spaceship he built to get the good, bottled diet coke she wanted, she might be losing some of her confidence in his genius around now. As it is, she still can’t help but question some of his increasingly bizarre “treatments” for the memory loss, dreams, and headaches she’s been experiencing.

“Can you just tell me if it’s a tumor, Uncle Rick?”

“It’s not a tumor. What did you have for breakfast?”

“Beth’s pancakes, same as you. I don’t believe you. If it’s not a tumor, then why can’t you tell me what it is?”

“What did you have last week for breakfast?”

“Christ. I don’t know. Didn’t we have bacon one of the days?”

“What city did you grow up in?”

“Kensington.”

“What was your first pet’s name?”

“Spiney Lizzy.”

“Your mother’s maiden name?”

“Same as it always was, she never changed it. Are you trying to hack into my bank account?”

“For what? A-all four dollars and twenty-three cents of it.”

“Haha, yeah it’s funny I’m broke– …Wait, how did you know that?”

“What did you wear to prom?”

“Rick…”

“What did you wear to prom?”

“I wore a gold dress with little embroidered butterflies, and you wore–”

Wait, that’s not right. She obviously hadn’t gone to prom with Rick, but whenever she tries to think of her own prom, all she can think of is that gold dress and Rick’s blue suit and the way he’d taken his hands in hers and asked her to dance. They got married shortly after that, just the three of them – her, Rick, and Mr. Nimbus to witness – and when Marlene found out she went through with it she told their father and their father had–

Diane forces herself out of the train of thought with effort. The way Rick’s scribbling on his notepad does nothing to soothe the tight knot of fear in her chest.

“Please, just tell me what it is.”

But of course, he doesn’t. 

“What’s the last, you know, dream you had?” He asks. 

She sighs. She hates talking about these with him; he can always tell when she’s editing out the embarrassing parts. Refusing any possibility of telling him the real, and still freshly upsetting, last dream she had, she opts for the one before that, which was equally embarrassing but less traumatic at least.

“Um, okay, you were sitting at a table in our– your– an apartment and you were upset. I guess. I was there, and…” Pregnant, she had been pregnant in that dream, but she doesn’t want to say it. “Just there. And you were telling me how you automated something at the mill, and a bunch of guys lost their jobs right before Christmas, and you felt really bad about it.”

Rick’s face as he listens is emotionless, inscrutable. She continues, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks at the ridiculousness of the whole scenario, rick upset over a few jobs. What is it about these dreams that makes her so determined to find a softer side of him?

“So, I… I told you, ‘war is hell’ and that we had our own family to worry about now.” Unconsciously her hand goes to her belly feeling for a child she had never carried.

“Then what?” Rick presses when she stops talking.

“Then we, well you– I mean it’s not you just this made-up version of a younger you, like I said. He, uh, hugged me and promised to look out for us no matter how many people got fired. And that’s pretty much it.”

Diane’s face is still burning up, and she hopes Rick won’t press her for anymore, but of course he does. 

“That’s all? Then you woke up?”

“What does it matter, Rick? This thing is going to kill me no matter what you do, right? That’s what that Rick at Diane Days was trying to tell me isn’t it?”

“It matters, Diane, because if I don’t figure out when this thing is going to kill you, then I don’t know how much time I have to concoct some bullshit story and get you out of the house before you drop dead in front of Beth or Summer or Morty. Is that what you want? You want to die in front of them? Because you just say the word an-and I can make that happen.”

“No Rick.”

She always tries not to cry when he yells at her and says stuff like that, but only sometimes succeeds. Not that he cares about the tears one way or the other. Why had her brain chosen him of all people to conjure up such beautiful fantasies with?

“No, what?”

“No, Uncle Rick, I don’t want to die in front of Beth or the kids. I’d rather go someplace they can’t see.”

Rick gets out of her face and leans back onto his own stool grabbing ahold of his notebook and pencil again.

“You don’t think Aunt Diane’s, like, haunting me, do you? I know I was born a little bit after she died, and sometimes I think-“

“No.”

“Oh, okay.”

“So, w-what happened next?”

Diane sighs. The dream, of course he’s still on that.

“You held me, in your arms, and said all these amazing, and nice. things to me and made me feel super special.”

He waits for the rest, unmoved.

Being coy with Rick never gets her anywhere. Usually, the best policy is just to get it all out so he stops pestering her. Well, that and sometimes she kind of likes telling these parts to Rick. Which probably puts her in the top spot of household pervert. Great.

“And then you sort of shuffled me over to the couch, and you took off my… panties, and ran your hand down my thighs and pulled off my stockings, and I told you we should probably close the blinds, and you said that if the neighbors wanted to watch, we should let them watch. And you… uh.”

She is so bad at this. He’s looking at her like they’re discussing the weather, and meanwhile her face must be as red as a fire hydrant. He taps his pencil on the notepad waiting for her to continue. 

Possibly the worst part of all is the warm arousal sneaking down from her belly into her groin under his intense stair. Waking up from this particular dream had left her all worked up for hours, and now describing it to him is making her feel that way all over again.

“Well, you lifted up my dress, and… you know.”

“Ate you out?”

“Jesus, Rick!”

“What? I-is it so bad I want to know that your fantasy version of me knows how to please a woman.”

“You know what? I’ve actually changed my mind. I’m going to go off myself in front of Beth and the kids right now.”  

She stands up to leave, but he’s faster and she doesn’t get far before he’s right in her face, blocking her path to the door. It’s not the first time he’s gotten close enough to kiss her, especially lately. It’s like a game to him; he likes to get right up in her space like this, pinning her back against walls and chairs and doors, and then he leans in until they’re inches away from each other… only to tell her her mascara’s smudged or she has something in her teeth. It’s a fine, totally normal thing, to play maybe-I’ll-kiss-you chicken with her drunk uncle, nothing to see here. 

“What happened next?” He asks, breathing onto her face when she turns it up to meet his, annoyed. It’s a lot easier to be less scared of Rick when she already feels like she’s dying. He smells like bottom shelf bourbon and ferrous metals and a cologne so familiar now she could pick it off the drugstore shelf blindfolded. 

Standing on her tiptoes so she can whisper close to his ear she says, “You ate me out until I came, and then you fucked me on the couch until the sun set and we watched Jeopardy and you answered every question right and I asked you if you remembered to get milk and you said you did and right before you carried me to bed I promised that tomorrow I’d make you the best pancakes you ever had in your life.”

Rick grabs her by the shoulders long before she finishes talking, preventing her from pulling away or leaning any closer. 

The moment drags on. She’s said everything he wanted her to say but has no idea if it accomplished anything.

Finally, he lets out a long breath and releases her shoulders.

She says, “Sometimes I like you better in my fantasies.”

The urge to kiss him is back, strong. Like a magnetic force pulling her towards this man who can’t seem to decide if he hates her or not. She wants to kiss him in a way that would erase that look of pain off his face, but Rick’s pain is none of her business and it’s certainly not her responsibility.

He doesn’t try stop her again when she leaves.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

1:47am

Monday, December 28th

Smith Residence Front Porch

“Girl’s night! Girls’ night! Girls’ night!”

Whoops! Cousin Diane and Beth had one too many shots at the karaoke bar, and that Uber driver looked like he was one second away from kicking their drunk asses out of the car. Which, fair enough. Luckily his patience had lasted to the Smith’s driveway, and now if Beth can just figure out how to get the keys into the front door, they can get out of the freezing cold and into the house. 

The second time the keys fall out of Beth’s hands and onto the stoop, Diane gives up the chant and starts laughing helplessly. The whole thing is just so funny. If Beth is anywhere near as drunk as her - and she is - there’s no way those keys are ever getting into that tiny slot. They’ll have to sleep on the porch. Diane’s sides are aching with laughter, and she still can’t stop, especially once Beth gets down on her knees for a better line of sight with the lock and steadies the hand holding the keys with the other like a very focused bomb diffuser. 

“Girl’s night! Girls’ night! Girls’ night!” Beth whispers while she works as if the chant has some sort of power to help her focus. 

The concrete of the porch spins under Diane. Oh boy, she should probably lay down soon. 

The door swings open but it’s not Beth’s doing. She’s still holding the key like she’s playing a high-stakes game of Operation! only now instead of a keyhole she’s staring directly at her son’s crotch. 

“Oh, geez. Come on. What are you guys doing out here? T-the neighbors will see.”

“Morty!” She slurs her son’s name but, like, lovingly. “When did you get so big.”

“Ugh. Come on. Just come inside.”

It takes both Morty and Diane - although admittedly he does most of the work - to get Beth upstairs and into bed where Jerry is snoring loudly and doesn’t react to his wife being dumped into bed next to him. 

Out in the hallway Morty says, “Try not to wake Summer, she’s still sleeping.”

“Okay I won’t I promise.” She says, and Morty goes back to his room. Under the haze of alcohol there’s guilt at waking her younger cousin, who’s obviously used to carrying his drunk mother to bed, but that’s tomorrow Diane’s problem. Tonight, she has one goal. 

Don’t wake Summer.

Don’t wake Summer.

Don’t wake Summer.

Can’t wake Summer in Rick’s room. Hmmm, the premise is sound, but, oddly, when Diane opens Rick's door and steps quietly onto the carpet of his bedroom in her strappy girl’s night heels, she begins to feel a sickening lurch in her stomach, as if some part of her brain is screaming at her that she should not have come in here, and that she should not be sitting on the edge of his cot no matter how much she wants to be. But why? Rick looks so peaceful in his sleep, out of his usual lab coat, in nothing but a tank and boxers. So gentle. She loves him. 

Under the haze of alcohol, the alarm bells in her head are getting louder, screaming that she cannot be in here invading Rick’s personal space while he sleeps. Strange drawings cover the walls and, without windows, the only light comes from the few blinking dots on several electronics scattered throughout his things. She watches him silently, his relaxed features coming into sharper focus the more her eyes adjust. She wants to touch him very badly but doesn’t want to wake him.  

Too late. She’s doing nothing but sitting on the very edge of the cot, but suddenly his eyes open and within seconds he’s on her, tackling her painlessly to the floor. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He hisses at her.

There’s heavy pressure in all the places his hands and knees are pinning her to the carpet, but no pain. There’s never any pain anymore. 

“Why are you wearing that?” He looks at her dress, the angry tremor in his voice frightening enough to make her bladder, full with too much tequila, start to feel loose. Oh god, is she going to piss herself on Rick’s floor?

“This? It was… it’s the– from the box. The box… girls’ night.” The last part she tries to say in the carefree way Beth and her had been chanting it earlier, but her voice quivers. Satisfied with the answer or not, he gets off of her and she sits up, scooting her butt away from him until her back is pressed against the cot. 

“Take it off.” He says.

“My dress?”

“It i-isn’t yours. Take it off.”

Rick looks so mad at her; she starts lifting the hem of the dress to comply without thinking. 

“Okay, Rick. I’m taking it off.” 

Sick with fear, and all eight shots of tequila, Diane pulls clumsily at the dress, lifting it past her hips and over her head. Thank god she’d decided to put a bralette on under it. Nice, clean underwear too but she always does that when she goes out drinking in case she gets lucky, or dies. She hands it up to him and shifts uncomfortably on the floor wishing like hell she had gone to the bathroom at the bar before getting into the Uber. 

Rick snatches the dress out of her hands but doesn’t look any happier once he has it. Throwing it onto some boxes in the corner of the room, he curses under his breath low and quiet.

“I can’t fucking take it anymore.” He says rubbing the late-night stubble on his chin.

“Rick?”

“Take it off.”

He looks down at where she’s huddled on the floor, and she searches his face for any amount of kindness or understanding but finds none. All she sees is anger, pity, and exhaustion. 

She wraps her arms protectively around her bralette.

“I did. I took it off. It’s off, Rick, there’s nothing else I can take off.”

“The necklace. Take it off.”

Oh. Somehow that’s even worse than if he was demanding she get naked in front of him.

Aware of the consequences of his wrath and scared she might have crossed one too many lines coming into Rick’s room, Diane thinks about how Beth had looked only an hour ago belting out a karaoke version of Uptown Girl, flushed from the tequila and drawing the eyes of everyone in the bar. She’s so beautiful, so accomplished. Diane is so proud of her. If this is how she dies, so be it. At least she has these memories of Beth to take with her.

Rick grabs his lab coat off the floor to fish through the pockets, and Cousin Diane takes the chain off her neck. She means to hold it out for him, but there’s no coordination in her limbs, not a single coherent thought in her head, and it falls through her fingers to the ground. 

From out of his lab coat, Rick pulls his flask and takes a long drink of whatever’s inside it. Diane feels a little like laughing but can’t for fear she’ll pee; she had honestly thought he was going to take a sci-fi gun out instead and shoot her. 

Wait, never mind. He is. It’s just that the gun is under his pillow and as soon as he’s emptied his flask, he reaches over her head to get it. It looks just like a regular revolver. 

The panic doesn’t come.

It’s true the headaches have gotten so bad she’s sometimes left incapacitated for minutes at a time now, and there’s the loss of her memories, the growing loss of her sense of self coupled with something deeper: a feeling that she’s becoming someone else. All of that has left her feeling exhausted and anxious pretty much all of the time, but not enough to make her want to die. Unless it’s what Rick wants. If Rick wants something, who is she to say no. The more of her own self she loses, the more certain she becomes that Uncle Rick is the answer to some burning question inside of her she can’t remember well enough to ask. 

Maybe it’s a weird thing to trust someone who’s pointing a gun at your head, but there it is. Whatever Rick decides to do is probably going to be a mercy, and she thinks he knows that too.

“Rick, before you… do whatever. This. Can you just– can you tell Beth, tell her that I’m sorry I missed so much of her life and tell her I’m so proud of her. And that I love her, and I’m sorry I can’t be there for her, but that the time we spent together has always been the best– the best time of my life. Can you tell her that for me, please?”

Rick only says, “Close your eyes.” And Diane does, digging her fingertips into the carpet and shivering as she waits. And waits.

Seconds pass.

She still has to pee.

Rick lets out of a frustrated groan too loud for the small space. Diane’s too twitchy, too frightened, she opens her eyes expecting to see the barrel of a gun pointed at her, but it isn’t. Rick has the gun in his hand, but it’s hanging at his side pointing down at the floor. As she watches, he lifts the gun and points it casually at his own temple, but she can’t tell if he’s just being careless with it while he’s thinking or if he really is aiming it at himself. His eyes are shut tighter than her own had been.

She sniffles.

Rick lowers the gun from his temple and sinks down to the carpet across from her. The room is so small the bottom of his bare feet press into the soles of her heels. 

“We’ll do the surgery.” He says.

“Can’t you just make me a new brain or something?”

“I wouldn’t– It would the same problem over again. Unless you want a completely new brain. No neuropathways. None of your old synaptic c-connections. No memories. You’d have to relearn everything.”

“Like how to read?”

“Like how to eat. You ever see a baby try to eat?”

“I’ve seen you try to eat, so I can imagine.” She says, proud of her drunken wit. One of the good things about Uncle Rick is that he’s always in the mood for a zinger.

“Oof. -Y-you got me there.”

He leans forward to pick the chain off the ground.

“I t-told you not to t-take this off.”

“But you told me to. Just now.”

“I didn’t say don’t take it off unless I tell you. I said don’t take it off. Especially not if I tell you to.”

“I don’t think you said that last part.”

“Well, I’m saying it now.”

She looks at the gun sitting next to him on the floor, wondering how he can ever get comfortable sleeping having it there, loaded, under his pillow.

“Rick?”

“What?”

“I have to pee.”

“So go pee.”

She closes her eyes for a moment but has to open them again when the room starts to swim around her. 

“I’m not kidding when I say I seriously don’t think I’m going to make it. You’re just going to have to shoot me.” She adds the last part as a joke even though It’s not really funny. Both because she doesn’t doubt Rick came closer to pulling that trigger than she’s ever been to death before, and also, she really is about to piss herself.

“Well, I guess you’re f-fucked then.” Rick says. He looks frustrated still, but also a little impishly amused.

“Rick, please,” She whines, “It’s your carpet.”

It’s not possible. There’s no way. She’s not going to be able to stand up, hobble, drunk, all the way down the hall in these heels, and make it to the bathroom. She’s had to go this whole time, and even now it’s taking all she has to hold it in sitting down. 

“What do you want me to do about it?” He asks, knowing damn well he could portal her right onto the toilet if he wanted to. 

“Carry me?”

“Fuck that. You’re drunk, your– you’ll just piss on me.”

“I won’t. I promise. I promise I won’t. Just please help me.”

He hums like he’s considering.

“Rick, I will piss on your floor.”

“Alright. Alright.”

Being careful to hold her away from his body, he picks her up in arms that could probably lift a whole herd of elephants if he so desired and carries her out of the room. Grateful that he doesn’t just dump her outside his door, where an accident would no longer be his problem, Diane holds tightly to the strap of the tank top he wears as pajamas and reminds herself the promise she made not to piss on him. 

Halfway down the hall, he stops walking. 

“Rick.”

It’s too dark to tell, but she knows he’s smiling.

“Rick!”

“Shhh. Don’t wake the kids.” He shushes her, but finally starts walking again. 

The second he gets her into the bathroom and sets her down by the toilet, she wrenches her panties down unselfconsciously and sits, peeing immediately. If only she was too drunk to be embarrassed, but she’s managed to hit that perfect sweet spot of drunk enough to do stupid things and not drunk enough to feel no regret about it. She covers herself as much as possible with her forearms. 

For his part, Rick turns around and stands in the open bathroom doorway, looking down the dark hall at the closed bedroom doors. 

“This is why you shouldn’t drink, Diane. C-can’t handle your liquor.”

“I know. I know. I’m never drinking again.”

At least the sound of their conversation is covering the sound of her peeing. A blush fueled by embarrassment heats her cheeks. 

Rick lets out a disbelieving huff at her words.

She flushes, pulls up her underwear and goes to wash her hands, doing her best not to look at her reflection in the mirror. It’s been a long night and she can’t imagine the harsh bathroom lights will do her any favors. 

With his back to her, Rick is blocking the bathroom exit, still looking down the hallway lost in thought. When there’s nothing left to do, she touches him gently on the shoulder. 

“Hey. So this has been the most embarrassing night of my life, and I really need to sleep it off so…”

But he doesn’t make room for her to pass by. Instead, he backs up, pushing her back into bathroom until there’s room for him to close the door. He turns around. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed in front of me, baby.” He says, looking calm and dead serious. Something about his tone of voice makes all the air woosh out of her lungs when she exhales.

“Uh…”

“I mean it. There’s nothing. Nothing you could do.” 

He’s walking towards her again until her heels are pressed up against the side of the tub and there’s nowhere for her to go.

“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that to me, Rick. You don’t understand what it’s like in my head. I have all these… thoughts about you, and I feel so much. All the time. Whenever you’re around me.” Encouraged by the booze, her mouth says all the things her mind thinks without stopping to consider if that's a good idea or not. 

“I know.” Rick says. He wraps an arm around her middle and pulls her closer to him. 

“No, I’m really serious. You have no idea how fucked up the things I think about you are.” She tries to speak evenly and put gravity into her words, but they only make Rick smile wickedly. She can feel the soft bulge in his pajama pants pressing against her bare upper hip. 

 “Oh, you’re serious. Really serious. Thinking fucked thoughts I couldn’t eve– wouldn’t even– I don’t even know.” 

He runs his hand through her hair, tucking it behind her ear, looking down into her eyes like he does know. Even teasing, his voice is so… so…So thick and low and familiar she’s starting to think she might be about to have sex with her uncle in the family bathroom. Either that or he’s just messing around with her again and her panties are getting wet for nothing. 

“You have no idea what I think about doing to you.” He whispers in a husky voice. 

Diane can’t not do what she does next. Her whole body is aching to feel his lips on hers, but before she gets close enough for a kiss, he grabs her chin and stops her. 

Firmly, he says, “B-but you’re right. You should go sleep it off.”

He pulls away from her, as if realizing this whole thing is a bad idea at the very same time she had decided to ignore what a bad idea it is. Scooting closer to the wall, he give her room to pass. 

Fuck, he’s right. She really should. She should ignore the fire in her belly telling her to touch Rick and kiss him and take him as if he was hers to take. Should ignore those feelings and go back to Summer’s room and sleep this all off. 

What she shouldn’t do is put her hands on his ribbed tank top to feel his lean stomach underneath. Shouldn’t let those same hands slide under his tank top and run along the warm skin of his chest, all the way up to his coarse chest hair where her fingertips run briefly across his nipples in a way that makes him huff noncommittally. 

She shouldn’t, but she does, and once she’s gone that far it’s only a small step to move her hands down lower to the waistband of his pajama bottoms. For a few seconds they hover there uncertainly until she decides to let just her fingertips slip under the elastic to feel out the sharp angles of his hips. 

Rick watches everything she’s doing silently, his chest only moving slightly with his breath. He doesn’t intervene. The expression on his face says he’s more curious about where this is going than particularly invested. That’s good. Let them both do this with careful detachment. Let them both be observers watching those fingers, her fingers, pull the waistband of his pajamas a little further down exposing more of his happy trail, the sharp V of his hip bones, the top of his pubic hair, and now they really can’t go any further down without exposing him. 

“Diane.” He says, but she’s not listening. 

It feels like she’s breathing in an enclosed space, a scuba - or space - helmet perhaps, and the sound of her own breath is filling up her ears, minimizing everything else, shrinking her worries until they are as small and distant as the stars above their heads. 

This. Yes this.

The two of them. The two of them are everything that has ever happened in all of time. From the big bang to the universe’s collapse. It’s all happening right now under her fingers. What other way is there to describe how right this feels? Inevitable. A thing already done and always happening because her and Rick have been together for as long as the universe is old. 

Rick says her name again, sounding strained, but she’s not going to stop. Not when she’s so close to an epiphany about herself.

She slides his pants further down, over his half-hard cock and the curve of his ass until they fall to his ankles on their own. Her hair stirs as Rick exhales into it. She knows this, knows all of this. Knows him, knows his body. Every inch all hers. Without reservation, she makes to sink down onto her knees, but at the last second Rick grabs her by the shoulders and stops her.

