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AO3 VERSION -- way more scenes.

Summary: Claire Vega agreed to babysit for minimum wage and pantry rights -- as well as for some help with her college work. Rick and Diane are just happy to have someone that Beth hadn't tried to kill.

Words: 5,686 // chapter 0

Note: I'll be posting this officially on AO3 once I fix some pacing issues (I want to add a few more in-between scenes, as well as debating if I want to dump this as a linear story, or if I want time skips back and forth. I originally wrote it for style practice + reference, but it's turned into a 12k nightmare. This is the first 5.5k~ of it.

BLACK STAR (0/?)

Blame it on the black star Blame it on the falling sky Blame it on the satellite That beams me home

...

1995.

“Wow, Beth’s fast asleep,” Rick said, his voice reverent. “And you’re alive. Impressive.”

“I read her my paper on wormhole travel and she went out like a light.” I worked the clasp of my backpack, to tuck my Walkman away. I’d just gotten The Bends from a friend to listen to, though I knew I’d buy it for myself the moment I had some spare cash. “I think she likes space stuff, even if she doesn’t understand it all.”

“Yeah, I used to read her theoretical physics books to put her to sleep when she was a baby, so,” Rick tongued his lips apart, his gaze pivoted between my face and my backpack. “This paper — we talking Einstein–Rosen bridge, or…” He waved a hand, as if in search of a word. “Exotic matter, man-made style? Heard the boys finally cracked the code on that one — worked out that the wormhole needs a negative mass rather than what, toothpicks, to hold it open.”

“I’m sure my professor would love a paper on a wormhole supported by toothpicks…

“Doesn’t work,” Rick cut in. “Trust me.”

“We’re just going through the theoretical element of it, not the functional kind. No one’s even close to that.”

Rick snorted, his gaze slanted to the sleeping girl on the couch. He reached out to stroke his daughter’s hair, who leaned into the touch even in her sleep. I watched in silence, fake-busy with my notes. I picked them up and put them back on repeat, looking for any excuse to not watch Rick.

“Oh, I needed to pee since we left the restaurant — sorry, too much information.” That was Diane, who’d rushed past me when they’d arrived home from dinner. She yelled something about the bathroom which left Rick and I alone with the sleeping Beth. “Sorry Claire, emergency.”

“I get it,” I replied as Diane appeared.

Diane had a ten dollar bill pinched between her fingers, as if afraid she’d get it wet from how she’d washed her hands. I accepted it without a word about the amount. I’d only been here for a few hours and they’d given me dinner, too. I was essentially being paid to do my homework — and I knew they were a single income family. It was a favor, more or less, as a thank you for the help Rick had given me for my paper. He’d given it unwillingly, but I worked the answers out of him with enough begging.

The Sanchez home was quaint, the mantle decorated with photos of the family, mostly Beth in embarrassing outfits — but she looked happy in them, as a mermaid, a pirate, a witch, an alien. All the furniture was mismatched, bits and pieces inherited or gifted. The walls had prints of landscapes and space. All of this masked the blood stain beneath the corner of the couch and the claw marks across the back of one of the throw cushions. A vase that held fresh flowers, arranged with care.

The Sanchez family had a reputation; it was a contest between the scientific genius of Rick Sanchez or his daughter, who’d put a girl into hospital last month.

“How’re you — ” Diane began, her voice slow with sleepiness. “Oh, gosh, how’re you getting home sweetheart?”

“I live close by, I’ll just walk.” I packed my physics notebook into my backpack, along with the thick textbook I’d been deriving my notes from.

“Give her a lift, Rick,” Diane encouraged, her voice quiet so she didn’t wake Beth. The girl had fallen asleep drawing crayon gore, a bunch of dead unicorns being cannibalized by a praying mantis. She had little footed pajamas on and a smirk on her sleeping face. She was angelic when she was asleep. “I’ll make sure Beth’s in bed when you get back.”

