A Drop of Rain

Needles in My Heart

Authors note: there's gonna be a lot of flipping between Rick's perspective and Morty's perspective. Sorry if it confuses anyone. Also, this chapter is kind of graphic. Just a warning.

-Rick

The blindfold wrapped around Rick's head was scratchy and uncomfortable. And it was a damn good blindfold as well- he couldn't see anything. Not a damn thing. Everything was pitch black. All he knew was that his prison block was shifting around, and hands were all over him, guns cocking behind him, and aliens were shouting in a language he couldn't understand. They're probably deliberately using a language that he hasn't heard before, because most of the languages Rick has heard around space were languages he could understand. He could even understand the languages that consisted of mostly clicks and pitches.

But this language? No. It was so foreign to the blue haired scientist that he couldn't understand a damn word. Eventually he heard the vaguely familiar sound of his cuffs un-clicking from his prison block. He landed on the ground, his misused legs instantly collapsing under him. This exact same thing had happened yesterday when that one bitch took him in to inform him of the fact that they had his grandson. Rick doesn't believe them, actually. And if they plan to make it a simulation in order to trick him, he'll know. It's easy to tell. Well, it's at least easy for him to tell.

Hands were grabbing at his arms- definitely gromflomite hands, ew. Rick struggled against them for a moment, but after a couple of months of pretty much not moving, his muscles became weak, therefore making him incapable of fighting off a couple of gromflomites. Even if the struggle only lasted for about 30 seconds, it had sufficiently worn Rick out. He was panting and sweating by the end of it. He let the gromflomites guide him to some unknown place.

With an excessive amount of force, he was shoved down into a chair, and his neck, wrists, and ankles were all immediately chained down. "Fuckin' pussies." Rick muttered more to himself than anyone else.

...Unknown to Rick at this moment, there was a keypad with an assortment of alien numbers that was out of Rick's reach, connected to the chair.

**

-Morty

Morty was going to hyperventilate. Again. Holy shit. After the trial had been adjured, the two gromflomites that had been guarding the door blindfolded him, and now they were guiding him... somewhere. Morty didn't know where. It was either to go to the place where he was going to be tortured in front of Rick, or back to his cell. Either way, the uncertainty was nerve wreaking.

Going back to his cell would enable Morty to start freaking out, counting down the minutes until the torture would start. But if they were starting the torture now, then... he was going to fucking die. Two things would happen. 1. He'd get tortured, and probably killed after they realized Rick isn't going to do anything. And 2. He's going to see Rick... which is hell in itself. He misses and loves Rick... but there's no way in hell he's ready to see him.

He's still... confused about how he feels towards him. He hates him, but he loves him. He wants to punch his face until he's knocked out cold, but he also wants to hug him and never let go. And what if he gets the chance to say anything to Rick? Will he tell him he hates him, or that he missed him? Will he forgive him, or will he not be able to even look at him? Will he even see Rick at all? Will Rick be the only one that can see him?

This waiting game is the worst game of all. Morty despises it more than anything. He wants to ask the gromflomite where they are going, but he's too anxious to actually bring himself to speak.