“Cousin Diane, t-that’s enough.” He says.

What’s he talking about? She’s his wife not his cousin. She’s-

“Diane!”

“What’s wrong, dirty bear?”

“Don’t call me that!” Rick snaps at her sounding angry but she can’t remember why. All they’re doing is… they were talking that is and she’s…

“Ah!”

A sharp pain digs into her brain behind her eyes, nothing at all like the hangover she can expect to have tomorrow, and she cries out. Rick lets go of her and she falls to the floor. He pulls his pants up and gets onto his knees next to her trying to pull her hand away from her head, but it hurts too much and she doesn’t want to let him. That incredible feeling of peace and rightness she had had only seconds ago is gone and in its place is this sharp, digging pain.

“No!” She tries to keep his hands away from her face, but he’s too strong and even with both her hands on his arm, she can’t stop him from grabbing her by the chin and tilting her head back until she’s looking at him. With his other hand, he shines a pen light that’s actually his finger into her eyes and she blinks against the glare until he squeezes her chin and tells her to stop.

“What did you have for breakfast?”

“Let go, Rick! I don’t remember! My head hurts.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

Green. No violet. It’s either green or violet. She can’t remember. She can’t chose. The light goes off and now she can see Rick’s face as he looks at her with frustration and maybe even some concern.

“Violet?”

Wrong answer. Rick’s frown deepens.

“No, I mean it’s… it’s…”

What had the other choice been?

Rick lets go of her chin and leans back against the wall.

“Fuck, that was stupid.” He says.

“What are we doing? What’s going on?” She asks. There’s too many memories in her head, and none of them explain why she’s alone with Rick in the bathroom wearing nothing but her underwear.

The two of them getting ice cream from that place on Cyprus and he’d make her eat it outside his car because she always dripped. Uncle Rick helping her with her school reports because mathematical proofs may as well be gibberish. Their wedding. Yesterday’s dinner. Beth’s her cousin. Marlene’s her sister.

When he doesn’t explain how she got here, she fills in the blanks herself.

“I think I had too much to drink.”

“Yeah, you did. Had too much, a-and threatened to piss on my bedroom floor.”

“Oh my god…I’m sorry, that’s so-“

“Just, go to bed Cousin Diane.”

“Yeah, okay.”

She pulls herself unsteadily to her feet and goes to open the bathroom door.

“Don’t- don’t wake Summer.” Rick says. He’s still sitting on the bathroom floor.

“Okay.”

Diane rubs the spot on her temple above her right eye where a phantom ache has set in. Part of her worries that it might never feel better again.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

3:58am

Monday, December 28th

Rick’s Sub-basement Floor 10    

Well that was fucking stupid. Why hadn’t he just let her out of the bathroom when he had a chance? Not that any of this is his fault. He had been sleeping.

Of course his presence is aggravating her condition, lighting her brain up with Diane’s old memories, reinforcing the connections the worm is creating while it works overtime to consume everything else; all the memories that make Cousin Diane, Cousin Diane. He was aware of this already, and he still couldn’t stop himself in time. 

Forty fucking years and he can still remember every second he spent with Diane. The thought makes him feel ill and he drops a beaker on the concrete just to hear it shatter. A robot zips out of the wall to sweep up the glass, but the sound of it cleaning up after him touches a nerve and he shoots it, annoyed.

The following silence and smell of burning plastic is worse. Getting off the stool, he picks the smoldering robot up and carries it to his work bench gingerly, blowing off the smoking parts while he takes a screw driver to the casing.

“I-it’s okay. Daddy’s got you now. Daddy’s gonna fix it. Gonna make you alll better.”

The sweeper robot beeps up at him dolefully.

Sacrificing his sanity to spare her life for Beth’s sake only to accelerate her demise because he can’t keep his hands to himself. You’d think he enjoys vicious cycles the way he keeps turning his life into one.

Oops, shit. He lost focus a severed the wire that connects the sweeper robot’s CPU to its hydraulics and the whole thing slumps over unable to give even a weak twitch anymore. He’ll have to find a replacement wire so the thing’s ‘brain’ can communicate with its ‘body’ again. He’ll just build a new one later. His phone buzzes and he checks it. It’s a text from Morty.

[Wronk Ricl bedroon]

Great, either Morty’s butt dialing him in the middle of a late-night masturbation session again, or there’s a ‘wrong Rick’ in his bedroom making him feel threatened enough to forgo spellcheck.

Not that that’s possible without this Rick knowing. No one could get into the house without setting off at least one of his alarms. Morty probably just had a bad dream. The only Rick who could…

Oh, shit.

[Fwoop]

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

3:48am

Monday, December 28th

Morty Smith’s Bedroom

            Morty is talking to a cartoon character from his childhood trying to explain that no, he does not want to go sledding down this impossibly steep hill on that tiny pie pan, when all the sudden he is lying in bed in the dark blinking up at his ceiling.

            A dream. He had been dreaming and something’s woken him up in the middle of it. There’s someone on the edge of his bed.

“Hey, buddy, h-how’s it going? It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

Rick. Of course it’s Rick, and no, actually, it hasn’t been awhile. Morty just saw him a few hours ago before bed.

“What the fuck, Rick? I just saw you. Why don’t you go bother Summer, o-o-or check on mom or something. I already had to carry her to bed, you know.”

Morty buries his head in his pillow, but Rick puts a hand on the back of his neck rubbing it gently.

“’Fraid I can’t do that, buddy. Got some- got some important stuff I gotta take care of tonight, and I need you to come with me. Now get up real quiet and let’s go."

There’s something wrong. The way Rick’s hand on the back of his neck feels is giving Morty the shivers. Cousin Diane had once asked how he knew his Rick, and it had been difficult to explain in words. How can he explain to Cousin Diane that he and Rick have spent literal lifetimes together, sometimes sharing the same mental space, in the span of what most other people experienced as years.

He’d know his Rick anywhere, anytime, any day. Next question.

This is not his Rick.

Still laying down with his head in the pillow, Morty moves his hand slowly, hoping the Rick doesn’t catch the movement. His growing paranoia around situations just like this one dictates he keeps many of the same things under his pillow as his grandfather does: his phone connected to a charger snaked between the bedframe and the wall, a regular old handgun he had stolen from his parent’s safe after one too many of his father’s funny-not-funny suicide jokes, and a recent issue of Gazorpian Illustrated, of which Rick had been picking up two copies every month since Morty turned fifteen.

“Geez, Rick, I-I-I don’t know. I’m pretty tired.”

He’s actually wide awake now, but needs to say something to cover up the sound of his fingerprint unlocking his phone.

“Sit up you little shit.”

The not-his-Rick grabs him by the back of his pajama shirt and drags him up. Morty stares at his face placidly. His Rick would have noticed Morty’s hand still tucked under the pillow immediately, but 50/50 this Rick belongs to the pop-rick-lation that believes all Mortys are worthless, idiotic, non-threats.

“We’ve got something w-we need to talk about, Morty.”

“Oh, s-shit. It’s you.”

“That’s right, kid. The Rick that lives here, he’s been messing with me. Really cramping my style, and it’s starting to piss me off. Making trouble for me. A lot of trouble. But l-listen to me, you little shit. I gotta tell you something about us. Something important that I think you’re gonna wanna hear. That Rick, you know, he’s been lying to you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Morty hits what he hopes is send, and prays. He’s either sent an SOS to Rick using muscle memory alone, or he might have just ‘accidentally’ dialed Jessica at 3 in the morning. Again.

“You’re my Morty, you know? I-I’m your real grandfather. Whatever that Rick told you, he’s lying. He’s using you to get to me.”

“Oh, geez. I-I-I didn’t know that, and, you know Rick, that’s something that’s pretty important to me.”

Morty’s hand inches further under the pillow searching for the solid handle of the gun.

“I knew it would be, little buddy- little guy. You know, the two of us-“

[Fwoop]

A portal opens in the middle of the room and his real Rick walks out.

“Rick, it’s him!”

“You little shit.” Pissed at being found out, Rick Prime - because it is Rick Prime - swears at Morty and grabs him like a ragdoll before he gets away.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

If he had known what he was walking into – not that he needs see-through portals that’s a ridiculous idea; then anyone could see through the other side too, obviously, anyways. If he did know what he was walking into, he probably would have gone in guns blazing, but Morty’s garbled text wasn’t enough to make him want to blindly open fire in the house.

Going soft.

He is not.

Before he can assess the situation and react, Prime’s grabbed Morty by the collar of his shirt and swung him around like a shield. Not willing to be completely useless, Morty lashes out and hits Prime in the face with... an issue of Gazorpian Illustrated. Nice.

This Rick’s so fast it probably wouldn’t have mattered if he came out shooting anyways. He can’t even aim before Prime’s got Morty up like a shield. Not that the kid makes a very good one. One, he’s still waiting for that growth spurt and only covers Primes’ head and midsection, and two, he’s struggling violently, unconcerned with his captors increasingly graphic threats. Three, he’s got a handgun in his left hand.

Rick aims his ray gun for Prime’s exposed legs, who lets out an annoyed cry when the beams connect but doesn’t let go of Morty.

Morty waves the gun around like he’s going to try to shoot Prime.

“Don’t!” Rick yells, still trying to aim around the struggling teen. That idiot is more likely to fire right into Summer’s room than hit the man who’s currently trying to put him into a sleeper hold.

“Shoot him through me!” Morty yells even as the arm around his neck tightens and the gun falls out of his hand without going off.

“I can’t!”

Rick does however shoot the arm around Morty’s neck, which doesn’t loosen even as the skin sizzles and blood seeps out of the wound. Within seconds Prime’s skin is repairing itself seamlessly. This is pointless. He’s going to have to rip that bastard’s head clean off his shoulders if he wants to kill him, and probably throw it in a few incinerators too.

“Rick! Do it now!”

“I literally can’t!”

“Aww. That’s- that’s real touching. Glad to see you’re treating my grandson right.”

Annoyed at the implication he wouldn’t shoot through Morty because of some misplaced sentimentality, Rick fires two shots at Morty’s stomach which dissipate into a blue static covering his body in a protective shield. He was stupid enough to think Morty should be bullet proof after that night at the Shoney’s. Turns out being able to shoot through a Morty at any given time is actually more convenient. Who would have guessed.

Still carrying Morty in a crushing hold around his neck, Prime opens a portal in the corner of the room and starts backing towards it. Morty’s struggles lose force until they stop all together as he loses his fight with unconsciousness, but every shot Rick fires into Prime’s arm barely makes him flinch. What is this guy’s fucking problem?

“Stop shooting me!” Prime yells still holding Morty like that’s going to deter Rick, but it’s not. He’s got this fucker now and he’s going to follow him to the ends of the earth if that’s what it takes.

“You never should have come here, but if you put my Morty down, we’ll talk.”

Prime laughs, sounding pretty fucking cocky for a man holding an unconscious child.

“Your Morty. That’s cute, C-137. I have a better proposal. I take my Morty, and in exchange for him, and the rest of this family, living, you stop fucking with my life.”

“That sounds-“

Whatever retort Rick was going to make dies in his throat as Prime pulls something out of his jacket. Maybe he should have expected. Of course he should have expected. Nemesis 101: know their go-tos. Good thing Morty’s passed out now, that kid always has shit to say about Rick’s penchant for bomb making, no matter how appropriate the timing.

“Let’s talk.” Prime says again. Holding the slowly blinking sphere he pulled out of his jacket. Maybe it’s a dud. Maybe it’s got enough power to take out the whole neighborhood. It’s no good guessing.

They’re standing less than two feet from the wall to Summer’s room.

Beth and Jerry asleep in their bed.

What would space Beth say if she came home and they were dead?

Don’t think about that

“It won’t stop me.” He says, just stating the facts.

“You’re gonna come after me and let them die?”

Rick shrugs.

“Why not?”

Prime smiles.

“We’re talking, aren’t we? You must care a little or you’d still be trying to shoot me.” He says.

“Fine. P-put my Morty down, and we’ll talk. Go whenever you want and talk.”

“Why would I leave when everything you care about is right here? And he’s not your Morty. I'm taking him to make sure you don’t fuck my shit up any more. Y-you win, I admit it. I can’t work with you on my tail, so now we get to play it the hard way and I keep your little prize puppy and promise not to torture him to death, and you leave me the fuck alone forever. Don’t worry I’ll keep his cage nice and clean.”

“I-I’d feel bad if I let you walk out of here without warning you how much work Mortys are. Really can’t recommend it.”

The room is 250cmx275cm, if he could transport the whole thing somewhere... No, ridiculous, he doesn’t have anything that can do that with him. His body can absorb the blast from the bomb if he- but then Prime will take Morty and he might never be able to find them. He can lunge forward knock all three of them into the portal, but if Prime tosses the bomb first and it goes off it could take the whole house out and everyone in it because he never thought to give Beth or Summer or Jerry shields because he’s a shit father.

“I’ll leave you alone. I-I’m over it. Let my Morty go and leave us alone and you’ll never hear from me again. Or you can kill my family, and we’ll both find out how much better I’ve gotten at tracking you down in the last four decades.”

“Ooh scary, but I already told you the Morty’s insurance and he comes with me. H-he’s my Morty after all. What happened to your Beth again?”

“You blew her up with a bomb.”

“That’s right. Shit, I hate repeating myself.”

Shoot prime, or focus on the bomb. Shoot Prime and focus on the bomb. It has to be both. He can’t chose. Not after all these years.

Is the bomb on a kill switch? Almost certainly. If Prime drags Morty back through the portal and throws the bomb at the same time, which is the bigger problem? The uncertainty now feels as bad as the memories of what happened that day.

“What do you want from me? A pinky promise? I’ll leave you alone, a-alright, but only if you give me back my Morty.”

“I don’t believe you.” Prime says. One of Morty’s legs gives a feeble twitch.

“Great. You- you’ve probably given him brain damage, and he doesn’t have a lot to spare.”

“Gonna need an answer here, buddy.” Prime wiggles the bomb as if Rick needs reminding.

The bomb or Morty, there’s got to be a way to get them both and kill Prime. Rick just needs a little more time to think.

Behind him, the door to Morty’s bedroom opens.

“Uncle Rick? I thought I heard yelling is everything okay?”

“Oh my god.” Prime says looking at the woman who’s just walked into Morty’s room. “You-you seriously gotta let her go. I’m saying this for your own good, man. She wasn’t even that good of a lay.”

“Diane!” Rick yells, ignoring Prime. “Take Summer and Beth – and Jerry I guess – and run! Get- get out of the house, take the car. Don’t stop get as far away as you can."

“What? What’s- Is Morty okay?”

Fuck, she’s still drunk and now she’s worrying about her cousin instead of listening to him.

“Diane! Run means right now.”

“Alright. This is stupid. I’m killing all of you.”

“Wait!”

“Put Morty down! You’re hurting him!”

“Back off lady! I killed you once and I can do it again.”

Rick’s going to grab Diane before she can do something stupid, but Prime, sensing this is getting out of his control, rolls the bomb away from himself and across the room where it starts beeping rapidly, and then that requires his immediate attention.

Beth’s in the house. No, don’t think about that.

He’s reaching into his pocket with no idea how long he has to get that thing out of here before it detonates and it’s all over. Where’s the last place he set his portal gun too? The bar? Yes, and shame too. He really liked that place. Oh well, no use worrying about it now.

He opens a portal directly under the bomb-

“Get off of me you cheap knock-off!”

“Let him go!”

-and closes it again, cutting off the rapid beeping just as it reached a whining pitch.

Prime has finally let go of Morty, but now he’s locked in a hilariously – frighteningly – low-tech fight with Diane who’s grabbing him viciously by the hair while he knocks her repeatedly into Morty’s dresser. There’s no blue glow around her; he never put that stupid fucking chain back on her. Why didn’t he just give her an implant while she slept like Morty? What was the purpose of the whole make it her choice thing again? Shit.

Prime finally manages to fling Diane off him and onto the floor while simultaneously opening a portal that swallows the two shots Rick’s fired at him.

Where did that portal go? Did that portal go to Beth? Did he just shoot Beth?

Don’t think about that. He needs to move this fight literally anywhere else, now.

Coughing and sputtering Morty has regained at least some of his consciousness and is scooting himself across the floor at turtle-speed towards his fallen gun. Diane is on her knees clutching her head and groaning. The portal Prime opened to absorb his gunshots is still there, blocking Rick’s view of him, but he doesn’t dare shoot into it again without knowing where it goes.

“You slimy piece of shit. You walking turd. You want to talk? We’ll-“

Rick comes around the portal with his ray gun held high, but he’s gone. Prime’s gone. There’s two open portals, but no indication which one that slippery fucker went through. He’s going to scream. He’s-

Through what looks to be a massively painful headache, Diane points to the portal on the left.

“Thanks babe.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

7:18pm

Tuesday, December 29th

Smith Family Residence

Rick had walked through a portal, following after that other, strange Rick who gave Diane the heebie-jeebies, and hadn’t come back. That had been over thirty-six hours ago.

Morty is obviously worried, even as he tries to reassure Beth, and he’s already torn up the garage looking for anything that might help. He must have come up empty though, because now he’s pacing his bedroom and walking back and forth purposelessly over the place Rick disappeared. He didn’t go to school. Beth is downstairs drinking, and Diane has gone over it in her head a thousand times. She never should have told Rick which portal the other one had gone through. She hadn’t been thinking clearly, fighting that weird Rick had given her the worst headache she’s experienced so far.

Then it happens. Just like that. Rick comes home. Finally, just before dinner, through a portal in the garage, and when Morty hears him in there he tears the door open and looks at Rick for a moment like he is everything. Everything in the whole world. Then, in a very Sanchez-way, he rearranges his features into something more neutral before Rick can see. Diane sees and she understands, but Rick is not particularly interested in Morty’s adoration or neutrality when he comes back from wherever he’s been.

She and Morty stand in the open door between the kitchen and the garage and watch as Rick lets out a series of angry screams before going completely nuclear on his own shit. No, seriously, his rage is apocalyptic and the mess Morty made earlier out of concern is nothing compared to what Rick is doing now while he yells and howls and pulls shelves down and pushes everything off his work benches and opens cabinets and pulls that shit out too onto the ground where he stomps on it and yells and stomps and yells until everything is reduced to wires and metallic rubble. He kicks in the door of the washing machine and tears the calendar off the wall and throws something acidic at the garage door where it leaves smoking holes. 

Hearing the rampage, Jerry retreats upstairs. Beth has fallen asleep on the couch and doesn't stir. Summer went out with friends when her mother started drinking and hasn’t returned.

Eventually, he's done. Like a switch being flipped Rick sinks to the ground and puts his head in his hands and does not move again. Morty gives him a good minute before he approaches.

"Y-y-y-you'll get him n-next time, Rick."

"Morty, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, fuck off. And put up the blast shields while you're at it."

"Summer's not home yet." Morty says, but when Rick doesn't answer he leaves the garage, presumably to put up the blast shields.

Diane debates with herself, but knows she doesn't want to leave him alone like this so gives in and starts cleaning. She sorts the things into three piles: completely broken, slightly broken, and mostly okay. After a minute, Morty returns and helps. Rick doesn't move from his spot on the floor, but one of his toes taps restlessly. 

[Would you like butter?] A cracked robot asks her as she puts it in the mostly okay pile.

"No thank you." She says and her answer seems to make the strange thing sad. 

A broken vial is emitting a strange hissing sound and Morty stops her before she can touch it. Rick keeps gloves in the upper drawer and he grabs two pairs for them to wear. The voice of the security system startles both of them as it argues with the returning Summer, who makes her way through the house to the garage eventually only to exclaim. 

"Jesus, what happened in here? Also, glad you're back grandpa Rick. Morty was gonna, like, shit a brick even though I told him you'd be fine." 

Rick doesn't respond. No one in the garage is inclined towards conversation at the moment. 

"...okay. So, mom's out cold, and the delivery people won’t come here anymore, so I guess no dinner, huh?"

"I'll make it." Diane says pulling her gloves off and ignoring Summer and Morty's half-hearted objections. 

Rick does not join the family for dinner, but Beth wakes up for it, sounding and looking better once she hears Rick has made it home again. Only Jerry is particularly talkative and seems unaware no one else is making much of an effort to respond to him. Diane's head is still giving her the occasional throb and has been ever since she grabbed Morty from the threatening Rick. More troubling, she's been experiencing flashes of delusions off and on all day as well, but these ones have a different tone from the dreams she’s had before. 

In these one everything is black and she thinks Rick is gone Rick is gone over and over again. Obviously, her sickness is just responding to recent events. 

Obvious or not, the repeating thought are having an effect on her waking mind and when all the dishes are done she finds herself unable to resist the pull of returning to the garage. Morty has gone upstairs for the night, but bad mood or not she feels she must be near Rick. 

Rick is gone and he left without a word. Not coming back. Marlene was right. He’s gone. Gone. 

Diane cannot shake the feeling that she has seen Rick for the last time until she opens the door to the garage and there he is. Still sitting on the floor. Still with his head in his hands. 

She sits on the cold floor next to him. 

"I'm sorry." She says though she is not at all sure what she is sorry for, or even about. 

After another minute of silence Rick says in a hoarse voice, "I thought I told you your apologies are worthless. Right? That wasn’t someone else? That was you?"

“Yeah, Rick. That was me.”

She doesn’t say sorry again even though she wants to say sorry again, and she doesn’t ask who that Rick was even though she wants to ask who that Rick was. She rubs that spot on her head. She’s fine, really, everything’s fine. She just…She….

She’s alone on her bathroom floor while a young child cries in the other room, wails and wails, but can’t bring herself to get off the bathroom floor. To pick herself off these pink and white tiles the two of them had bought together. Unless it had been just her who wanted these tiles. Had she only imagined he cared about those things? Maybe she was the only one who ever gave a shit about their life together. Everything they've ever said to each other or done together, she runs it all through her mind searching for the clues she missed that one day he would leave.

