Title: Baby, Let Me Straighten Out Your Broken Bones
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~4,300
Characters: Monty/Harper (friendship), Bellamy/Clarke, Miller, Raven, Octavia, Jasper
Summary: She's absolutely frightened and he can't fathom it. He can't reconcile the Clarke that's taken care of them since Day One on the ground with the Clarke standing before him. She's afraid, not of Grounders, or Mountain Men, or the judgment she'd face as soon as she stepped inside. She's afraid of herself.
A/N: Slightly explores a growing friendship between Harper and Monty, and the friendship between Monty and Clarke.
Title from Dia Frampton's "The Broken Ones", which I played on loop while writing this.
... ...
Monty glances at her from his peripheral as they near the camp. It's big, a lot more civilized than the camp they'd set up by the dropship, a lot more daunting, too, but he doubts that's the reason why she seems to be growing more and more nervous the closer they get. He can see it, the quivering of her lips, the puffs of uneven breaths forming in the cold air, the way her eyes seem to dart, like she's unsure of what to focus on, of whether she should be staring ahead or looking around, as if – as if looking for some escape, he realizes.
He stops walking and so does she, without so much as glancing at him. Her eyes are wild, scared, and it terrifies him.
"Hey," he says, trying to get her attention. "Are you alright?"
Stupid question, his thoughts quip, and as soon as it's out, he wants desperately to take it back. It's possibly the worst thing he could've asked her in this moment.
"I can't," she whispers, so low that he barely even hears it. Her eyes are locked forward as she shakes her head. "I can't – I can't go in there."
His heart stutters. No – no, no, no, she can't say things like that. "Clarke," he rasps, gripping her arm. His woven sleeve is a stark contrast to her leather jacket, and it surprises him how much he wants to throw his sweater onto the ground in this moment, or do anything else to make her feel like less of an outsider.
"Monty," she breathes, finally turning to look at him, and he flinches. She's absolutely frightened and he can't fathom it. He can't reconcile the Clarke that's taken care of them since Day One on the ground – that clawed arrows and spears and bullets from their bodies and refused to let them die, that cut open her own wounds in pure protective instinct because she felt like they were in danger – with the Clarke standing before him. She's afraid, not of Grounders, or Mountain Men, or the judgment she'd face as soon as she stepped inside.
She's afraid of herself.
She became a monster to save them from monsters, or so she's convinced, but all he sees is Clarke. She's different than when they landed, yes, but they all are. He still sees her as this beautiful princess, with blood on her hands and love in her heart.
If that makes him crazy… well, he has better things to do than staying sane, anyway.
She takes a deep breath, and he watches the moment the decision's been made. The last of their people are passing them up and he knows she won't be following them inside.
"I'll go with you," he insists.
Her eyes snap onto him. The fear is gone from them, tucked away to haunt her in another moment, and for a small second, he's oddly comforted by the determined expression on her face, even as she's shaking her head at him. "You're needed here, Monty," she tells him, voice collected, calm, but leaving no room for debate.
"They'll make-do without me," he says, because he's going to argue with her, anyway. He has to at least try.
"I'm not taking away someone who'll be important in their healing." She smiles this sad, broken smile at him, and swallows hard. "They'll need your hope. They'll need you."
"You don't need me?" he asks. It's a low blow but he's desperate.
"I think I need you more than they do." She whispers this, not like she's afraid to admit it, but like she wants it to be for him and only him. "The difference is that they deserve you. I'm grateful for your friendship, Monty, and I always will be. But I definitely don't deserve it."
"You don't get to decide that, Clarke," he tells her. He wants to say so many other things and he can't and he hates it. She glances away, shrugging her shoulder, and though he knows it's not like that – that it's much, much more complicated – this small, simple gesture feels like she's giving up. "Where will you even go?" he almost demands.
She shrugs again, shaking her head. This is worse than Clarke being scared, or Clarke being confused, maybe even worse than Clarke being broken.
He sort of wants to cry, to scream for attention. He thinks if he tried hard enough, rallied the right people, that he could somehow prevent Clarke from leaving.
But she deserves to do whatever the hell she wants. She deserves it the most out of any of them.
And he loves her more than he wants her to stay.
