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It starts when Clarke gets pregnant.
Or, more accurately, it starts when Clarke is about seven months pregnant, lying on Miller's couch with her head in Bellamy's lap, telling Monty how lucky he is that he will never carry a child.
"I thought it was a miracle," he says, amused. "You know. The magic of womanhood."
"The magic of womanhood is my ability to shove a stiletto heel directly up your ass," she grumbles. "Being pregnant sucks and I hate it."
"I can't wait for you to pass these values onto Artemis Victoria Griffin," Bellamy says, kissing her forehead.
"You're going to be the first one I murder, don't get cocky. Also, come to think of it, let's not equate womanhood with ability to give birth. Or ability to shove shoes up people's asses, actually. Women are women."
"Sustained," says Monty. "I withdraw the phrase the magic of womanhood." He pauses. "Did you actually decide on a name or is Bellamy just fucking with you?"
"Fucking with her," he says, grinning. "I mean, mostly. Artemis is an awesome name, though."
"Why did anyone ever let you name anything?" Miller asks, and Monty knows it's pathetic, the way he perks up whenever Miller talks, like a sunflower twisting to follow the light. "What was your mom thinking?"
He met Miller three years ago, at Clarke and Bellamy's wedding, and he'd been disappointed to discover Bellamy's hot, gay, snarky best man wasn't local. Miller moved to town around when Clarke and Bellamy started trying to have kids, he claimed for work, but Bellamy maintains that it's because he wanted to be around for his hypothetical godchild. Which Miller's never managed to deny in any kind of convincing way.
Monty still hasn't figured out how to do anything about his crush on Miller except make fun of Bellamy and Clarke with him and pine. But it's a good start, in that Miller really likes making fun of Bellamy and Clarke, and pining requires absolutely no effort from Monty.
"Like you'd give your kid a better name," Bellamy says. "Octavia loves her name. Interesting names are cool."
"We are talking to Bellamy Bradbury Blake here, so you're not going to win this argument," Clarke remarks. "The kids are getting my last name because he says it's better than his. It was his idea. The only reason he's not taking it is that he likes alliteration."
"Yup," he says, shameless. "Bellamy Bradbury Griffin is just a letdown."
"So is Bellamy Bradbury Blake," Miller mutters, and Bellamy rolls his eyes.
"Monty, kick him for me. I can't dislodge my angry, pregnant wife."
Clarke grins. "Damn straight."
Monty goes over and sits next to Miller on the floor, since Bellamy gave him an excuse. Miller grins, which is unfair.
"What are our odds that that kid ends up with the most embarrassing name of all time?" he asks.
Monty makes a show of thinking it over. "I dunno, there's a lot of competition. Kids have some weird names now."
"Artemis isn't that weird. Clarke vetoed Antigone."
"It's a tragedy name. I'm not naming our kid after a Greek tragedy, Bellamy. And we don't even know it's going to be a girl."
"It's going to be a girl."
"You don't have a magical dad connection to our unborn fetus, Bellamy."
"You can't prove that I don't. And I've got tons of great boy names for backup if we need them. You know who didn't get enough credit? Hephaestus. Hephaestus Ganymede Griffin."
"I think you should let Monty pick the name," says Miller, out of nowhere. Everyone turns to look at him, so Monty doesn't feel like he's giving himself away or anything. "What? I bet he'd pick a good name. Your kid wouldn't be embarrassed every time they had to introduce themselves. I mean, except because they're your kid."
For about half a second, Monty hopes Clarke will be cool, but Clarke's definition of cool has always involved a liberal amount of teasing her friends, and this is too good an opportunity to pass up.
"Oh, no way," she says. "Monty cannot possibly be trusted with baby names. He's worse than Bellamy."
"Wait, really?" asks Bellamy, like he's actually offended that Clarke thinks he isn't the worst at names. Bellamy has the weirdest priorities of anyone Monty has ever met.
"I was drunk!" Monty protests.
"You were very, very emphatic."
"Come on, fill in the rest of us," says Miller, grinning at Monty. Miller doesn't grin that often, which is good for Monty's general well-being. Miller grinning is too much for him.
"In college, I might have once--once!--gotten drunk and told Clarke some names I would like to give to my hypothetical children. Assuming I found a surrogate instead of adopting foster kids, which I'm still not sure of, there are so many foster kids who--"
"Tell us the embarrassing names," says Miller. "Stop stalling."