He left. Told her as much, that he didn’t care, couldn’t care when there’s so much more out there for him to see. Told her when he came back for some of his things – those things he apparently couldn’t live without unlike his wife and daughter – after two weeks of frantic searching for him. Two weeks. One day he just disappeared from the garage and her, and the police, and all their friends searching. All sick with worry.

She will have to tell everyone. Tell everyone he came home smelling like alcohol and tripping on some drug in a way she’ll never be able to describe and he had told her he’d made some sort of breakthrough. A monumental discovery and couldn’t she see? Didn’t she understand?? This house, this place, their life, their child, it all means so little in the face of this discovery.

No, she does not understand!

He didn’t need her to understand to leave.

No one will be surprised. Everyone already knew, tried to tell her, that Rick would never be satisfied with a simple life. With her. With their child. He revolutionized the town they grew up in, turned the local manufactures into global ones with his inventions, brought in money and interest and everyone wanted to talk to him to meet him and everyone told her – Marlene, oh god, what is Marlene going to say after all her warnings – that Rick would never be satisfied with just her.

Beth is still crying, but Diane cannot get up off the floor to be with her. Rick is gone.

He will come back. Yes, yes, he will come back and say it was all a bad joke all a stupid mistake he’s changed his mind he’s so sorry. He will beg and beg and plead for her to let him back in to their house.

He’s not coming back.

People will talk. It’s fine. It’s their right. She would talk, if it was someone else’s husband who left, not hers. Husbands leave; it’s what they do.

And Beth will cry. She will cry for her absent father because she knows what everyone else knows, that Diane is not going to make it on her own.

She can’t do this alone.

She can’t! She can’t! She-

“Oh, shit, Rick. S-she’s dying!”

“She’s not! I’ve got this. It’s fine. Move!”

Cousin Diane clutches at her chest, attempting to roll over on her side. It feels like she hasn’t taken a breath in a long time, and she tries to make up for it all at once dragging in a deep breath, her throat so dry it’s almost painful.

“See, she’s fine.” Rick says from somewhere close by. She reaches up to touch a painful spot on her neck and her hand comes back holding an empty syringe.

“Aww g-geez. Are you okay Cousin Diane? Rick, what happened?” It’s Morty, squatting down to be at eye level with her because she’s on the floor of the garage, no pink and white tile in sight.

Rick is also kneeling down next to her holding her wrist for her pulse and she asks him because she has to ask him. Because she never got the chance to even ask him.

“We picked it out together, right Rick? The tile? The pink and white tile in the bathroom. I remember we both picked it. You liked it too, right? You were there and you said you liked it too.”

“Don’t think about that.”

Rick pulls one of her lids back to look at her eye.

“Please. I have to know. You have to tell me if you were there or not. Did I make it all up? Did you never care and I was just fooling myself the whole time!?”

She’s working herself up but this question bothered her for years, until her death, and she needs to know. She has to know!

“Rick, we went to the store and picked them out together and you said you like them! You said! It wasn’t just me, you loved that bathroom too!”

“I remember, okay? I-I remember.” Rick says, looking at her. “Yeah, t-the guy tried to sell you the spacers too, but you said you didn’t want them. Then, the next day you sent me back for them because-“

“Because I was too embarrassed to admit I was wrong. Yes! Yes.” Diane’s body relaxes. She holds one of Rick’s arms to keep her body from slumping down onto the floor.

“I knew you remembered.” She says, “I knew it. I knew it. It mattered, Rick. Buying that tile together matter.”

The part of her that remembers she is Cousin Diane is barely conscious, but still awake enough to be shocked when Rick pulls her into a tight embrace. Too tight to be comfortable, but she doesn’t try to get away. However long the last forty-eight hours have been for her. She thinks they’ve probably been even worse for him.

He holds her tighter and tighter with each passing second, and her worries about those random tiles disappear as she, Cousin Diane, peeks out above his shoulder to share a look with Morty. It almost seems like Rick might cry, a terrifying thought. Not because he's a man and men can’t cry or something stupid like that, but because it’s scares the shit out of her that there’s anything out there that might make Rick cry. He always seems so centered, so above it all, but maybe that’s her problem for thinking Rick is something more than he is. Something more than a man, but he’s not.

Just when she thinks the pressure of his embrace is going to snap her in half, he lets go and pulls away. She sees she was mistaken; he hasn’t been crying at all.

To Morty he says, “Open the hatch. We’re doing this now.”

“Doing what now?”

“Go, go, Sanchez ether.”

“Wait!”

Sensing the sudden shift in his mood, she tries to pull away from him, but then everything goes black.

• - -

Diane wakes up in the middle of a roaring windstorm; the sound floods her head and blurs her eyes. It’s difficult to tell, but she might be lying down. It’s difficult to tell because there’s no feeling in body. None at all.

Over the wind, she hears what sounds like her youngest cousin say, “What if something goes wrong, Rick? She didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“Morty, how many times do I have to tell you planning for failure is what makes you fail. Now, pass me that scalpel, no wait the-”

Unable to fight any longer against the raging winds, Diane falls back into unconsciousness.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

11:32pm

Tuesday, December 29th

Smith Family Residence

He’s ready for the surgery to be difficult. He’s ready to make sacrifices. Well, for Cousin Diane to make sacrifices in the way of a little extra brain matter. Not that humans necessarily have extra brain matter, but anything not completely essential can always be removed and replaced after the worm is gone. He’s even ready, despite the very real risks to himself, to stop time if that’s what it takes to keep the worm from flitting through all that grey matter faster than his scalpel can cut.  

What he’s not ready for is to be unable to locate the worm at all or, more accurately, to be unable to differentiate it from anything else in Diane’s head. Not that it’s not in there. Oh, it’s in there, both he and Morty saw it on the scans before he even made the first incision into Diane’s skull. The problem is that the second his saw touched bone, the worm activated whatever self-defense mechanism its kind uses to prevent being taken away from their food source and effectively became Diane’s brain on a small enough scale that separating the two from each other would be an exercise in futility. Diane would die before he could extract even a tenth of the worm-matter out of her essential brain-matter. It’s there in her frontal cortex, her hippocampus. Pieces of it scattered all over the place, glowing blue on his scans, but unextractable without committing what would essentially be a lobotomy. Exactly what he’d been trying to avoid.

Not that he hadn’t prepared for this to be the case. He had. The whole reason he hadn’t opened Cousin Diane’s skull up already was that he was fairly sure this would happen. He’s read every report his A.I. scavenged from the Gromflamites, who had stolen it directly from the remains of the Snubon civilizations, and already knew what the worm was capable of – unextractable, 100% fatality rate without the brood queen – but like always he had thought, hoped, he could beat those odds.

But the worm's matter is indistinguishable from Diane’s, and Diane’s brain is a thousand times more susceptible to heat, cold, or radiation than the worm. Annoyingly, it would actually be a lot easier to melt away Diane’s brain and gather up all the pieces of the worm left when everything else had gone. Maybe he will after she’s died, just to satisfy his own curiosity.

He had even stopped time - not typically something he likes doing - and somehow the worm had just… not cared, and activated its defense mechanism despite the fact that it shouldn’t have even been aware Rick and Morty were existing outside its own field of time and threatening it.

“What are we going to do? Maybe we should close her up, Rick?”

If Morty’s ready to call it, it’s probably time to call it. Relatively no time at all has passed, but as far as the two of them are concerned it’s probably been about six hours they’ve been sitting here - Diane out on the operating table, her skull open - waiting in hopes the worm will sense the danger has passed and reappear.

This is exactly why he put off the surgery so long. Failing. He’s failing her again. He’s failed her again.

“R-rick. We should really start time again, or we’re going to have to wear those collars.”

“Yeah. Alright.”

“Maybe you could clone her brain, you know. Take this one out and put a new one in but the same one.” Morty says while watching Rick place the part of Diane’s skull he cut away back into place.

“I can’t map her memories without mapping the worm too. We have to get this worm out.”

“What if we shrank really small, and we went into her brain and destroyed the worm, you know one cell at a time. We could do it really careful if we were small, a-and not hurt Cousin Diane at all.”

“That would take thousands of years, Morty. The brain has a hundred billion neurons, and each, every single one of those, of those neurons are connected to tens of thousands of other neurons. Remember what happened when we froze time for six months? Do better than that.” Rick adds, encouraging Morty to keep trying because it’s good for him to think once in a blue moon and also, in its own insignificant way, Morty’s stupid blubbering doesn’t not help Rick come up with his own ideas.

“Geez, Rick. I don’t know. Maybe we should just, you know, tell mom everything, and then let them have some time together before...”

No! Not that, Morty, not that.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

5:29am

Wednesday, December 30th

Smith Family Residence

Diane wakes up in her own sheets on her own bed which is just a mattress on the floor of her teenage cousin’s room. The curtains are open, but the room is dark. It’s the middle of the night then, but she can’t remember having gone to bed. Movement to her left catches her eye, and she realizes there’s a figure in the dark sitting on Summer’s bed.

“Rick! Holy shit you scared me. What are you doing there?”

“Waiting for you to wake up.” He says and the thick slur in his voice tell her he’s been drinking. A lot. Not just a normal Rick amount of a lot either but, like, a lot a lot. She remembers that other strange and threatening Rick in Morty’s bedroom, but this isn’t him. This Rick is familiar.

Her Rick.

“Where’s Summer?” She asks.

“Out with…” For a few seconds, Rick’s voice trails off and his head droops, but he catches himself with a jerk before falling asleep. “Friends. Beth and… and…”

“Jerry?”

“Yeah. They’re gone too. Told them to take a few days.”

“And Morty?”

Rick points at the wall to Morty’s room which presumably the boy is sleeping on the other side of. She’s been in this house long enough not to be surprised no one took Morty with them for their temporary, cautionary, home evacuation. An easy explanation is they all know Rick would never let anything happen to Morty, and that Morty would not want to leave without Rick. A more complicated one is that it’s possible Rick would not have let them take Morty even if they insisted, but it’s better to leave that one unspoken.

It's not until later Diane realizes no one thought to take her with them either.

“Did I have too much to drink again? I don’t remember.” She tries to discretely sniff her breath behind her hand smelling for any traces of alcohol.

“Y-you- you get used to the forgetting.”  

The unintentional exaggeration of his faltering stutter tells Diane she won’t be the only one with memory issues tonight. She wonders how much Rick has had to drink and if he is going to keep drinking.

“I’m starting to, I guess.” She says.

“I couldn’t… tried- Try. I tried to get it out. Sorry.”

Hearing him say sorry to her – without a hint of sarcasm – is surprising.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” She says on instinct.

“It’s too much, in there, it’s too much in there. Part of you. Can’t get it out without- You, you wouldn’t survive.”

She gets up off her mattress and sits tentatively next to him on Summer’s bed. Like always, there’s a force pulling her towards him, and towards him, and towards him, but she resists the urge to touch him knowing he wouldn’t like it. Tonight, his lab coat is nowhere to be seen and there’s dark smudges on his blue sweater and hands she can’t quite make out with all the lights off.

“So there is a tumor?” She asks, feeling resigned; frightened; desperate.

“No, what? I didn’t? Didn’t I tell you, the worm… a-a-about the worm?”

“What worm?”

Rick flops backwards on the bed and stares up at the ceiling breathing heavily.

“Rick, what worm?”

“It’s a- There’s everything- I’m always telling, Morty. Never listens. There’s everything in space Diane. C-cousin Diane.”

“Like worms?”

“Yeah, for ex-example.”

“Space worms. Sure, why not? But how would I have a space worm in me? I’ve never even been to space.”

Rick lets out another heavy sigh.

“I-it’s eating, eating your memories. Do you think tumors eat memories, Diane? Fuck.”

“Okay… So a space worm is eating my memories, and then my mind is filling in the blanks with other stuff? I guess I can see that.”

“Oh, can you?”

He’s so drunk, Diane starting to think she shouldn’t be believe anything he’s saying. It’s probably time to tuck him in and they can both say goodnight, but she needs to know.

“How much time do I have? Do you think?”

“I-I for-for… I forgot about the fucking… Of course you’d remember the fucking tile.”

Tile. Did he say tile? A vague memory forms in Diane’s head, the last thing she remembers, being in the garage with Rick and having a blackout so bad it made Morty think she was dying. She has asked him about the tile in her dream, the tile from the bathroom that had never existed, and he had said…

“I made that up. That tile never existed. You said it yourself, this worm or whatever in my head it’s making me make these things up I’m not trying-“

He had said…

He had made up some additional facts and immediately her mind incorporated those into her false memories as well. He had probably just been testing her like he always is.

“I just, I-I-I just wanted you to be happy…”

“I know that, Rick. I believe you, I-“

Sometimes she hates how strong he is. Like right now, when he sits up suddenly and pushes her onto her back so he can lay on top of her and pin her down. There’s no fighting him off, and normally it doesn’t matter, normally Rick only lays on top of her when he’s protecting her from something that’s gone wrong, but tonight he’s so drunk. Too drunk. There’s no trusting anyone who’s in the state of mind he currently is.

“I’ll buy you anything, babe. A-all the tiles you want.”

He’s so heavy, him and every piece of cybernetic equipment inside of him, and if he falls asleep on her she might not be able to get out from under him.

“Okay. That’s fine, but can you-“

“W-we’ll do it right, do it right this time. Y-you and me, babe, hundred years. Do it… do it right… I love you so much, Diane.”

Something about his voice tells her he’s not thinking about her as Beth’s cousin at all.

“Rick. Rick, it’s me. I’m not Aunt Diane. I’m Marlene’s daughter. I’m your niece. I’m not her.”

She tries again without success to push his slack body off of her, but it’s not until he decides himself to put some of his weight on his arms so he can look at her face does any of the pressure recede.

“I’m not- it’s not- I don’t-“ He takes a deep breath and blows bourbon and another unidentified, but harsh, alcohol into her face. “Bragging. Babe. But y-ou’re so perfect. Just like her. You’re just like her.”

Something uncomfortable is knotting itself up in Diane’s stomach and it has nothing to do with the man laying on top of her.

“Why are you saying this? I’m not Aunt Diane.” She tries to keep her voice controlled, sweet, relaxed; tries again to push him off, but he doesn’t budge.

“Couldn’t, c-couldn’t… can’t let you go. He made you so good, babe. Just like I remember.”

The hands holding him up are sinking down into Summer’s mattress. Knowing she shouldn’t listen to him about the space worm, let alone this, when he’s in such a state, but not being able to help herself, Diane asks, “Who made me?”

Just this once she would like him to give her a straight answer, even if she’s beginning to suspect she won’t like it.

Rick hesitates, looking right at her in the dark and breathing on her face. His hesitation only worries her more.

“It’s okay, Rick. You can tell me anything. I won’t be mad.” She’s says, hating herself. Her uncle is drunk, confused. She should be putting him to bed not grilling him for information. But...

“Who made me, Rick? You made me?”

Rick nods, but this is pushing him too far. The hands holding him up are trembling badly. He leans in to kiss her cheek, her neck, he moves for her lips but she turns her head away.

“Rick, I need you to tell me now. Did you make me?”

It’s too crazy. It’s not possible. It’s horribly possible. She’s been a mess since she got to the Smith’s. If Rick had built her, if she’s a failed experiment related to his dead wife… Not that. Anything but that.

I’M REAL!

Rick wasn’t even there when she was born! He doesn’t know! He can’t know!

“Am I…? I’m a real person, right?”

Again, Rick tries to kiss her, and again she turns away, still pinned below him.

“Shhh. Don’t be scared, babe. Just you. Just you, there’s… there’s no her. Won’t be soon.”

“Who am I, Rick?”

She’s going to be sick. Rick, unable to reach her lips, is kissing her neck.

“You’re so real, babe. Made you so good. Marlene, s-she didn’t know, couldn’t tell her, changed your hair, but it’s you babe. All you. Just the same.”

What didn’t her mother know?!

“I was a baby. You didn’t make me. I was born. My father… my father was…” Trailing off, the words leave a bad taste in her mouth. Her father had been an asshole, a real sleaze. He’d left before she was born. Left before he even knew Marlene was pregnant. Left before he mother could get a single picture of him or describe him in more than the most basic of terms. But that’s okay, because baby Diane had gotten her mother’s eyes, and her mother’s hair, and her aunt’s freckles, her nose, her hairline and fair features and propensity to blush, and nothing at all of her father’s.

Rick shushes her, lips against her neck. She shivers.

“Couldn’t let you go.” He says again, and this time Cousin Diane is forced to consider his words.

The dreams, the memories. She had asked Rick if Aunt Diane was haunting her, and he said no, but maybe it’s not a ghostly, ancestral haunting at all. Maybe her aunt Diane is ‘haunting’ her because she is her.

“Rick, am I a clone? Like Space Beth?”

Again he tries to kiss her but when he touches her cheek to turn her head, he pulls his hand away curiously. He sits up off of her, taking all the pressure away all at once, and leans over to flip on Summer’s bedside lamp. Under the soft yellow light, both he and her can see his hand is wet with her tears.

He looks back at her and she can see the clarity return to his eyes.

“Shit, I-I-“

“Rick, am I clone of Aunt Diane?”

She tries to wipe the tears off her face, but they’re only replaced with fresh ones.

He doesn’t answer.

“Why is there a worm in my head?” But if she’s never been to space, and he had cloned his dead wife to make her, there’s really only one answer to that. “Whose memories are you trying to replace mine with!?”

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t look confused anymore either. She can’t remember ever being scared of  Uncle Rick before, but she is now.

“Can you get out, please? Can you leave me alone? Morty!” She calls out for her cousin.

“Morty!!”

“Diane, calm- try, try to calm down.” Finally, Rick has something to say, but he’s only trying to get her to relax.

“Don’t touch me! Morty!”

Diane’s wants to get off the bed, away from him, but her heart’s beating much too quickly and when she tries to stand up, her vision tunnels.

From far away she hears Rick say, “You just had surgery. You don’t want to do that, you’re gonna- …Yeah, that.”

Sightless and lightheaded, Diane falls to the floor.

• - -

“Rick, this has gotten out of hand. We need to tell mom.”

“Really? That’s your solution to this, Morty, tell Mom? W-what’s she gonna do, huh?”

“You’re drunk, and y-y-you scared cousin Diane, so I don’t think you get to make the decisions anymore.”

“Oh, so you get to make the decisions? You, Morty? I’d rather- look she’s fine. She just passed out for a minute, she’s waking up.”

 “I t-think you should go.”

“What’d you just say to me you little shit?”

“I said I think you should go, Rick. I’ll take care of Cousin Diane.”

“…Fine. Enjoy, enjoy your responsibility. I’m sure you’ll do just fine. You got it all- Morty’s got it alll-“

[Fwoop]

Whatever. That whole scene was getting way too heavy for him anyways. He’d rather- Oh, shit. That’s right. The bar is gone. Nothing but a smoldering ruin for half a mile in each direction. Whoops. Whatever, the universe has plenty of places to drink. Nothing special about this one.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

Way too fucking early

On Planet Who Fucking Knows

At who give’s a fuck ‘clock

“What’s wrong with him? Is he dead?”

Rick feels a sharp prodding at his side, but does his best to ignore it. The binge he just got off of must have been epic and he’s not ready to wake up from it yet; it feels like he might actually be approaching sober, and that every ounce of blood in his body has been drained and replaced with something acidic, vinegar maybe. All he wants to do is lie here – wherever here is – with his eyes closed, not moving, for the rest of eternity. At least.

“No, he is not dead. Step away from him please.”

“He smelllls.”

“Yes. Rick, wake up. I must walk my daughter to school and do not trust you to stay here alone.”

“I think he’s dead.”

“I am certain he is not. Please make sure all your things are ready for school. I am handling this.”

“Is he your friend?”

“Yes.”

“Did you leave mom for him?”

“No. It is very complicated. Rick, stand up now or I will be forced to carry you, and I do not think either of us want that.”

“Fiiiine.”

Rick pulls himself up into a seated position on Bird Person’s couch. His eyes won’t stay open for more than a few seconds and he’s reduced to squinting and blinking at the early morning sun on what he can only assume is Bird Planet.

The girl standing way too close to him says. “You threw up on yourself. You’re old. Weren’t you with dad when he broke me out of jail?”

“That was not jail.” Bird Person takes her by the shoulders and leads her away from Rick. “It was a learning center for special children like yourself. Go get your things, I will not ask again. Rick, you will go wash yourself off before we depart. I have no more patience this morning and will not be lectured once again by any teachers for bringing my daughter to class late.”

• - -

Rick walks like he’s got two peg legs. Well, three if you count his – you know what, never mind. It’s too fucking early for penis jokes, and his head hurts too much. Bird Person barely gave him enough time to wash the vomit off his shirt before marching him out the door, and now he’s stuck in a wet sweater, sweating through his socks in the balmy 110° weather typical of Bird Planet’s winters.

“Did you know my mom? Why are you so sweaty? Do you have to hide because you’re a criminal too?”

Both Rick and Bird Person ignore the girls questions, which she seems to expect and certainly does nothing to deter her from asking them. Several times Bird Person tries to divert her attention by asking about school, but she ignores him as effectively as he does her.

“Is my dad a liar?”

“Yes.”

“Rick.” Bird Person says his name like a warning.

“I knew it.” She says triumphantly. “Are you who he goes out to see every night?”

“What?”

“I take walks. I will not explain myself again. Rick stop talking to her.”

“Were you in jail and dad too and that’s how you knew how to get me out?”

“It was not a jail, it was a learning center.” Bird Person says, frustration cracking through his fatherly veneer.

Rick looks down at the girl, feeling some pity for her despite her obvious resemblance to Tammy. What must it be like, living powerless under the oppressive rule of this new, kill-joy Bird Person.

“J-jail? I was in jail, you were in a fucking daycare.”

“Rick, enough.”

“You know who put me in there? Your stone, cold bitch of a mother.”

“Enough!”

Maybe, maybe not, but Rick has no choice but to stop talking when Bird Person’s talons wrap around his wind pipe. They share a long angry glare; it’s the only way they ever look each other in the eye anymore, but Rick doesn’t know how to fix that.

