AN: Takes place after "Rick Potion #9".

Chapter 1

"Looks like the old man got new digs," Alura muttered, surveying the strangely normal suburban home through her tactical binoculars. She simply had to roll her eyes. "White bread family, adorable dog, green front lawn… jeez, all that's missing is a white picket fence."

It was all too strange. This wasn't Rick's normal MO. She had to wonder what the hell was going on. Did he finally grow a conscience and settle down into a typical human life? She hopped not, because that meant she was shit out of luck as far as her buyers went.

"He better be inventing his ass off in that garage," she said, before trying to shimmy out from the bush she was hiding under and getting her hair caught in the branches. "Aw shit..."

Alura waited in her spacecraft till nightfall to make her move. The cloaking device kept her hidden from view but it didn't stop birds from flying into it every now-and-then making her a little more than suspicious. Still, this was Earth and the creatures on it were far less intelligent than the beings she was used to dealing with. Anyone who saw would probably blame it on abnormal winds, paranormal activity, or some other stupid shit.

Once 3am rolled around, Alura hopped out of her ride and headed over to the house across the street. Taking out a scanner from her satchel, she began to disable the security system. It was rather simple... just a basic house alarm, laser field, and motion sensor machine gun turrets.

"Jesus... you're f*cking slipping Rick," she muttered under her breath before cracking the garage door open and sneaking inside.

Clicking on the flashlight clipped to her vest, Alura began to survey her surroundings, looking for anything valuable. Her gaze paused on a box perched on a shelf to her left and cracked a grin. "Hmmm… "Time Travel Stuff". It's just stupid enough to be promising."

She made a B-line to the seemingly abandoned box of junk and rummaged inside. Finding a piece of machinery that looked interesting, she slipped it into her satchel. Whatever it was, Alura figured it had to be worth something.

Tucking the box away, she slowly began to walk around the garage, deciding what the big-ticket items might be. It wasn't like Rick had labeled anything and to the untrained eye, it all looked like grody space trash. She wasn't after anything in particular. Honestly, she was looking for anything that would earn her a dime. Times had gotten a bit desperate in her corner of the galaxy and she needed a bit of a boost to get her back on track. She would feel bad, however, Rick was only ever on the side of Rick so she had somewhat of an excuse not to care.

Suddenly, she heard a pained groan and a big pile of space trash behind her began to move. Alura immediately pulled out her plasma gun and aimed it at the mound.

"If you're a genetic experiment turned abomination in need of a mercy killing, tell me now or I'll be forced to make this incredibly painful for you!" She sternly warned the creature slowly clawing its way out of the trash.

"Goddamn it…" grumbled the incredibly familiar voice of Rick Sanchez at he rose up from the mess he'd passed out in a few hours earlier. The drunken genius stumbled into the light, confused and angry. "A-uuurp-Alura, what the hell are you doing here?" he snapped, the smell of liquor on his breath was overwhelming.

"I should ask you the same thing," she snorted, watching as he stumbled over a few empty glass bottles. "What are you doing in this shithole playing grandpa to these useless flesh sacks?"

Rick fixed her with a dead-eyed stare and hiccupped before answering her. "Well it was either this or a shelter."

"Bullshit. You could do better, Sanchez," she muttered, begrudgingly complementing him.

"Apparently not," he grumbled, stepping up and pushing her gun aside.

She didn't fight him as he pulled the satchel off her shoulder and emptied it onto the table. Usually she would kick anyone who tried to touch her in the nuts but this time was different... not-to-mention she knew better than to f*ck with Rick Sanchez. He had enough cybernetic implants in him to be legally registered as a Terminator.

Rick held up the machinery she'd stolen and gave her a pointed look. "You know this shit is useless, right?" He was met with tense silence. "What are you doing here, Alura?"

"Isn't it obvious, genius? I was stealing shit," she told him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Rick raised a sky blue eyebrow at her evasiveness. "You know, it's not r-really an insult to call an actual genius a genius, idiot."

"Tch... whatever," she snorted.

"Seriously, why are you here?" he pressed.

