Okay, ladies and gents, it's my first fanfic that I deemed worthy of publishing. Please be kind :)
Bellamy couldn't look at Monty in the eye for almost a week.
Every time he tried, all he saw was Clarke's tense profile over Monty's shoulder, preparing to bid him farewell. Possibly for the last time.
He saw the quick half-glance Monty threw at him before lowering his eyes to the ground. Like he knew, and was sorry, that Clarke was about to gut him so thoroughly that he, Bellamy Blake, would be willing to beg if only it could change her mind.
He saw Monty's cautious but hurried steps away, apologizing for taking Clarke's time, knowing that Bellamy needed it more than he did. Knowing that the extra seconds would be precious and treasured if Bellamy had them instead of him.
It was only a week later, when the memory started to blur around the edges, that Bellamy managed to have a conversation with Monty without having to look into the distance or at the ground instead of at him. He was prattling on about medical needing more equipment and not knowing if he could manage something with the parts on hand when Bellamy realised the moments were once again in stunning clarity. The tortured blue of her eyes, the pained break in her voice, the whisper of her breath on his neck, the four words he was holding her to.
Every time Bellamy couldn't remember the exact shade of her sky-blue eyes, or the precise spot on the back of her neck that he had held in their last embrace, he'd seek out Monty. Sometimes he had a reason, sometimes he tried to make one up. Monty never asked questions; he seemed to just accept that Bellamy was around him (looking spectacularly lost sometimes among the machines Monty had taken apart) more often than he used to be. Sometimes they didn't even talk. Bellamy would clean his gun or pick splinters out of his hands after chopping wood, and Monty would tinker with whatever equipment he was trying to make work.
The day Clarke Griffin returned to Camp Jaha ("I told you we'd meet again, didn't I?" she panted, breathless from running towards him the way he ran out to meet her) and Bellamy Blake crushed her to his chest ("I'm not letting you out of my sight ever again," he groused gruffly into her hair, hiding the catch in his voice), it only took her three hours and eight minutes to ask him how Jasper had felt when he and Monty had become scarily silent best friends.
Then Bellamy laughed; a loud, freeing guffaw that finally dislodged the weight he had carried in his chest since he watched her walk away. And Clarke? Well, she let herself laugh with him.
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