Morty sulked inwardly as he stood behind his usual workstation. The bar was always so warm and welcoming, but he just didn't have it in him. He smiled and worked just the same, but he kept conversation to a minimum. He'd even requested Rick leave him out of meetings for a little while. But that had been a few days ago. He hadn't seen nor heard from Rick since last Thursday, and it was already the Saturday of the following week. Nine days, no contact. Even AJ was beginning to grow anxious. Morty was always met with 'where's dada?' and 'is dad coming over?' It broke Morty's heart when AJ first began to call Rick 'dad' and not his childish 'dada', but even little AJ had to change a bit. He was five, after all.
       Morty sighed lightly, watching as a man sat himself at the bar. He was somewhat shrouded, keeping to himself as he stripped of his jacket but left his fedora on, tilted in a cliche fashion that hid everything above his nose. 
       "Dry martini," he muttered, not bothering to look at the bartender. He acted as though he'd been there before, as though he was aware of something being off, but Morty shrugged it off and mixed the man his drink, gracefully setting it down on the counter with his left hand while his right grabbed his pocket watch to check the time. 
       The brunet leaned back against the counter, watching the newest dancer up on the stage. Joel, he thought. It was something like that, anyway. Tall, slender, but not too small, with short blonde locks and an uninterested smile. From what Morty could recall, he was completely deaf in his right ear, but still had a pretty good rhythm. He was a nice kid, but kind of annoying. He could talk your ear off, pun intended, or make a stupidly offensive joke without a care. 
       Morty turned away from the stage when he realized he'd been staring at the mirror behind it, cleaning some glasses and waiting for somebody to order a drink or a refill. Anything to take his mind off of his current situation.

       Rick slumped in his chair, staring at the brunet. He sighed softly when his green eyes were no longer unintentionally trained on Rick, polishing glasses and seeming uninterested. Rick wanted nothing more than to radio for him to come to the back room and just talk with the kid, about literally nothing specific. Just talk to him, like he used to, when the kid had first started out, shy and curious. 
       The man had fallen into bad habits again, no longer able to wear his sleeves rolled up. His head throbbed, though surprisingly not from drinking in hefty amounts. Rick hadn't been able to sleep. He hadn't touched a drink, a line, or another person since he'd accidentally told Morty he loved him. 
       Not that he didn't, mind you. It was just so... stupid... that he couldn't repeat it. He'd been beating himself up over it for so long, and he'd been relieving his stress in ways that worried even himself.
       Picking at the sleeves that were catching on dried blood on his arms, Rick watched Morty, knowing he had no meetings lined up for the rest of the day.

       Morty gave a light sigh, greeting a few women that had come to the bar. He smiled where necessary, giving a polite 'oh, you' when they'd flirt. Honestly, he wondered if Rick was okay, knowing the man would never have let anybody get that close to Morty. Usually, the women would've been dragged out pretty early on. 
       Maybe his favoritism had worn off. Maybe he'd decided to give up on Morty, the brunet with a personality disorder, a kid, and the struggle of loving and hating the man that made him who he was today.
       "Can I get another?" the mysterious man questioned, leading Morty to realize he was still there. The brunet went about mixing him a drink with a silent nod, sliding it across the table wordlessly with his right hand. However, as it went to slip away from the drink, he found his wrist held captive. Morty was prepared to fend this man off, however, tapping the button to open the channel between he and Rick three times rapidly with his left hand awkwardly crossing himself.

       Rick's gaze shot up from his arm to the radio, then to the brunet immediately after he'd heard the signal, seeing Morty trying to pull his hand away from an individual that had put Rick on edge for a while since his arrival. 
       "Gary," Rick barked once he'd grabbed his radio quickly, "the kid needs help right now." As a precaution, Rick grabbed his gun, ready to make his way to Morty in any way possible, even if he had to bust through the goddamned mirror. The kid may hate him, but he would never let that happen again.

       Morty trembled slightly as the individual pulled his hand back, staring at the scar running across his palm and drawing the limb closer as though they couldn't believe it. 
       "Hey," Gary growled, grabbing the individuals shoulder and forcing them to release Morty's hand. The individual whispered something in disbelief that Morty had missed while Gary yanked them back, forcing them to stand up.

       "No tou--" Gary began, immediately cut short when the individual's hat was removed. The bouncer sputtered for a moment as though searching for something to say, but it took a while before he finally found words. His hand fell from their shoulder and he stared as though looking at a mirage, dropping the hat to the floor in an unintentionally rude manner.

       "Gene," he whispered, arms falling to his sides while the bouncer appeared almost ready to cry. Gene already was, his gaze never leaving Morty.