"Please," he rasps, voice cracking, and for a moment, he sees a moment of panic flash behind her eyes. It's this that tells him that, yeah, he could get Clarke to stay if he asked. She would stay even if it killed her, if it was him asking. But he can't be selfish. She's hurting enough and he's not putting her through worse. "Please be safe out there."
This he will ask of her. This could very well be the last time they're together, but he wants to believe it's not, and right now, he doesn't trust her to want to keep herself alive.
"I'll try," she promises, and it's automatic, the way they move to put their arms around each other. "May we meet again," she whispers, breath warm against his ear.
He hugs her tighter. "May we meet again," he echoes.
When they pull away, he tugs at his sweater, wrapping his arms around himself. He wants to remember her hug, wants it to be imprinted in his thoughts. He wants to be able to compare it to the one they share when they're reunited again.
He glances at Bellamy as he finally heads into the camp, and he avoids the man's knowing gaze. He always knows.
Harper is lingering in the crowd of reuniting families just beyond the doors, and her grip on her gun loosens as she steps towards him. Her eyes are watching something over his shoulder and he refuses to turn around to watch with her. So he just looks at her as her eyebrows furrow in confusion and as she mumbles, "What are they…?"
Then she almost surges forward, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he grasps her arm to stop her.
"She's leaving?" Harper asks.
Monty nods, unable to find the words. He can feel her turn her stare on him, though, so he opens his eyes and hopes that tells her everything.
She blinks and flinches back. "No," she says, mostly to herself. "No, she can't – she can't leave."
He wants to correct her, to tell her that it's what Clarke wants, maybe even what she needs. But, before he can even open his mouth, Bellamy's voice loud and coarse and hallow as he orders the gates closed, and Harper brings a hand up to cover her mouth.
(Monty can't look at Bellamy during dinner that night, or every other night afterwards.)
... ...
He's stepping out of the hall balancing two plates of food on his tray as he glances around, and then smiles when he finds Harper with a table to herself at the edge of the seating area. He makes his way over to her, and thinks in the back of his head to when Jasper was the face he'd seek out first. He doesn't think it'll ever be possible to outgrow a friendship like theirs. He knows he'll never stop needing Jasper, never stop wanting his company, but right now they all need something different – need some kind of space from each other while they settle into these new roles that they've been given. Harper could never replace Jasper, but he needs her company, too. They're kind of attached at the hip these days.
As he comes closer, he notices that she has one of her sleeves pushed up her elbow, her fingers tracing over the scars on her forearm.
"Hey," he greets, setting the tray between them, and she smiles and tugs her sleeve back into place as he takes his seat. "What were you doing?"
"I…" She lets out a laugh and pulls her plate closer. "It's stupid," she says. He arches an eyebrow at her and she gnaws on her lower lip a little before admitting, "I thought I saw some kind of pattern in my scars."
He blinks, raising both eyebrows, and she just laughs again as she shrugs.
But he hates that gesture – cringes every time someone does it, bites his tongue to keep from saying something – so he lets out a breath and reaches for her arm, only pausing to wait for her nod of permission, and then moves her sleeve aside once more, revealing the marks that are swirling and curving over her skin.
They're just scars now. They're not open wounds or bleeding cuts. They're scars – mended and healing, fading slowly but surely – and they're nothing to be ashamed of.
"Maybe if…" He uses his free hand to dig into his pocket and produces the black marker he carries to scribble notes on blueprints.
Harper laughs again. "What're you doing?"
"I'm finding patterns," he tells her simply, and this sort of giggle bubbles out of her. It makes him grin.
He bites off the cap of the marker and lets it drop to the table, and she flinches as the marker touches her skin, but she's still smiling, shoulders shaking faintly with quiet laughs, so he thinks it's okay to keep going.
He traces along her scars, and other than a warning of, "Don't you dare draw some inappropriate!" it's quiet between them.
Harper tilts her head, her amused smile fading into a grin of content as she watches him work. She uses her free hand to pick up her spoon and start on her oatmeal, feeding every few bites to him after his stomach rumbles lowly in hunger. He doesn't look up from her skin, but he can feel that people are beginning to look in their direction, probably wondering what the hell they're even doing. He knows they won't come over, though. It's been a few weeks, but people are still processing Clarke's absence, and they don't understand his absolute trust in her. He secretly thinks Harper doesn't entirely understand, either, but she believes in Monty, and that's enough of a reason for her to share his belief in Clarke, too.
