"There's no guarantee he's still alive, you know."
Quinn glares daggers back at where Bellamy walks a pace behind her, Wells at her side.
"And there's no guarantee I won't punch you in the throat."
He scoffs, but despite how she's feeling she isn't kidding. It's not worth it, though, so she falls back into silence. She needs to save her strength for whatever's happened to Jasper, and to bring him home. Feet away Clarke and Finn are ahead of them, still visible through the ferns, and Quinn doesn't know if she's irritated or happy that Spacewalker bothered to show up. Wells is staring over at them, a little longer than the few times before, and Quinn's irritation grows tenfold when Bellamy opens his mouth.
"Guess we got more in common than meets the eye, huh?"
Wells turns back to the forest floor. "We have nothing in common."
"No? Both came down here to protect someone we love. Don't worry Wells; your secret's safe with me. 'Course, for you it's worse. With Finn around, Clarke doesn't even see you."
"Get off his case," Quinn says sharply. "You don't know anything about him, or me."
Bellamy raises his brows, increasing his pace to her free side.
"Oh, so you're different, Kane? Not pining away for someone? Is it the Jasper kid we're trying to rescue, or maybe your other friend? Hell, maybe you want a piece of Finn, too."
She's silent until his last words, a snort eliciting from her nose. She can't say anything truthful aside from the noise in response; mostly because giving Bellamy any leverage over her is a terrible idea and she knows it, but also because she's buried the emotion of unrequited love down far into herself. They're friends, she's guilty as all hell, and in their current situation her feelings don't matter. The excuses, or rather, explanations are endless.
"Yeah," Bellamy says at her silence. "Thought so." And then he's walking faster until he's caught up where Murphy walks alone.
Wells lets out a deep-seated sigh that only serves to make Quinn feel worse. She wanted to take some of the heat off of him, but Bellamy's actions have only cemented the fact that her and Wells are two lone peas in a pod.
It's going to be a long walk.
"He may not be my real brother, but he's always been there. Every memory I have, there's Jasper."
Monty's so fixated on his disassembly of the wristband that he doesn't notice Octavia's eyes look over him curiously.
"And Quinn?"
He pauses, if only for a brief second. He does feel somewhat bad for jabbering away all of his worries to Octavia, who by all accounts does not need to listen while he sulks. Even if she did volunteer after being locked in by Atom.
He mentally flip flops between the truth and an outright lie, finally deciding somewhere in the middle.
"Not as long as Jasper, but long enough."
His words are heavy, a double entendre hidden in them that he prays to the heavens Octavia doesn't notice. One glance up is all it takes for him to realize she has, but she's not giving him a judgmental look or teasing him in any way; mostly he sees pity and apprehension.
"Don't worry, I won't say anything. As long as you're not gonna cry, at least."
Monty cracks a smile as Octavia chuckles; he should have known there would be at least a small amount of teasing. He focuses back on the wristband, tension in his fingers as he tries to ignore the almost penetrating feel of Octavia's eyes. She's analyzing him, and it's only after her wristband is popped off that the weird moment breaks. He brings it close to the light, the bracelet's own sputtering and dying before he lets out a curse and hangs his head.
"You could tell her, you know," She says softly, continuing when he remains still. "We were supposed to die and now we're on the ground. It's a new start."
He wants to explain all the reasons why he can't- the fact that she's given the title of honorary brother to Jasper, and it's no doubt the same for him. The fact that saying something has the potential to make things tense, weird, and awkward, even if he knows Jasper doesn't have romantic feelings for her. The fact that her shoulders are already heavy enough with guilt (even though nothing is her fault at all), and he doesn't want to add the task of letting him down gently atop that-
Instead he just says: "I can't."
Whatever Octavia plans to say next is cut off by the hatch opening, a suspicious Atom peering inside before disappearing back to the lower level. Monty lets out a sigh, more out of relief than anything.
"Go on. I'll be fine; work to do."
Octavia smiles in his direction before adjusting herself to her feet, her hands reaching out to ruffle his hair as she passes by. It makes Monty pause, briefly. It's not the way Quinn does it; slow and reverent with the strands passing through her fingertips. It's enough that his thoughts circle back around to the rescue team, even though he should be focusing all of his attention on the bracelet and the mechanisms within.
"Hey Monty?" Octavia calls, already half-hidden between the lip of the level. "They'll come back safe, both of them. And Jasper would understand why you stayed."
He fights with himself, resolve wavering, before replying.
"How is someone raised beneath the floor not a total basket case?" Though his words are teasing, there's genuine vulnerability and thankfulness in the background, and despite Octavia's laughing sigh she looks at him the same way she has been for the past hour.
"Who says I'm not?"
She descends the ladder immediately afterwards, and Monty is left alone with his thoughts once again, even if a hopeful smile is on his lips. Back during the initial excursion it had been easy; Jasper was there to keep his mind at ease. Now, it feels like the entire situation is looming over him; deep seated dread and worry encompassing his body. With one shake of his head he tries to resume his work on the bracelet, though his mind wanders to darker territory.
Quinn, bruised and beaten all to hell, out in the wilderness while who knew what threatened her safety. She's always had a high pain tolerance, he knows, but the injuries she's sustained since being on the ground are still debilitating, and he wonders if she's alright.
Conflict, once more. Wells promised, though it was a silent thing as the two boys locked eyes at the river. Despite that she's messed up beyond belief, though the rational part of his brain screams that it's her own actions and insistence to diffuse tense situations that have caused it. She was always doing that, even when Jasper and Monty were younger; mediating between fights, selling herself out during tag if it let one of them go free. Constantly willing to be the martyr, and he hates it.