"I just want to name my kids after fictional characters! I don't see how that's a problem!"
"It's not the fictional characters, it's using the full names," says Clarke. "Like, Luke Green, cool. Luke Skywalker Green, kind of a lot."
"It was Han Solo Green," says Monty. "Or Leia Organa Green."
"This is what I'm saying," says Clarke.
"That's probably better than Bellamy's names, honestly," says Miller. "I like Star Wars names. I'd totally give my kids Star Wars names."
"Dude, no way," Bellamy protests. It's just as well, because Monty's mouth has gone completely dry. "Star Wars names are going to be dated in no time. Mythological names are timeless. They've endured for--"
"Star Wars has been enduring since 1977," Clarke tells him. "That's almost forty years."
"Which is just like enduring for millennia," he says, and Clarke pulls him down for a kiss.
Monty looks away, smiling. It's weird, remembering college, when Clarke was so caught up in grief and pain, her fathers' death, a string of bad relationships, an open wound for so long. And now here she is, working at a job she loves, married, having a kid. Not that marriage and children are the ultimate signs of success and good adjustment, but--well, she's happy. She could be happy a lot of ways, but this is the way she gets, and it's a good one.
"So, what would you name a kid?" he asks Miller.
"I'd probably adopt." He shrugs. "My mom died when I was a kid, so it was just me and my dad, and we decided to start taking in foster kids when I was in elementary school. He still does it. So I'd probably go that route. But I guess if I was going to have my own, I'd want it to be--I don't. Something that meant something to both of us. It'd depend on the kid's other dad. Which is why Bellamy shouldn't get to name your kid all by himself."
"I'm not!" Bellamy protests. "I'm telling Clarke we should name the kid Artemis, and she's telling me I'm a dumbass. It's a discussion."
"Artemis Fowle Griffin," Miller supplies. "Best of all worlds."
"Artemis Fowle was a guy, so it's even unisex," Monty adds.
"I think that what we should really be thinking about is what the baby's initials are going to spell," Clarke says. "Monty and I both have G to work with for our last letters, and Miller's got M. So obviously Miller's kid should have D for the first name and A for the middle, so their initials are DAM."
"That might actually be the worst way to name a child I've ever heard," Bellamy says.
"I would have made your initials BRB, for the record," says Clarke. She pats her stomach. "So, I'm voting Octavia for the middle name, but, again D for the first name. So our kid's initials will be DOG."
"Dog," Miller repeats, dubious.
"Leia Organa Green would be LOG," Monty muses.
"That's a lot better than Leia Organa Miller. LOM."
"So if Miller and Monty have kids, they should get Monty's last name. There are a lot of great three-letter words that end with G."
"Yeah, that sounds right," says Miller, with no apparent hesitation. "And you can work in some color puns if you want. Endless possibilities. Definitely Monty's last name."
Monty has no idea how to react to that, but thankfully, Bellamy has his back. Or, more likely, he's been thinking so hard that he has no idea what's happening in the conversation, but whatever. Monty's grateful regardless.
"You know," Bellamy says, slow and thoughtful. "Diana is Artemis's Roman name. So, Diana Octavia Griffin. DOG."
"If it's a girl."
"Dionysus Octavian Griffin."
Clarke laughs and ruffles his hair. "Absolutely fucking not."
*
"So, how are you doing convincing Miller to have your babies?" Clarke asks at lunch a week later.
"Still grappling with the anatomical impossibilities of his pregnancy, but thanks for your concern." He glances at her. "Did you start the names conversation so that we could talk about me and Miller's potential future children?"
"Bellamy started that conversation because he has no idea that I will let him name our kid whatever he wants because I love him," she says, cheerful. "But once he started it, yeah. I figured I might as well jump on the bandwagon."
"Thanks. Really helpful."
"What? He agreed your kids are going to take your last name. That's a great sign."
"Is that how you knew Bellamy was the one?"
She ducks her head on a smile, the way she always does whens she's talking about him and he's not around. "No, I knew that before we ever started talking about kids." She nudges her foot against his. "I think you should talk to Miller."
"I talk to Miller. I've got this whole system. We're playing Final Fantasy XIV together now. And we chat."
"Do you ever see each other in person without me and Bellamy around?"
"Your focus on human contact is weird, as always. I don't need to see people in person to be friends."
"Yeah, but you do need to see them to make out with them. Unless you have VR technology that I don't and you're holding out on me."
"Why would you need VR technology to make out? You're married."
