@evilmcg sent: “Mortimer! I need you to help me!” from ghost Meg
Morty had seen many things during his short life, much more than most people (humans but not only). His Rick had made sure that he would witness enough horrors and wonders for him to have learnt to expect everything. An endeavour that has been successful, because each and every experience had been traumatically burnt into the teen's mind, to the point that there was very, very little that could surprise him nowadays.
Ghosts didn't happen to be on that short list. He had been face to face with various kinds of undead beings, spirits of the deceased included.
Yet, he would have lied if he had claimed that being faced with this specific ghost hadn't caught him off guard. Because it...she had. And seeing her left him unsettled for more than one reason, which however had nothing to do with her current form.
The feelings that have fired up with the news of her death and that had never quieted down after that flared up the moment his amber eyes landed on her pale face.
For several seconds, all the president did was staring, his face completely devoid of emotions, even if there was an odd stiffness in his features and a darkness in his gaze. Then, always without a word, he reached out for the bottle of scotch that these days he always kept within his arm's reach. He poured a generous amount of liquor in his already used glass.
Only once he had finished his drink and gotten himself a refill, he finally spoke up.
"...Of course you do," he murmured, glancing away. He couldn't deal with looking at the image that was floating before him. It made him sick, even if he refused to acknowledge the feeling. "You wouldn't be here otherwise. I'm assuming you already tried going to other me and the results were...unsatisfactory."
He lifted the glass to his mouth, taking a long sip from it. He could relate to her frustration. He had been experiencing that very same emotion very often lately.
"I'll tell you what he should have told you. His Rick and mine are working on bringing you back to life. It won't take too long, so...sit tight and be patient, for once. It's not like it would kill you."
The last words were supposed to be a cruel joke, but the words were spoken with such bitterness that didn't leave space for even the smallest hint of amusement. Morty washed it down by downing the rest of the scotch, and finally looked back towards Meg.
"Is there anything else your forever second choice can provide?"
The sarcasm in his voice was sharp as a scalpel, yet the question sounded almost defensive, as if it had been hiding something else within it.