When he's done, he lets go of her wrist and caps his marker, frowning down at what he's drawn.
He's not even sure what he's drawn.
"You kind of just traced over the scars," Harper points out, her voice threatening to dissolve into laughter. "I don't even know what I'm looking at."
"Okay, hey, I tried. It's not like I'm some amazing artist like Clarke or whatever."
His words linger in the air, and his chest squeezes a little, the way it always does whenever Clarke gets mentioned. But her memories don't hurt to think of anymore. They make him smile and picture of what it might be like when he sees her again.
"She's pretty understanding, but I think even she would say that this is garbage," Harper teases.
He scoffs, feigning offense as he scoops some oatmeal onto his spoon and flicks it at her. It plops onto the edge of her side of the table, a few drops getting onto the front of her shirt, and her jaw drops, her eyes widening in surprise and twinkling in mischief. He flashes a smile, but then she shoves his bowl and the motion sloshes soup onto him.
"You're on," he declares, jumping up, but she's already throwing her legs over the side of the bench and running off, her laughter following her as he does, too.
... ...
They lay side-by-side on the grass, staring up at the stars as Harper tries to find more patterns. She seems to be doing a lot of that lately. He's not really sure where it's coming from but if she finds it amusing, he'll just go along with it.
Bellamy and Miller are with them, sitting cross-legged a few feet away as they talk about some of the new cadets that they're helping Kane train. They're talking in low murmurs as they try not to disturb Monty and Harper, but honestly? Monty loves hearing their voices, just like he loves hearing Harper's. They're comforting sounds. He's not really sure what it feels like to be part of a big family but he thinks it might be a little bit like this – overlapping conversations, and the warmth of being close, even if they're not all talking together.
Harper lifts a hand, using her fingertips to connect a line of stars. "That one kind of looks like a bird, right?" she asks.
He squints up at the sky. Sometimes he has no idea what she's looking at but he'll indulge her, anyway. This one he can see, though.
"Kind of," he agrees, meaning it. He tilts his head. "Actually, it also – looks like a person."
Harper lifts herself up on her elbows. "What're you talking about?" she asks, and Monty tries not to chuckle. Harper being mildly frustrated is kind of adorable. He reaches over, tilts her chin with his fingertips so that they're looking at it at the same angle. "Oh," she says, and laughs. "I can see it."
"That's Andromeda," Bellamy's voice interrupts, and they tilt their heads back to look to him and Miller, who're both staring up at the stars, too.
Harper arches an eyebrow. "You've met her?"
The three of them laugh, and Bellamy murmurs, "Whatever, smartass." She gnaws at her lower lip and glances at Monty. Yeah, he can see the guy's smile, too. "Andromeda was the daughter of a Greek king, and his wife ran her mouth about how beautiful their daughter was. Said she was prettier than any Nereid. A female sea spirit," he adds without having to be asked. Before, Harper would have to interrupt him to figure out what all those terms meant, but he's become so used to telling them about legends and war stories that he'll explain on his own now. It's kind of endearing, listening to him talk about myths and history. "That pissed off Poseidon, god of the sea, and he sent a sea monster to attack their kingdom."
"Well, shit," Miller mutters.
Bellamy chuckles. "Yeah, kind of extreme," he agrees. "Andromeda was stripped and chained to a rock as sacrifice."
Harper draws a short, soft gasp, and they all look at her. Her eyes are wide. For a moment, Monty's worried she's thinking about the Mountain, but then she asks, "They did that to their princess?" in this small voice.
Bellamy tilts his head down. "You'd be surprised how much a princess can withstand."
(They all know they're talking about a different princess.)
Harper falls back onto the grass, folding her hands over her stomach, and Monty peers at her, watching her eyes shine. He knows Clarke and Harper weren't very close during their captivity in Mount Weather, even less so beforehand, in the days when their camp had begun to settle in. But Harper has always respected Clarke. Maybe she hadn't been as quick with believing her as Monty had when they were in Mount Weather, but, somehow, Monty can tell that she admires Clarke. That's only grown in the weeks following Mount Weather.
He's excited for them to become friends.
