Morty was happy, and it didn't take a genius to figure that out. The brunet was always smiling, falling back into the usual routine. He still showed up at four on his own, stood behind the bar with his earpiece laughing at the shitty jokes Rick made just to mess with him. The brunet often chastised him for being unproductive, usually as he made the drinks. 
       But there were many differences. Morty didn't seem to glow like he used to. Yes, he looked positively happy, but he looked like a man hit hard with reality. He almost looked like a man who had witnessed every one of his hopes thrown into a bag and dropped to the bottom of a dark river, never to be seen again. He didn't glow like he used to, when he was absolutely free to do anything. He didn't glow. 
       Perhaps it had to do with what he'd said just last week. "It's a universal fact. I'll never be enough."
       He hadn't said he wasn't enough of anything specific, hadn't said he didn't have enough of something. He'd simply said he himself was not enough for the man. But Morty didn't understand, and Rick didn't know how to make him. He wasn't one for being extremely open about every aspect of his life, only telling a few stories with positive morals or random bits of his memory that he particularly enjoyed. He hadn't ever really spoken to anybody about his family life. He'd gone every year of his life without sharing any of that information, without going into any sort of explanation about his life outside of the few, very few, things he'd told the brunet.
       Truth be told, he was hardly aware of the fact that he'd been doing everything wrong. He hadn't been aware of what he had been doing, in all actuality. When he was growing up, it had been such a large part of his life that the daily actions were simply hard-wired into his brain. He hadn't known until the brunet made it obvious for the second time that Rick wasn't properly going about doing anything.
       There were many things Rick could be, but honest was difficult. He was, for the most part, a compulsive liar, a secretive bastard. But that had to change if he wanted to keep the brunet around.

*~*~*

       Morty stood before a sink full of dishes, grumbling to himself while his music played from the speakers of his phone. Sam had left again, leaving Morty to take care of the house on his own for what felt like the umpteenth time. Obedient, yes, clean, no. That was Sam. Morty hated it. His house-mate was very, very messy, and hardly cleaned up after himself. 
       A series of rapid knocks on his front door brought Morty from his momentary grumbling, the brunet quickly drying his hands before he went and opened the door. "Huh.." he mumbled, staring suspiciously at Rick standing on his front step now. "No warning, so I'm assuming you're not just here to 'hang out'," Morty mused, allowing the man to step inside before he made his way back to the kitchen. 
        "What brings you to my messy abode?" Morty questioned crankily, continuing to scrub the dishes. "Uh, I guess I did come to hang out, but I was also wondering if I could talk to you." Morty watched the man look around curiously as he shut his music off, slipping his phone into his pocket. He decided maybe he should just look into wearing a shirt around the damn house from now on if people were going to just start dropping in like this.
       "I can help out if you want," Rick stated, leaning against the counter to the left of the sink. Morty sighed, rinsing the last plate and stacking the dishes away before draining the sink. "No, it's fine. I wish Sam was that polite, but, you know.." Morty growled lowly in frustration at the end of his statement, moving around the living room and gathering the man's dirty clothing. "I need my own house or a new roommate. He always leaves me with his crap, and then he yells at me for doing his laundry. Like, I'm not going to let people come in and see this crap everywhere!" Morty complained, gathering the last sock and setting it all in a basket. "I swear to God, he treats me like a housemaid. I'll be right back."
       Morty left Rick in the living room as he went to throw the clothes in the wash. He went through the usual routine, wanting to slam the door closed but knowing it wasn't good for the machine anyway. He tossed the basket to the other side of the room and made his way back to the living room, finding Rick eyeing a dragon statue. "That man," Morty grumbled, "is obsessed with fantasy. He and Gary would be the best damn friends." 
       The brunet cleaned the garbage from the couch and flopped down on the furniture, leaning back against the cushions with a heavy sigh. "I'm gonna wind up losing my mind with Sam," he announced, sitting up as Rick sat beside him. "I do all the cooking, the cleaning, the bills... Oh my God, give me a minute, I'm turning into my mother." Morty leaned on the arm of the couch with a sigh, "I'm just gonna shut up now so do whatever you gotta do." 
       "I think you need a vacation," Rick laughed lightly, leaning against the armrest on his left as he turned to face the brunet. "Probably as far away from Sam as you can get me," Morty grumbled. "Maybe the moon."
       "I think even I can't get you there." Morty sighed, laughing lightly as he grabbed his bottle of apple juice from the end table. "Do you want anything?" he questioned before taking a much needed extended drink. "Nah, I'm pretty good right now." Morty nodded as he capped his bottle and threw the empty contained into the bin. "Alright, well anyway. What'd you come over for?"
