Chapter Text
Doubt gnawed at Monty as he drew closer to his destination. The smell of water was acrid in his lungs. It all wasn’t that long ago. Not so long ago that his brain had been able to repress or distance himself from the memory. Not so long ago when everything was so full of promise and shattered spectacularly.
He wouldn't have come on his own volition. Nearly didn't at all. If it weren't for her, he’d never relive the day when everything changed. When everything began its descent into chaos. A plummeting spiral now full circle. All of which brought him here.
It was here that he stood, forced to leave his best friend to die. Now he must say goodbye to another.
Midday sunlight filtered through the forest canopy. The last vestiges of autumn didn't diminish the heat of the sun even in tree cover. Clarke replayed the conversation in her head. She was sure that she specified noon in one week and if not, every following third day as a contingency. Monty was uninjured and more than smart enough to make the trek unnoticed and intact.
Her remaining food stores would be able to make it five and a half more days before she would need to venture out further. All the edible flora had been collected and was in various states of preservation or drying. The absence of all urgency had even allowed her to notice a few new species she recognized from her time with the Grounders. At least she would be able to survive the winter without succumbing to scurvy at this rate. But it didn't take away from the fact she would still need help.
Monty was easily the best suited for her secret. She saw the emptiness behind his eyes on the journey down the mountain. His part in the death of hundreds would haunt him and Jasper’s resentment was salt in the wound. She recognized that his torment was enough to understand hers. He didn't question her as she quickly laid out her intentions. The others had gone ahead, filtering into camp. He lingered, not wanting to accept that there was no one inside waiting to welcome him. Especially now.
“I trust you’ll come alone,” she had whispered as she pulled him into a hug. He nodded briefly shrugging further into his sweater in an attempt to collapse in on himself. She could see that he might need the solace of the journey as much as she would need her exile.
After making another cursory estimation of the time, she turned away from the shoreline and towards the bunker. The crunch of weathered pebbles halted her progress and she dropped to a crouch amongst the brush. Monty gingerly side stepped vines coming out to stand on a familiar rocky outcrop. She didn't hear so much as feel him whisper, ‘apogee.’
“Thank you,” she said with no preamble. He jumped like a startled hare and neatly turned, shoving a slapdash shiv in her direction. A modicum of worry dissolved from his face when he saw her. They both knew that some amounts of relief would never find them. She stared up at him from the ground mildly amused.
“I could've hurt you,” he muttered, resigning his weapon to his side. His tone and her raised eyebrow were better informed. “A little warning next time would be nice.”
“This way. We’ll need to hurry if you’re going to have a chance to make it back to camp before dark. Thankfully we’ll already be heading in that direction.”
Monty distractedly marked the surroundings as they made their way south. “I’ve brought what I could. Several containers of beans, protein rations, and some nutritional supplement packs. No one knows what sort of hunting is going to be possible come winter. They’ve got a reasonable garden going in camp too. I snagged a cabbage and a few tuber things. They’re not much to look at but they’re edible.” Clarke continued on a few paces ahead not acknowledging him. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to reassure her or himself.
“There’s a few iodine tablets. Camp has gotten a handle on bulk water purification so they’re only using them for extended scouting missions. They won’t be missed.”
The fallen survivors had made some significant strides while the he and his friends had been locked away in the mountain. Camp buzzed with a silent symphony of purpose that was spiraling away from the uninitiated. From us.
The remaining members of the 100 were slowly coming to grips with their new reality awash in listlessness. Their camaraderie forged in impetuous freedom and panicked survival was dissipating fast under the watchful eyes of adults. The more seasoned veterans of lockup chafed at the resumption of Ark hierarchy. They had lost so much. Losing their leaders took what little resolve they had left. Now they were losing each other.
“I also managed to get a makeshift compass out of Wick.”
Clarke reacted with a quickness that startled Monty and a few birds close enough to balk at her rage. “Did you tell him anything?!” She came to a stop inches from Monty with a burning in her eyes strong enough to make his face blister.
Smug pleasure at not reacting to her advance bubbled up from recesses he thought dormant. It was also a relief to see something outside impassivity, even if it was fury. “Of course not. I lifted it while he was in Medical visiting Raven.” Her face crumpled at the mention of their battered friend. Clarke composed herself and spun back towards their destination, snapping twigs and thrashing bushes in her wake.