“Daughter, you will be kind enough to walk yourself the rest of the way to class. I can watch you to the door from here.”

“But I wanna-“

“No. I will not argue with you. You will go to school and learn the things you must learn to be a functional child, and I will be back before the sun sets to pick you up.”

Obstinate and furious the girl glares at Bird Person, looking for the first time since Rick met her more like her father than her mother. Every second she keeps up her angry pout, the talon around Rick’s throat gets tighter, as though he was the one being confrontational, until he really can’t breathe. Fortunately for his lungs it’s an old argument - one she knows she can’t win - and the girl gives up with a venomous huff, stomping towards the open classroom door and digging her talons destructively into the tree bark beneath them with each step.

Only once she’s safely inside does Bird Person let go of his neck. Rick takes a deep breath only to get out the words, “Fatherhood really suits you,” before giving in to a hacking cough that sets his throat on fire and makes him feel like he’s going to throw up again.

When it’s clear Rick really is struggling to recover from his coughing fit, some of Bird Person’s anger slips.

“Did I injure you?”

Rick wheezes out, “No. You wish.”

Gave him a half-chub maybe, but that’s hardly preferable to being injured; Bird Person is one of his least favorite people to get half-chubs in response to.

“You would never dare criticize my parenting, Rick, if you could remember even a fraction of the things you admitted to me last night.”

That shuts up Rick’s coughing fit – mostly for show at this point – real quick.

“Y-ou should know better by now, Pers, than to believe anything I say.”

“I do. I also know you well enough to know when you are lying and when you are telling the truth.”

“Like what, like what kind of things did I say?”

“Until you can learn to control your drinking, you will just have to live with the uncertainty of your forgotten actions. There is no time to discuss it now anyways. I told Morty I would get you home as soon as you sobered up. For the record, you do not deserve that boy’s love.”

“T-thanks.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

4:57am

Wednesday, January 6^th

Rick’s Bedroom

It’s not like he doesn’t know Nimbus can sneak up on him, he’s well aware, but that doesn’t make it any less jarring when it happens. Especially when his eyes are only closed because he’s pleasuring himself in the middle of the night in his own bedroom.

“Really Richard? I wouldn’t have taken you for a morning masturbator.”

“Fuck! What are you doing here? I-i-is that supposed to be some kind of insult? Guy can’t touch himself in the privacy of his own bedroom anymore?”

“Mortimer’s here.”

What? Oh yeah, that’s right he is here isn’t he? The kid had refused to leave the room last night after Rick came home, convinced he’d disappear into another binge if he wasn’t under constant supervision. He looks over the side of his cot where Morty is curled up, eyes closed, snoring so quietly Rick had forgotten he was here.

“He worries about you so much.” Nimbus whispers.

“H-he thinks I’m a fucking hack.”

“You’re wrong, he adores you. You’re just too stubborn to see it.”

“Sure, he cares enough to sleep by my bed like I’m the fucking farmer’s virgin daughter, but not enough to trust I can handle my shit. How’s that- what’s that supposed to do for me?”

“Maybe he knows you’re not a god, Richard, and that’s why he worries. I always wondered if that was why you left Diane too? Were you worried she might stop worshipping you if she figured out you have limits just like everyone else?”

“You seem to know me so well, know why I do everything. Why don’t you tell me why I left my wife?”

“Maybe I will, but first can we go somewhere and talk in private? Perhaps you could put on some pants.”

“Morty won’t like it if I leave again, and I know that’s something that’s real important to you, what Morty wants.”

“No, I don’t suppose he will like it, but he’s going to like what I have to say even less.”

• - -

They go down to the Vietnamese restaurant in the subbasement – still in the house technically, Morty can hardly complain about that. Rick orders the octopus phó, and Nimbus the vegetable dumplings.

“She’s only a clone, Richard, and a defective one at that. You’ve had your fun, but-“

“You think this has been fun for me? Which part of this has been fun for me?”

“Would you like some of my dumplings? I can’t eat all of these.”

Nimbus holds out his plate of dumplings for Rick to take one, then sets them back down on the table to pick at.

“I already told you she’s dying. If that’s not- if that isn’t good enough for you, Beth’s got a gun in the office safe. The code is Jerry’s birthday. So, you know, have at it.”

“I’d rather you do it yourself, if only so I don’t have to deal with you chasing me down for revenge for the rest of your life, but I will if I have to.”

Rick glares at Nimbus while sloppily slurping down one of the live octopus’ in his soup.

“Didn’t realize how much you still hated her, Nimbus. Even after all this time, huh?”

“Now you want to get into our backstory? You know nothing of what I felt for Diane. You can’t imagine how much it pains me to see that thing walking around looking like her. You promised me you would just let her be.”

Nimbus gestures passionately with his chopsticks, losing grip on the dumpling between them and sending it flying into Rick’s phó, splashing him in the face.

After he finishes wiping himself off, Rick puts the napkin back on the table but keeps a tight grip on it.

“I guess I lied.” He says.

“I can see that, but there’s still time to make it right.”

“Touch her, and I’ll kill you.”

“Why, Richard? Why? You said it yourself, she’s dying anyways and I have been your friend for more than half a century!”

“My friends don’t double-cross me.”

“You’ve been double-crossing me since the first time we met, and I have always forgiven you, but I cannot forgive this. I stood aside when the two of you were married  because she asked me to for you. She was a saint compared to either of us, and the only thing she ever wanted from the world was for you to be happy. I will not allow you to insult her memory like this. Kill that thing or I will.”

“You never thought she was good enough for me.”

“Diane was better than you in every conceivable way. I’m only sorry it took so long for me to finally see that, and by then, of course, it was too late.”

“She didn’t even like you enough t-to tell you she was dying.”

“You think I don’t know that? That I’m not aware I could have saved her if only she’d asked?!”

Rick pushes his soup away.

“So why didn’t she?”

“I don’t know, Richard. She took her reasons for everything she did to the grave, and now we simply have to live with that. Which is what we both agreed to do in our treaty. You can imagine my anger seeing I was the only one to live up to those terms.”

Nimbus stands up from the booth and throws his napkin on the ground.

“Tell me you’ll do it, so that I won’t have to. Tell me whatever friendship we have left is worth more to you than this perverted memory of her.”

If that’s what he wants, he’s going to be waiting a long time. He and Rick stare at each other without blinking until Nimbus has had enough and walks away.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

9:46pm

Friday, January 8^th

Smith Family Living Room

When she finally catches Rick alone, he’s on the couch watching interdimensional House Hunters in the dark living room. She takes a seat on the far side of the couch. Enough is enough.

“Uncle Rick, can we talk?”

“Can this wait? I’m kind of watching my show here.”

On the screen, a realtor cocks a shotgun and comes within inches of shooting out a charming colonial’s kneecaps.

“It’s a re-run.” She says, undeterred. “I just wanted to let you know, Morty explained everything to me.”

“Great.”

“And I’m sorry… about how everything went down the other night. And because I know you won’t apologize, I’ll just go ahead and say you’re sorry too.”

“Mmm.”

“It was shocking, is all, finding that out. Because I never considered that I might not be, I don’t know… An original, I guess, person. It’s… a lot to come to terms with.”

“…”

“But I understand now that it wasn’t all your fault, and in your own way you were just trying to help me. So, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry if I make – I mean, of course I make you uncomfortable. It must be so weird having me around.”

Rick grunts and continues to stare at the tv. Much like Beth, his obvious avoidance issues are more endearing than annoying. Personally, Diane hates this show. There’s something viscerally disturbing about it to her, but she tries not to judge. What does she know, anyways, about what qualifies as entertainment in the sentient houses universe.

“Rick, why did you ask me to tell you about those dreams? Why would you do that to yourself, to me? If they’re her memories, wouldn’t you already know what I was seeing?”

“I told you. I’m a perverted narcissus.”

“You said the other Rick was a perverted narcissus.”

“What’s the difference?” He asks, finally looking at her. “W-what’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you mad?”

“I told you, Morty explained everything. About how it was the other Rick who made me and put the memory worm thing in me, and how you’ve been trying to help me this whole time. I’m trying to tell you, I feel bad about yelling at you the other night. I know you were drunk, and, well, she’s gone, and I believe you loved her. A lot. I don’t think you deserved that with everything going on.”

Rick shrugs.

“Don’t remember.” He says. She hadn’t considered that.

“Right. Well, okay then. I just wanted to clear that up before… and, um, say thank you. So, that’s all. Thank you.”

Her hands go to pull herself up, but he holds out an arm to stop her and she sinks back down into the couch, maybe a little too eagerly.

“How do you feel?”

“Like, memory-wise? Not great. It’s happening during the day now too… I’m scared.”

“’Scared’ isn’t d-diagnostically relevant.”

“Okay, then I would say I don’t trust anything I’m thinking, saying, or doing at any given time and-“

“Your short-term memory? Do y-you remember coming down here?”

She looks around, trying to think.

“Sort of. A lot of things just kind of happen now. I find myself places. It’s like being in a dream. A real dream. I quit school.”

“Couldn’t keep up?”

“Guess not.”

“And the memories? The other- the other memories.”

“They’re different now, you’re not there anymore. It’s just me - her, god, sorry – her and Beth in them. It’s not bad… most of the time. They do – did – alright.”

Is that appropriate of her to say? Being around Rick feels like a minefield. Her entire existence must be inappropriate to him. He burps, looking at her skeptically.

“Y-you should be mad at me. Are you sure you’re not?”

“I thought emotions weren’t diagnostically relevant.”

“Just saying. You don’t have to suck up to me anymore, make me feel good about myself or anything. I really can’t help you.”

“Yeah, I know. And look, it’s fucked up. Me being… whoever I am,” She scoots a little closer to him on the couch to emphasize that she’s not the one who’s angry, and he doesn’t lean away from her. “but at least I can trust you to tell me to fuck off if I’m making you uncomfortable. You have to understand, I’m not pissed at you, Uncle Rick, I miss you. I’m scared and I think about you all the time and I want to be close to you and I’m running out of time and I hate that you’re avoiding me. But also I understand.”

“I-it’s not you that’s feeling these things, it’s her- her memories- it’s got nothing to do with, you know, any actual feelings you might be having.”

“Maybe, but still.”

Because Rick still isn’t leaning away from her or looking disgusted, she inches a little closer until she’s in the middle of the couch.  Rick takes a drink from his flask and spreads out a little more, stretching his arm across the back of the couch.

"I wouldn’t worry too much about it. She must have stopped, at some point, missing me.” He says still watching tv like he doesn’t care, but she can hear the question in his words even if he’s not willing to admit it.

“She never did. It’s like this… constant ache.”

Now it’s her turn to avoid eye contact by watching tv. The episode has finally ended and now sentient-house Love it or List it is on. Another re-run, but that’s okay. At the end of every episode, the house’s owners get to decide if they love its makeover, or if the house should be listed for sale. Basically exactly the same as the show she’s familiar with, but it definitely adds an extra layer of suspense what with the house being sentient and all.

“I like this one better.” She says gesturing at the tv.

“Yeah. Gotta respect th-the bickering. I mean, the house is right there, listening right?”

“Right. And why are the houses always so scared? Who do they get sold to? It never shows.”

It’s a rhetorical question. The station they’re watching must believe the answer is too obvious to need explaining, and she’s pretty sure they can’t google it from this universe.

“So that’s, that’s all? We’re all good?” He asks while the two hosts argue over fridge styles. It’s a surprising question coming from him. It’s easy to forget sometimes that Rick might care if the two of them are good or not.

“Yeah. Whatever happens, we’re good.”

“Wanna stay and watch some interdimensional cable?”

“Sure.”

His hand on the back of the couch sits only a few inches away from her shoulder. She hadn’t been lying about missing him, Aunt Diane’s endless ache transferred to her through time, but now that she understands everything, the idea of snuggling against Rick in any context is fraught with disturbing complications. She tucks her legs under herself and watches the show.

[Now I don’t know about you, but I think these window treatments are really going to add value]

Rick burps.

[There’s lots of value in me. I’m more than my window treatments]

The hint of fear in the house’s voice definitely adds to the show overall.

Fuck it. Slowly, giving Rick plenty of time to pull away, she leans her head against his shoulder. He rests his arm over her shoulder and put his hand on her head.

“Can you do something for me?” He asks.

“Sure.”

“It’s weird.”

“Okay, I’ll prepare myself.”

“Do, do her voice and say, ‘It’s over now. That I did it.’”

“Just that?”

“Yeah, let’s not make it too weird.”

“Sure. Is this right? Do I sound like her?” Cousin Diane’s just doing her regular voice. She’s never seen any recordings of her aunt and have no idea how similar the two of them sound.

“That’s perfect.”

She turns her head slightly towards his chest to smell his cologne and says, “It’s over now. You did it.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Fortunately he’s looking over her head to watch the tv and can’t see her blushing. The whole thing should be awkward, but doesn’t everyone need something irrational from other people sometimes?

They sit in comfortable silence until the episode ends and Rick asks her if she wants to watch another one.

“Okay. I don’t think I’ve seen this one. God, I hope it gets sold this time.” She says in Rick’s arms, feeling no empathy for these strange house people on the screen.

“Damnnn that’s harsh, Cousin Diane.” Rick teases. “That’s a pretty fucked up thing for you to say.”

Her eyebrows rise indignantly.

“You’re one to talk. You are so unbelievable, Rick Sanchez. Please, I’m a literal angel compared to you.”

“I-if you say so.”

But she never finds out if it gets sold or not. Twenty minutes later, when Cousin Diane falls into another unconscious fit and dreams she’s selling the rest of Rick’s left behind junk to pay the mortgage for the month, Rick carries her to bed. Quietly. He doesn’t want anyone else in the family to worry. Before leaving her there, he slips her chain necklace back on. Just because he hasn’t thought of how to save her yet doesn’t mean he won’t.

It's not over until it’s over, and there’s still time.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

3:21pm

Tuesday, January 12^th

Smith Family Living Room

Cousin Diane always goes the speed limit. Well, not always. Five over, tops. Unless she’s late, or the song she’s listening to is really upbeat, or the person in front of her is being super annoying and she has no choice but to go around them. The point is she’s fairly certain she was going the speed limit just now, but can’t be 100% sure because, like so often happens these days, she wasn’t fully cognizant of the fact she was driving the car at all until the blue and red lights started flashing in her rearview and snapped her back to the present like an overextended rubber band.

“Oh, shit, where’s the registration?” Diane says to the empty car Beth’s probably going to regret saying she could borrow.

The cop knocks on her window. It’s a motorcycle cop too. All alone, no partner. Shit, shit, shit. This is not what she needed today.

She rolls the window down for him.

“Cousin Diane?” He says inexplicably before she can even ask if she was speeding.

“Uh… yeah.”

“Step out of the car.”

Sensing that beneath her view through the window his hand is on the butt of his gun, she can’t think of any reason not to do what he’s asking even though she very badly doesn’t want to.

“Okay.” She says, her hand unsteady as she rolls the window back up, unbuckles her seatbelt, and opens the door.

Ominously, as soon as she’s out the cop presses a button on his shoulder radio on, and, leaning into it, says, “I’ve got her.”

“Am I in some sort of trouble?”

He doesn’t answer her. Doesn’t look at her. Is waiting to hear from his radio. They’re pulled off onto the shoulder of an out of the way road between the Smith house and the west side of town, where marshy land has made building too costly to be worth it, and no other cars have driven by since she stopped. She can’t even remember what she was doing on this road in the first place.

“Sir, was I speeding?”

The radio crackles.

“Copy that. You’re all clear. Take her out.” A voice on the other end says. Or seems to say; she must have misheard.

“I don’t understand why you pulled me over, but-“

He’s unholstering his weapon.

“What?! What did I do?! I-”

Diane looks down at her stomach to the place where a bullet hole would be if Rick’s chain shield hadn’t protected her. That cop just shot her. Her ears are ringing. He’s talking into his radio again. She can’t hear what he’s saying. He shot her! Shot her right in the stomach! He’s looking towards her like he might suspect why his first bullet didn’t work, and now he’s walking towards her like he’s going to-

He's going to take her necklace!

True or not, Diane bolts towards her still open driver’s side door, but barely makes it a few steps before the cop lunges at her like a baseball player diving for home and grabs her by the ankle on the way down, dragging them both to the ground.

Too full of fear and adrenaline to consider the consequences, Diane kicks her feet wildly, looking to connect with anything soft. Success! The sole of her shoe crunches against something – a finger or maybe his nose – and the cop lets out an enraged scream, his grip on her ankle loosening just long enough for her to pull away. The palms of her hands and her knees scrape against the pavement as she scrambles into the car, slamming the door behind her and hitting the button to lock it just seconds before the cop is there, yanking on the handle and screaming at her to open up.

The keys. The keys. Where are the keys?! She can’t remember what she did with them after she took them out of the ignition. She’s too panicked now to look with any sort of accuracy, and there’s no time!

Three bullets smash through the driver’s side window, right next to her head, and she ducks in the seat even though they can’t hurt her. The cop is pounding on the spiderwebbed window now, and any second he’s going to break through. Then he’s going to reach in and grab her and pull her out of the car and take her chain and-

Her phone!!

She abandons the search for her keys and grabs her phone from the cup holder where it’s been sitting this entire time, dialing the only contact who can possibly help her now.

The phone rings. The window shatters and beefy hands grab at her shirt and arms. If it goes to voicemail, she’s going to die.

The ringing stops and a tiny voice on the other end of the line says, “Cousin Diane, can I call you back? It’s not a good-“

“Rick!! The cops are trying to kill me! Rick!”

There’s no way to know if he heard her or not, she’s pretty sure the line’s gone dead by the time the cop drags her out the shattered window and onto the pavement by her armpits. His heavy work boots come down on both her fingers and the phone, but only her fingers survive the assault. Sirens in the distance sound like they’re getting closer, but that’s not reassuring at all.

Why would any cop want to kill her?? She’s not-

One second she’s staring straight ahead at the incoming boot, the next she’s flat on her back, looking up at the sky. Immediately the cop is on her, tearing at her shirt and searching her person for whatever’s making the shield that’s protecting her. It doesn’t take him long to find it. Ignoring her struggles like she’s nothing more than a squirming bug under him, he rips the chain off her neck, and that would have been it. Should have been it. The last second of Cousin Diane’s life played out on this dirty backroad shoulder covered in loose gravel that she can now feel is painfully digging into her back.

Could have been. Except the cop, still pinning her to ground, pauses before he shoots her to say, “Looks like I’m getting that promotion.” Then his forehead explodes, and brains – and other unthinkable things – get on her face and into her mouth, and he collapses on top of her. Hot blood gushes out of the hole in his head, seeping into her hair and running down between her back and the pavement. His body weighs what feels like a thousand pounds, and even if it didn’t she’s too stunned to think of pushing it off of herself, is barely aware she is unable to breath under the crushing weight of it.

When Rick literally kicks the body off of her and sends it careening into one of the trees off the side of the road-

Ice cream. That’s right. She took this road to go get some ice cream.

-there isn’t even time for gratitude.

Behind Rick, backup has arrived, and she screams “Look out!” too late; her words are drowned out by the sound of gunfire as six cops from three cruisers unload their handguns at the two of them. Rick dives on top of her just like he had when she’d almost been killed by that slime, but he’s not as successful this time. A sharp punch of pressure hits Diane in the right shoulder and sends a deadening numbness all the way down her arm and into her fingertips.

Not that she’s complaining, Rick takes more than his fair share of bullets, and by the time they’ve gotten to the cover of the station wagon, she can see at least five separate holes in his lab coat.

It’s the worst possible time for it, but Diane can’t help but rub a hand roughly against her blood-soaked hair as a headache starts up, drowning out even the pain in her shoulder.

“Shit!” Rick says, his voice only audible because the gun fire has temporarily halted. At first she thinks he’s cursing because of his injuries, but then through blurry eyes she sees what he’s looking at. A few feet away from them, in the puddle of blood left behind by the cop he’d kicked off of her, is his portal gun, its glass bulb is cracked and leaking green fluid onto the pavement. He takes his flask out of his coat and drinks from it. It took a bullet as well but held up better than the portal gun.  

“Is now a good time to be drinking?!”

“Well, Cousin Diane, when I’m the one getting into trouble and you’re the one getting me out of it, maybe I’ll, maybe you can make that call.” He burps and puts his flask back into his coat. Then says, “Did you get shot? Where’s your necklace?”

“On that cop you kicked into the woods.”

“Goddammit, Diane!”

Rick pops his head over the station wagon roof attempting to fire on the officers, but drops it down just as quickly under the hail of returning gunfire. Diane’s attempts to rub her headache away are only making it worse, and she can barely focus when Rick speaks.

“Alright, we’re not portalling out of here. Give me the keys.”

Diane sinks back against the side of the car, already anticipating Rick’s reaction.

“I lost them, I can’t remember what I did with them when I got pulled over. Rick, I’m sorry.”

He stares at her. She kind of wants him to say something mean like he does when Morty fucks up, but apparently they aren’t on that level.

With a scowl at her predicament, their predicament now, he drops his gun on the ground and kicks it out to the other side of the car. One at a time, he raises his hands over the roof in a sign of surrender.

“Rick what are you doing?”

“Listen!” He calls out to the police, who stopped firing after he kicked out his gun. “You want her, right? You let- let me out of here and she’s all yours. She’s unarmed.”

Absorbed by the pain in her head, Diane loses track of what Rick’s saying as he pulls her to her feet. She’s not afraid, though.

Rick would never hurt her. They’re in love. They’re married. They…

He whispers to her while the cops debate his offer.

“Diane listen to me, as soon as I step out there you need to run. Run into the woods. Don’t stop. No matter what you hear. Find a phone. Call Morty. Don’t talk to anyone else. Are you listening??”

“Rick? Rick, is that really you?! Where have you been? What’s happening? Where are we?”

“No! No. Don’t do this to me right now. Shit. Aright. Whatever. Fine. Listen-listen to me babe. You need to run, right now into those trees. As far as you can. I’ll come find you.”