“C’mon Claire, I’ve got shit to do tomorrow,” Rick said, no room for arguing. He pivoted to kiss Diane goodbye, his hand lingered on her hip. I looked away, down at my bag to find my wallet. He’d headed for the front door, not waiting for me to follow. Diane split off through the kitchen to Beth’s room toward the back of the house.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, my voice level. I shot a furtive look towards the kitchen, a smirk on my lips. “Thanks Mr. Sanchez.”

Rick’s gait stuttered, his hand caught on the door frame. “D-Don’t do that. Get in the car.”

I smiled at Rick, devious as I skirted my way towards the front door. He watched me with absent amusement. I waited by the passenger’s door, my arms clamped around my backpack.

“You’re easy to persuade.” He prodded, a brow cocked across the car at me.

“I knew you’d insist on walking me — I’d rather you drive me home, so you can drive yourself back.”

Rick leaned on the roof of his car, his arms looped atop the metal. His gaze drifted over my face, lower, as if trying to find something. After a silent moment, he locked his gaze back onto mine. “People don’t fuck with me, Cee. I’d be safe, with or without the car.”

I climbed into the passenger’s seat, not eager to challenge his claim. Rick had a reputation in the neighborhood for his experiments, though no one was bold enough to face off with him. People at my college spoke endlessly about him and his achievements, though he was frowned upon by most of the faculty. I hadn’t told anyone I agreed to babysit for the Sanchez family…

“Surprised you lasted the whole night with her.”

“Beth’s sweet.”

“No, you can say it, she’s terrifying — she’s fucking unhinged.” Rick laughed, loud and unexpected. “She gets it from me, but even then, she’s — she uh, she scared most other babysitters off. No one’ll take her on.”

“I enjoyed it, honestly.” I smiled at Rick who gave me a skeptical sneer.

Rick hadn’t started the car yet, his thumbs drummed on the patent leather wheel. He drummed away for a couple of seconds before he jutted his chin towards the dashboard. “Open the glove box.”

“What?” My heart slammed into my throat. A glove box could have just about anything in it; a gun, a snack, a condom, all the possibilities shot through my mind. “Why?”

“Get the uh, the… The brown wallet. Diane gave you ten bucks, but that’s… F-For Beth?” He licked his lips. “I have f-funds, that she’s not… Don’t ask, just take the fifty from in it.”

I struggled between eagerness at the offer and modesty. I didn’t want to take advantage of this family, even if Beth was a handful.

“I’m tellin’ you to take it. Consider it a down payment for future services.” Rick turned a corner, harder than I’d been prepared for. “And don’t tell anyone I gave it to you. You’re a college student, aren’t you meant to be desperate for money?”

“What are you getting at?” I spoke, my voice slow and soft.

“Oh my God, no — I didn’t mean like — okay, yeah, I phrased that a little fucking weird.” Rick firmed his grip on the wheel. “I’m trying to do you a favor, Jesus, just take the fifty. Made a couple of grand from a drug deal, if that makes you feel better. Or — that’s why I can’t tell my wife about it, but I — God, you’re such a shit, I’m — I’m trying to be nice and you make me feel like a criminal about it,” he said, half-laughing as he swerved around a few slower cars.

“A drug deal is a crime, Rick,” I explained, slowly, as if he were a child. The condescension didn’t fly with him as he swerved hard enough to rattle me. I refused to scream but I clung tighter to my seatbelt.

“Listen kid,” Rick shot me a confused look across his arm, his face abnormally handsome in the dim light. “I got paid for a delivery of goods. It’s not like, blood money or something. I didn’t kill someone for it. Someone needed some coke, I provided, wham, bam, capitalism at its finest.”

I popped open the glove box and fished out the fifty. There were dozens of hundred dollar bills, some precious gems and a pearl necklace tucked into the glove box. I shoved it shut, my eyes blown wide at the stash of wealth. I didn’t question it, at least not verbally. For all the quaint trappings of their home, I had to wonder why he didn’t use this to put his family somewhere nicer…

But the homespun quality of the cushions and the comfy kitchen made sense for Diane and for Beth. Rick was the part that contrasted, not quite fit into the picture. I suspected he knew it too, that while Beth and Diane radiated warmth and light, he sat more like the — the ocean, maybe. The moon. Cool and distant, but immense. The likeness continued to form in my mind’s eye as I watched him, the street lights flashed above. His face coming and going between each stripe of light highlighted how angular he was and how deep set his eyes were.