"Just saying. You could work on seeing Miller more one-on-one in person. I think you've got a shot."
"Because he wants our babies to have his last name," Monty supplies, with a smile. "I think pregnancy is affecting your brain."
"Oh, yeah, absolutely. But this is me being nice, instead of trying to murder you, so you should take it. You're getting the good side of pregnancy brain."
Monty raises his water. "Thanks, Clarke."
She grins. "Well, we are friends."
*
Two days later, Miller texts him a picture of a rack of souvenir license plates with names on them, the D names, with the caption, we've got options.
Monty stares at his phone for a full thirty seconds and then finally manages, Are we sticking with DOG? Because that might count as copying if Clarke and Bellamy do it first.
i was thinking they'd be twinsies
He has to stifle a laugh at the idea of Nathan Miller using the word twinsies. It's the cutest thing he's ever seen. What if the kid had two middle names? We could go for DANG.
hell, why stop at two? go all the way for DAMNING.
And then it's this thing, where they're both texting each other weird names they encounter for their hypothetical child, because--obviously, why wouldn't this be their life. Miller texts, okay, but what if the kid was horace uther nathan green? free publicity for all his future relationships, and Monty replies, oh, is it a boy now? To which Miller of course replies that he has magical dad senses and knows the gender of a child which does not yet exist and probably never will.
Monty's in so stupidly deep.
A few days later, Monty texts, I want the kid named after me. But not directly. So Michael Arthur Ian Monty Igor Nathan Green. Named after both of us.
not wild about igor tbh
Can we just use Ian again?
yeah that's cool perfect nailed it
Then two days later it's, what if my magical dad senses are wrong and it is a girl??? and the whole thing starts up again.
It definitely feels like the kind of thing he should be able to turn into real-life making out. He just has no idea how, and if he asks Clarke, she will definitely laugh at him. Which, okay, might be worth it, for real-life making out. But he hasn't actually gotten to the point of bringing it up to her when Bellamy does it instead.
Bellamy and Monty aren't close, not like Monty and Clarke are. Bellamy was Clarke's history TA her and Monty's junior year of college, and they fought like cats and dogs the whole time she was in his class, Clarke constantly calling him out on every grade he ever gave her, but in a way that made Monty fond of him. Clarke needed something to distract her, and her feud with her TA helped. When Monty and Jasper made friends with the girl who turned out to be Bellamy's sister senior year, Clarke and Bellamy resolved their issues, got to be friends and more over the course of a few years, but Monty was never that involved in the specifics. He likes Bellamy, obviously, but they've never really hung out just the two of them.
Honestly, when Bellamy says they should get lunch, Monty assumes it's about Clarke. But then, when they're actually at the restaurant, Bellamy opens with, "For the record, this feels like something I wouldn't have even done in middle school because it's stupid."
Monty blinks. "Yeah, I hate having lunch with friends too."
"Yeah, no," says Bellamy, rolling his eyes. "Clarke says she wants her kid to have two godfathers, so you and Miller should talk about your--whatever you have."
After a second of gaping, Monty recovers. "We don't have anything."
"You apparently have like fifteen children with long, shitty names. Seriously, your hypothetical children would hate you. And my sister doesn't hate me for naming her Octavia, so that's saying something."
"Cool. I knew I'd be a bad dad."
Bellamy snorts. "That's exactly what I'm saying, yeah." He leans forward, actually looks serious for once, which isn't Bellamy's usual MO. Bellamy's all about the above-it-all fake detachment from his friends' personal lives. "Look, Miller hasn't had a boyfriend in a while. He dated the same guy through high school and college, figured he'd marry him. This isn't news, right?"
"No. We've talked about dating history some. They broke up a couple years after college, right?"
"Yeah. And it fucked Miller up a little, he hasn't had anything long-term in a while. You might, uh--" He makes a face, and Monty has to smile. It's actually kind of hilarious, how much Bellamy hates this conversation. But Clarke is pregnant, so she has kind of the ultimate leverage on her husband right now. "Just talk to him, okay? This is me telling you, off the record, that it will go well. You guys can have a billion kids with names that spell out dirty words. The power is yours."
It was basically what he expected, but--it's still kind of like a gut punch. Bellamy is Miller's best friend, and Bellamy is basically--yeah, it's middle-school gossip. My friend said you liked my friend and he likes you back.
"Is it too early for a beer?" Bellamy asks. "I want a beer."