       Rick shrugged, sitting up and angling himself to face Morty now. "I was just thinking about what you keep saying. That you'll never be enough." 
       Morty hummed lightly, nodding in recognition as he put his phone away. "And what about it?" he asked almost uncaringly. "Why do you keep saying it?" Rick sounded very honest, but when didn't he? Morty was well aware by now of the fact that the man was manipulative. That's how he got into this damnable mess in the first place. For all Morty knew, Rick was just trying to guilt trip him again.
       "Because I get it. I never was anything. And if this is going to be a continuation of the last damn time I saw you before I was shot, I want out of this. I don't want to sit here and argue about who's right and who's wrong right now. It's been a hellish day and I'm already pissed off because Sam starts shit and never finishes the damn argument. One fight's enough for me, thanks." Morty sank down on the couch, folding his arms over his middle and twirling the cross in his left hand.
       "It doesn't have to be a fight. I didn't come over here to piss you off, Morty. I wanted to know why you keep saying that, and now I wanna know why you think it." 
       Morty turned to face Rick with an incredulous expression, almost downright glaring at the man. "Why the hell does it even matter to you now?" he spoke lowly, both wanting an answer and wanting Rick to stop acting like he always did. "When did you ever start caring about what the hell I wanted out of everything? You sound like my high school counselor. 'Well, gee, Morty, I get that you tried, but I wanna know why.' I get that it doesn't have to be a fight, but that's all it ever is with you. I know I'm a big fucking instigator, but that's all it ever is with you. You wanna know why I think that, or do you wanna know why I know it? Because I'll give you your fucking answer. You need me, don't you, Rick? You need me when you're out there, doing God knows who. You really fucking need me, don't you? I'm a human being, except for when you're pissed at me, except for when somebody pisses you off and you just need a good fuck. You need me, except for when you can blow a couple hundred. I'm somebody to you, except for when I'm just in your way. I used to be somebody. There was a time when I could look at you and think, 'Goddamn, he actually cares about me', and I wouldn't have a second opinion. When I first met you, you-you were fan-fucking-tastic. And then-- then you stopped trying. Something must have clicked, huh? You liked that I was an obedient little shit. You loved pissing me off, flaunting me because I'm your little fucking toy that you can just drag around and destroy. God forbid I break myself. You'll just patch it up and send me on my merry fucking way. It's nice knowing I work with Kandii. She was the only person that ever made fucking sense." 
       Morty was almost shaking he was so pissed, staring heavily at the man in front of him. Rick blinked several times, trying to process it all, Morty supposed. "Do you remember," he spoke slowly, like he was still thinking over Morty's words, "when I asked you to always tell me how you felt? It was because I wanted to avoid this. I wanted to avoid all of this. I've always cared about what you wanted, Morty."
       "No, you never did. That was the problem!" Morty couldn't actually believe this. "Let me finish," Rick began. Morty shook his head, "No. Not when you're lying. If you're gonna say shit like that, it better be the fucking truth. You never cared about what I wanted, and I'll give you the perfect fucking example. You have guilt tripped me back twice now. I was fucking fine, sitting at that goddamned bar with Gene, but you had to have Jeff butt in. Don't think I didn't know what was going on. I know you heard everything. You guilt tripped me because, apparently, you can't just leave me the fuck alone and let me make decisions without making me feel guilty for leaving. And you did it again! 'I said it before, Morty, I need you.' That's what you said, right?" Morty watched as Rick furrowed his brow, leading the brunet to growl in frustration. He leaned over and tugged the man's collar down, met with yet another set of new marks. "You need me, don't you?" he growled, letting go of the man's collar. "I'm just gonna bring some business in for you, sit there, stuck with this damnable 'power' or whatever the hell it is, and wait for the day I'm dead. Because I made the stupid decision to get back at the man that shot you right in front of me. That's why I went to visit Jack, Rick. That's why I fucking went. Remember what I wrote to you, Rick? Remember when I came back, and you were worried because I left on my own, but then you were pissed because I left on my own? I've done nothing but try, and I've put my goddamn life into this, I've risked it all for you because goddamn I couldn't stand watching it happen after everything you told me. But, and, God, I can't get it out of my head no matter how much time goes by, I saw those fucking videos. Six years, I'm still terrified. Whoever the hell that was that you told not to yell at you, the same woman you had been hanging off of in another one of the damn things? You didn't even care. One minute, you're hanging off of her like she's the fucking universe, the next you're electrocuting her on camera. You are so unstable, it's not even funny. Is that what's going to happen? Huh? Is that what those marks mean? You're bored with me, and you gotta get rid of me because I'm annoying but goddamn I got too involved. I'm waiting for that, Rick. I hope you know, I'm waiting for the day when it's me that you can just turn around and off in a heartbeat. I'm waiting for the day when you usurp the power, when you find somebody else that puts their all into you until you're ready to move on again. You can't have just one. You gotta try them all. You never cared about what I wanted. You just realized that I was too damn attached to fucking run away, because you were the first person to make me feel human, but you were also the first person that I felt like I could trust. What happened? Everything-- It was wonderful, in the beginning. What happened after that? What happened to you, or was it me changing because I'd been fixing you for so long I forgot who I fucking was?" 
