Chapter Text
Chapter 1
“Ugh,” you groaned out, throwing your body into the familiar office chair and allowing it to wheel across the concrete with the force you exerted on it. “I can’t believe we got kidnapped. What are we? Tubby little German children at the end of the breadcrumb trail?”
Rick slumped himself into his stool. His body, much like yours, was exhausted. You were in the middle of obtaining the target metals necessary for muon induction coils when the both of you had been snatched in, of all things, a butterfly net.
It was a long week. You could feel it in your muscles where the tension was fizzling away the longer you were exposed to the sights and smells of the familiar garage.
“Th-That’s the third time this month,” Rick groaned, rubbing his hands over his face.
It fell silent for a moment. The robin in Gene’s tree sang a happy tune that carried down the street. You glanced out at the sunny day; the lack of clouds and the brightness of the sidewalk, were sights for sore eyes after a week in a dark jail cell. You missed the imprint your butt had made on the squishy leather chair.
Rick rose from his spot with another heavy sigh, moving past the spot you’d crumpled into and towards the far wall. He pushed a button disguised as a pin tack, opening a panel behind the calendar that slid quickly to the left. Laid out in front of him was a row of bottles.
You watched as his long fingers wrapped around the neck of a wine shaped one and rose to drag your feet in his direction. He was already unscrewing the cap when you made it to his side.
“I missed liquor,” he groaned. The bottle was pulled to his mouth, where he gulped down mouthful after mouthful.
“Me too,” you sighed out.
Sub-contextually, he knew what you were asking, and he cracked an eye open to stare down at you as he drank. With a small pout and a pleading glare, his mouth detached with a small pop, his arm now outstretched to you. You took the bottle from his grasp and gulped down a few sips.
The liquid was bitter and burned the unaccustomed taste buds on your tongue. You winced, but didn’t complain, thankful to have something that took the edge off. It worked rather quickly. You found your muscles releasing the rest of the tension as you handed the bottle back to the older man.
“Wanna help me finish the Ion Reconstitution Array?” Rick questioned, his head still tilted down toward yours.
You nodded, taking the few steps necessary toward the workbench. Everything was as you’d left it. The machine, or the inner mechanisms of it, were still constructed into a currently useless lump on the gray counter.
Rick was quick to come around to your right. He eyed over the machine before extending the bottle your direction. You raised a brow at the man.
“H-Hold this,” he requested.
You scoffed. “We’re not Republicans. I’m not holding your beer.”
Rick let a quick breath of air out through his nose, something akin to a small laugh, before placing the bottle down and plucking a red screwdriver up from the counter. He held the tool out to you much like he had the bottle.
“Hold this then,” he ordered.
Rick wrapped his hand around a long calibration tool you recognized. He twisted the tool inside the chassis, adjusting the magnetic containment ring with slight twists of his wrist. When he was satisfied with whatever he was adjusting, he pulled the screwdriver in your palm. Each screw was aligned individually, allowing the ring to sit perfectly level inside the housing.
You leaned against the counter once Rick handed the screwdriver back, eyeing over the tiny superconductive wafers sat beside the bundles of silver filament wiring, and the dismantled cooling module leaking a pale blue condensation onto the table.
In all the chaos of the week, you missed watching Rick work. Sometimes you sat on his lap while he tinkered with stuff. Sometimes you stood by his side. Regardless, you were just happy to be there, in whatever capacity he wanted.
With careful fingers, Rick reached deeper into the chassis, feeding a cluster of thin, copper colored wires through the central frame.
“S-Soldering tool,” he requested.
You glanced over the pile of tools on the desk before spotting the tool, placing the screwdriver down and leaning forward to grab it. You plugged it into the available outlet on the wall before placing it in his waiting palm. The masks were still sitting on the extended part of the workbench.
Making sure to flip the visor down, you secured the mask around your head, watching as Rick did the same before beginning to solder the wires into the processing board, mounted beneath the containment ring.
The augmentations in Rick’s eyes had a zoom capacity. You were wary about letting anyone touch your eyes. Despite trusting him whole heartedly, something about it freaked you out. It made it difficult to really watch what he was doing, but it didn’t really matter. More interesting, were the sparks flying around the two of you as he melted the strips of metal.
He flipped his mask up when he was satisfied with the work. It was quiet for a moment. He eyed over the machine, debating which part to work on next, when the blue light soaked through the garage.