“Rick! Where have you been?! I don’t understand! What’s going on?”

Tears are running down Diane’s face as he tries to get her to focus, but she’s so confused she hardly knows what she’s crying for.

“It’s time to let her go, Richard.”

The voice coming from the person walking around the car towards them almost does more to comfort Diane than the return of her long absent, barely recognizable husband.

“Nimbus.” She says, his name comes out of her mouth like a sigh of relief, but he does not look relieved to see her.

Rick, always so possessive, stands between her and Nimbus as if there’s a reason he needs to shield her from their oldest friend. As if he has any right after being gone for… Wait, how many years has he been gone? And how did she get here? And

YOU ARE NOT ME!

A voice that sounds a lot like her own screams so loudly inside her brain, it feels like it’s going to split her skull in two. She lets out a pained sob and clutches at her hair but can do nothing to stop the ache in her head.

“Don’t do something you’re gonna regret, Nimbus.” Rick says, arguing with his best friend even now. Why are they always arguing?

Morty is Rick’s best friend.

Who is Morty? Why did she think that?

“Step aside, Richard. It’s over. She’s bleeding out.”

“I can fix that.”

“I know, but you don’t have to. She’s not her.”

“She’s Beth’s cousin, and I can save her! I just need a little more time.”

“You had all the time in the world with her, and you wasted it! Now you wish to make up for it with more lies, but I won’t let you. Not this time.”

“Did you fuck my wife, Nimbus? You did, didn’t you? Or you wanted to. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Well, she picked me, motherfucker! She could have had you, but she picked me!”

“That’s enough, Richard. Stand aside I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You fucking wish, you stupid motherfucker.”

Don’t let him hurt Uncle Rick!

That’s a crazy thought. Nimbus would never seriously hurt Rick. They’re practically brothers.

“No!!!”

Diane’s piercing scream is far louder than her husband’s blood-choked groan when, faster than either of them can react, Nimbus pulls a shelled-covered sword from a scabbard in his belt and stabs Rick through the chest with it. Some sort of blue electric field sparks around Rick, then flickers out ineffectually when Nimbus’ sword pierces through it. Unable to pull the sword from his chest, Rick sinks to his knees with it still inside of him, coughing up blood.

“Nimbus! What did you do!? Rick loves you! How could you!? Oh my god, honey, we’re going to get you to a hospital. It’ll be okay.”

Diane drops to her knees beside Rick and presses her hands uselessly against where the sword went in, restraining Rick so he stops trying to grab the hilt and pull it out.

Pull it out! If Uncle Rick wants it out, pull it out!

No, she can’t. He’ll bleed to death!

“Save your tears, child. Richard loves no one and nothing. Which might be why he’s so fond of you.”

“Why are you saying these things, Nimbs? Rick loves you! I love you! Please, help me get him to a hospital.”

“You don’t know me. You’re nothing but another one of his failed experiments. You,” He points to one of the dispassionate police officers standing nearby. “Give me your gun.”

The officer walks over to the three of them, hands his firearm to Nimbus, and walks off again without so much as a glance at Diane or her dying husband.

Still bleeding from his mouth and gasping for air, Rick tries again to pull the sword from his chest but can’t get any purchase with his bloody hands.

“Don’t…do this, Nimbus. You can… you can have it. Time travel. I’ll tell you how.” Rick’s voice is so thin it’s barely audible.

“I’m not bargaining with you, Richard.”

“What about me, Nimbs? You can bargain with me.”

“You? There’s nothing I want from you.”

You’re not you, Aunt Diane

“That’s not what you said before.”

“Don’t pretend to be her!”

“You promised. You promised you’d always keep Beth and me safe.”

“Well, I failed.”

“That’s not true. You never failed us. Not ever. Not even after Rick left.”

Nimbus rubs his forehead in frustration in a way Diane desperately wants to copy to sooth her own terrible headache, but she suspects it wouldn’t help. Also, she doesn’t want to risk taking her hands away from Rick’s chest, fearing he’ll bleed even more if she does.

“She’s got… all of Diane’s memories. You can ask her anything, Nimbs. Anything… you couldn’t before.”

“Be silent, Richard. I’m not playing this game with you.”

“Ask her why… why she never told you about the cancer.”

You have to tell him Aunt Diane. Tell him something to make him not shoot us.

Cancer? Yes, the cancer. She remembers now. Of course she remembers. She has cancer. Treatable, the doctor had said, but she wanted to wait because… but the next time she went in, when the pain became too much to hide from Beth any longer - too much to bear – they told her it was too far along now, there was nothing they could do. She didn’t have much time left, and it was all her fault because she had waited… waited for…

“I was waiting for Rick. I didn’t want to tell anyone because I thought he’d find out somehow. I thought he’d just know. Then he’d have to come home.”

Nimbus let’s out a bark of a laugh.

“And we all know how that worked out.”

“It.. I… I thought he’d come back, that he would come home if I let it get bad enough, but then I couldn’t hide it anymore. It was too much, I wasn’t strong enough. I had to go to the hospital. Oh my god, Beth, Marlene. I don’t want to leave them. What did I do? How could I do that to them?”

The last thing she can remember is being at the hospital and holding Beth’s hand and thinking that she can’t feel her lungs and she can’t breathe and she doesn’t want to leave. Where is Rick? She can’t leave Beth. Why hasn’t Rick come to save her?

“I’m so sorry, Nimbs.” Diane says through tears brought on by the memory of those final moments. “I’m so sorry I never told you. I wish I had, but I knew. I knew you would make it better and I wanted Rick. I wanted Rick to come back so bad. I thought if I waited, he would. That he was going to walk through those doors any second and make everything better just like he always did, but I waited too long.”

Diane leans against Rick’s shoulder to cry tears she had been too stubborn, or scared, to shed in front of her daughter or sister on her death bed, and, despite the sword in his chest, Rick takes her weight without complaint. Until a thought strikes her, and she pulls her head off his shoulder to look at him, her eyes clearing.

“But you did come! You’re here, Rick! You made it. You came to save me just like I knew you would.”

This time when Nimbus laughs, it’s a cruel sound. As if joy had been taken to the depths of Earth where it was twisted by heat and pressure into something black and oozing.

“Oh, that’s fantastic Richard. Just wonderful. Even now, thirty years after her death, she still thinks you’re going to save her. I hope that hurts.”

“It…i-it does.” Rick says, unable to free himself from the sword, unwilling to give up and die.

To her, Rick says,” I couldn’t…I couldn’t save you, Diane. I-I didn’t even…try. I’m so sorry, babe. I’m…”

Her headache’s gotten so bad, it’s almost impossible to take in what Rick’s saying, let alone respond to it. Before she can think of what to say, Nimbus kneels down in front of Rick and puts pressure on the sword, eliciting a loud groan from the man impaled on it.

“Stop!” Diane says, trying to push him away from Rick, but he ignores her.

“I won’t ever forgive you for her death. You know that right?”

“…Yeah.”

Nimbus presses sadistically on the sword again, looking thoughtful.

“However, hearing it speak, I think I’m starting to see an upside to this whole fiasco. If you truly care about this creature you’ve made so much, perhaps living with a reminder of your failures is a fitting punishment for your… misdeeds. In its own way. Honestly, I’d expect no less from that mind of yours. Only you could torture yourself so efficiently.”

With a quick tug, Nimbus pulls the sword out of Rick who slumps on the pavement holding his chest and gasping.

“That is all. You may leave.” Nimbus says to the uniformed officers who walk back to their cruisers without another word. To Rick he says, “call me when it’s over, and perhaps we truly can salvage whatever’s left of our brotherhood.”

The salty tang of seawater reaches Diane’s nose, indicating Nimbus’ ride has arrived. If any cars had come by while all this was going down, the flashing lights of the three cop cars must have convinced them to turn right back around.

“Nimbs, please wait.” She says, staring at the ground. “What about me? Do you forgive me?”

Diane’s headache is tunneling her vision and she has to do everything she can to hold on and hear the answer.

“I do forgive Diane. For everything. After all, who else but we two knew the pain of waiting for Richard to come home.”

After that, she can’t hold onto consciousness any longer.

• - -

Back in the car, Cousin Diane wakes with a groan. Every part of her body is aching, but especially her right shoulder, which is throbbing. Rick, looking as bad as she feels, pulls himself into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. He holds out his hand to her. In it is her protective chain. She takes it from him and hangs it around her neck.

“H-how’s the shoulder?”

“Not good. I think.”

Her hair feels damp, and when she holds some of it in front of her face to look, she sees it’s wet with blood.

“How much of that do you remember?” Rick asks. He must have found the keys she dropped earlier because they’re in his hand now.

“Some. I think. I don’t know. Are you okay?”

He touches the bloody hole in his shirt at his chest.

“Yeah. No biggie. Nothing some good horse tranquilizers can’t fix.”

Typical Uncle Rick bullshitting.

Although, for someone who claims to be so cool with everything, he does give her a pretty patronizing look when he turns the key and Gwen Stefani’s ‘Hollaback Girl’ starts playing over the speakers at full blast.

Oh please, it’s a jam.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

9:46pm

Thursday, January 21^st

Citadel of Ricks

Rick C-137 stares at the data pad in his hand while Rick A-89α lays on the floor in front of him coughing up blood and trying not to die.

“You’ll never find what you’re looking for,” The dying Rick says.

“You d-don’t know what I’m looking for, and I already did, but nice try.”

Rick shoots his other self in the head, putting him out of their collective misery and tosses the data pad aside.

One of the almost ten thousand Ricks registered as having Cousin Dianes in the citadel data banks must know what to say to get the worms to stop feeding.

He just needs to give them a little encouragement to remember it.

• - -

Ten hours and six Ricks later, and all the torture in the world – at least everything he can come up with – hasn’t encouraged  an answer out of any of them.

The Rick on the table in front of him now is close to death as well, and that’s probably for the best. He obviously doesn’t know the answer either, or he would have said by now; his mouth is basically the only thing left working at this point.

“She’s her now. She’s basically all her now.” The bloody and broken Rick on the table says, staring up at the ceiling sightlessly while he talks.

Rick says, “It’s not her, asshole. She’s dead. We killed her.”

“No. You’re wrong C-137. We remade her.”

“She’s dying again! C-congratulations. Now we all get to relive the worst moment of our lives.”

“It’s what w-we deserve.”

“It’s not about us!” Rick yells, but his outburst is wasted. The Rick on the table has already taken his last breath.

• - -

7:32am

Friday, January 22^nd

Smith Family Bathroom

Look at that hair. I never considered dying it.

Aunt Diane, are you me? Or am I you?

Aunt. I never thought I’d be an aunt.

I don’t know if it really counts with clones.

Don’t let Rick’s science stuff get to your head. It counts.

Science stuff. Did he like when you called it that?

Diane smiles. Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror makes it easier to talk to herself like this. Less disorienting. There’s two of them in her mind, but only for now. Cousin Diane is slipping away, holding on with fewer and fewer connections which are quickly turning into loose threads.

I’m so sorry, dear.

It’s not your fault, Aunt Diane. None of this is your fault.

I was the one who married him.

“Yeah, well, everyone makes mistakes.” She says out loud, and both Diane’s laugh together.

“Let’s go see Beth.”

“Okay! Maybe she’ll let us pet some horses.”

The two of them – who is really only one of them – leave the bathroom. Out in the hall, Rick, his lab coat stained with blood, sees her and pauses at the door to his room.

“There you are. Let’s go-“

“Not now, Rick. I’m busy.” That’s Aunt Diane. She’s been very snappy with Rick ever since finding out about all the years Beth spent alone after her death. Not that Cousin Diane blames her. Unfortunately, it makes Rick avoid her too which saddens Cousin Diane; she’s always found Rick’s presence comforting in a way nothing else really is. Of course, it might not just be the attitude that’s alienating him. It’s difficult to remember sometimes, but to anyone outside of her mind, it might only appear as though she's impersonating Aunt Diane. Possibly due to some kind of madness. It’s one of the reasons why she hasn’t told Beth what’s going on yet, or that she might not be around much longer. How could she possibly explain in a way that gets her daughter to believe her?

Rick grabs her arm to stop her from walking away and doesn’t let go even when she tries to pull away.

“You’re not busy. You quit school.”

You quit school?

I didn’t have a choice. It was that or fail.

Then you should have kept going until they failed you. Make yourself a problem for people not the other way around.

You sound like him.

“Diane.”

“I told you I’m busy, Rick. Let me go.”

“What you are is running out of time. We’re going to Snubon.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m going to see our daughter.”

Rick’s grip on her arm only tightens.

“So it’s like that, huh? L-listen to me, Diane. If I don’t figure this out, that brain you’re in is going to get eaten from the inside out. There won’t be anything left of you either, anywhere in this universe. So stop fucking around and let’s go.”

“No! I’m going to see Beth.”

“You’ll kill her too. Y-your niece. Or don’t you care because she’s a clone of you.”

“Stop trying to manipulate me, Rick. I’m not seventeen anymore…" Diane pauses her struggles and sighs. "Do you honestly think going to this place will help you save her brain?”

“Yes.”

What do you think?

I think that if Uncle Rick says it will help, we should trust him.

Diane sighs again. She honestly would have expected Marlene’s daughter to be better at seeing through Rick’s bullshit, but apparently she has too much of her namesake in her for that to be the case.

“Fine, but we’re going to be back before dinner. I told Beth I would make it.”

“Did you also tell her you’re dying?”

“Let’s just go Rick.”

• - -

It was harder than he thought, to find a universe where Snubon Tunnel Worms hadn’t been pillaged to extinction, but he managed to. Just because records show no known ways of extracting them doesn’t mean the locals who have grown their cultures up beside these things won’t know better.

It takes some convincing to get Diane to walk through the portal.

It’s annoyingly difficult to remember what kind of person he was the last time she knew him. Not that she seems interested in getting to know him again.

He’s prepared for the cold and has brought two full snow suits, complete with water proof boots and gloves. Diane looks incredible in hers against the snowy mountain backdrop. Incredibly annoyed that is.

“Rick, it’s freezing.”

“Put your hood up.”

She does, but it doesn’t even make her look any less annoyed. Oh well, they’re less than four hundred feet from the nearest village so she’ll live.

“I liked you better as Cousin Diane.”

“I liked you better when I thought you were probably dead. How could you leave Beth like that?”

Rick hadn’t, wouldn’t ever, can’t imagine how any version of himself did that when Diane was alive.

“She was better off with Marlene.” He says. They’ve come to the first hut and he knocks.

“She needed her father. What was so important that you had to leave anyways? I didn’t think to ask you when you were telling me all about how our daughter didn’t matter to you anymore.”

“You’re looking at it, baby.” Rick opens his arms and gestures at the snowy landscape around them.

“You’re an ass.”

“Marriage counseling is next door.” Says the furry simian-like being who’s opened the door.

“Really?” Rick asks while Diane takes in her first ever alien.

“No. You want in out of the cold or not?”

“Yes, please.”

They follow the creature into its hut, and it is indeed much warmer inside.

Once they’ve settled into cozy, if a little too large for them, seats and been given tea Rick scanned to make sure it didn’t contain anything toxic to them, the alien address Diane.

“It’s our duty to receive the afflicted, but you should know there’s no cure.”

“None at all?” Rick asks at the same time she says, “How did you know?”

“I can smell it in you.” The alien looks smarmy and adorable, like the old Maine Coon that used to spend all day sleeping on the counter of the drug store in her and Rick’s home town.

“Nothing?” Rick asks again, “No spiritual quest or special tea? If it’s a morals thing, like, say, the only cure is found in the heart of the planet’s cutest creature, that’s r-really no problem for us.”

“If there was a cure, a ‘special tea,’ no one would be happier about it than me.” The alien sips his own tea, no sign of deception in his face, and unfortunately Rick believes him.

Diane drinks politely from her tea as well, her face neutral even though Rick’s first sip had identified the drink as practically rancid.

To her, the alien says, “Have you made contact with your other self yet?”

“I think I am the other self.”

“Ah.”

“So what’s going to happen now?” She asks, shooting an annoyed look at Rick who understands she wants him to stop fidgeting, but now that he knows they’re not finding any answers here he’s ready to leave.

“You’re going to get a very rare opportunity to see things that are important to someone else through their eyes.”

“Sounds wicked.” She says.

“W-what about another brood queen? Would that work? You have them here, right?”

“No tunnel worm will respond to any queen but it’s mother.”

“I am its mother. I hatched it.” Rick snaps at the alien who looks at him appalled. Both Rick and Diane put down their hot teas.

“I don’t believe you. That’s impossible, and illegal to even attempt.”

“Well let’s say we live in a world where who gives a shit. If that were the case, then as its mother there must be something I can do.”

“Maybe we should go, Rick.” Diane says, acting like their host being uncomfortable is a sign that they should leave, when really it’s a sign they might finally be getting somewhere.

“What, are we supposed to believe you just let people die of this? Tunnel worms are point two percent of the living species on this planet. There is a cure!”

The alien looks unsurprised by Rick’s anger, like a grief counselor who’s been forewarned his patients might have violent outbursts.

He says, “We have stood guard over this planet and her resources for hundreds of millennia. Every visitor here is given the chance to respect the land they’re standing on. Most do. Some don’t. To those who don’t, I can only offer my understanding and forgiveness.”

“Fuck your forgiveness. Ninety percent of your planets in the multiverse are fucking husks! Shells! Mined out and your whole species slaughtered. So take your forgiveness and shove it up your fucking, furry asshole.”

“Rick! This isn’t his fault.”

“Sure, Diane. Side with the species that shares their planet with brain eating worms and instead of doing anything about it, they wave their hands and go ‘oh boy, oh I don’t know. I guess anyone who touches our shit is going to die, but that’s not our fault. That’s- we didn’t have anything to do with that.’”

“Put your arms down, Rick, you look ridiculous.” Diane says, sounding more exasperated than angry. Chastised, Rick drops his hands but continues frowning.

“Thank you so much for your time.” She says to the alien and stands up from the oversized chair.

The alien stands as well, setting down his tea.

“I can’t undo what’s been done to you, but if you’d like, I can share the teachings of the Worm with you. Many people in your situation find them very helpful.”

Rick groans, but Diane – always, he had thought, a prime candidate for cult-assimilation due to her politeness and naivete – asks, “Is it information about the worm?”

“Of a sort. This book contains valuable lessons, and comfort, for the infected. It can help you find peace and understanding under the influence of the worm.”

“Let’s just go.” Rick says.

The alien takes a book from a curtain-covered nook in the wall and holds it out to Diane. On the cover is an image of a tunnel worm, just like the one in the video he and Morty had watched, ascending into a sunbeam-streaked sky. To someone whose only real exposure to religion was Christianity, it probably looks pretty Christ-like to Diane.

“Oh, like a Bible.” She says, finally catching up, and Rick feels all the things he’s always felt for her. 

“Bible. Geez, Diane. That’s a, that’s a very planetary mindset. You’re embarrassing me. I apologize for my-“

“You embarrass yourself, Rick Sanchez!” She snaps, turning red even though what this fucking piece of worm-cult shit thinks of her should be of literally zero consequence.

“Well, anyways, it’s my duty to receive the infected, but I don’t want to keep you too long.”

“I embarrass myself, Diane? You want me to embarrass myself?”

Rick takes a gun out of his coat and it’s not his portal gun.

“Put that away.”

“No, you’re fucking right, Diane. I-I wanna see the literature. I don’t wanna be rude. I don’t wanna embarrass you, Diane. Show me, g-give me the fucking book. I wanna see it.”

“You don’t have to show him that.” She says to the alien who’s looking at the gun in Rick’s hand.

“I understand that this is a difficult time that leads to many emotions, but I think if you-“

“Oh, d-do you? Do you understand? How about I blow a few holes in your head, and we’ll all see what valuable lessons you learn.”

Diane smiles the exact same way Morty does when he thinks Rick isn’t paying attention, and something like intense joy hits Rick in the chest, wiping away his artificial anger.

“Rick! That’s enough.” Diane says, losing the smile in favor of a disappointed frown before she realizes Rick’s already seen it. “This guy doesn’t know us and he doesn’t care. He was just being polite. I want to leave now.”

He considers shooting the guy anyways out of spite, but holsters his weapon without giving into the urge. See, Morty, I am changing. He’ll have to tell that little shit later, preferably at an ideal moment to make a point he wouldn’t otherwise be able to make.

The alien sees them to the doorway with obvious relief, and, once they’re back outside, Rick pulls Diane’s hood up to cover her ears then his own.

“So what now?” She asks.

He stifles a burp.

“W-we could go to a universe where you didn’t die, do a brain scan, put those memories into a brain without a worm, and put that brain into this body.”

“That wouldn’t really solve the problem, would it?”

For a moment Rick feels almost guilty, thinking about her. The other her. Diane squeezes his arm comfortingly.

“It’s okay, Rick, I like her too. I don’t want to take this life away from her.” She says.

“She’s listening, isn’t she?”

“Sure. That’s why I said that. The second she’s gone, we’ll do your plan and destroy her brain and all her memories because fuck anyone who’s not us.”

“You know, there’s a you in the past who would have been just fine with that.”

“People change, Rick. I changed.”

He waits for her to say he’s changed too, but she doesn’t. When he doesn’t feel like waiting any more, he opens a portal.

• - -

Rick’s portal takes them into a cave-like tunnel on what she assumes is the same planet, it’s still very chilly even out of the snow, and she watches as he spends half an hour doing an – unintentional – impression of a slap-stick comedy routine catching one of those worms. By the end of it he is sweaty and dirty and slimy and furious, and Diane is laughing like a school girl in the twenties watching her first Charlie Chaplin film.

“Rick, please, no more I can’t stand it.”

Covered in slime all the way up to his elbows, Rick slams the cage door shut on the worm, ignoring its yelping cries. He’s looking at her like he wants her to stop laughing and that he may be considering the pros and cons of using non-lethal violence to get that to happen.

Aunt Diane feels a flush heat her cheeks at the thought. Inside her head, she also feels her younger counterpart react in the same, less-than-appropriate, way.