       Morty was leaning forward, over the couch, now as he waited for an answer. It had taken almost six years, but the man couldn't guilt trip him as easily. Morty wasn't nearly as attached as he had once been. He saw it now, he saw the bad in the man he'd idolized, saw the danger flashing out at him. He had been so stupid to ignore it all, but he saw it now. He saw everything Gary had worked so hard to show him. He found it on his own. It wasn't a game of 'Where's Waldo?' anymore. It was the easiest game of 'I Spy' he'd ever played, and he spied a liar.
       "Okay," Rick whispered after the longest time. Morty scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's all I get?" he asked, fumbling with the cross again.
       "You don't understand," he stated, louder than the last phrase. "No, I understand plenty," Morty grumbled, leaning against the armrest. 
       "Just hear me out," Rick pleaded, sitting up now. He was facing Morty fully, one leg bent on the couch while the other remained on the floor. "Fine," Morty snipped, glancing over expectantly.
       "I don't know when I'm fucking up," he explained slowly. Morty shook his head with a scoff, continuing to toy with the necklace. "I really don't. I was led to believe, for a majority of my life, that that was normal, okay? I watched women come and go through my own home. I'm living the way I was raised, and I hate that I didn't realize until you came along. By then, it was too late to fix that. You have to understand, it really was. My mother would sit on the couch, watching my father stumble in with two girls, at least, almost every night. Always drunk, always a mean son of a bitch. And she was fine with that. I asked Devon once, when we were still talking, and all he said was that my dad was a lucky bastard. I thought that was right. My whole life, I thought that was the right way to do things. Find somebody that let you get away with everything. I am a living copy of my father. I try not to be. I really fucking try, especially now that I'm aware of just how bad it is. Remember asking me why I need the doors shut, and I always said it was safe? I was giving you a bullshit answer. It was safe. One night, my dad comes home, drunk as shit with a blonde bitch on his arm and a red-head right behind. I was studying for the ACT or some shit, and I watched him barely kick my door. I got the absolute worst ass-kicking of my life while these two bimbos watched. I am trying my damnedest not to be that man. It's so late in my life, and I'm still trying not to be. I wanted a kid so I could raise them right and tell my dad to go fuck himself because I would never be like him. But I was, and I still am. I'm trying not to be. I was raised with no different outlook because I'd never seen another family function well. I'm the man I am today because I got out of a run-down town and made myself into the bastard I am today. I used to be the one taking out loans, and now I'm up here, right where I am, because I didn't want to be like that. But you're telling me right now that I messed up, that I'm just like that man. You're telling me that, in every year I've been here, I didn't realize that I'm just a copy of an absolute motherfucking bastard. You think your father was bad, you sh-- I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, okay? I cannot handle being like him, much less admitting to anybody that he was even my father. I get where you're coming from, hating what yours did. But at least you fucking fixed it. Now they still think you're dead, so at least you finally got your wish. I care about what you want, but I have no idea what I'm supposed to do when you start saying I don't. I don't know how to make you believe it, because I had no clue just how bad I was fucking up. And I'm sorry you think that way, that I'm ever going to hurt you. I don't want that, so, please, tell me what the hell I can do to fix it."
       Morty leaned against the couch again, feeling his throat go dry as he tried to swallow the saliva gathering to speak. "I don't know," he replied after almost an eternity. He really didn't. How the hell was anybody supposed to fix that?
       "You gotta know something. It's my fault. I gotta fix it. What do you want from me? Please, just let me fix this before I wind up losing you for good." 
       Morty read sincerity in every one of Rick's features, but he had no clue how to discern truth from lies right now. You can't make that kind of shit up about your family life, but you can about wanting to fix something.
       "Rick," Morty began, "I have been hit, strangled, and screamed at by you. What would you ask your father to do if he put you in my position? What the hell am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to ask for that will fix this?"
       The man regarded Morty closely, his brows furrowing up almost in pain as his shoulders slumped in defeat.
       "Nothing could fix it."