I hated to admit it, but he was attractive. Not in a traditionally Hollywood way, not in a way that anyone else could be. The sort of attractive that exuded from cult leaders, charisma unbound from appearance — like he’d stay charismatic with or without the trappings of youth. It seeped from his pores, that confidence, the nonchalance. It was the reason I’d approached him at my college when I’d seen him stealing bleach. It was the same reason I’d panicked when he told me to go for the glove box. No matter how much I thought I knew about Rick, I knew nothing.

Just that he loved his wife and his kid; that he’d do anything to see them happy.

And even that I couldn’t be sure of.

“You can stop staring whenever you want.”

I pinched my hands between my thighs, palms flat against one another and my head dropped low. We pulled to a stop and I climbed out, desperate to get to bed. My morning class was with Mr. Rochester and he locked the door at nine, so if you were late, you missed the class.

“See ya Mr. Sanchez,” I said through the window, amused with myself.

“Flash your lights when you’re up,” he instructed flatly, his lip curled. I pushed away from the car, my backpack slowing my jog to my apartment complex door. By the time I got into my apartment, I rushed to my kitchen window. His car still parked outside when I got up to my apartment. I saw it down there, idling, the headlights bright. I flicked my kitchen lights twice and his car roared to life, louder than it should be, and shot like lightning down the street.

He’d driven fast to get here but he was gone in seconds.

…

2001.

“And that’s why you do your own research.”

“I can’t exactly go into space and test my theories by hand.” I crossed out several formulas that Rick had dismissed. He’d looked at them for two seconds and decided they were likely to get someone killed — and given his practice with limited space travel, I trusted him.

“You could go into space with me but you’re too chicken shit to try.”

“Sorry I’m an engineer, not an astronaut.” I pushed up from my desk, a small plastic one that Rick had tucked into the corner. I twisted my neck side to side until I heard several pops, the tension relieved.

“That’s the problem with schools, they want you to package yourself neatly for one job rather than just doing what you want — y’know? So fucking what if your skills are a weird mix of eclectic shit, at least it’s stuff you care about.”

“I’m still not going into space with you.” I scratched my temple with the back of my pencil.

Rick rolled his eyes. The garage felt like a sauna in the summer afternoon, my jeans and sweater a terrible choice for the occasion. I pinched the front of the sweater and ruffled it back and forth, the warm current of air only a fraction cooler.

“Ditch the sweater,” Rick said, leaned back in his spindly office seat. Where I expected a wink or an eyebrow wriggle, he kept his expression neutral. “The power grid’s already at maximum capacity so A/C is a no-go. I’m not risking another neighborhood blackout ‘cause you’re body conscious.”

I shucked off my heavy sweater and dropped it onto the shelves by the garage door. My gaze snagged on a white gun with a cracked blue crystal protruding from the top, one that stood out against all the silver and black metal. I didn’t touch it, given I’d been around Rick long enough to know shit was dangerous. “Working on something new?”

“Huh?” Rick looked up from his makeshift oven. His gaze shifted between the gun and my face. “I’m always working on something.”

“Well,” I said, in my signature way before I left. I didn’t mean to do it, it just happened. And like clockwork, Rick stood up.

“It’s still early, you got somewhere to be?”

“Sort of.”

“Ah, you’ve finally replaced me, I get it.” He nudged me with his words alone, in a way I wish he wouldn’t. Not tonight. Not about this. “Who’s the new tutor?”

“Um, it’s more like a dinner thing… With someone.”

“Just say you have a date,” Rick pushed some papers out across his work bench. “Diane told me earlier.” The way he said this sat wrong in my stomach, like when you swallowed the wrong way and your chest locked up.

“Did she?”

“Yeah. It’s some kid from your class, right?” He looked up, out of the corner of his eye.

“Uh, not class, but, school, yeah.”