It was brighter than the natural sunlight, and tinted so strongly that you grew rather nauseous as you turned towards the garage door. Hovering in the driveway to the left of Rick’s ship was a small, sleek black one. The headlights, the source of the blue light, were trained on the both of you.
You removed the mask in a hurry. Usually, when something showed up for Rick, it wasn’t a good sign. The engines whirred as the craft remained stationary. Anticipation for a fight grew in your gut, along with a smidge of dread. You were tired.
The speakers on the ship crackled loudly as they switched on the PA system.
“Rick Sanchez. Y/n Y/l/n. We have your Morty. Relinquish your weapons and move slowly toward the ship.”
The voice, male and middle aged, was loud enough to rattle your eardrums. You could feel the anger beginning to boil in your gut as you placed the soldering tool back on the counter.
“For fucks sake,” you growled.
“Not again,” Rick groaned simultaneously.
Both your shoulders dropped in defeat as you shuffled your feet forward. A ramp, long and metal like the ship, extended down towards the edge of the garage. You walked across the garage floor, only hesitating for a moment when you reached it, before Rick’s hand fell on the small of your back to urge you forward. You walked up it.
When you reached the main room, your jaw set.
“You’ve gotta be kidding,” you breathed out, eyeing the bug like creatures standing either side of you. They were dressed in all black gear, with rifles strapped to their chests and held in a bug’s hand as they watched you. “Gromflomites? Seriously?”
“The fuck do you guys want?” Rick seemed equally as angry as he stepped in behind you.
“Where’s Morty?” You questioned. You were becoming annoyed at the habit of speaking at the same time.
“Shit, almost forgot,” Rick, dipped his head down to you quickly before finding one of the soldier’s faces again. “Wh-Where’s Morty?”
You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest and keeping your gaze on the soldier Rick was ignoring. He eyed you the same way you eyed him; equally as suspicious and equally as willing to risk it all if it came down to it.
“At the outpost,” the Gromflomite replied. “We’ve been sent to collect you.”
“For?” You questioned, turning your head towards the one speaking.
“Something about an unlikely alliance,” the bug explained.
It left you confused, but with the way Rick groaned and slumped back into the built in, black metal bench on the side of the craft, you figured he might know what was going on well enough to explain it.
You slid onto the bench next to him, but the bugs didn’t budge, still standing at your feet as they gazed down. One of them scrunched the muscles between his forehead and eyes, tilting his head as his body shifted towards you. You raised a brow at him.
“Who is she again?” He asked, directing the question towards his fellow comrade and nodding in your direction.
“His wife,” the identical bug replied.
You did your best to ignore the conversation. People, and creatures, talking around you and at you rather than to you was a sexism problem that spanned the multiverse. You’d encountered it on nearly every planet, in every galaxy of every universe you’d visited.
“I thought his wife died,” the original one replied. You clenched your fists at your side, not wholly unaware of how the man next to you stiffened. Shut up.
“Oh right, Blondie. Guess he got another one,” the bug replied with a shrug.
Rick’s hands were digging into the metal edge of the bench with white knuckles barely visible in the dim lighting. The ship bumped and shook around you, but at this point, you didn’t really care if the two of you died as long as the conversation ended.
“They kinda look alike,” the bug noted.
It was your turn to grip the edge of the bench as you whipped your head left, glaring at the older man and narrowing your eyes.
You lying sack of shit, Unity was right.
Rick’s shoulders rose. He knew how you’d feel about the comment, about discovering his lie, the lie he’d repeated a good ten times over, in the past few years. He sat silent and tense, waiting for the second shoe to drop, or for you to hit him. Whichever came first.
“Huh, they do,” the other bug agreed.
Anger was boiling in your gut as you burned lasers into the side of Rick’s head with your mind. As if Rick had the braincells to recognize how badly he’d fucked up, or as if the mind lasers were actually working, he finally turned to you. His eyes had gone that faux soft he used when he wanted you to sit down and stay quiet.
Before he had the chance to speak and try to calm you, you beat him to it.
“You lying sack of shit,” you growled. The bugs went silent, and Rick’s eyes went wide before narrowing only slightly again.
“We can talk about this later,” he whisper yelled in response. He didn’t like fighting in public. It was something you knew well. Sometimes, you cared enough to keep it to yourself. Sometimes, you didn’t. You were somewhere in between the two for the next ten minutes.