“Good. Thank you.”
“Clarke, I get it. You should get to choose your own penance. No explanations required.” He had chosen to throw himself into productive activities. Days were split between consulting Abby for medicinal needs, working with those tasked to tend their humble crops, and joining the remaining members of Engineering so that he could disappear in a sea of equations and binary. His family hadn’t survived Ark Fall, or at least not that they knew. His only remaining family gave him a wide berth, refusing to acknowledge his existence. The least he could do is honor their memory by putting the tools they gave him to good use.
“You do have to take care of yourself though. Clarke, you can’t live out here alone with your demons and hope to keep your sanity.” She slowed and came to a stop. Her fists were balled so tight that her pale skin had turned completely white. He hoped it meant she knew he was speaking truth.
“We’re here.” She dropped to her knees and uncovered the hatch.
The Grounder truce with the Mountain had gifted them with one benefit. The specter of beasts in war paint rushing out from the tree line was gone. At least temporarily. Bellamy sat on a felled tree in the gathering dark outside the confines of the fence and didn't worry. He might not have been impervious to the danger but self-concern was no longer on duty. That and he was reasonably sure his reflexes were faster than the figure sitting next to him.
His decoy had followed him outside shrugging off the unwelcoming silence pointed in his direction. Wick did enough speaking for both of them. That and he had brought reinforcements.
“They won’t let us have much more time to ourselves, I don’t think,” the engineer began. He handed Bellamy a metal mug of something approaching rubbing alcohol. It burned his nostrils but didn't smell like it was going to be strong enough. “A few more days and it will be all ‘Back to the Salt Mines’ for us.”
Both Wick and Bellamy had been assigned temporary observation duty over the younger survivors of the Mountain. Bellamy for his familiar face of authority. Wick landed the position out of what could only have been appropriate age and availability. Bellamy found him to be soft and prone to plod through topics better left alone. But he did manage to bring the rare smile out of his friends and that made up for the rest.
Bellamy was ill equipped for sympathy at the moment.
“They’re planning on sending a salvage mission two days from now. I've managed to score a spot. Everything will be a bit outdated but we might be able to coopt most of their hydroponic setup and definitely all the medical supplies. Not to mention the electronics. There’s nothing like demolishing a vile overlord’s tech to bring a smile to my face.”
“And nothing like you being gone to bring one to mine.”
Wick replied grinned against his tin cup, “Don’t even, jackass. I know it will be a burden to carry on without me, but there is only one Kyle Wick. You know you will miss my fantastic self.”
He wasn't completely wrong. It was a bit of a balm to have someone to talk to that didn't see him as one of the various iterations of himself he’d inhabited since landing. Wick never met the would-be assassin, the chaos instigator, or the irresponsible executioner. He probably wouldn't have cared either way.
Bellamy didn't have to be anything but present.
“Besides, who else is going to both enable and monitor your budding alcoholism?” Bellamy idly wondered if he would even balk at the knowledge that he had once been the object of Raven’s poor decision-making. All things considered, Wick was just so damn well adjusted. And he calls me the jackass.
“Some others, they uh…” Bellamy cut his eyes at him. His face was scrunched up with his mug held halfway to his mouth. “They want to evaluate whether we should relocate to the mountain.”
“You must be joking.” The ire must have leaked into his voice. Because the response was vehement.
“Them! Them, not me. Not my idea.” Wick busied himself with the thermos wisely anticipating that the direction of this conversation might need a little more liquor to make it palatable. “On some cosmically unfunny level they do have a point. It’s sustained larger numbers than ours for nearly a century and we’re all familiar with its defensible position. We don’t even have to worry about the upkeep of the radiation seals.”
“How can they even think of moving anyone there? We’re barely sustaining some of the survivors with all the mood stabilizing concoctions we can make. Haven’t they suffered enough?” Bellamy could see fractures in the faces of his friends. He watched it spider through forced interactions and perpetuate an inability to adjust. Things were tumbling towards an unknown he didn't want to acknowledge.
“I’d like to see them suggest this to anyone who was there.”
“Well, that’s half of the problem. Some of those championing the idea were there.”