Rick straightened up, his hands splayed on the papers. “What uh… What degree?”

I busied myself with my backpack, a habit I’d yet to break. “Accounting.”

“Oh my God.”

“Rick — ”

“Of all the… An accountant?” Rick rocked back, stuck between amused and pained. He pressed his fists to his face, teeth strained into a nasty smile. “Oh my God, Claire.”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.” I yanked my backpack on, eager to head for the door. My sweater laid in the crook of my elbow and sweat had already began to form against it. Rick shot between me and the door, his arms outstretched.

“You’re really gonna go out to dinner with a guy who’s big ambition is working for the tax office?” Rick rolled his hands together gesturing to both of us, as if he had any part in it. “Is this what we’re doing now? Jesu-us.”

“We’re not doing anything,” I exhaled, my gaze pointedly fixed beyond Rick’s right shoulder. “I’m going on a date. I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“Happy that you’re going on a date? Sure, why not. But with a guy who sucks off the IRS? Yeah, not sure how you thought that was on the cards.” Rick made a low growl of a sound from the back of his throat. He tongued his teeth, his head tipped to one side. We kept eye contact for a long moment, longer than I felt comfortable. But I refused to back down, a blush formed along the back of my neck and across my cheeks.

And for the first time, he looked away first. But he remained bracketed against the exit of the garage and into the main house. His palm laid flat against the door frame, the smell of his cologne strangely familiar. I worked with him often enough, that shouldn’t be such a surprise. But we were rarely this close to one another. I wasn’t sure who kept it that way, him or I, but I noticed the closeness now. But even with that closeness, he wouldn’t look at me.

I stood immobile in front of Rick, afraid to move. My backpack weighted me down, which was probably the only thing keeping me steady. It used to be manageable but as I was in my final year of my Masters’ degree, it’d become cumbersome. I came over to babysit less and less, maybe once a month… Beth was almost fourteen and out of her violent phase, so her parents were letting her be alone more. She could call if she needed me, and I could drive over.

Now I just visited to get help with my homework from Rick. I’d see Diane every so often but…

My eyes drifted across Rick’s jaw, his neck, unsure if he was going to move or if he was waiting for me.

I couldn’t pinpoint it, but things shifted in the Sanchez household. The mantelpiece still had the photos of a young Beth throughout her Halloween years. The prints on the walls were the same, landscapes and space mixed together. The blood stain beneath the couch had been replaced by new carpet. The cushions had been replaced. The fresh flowers were refreshed weekly, though they looked a little dead today.

Music blared from the back of the house where Beth was going through her teenage angst. I saw her less and less, but I didn’t mind. It was part of babysitting, the kids would grow out of a need for you. It’d be creepy to insist myself back into her life as a friend, at least now. Maybe once she was a little older, if our paths crossed.

And Rick hadn’t looked at me again, his eyes unfocused on the floor beside me as I pushed past him.

That broke the moment and the silence, harshly enough for Rick to catch up with what was going on. “Enjoy your meal, talking about fucking tax brackets, or write-offs, or whatever the fuck those guys do for fun. Eat babies, probably.”

I wish I’d taken a moment longer to appreciate the home. The way the cream carpet broke into tiles through the kitchen. The unruly back garden with the overgrown trees. The simple lounge, the seemingly infinite pantry… The warm garage, a place I’d never see again. Maybe if I’d said goodbye to Diane properly, rather than rush past her in tears. It’s hard to know when things will end. Sometimes you have warning, like the end of your high school career, but most of the time it’s sudden and random.

The divorce hit me in a way I hadn’t expected. It wasn’t my family, or my marriage.

No matter what Diane said, I knew I was part of the problem.

Diane remained kind in the wake of her divorce. I’d wager because she had so few friends of her own, and no support network. Diane was the first of the pair to reach reach out after they split. She said thank you for the help over the years with Beth, and the babysitting. She promised over and over that it was personal differences, things that couldn’t be helped. She didn’t blame me. She gave me their new address and we connected once every couple of months. This ramped up when Beth became pregnant with Summer, as Diane had little in the way of family.