It dawned on you that the Gromflomites might not have registered their comment as an insult. They all looked exactly alike, for the most part. Regardless, you were angry with them too.
Wherever the outpost was it was nearby. You could feel the ship entering an atmosphere and lowering, the bumps and shakes of atmospheric pressure and wind shaking the craft as you brought your gaze back front.
When the ship landed with a harsher thud, you rose before Rick. The door creaked open, and you realized by the lack of harsh light that you were still somewhere inside.
The overhead lights of the hanger were a sharp white, but they were far enough up that it was easy to adjust to. The whole place, as everything the Gromflomites built was, made of metal. Most was dark, almost black, but some was a deep brushed steel. It allowed for just enough contrast to tell when the floors ended and walls began.
You ignored the rifle pressing into your back as you stepped off the ramp. Rick sped his pace as you walked to stay by your side, in a similar predicament as you were. You kept your eyes on your converse and the brushed metal floors. Normally, you’d look around, and scan for exits or weapons to grab. You were too angry now.
There were plenty of noises around you. Ships were coming and going with the familiar whirr of their engines. Bugs walked by your left and right, their feet pattering against the plated floors in rhythmic patterns. Voices, in English and a variety of other languages, blared across the loud speakers. The most noticeable sound was the blood rushing through your ears.
How dare he lie to me? Is that why he liked me to start with? Because I look like her? Was Unity Right? Am I a replacement?
The thoughts looped like a raceway as the metal tip of the gun guided you down a new hall. You could tell by the change in lighting and the way sound echoed differently, but it gave no indication of where you were going. You only looked up when Rick’s shoes began to disappear from view.
You were in a hallway, but it was just a lowered, subsection of a much larger room. At the center of it, to your left, plants lined the center walkway. There was a balcony above you, stretching across the entire floor, and to your right, jail cells. Each was lined with the familiar black bars, and each had a cot, a toilet, and a sink. Fucking hell.
“Where are you taking him?” You questioned to the bug leading him.
“To holding, until the General can meet,” he explained.
Before you could stop them, they were veering farther down the line, and the rifle at your back pushed you forward towards the closest cell. You turned around on instinct. The rubber soles of your converse squeaked as you spun in place. Rick was slowly fading into the background as you glanced to the right.
The bug was frozen, his rifle pressed to your chest and his finger nowhere near the trigger. He wasn’t stupid enough to kill Rick Sanchez’ wife. He’d probably been instructed not to. Despite how angry you were with the older man, being separated from him, in an outpost full of Gromflomites that wished nothing but ill will on you, was worse.
“You can’t separate us,” you shook your head as you spoke, keeping your eyes trained on his for added sincerity. “Humans die when you separate them from their mate.”
“No you don’t, come on,” the bug spoke gruffly, pushing the tip of the rifle into your breastplate. It forced you back a step, towards the opened door of the cell, and you took a deep breath before shrugging as casually as you could.
“Alright,” you spoke, “you want my death on your hands? Fine by me.”
You turned towards the cell, walking into the confined space overly willingly before turning again, and waiting for him to shut the doors. As you predicted, he didn’t. The bug stood frozen as he debated his options.
“Seriously?” He questioned with a raised brow muscle.
“Yep,” you nodded once, but remained otherwise frozen. He eyed you over looking for any sign that you could be lying.
The one thing you’d really mastered in your time with Rick, was your poker face. Around Rick himself, you crumpled, because Rick never believed the lies that spewed from your mouth. Everyone else, you figured you could probably get away with it, and it gave you the confidence you needed to stand your ground.
Thankfully, it seemed to work this time as well as the others as the Gromflomite lowered his gun and sighed. You bit back a smile, instead widening your eyes in faux confusion when he swiped one of his bug like arms forward.
“Okay,” he agreed. He sounded rather chirpy given the scenario. Overly trusting. It made sense why he was a grunt.
This time, he kept his gun away from you as you followed him down the line of cells. There were a variety of species contained within the cells. Some you recognized. There were a few Jaflorkians packed into a cell together, and a Mementorph that looked rather afraid.
The bug that had escorted Rick to his cell was still standing outside of it as the two of you approached. He was writing something down on an electronic pad, most likely intake information, and only stopped to glance up at the two of you once he’d finished whatever sentence he was writing.