       "Kid," Gene whispered, voice hoarse, before his arms were around the brunet as best they could be, given the bar between them. Morty pulled back, not giving a shit as he hopped the bar and pulled Gene into an actual hug, accidentally tackling the man to the floor. The brunet found himself crying as well, laughing through the tears as he and Gene wound up on the floor holding one another as though letting go meant one of them wouldn't really be there. 
       "You're alive!" Gene shouted, standing after a moment and helping the brunet from the floor. "You're ALIVE!!" he shouted again, drawing attention from several patrons and bouncers. Morty nodded almost sheepishly, wiping at his eyes and urging the tears to stop. Gary stood awkwardly off to the side before Gene took notice of him and smiled softly and slightly up towards the bouncer. 
       "You s-slimmed up," Morty stated with a chuckle, taking in all the changes. Gene was skinnier, his hair slightly longer. He was looking pretty good, honestly. "Yea," Gene whispered, smiling softly at Morty. "You changed, too. Ya know, you're breathing and all."
       "Yea," Morty muttered. "Sorry about that. Long story."
       "That's okay," Gene responded softly, smiling fondly at the kid. "You're alive. That's all that matters."
       "So, uh..." Gary awkwardly interjected, scratching his head, "what brings you back to town? Thought you were happy in Arizona and all that."
       "That is also a long story. But I'm here for good. Until I have to pack up and leave again, anyway," Gene joked, nudging Morty gently. The brunet smiled with a soft sniffle. "But really, I couldn't stay away. No matter how hard it was for me to return, I just looked at my reflection, said 'grow a pair, dammit', and booked it back out here. As hard as it was, looks like something good came out of it, no matter how crazy folks think I am."

       Morty listened to Gene, but he got a completely different meaning from his words. His gaze drifted to the mirror, wondering if Rick was in the middle of a meeting. But, if he looked crazy busting in there in the middle of a meeting, who gave a shit?
       But... no. He had a kid. He had something that wasn't destructive. God forbid he throw that away now. He always did this. No matter what, he always crawled back to Rick. 
       And here rolled the contradictions.

       Morty was always the one trying. But that's not true. Rick tried very hard throughout the last book of their life. Well he never stays true to his word. Have you forgotten what his life was like? It doesn't matter. I don't want AJ having that kind of role model. Then change him.

        Morty chanced another glance at the mirror, wondering what would happen. It hadn't been too long since they'd... reconnected, I suppose. 

       "Well," Gene mumbled, "it was nice... reconnecting, I suppose. Uh... Gary? You got a minute to, uh... to talk?" The bouncer glanced into the gently pleading orbs of the ex-drunk and nodded slowly, being led to the bathroom. 

       Morty stood on the other side of the bar, ignoring all the individuals asking him to get them a drink already, and stared at the mirror, almost wishing he could see behind it. 

       Rick was never true to his word, no matter what Morty thought.
       But he tried.
       Rick could be hurtful. Permanently damaging at times.
       But he didn't always mean it.

       Morty sighed, clambering back behind the bar.

       It just wasn't worth it anymore.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

       Morty was back up on stage, his scars all hidden. The bullet wound, the stab wound. He couldn't be up there without it, not wanting people to see that his skin was marred, to see that he lived a life different from what most of them probably thought or imagined. 

       As he danced, he could feel the cosmetics he'd applied moving with him, tugging deftly at his skin. When he'd slide on the pole, spun around or hung upside down, he always worried it would rub off on the pole. But then it wouldn't matter. Maybe somebody would be interested in the scars, maybe they would draw more attention. The baby faced sweetheart still working the joint even after all this time with new scarred wounds sounds like as bizarre a title as any when he thought about it. Attention grabbing, really, to some.

       But it never mattered anyways. All these folks wanted was a show, for any reason of their own. They were here to throw cash and watch people either enjoy or degrade themselves. So many joked about it, but Morty knew at least two of the other dancers were legitimately working their way through some high-class college, putting their family name to shame if somebody they knew or that knew of them ever saw the poor boy(s) dancing on that stage, accepting the money mommy and daddy couldn't give them.

       But Morty didn't know why the others worked the club. He didn't think they enjoyed themselves that much. They were always complaining about the patrons, about the 'stench' in the air, the smell of sweat and dirty money and alcohol, the faint cigarette smell that carried from the far back corner, the main smoking area, though there was no rule against smoking in the joint. Morty just knew some folks had the decency not to smoke up front and ruin the view with that faint gray cloud. That always brought a decent, kindhearted smile to his features, every time Morty remembered that shred of human decency in this club. 
       But... if the guys hated working here so much, why did they? Morty could only ponder the opportunities.

       Maybe they were undercover.
       Maybe they were in debt.
       Maybe they really needed the cash.
       Maybe they were scoping the joint out for another boss.
       Maybe they were tracking a bouncer.
       Maybe they wanted to know about the mysterious boss.

       Morty would probably never know. After all, they never spoke to him. Sure, he was the most powerful man where he was currently, but he didn't feel like it. He didn't even want this position.

       He wanted to be just the regular dancer/bartender again, the shy kid that was new to the attention he got from everybody. Maybe be the kid that learned a lap dance in one night, but not the kid that thought Rick loved him. He wanted that naivety back, he wanted his virginity back, he wanted it all back. He just wanted to go back to the first time he was alone with Rick in the back room just so he could tell himself, "don't do anything stupid". Of course, that would change the outcome of everything.
       He wouldn't be stuck with this aching burn in his chest all the time. His son wouldn't be literally crying for dad almost every night. Mrs. Jenlin wouldn't be questioning his line of work. He wouldn't have people coming out tomorrow to check on AJ because an anonymous somebody called with concerns for both AJ and Morty, even though the concern was more directed towards the kid. 

       Morty would probably just be Morty, never having had to hide his identity, never having to want to run but staying because of every 'maybe' that runs through his mind.

       He hated his life. He hated everything about it. He just wanted to run away.

       But he loved it all, too. He loved everything he hated, and he wasn't too sure how positive something like that was. It certainly wasn't healthy, and that much he was certain of.

       As much as he hated himself for it, he couldn't help but to care about the man that introduced him to this persona Morty had become today. 

       Maybe he'll get what he wants.

       But he'll never hear Rick say "I love you" again.