Alura fixed him with a hard stare for a moment before finally breaking down and answering him. "I need money... I need it or it's f*cking curtains for me, if you catch my drift."

"Jeez, that sucks," snorted Rick, his voice ripe with sarcasm. But when he saw that she was dead serious, he felt a twinge of regret. "S-so what did you do this time? Sell some gromflomite ass-wipes a bunch of duds?"

"No, I wish," she muttered before sitting on one of his work counters. "I found evidence of a major archeological find on Epsollia D55. There's an artifact hidden there which is extremely valuable."

"So what, you're a grave robber now?" he smiled. "Nice."

"Xeno-Archeologist," she corrected. "Anyway, I got a few interested, albeit questionable, parties to fund the expedition but now that I have come up empty-handed they want their money back."

"No surprise there, uurrrp. So what did this artifact thing-y do?" asked Rick.

"It's an ancient weapon... a virus manufactured to analyze any living organisms genetic code and asses the best way to deconstruct it until the targeted species is wiped out of existence. The virus was named Gorminite and was essentially the ruling race's super weapon until they were destroyed by it. Basically, it's genocide in a bottle."

Rick stared at her for a moment, a glop of spit dripping from his mouth as he took in the massive bomb she just dropped.

"You know," he said. "We have a show here on earth called "Ancient Aliens". You should hear the bullshit tales they try to spin too. I-I really think you'd be a great addition to their writers staff."

"Shut up!" she cried, jumping off the counter. "This is serious. The sources I have are real this time... Gorminite is real and my entire expedition team is dead from trying to get a hold of it."

"And how'd that happen? A bunch of mummies come to life?" Asked Rick, holding out his arms in front of him in a crappy impression of the undead.

"No. Stop it," she said, slapping down his arms. "Someone tipped off the Intergalactic Federation about the virus and they ambushed us in the ancient city. They're tearing that place apart looking for the weapon as we speak. One can only assume they want it for themselves. Even you can appreciate how dangerous that is."

Rick simply let out a burp, which Alura chose to ignore and move on.

"Now these asshole investors are breathing down my neck, wanting to know what happened, and if I don't get their money back then that's the f*cking end for me."

"So what? You think stealing from Old Man Rick here is going to make it better?" he mocked, pulling out his flask and taking a swig.

Alura swiped the canister from his grip and took a long drink for herself before handing it back to him. "It would have been a step in the right direction."

"So... what do you owe these investors?" he asked, curious to see how deep the hole she had dug herself was.

"A fucking shit-ton," she groaned, wishing she hadn't given up his flask so soon. "You weren't the only person on my list to visit"

"Look around you honey, do I look-uuurp like I'm rolling in it?" He asked, throwing his arms up and motioning to his cobweb-infested garage. "Luckily for you, I have a whole lot of bug-out bags specifically designed for situations like this. You know, the kind of situation where you decide to implode your whole life."

"I get it!" growled Alura. She hated being lectured, especially by a drunken wreck like Rick Sanchez. This wasn't the first time she hit the reset button on her life and that was frustrating enough.

Reaching beneath one of the counters, Rick pulled out several black duffle bags and plopped them down on the workbench beside her. "Y-you know the drill. Just take one and start a new life. Hell, take two… k-knock yourself out. Grave robbing isn't the most lucrative career anyways, stick to stealing from people who are still alive."

"It was xeno-archeology..." she corrected him once more before opening one of the bags and seeing a couple wads of cash, a blank intergalactic passport, several on and off-world firearms, and other assorted urban survival gear. Suddenly she paused.

"Why are you helping me?" She asked, not certain she should trust him.

Rick took a swig from his flask, side-eyeing her. "I don't know... because the enemy of my enemy is my friend? That sort of Sun Tsu bullshit."

"You hate the Intergalactic Federation that much? Geez, and I thought I had problems..." she replied shaking her head and slinging the duffle bag over her shoulder.

"That and w-urrrp-whatever gets you out of my hair faster," he shrugged.

"Yeah, because you were sooo busy before I showed up," she said, rolling her eyes. "Guess that's my hint to leave."