We’re quite the pair aren’t we?

This is all you Aunt Diane! I don’t think anything that old fuck does is hot. He’s my uncle!

Whatever you say dear.

“Can we go home now?” She says out loud to Rick, but he must have noticed her internal pause.

“She in there with you?”

“Yes.”

“How much does she remember?”

“About what?”

“A-anything.”

Diane shakes her head. It’s not a question she can answer; all the memories feel like hers.

“What street did you grow up on?” Rick asks, being more specific.

“West Davin.”

“And her?”

Nothing. No answer, just a large, blank expanse of space in her mind where thoughts, feelings, and memories should be. It’s a sad thought that it’s her fault her young niece has lost all those important things because her own have taken over the space they’re sharing. Worse, she’s not even sure that what’s left of Cousin Diane is aware how much is missing.

“I don’t know. Can you give it back to her, Rick? Everything I’ve taken.”

“I can. I will.” Rick takes her face in his hands and they both ignore the slime on them. “I’ll take the first brain scan I h-have of her, with both, with you both in there, and put it back in. It’ll happen again. Everything will happen all over again, until I can figure out how to detach the worm from everything else, but I’ll keep doing it until I do.”

And how long exactly will Rick continue to put the three of them through that? Trap them in an endless loop of loss and return. Loss and return. The answer, of course, is forever. He’ll never stop.

We can’t let him do that, Aunt Diane.

I know.

We have to be brave.

Yes.

“It’s okay, baby.” She takes his hands away from her face. “Let’s just go home now. I want to see Beth.”

• - -

That night the family eats together, and if anyone notices Cousin Diane’s mannerisms seem different when she recounts the story of Rick getting outmaneuvered by a slimy worm – modified just enough to prevent any questions about what he was catching the worm for – they don’t mention it.

Only Rick notices the way Diane looks at them, gathered all together: like she’s seeing the most beautiful piece of art for the first, and probably last, time in her life.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

12:51pm

Sunday, January 24^th

Rick’s Garage

Eventually, Cousin Diane is completely gone. It makes ‘Aunt’ Diane, somehow both an original and a copy in this body, feel sick having to exist in this strange world alone. Last night she dreamed she was in grade school, watching the tv as New York City’s World Trade Center towers got hit by two successive airplanes. It was horrible, and the whole thing left her feeling young, confused, and devastated. She woke up in a cold sweat, feeling as though she’d lived through it instead of just dreaming it.

She doesn’t tell Rick about the incident, but if she had, he would have been able to explain she was going through exactly what Cousin Diane had but in reverse. Living through her cloned nieces most formative memories as the worm re-ingests the electrical impulses in her brain looking for any nutrients it missed the first time.

This morning, Beth asked her where her phone was, but she had no idea how to answer that. As far as she can tell, there isn’t a communal one in the house. Each person appears to have their own personal one in their pocket, but if she ever had such a thing, she hasn’t seen it, and now Cousin Diane isn’t even here to ask.

It’s like being both an intruder and a prisoner; a thief that got too deep into their disguise and now has no choice but to keep pretending.

Only Rick understands. Today, he comes up behind her while she’s doing laundry and wraps his arms around her stomach as though they’re still young lovers.

“Hey, baby. How you doing? I love watching you wash my clothes.”

“Screw off, Sanchez.” She tries to push his arms off her, a little surprised by his tone and a lot annoyed. He doesn’t let go and, worse, his hands start to move up towards her breasts.

“I’m doing laundry for the house, not you, so that Beth won’t have to. It wouldn’t kill you to help-“

Unable to force his hands away from her chest, Diane turns around so they’re face to face but, seeing him, her words die in her mouth.

“You like it, babe? G-god you must get so tired staring at that ugly, old face all the time. We can both be young. Just like before, baby. Imagine everything we could do together this time.”

Rick leans in to kiss her on the lips and she doesn’t even think to resist. It’s too shocking seeing her husband, looking exactly as he had the day he left her, standing here now as if no time had passed at all. The only difference she can see is his outfit; instead of his lab coat, he’s got on a simple, zip-up jacket she’s never seen before.

“What the fuck did he do to your hair?” Rick continues talking, pretending he doesn’t notice how shocked she is to see him like this. He takes a handful of her hair and smells it in a way that gives her the heebie-jeebies, as if some deep part of herself is trying to warn her about something.

When he’s done, he tries to kiss her again, but this time she’s ready and pushes his face away. A look of annoyance comes over him when she resists, and he grabs her hands pinning them to the washing machine behind her forcefully. He’s playing around – he must be. Playing some game she’s not in on, and not in the mood for. He knows she’s wearing the necklace after all, the one he gave to Cousin Diane to protect her, so he must know nothing he’s doing can hurt her. But that doesn’t explain why he’s still trying to kiss her, why he’s forcing his body against hers like he can’t read the obvious signals she’s giving off that she doesn’t want to do this.

Rick has never, not in all the years she’s known him, done something to her like this.

“What are you doing? Get off me and go fix your face. You look like an asshole.”

Insulting Rick is always a sure-fire way to get his attention when he’s fixating, but also, she kind of means it.

“You’d rather I look old? Like some piece of g-geriatric shit.”

“You are old.”

A second after she says it, Diane sees the look on Rick’s face and flinches, certain that he’s going to hit her for real. More than one friend had told her in the past that if he’s violent with other people, he’ll be violent with her, but she never believed them. That’s just not Rick. He always punches up. It’s not about intimidation with him; he’s just got some deep-seated need to get his ass kicked every so often. Anyways, if it’s manipulation he’s after, there’s always the emotional kind. Like that time he started a minor, local economic crisis by changing all the clocks and calendars in the whole city back to gaslight five-year-old Beth into believing her birthday was actually next week and he hadn’t really forgotten it.

But hit her? No. Not Rick. Except… there’s something very different about Rick today, and it’s not just the way he looks. He smells clean, like a new car, no sign of his usual aftershave or any alcohol. Ever since she woke out of a fugue state to see her much older husband staring at her, there’s practically been a cloud of liquor surrounding him at all times, but not today. Conversely, the threat of sobriety makes her even more afraid of what he might be capable of.

Rather than hitting her he says, “I forgot what a frigid bitch you are,” And squeezes her chin between his fingers tightly.

“What?”

To her left, the door to the kitchen opens, and Rick drops his hands and moves away from her so fast she almost doesn’t see him do it. One second he’s pinning her to the washing machine, and the next he’s two feet away smiling disarmingly as Beth comes in carrying another basket of dirty clothes, dressed up for work with her purse on one arm.

“Here’s some more from Morty’s room. Thank you so much for…. Uh, Dad?” Beth stops when she catches sight of her father looking so different from how he had this morning.

“Hey, sweetheart. Looks like you girls are pretty busy today. And here I was hope- hoping the three of us could go out for ice cream.”

“Oh, uh, that sounds… didn’t you say you and Morty were going out today? And what’s with the new look?”

“Don’t you like it, sweetie. I thought maybe you were getting tired of that creaky, old, bag of bones.”

“No one thinks you’re a creaky bag of bones, dad. And we can’t go out today, I got called into an emergency at work, but maybe tomorrow.”

Rick’s smile becomes strained as Beth talks, and Diane wants to say something to her daughter, something like a warning, but doesn’t know what exactly. ‘Watch out Beth I think your father’s sober’? That would sound crazy even if Beth didn’t think she was her cousin and not her mother.

“Work can wait. We’re going out on a little-“

“No, dad. Work can’t wait. Talk to Jerry if you need someone to go with you.”

“Don’t touch her!” Diane can tell Rick doesn’t like being cut off and, when she gets the feeling he’s going to lunge at Beth, she loses her cool and shouts at him.

Beth looks at her like she’s got a screw loose, and Rick, who hasn’t actually moved despite her sudden fear, smirks.

“Is everything alright, Cousin Diane?”

“Yes. I, um…”

“Oh, hold on a sec. That’s my phone.”

Beth puts the laundry basket down and pulls her tiny, cordless phone out of her pocket. Her expression goes from placid to surprised to afraid, and she looks up from the phone in her hand to her father who’s smiling at her wickedly. It’s completely impossible, but something inside Diane is convinced that the person calling Beth’s phone right now is Rick. The real Rick.

Then who is this?

“Who are you?” Beth asks, but the man doesn’t answer.

Diane’s brain has plenty of time to imagine getting to Beth before this thing that looks like Rick can do anything to her, but her body is so much slower than her mind and before she can stop him, before Beth can even answer her phone, he pulls out a gun and shoots both of them. Not to death. Not even to injury. The gun he uses shoots out bindings that crackle with electricity and wrap around her arms and legs so tightly, Diane loses her balance and falls hard onto the concrete floor of the garage.

One of the bands is wrapped around her mouth too, and she can’t even shout to Beth to see if she’s okay. After a few seconds of unnerving silence, she hears the not-Rick dragging Beth stiffly across the floor. Then it’s her turn. Her conviction that this man is not Rick wavers when he drags her through what is obviously one of Rick’s liquidy green portals, but returns when she hears him place a call out on Beth’s phone and, after several staticky rings, Rick’s familiar voice comes over the speaker.

“Beth. Beth, where are you? The cameras in the house have stopped working.”

“I told you to stop fucking around with me, but you just couldn’t help yourself.”

Their voices sound so similar to each other’s, it’s eerie.

Try as she might, Diane is unable to struggle herself into a position where she can see Beth, and is stuck on her back staring up at a huge domed glass ceiling that appears to look straight out into space instead.

“You’re making a big mistake.” She hears Rick’s voice say through the phone speaker.

“I’ll tell you what, let’s play fair. I’ll give you until the count of three to find us. One…two…three.” Diane hears the clunk of a large switch, and then a shimmery purple mist rises to cover the dome around them. “Oh, too late. Looks like no one’s portalling in here now. You’re always just a little too late to save them, aren’t you C-137?”

“Listen, Prime. W-we’ve been going at this for a long time, and I know you think fucking with me like this is a good way to intimidate me, but I promise you’re only pissing me off more.”

“Oh no, I’m so afraid. Let’s see what Beth has to say about it. Making it quick for them was my mistake last time, but don’t worry I won’t make it again. Do you think it will hurt more, hearing her cry for you before I kill her? I do.”

It’s so much worse that Diane can hear his movements, that she knows Beth is somewhere nearby equally helpless, but she can’t so much as turn her head to look. Diane hears the click of bindings falling away, but not hers.

 The man Rick referred to as Prime, steps his heavy boots on the floor where Beth must be laying and says, “Go ahead, ask your daddy if he’s going to save you.”

Silence. Diane can easily picture Beth wearing her father’s mask of indignance and hates Rick for it. Why couldn’t he have passed on humility and good manners? Why does Beth have to suffer now because of who Diane chose to marry?

The sound of a solid kick connecting with her daughter draws a furious yell from Diane, muffled by her bindings, but nothing from Beth besides a clipped groan she does her best to suppress.

The not-Rick with Rick’s face and voice calls their daughter a dumb cunt and then says into the phone, “Whatever. You get the point. I have them, I’m going to kill them if you don’t come here. Let’s settle this. Man to… well I’d call you a man, but you’re really more like a neutered dog at this point.”

“Oh, are you still talking? Sorry I wasn’t listening on account of I’m building the gun I’m going to kill you with.”

“You have one hour before I start doing things to them that would get me convicted of war crimes on Garflax-8.”

There’s no answer from the phone. Either he hung up or Rick did.

His boots pad across the floor until they’re right next to her head.

“In case you aren’t aware, that was a reference to the fucked up shit the Garflaxiens did to their women and children the last time they had a civil war. I’ve seen the videos. I mean, those assholes have laws banning shit you wouldn’t believe.”

He kneels down to be near her head.

“A-all in the name of peace.”

He clicks something on his belt and all her bindings fall away at once. As soon as they do, she intends to spring to her feet and scratch his eyes out, but is stopped when she realizes both her legs have turned into useless, painfully tingly appendages now that her circulation has been restored. She hisses and rubs at them, unable to stand but at least she can scoot over to where Beth is massaging her own legs and injured stomach, and put herself between her daughter and the imposter. Who, done with his attempts at intimidation, no longer seems that interested in them. He’s working at something on an overturned piece of construction equipment, pouring liquid between vials in such a Rick-way that Diane once again finds herself question if he isn’t Rick.

Perhaps he had split himself in two doing some experiment or another and this is his Mr. Hyde. Yes, that seems like a very Rick thing to do. But if that’s the case, how does she know she can trust any version of Rick?

And why does he refer to this version of himself as Prime?

“Beth, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. But we need to find a way out of here.”

“I know, but how?” Diane points up to the dome around them. It looks out into black space above, and to the sides, and she’s pretty sure that if they could see through the floor, space would be below them as well.

Wherever they are, it isn’t on Earth.

“His ship.” Beth nods past Diane’s shoulder, and she turns to see there is some sort of small, futuristic spaceship in the center of the room. Much cleaner than the one she’s used to as if this Rick thought himself too good to drive the ship built out of parts scavenged from her father’s junk yard.

“Can you drive that thing?”

“Maybe.” Beth says, looking skeptical.

“Stop whispering back there!”

Even quieter, practically just mouthing the words, Beth says to her, “Can you distract him?”

“Maybe.” Diane mouths back.

If this really is Rick, or some part or version of him, then maybe she can. People who see Rick’s inventions, the finished products, tend to think he built them all in order, logically, one fitted piece after the other, from the inside out, but after years of watching him work she knows that’s hardly the case. How many times has she seen Rick screw down the casing on something only to open it up two minutes later because he realized the whole thing won’t run unless he compensates for this or adjusts for that.

Inventing isn’t a perfectly planned build, it’s an ongoing experiment, and if this Rick has laid some sort of trap, then they are not about to witness the first block fall in a perfectly constructed Rube-Goldberg machine. Instead, they’re in the middle of a, likely messy, experiment, and this Rick is hoping he’s smart enough to adjust to every new problem that pops up in real time.

Maybe he can, but in order to do that he must be compensating for a massive number of variables at any given time. The immutable contradiction of Rick’s inventing mind is that he is never more distracted than when he is completely focused.

If she and Beth come up with an escape plan, he’ll be able to guess what it is and thwart it in a second if, and only if, he knows there’s something to thwart. She had once come across Rick in their basement, soaked in water up to his knees, because he’d been working on some new type of pressure resistant glass and hadn’t noticed one of the pipes burst. As long as their escape plan acts like that water, completely under his radar of potential problems, they’ll be able to drive that ship right out of here without him even noticing.

"Take this." She says to Beth and pulls the chain off her own neck, handing it to her daughter.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

12:51pm

Sunday, January 24^th

Rick’s Ship somewhere in the Milky Way

“Holy shit, Morty, that was a totally classic Rick and Morty adventure we just had.”

“It sure was, Rick. Man, I-I-I really enjoyed doing that with you. Just the two of us, on a classic, totally classic, two-some, duo, adventure.”

“Yep. Just classic, grandfather-grandson bonding time. That’s, that’s the-“

[Rick, the house AI is offline.]

His car’s programmed voice relays the information without any concern, but then he hadn’t programmed it to show concern.

“Maybe you just lost contact with it.”

[No. It was disabled.]

“P-pull up the house cameras.”

[I cannot. The entire system is unresponsive. I believe it has been wiped.]

“Rick, what’s going on?”

“Call your sister.”

Rick pulls up the car’s computer interface. To Morty he says, “If she’s not home, tell her to stay that way.” He can see right away the car is right. His system here still has full access to everything stored on the car’s internal memory and connection to every data bank, including the US governments, that he keeps track of. Everything right where it’s supposed to be; all except the house.

Everything in his personal lab. All his current projects. The family’s backup brain scans. All of it gone. Dark.

The sudden vulnerability of it all hits him like a thrill. Rick lets the electric feeling run through him while he listens to Morty tell Summer to stay out of the house, yes again, no he doesn’t know when it will be safe to return.

On his own phone, he calls Beth but it goes to voicemail.

“M-maybe we should call dad.”

“Sure.”

Should he tell Morty? That if the house system really has been compromised, the two of them, and the rest of the family as well, are now closer to mortality than they’ve been in a very long while. The decoys dead. Their brain scans gone. His phoenix protocol permanently suspended.

Nah, the kid’ll just overthink it. Everything’s fine right now. No reason to stir shit up. Morty’s not exactly a ‘works well under pressure’ kind of guy.

Rick’s phone rings. It’s Beth.

“Beth? Where are you? The house cameras aren’t working.”

“I told you to stop fucking around with me, but you j-just couldn’t help yourself.”

Morty has a visible reaction to the voice coming over the speaker, his face paling and goosebumps breaking out over his arms. It’s a rare enough occurrence to be surprising, but Rick feels a surge of guilt breaking over him like a wave. Had he let go of his attempts to track and sabotage Prime after the Morty’s room incident? No, of course not. Had his unwillingness to do so now put the entire family in mortal danger? Maybe. But they both knew, he and Prime, that he was never going to quit looking, so the threats had always been meant for deaf ears. Right? Right?

He wasn’t going to let it go. No one had been expecting him to do that, had they?

“You’re making a big mistake.” He says, pulling up Beth’s tracking data and seeing she’s close to Diane but no longer on Earth. She’s alive at least. If Prime decides to kill her with the house system offline, clone or not, there will be no bringing that version of Beth back to life.

“I’ll tell you what, let’s play fair. I’ll give you to the count of three to come find us. One…two…three… Oh, too late. Looks like no one’s portalling here now. You’re always just a little too late to save them, aren’t you C-137?”

Ignoring Morty’s anxious glances, Rick tucks the phone between his shoulder and ear while digging around in the back of the car to look over what he’s brought with them. If the garage has been compromised, this is all he has.

“I know you think fucking with me about this is a good way to intimidate me, Prime, but I promise all you’re doing is pissing me off more.”

A tire repair kit, Summer’s misplaced textbook, Morty’s disgusting socks, a week’s worth of empty liquor and beer bottles, and a threadbare sweater filled with holes. Hardly an arsenal.

Over the phone, Prime says, “Oh no, I’m so afraid. Let’s see what Beth has to say about it. Do you think she’ll cry for Daddy this time? Go ahead. Ask your Daddy if he’s going to save you.”

Rick passes the phone to Morty. The longer he keeps Prime talking, the less time his counterpart will have for scheming, but that’s no reason to play along with his mind games. He grabs the tire repair kit, Morty’s socks, and an empty bottle and brings them up to the front seat.

“Blah blah blah blah blah.”

Rick grabs the phone back.

“Oh, you’re still talking? Sorry, I didn’t hear you on account of I’m building the gun I’m going to kill you with.”

“You have an hour before I start doing things to them that would get me convicted of war crimes on Garflax-8.”

Rick hangs up the phone.

“What’s Garflax-8?”

“Don’t think about it. Hand me that mirror.”

Morty does and Rick looks at the scattered dots on the car’s projected screen. Two of them for him and Morty, two for Beth and Diane, and one extra life form blinking near the women’s biosignatures. He wants to keep looking at that dot and has to consciously resist the urge.

Is Prime lying about him not being able to portal there? No, more likely he had given that brief window only to tease Rick, throw him off his game, or possibly to get him to rush into it and walk right into a trap. Just like Morty always says he does.

Better to fly the ship there. To take the time to think.

“Last chance to bail. I’ve got just enough time to drop you off at Jerry Daycare.”

“I’m not going to bail, Rick. I’m not my dad.”

Harsh, but fair.

“Fine, but there’s one more thing I have to tell you Morty, before we get there. Okay? I-it's important. It's very serious.”

“What?”

“A-all your videogame, all your save files, they all just got erased Morty. When the house system went offline. They’re all gone now. You-you’re gonna have to start them all over again. There’s nothing left. You’ll probably have to buy them again too. Unless, you have the physical copies. I’m always telling you to get physical copies of that shit, Morty, and now look at it. All of it gone. Like-like it was never there.”

“Aww geez, Rick, seriously?”

“Yeah. Sorry kid.”

• - -

Rick recognizes the abandoned space stadium Prime is holed up in as soon as he and Morty arrive, and it’s not because he and Prime share some deep, psychic connection only accessible through their practically identical subconsciousness’s – they don’t, he’s checked – it’s just that the Flesh Curtains played here once.

Not important. Don’t think about it. Just another of Prime’s little mind games.

The place has clearly been abandoned for several decades now which is a pretty apt metaphor for Rick’s interest in performing music.

“What is this place, Rick?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“But mom and Cousin Diane are in there?”

“Yeah, according to the tracking data I have because I implant everyone I love with beacons. Anything else you want me to spell out for you again, or c-can we move the plot along?”

“If he’s you, we’re never going to beat him are we?”

“He’s not me, Morty. I’m me, and let’s just focus on the present problems, alright? Leave the hypotheticals for never.”

Rick triple-checks Morty’s space suit. If everything goes to plan, the kid will sneak in the back door and surprise Prime with his unexpected, and impeccable, competence at exactly the right time. If not, well then they’ll probably all die. For good this time. The thought is exhilarating in all the right ways. Wrong ways.

Right ways.

“Morty, after this do you wanna go do something? Anything. Doesn’t have to be an adventure. We could go anywhere.”

“S-sure, Rick. Let’s get mom back, and then whatever you want. Maybe we can really go to Boob World this time.”

“Yeah, maybe, buddy. Maybe.”

It’s almost been an hour. Although Rick might be a little curious to see what Prime is willing to resort to these days if pressed, he doubts Morty will be as excited for their next adventure if he lets Beth become a victim to any of the shit that happened on Garflax-8.

“Alright, kid, not that I need you or anything, but try not to die out there. I don’t have enough flurbos to buy a new Morty, and I lost my last voucher in a rigged game of craps.”

“I love you too, Grandpa Rick.” Morty says with a sigh. “And if mom doesn’t make it out of this alive, I-I’ll kill you myself.”

“Fair enough. Take this.”

“What?”

“Byeee.”

Rick shoves his portal gun into Morty’s hand and hits the button to eject them both from the ship. Before the kid can get his bearings, Rick’s already engaged his boot thrusters and is heading off alone towards the foreboding stadium.