“Why is she here?” He questioned.
“Humans die when they’re separated from their mate,” the bug standing to your side explained.
There was a small beat of silence, just long enough for you to flicker your eyes over to Rick. His face remained neutral as he watched the interaction.
“Seriously?” the Gromflomite questioned. It was his turn to dance his eyes between both you and Rick. You took a page from his book and kept your face neutral, deciding not to respond in hopes the bugs would figure it out for themselves.
“Yeah,” the bug at your side shrugged, and his coworker mimicked the movement before reopening the cell door.
You slipped in without another word, quickly rushing your feet to Rick’s side. When the door shut again, the bugs turned, already talking about something else as they moved away and out of earshot.
There was no doubt that you were still angry. Rick had fucked up, and in doing so, planted immeasurable seeds of doubt within your mind. Still, he was safety, and the last thing you needed was more baggage. You could push the fight aside until you were home again.
In light of your decision, you dragged yourself to the long, uncomfortable cot, turning and sitting down with a small huff. Rick followed. He was smart enough keep his distance when he sat, more than half a foot away from you. A deep, annoyed groan fell from his lips. You didn’t turn your head.
“I can’t believe we got kidnapped again.” You grumbled.
“This fucking suuuuucks,” Rick joined in, clearly also willing to push off your fight until you arrived back home.
“What do we do?” You questioned. With tense legs, you brought your feet to rest on the edge of the cot, placing your face in your knees with another harsh sigh.
“Wait and see what they want so we can get out of here,” Rick replied. You could hear his body shifting on the scratchy, stiff material of the bed, rustling the light beige fabric in the process.
“Where the fuck is Morty?” You asked, louder now into the cavern of your knees, your hands splaying out in question, away from your calves.
“I’m right here assholes!”
You shot your head up, glancing around as his voice echoed through the metal box. The voice sounded like it had come from your left, and you pushed yourself off the cot towards the bars, wrapping your hands around them and turning your head toward his presumed direction before speaking.
“Morty?” You called out.
“Yeah,” He replied, clearly doing the same as the volume had increased, and the echo was mostly gone.
“How long have you been here?” You questioned. You hoped your concern was evident, and that you weren’t coming off as careless.
“Two days,” Morty whined. “Th-This place fucking sucks. L-Lets just see what they want so we can get out of here.”
You smiled, noticing the way Morty mimicked his grandfather’s words. Despite how different they were, there were so many similarities between the two. You knew it was a result of their extensive shared time together. It was sweet, you thought. Unknowingly, you’d probably grown the same way.
“Working on it!” You called back.
Rick was still waiting for you on the cot when you backed away from the bars. He hadn’t moved, most likely still afraid of upsetting you, and you took your spot a half foot to his left only to curl up again.
“A-About what they said—”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Your tone left no room for arguments.
Rick could use a good few hours of stewing. Realistically, you knew it was probably for the worse, but your focus was set on leaving in one piece, and a fight with Rick risked that possibility being swiped from the table.
It was more than an hour that passed with the two of you sat in silence. Rick was left clearly anxious by the impending argument. It was obvious in the way he shifted every few moments to a new position, when usually, he sat quite still and unbothered in situations like these. You were the opposite, and where you’d normally pace, or squirm, or fiddle, you sat like a statue.
When two bugs finally came to the cell door, you were second to rise, following Rick towards the exit with your eyes trained on the back of his skull. You said nothing to the bugs nor Rick when they unlocked Morty’s cell, and both you and Morty fell into step behind Rick and the bug accompanying him.
“Are you guys fighting again?” Morty questioned.
You shook your head, unwilling to give a response. Morty wasn’t stupid, despite what Rick may think. He had more emotional intelligence than the both of you combined. There was no doubt he had picked up on the building tension. Luckily, he said nothing, instead walking silently by your side as you wove through rooms and the corridors that connected them.
The Gromflomites built every outpost nearly the same. You’d been to two, now three, in your time with Rick. Everything was organized exactly the way they liked it, and it made sense, as they were a species derived from insects. Organization, optimization, and functionality were always their goals when they made anything. Buildings, and outposts, were no different.
The room the three of you were stopped in was massive and circular. Their usual heavy black metal structure curved around the chamber in tiers, leaving the walls lined with industrial paneling only broken by the red light strips and sharp, triangular insignias embedded into the architecture. Overall the lighting was dim, but the red and blue lights scattered across the room reflected against the polished floors and machinery.
