#multiverse cod

"Captain MacTavish. You are much younger now than when I last saw you."

His crystal blue eyes widen when he realizes what you've said.

"Captain? That's what I am in yer time?" he asks, his disbelief apparent. "Did I also have a wife?"

Before you can answer him, Simon Ghost storms into the room and locks eyes with MacTavish, whose spine has gone stiff, expecting a reprimand.

"Get out, Sergeant. You're not to be in here again, understood?" his tone is austere.

"Aye, sir." MacTavish mouths an apology your way, and swiftly walks out the door, leaving you alone with the man who wears the face of your husband.

"You," he pivots on his heels to look at you, his eyes dark, swirling with fury, "are to talk to no one here. As far as I'm concerned, you're an enemy. Why the Captain hasn't locked you up in a cage is beyond me."

As you feel that unmistakable feeling of your throat tightening, your eyes well up with tears, causing your vision to blur. Your Simon would never look at you like that— never speak to you like this.

Understanding that this isn't a discussion, you turn away, clenching your jaw to suppress the overwhelming urge to sob. There is a sharp ache in your chest, a poignant sting that relentlessly pierces your heart.

But a harsh grip on your chin jerks your attention back to Ghost so abruptly your neck pops, and growls, "Don't turn your back to me, bint. I'm not done talkin'."

Meeting his gaze, your eyes betray you as tears overflow, tracing a path of glistening sorrow down your face.

"Now I see why you haven't married in this life," you choke out. "You're a bitter, foul shell of a man with no sympathy."

Angrily wiping your cheeks and grabbing at his thick wrist, you lurch it away from you.

You grab at the dog tags that have been hidden under your shirt. "I have been nothing but miserable since I met you. I loved my husband with everything I had and so painfully wished I had been buried with him."

A bitter laugh escapes your lips, and you remark, "You may share his body, but you are nothing like him."

"I don't know how anyone could ever grow to love you."

The room is quiet, except for your shaky breathing and occasional sniffle. Ghost remains stock-still in front of you, unblinking. He slowly rises to full height and silently walks out of the room.

You lift the dog tags to press a kiss onto them with a trembling hand, and your thumb runs over the engraved 'Simon "Ghost" Riley' on it.

What have you done?

it's gotta get worse before it gets better :( sorry!

@fruitymoonbeams-blog

You sat in a small room on a padded chair, with equipment set up around your arm, chest, and fingertips. A polygraph test. That's what you were being forced to take. And to your chagrin, Ghost is in the room with you and Captain Price.

"Try to relax, yeah?" Price commented. He must've noticed your restless leg.

"I'll do that, shall I? I've done nothing wrong, other than exist and I'm being interrogated. Because that's what this is— an interrogation." You finally turn your attention from Ghost to look at Price, who's sitting at the desk by your side. "Tell me, Captain. Did you get this same treatment when you came back after spending all that time locked up in the gulag?"

His dark eyebrows furrow in confusion. A sigh escapes your bitten lips. That's only in your...world, for lack of a better term. Dimension? Universe?

"I haven't been to the gulag here." Yeah, obviously.

With an impatient wave of the hand that doesn't have cables strapped to it, you mutter, "Let's get on with this circus act, then. Ask your questions."

Ghost steps forward, his arms unfolding as if he's about to speak to you, but Price swiftly intervenes, halting him with a raised hand.

"Alright then. Baseline questions first. Name." Ghost gives away nothing when you say your last name is Riley.

It goes like this for a few, then he switches to the control questions, until finally moving on to the relevant ones.

"How did you get here?" I don't know.

"Do you know why you're here?" No.

He pulls up a photograph. "Recognize him?" Captain MacTavish.

Another photo. "Him?" I don't know.

"What do you mean by that?" If that's Roach, I've never seen his face unmasked.

"You're sure you don't know him?" Unless that man's name is Gary Sanderson, no. I do not know him.

Price acknowledges your response with a nod, then shifts his gaze towards Ghost, whose head slightly tilts forward. Returning his attention to you, he retrieves a final photograph. "What about him?"

As you look at the picture, your eyes begin to well with tears, lip trembling violently. A new fracture reverberated through your tender heart, intensifying the ache in your chest. Yes.

"Who is he?" Price softly asks.

"That's my Simon," your voice broke on the last syllable. It was hard to not use a possessive adjective when the face of your husband was in that picture.

Blinking the tears away, you clear your throat. "Anything else, Captain?"

Price purses his lips under his hefty facial hair and responds, "Just a few more questions."

Once finished, you sat unabashedly staring at Ghost in the tiny room. "I wear Roach's tags alongside yours, in honor. He was with you until the very end, and for that, I couldn't be more grateful."

Ghost is completely silent, but you continue talking anyway. "I've been married to you since a bit after you came home on leave that one time. You know the one."

His eyes are emotionless, blank, as he stares at you. But you know him like the back of your hand. You've got his full attention.

"I accompanied you to your brother's wedding. He married a woman, Beth. She was good for him. They had a baby, your nephew, named Joseph. The love you had for him was one of a kind. I had told you later that evening that I dreamed of the day you'd look at our children like that."

With a shuddery breath, you tell him how none of those matters. Because your husband is dead, and you're stuck here. With his counterpart that hates you.

With a hushed click, the door closes shut behind him as he leaves, yet its resounding noise fills the compact room you're in.

You begin to fidget with the sizeable ring that hangs on a thin necklace beneath your shirt— the metal is warm under your touch as if it had never gone cold in the first place.

As if Simon had never taken it off his finger to go find Makarov.

ah theyre short but hurt. much pain.

o.

my.

god.

yesysyeesyeyseyes

ok ok. can this just be multiverse ch 4? im feeling inspired. ch4 everyone i like this.