Rick contacted me too, much later and separately. He begged me not to tell Diane or Beth where he was, or what he was doing. But he’d breeze into my apartment once every couple of months to crash on my couch, in during the night and usually gone before I’d woken up. He’d always leave a fifty behind to pay for food or whatever he’d taken, a tooth brush, my whiskey, random things.

Other nights, he’d beg for stories about his daughter and his ex-wife. He was never sober, not in all the times he visited. I had to wonder if I dreamed all these visits, as there was no pattern to them. No proof, not unless you counted the missing items and the money left behind.

After a couple of years the visits dwindled to almost nothing. They were always ghostly, as he’d appear and disappear in the night. No mess, no hint that he’d been in my apartment, aside from the money left to cover whatever value he perceived. Sometimes the money was intergalactic, as I could think of no other way to explain the Monopoly-esque money. I couldn’t find it online and no vendors recognized it.

The worst nights were when he came into my room, to wake me up. This had only happened twice in the three or so years that he visited me. He’d collapse onto the floor and sob in my lap, talking in tongues. He’d tell me about an army he’d torn apart, or a planet that exploded. Heinous things, things beyond human comprehension. This was the shift I’d not noticed; how I’d gone from taking care of Beth to caring for Rick.

That was one thing Rick taught me. Things shift, and you either move with them or get the fuck out of the way.

But things shifted. I knew that for certain.

…

2001.

The the little Italian restaurant that Marcus and I had agreed to meet at had been closed for bed bugs. We ended up drifting around town until we happened upon a weird fusion diner that served French and Italian food, with a pun I don’t care to repeat. The waitress sat us in the back corner and laid a menu out for each of us, the corners curled and stained with sauces. I could smell nothing but garlic and tomatoes, unsure where the French cuisine fit into the picture given the Olive Garden vibes.

Marcus, as if prepared for the silent tension between us, had a series of hypothetical questions. What was more likely to win in a fight, a bear-sized ant or an ant-sized bear. Who was more popular in high school Santa Claus or Jack Frost. Weird questions, but I had fun with the hypothetical…

Until they stopped being hypothetical.

“What’s more likely, someone gets to the bottom of the ocean or someone goes into space alone?”

“Uh, both are pretty likely.” I smiled at the waitress as she laid out a plate of spaghetti in front of me. She put a large pizza in front of Marcus, who angled the pizza closer as if to signify I wasn’t to touch it.

“What do you mean — ”

“I mean, when you say go into space alone, you mean like… Someone makes their own space ship, sends themselves into space?” I took a bite of spaghetti.

“More or less. Just someone who’s not a huge corporation, or backed by a government. Like how people make their own go-carts.”

“Well then yeah, that one — my friend did it.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes at me over his slice of meat lovers pizza. He tongued the grease as he considered my answer, dubious at best. “Like an imaginary friend?”

“No, a guy I used to babysit for. He tutored me in astrophysics and theoretical physics… Engineering. Baking, too, he’s good at baking.”

“You don’t mean that Sanchez man that breaks onto campus to steal equipment, do you.” He fished some spaghetti from my plate without asking and I angled my plate closer to make it easier. It gave me some sense of control over the situation, given he looked like he might snap my wrist if I touched his pizza.

“Um, yeah. We go way back,” I snapped off a piece of garlic bread to distract myself from the look Marcus gave me at that.

“You don’t believe him, do you?”

I twirled my spaghetti around my fork, my gaze fixed on the plate in front of me.

“Claire, he’s… It’s literally impossible for him to go into space in a personal spaceship, you know that, right?”

“It’s not literally impossible, it’s highly unlikely.” I adjusted my posture in my seat, a sweet smile on my lips. “And I’ve seen it.”

“You’ve seen his space ship,” Marcus echoed, his voice thin.

“I have.”

Marcus looked like he was about to yell but tamped it down, his hands framed against his temples. His tongue poked from between his lips, an unsure smile replaced his tense grin. “Sure. Okay.”

“You asked the question; what’s more likely, someone gets to the bottom of the ocean or someone goes into space alone.”