Prime couldn’t possibly be certain they both played this stadium in their respective timelines, Rick thinks as he jerry-rigs the decrepit decompression chamber to fulfil its function for the first time in probably a decade or more. Perhaps it’s not a mind game at all. Perhaps Prime picked this place purely out of personal nostalgia.

Right, and maybe tomorrow Rick will dedicate himself to world peace.

[Follow]

A drone hovering several feet above his eyeline, and apparently awaiting his arrival, instructs him, then floats off down a long-abandoned hallway lit by flickering emergency lights.

Rick removes his space helmet with a hiss and follows the drone.

• - -

“I have to pee.” Diane says, holding her hand up like a schoolgirl.

“Fucking classic, Diane.” Rick Prime grumbles, not looking up from his beakers. “Just go wherever.”

“Okay.”

Freed from the worst of the tingles in her extremities, she gets up and walks over to an important looking pile of equipment.

“Not there!” The imposter Rick sees what she’s doing just in time before she pulls down her pants and starts going, which she is fully committed to doing if that’s what it takes to distract him.

He grabs her by the arm hard enough to make the point that, even angry, Rick has never really grabbed her by the arm all that hard.

“You might be tempted to piss me off because you think I’m going to kill you e-either way, but I promise you I can make it so much worse than you could even imagine.”

She looks him right in the eyes as he threatens her and prays that Beth’s quiet movements towards his workbench are going unnoticed by him.

“Honestly, Rick. You’ve been promising to show me things I can’t imagine since the day we met, and the best thing I’ve seen so far is your back when you walked away.”

He looks at her intensely for a few seconds and says, “I’ve killed you a hundred times.”

“You kill everything you touch.”

“Your daughters an alcoholic who’s failing her k-kids just like you failed her.”

“You think you’re so great, but you’re going to be forgotten the second you die.”

Rick’s grip is making her hand go all tingly again, but it’s working. Whether Rick ever truly loved her or not, he has always had a soft spot for them. Whatever fucked up dynamic it is that makes Rick and Diane, Rick and Diane. If it’s true that this Rick has murdered her hundreds of times then, no matter what he tells himself, she’s obviously on his goddamn mind.

Prime takes his free hand and grabs her by hair too, pulling her close to his face. It might be counterintuitive, but Diane hates how clean he smells. Alcohol or not, the Rick Sanchez she knows never smelled like anything less than a working man, one day out from a shower, who picked a favorite cologne in his mid-teens and never looked back.  

“I’ve had pussy so tight since I left you, I can’t believe your loose shit ever made me cum.”

“Oh please, Rick. I don’t even need to know you to know you’re lying. I’m supposed to believe anyone’s spreading their legs for you in that discount rack Sears and Roebuck tracksuit. Good thing your dad’s dead. He deserved better than a classless son like you."

The Rick that’s not Rick laughs delightedly, looking amused right up until he doesn’t, and then he smacks Diane hard enough across the face to send her to her knees. Sharp pain like fire sears across her cheek and mouth and even teeth, all the way up through her gums. She can tell without touching it that he's split her lip open in at least one spot.

“This discount rack tracksuit could have paid for your daddy’s scrapyard a hundred times over if he’d ever been smart enough to sell it to me. But that’s good. I-I almost started to miss us for a second there. Not enough to spare your life, but…”

He turns around suddenly as if he’s finally noticed Beth had been quiet for a while, but Beth is on the ground again, right where he left her still rubbing the sleep from her legs. He looks at Diane on the ground, expressionlessly, and then goes back to his work bench without saying another word. Paranoia, then, must be a universal Rick trait. Now he’s either going to notice Beth poured the crimson contents of his beaker into a nearby plant and replaced it with a half-sized bottle of Sutter Home chardonnay she pulled out of her purse, or he’s not.

Unhelpfully, the old plant she’s poured the concoction into droops further, several of its already sad leaves falling to the floor. Luckily for them, the imposter Rick doesn’t seem to notice the change in the plant at all and, rather than inspecting his beakers, he pulls up his sleeve to reveal three watches, touching one of them to reveal a blue holographic map. He zooms out on it until two blinking dots come into view. One of them is on the move, getting closer to the other. There are no other dots on his map. Satisfied he closes the map and covers his watches back up.

“Alright. W-who wants to drink first. It won’t hurt, I promise.”

“I will.” Diane says immediately, afraid that if she doesn’t show any signs of whatever that concoction was supposed to do, he’ll realize the deception. If that happens, she’d rather he take it out on her than Beth.

“Always the m-martyr.”

He grabs her by the chin and tilts her head back, pouring half the contents of the beaker down her throat and making sure she swallows. Besides the quality of the wine, Diane's biggest issue with the drink is that Beth had it in her purse and was intending on taking it to work with her. But she pretends it tastes awful anyways as she swallows assuming whatever was originally in that beaker would have.

Satisfied, he does the same with Beth before tossing the beaker off to the side where it shatters. For the briefest moment, Diane senses him looking at the spot the beaker shattered with slightly narrowed eyes, and she cries out, “Oh lord, I’m going to throw up!”

“Don’t!”

He grabs her by the hair and covers her mouth with his hand. Without uncovering her mouth, he pulls a needle and syringe from his pocket and sticks it into her shoulder without even bothering to move her shirt out of the way.

“Wish we had more time, baby, but you’ll be dead before you wake up.” He whispers in her ear as Diane loses her ability to stay conscious faster than she can form a reply.

• - -

Aunt Diane, please wake up. Please you have to get up! We can’t stay like this, Beth’s in danger!

Diane drags herself out of the deepest sleep she’s ever experienced one brain cell at a time. She’s so tired, so unbelievably groggy, every fiber of her being is crying out for her to stay unconscious, but something in the back of her mind won’t let her.

No, not something. Someone.

Cousin Diane, is that you? But there’s no response. That’s okay though. She’s awake now, staring tiredly up at a glass ceiling through which she can see only stars.

With arms like lead, Diane pulls herself up and crawls over to where Beth is laying. There’s no sign of the imposter Rick now, but who knows when he’ll be back. She starts shaking Beth roughly, calling her name but not too loudly, not wanting to draw the attention of the imposter. Beth doesn’t respond so Diane pinches her hard, right on the ear, hoping to wake her. Now might be their only chance to escape.

Beth’s eyes begin to flutter, but it’s too late, a pneumatic door on the other side of the room opens, and she must lay down quickly and feign unconsciousness. If she gets stuck with another one of those needles, there’s no telling if she’d be able to wake up again.

Eyes closed, Diane feels her arms get lifted and her body dragged across the ground. When he’s satisfied with where she’s at, he goes back for Beth.

For a few minutes there’s silence, then the pneumatic doors open again. Risking a peek, she opens one of her eyes to see if the imposter is leaving again, but instead she sees Rick – old Rick, her Rick – standing between the open doors. When the imposter starts talking to him, she closes her eyes tightly again. She and Beth are just going to have to wait for their moment, and hope that with Rick’s help all three of them can get out of this alive.

• - -

Morty holds his grandfather’s portal gun tight to his chest exactly like he used to hold his toys as a young child looking for comfort while Rick zooms away and leaves him alone in space.

He knows they’re in deeper shit than usual today, but thinking about it too much will only leave him paralyzed with indecision.

Morty engages his own boot thrusters and heads in a different direction than Rick, to a spot his suit map says he should be able to cut through the hull of this floating stadium and enter where there’s no cameras left online.

Rick will get them through this just like he always does. In his heart, Morty truly believes that.

• - -

Rick follows the drone to a pneumatically sealed door as tall as two of him and made out of tempered metal as thick as his fat, fucking cock. Or maybe a little thicker but, hey, who’s checking. It hisses open at his approach, and on the other side is a giant room with no walls or ceiling. Instead, the platform-like floor is encased by a glass sphere. Open, infinite space stares back at Rick from all sides.

In the center of the room is Rick Prime, standing next to his pretentious space ship. All straight lines and unoxidized metal. Pansy, piece of shit, ass, motherfucker. Twenty feet to his right is Beth, splayed out and unconscious. Twenty feet to his left is Diane in the same condition. Behind him, the glass dome is lined with several explosive charges. Not enough to blow the whole place up, but the perfect amount to compromise the air supply and give Rick just enough time to make some dramatic choice probably.

“I won’t insult you with-“

Prime stops talking when Rick pulls out his improvised gun, but doesn’t flinch or attempt to move at all when Rick fires. That’s fine, he was aiming at the ship anyways. With an elegant snap, Morty’s dirty socks launch a previously consumed bottle of Heineken under the ship where it comes to a rolling rest somewhat anticlimactically, but that’s only because it’s impossible to see all the nanobots escaping from the bottle onto Prime’s ship with the naked eye.

“You done? As I was… Y-you know what? That threw me off. J-just, fuck it.”

Prime raises a detonator in his hand and presses the button on top. The charges on the dome behind him blow cannonball-sized holes in the glass through which air immediately begins rushing out as the arena around them begins to depressurize. Spider webs of cracks spread out from the holes and threaten to widen them once the pressure becomes great enough.

Before Prime had even taken out the detonator, Rick already made his choice between the women and now he’s running. Diane has the chain he gave her and as long as she’s still wearing it she can survive without oxygen long enough for him to beat Prime or die trying. Beth on the other hand is completely vulnerable and Rick needs to get to her, cut the protective implant out of his own arm, shove it down her throat and-

Beth’s throat. Uh, oh. As soon as he gets to her, he’s on his knees preparing to do just that when he notices, just above the collar of her shirt, the protective chain glinting under the platform’s lights. Of course Diane would give it to her. Why hadn’t he assumed that? Forty feet away, Diane’s limp body is being dragged across the floor by the pressure of the escaping air. In seconds she’ll be dragged out into space where she’ll die. Horribly. Again.

He's too late. Prime was right. He’s always too late.

Or not.

Still standing by his ship, Prime is watching him, waiting for Rick to do the inevitable and remove the device protecting himself to save his daughter, completely oblivious to the fact that Diane is no longer being dragged across the floor, but has gotten to her feet, cat-like and silent, and started tip-toe sprinting away from the deadly hole in the glass and back toward the still oxygenated area of the room. Rick makes a conscious effort not to follow her progress with his eyes.

Prime fingers another detonator on his belt.

Rick’s heart misses a beat. There’s a hand slipping into his jacket and it’s not his. The panic is only momentary, and then he realizes there’s only one person close enough to reach into his jacket. For whatever reason Prime must have thought both Beth and Diane were unconscious, but they’re not, and now maybe the three of them have a chance to turn this all around on him. Four, including Morty, but he’s yet to show up and Rick will just have to trust he’s going to appear right when they need him.

Maybe. Or maybe Prime’s defense system around this place is better than he anticipated and Morty’s already dead. Oh well, no way to know now.

He manages not to flinch as Beth’s hand moves to the shoulder holster under his jacket and threatens to tickle his sensitive sides.

“So what now?” He calls out, hoping the way he’s sitting will shield Beth’s movements from view.

"Go ahead. We both know you need to. You can't help it. Kill yourself and save her. It's what you should have done before, right? Tell you what, I’m a nice guy. When you and I are done here, I’ll take them back to Earth. Both of them. It can end different this time.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Diane still tip-toeing, putting distance between herself and Prime.

“The air is running out, C-137. Make a choice. Die and I’ll take them both home, or they can suffocate, and I’ll sit here in my ship watching you die of dehydration.”

The air is definitely getting thinner. Beth has her hand around his ray gun under his jacket now, but Prime is so wily, fast, slick. He’s going to get away again - Rick can feel it – but damn if his girls don’t try.

Closer to the entrance of the room now than Prime, Diane stops tip-toeing and lets out a shrill whistle. Unaware she was even awake, Prime turns his head instinctively towards the source of the sound, and that might have been it. If Beth could have shot him in the head right then, Rick might have had enough time to cross the distance between them before he healed and cut off his head once and for all. But it doesn’t go down like that. Unfortunately for Rick C-137, Rick Prime is also a Rick, and his sense for danger kicks in before Beth can even fire.

Halfway through the turn, Prime realizes he’s about to fall for an obvious distraction, and falls into a crouch instead. Beth’s shot hits his ship right above his head. Rick’s mouth fills with the bitter taste of defeat once again while his left hand flies to his right wrist, activating his nanobots from the bottle which attach themselves to the ship, correctly assuming Prime’s next move will be to get into it.

Still holding the gun under his armpit, Beth fires again and again, but Prime keeps his movements erratic. He dives to the ground, somersaults, leaps back up, and flings himself into the open door of his ship unscathed. Her aim, while good, is no match for his acrobatics.

Maybe if Space Beth had been here… Nope. Don’t think about that.

“You two go! Find Morty!” Rick yells while pulling himself away from Beth and running towards Prime’s ship.

Somewhere out there is a multiverse where his family fucking listens to him when he tells them to do things.

The plan is to use the nano bots to stall Prime’s engine so he can’t escape. In the only stroke of good luck Rick’s liable to get today, Prime’s glowing green portal gun sits busted on the ground next to his ship. It must have fallen from his belt when he was dodging Beth’s shots.

When he turns to look, Beth and Diane have not run, full-speed, out the door and to safety, so, new plan, Rick directs the nano bots instead to clog up the ship’s guns before Prime can shot the weakened glass and take the rest of the air in the room out with it.

Across the room, the hallway door opens and Morty comes through holding Rick’s portal gun, useless while the shield is still up. Literally no help at all, Morty runs further into the room towards his mother.

“No! Leave! All of you leave!”

No one is listening to him.

“Go, go, Sanchez wrist rocket.”

In frustration, Rick shoots a missile that could melt steel out if his wrist directly into the door of Prime’s ship where it explodes in a cloud of black smoke, but fails to leave so much as a scratch.

He’s breathing noticeably recycled air now which means his body’s protective implant has activated because the air has gotten dangerously thin.

Through the windshield of the ship, unable to activate his weapons system, Rick sees Prime press a button and a large, hologram of his face is projected where everyone can see.

“Wrong choice, C-137. Now I get to watch you lose everything you love again.”

Somewhere deep inside himself Rick can feel that this is it, the end. He looks over to where Beth, Diane, and Morty are gathered and they look at him. Prime does a lot of things, but making idle threats isn’t one of them. Somehow, he’s managed to get one up on Rick and now everyone he loves is going to die, again.

The hologram shows the real Prime, in his ship, pressing another trigger detonator. Rick’s still looking at his family when across the room a potted plant explodes violently into a fine mist of ceramic and dirt. Diane and Beth stare at the plant for a moment before breaking out into laughter. Prime’s hologram looks surprised only for a second and then joins them, although his laughter sounds noticeably more unhinged than the women’s.

Looking at the unidentifiable remains of the plant, Rick says, “I- I don’t understand. Did I know that plant? Is that, was that something? I feel like I’m missing something here.”

“You’re going to regret that.” Prime says, and Rick gets the sinking feeling he’s talking to Beth and Diane who, at least, are not currently a pile of dust and ashes.

The hologram disappears and Prime starts up the engines on his ship. New-new plan. Grab onto the side of the ship and hold on until Prime relents and takes them to a second location where they can have this out like men. No families, just them.

Activating his suction cups, Rick grabs onto the side of the ship and yells over to Morty.

“Get out of here!” You fucking worthless piece of shit stop making me tell you how to breathe just so you can function, he doesn’t add because Beth is standing right there her arm around her son.

“Rick, the portal gun’s not working!”

“Lower the shield-“ Is the last thing he gets to say before Prime engages his thrusters and the ship, dragging Rick along with it, shoots up into the air and slams into the top of the glass dome, cracking it further.

Back down they drop, losing altitude at a pace fast enough to make Rick feel like he might be violently ill, before shooting back upwards and ramming into the glass again.

• - -

Down on the ground, Diane is feeling slightly unhinged herself. Partly from the surprise, and incredible relief, of having narrowly dodged an incredibly violent death via explosion, and partly because she’s no longer taking in enough oxygen to think clearly. She feels euphoric, as though the exploding plant had been the joke of the century, and long after Beth’s stopped laughing she’s struggling to make herself do so too.

From inside his space suit, Morty is saying they need to help Rick by lowering the shield so Morty can use the portal gun, and Beth, glowing like a blue goddess inside her protective shield, leads him over to where Prime was when he originally flipped the switch while Diane makes herself useful by looking upwards, dazed, at where Rick is dangling off that other Rick’s ship.

Whatever the history between these two is, it’s obvious Rick has no intention of leaving here without confronting the younger, crueler, version of himself.

Her ears are starting to throb. To her left is more of the discarded construction equipment whoever was demolishing this place left behind when they decided to abandon the project, and Diane gets the crazy idea that she can work that equipment. No, really, she can. Despite the alien writing on all the buttons and levers, this is essentially a large cable winch with a load-hook connected to a pneumatic mechanism meant to launch it like a grappling gun. Despite never setting foot in her father’s scrapyard after the night she gave birth to Beth, Diane still remembers how to operate the equipment her father trained her on there. 

The emergency stop will be the most noticeable button, the lever will control the direction of the winch, and the ignition and launch buttons will be close to each other, probably right next to each other. There. She tries the button on the right that her gut tells her is the starter and the sad, old machine rumbles to life below her. Whatever alien made this, they clearly knew their stuff. Despite being covered in dust and literal mold, the machine runs as smooth as any she’s ever sat on.

She’s going to shoot the load-hook at the ship, not hitting Rick who is dangling off it, and pull the whole thing down. And then? Well, then they’ll help Rick kill his other self if that’s what he wants. Sure, and then? And then they’ll all go back home and be a happy little family.

Ears popping, lungs aching, Diane doesn’t exactly have time to argue with herself about the semantics. She’s literally suffocating.

Maybe it works because she doesn’t have the luxury of thinking twice or second guessing herself. If she had realized exactly how dire her circumstances are, or how unlikely it is that she could stay conscious long enough to take a second shot should she miss, she probably would have psyched herself out of even trying. But, running almost entirely on instinct, Diane takes the shot without second guessing her own instincts and the hook, made of a metal she’s never seen before and doesn’t have a name for, flies like an arrow through the air hitting Prime’s ship half a foot to the left of Rick’s leg and connecting itself using a technology not too dissimilar to the suction cups Rick’s currently using to hold onto the ship as well. Satisfied with her work, Diane uses the last of her strength to pull the lever down and then falls breathless to the floor.

With a groan the winch begins to slowly retract its hook, dragging Prime’s ship back to the ground with it. At the same time, Morty and Beth succeed as well, and the purple shield around the dome begins to dissipate.

• - -

What does it all come to in the end? Every compromise, every bad move, every last-minute decision. Life is so full of them. Of thinking ‘whoops.’ Of thinking ‘shit.’ Of thinking ‘no, wait, give me one more chance and I’ll do it right this time.’

Time travel is a waste land. He can go back, sure, anyone can. Any version of himself can. Back, and back, and back again. Because five years after going back maybe he’s made a different choice and needs to go back again. Six, seven eight years, and after all of them he goes back again until he’s killed himself and remade his life so many times – a thousand times, a million times – enough times to literally forget what it was he was going back to change in the first place and, while he’s trying to remember, she dies again.

Theoretically, of course. Theoretically, anything can happen. Morty can turn into a car. Beth can sprout wings. Bird Person can forgive him, just fucking forgive him already because they have more shit to do together and more life to live as friends.

Sure.

Right now he needs to stop Prime from escaping, from punching another hole through this glass and sending them all helplessly out into space, from besting him again. He has an unfortunately small window, and choice of tools, to help him do so.

The nanobots are doing their job keeping the guns offline, the wrist rocket is the biggest explosive he has on him and it didn’t make even a dent in the ship’s hull, and the winch fired down from below in an attempt to help him is not going to keep Prime in one place for long.

Morty has his portal gun. Why had he given it to him again? Oh, yeah, so those three would be able to escape and not become casualties in a war it would take a college full of physicists and philosophers to determine if they had anything to do with in the first place.

They are not leaving. He is stuck, clinging to Prime’s ship forty feet above the floor, too high to communicate with them, and yet he already knows what’s going to happen before it does because he’s spent centuries traveling through space-time with a grandson he met only a few Earth years ago.

A portal opens a good twelve feet to Rick’s right – and he’s expecting it without even really knowing he’s expecting it because Morty never does anything Rick can’t anticipate at least a little – and he flings himself off of Prime’s ship with the perfect amount of force to catch the portal gun that comes spinning out of it. Then Rick begins his long fall back to the ground.

Inventing portal travel had been one thing, inventing a portal that could transport portal fluid through it, and thus allowing for return travel without creating any infinitely collapsing realities, had been something else entirely. Diane would have been so proud he realized that one before the first time he stepped into a portal.

Since he has a few extra seconds falling through the air, he looks at the math Morty used to open a unique portal in three-dimensional space without his help. Nothing fancy. No decimals. No accounting for variables. Just three inputs on an XYZ axis using centimeters in distance away from the starting point. Actually, not terrible. Kind of elegant, in a spatially-oriented way. It’s almost too bad really, Morty probably would have loved his great-grandfather’s scrap yard. Too bad Rick had burned that bridge for all of them. Sure, Diane's father was the one who kicked her out, who couldn’t accept his daughter was growing into someone who needed some freedom, but Rick hadn’t helped. Hadn’t ever asked if Diane could come out for a night, if he could come by for dinner, if the three of them could talk it over before things got so out of hand.

The truth is he hadn’t asked because he hadn’t wanted to ask, and he never did anything for anyone he didn’t want to do. Not even the love of his life.

Rick lets himself fall through the air until he’s exactly halfway between where Morty, Beth, and Diane are standing and where Prime is stuck in his hooked ship, and then he overloads the portal gun and creates what he hopes will be the largest – stable, please, let it be stable – portal he’s ever made, and not some vacuous black hole that’s about to suck all five of them into an unending, eternal torment of broken reality.

Milliseconds after he pulls the trigger and the whole world turns into a slorping, sucking, puddle of green ooze, Rick realizes he forgot to put a negative sign in front of one of his coordinates to account for the relative position of ‘up’ on the Earth versus their own. Oops.

