Rick and Morty: Smartest Morty in the multiverse

Drop some stone and comment it help me immensely

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Beth set the grocery bags on the counter with a soft sigh, glancing at the clock. 5:30 PM. The familiar weight of routine settled over her shoulders as she unpacked the vegetables, letting the kitchen's hum swallow her thoughts. She moved with practiced motions, washing and slicing, the faint sound of footsteps barely catching her attention. Of course. Jerry. She braced herself as she heard him shuffle up behind her, his usual whine lingering in the air even before he spoke.

"Is dinner ready yet?" Jerry asked—fifth time in barely ten minutes. Beth didn't bother looking up, her lips tightening. But when she did glance over her shoulder, it wasn't Jerry.

Morty stood there.

Her son… or whatever he was now.

Beth found herself staring, words caught in her throat. Morty said nothing either. He simply stepped beside her at the counter and, without ceremony, began helping her prepare the vegetables. His movements were calm, precise hands steady as he worked alongside her in silence. There was a strange grace to it, an odd gentleness that felt almost… unsettling. Beth tried not to watch him too closely, but every soft slice of the knife, every quiet touch of his hand to the cutting board, pulled at her attention.

How could someone be so gentle… yet so undeniably rough beneath the surface?

She shook her head, scolding herself. What the hell was she thinking?

They worked like that for a while, the quiet hum of domesticity wrapping around them. But it wasn't simple. Their hands brushed once. Then again. The contact sent a sharp jolt through her chest, an involuntary spark she couldn't quite explain. She tried to ignore it tried to keep her focus on the vegetables but the faintest ghost of a smile tugged at Morty's lips, and Beth felt something stir inside her she didn't want to name.

She moved too quickly, stepping sideways, reaching for a bowl. Her foot caught on the mat beneath her, and in a blink, she slipped.

But Morty caught her.

His hand wrapped firmly around her waist, the other bracing her arm as he steadied her. Their faces so close. Closer than they should have been. Close enough that she felt the soft pull of his breath against her lips.

Beth froze, eyes wide, caught between instinct and something darker.

Morty held her like that for a heartbeat longer than necessary… and let her go.

She stepped back, her heart pounding against her ribs, the knife forgotten on the counter.

Neither of them said a word.

Beth turned away, trying to gather herself, but her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the bowl. She could feel Morty's gaze on her, steady, unblinking. It wasn't the gaze of a teenager. There was no awkwardness, no embarrassment. It was calm. Measured. Knowing.

She forced herself to breathe. In. Out.

"You alright?" Morty's voice cut through the silence, low and casual.

Beth nodded quickly, almost too quickly. "Yeah. Fine. Just slipped."

"Slippery floor," Morty replied with a slight tilt of his head, as if the explanation amused him.

She risked a glance at him, expecting some hint of mockery, but there was none. Just that calm stare, like he was watching a puzzle slowly coming together. Her stomach twisted.

She busied herself with chopping again, but her hands wouldn't stop shaking. The silence stretched between them not awkward, but thick. Heavy.

"Thanks… for catching me," she said, keeping her eyes on the cutting board.

"Anytime," Morty answered, voice smooth, devoid of the usual teenage nerves.

Beth swallowed hard. She could feel the heat rising in her face. What was this? Why did it feel like… like something unspoken was pressing down on both of them?

She tried to focus on the task, but her mind refused to stay quiet. She couldn't shake the feeling of Morty's hand on her waist, the way his grip had been firm yet careful. The way he hadn't flinched, hadn't stumbled. It wasn't a reflexive catch. It was deliberate.

And worse… the part of her that hadn't wanted him to let go so quickly.

Beth bit her lip, slicing through a carrot with a little too much force. The blade hit the board with a loud thunk.

Morty's hand covered hers gently.

"Careful," he murmured.

Beth's breath caught. She looked at him, really looked and saw none of the Morty she used to know. The boy who'd once stumbled over his words, avoided eye contact, lived in the shadow of his grandfather. That boy was gone.

In his place was something else entirely.

Something calm. Controlled. And dangerously composed.

She pulled her hand back, forcing a laugh that sounded brittle in her ears. "Guess I'm more tired than I thought."

Morty didn't argue. He simply nodded, stepping back with a faint smile that felt far too knowing.

Beth turned away again, gripping the edge of the counter, trying to steady her thoughts. This was insane. This was her son.

But her heart wouldn't stop pounding.

And she couldn't ignore the sharp thrill curling low in her gut.

The kind of thrill that had nothing to do with fear.

As she gathered the vegetables into the bowl, she felt his presence behind her again not touching, not speaking. Just… there.

Close.

Too close.

Beth clenched her jaw, forcing her hands to move steadily. She wouldn't look at him. She couldn't.

Because if she did… she wasn't sure what she'd see in her own eyes.