A tap to the nose like, 'bad dog'.

How excited would he be to see her, though? He'd be itching to get to know her, especially intimately.

She'd be very confused because, the same and yet not? Where's the sexy scar? I've got one on my chin, bonnie. What's this heavy accent? m'not sure I ken wha' yer talkin' about. You're my husband? Sure am, I'm John MacTavish. But you're much younger? Nothin' wrong with tha'.

She probably feels like a cougar.

Definitely lets him hold her when she breaks down because 22 Ghost called him Soap.

22 Ghost then brings out his 09 wife and asks if they know each other.

The way they immediately give each other an embrace, sniffling and speaking with warbly voices is his answer.

Start’s giving him some space because she remembers how her Simon got all distant and nervous after he said it to her the first time, he just needed to process it all and 22 he thinks he fucked up/laid it on too thick.

but if 09 and 22 are different in anyway it’s that 22 says something only when he’s 200% sure, and he’s gonna keep saying it after he figures out what’s wrong with his WIFE

You were almost a professional at disappearing, and he vaguely wondered if he taught you that.

But there is no escaping a ghost that haunts you.

He finally corners you and wastes no time in asking the hard question.

"Why are you avoidin' me?"

You didn't even believe your own excuse— stammering out broken words, making no eye contact, lip biting, fidgeting. His cynic old heart warms with the knowledge that you're terrible at lying. Living a life filled with falsehoods and deception is draining.

"Try again."

He pursed his lips to fight back an amused grin when you started to grumble about how he could always tell when you were lying, that maybe that's why he was in the 141.

"I just...there's an unspoken rule of anything said in the heat of the moment during sex is to not be taken seriously, y'know?"

Simon does in fact not know.

"No. I don't. I'm many things, but a liar is no' one of 'em." He moves in closer and gently tilts your head up to look at him. "Whether I have ya writhing with pleasure underneath me, or you've just woken up— face puffy with sleep— if I say something, I mean it."

You sputter at the unflattering picture he painted of you, but he silences you with a soft pinch to your cheek.

"Enough. The next time y'have somethin' on your mind, speak t'me abou' it the same way ya wouldn't stop babbling abou' your past marriage with me."

Simon pulls you in from your wrists to wrap his arms around you and rests his head on top of yours. "I love you," he professes.

Your voice is warbly when it reaches his ears. "Say it again."

He sighs. "I love you, wife."

what then?

The moment you were handed his dog tags, you blinked, and you were here. In a cozy home, with evidence of children lying around, with a pot of simmering food on the stove. With skeleton gloves resting on the counter.

And then there's a woman letting out a blood-curdling scream.

And then there's Simon, your Simon, aiming a handgun straight to your forehead, muzzle harshly pressing into your skin.

"Who are you? How did you get inside?" he snarls. He's rabid, vein bulging from his forehead in fury.

The thunderous rhythm of your heart pounding in your ears drowns out his barrage of questions.

You don't flinch as he looks down to the tags in your hand, don't wince when he yanks them away from you.

When he reads the name, he'll demand to know where you got them, and you'll tell him that you're his wife. This is all that's left of him for you to keep.

Now you do flinch when he asserts, "I've already got a wife. Now get the fuck out."

He releases you and walks backward to where his wife is and tucks her under his arm, safe, protected.

Your breath rattles as it escapes your chapped lips, and with one quivering hand you ask him for your husband's dog tags back.

"Please," you whimper, "Let me have them and I'll go."

Simon doesn't move an inch, his gaze hard, staring at you like you're his enemy, but his sweet wife is the one who takes pity on you. She takes them and slowly extends her hand out, chain dangling from her fist.

"She's the only one that stood by me when it all went to shit. When the only family I had was killed. She waited patiently for me to finish my business and come back to her.

And I did. Every time, I did. Until I didn't.

I had to witness her mourn and suffer over my death, only to appear here, next to you.

Her worst nightmare.

A man with my face, and none of my feelings.

Get. It. Together."

09 Ghost pulls out the .44 Magnum he was murdered with and shoots 22 Ghost in the same place he had been shot.

Jolting awake, he raises his hands to his chest, patting for a bullet wound. His forehead is damp with sweat, and his hands shake. A soft-spoken voice calls out to him from across the room, snapping him out of his disquietude.

"Si? Is it another nightmare? Come." She'll get up and get under the covers on his bed, throwing one leg over his, and sleepily mumbles, "Let's go back to sleep, hm? I'm here."

He can't help but ask, "And what're you gonna do about my nightmare?"

"I'll keep the dreams away."

You're out within seconds.

You reacted to him almost viscerally, and it made him question if you thought that he was your husband.

e

You rouse from your slumber when something continuously grazes your hip.

"G'mornin', Simon."

"Mornin." His voice is thick with sleep, and it sends a shiver up your spine.

His thumb is rubbing over one spot in particular, and then it clicks. "You like it?"

Simon kisses the tattoo of his namesake on your soft skin. "I do."

"Oh, you, well not you, were so upset when you saw it the first time."

A chuckle resonates in his chest. "Yes, because it's me, and I'm dangerous. I've made far too many enemies in my line of work—"

"And you'd never forgive yourself if I got taken hostage because of my relationship with you," you finish for him. "You said the same thing before too."

His breath fans over the exposed skin of your stomach, and then he kisses it again, only to follow it up with his tongue.

"Jes- Simon!"

He licks the ink again, then begins to trail his tongue down to your cunt.

Whatever you want to say melts from your mind, just like you begin to melt with his mouth.