And then he, Diane, Beth, Prime, and a spherical section of the stadium about fifty feet in diameter, all plunge into the surface of the Atlantic Ocean upside down. Below him is Prime, still in his ship and sinking deeper into the black depths of the water, pulling the winch with him. Above, he can see the surface of the ocean, but only if he looks to the sides. Directly above him is the stadium floor, too large to sink immediately below the surface of the water for now, but that won’t last long. Soon the concrete will be free falling and they’ll need to be far away before that happens or risk getting sucked helplessly under with it.

No sign of Morty or Diane but there’s Beth, the glinting, wide-mouthed chain floating away from her while she drifts helplessly below it. It looks like the impact of teleporting into the ocean along everything else in sight has knocked her out. Not that Rick escaped unscathed. He didn’t really have a plan for freefalling onto the ground, but he definitely doesn’t have a plan for doing it into the Marianas Trench.

The only things left on his body are what’s physically strapped onto him. The portal gun is nowhere in sight. When a portal is ten feet tall and five feet wide, air displacement needs to be considered. But this? Shit, he’d need data from every underwater radar station in the hemisphere to calculate the effect of what he’s just done. The tsunami potential alone… Yeah he’s definitely getting a call from the president on this one. If they make it out alive that is.

Below him, Prime has exited the ship in a space suit he’s using as scuba gear and is propelling himself towards what Rick recognizes as his own portal gun, blown out of his hand by the impact. Above him, Beth is drowning beneath a slowly sinking, three-thousand square-foot slab of concrete, and if she dies he’s got no way to bring her back this time. Clone or not, she’s his daughter. The favorite one? Maybe not, but maybe. How did everything get so complicated? This should be an easy answer. His portal gun has everything on it. Everything. Every place he’s ever visited. Space Beth’s hideout, Unity’s home planet, Bird Person’s nest, Jessica’s closet – yeah, Morty, he knows about that – and if Prime gets ahold of it then…

Then…

“Go, go Sanchez jet shoes.” Rick says into the protective bubble of air his implant has created around him. At the very last second, he aims his feet downwards into the depths of the ocean and closes the distance between him and Beth. He’s never going to know. Never going to know if this was the right choice or if he just managed to fuck things up royally for the foreseeable future, but he couldn’t do it. Even when he mentally decided to go after Prime, he couldn’t let Beth drown.

He grabs her around the middle and uses the jet shoes to propel the two of them through the mess of rubble and concrete until they finally breach the surface. He sets her on the still afloat - though rapidly taking on water - underside of the floor between pieces of rebar and has to hope that alien concrete is more buoyant than the human kind.

Later, he’ll tell Morty he knew all along.

The kid is floating nearby on a tangle of construction twine large enough to make a small raft, his space suit helmet still on but cracked. That just leaves Diane.

Before Rick can dive again, something in the water below his feet begins to surface, pushing his legs up and forcing him to flop ungracefully back onto the slab next to the sputtering Beth. 

From his sparkling shell, Nimbus looks down at Rick holding a soaking wet, shaken, but very much alive, Diane in his arms. He drops her carelessly onto the concrete.

“The other me-“

“Gone. And if you think I’m going to blame him for this mess, Richard-“

“Fuck I don’t have time for this. Morty, your phone!”

On top of the twine, laying on his back and looking up at the sky like he’s never seen anything so beautiful, Morty fishes through his pocket and throws his sopping wet phone in Rick’s direction. Nimbus, not enjoying being ignored, tries again to get Rick’s attention, but Rick holds a hand up to him while pressing the waterlogged, but still functional, phone to his ear.

“Space daughter, listen, I can’t really hear you, but whatever you do, don’t go back to your base.”

“What are you… I’m… where….calling from.”

Even with all his enhancements, the phone still struggles to get a good connection between them, but he needs to warn her before the water logging becomes too much and it dies.

“Get out. Just trust me, trust daddy. You need to go somewhere else now. Somewhere I’ve never been.”

“What the…forty years…still doing this…”

“I’m sorry.” He says, but the connection’s gone dead. If she leaves or not, that’s on her, but at least he warned her.

He whacks the phone on his palm a few times until the screen flickers back on.

“Richard!”

“What?!”

“You’re sinking.”

So he is. Up to his crotch in ice cold sea water as the concrete loses it’s battle to stay afloat. Both Beth and Diane have crawled onto Nimbus’ shell and are kneeling at his feet.

“I need to make a phone call.”

“Can it wait?”

“No.”

Not that it matters; it’s the answering machine that picks up.

“Pers, listen, I know that you don’t want to hear from me right now, but you need to get your daughter and leave your nest. I-I fucked up and it’s not safe anymore-“

“Richard, it will pull you under and I am not going to fish you out.”

“I fucked up, BP. Get out of there. As soon as you can. Call me back. Bye.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

[Rick, I received your call explaining how you compromised the home I share with my daughter. I will take the necessary evacuation procedures, but I must ask that you please do not contact me again. Ever. Goodbye.]

Whatever. He’ll be over it in, like, two weeks tops.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

2:31am

Thursday, January 28^th

Smith Family Backyard

Rick finds Diane on the back patio, smoking a slim cigarette. After restoring the house computer's memory banks and security system, he had tried to keep everyone on lockdown inside, but after a few days of that, the very real risk that they would all murder each other in the close quarters started to outweigh the hypothetical danger of Prime’s continuing existence.

“I did-didn’t know you smoked.” He says, sitting on the concrete step next to her.

“That’s because I never did it in front of you.”

She blows a fairly presentable smoke ring before snuffing the cigarette out on the sole of her shoe.

“Rick, we need to talk.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s happening. I’m forgetting already. I thought there’d be more time, but… Cousin Diane and I spoke, before she was gone, and we made a choice, Rick. We don’t want you to bring us back. It’s time, Rick. It’s time to let us go.”

“Too bad.” He says, “That you don’t get a say in that.”

“Please, Rick. I know how you are, but just this once I’m asking you to let it go. I want you to let it go.”

“And if it was Beth? W-would you want me to let it go then?”

Diane lights another cigarette and considers.

“Yes. I’d do anything for her, but when it’s over. It’s over. That’s just how it is for humans. You’re not a god, Rick. You don’t get to be, and frankly I think that’s a good thing. After you left, I didn’t understand for so long. Until, one day I did. You’re just a man, Rick. Just some guy. I loved you, but love can’t wash away other people’s imperfections. What you did was wrong, but people do wrong things all the time. That’s just the way it is.”

“I can’t let go.” Rick says.

“Yes you can. You just haven’t yet.”

Rick holds a hand out for her cigarette and she passes it over, lighting another one for herself.

“Y-you know these things, they-they’re bad for you.” He says.

“Oh well. I’m dying anyways aren’t I? It’s so weird. Being this young again. I thought I’d like it, but actually it’s awful.”

Rick snort laughs and nods in understanding.

“Can you imagine having to do it all over again?” She continues, “Fuck that.”

“I don’t, can’t see why you’re complaining. You never g-got this old.”

He gestures at himself, and she looks him up and down.

“Not a lot of people get to. You should consider yourself blessed.”

“Fuck. I guess.”

They sit in silence, enjoying the fresh night air after half a week stuck behind the blast shields feeling paranoid and afraid.

Eventually, Rick says, “What happened with, with you and Marlene? I-in the end?”

“Tying up loose ends?” She asks, well aware Rick’s curiosity would never be satisfied until he had it all, every last piece of the problem that he could then tuck away in the back of his mind and never think about again.

To answer his question she says, “Eventually. After you left I swore I’d never reach out to her. I couldn’t stand the thought of her finding out what you’d done. What she always said you’d do. I think I went maybe a year like that before I realized how stupid I was being. She was right, and it didn’t change anything not telling her as much. I guess I also hoped that maybe with you being gone we could finally forgive each other. Well, that and Nimbus kept pushing me to. I’ve never known a man so prone to forgiveness. It’s no wonder you two got along so well.”

Rick scoffs, but Diane continues undeterred.

“No, it’s true. There isn’t a man alive who needs as much forgiveness as you do.”

“A-and you?”

Diane lets out a deep sigh.

“Do I forgive you, Rick Sanchez? I don’t know. Ask me tomorrow.”

Rick nods even though they both know she might not be the same person tomorrow.

“Anyways,” She says, “Marlene and I, we talked. Just a little at first, and then some more. Then daddy died and she needed me, and I needed her. It never got back to the way things were before, but we found each other again. And then I ran out of time. And she took Beth in after everything. Made sure she was never alone.”

Diane wipes a few tears out of her eyes. Beside her, Rick is suspiciously quiet. She turns to look and sees that somewhere during her emotional speech, he left.

“Oh you fuck. You absolute fuck.”

But it’s alright. It really is. Whatever life he’s lived in the past thirty years has changed him profoundly, and she’s pretty sure he can’t help himself. Against her better judgement, she forgives him.

- - -

Cousin Diane comes back. In brief thoughts or the occasional conversations the two of them have with each other – or themselves, depending on how you look at it. Diane gets another few good days with her daughter and grandkids before the headaches start up again with a vengeance, bringing memory loss and confusion with them too for good measure.

She doesn’t blame Cousin Diane for it – this is her body after all, and she’s the interloper – but even she can tell the Cousin Diane that’s coming back is not the one who left. Together, they are disintegrating. Rick is still determined he can fix it. If not this time, then the next one or the next or the one after that and so on.

It’s not all bad. She’s almost happy to hear Beth spends time with Nimbus, even if she could have done with a few less details about what that time entails. Jerry, she’s not so sure about, but she can see Beth’s grown into a smart woman, and trusts her judgement on it. Summer is an extraordinary girl in all the most ordinary ways, and Diane would be lying if she said she couldn’t see parts of herself in her. Parts of Marlene too, and that makes her happiest of all. Morty is Rick if Rick had been so lucky. None of his intelligence, all of his kindness. A little snarky, true, but there’s nothing wrong with that. Stubborn and independent, with a tendency to ask all the right questions to piss off the people in charge. He’s a good kid. It’s a good family.

It wasn’t all bad between you and Uncle Rick. You were happy.

Oh sure, we had our moments. You don’t get the really good things in life without some bad. You’ll learn that for yourself when you…

But there won't be any getting older for Cousin Diane.

It’s okay, really, I’ve had enough time.

But she hasn’t. She really hasn’t. Most days it feels like neither of them has.

A few days later, Cousin Diane is back in control most of the time, but it won’t be for long. The headaches never stop now, and there isn’t much left in the way of memories for the creature inside her to eat.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

6:45pm

Thursday, February 5^th

Smith Family Livingroom

“Okay e-everyone. Let’s all sit down, on the couch, I have important video, some important videos to show you.”

“If this is about-“ Beth starts, but Rick cuts her off.

“It’s not about your clone thing, sweetheart. Please sit down. Cousin Diane, you too. Jerry, thank you.”

“For what? I was already sitting here.”

“Grandpa Rick, is this going to be, like, a home movie thing? Like me saying my first words, or that time Morty threw up all over himself at the school play.”

“No, and I feel like I need to be honest with you two kids about this, but your mom she’s been erasing those tapes to record sex videos with your father, where they do sexual things with each other. So, I feel like you should know that.”

“Gross, Mom. Seriously?”

“Oh please. Two tapes, and it’s not like anything we erased was that special. Do you know how hard it is to find blank vhs tapes these days?”

“Super easy actually. Have you heard of eBay? Don’t you even care about Morty and me growing up? We’re not going to be here forever you know.”

“Do not act like this makes me a bad mother. Who do you think took those video?”

“Why even bother if all you’re going to do is tape over them with creepy, gross, old-people sex?”

“You just wait. In five years, society will consider you old. It happens to women in their twenties so look forward to that.”

“Alright! I-I feel like we’re getting off topic, off from the topic, here. So everyone just look at the tv and-“

“What even is this?”

“Seriously, what is this some lame-o art project or something?”

“Yeah, R-Rick, I don’t understand why we all gotta sit here and-“

“You’re all asking a lot of questions that are going to be answered by the video tapes. Let’s just watch. Okay? Alright? Alright. And awaay we go.”

Rick pushes a button on the tv and squishes himself onto the couch with everyone else. A video taken from ceiling height shows the family gathered around the dining table, eating breakfast and talking. A time stamp in the corner says:

7:35am 

Monday, September 13th

Smith Family Dining Room

On the video, Beth says, “I’ve got a list going on the fridge so if there’s anything else you need for school put it up there. All the meals are planned for the week, and I want everyone on their best behavior because Cousin Diane coming to visit tomorrow.”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

“And awaay we go.”

The edited video stops several hours later by showing the family gathering together to watch it.

“What…the actual fuck?”

“Do y-you have cameras in the bathroom, Rick?”

“Was that real life?”

“Did all that happen?”

“Are we being recorded right now?”

“Is cousin Diane real, or is she just a clone of grandma?”

“Dad, what the fuck is going on??”

“One, let’s do one at a time. Y-yes, Jerry, you have your hand up. That’s very polite.”

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Sure, Jerry. Go to the bathroom, and feel free to not come back if, you know, that’s what you feel like. Just keep walking, buddy. Don’t look back. Be free.”

“I think I’m just going to go upstairs, do my business, and come back. But thank you, Rick.”

“You’re welcome, Buddy. Do your thing. Yes, Beth. You also have your hand up.”

“Is…was that…that was all real?”

“Yes. Summer?”

“So is this Cousin Diane or is this grandma?”

“That’s your mom’s cousin. For now.”

“But she’s going to be dead soon?”

Cousin Diane, who’s been silent through the entire ordeal so far, looking shocked and confused turns from Summer to Rick waiting for him to answer the question.

He says, “Yeah. I mean no. I’m going to use her brain scans from when she first got here to give her a new brain which is why I’m showing you all this. Tomorrow we’re all gonna pretend we never met her, none of this happened, and do it all over again. We’re gonna restart the whole thing, but maybe this time we’ve learned a little something. Gotten closer to our goals and shit.”

“So i-i-it’s just like the Dark Tower Books, right? You know, those gunslinger books. You know what I’m talking about, right Rick?”

“Shut up, Morty. It’s nothing like that. That fucking hack, Stephen King, couldn’t write an ending. Don’t compare me to- he was a fucking cokehead, Morty. High as balls when he wrote that. Doesn’t matter. I don’t have to take this shit from you. It’s different. What do you know about literature, Morty?”

“Enough to know what derivative means.”

“Fuck you! You don’t know shit!”

“Dad!”

“What, sweetheart? What is it?”

“If mom’s brain…and you put it in…does that mean…”

Before Beth can articulate her concerns any further, a portal, unrelated to anything Rick’s doing, opens to the right of the tv. For a second everyone watches it in tense silence, at least one of them wondering if a bomb is about to roll out of it and make this their last family gathering ever.

After a few seconds, a regular looking Rick in glasses and a security guard uniform steps out and looks around until he spots Rick.

“Tell me you didn’t figure it out, C-137.” He says, and when Rick doesn’t respond adds, “I win a bet i-if you didn’t figure it out.”

“What the fuck do you want you fucking, acab piece of shit.”

“Oh, big tough guy Mr. Rogue. Doesn’t want any help from anyone. Guess you don’t want to know how to save her. Maybe you’re one of those Rick’s who likes watching her die.”

“Yeah, we’re just fine here thanks. I don’t need any- I’ve got my own plan alright.”

“Let me guess, you keep giving her the same infected brain over and over again hoping you learn a little more each time until you finally figure it out.”

Rick doesn’t respond, and the guard Rick smiles knowing he hit a nerve.

“Fine. I’ll just leave then.”

“Rick!” Morty prompts when it appears Rick really is going to say anything to stop his other self from leaving.

“Fine. What…what is it then? If you fucks really did figure it out, which we don’t know.”

This makes the guard Rick laugh.

“Oh, we fucks f-figured it out. Not surprised you didn’t though. All that time out on your own, makes a Rick stupid.”

“Actually, it’s the opposite.”

“Rick.” Morty warns again imploringly, but the guard Rick pretends he didn’t hear. He walks across the room and kneels in front of Cousin Diane where she’s sitting between Beth and Summer.

To her he’s says, “Say, ‘you were right to leave, Rick. I was wrong, and I forgive you.”

“What?! That’s bullshit!” Rick says, but no one else in the room seems to think so.

“Let her say it!” Morty says from the other end of the couch.

“You seriously believe this shit, Morty? That that’s something I’d expect her to say. This is a joke.”

“Just l-let her say it, Rick.”

“I’m the one who has to say something.”

“It’s not us, asshole. And you are an asshole, I would know. We used her voice to control the worm. It was her who activated it, when she said how happy she was we came home. You seriously haven’t even figured that out?”

“I…”

Cousin Diane looks at him questioningly, like she wants him to tell her what to do even though everyone else seems to think she should just fucking say the thing.

“I don’t know what’s going on?” She says looking at him.

“Just…just say what he told you to say.”

“Okay. I, um... You were right to leave. I was wrong and I…forgive…you.”

Diane slumps against Beth who wraps her arms around her protectively. Almost immediately she’s snoring, fast asleep.

“There. Worm’s in hibernation. You can take it out now.”

“This is bullshit. T-there’s nothing redeeming about that.”

“Rogue Rick thought it was about redemption. Big, fucking surprise there. Can’t wait to tell the other Ricks about this. Oh, wait, they won’t be surprised either. Right? Because we’re all Ricks you fucking asshole piece of shit mother-“

With a parting burp and his middle finger up, guard Rick disappears into his portal and leaves the family to their heavy silence.

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

Diane holds her purse in the cab, fiddling with the zipper. It’s been a weird week for sure. After years of minimal contact with her cousin Beth, the two of them had arranged to see each other again when Beth found out Diane was completing her master’s degree nearby. Diane had been ecstatic, over the moon about spending the week with the only family she has left, and Beth had even told her Uncle Rick came home a few years ago from wherever he had been for most of the last two decades. It was going to be the best week ever. She had it circled on her calendar for a month.

And then she got sick. Really sick. Coma for three months, no memory of how she got to the hospital sick.

Honestly, it’s just her luck.

She called her school only to find out she’d been registered as having dropped out, and it took more than a little convincing before they let her keep her previous spot. The doctors had no explanation, according to them she’s perfectly healthy. Not only that, but the ones she talked to seemed just as disoriented and confused about the whole incident as she was. No more able to explain how she showed up in the hospital than her, or even why their notes on her went back only a few days when the records showed she’d been there for months.

Oh well, that’s the state of health care these days. They were more than happy to bill her for the three months, a bill she’ll literally never be able to afford. So, there’s that.

Infinitely more important, however, is the fact that Beth picked up the second she called and seemed to have no bad feelings at all about Diane missing their week together. In fact, she invited Diane to come by not only for the week, but to stay until she finishes her degree and gets a place of her own!

So now she’s on her way to see her cousin for the first time in years, not just for a visit but to stay. Like a home. Like her own home with a family. She can’t remember ever being this nervous, but she’s determined too. Determined to be the best cousin she can be. To Beth, her husband, her father and her kids.

This is going to be a good year. She can feel it.

“We’re here.”

Diane almost jumps when the driver speaks. They’re here. Really here. In front of a house that looks pretty much like all the other houses in the neighborhood, but it’s not. It’s not because inside this house is her family.

When she goes to grab some cash out of her wallet to pay the driver, her fingers brush against the edge of a set of photobooth photos she’s going to be really confused by later, but for now she’s got too much on her mind to worry about it.

- - -

“Okay everyone! There’s her cab.”

Unlike the last first time Cousin Diane came to stay, everyone has gathered in the entryway today, too excited to wait on the couch.

“Do we really have to pretend we don’t know her?” Summer asks, possibly thinking about all those weeks they spent sharing a room and how Cousin Diane won’t remember any of it.

“Yes. Unless you want to split the fabric of space-time itself.”

“Really?”

“No, b-but it would definitely confuse her. I pretty much had to remake her whole brain after I took the worm out.”

What Rick actually had to do was remake her brain from his earliest scan before the worm had done any damage, replay audio recordings of her voice to put it into hibernation, remove the worm, and then drive her to a hospital in the middle of the night, but doesn’t bother to tell Summer all of that.

“She’s coming! Everyone ready?”

“Yeah, mom. W-we’re ready.”

There’s a knock on the door, and Beth swings it open.

Altogether, everyone says, “Welcome home Cousin Diane!”

>*<*>*<>*<*>*<>*<*>*<

Epilogue

“A-alright. Here we go.”

Rick presses the button to drain the liquid out of the glass cloning tube in front of him and opens the door. There she is. No strange hair color. No different eyes. Just her, exactly as she was the last time he saw her. He puts on one of her old dresses, lays her out on the table and waits for her to wake up.

Twenty minutes later, she opens her eyes.

Sitting up, she blinks a few times under the garage lights and looks around.

“What’s going on? Where am I? Who are… Oh my god, Rick? What happened? You’re so…”

“Old?”

“Yes.”

“We-we gotta talk, babe.”

- - -

Rebuilding Diane’s brain from the memories trapped inside her clone’s hadn’t exactly been easy, but explaining everything that happened to his confused, not so dead anymore, wife is even harder. He doesn’t wait for her to ask questions at the end, he still has a little more he wants to say.

“So, t-that’s pretty much it. It’s different, a different world out there. I’m not lie to babe. But you’ll be okay. This is your chance. Go, go live the life you want. Whatever you want to do. It’s all yours. I’ll give you every- all the money you need. You can do anything.”

Diane looks at him for a long time before she asks, “Without you?”

“Yeah.”

“What about Beth?”

“B-Beth is fine. She’s fine. She’s all grown up. Does-doesn’t need you anymore. She’s got a good life.”

“I’d be all alone.”

“You’d be free.”

“Oh, Rick.”

“You can go anywhere now. Anywhere you want.”

“Or I could stay?”

“Y-yeah. I think it’d b-be okay. If you stayed.”

She looks out the open garage door, and then back at Rick. Out the door. Back to Rick.

She

End