In the center of the room sat a raised planter, large and wrapped around a power column beaming with crimson light. Thick vines hung from the open skylight above, draping downward through the artificial glow. Broad leafed plants crowded the base in dense clusters.
It was, for lack of a better word, kind of pretty. Brutalist architecture had always interested you, but eco brutalism was a personal favorite. You took in the sights as you stood between the boys.
All of the Gromflomites in the room were rushing to somewhere or another before the larger, built bug stepped in. The moment he did, the place slowed, most bugs stopping and saluting for the man while others merely stuttered in their steps.
You knew he was important partially because of his size. Bug derived species separated rank by genetics, or rather, genetics changed and evolved as rank did. It was a natural instinct you always thought was rather cool despite your distaste for the Federation.
The second tip off was his clothing. The olive green alien wore a commanders hat, decorated with reds and a metal, triangular crest in the center. The rest of his clothing looked softer than the guards, and was similarly adorned in deep red accents, layered in black and gray.
What really stood out to you was the scar, a muted blue mark, that slit over his left eye. You kept your gaze on it as he approached. He didn’t seem angry. It was a good sign, considering how much trouble Rick, and in alignment you, had caused for them. Huh. Unlikely alliance.
“General Ronkonkomus Joe,” Rick greeted, extending his large, pale hand out to the bug. The general shook it with his two segment, insect hand, a much lighter color than the rest of his body.
“Rick Sanchez, thank you for coming,” he spoke in return.
“Like we had a choice,” you scoffed.
Morty’s small elbow jabbed sharply into your side, and you yelped quietly in response, turning to him with a glare only to be met by a mirrored one on his own face. You rolled your eyes. Nothing bad was going to happen so long as Rick was around.
“I’m sorry for having to reach out the way we did,” the General responded, his gaze now on you rather than Rick. “We didn’t think you’d come if we called.”
“Can’t imagine why,” you grumbled sarcastically. For the second time, a small, sharp elbow dug into your ribs in warning. The General, however, only chuckled.
“I’ll cut straight to the point, Mr. Sanchez,” he spoke, once again directing his stare towards the man at your side.
“Rick,” he corrected.
“Rick,” the bug confirmed with a nod. “Our eggs are dying. Some sort of… virus, has been killing them off by the thousands.”
“Don’t you have your own doctors to fix that?” You questioned.
The bug didn’t glance your way as he responded. “Every scientist we have has been working on it for months. We haven’t been able to figure it out,” he explained. He stiffened up for a moment before relaxing again, his eyes softening just a tad more than you’d expected from a cold blooded species. “We need your help,”
“What am I getting out of this?” Rick questioned.
Despite how angry you were with him still, you were rather interested. You can’t imagine they would have much of anything he wanted. He didn’t care that he was on their threat list, actually, he seemed rather proud to have been number one for a while. Space Beth, as you’d learned, had taken his place, and he was proud of her for it, though he’d never say it to her face.
This time, when the General stiffened, he didn’t relax after. He was hesitant to respond. It piqued your interest further as you leaned forward to listen.
“We can give you the schematics to the Swarm Crown,” he spoke, his voice low and gravelly.
Whatever it was, it seemed to be important, as Rick’s demeanor shifted. His eyes went wide, his arms uncrossing and his own muscles relaxing as he slumped a little in his stance.
“S-Seriously?” He questioned. It reminded you of a kid in a candy store. You would have thought it was cute, if he wasn’t such a fucking idiot.
“Seriously,” the General nodded.
“Fuck,” Rick breathed out with a smile. “Deal. Wh-Where’s your lab?”
“I’ll show you the way. Morty, Mrs. Sanchez, if you’d—”
“Ms. Y/l/n,” you corrected, your narrowed eyes still trained on Rick as he angled his body your way. His jaw stiffened. His teeth grit against each other, but he said nothing, a breath of air leaving his nose sharp and fast in response rather than words.
The General seemed confused for a moment, but brushed it off, instead shaking his head and speaking again.
“Ms. Y/l/n, Morty, if you’d like, we can show you to your rooms. They’re right next to the lab,” he offered. “We’ve taken the liberty of gathering a few of your things; clothing mostly.”