"You didn't give up alcohol in solidarity or something?"
"Never officially. Clarke doesn't care. I just felt weird getting drunk while she was sober and carrying my unborn child. But this one's on her, so--you want a beer?"
It's Saturday and he has no plans except maybe trying to confess his love to Nathan Miller.
"Yeah," he says. "Beer sounds great."
*
They don't get drunk, not even close. They each have one beer, talk about Hearthstone, and then Bellamy goes home to his wife and Monty texts Jasper, How do you tell a guy you want to date him when you've already come up with fifteen hypothetical children with him?
Jasper responds, This is really outside my area of expertise, but I think you don't tell him about all the hypothetical children. Girls don't like that.
He already knows about the kids.
There's a pause, presumably while Jasper tries to figure out what the fuck Monty's life is. Monty always enjoys sending his best friend weird, out-of-context text messages. Everyone needs a hobby. Then, fuck it, just tell him you want to be on him, I don't know.
How did you ever get married
It's seriously a mystery. But good luck!!
And, really, that's about the best he's going to do, so he texts Miller, I've got a new board game, want to play? and relaxes when he gets a reply just a few seconds later: sure, your place or mine?
So he picks up Boss Monster, which he really did just get recently, and heads over to Miller's apartment, because Monty has a vaguely judgmental roommate and Miller doesn't.
They play Boss Monster until it's time for dinner, and then order pizza, and Miller asks if he wants to watch a movie, which is when Monty finally loses it and says, "I want to kiss you." And then he forces himself to not say anything else, because that's a statement that can stand on its own. And he doesn't need to start justifying himself. It won't help. He can just wait.
Of course all Miller actually says is, "Yeah?" and, really, fuck that. Only one of them is going to manage to be cool in this situation, and it's clearly not going to be Monty, so why even bother?
"Sorry if that's weird but Clarke and Bellamy have been yelling at me and I guess I could have asked you on a date, but honestly, I find official dating weird? Like, we can do this more, it doesn't have to be a big deal. Or we can't. But I would like to, um. Do this more. With kissing. And then--"
Miller is smiling, and then grinning, and then laughing, and Monty finally shuts up because he thinks it's a good reaction to whatever he ended up doing here.
"Yeah, that sounds awesome," Miller says, and then he kisses Monty.
It's been a while for Monty too; it's hard to meet people and he's busy and, honestly, he's been pining after Miller since Miller moved to town, so why would he have been kissing anyone else, really? Not when he could have had this, Miller's mouth on his, the perfect rasp of his beard, the perfect slide of his tongue, Miller's hands on his hips, pulling him in.
This is all he wants.
"Good," he breathes. "I thought that might be awkward."
Miller laughs, rubs his thumb against Monty's hip, under his t-shirt. "Yeah, well, I want our kids to have a dad."
"Our kids were always going to have a dad. Our kids would have two dads."
"Fine, I want our kids to have two dads."
Monty grins and tugs him closer. "Yeah. Me too."
*
Diana Octavia Griffin is born a month later, a healthy baby girl of almost nine pounds. Clarke does not murder Bellamy during childbirth, although they both admit it was touch and go for a while, and after two days, she's admitted that she will be willing to do it one more time, because Bellamy has very strong beliefs about the importance of siblings.
"And it was kind of a miracle, honestly," she says. "I shoved her out through my vagina. Like, an actual human grew inside of me. That's awesome. But not for another three years," she adds, to Bellamy. "At least."
"No arguments here." He kisses her temple. "You did all the hard work." In his arms, the baby starts to fret, and he calms her with a soft, soothing tone. Monty has to say, it really is kind of a miracle. His step-goddaughter is perfect. "So," Bellamy says. "You guys are next?"
It's only been a month, but--Monty has to admit, it's going really well. It feels like it's going to be forever. Maybe that's just him getting carried away with romance, but it's nice, to do that. He hasn't gotten carried away in a while.
So he glances at Nate, raises his eyebrows in question, and Nate snorts. "Yeah, no way. We've proved we can't be trusted with the responsibility of new life. Michael Arthur Ian Monty Ian Nathan Green should remain hypothetical."
"But we can babysit a lot," says Monty. "And then when we're ready, foster kids. Our kids should be pre-named. For their own good."
"As long as you've got a plan," says Clarke. Her smile isn't smug at all, just--happy.
Monty knows the feeling.
"Yeah," he says. "I think we figured it out."