“It’s meant to be a fun hypothetical,” Marcus rubbed his neck with the flat of his palm, his expression no less annoyed. “I just think it’s a little — um — I guess it’s nice, that you think that.”

I paused mid-bite and set my fork down. “I’m about to get my Masters in aerospace engineering.”

“And?”

“Nevermind,” I picked my fork back up.

…

2004.

“Swanky graduation, huh? You can smell the nepotism and fake meritocracy from a mile away.”

“Rick,” I smiled at Rick who’d deigned to wear a suit. It was a rare but welcome sight. I had my cap tucked beneath my arms, my weight rested on one leg. “Surprised you accepted the invite. I thought you hated the education system.”

“Oh, I absolutely fucking despise it. But they're not gonna take credit for my hard work."

“What work is that, exactly?” I sipped on the cocktail I’d secured from the open bar downstairs. It was the only reason Rick had attended, I was sure — aside from the work he spoke of.

“You,” he tucked his hands into his pockets, a nod of his head sent my way. “As if you’d have gotten valedictorian without my help.”

“So, it’s not thanks to my essay on the relation between time and light as — ”

“Eugh, shut up, you’re not impressing anyone with your pseudo-science jargon. So don’t even try that shit on me,” he sneered as he cornered me by the antique bookshelf. “I mean it though. You’re my achievement, not theirs.”

From anyone else, this might be a playful tease or a statement of pride. But from Rick, it landed heavier. He was possessive of his family, his friends… Anyone he deigned worthy of his time slotted into his proverbial trophy cabinet. When he said I was his achievement, he meant it.

His fingers danced along the spines of the books, as he’d occasionally tug one out to mutter the title.

“How do you figure that? Me, being your achievement?”

“The fact I have to explain it to you is exactly why you’re my achievement — I helped write your papers, I gave you topics, I proofread your shit. Don’t,” he shoved a book back in to loom closer, as long as he’d gotten in a long time. “Don’t fuck with me on this one, Claire.”

“And that makes me your achievement?” I tutted against my teeth. I expected him to break into his usual tirade, to yell about the shortcomings of the education system and how it’d failed dozens of other successful people… But it didn’t come. Instead he remained between the exit and I, the space far more limited in the low light. He was a little too close and a little too warm, like a radiator left on in the summer.

He reached out to move my hair behind my ear and I panicked. “I’m sorry, about Diane.”

“I don’t wanna talk about that shit tonight, Cee.”

“I know, but I haven’t seen you, to… To say that I was sorry, to hear about the split. Usually you’re black out drunk and beyond words,” I took another sip of my cocktail while Rick picked over the spines of the books.

“Yeah, well…” Rick tongued his lips apart. “I… If I’ve ever come to your apartment drunk, I’m sorry if I shit in your plants, or whatever.”

I didn’t have the heart to recount how many times he’d come to my house in the night to drunkenly cry. I was doubtful if he even knew that he did it, and given the distant look in his eyes, I’d wager he didn’t. “I sent you an invite through um, the number you left — I’m surprised you actually came.”

“And now that I’m here, you’re bringing my ex-wife into this.” He pried a book of poems from the shelf to flick through, his expression soured as he skimmed the pages. “Can’t imagine why I’d avoid you when you make everything about my divorce.”

I couldn’t argue with that. I’d watched his marriage with Diane deteriorate in a way I couldn’t help. It wasn’t for a lack of love, I could tell that much. Not with how he looked at me, the barest shape of remorse behind his eyes.

I got it though. Not in the sense that I agreed, as I’d watched Diane and Beth move on without him. But from a place of understanding, that Rick was a force of his own… His love of his family and his love of science, one had to win out. It was just unfortunate that he couldn’t find it in himself to choose his family.

“Don’t look at me like that, Claire.”

I pinched a smile up at him, my arms crossed so that my cocktail rested by my elbow. “I appreciate you being here. That’s all.”

“Yeah, well, who else have you got?” He dug in his suit jacket until he produced a flask, to top up his drink as well as mine.