"Well, her mother got her into that mess, but it's not like her father was quick to agree to giving up his own daughter," Bellamy continues after a moment. He sort of squints, and then lifts his hand to gesture to another group of stars. "That constellation with her is Perseus, her hero."
"She was saved?" Harper asks. It's kind of totally endearing, the relief in her voice.
"Yeah," Bellamy replies, smiling. They're all into his stories, but Harper is always the most animated, the most reactive, and Monty can tell Bellamy kind of loves it – loves having someone share in his enthusiasm. "Perseus is… he's kind of badass." Bellamy chuckles. "He's the epitome of Greek heroes—brave, kind, faithful. He's one of the only husbands in mythology to not cheat on his wife—yeah, I know," he says when Harper makes a face. "Most heroes were heroic in acts but they were kind of assholes underneath everything."
"So he saved her and they ended up together?" Harper asks. Bellamy nods and she laces her fingers together. "I think that's beautiful."
"He'll always be with her, too," Miller points out, gesturing up at the constellations. "The guy really knows how to love someone for the rest of his life."
Monty glances over his shoulder, watching as a smile tugs at Bellamy's lips.
"Yeah, he does."
... ...
Harper leaves at dawn with the hunting party, and Monty's with Raven and Bellamy in the yard, pouring over maps, when there's a commotion at the gate.
Miller's got Harper in his arms and Harper has a sword in her thigh, and Monty swears his heart just stops.
They rush her into the medical ward and get her onto the table, and when one of the nurses tries to urge them out of the room, Harper shakes her hand and grips onto Monty's and Miller's hands so tightly that he almost loses feeling, but he could care less about that right now. "They're staying," Harper growls, eyes narrowing at the nurse. Bellamy carried Raven in with them, and Jasper and Octavia came running from across the yard to follow as soon as Harper was carried through the gate. There're too many people in here for an operation, but, even as tears roll down her cheeks from the pain she's enduring, Harper levels the nurses with a glare as she says, "They stay, even if I have to pull the damn thing out myself."
"Let them stay," Abby commands, shouldering her way to Harper's bedside.
The whole moment is a blur, honestly. Harper tips her head back and lets out a shriek of pain when the sword gets pulled out, and it brings Monty back to the Mountain, to the cages he and Harper shared and the screams – her screams – that echoed down the halls. He clenches his jaw.
She digs her fingernails into their hands, and neither Monty nor Miller notices that she actually draws blood until a nurse points it out, but they're sure as hell not letting go.
When they finish her stitches, her eyelids flutter closed as she gasps for breath, and her grip slackens almost completely, but they both hold onto her hands. Monty brings her knuckles to his lips and murmurs, "You're alright," against her skin.
"Maybe," she rasps, "but I feel like crap."
Raven chokes out a laugh, and then all of them sort of follow her lead, despite everything.
"What the hell happened out there?" Bellamy asks.
"I wasn't paying attention—walked into a Grounder trap." Harper opens her eyes again, and she looks up at Bellamy. "I thought I saw her," she whispers.
There's a pregnant, palpable pause.
Bellamy steps closer all of a sudden and Jasper has to hook an arm under Raven to steady her at the rush of movement. He sets his hands against Harper's table and stares down at her, like he's trying to determine just how serious she's being. She looks exhausted, but she tilts her head a little to stare straight back at him. "Fuck," he mutters.
"I thought I saw her, too," Miller adds. Bellamy meets his eyes, too, and Miller nods his head. "We swore it was her."
"Well, guess this proves that she doesn't want to be found," Jasper murmurs, eyes fixed on Harper's wound, and it startles them, the sound that echoes through the room as Raven slaps him across his cheek.
"Raven," Octavia hisses, tugging Jasper back as Bellamy throws himself at Raven's side to steady her.
The girl ignores Octavia, leveling Jasper with a glare that's just as intense as Harper's had been. "Don't say that," Raven snaps. "Don't even joke about something like that! And if you really think that this was her doing then you're fucking insane."
"What do you expect us to do, forgive her?" Octavia demands, all but pushing Jasper out of the way so she can get in Raven's face.
"No, you don't have to. That's why she left."
