Rick sat at home, absolutely nothing to keep him busy, and found himself upside down on his couch, as Morty had been when he'd first moved in with the man. They sure'd had a lot of firsts for such an excruciatingly broken duo.

       The man had found it hard to do much that reminded of him of the brunet in the beginning, but now it seemed he did whatever he could to honor the brunet. He sat in the guest room, imagining he and Morty were there again, and that it was the brunet's first night over. And he kept the kid's gun in the table in the back room, just as a reminder of the kid's power. 

       He listened to the brunet's CD's he had left, read the books, the stupid romance novels. He did it all, just to make sure he kept the brunet's memory alive. 

       Recently, though, Morty had been gone. He wasn't anywhere Rick looked for him, didn't answer his phone. He had nothing to do with the man or their friends anymore,

       Either he was in the hospital again, he actually died, or he went off grid forever. Rick wasn't sure what he would do about any of those. Sure, he'd visit, mourn, or search, but that was to be expected. Nothing much more that he could do other than hope he happened across him once again.

       Morty left his doctor's office at nine in the morning, knowing he barely had just enough time to get to work. The doctor's words rang through his head over and over again as he drove in relative silence.

       "Your memories, at this point, shouldn't return. There's no way to increase the chances, and your description says nothing more than you just can't remember anything. Sure the flashbacks would be a good sign, but your inability to remember them for very long is very concerning."

       He was stuck like this. He wouldn't be able to get his memories back. There was nothing they could do.

       Work was horrible. Grueling and unending. Morty was honestly tempted to say he felt as though he would pass out and just go home, but he knew he'd never let himself live it down if he did that. His phone rang incessantly in his back pocket, the brunet just thankful he set it to vibrate. He'd forgotten to set it in his locker when he'd returned from lunch, praying nobody noticed, or that they would just let it slide.

       Every so often, silent tears would roll down the brunet's cheeks before he'd hurriedly sweep them away. He had lived like this so long, he should be used to it. But he wanted to know himself. Wanted to know what he did, who he was, if he had ever loved anybody, if he had ever been a great person. Maybe he was one of the best people he knew, loved by everybody, friend to all, and the best boyfriend to somebody he couldn't remember. But, if somebody had loved him that much, they would have been there, saying, "You're awake! I've missed you," and greeting him with a long awaited kiss, even if he would be confused. At least he would have felt more complete, more wanted.

       Currently, he just felt like a blemish on the earth.

       "Hey."

       Morty turned slowly, trying to cover up his watery eyes, and found Rick standing beside him. "Haven't, uh, heard from you in a while." Morty shrugged after what felt like an eternal pause, returning to his job. 

       "Did I do something wrong?"

       That was an odd question. Morty thought he was the only person that knew what remorse was in this godless world; thought only he knew what it meant to feel sorry for something he wasn't sure he did. 

       Morty took in a shaky breath, shaking off the urge to cry as he had been all day. "N-no. I, uh, d-d-don't know ho-ow to expl-plain it, rea-ally, but you didn't do anyth-thing wrong." 

       The brunet continued carefully, slowing some as he tried not to cry in front of Rick. Of all the times he could have shown up; could have found Morty after he tried so hard never to be in the same aisle, the same restaurant, the same anywhere. He didn't want any of them to see him like this, to know how upset he was, to know that he was probably absolutely insane. 

       "Then. . . why have you been ignoring me? And avoiding me?" Rick seemed very hopeful for an answer, the tone in his voice possibly betraying what he really wanted to portray to mask it. 

       "L-like I s-said, i--" Morty was cut off by a soft, strangled cry of his own, turning away from Rick. He had his back to the man, stamping with one hand and wiping his face with the other. He jumped when arms circled around him, Rick pulling him into a hug that should have felt awkward, not inviting. Morty let out a shuddering breath, wiping his face and trying to stop the action from bringing more tears up. 

        "Will you come up to the club on Monday?" Rick asked, his cheek resting on the top of the brunet's head. "You looked happy up there. Come out and relax. You can play around on the stage, and I'll get some take-out or something. I gotta fix the speakers. Could use some company."

       Morty shut his eyes for a moment while he thought it over, basking in the presence of the man he felt was both a stranger and his lifelong best friend. He was absolutely terrified of the club at this point, but he couldn't think about that. Couldn't think past the comfort brought to him by the soft circles Rick's thumb rubbed into his hip. Past the comfort of his swaying ever so slightly, like he had always known that was Morty's secret to calming down.

       "I'll c-c-consid-der it," Morty responded after a moment. "Okay," Rick gave after a moment, slowly letting the brunet go. "And maybe not ignore me?" Morty nodded in response, wiping his eyes quickly before he spun to face Rick again. "Alright."

       Rick offered a soft smile, checking his watch, "Want a ride home?"

       "N-No, thanks. I li-like walking." Morty chuckled sheepishly, moving towards his employee locker and gathering his belongings.

       "Somehow, I knew you'd say that."

       Please . . . I don't want this anymore. 

       Please . . . let this get fixed.

       I'm so tired of this.

       I'm so tired.

       Give me my memories.

       Give me my baby.

       P l e a s e