"Operation: Evade Rationing was a no-go," Jasper says, instead of hello, instead of knocking, as he walks into the Greens' quarters unannounced. He tosses something into Monty's lap. "Got you this, though."
Monty picks it up, turning it around as if he didn't know what it was. His head is very fuzzy and a little slow. "Nutrition packet? Jasper, I told you, I can't eat, there's no point—"
"You need to eat. Look, if I could bring you chicken soup or whatever people ate on Earth in those magical days of real food, I would. But this is going to do. Just eat it slowly." His voice is a little muffled, because he's wandered from the main room and into Monty's bedroom. Or maybe he just sounds weird because Monty's ears are as clogged and gross as his nose, his sinuses, his entire head have been all day. Hard to tell.
"You want to hear what you missed in Earth History today?" Jasper asks, reappearing now with the pillow from Monty's bed stacked on top of the blanket from Monty's bed, a giant tangle of fabric piled up right in front of his face. Jasper's not the most graceful even when he can see properly, and Monty's impressed he doesn't trip on his way over. He even maneuvers around the chair and the table without a misstep, the layout of the room as familiar to him, by now, as that of his own quarters on the other side of the Ark.
"No," Monty answers. He's about to say something about how he really doesn't need anything else, he's fine as is on the couch, but that would be a waste of energy. And he is actually a little cold. An hour ago he was burning up and now it's chills again, and who knows what fresh hell the next hour will bring. But either way the blanket is soft, well-worn and old now with decades of use, and he can't help but think that it feels nice, comforting, when Jasper drapes it over him.
"Yeah, it was pretty dull," Jasper admits, flopping down now on the chair next to the couch. He lets his legs hang over the side and crosses his arms over his stomach. "They never tell us the interesting stuff anyway. I want to know more about Earth food, personally. I'd take a whole course on just that, like, historical Earth food, way more useful than memorizing dates—"
"Jasper, where did you get this?" Monty's only been half-listening, turning the nutrition packet around in his hands instead of actually opening it, and the only part of Jasper's voice that's really come through is the part that keeps on mentioning food.
"The cafeteria," Jasper answers lightly, as if Monty were being very dense indeed, and then, fast, before Monty can say anything more, "Eat. I'm serious. Sick people don't get better by starving themselves and I really can't go to Chemistry by myself tomorrow. Who will laugh at my puns if you're still camped out on the couch?"
Monty smiles, just a little, and decides after a half-moment's thought that he won't ask again. He doesn't have to; he already knows the packet is from Jasper's own rations, and he knows just as well that Jasper will never admit it. "Why do you assume I'll laugh at your puns? They're usually tragic."
"Brilliant," Jasper corrects. "They're brilliant."
They fall into a long moment of silence, then. Monty rips the packet open and tries, very slowly, to actually eat some, though his stomach is uncertain and borders on rebellion. Jasper toes off his shoes, and they fall with two arrhythmic thumps onto the floor. When Monty looks up again, his friend is staring at him, concern on his face that he makes no effort to hide, and Monty's half-certain Jasper will ask him something quiet and serious, like are you okay, in the sort of worried tone that will allow for no lies in response.
But he doesn't, and Monty's glad for it.
"Did you know," Jasper asks, in a casual conversation tone that Monty, if he doesn't look up, can pretend has reached his eyes, "that there's a couple standing out in your hall sucking face like there's no tomorrow? They were there when I left half an hour ago, and they're still there. It's pretty impressive, actually."
Monty snorts—or tries to, but accomplishes little more than rearranging the phlegm that's taken over every spare bit of space in his head. Then he groans, and tries an eye roll instead. "That's Bryan and his new boyfriend. They haven't figured out the concept of a goodbye kiss yet."
"That's young love, I guess," Jasper sighs, in a tone Monty assumes must be mocking. Then he looks over and sees that Jasper's staring up at the ceiling, not smiling, his expression thoughtful and far away.
Monty's not sure what he can possibly say to that. He tosses the nutrition packet, half empty, all he can handle, onto the table and then pulls the blanket up to his chin. "Yeah, that will be you soon," he says, finally. "And I'll have to find someone else to wait on me."
It might not be the right thing to say, but it snaps Jasper out of his thoughts, whatever they were, and he's smiling again and genuine, focused. "That will never happen." He stretches one leg and taps his foot against Monty's foot, hidden under the blanket. It's a strange gesture, awkward, but oddly intimate and sweet. Somehow Monty knows he'll remember it for a long time. "You always come first."
"You don't have to be sappy just because I feel like shit," he answers, instead of thank you, two words too hard to form.
"When else am I supposed to be sappy?" Jasper shoots back. "When you don't have a fever and you'll actually remember what I say?"
Monty picks up the nutrition packet and throws it in Jasper's general direction, but doesn't say anymore. When Jasper starts to protest, something that sounds like the start of 'I'm not hungry,' Monty just holds up his hand, and Jasper falls silent again. Monty curls up on his side and closes his eyes.
"Hey, Jasper," he says, some time later, without opening his eyes and not even sure his friend is still in the room.
"Yeah?"
"You come first for me, too."
x
A/N: The concept of nutrition packets comes specifically from the book The 100, but I think it's compatible with what little we see of the Ark cafeteria.