Bellamy swallows, looking between Raven and Octavia. Octavia didn't make him choose between her and Clarke and Monty thinks she hates Clarke for that most of all—for becoming something for Bellamy to choose over her in the first place. Octavia has been hovering in this place of uncertainty, even if she's been too stubborn to admit it. She doesn't feel like a Sky Person, doesn't feel like a Grounder. She's a Blake, and she doesn't even get her brother to herself. Monty doesn't have to like it, but he can understand how that's frustrating.
What may be terribly ironic about all of this is that Clarke? She's probably the person Octavia can relate to the most right now.
"But don't," Raven continues, voice quivering, eyes swelling with tears, but her expression still harsh, warning. "Don't spit in the face of people that want her back."
Monty thinks that, even if Raven could on her own, she wouldn't walk away in this moment. He thinks he admires that most about her right now.
... ...
"Clarke," Harper shrieks, voice echoing through the trees, and Monty's head snaps up.
Bellamy is moving within seconds, heading for the direction of Harper's voice, Miller following right behind him, and Monty shares a glance with Jasper before they take off, too. They can hear the sound of running water growing louder and louder, but Harper's screams are more powerful, drowning out the sound even as they find themselves right next to a wide, rushing river. Harper is running down the side of it, almost about to throw herself in, but Monty runs forward and grasps her into his arms before she can jump. She tries twisting out of his hold, determined to keep running, to get into the water, and that's when he sees her – Clarke, her body sprawled out over a large rock in the middle of the river, not moving.
God, she's not moving. Monty almost loosens his grip on Harper, about to jump in, himself, when Miller shouts, "Wait, Bellamy—"
But Bellamy doesn't listen, diving right into the river. Harper tenses, bringing her hands up to grab his arms, but instead of trying to pry him off of her, she squeezes his forearms as she stares, transfixed by the scene.
A simple camping trip—that's all this was meant to be. They wanted to get away for a few days, trek far enough that Camp Jaha is close but still out of mind, if only for a little while.
Monty wants to cry, maybe even laugh hysterically. He wouldn't be surprised if this was Clarke's thought, too.
Bellamy grasps onto the boulder, hoisting himself out of the water and throwing himself beside Clarke, grasping her arms. She doesn't move. Monty holds his breath, watching as Bellamy fusses over her, hands moving to check for a pulse, head pressing against her chest to listen for a heartbeat. He jerks back suddenly, yelling her name, and for a single and absolutely terrifying second, Monty thinks the worst. Harper trembles in his arms, murmuring no, no, no. Miller steps forward, as if to jump in, and Jasper rubs a hand down his face.
But then, holy crap, she moves.
Her head rolls, and then she lifts up slightly as she coughs, and Monty chokes out a laugh. This giggle bubbles out of Harper as her body leans against his, and he lowers them to the ground, his arms still around her as she presses her head into his neck, eyes closing in pure relief.
Bellamy takes Clarke into his arms before she can have time to really react, and that's why she's totally still for a moment, eyes blinking rapidly.
Then his hand comes up, combing through her hair, and her lips form his name over and over again as her face crumples. She presses her forehead to his shoulder and winds her arms around him, hugging him tightly, and he only pulls away once, just enough to press a kiss to her cheek before pulling her back to him as close as physically possible.
Monty isn't sure how long they stay like that, or how long all of them on land just stand there, watching, but finally, Bellamy glances over his shoulder and nods, and Miller and Jasper drop their guns to the ground and head into the river. Clarke winces as they all move to help her onto Bellamy's back, and Monty clenches his jaw a little, only now taking in just how many rips and tears there are to her clothes. He can only imagine how many cuts and bruises must be on her, what horrors she had to endure, trying to survive alone all this time.
They get back to the land and Harper throws her arms around Clarke while she's still on Bellamy's back.
Bellamy glances at her with a smile. Clarke blinks in surprise, but her expression shifts, and she moves an arm to wrap it around Harper, squeezing her gently.
They carefully get her onto her feet, her hand automatically reaching for Bellamy, for stability. She shares a grin with Miller, a small nod with Jasper, before turning to Monty, her smile bright and dazzling. The sun is shining, reflecting off of her wet hair.
She looks like a princess.
"You kept your promise," he says, voice quivering. There're tears in his eyes already.
"I said I'd try," she whispers, and he pulls her into his arms, hugging her tight.