The Citadel of Lost Children

Chapter 18: The Epilogue

"His life would be recorded in words, His purpose in deeds, and His love in all Mortys' hearts."
- Mouse 1:1

Mouse put his pen down and rolled his shoulder to work out the stiff joint. He'd been seated, writing diligently at his desk, for the entire day, and now his body was hounding him for a break. The candle that had melted past the -6 mark was indication enough that he was overdue for one anyway.

He pushed himself away from the simple wooden table and leaned back in his chair to stretch his arms overhead. The gears of his left arm whirred and clicked as he flexed pneumatic muscles and mechanical tendons.

It was the third model Rick had built for him, each iteration designed to fit his growing size. He hadn't had to get a new one for the past two years, however, and the hardware was now as much a part of himself as his original arm—even the shiny gold color. Buffed to brilliance, the phosphor bronze was the perfect combination of lightweight and strong while also rust- and water-resistant. Initially, the material had only been chosen out of convenience, the prototype's shell having been salvaged from ORA, but they both agreed they liked how it gleamed in the sunlight.

So the gold had stayed.

There was a knock at the room's single entrance. "Hey, buddy. How's it going? Your sermon coming along all right?" Rick was leaning against the doorjamb with an impish smile on his face.

Mouse already knew what he was there for without his having to say anything. It was a time-honored tradition between them—their favorite way to wrap up the day. And today, Mouse had something special to show Rick too. He smiled at his lover.

Even after moving halfway across the multiverse spectrum to this quiet corner of the Glaycias Galaxy, Rick hadn't lost his preference for practical attire, and with winter in full swing, his insulated coveralls were hard on the eyes but good at their job. His newest ORA was also a vast improvement over the previous one, and now there was no difference between the synthoptic and his real eye. To Mouse, though, it didn't matter because they both shone warmly at him.

It was only when Mouse noticed the bundle of wool blankets and scarves in Rick's arms that he realized how cold he'd gotten in the room. The fire in the hearth behind him had died down to a few smoldering cinders, and even with a thick robe swathed around him, he felt the chill prickle against his shorn temples and nip at his nose.

"Same old, shame old. I'm still having trouble getting the new parochial inductees to take the teachings of Sacrimortys in moderation," he answered, getting up from his seat. He shuffled over, arms scooping up the hem of his robe to wrap it more tightly around himself. Rick had already unraveled a blanket by the time he reached him, and Mouse leaned in for a quick kiss as Rick draped it over his shoulders.

"Ah, let me guess. Sacrimortys 4:23: 'A Morty should have love for himself and all other Mortys.'" The Book of Morty quote came easily from Rick's lips—after all, he'd helped Mouse with the wording.

"Exactly. They seem to think it gives them free license to neglect their Ricks in the meantime."

Rick tsked at that and quietly guided Mouse out of his study and through the rest of the house. The cabin was small but cozy, with just enough for the two of them. Drapes of heavy fabrics hung over the log walls to keep out the drafts, and natural light poured in through the windows which were beginning to pile high with snow.

Frequent missionary trips to spread the word of Mortyism kept them out of the house often enough that a quiet week at home came as a rare respite.

"Maybe you need to hold another retreat sometime. After all, not everyone learns through readings alone. They might benefit from a more hands-on approach," Rick purred, pulling the front door open for him. "We could give them a live demonstration. I have a few favorite sermons that could give those students a workout." Even through the thick layers of cloth, Mouse could feel Rick groping at his backside like a cheeky horndog. Rick shot his hands up in surrender. "'Cheeky horndog'? Don't you mean 'devoted partner'? 'Passionate lover'?"