“Marcus,” I said, my tone pointed. My gaze had slid to the doorway where Marcus stood, his brown cropped hair slick to his head. He was half a foot taller than me which made him a foot shorter than Rick. I’d never appreciated how tall Rick really was, not until he bracketed me against that doorway back in his old garage.

“Oh my God, you’re still dating Marcus?”

“She is,” Marcus said, his voice razor thin. “Is this Rick?”

A lump rose in my throat. For all the years I’d dated Marcus, he’d never actually met Rick. But he knew of the man, given he was my mentor and somewhat of a friend. Rick angled his body around enough to acknowledge Marcus, a lazy smile on his lips. Marcus took it upon himself to have a rivalry with a man I’d never so much as hugged, let alone had a romantic encounter with.

“And you’re the little accountant man.” Rick looked him over once. “Kinda fat, that’s a surprise. Didn’t know you liked that. Nothing wrong with it,” he whispered that out of the corner of his mouth.

“Yes, this is Rick,” I gestured to the jackass beside me, the one who’d stooped lower to talk more shit in a stage whisper beside my ear. “He was just congratulating me on my graduation.”

"Look, I’m not judging, he’s like a solid six, maybe — and, hey, I would’ve put on weight if I knew — ”

I elbowed Rick, a blush flared around my throat and cheeks.

“Yep, graduation, whatta time, what a time, huh Marky-Mark,” Rick huffed into his double shot of whatever was in his flask.

“Yes, took her long enough to graduate,” Marcus said with a laugh. “As long as you’ve known her, isn’t that right?”

“It’s a Masters degree,” Rick pivoted, his back to me as he looked down at Marcus.

“I just meant, she’s been in college a long time,” Marcus gestured towards me, his gaze fixed to Rick. I saw the spark of possessiveness flare behind Marcus’s eyes but it never eventuated into anything. He was too reserved for that. “Sort of like seeing your daughter graduate I’d imagine.”

“Nah, there were a lot more horses at her graduation ceremony.” Rick swallowed but kept the glass by his lips. “Half as many jackasses though.”

“I’m not going to be out for long,” I interjected. “I’m going to be doing my doctorate next. Not sure if I want to do it in aerospace engineering or theoretical physics yet, though.”

“Again?” Rick groaned. “You’re gonna come back to this hellhole? For a piece of fuckin’ paper?”

“I have to agree… Nine years of schooling to do space engineering, just seems like a lot, doesn’t it.”

“Woah, hey now fuck knuckle,” Rick waved a hand wide, with enough force to send half his drink flying. The books beside him began to sizzle from whatever liquid he’d been drinking. “She took four years for a bachelor’s degree, another two for the Masters’ degree — but Claire did the bachelor’s degree for theoretical physics alongside that, that’s six years,” Rick tallied off on my behalf. He took a long swig of what remained of his drink, his brow raised down at Marcus. “That’s twelve years of schooling, achieved in nine, which is uh, hate to have to explain it to you of all people — nine is a very good number for that. She’s also top of her class you fuckin’ — did your degree in sucking the man’s dick not teach you to count?”

“He’s been drinking,” I said with a gentle tug on Rick’s arm.

“I think you’re the one who’s drinking if you’re with some jackass who talks shit the second the opportunity presents itself.”

“Should I get security — ”

“Absolutely,” Rick said, his teeth gnashed against his bottom lip. “Bring ‘em in, I’m down for a fight. Tear this bitch up!”

“No, no,” I waved my hands as Marcus disappeared. “What the fuck was that?”

“What, honesty? That guy sucks.”

“He’s going to get security, we have to — ”

Rick pulled out the white gun I’d seen in his garage, but it held a green crystal rather than the blue from years ago. That day in particular stood out to me, as it’d been the last time I’d seen any of Rick’s inventions. But what I hadn’t expected was the green wobbly portal that appeared, the one that he disappeared into. He appeared back into the room, a sly smile on his face.

“It’s safe, trust me.”

“What is it — ”

“A surprise.” He vanished again.

#rick v739

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#rick v739