Bellamy slammed the last of his drink back trying to force the rising bile down with it. The outcome was little than stellar. Before he realized it he launched the metal mug into the darkness. It was accompanied with a satisfying chime of metal glancing off something hard.
He pulled a ragged breath into his lungs and attempted keep things in check. “You know what? The answer is no. My people spent months in there and some didn't get to be saved. They’ll never leave that mountain and they want to bring the rest back? They were abandoned and then tortured. And now they want to install them in the very place where they watched each other die. We didn't rescue them for this.”
Wick just stared, open mouthed. Only when he was reasonably sure that Bellamy wasn't going to leap up to do someone bodily harm, he pointed towards camp. “I happened to like that mug.”
“It’s not going to happen. I won’t let it.” Splinters were piercing his palms as he physically restrained himself from marching on the council in the middle of the night. “What we did...how could they even…” He scrubbed at his face trying to regain some semblance of composure.
“Do you think we’ll be able to find it? You winged something out there good. Thing’s probably bounced into a tree.”
“If we left for the mountain, she’ll...” Bellamy’s words died heavily in his throat. The thought was more than he could entertain. The whispers of the forest filled the silence for him.
After a long moment a strong arm clapped him on the shoulder briefly. “I know man. I know.” Somehow Bellamy was sure he did.
She’ll never come back.
Clarke quickly made for the ladder. Her movements drew Monty’s gaze to the ground. A few feet away was a mound of fresh earth. Its size didn't leave the purpose up to the imagination. “Is that the Grounder that…” She hadn't bothered to wait for him. Her clipped affirmative drifted up the shaft from inside.
The fabled bunker was reasonably appointed. She had made quick work of amassing supplies for the winter. Hopefully what he brought would help her all the more. Clarke brushed away odds and ends from the table to make room for the reinforcements.
Monty set the pilfered supplies down, cataloging his spoils. “I grabbed a large store of vinegar and salt. I suggest you pickle those taproots first.” He gestured to the bushel of carrot-like plants by his feet. “Some supplemental protein. Try the jerky. It’s not nearly as bad as it looks. A few odds and ends for first aid. The alcohol is strictly non-consumable,” he shrugged modestly. “I wasn't going to make off with distillery reserves unnoticed.”
He could see Clarke mentally calculating her rationing as she sifted through his pack, nodding with each new entry. Her hands slowed and a frown formed creasing her forehead along with it. Monty was prepared for this and braced himself for the onslaught.
“I don’t want this.” She was shoving the makeshift radio back into his hands. He took a step back deftly avoiding her. Exhaling slowly, she looked up at him. “Thank you, but no.”
“Clarke, it’s sensible. We both know it. Your math is as good as mine. This isn't enough to last you to spring. The walkie doesn't need to be used, but if there is ever a need, it’s there. I’m not going to leave knowing that you’re out here with no emergency strategy. You would let me do it if it was me out here.” She looked like she was in pain and her limbs were going to snap under the strain. He continued anyway. “You don’t have to like this. But it’s happening anyway.”
He walked around the table and gently brace her shoulders. “I’m coming back. You don’t have to be here when I do. Two week intervals at midday, weather permitting. Just stay safe.” Her stony resolve crumbled, heading sagging to her chest in a nod.
“Alright.”
With the moonshine gone and the chilling air, both men mentally collected themselves, preparing to head back to camp. It was a respectful silence that Bellamy relished. He felt it was getting harder to attain any respite within the camp walls. But this was enough for today. He squared his shoulders, readying for whichever persona would be needed. Duty weighed heavier when borne alone.
A shuffling in the brush several meters away brought them off their perch. Bellamy dropped to a crouch trying to identify the sound while Wick tossed about unsure of the appropriate reaction. “Get down, idiot,” Bellamy muttered, grabbing the engineer’s elbow.
“Wait. Dude, it’s just Monty.” Wick looked down at him. “If you don’t let go of my arm, I’m not helping you explain our new relationship to Raven.”
Bellamy spotted Monty a second later as he entered the meager glow from the camp. “Where the hell has he been?”
Wick shrugged his response. Monty had made it back into camp and the watchman opened the gates with little comment. “Plants maybe? That or he doesn't have a nice enough friend to provide liquid refreshments for his nighttime brooding.”
Bellamy wasn't so sure.