She's only taken one step towards the door before Rick said something that stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Keep that virus, the Gore Mennonite or whatever, safe, okay? I don't live on cloud 9, but I sure as shit don't want to be torn apart one protein at a time."

"H-hey!" she cried, spinning around- her heart stopping in her chest. "I never found the virus, weren't you listening-"

Rick drunkenly pressed a finger to her lips, shutting her up. "Shhhh, don't insult us, sweetheart. I think we both know why you went out to get that virus in the first place. You're really just a-uuuurp just a soft touch."

Again, she felt a surge of embarrassment as her cheeks flushed red. Rick was 100% right as always. She did manage to get the virus and, what's more, she never intended on handing such a dangerous weapon over to her investors. No one had figured it out but Rick, the guy who seemingly didn't understand altruism but was showing her (an unlikely candidate) a bit of kindness.

"I... I don't know what to say," she muttered lamely, literally at a loss for words.

"Then how 'bout you don't say anything? Just remember," he told her, "Don't die and fuck the Federation."

Alura couldn't help but crack a weak smile. This was the one thing they both could universally agree upon, if nothing else. "Yeah... fuck the Federation."

They laughed at that for a minute… Rick perhaps laughing for too long and too manically. And with that, Alura headed for the door.

"Thanks Rick, I mean it..." she told him. "See you around."

Alura flashed him a quirk of a smile and then was gone. It was strange, but he wanted to entertain the idea that maybe he would be seeing her around. Just then the door to the house opened and Morty stepped into the garage.

"H-hey, Rick who was that?" he asked wiping his tired eyes.

"None of your damn business, Morty," he snorted, setting to work on some random gizmo.

"Oh, I mean, it just looked like maybe she was a friend of yours o-or something," said Morty, not daring to admit he heard some of their conversation from the other side of the door.

Rick sighed, turning back to his grandson; too drunk and tired to fully explain. "Her name's Alura and she's a pain in my ass. She shows up from time to time, mostly when things are going wrong for her. Let me put it into terms you'll understand; she's like the Catwoman to my Batman, o-only without the hot S&M gear."

"So you like her?" Asked Morty, somewhat hopeful.

"Seriouly, Morty? What the hell's wrong with you?" Rick snapped.

"Well I mean, Catwoman and Batman they're like… you know. And she's s-some kind of g-genius like you… so I thought…" Morty stuttered, trying to explain.

"You th-uuurp-thought wrong. She's a lying, sack of shit who just tried to steal my work and sell it to who-the-fuck-ever for cash," he grumbled. "A-also she's NOT a genius, she's clever. I'm fucking light-years ahead of her intellect. Why do you think she has to jack my shit instead of making her own? Jesus, Morty, get-get with the program."

"R-right," nodded Morty, only he wasn't entirely convinced. "Still, you let her off pretty easy."

Rick carelessly tossed the gizmo aside, apparently having made nothing out of it.

"Alura's got a pretty shitty life, and now it's only going to get worse. Honestly, the humane thing to do would be to let her die quickly instead of enable her to limp on, uselessly clinging to hope until her bitter end. I wouldn't say that's 'letting her off easy' Morty." Rick explained, emphasizing that last bit with air quotes.

Morty shook his head, "Wow Rick. T-t-that's pretty messed up."

"I know, but that's how most of the creatures in this universe die, Morty. Se la -urrrrp- vie," he explained with a half-hearted shrug. Passing Morty, Rick headed towards the door. "At least she gets to go out young and- and with a nice ass."

Rick closed the door to the house behind him and shut off the lights, leaving a very confused Morty standing in the darkness.

"Geez," Morty muttered.

Making his way to the door, Morty accidentally knocked the piece of machinery Rick had been tinkering with onto the floor. Suddenly a net of red lasers shot out of the sides of the box-like contraption creating a fence across half the garage and blocking his way to the door.

"Laser security net activated," said a robotic female voice. "Unidentified users will be exterminated."

"Damn it, Rick," Morty sighed, realizing he was going to be stuck in the garage all night. Laying on his back, he stared up at the cobwebbed ceiling and wondered if life with Rick was ever going to get any easier.

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