She's always been more enthused to listen to his mom's explanations than anything her dad told her, that was obvious. They bonded over plant structures and vegetables originally, for God's sake, of course that's where she really wants to be. Hands encompassed in dirt, fingernails an absolute eyesore, touching the plants as softly as her muscles allow. He's been privy to the scene too many times to count.
Her birth makes it different, though, steers her in the direction of military conquest rather than nurture and diplomacy. A shame, honestly, because although she knows how to leave an opponent bruised and bloodied before her she takes no pride in it, much more content to resolve the situation with words and emotions.
It's Quinn's mother's influence, Monty knows. He laments the fact that the situation on the ground now is probably enough to sway her into following in her father's footsteps, if only because she knows how and she's good at it.
He takes in the machinery in his palm once more, physically shaking his head to ward off his ridiculous thinking before setting to work.
Wells and Quinn are making good time, the pair only stopping for a short fifteen minute break once. At least, that's what she tries to convince herself as they continue to traipse through the underbrush.
At first there had been no conversation, both of their bodies rigid as they walked. It took half an hour before Quinn finally decided to break through the tension, finding the weird limbo they're in unimaginably uncomfortable. She talks plans; plans to fashion weapons for everyone, to make the parts they can deconstruct from the dropship into anything useful they can, to train the others to wield them properly. The water drums and makeshift canteens are only the first step, and they need to fashion filtration for the sheer amount of bodies in the group. They can't survive just on rain water alone.
It doesn't take much time before Wells responds earnestly, explaining the pack now strapped around his shoulder built from nothing but seatbelts and insulation. They're not engineers; neither of them are, but still they're putting utility and survival at the forefront of their minds.
Another trickle of guilt worms its way into Quinn's chest. She thinks over her initial actions at the dropship, the way she so easily defied Wells even if it was over concern for Jasper. She's misjudged him, undoubtedly like the rest of the delinquents, and the realization sticks that the two are actually a pretty formidable duo.
She's breezing past the sensation, talking about the most efficient way to set up a farm plot, when Clarke and Finn emerge from the trees with somber faces. The blonde's lips separate, and she tries to piece words together that won't sound distraught to her friend, but the goggles clasped tight in her grip are enough, and immediately Quinn is stock-still and livid.
"Where?"
Bellamy and Murphy rejoin them soon after that, and Clarke leads them back towards the river she and Finn encountered, both Quinn and the Spacewalker kneeling down to assess the blood adorned on the cragged rocks.
"It's fresh, hasn't coagulated yet," Quinn begins, trying to push the panicked thoughts down, far down, and Bellamy interrupts her as he looks over the scene.
"See? I told you there's no guarantee."
She's about to march right over to him and sock him repeatedly until he passes out, when a pained moan echoes throughout the trees. It's far off, and hard to pinpoint the exact source, but she's on two feet immediately, making sure her makeshift shiv, water sachet, and all clothing is accounted for.
"It's Jasper," Quinn says darkly, and a small hand wraps itself around her wrist. It's Clarke's.
Her expression is both commanding and consolatory, a strange juxtaposition that's enough to keep Quinn from sprinting off into the woods on her own. She scans the trees before glancing back at Bellamy.
"Now would be a good time to take out that gun."
Then they're off towards the unknown.
Quinn leads the entourage, trying her absolute damndest to not just abandon the others to figure out what happened to Jasper. Before too long they come across a clearing, every one of them stilling at the sight before them. Even Bellamy is stunned.
Jasper is tied up in the twisted limbs of a tree, blood somewhat dried and fountained over his chest. There's sharp gasps and pained cries, and even from the distance it's easy enough for Quinn to tell he's absolutely delirious, awash in pain and confusion.
"Oh my god," Clarke says, attempting to move past the redhead towards where Jasper is dangling, but Quinn is a mess of emotions. She struts determined past all of them, their cries falling on deaf ears as she moves ever closer to the sight. She spots the dislodged grass, the way the ground slightly caves in, and she stops millimeters before it. Clarke is there in an instant, and Quinn grips her arm so tightly the blonde is sure to bruise, but it's worth it due to the fact that if she takes a step closer she might lose her life.
"Quinn, what-"
Instead of verbally responding she prods a foot at the slight indent, her boot enough that it gives way to the spike pit below. Clarke swallows heavily before giving her a look; she's grateful, and doesn't have to say it aloud.
"We need to get him down," She says, voice slightly shaken despite the authoritative tone.
"I'll climb up there and cut the vines," Finn offers, his hair an absolute mess around his face.
Wells immediately offers himself up to the task: "Yeah, yeah I'm with you."
"No. Stay with Clarke, and watch him." He looks over at Bellamy. "Quinn, you're with me. Let's go."
There's white noise in her ears as she follows his lead, expertly ascending the tree despite the wounds across her body. There's no time to think about anything, to do any more than listen with ears perked as she stills for unknown threats while aiding Finn in cutting Jasper free. She's too focused on her actions, and is sure it shows when Finn reaches out to slow her swift movement cutting the vines from across Jasper's torso. His eyes are wide.
"Hey," He breathes. "He's alive. He'll be okay."
Quinn recognizes the words for what they are; a momentary instillment of confidence, and she resumes her work. Now is not the time. They're in enemy territory, there's a spike pit on the ground, and Jasper has a gaping wound in his chest. How can any of this make her calm?
A low rumble reaches her ears from the forest's perimeter, and Quinn immediately stiffens.
"What the hell was that?"
"Grounders?" Bellamy asks hesitantly, taking a step back.
No, it's a panther crouched outside the ferns. The figure sways its hind legs before darting forward through the underbrush, and Quinn wishes she could clone herself. There's too many places to be; too many spots that need her. She can't bear to tear away from Jasper's side but logically she's needed on the grass, where the panther is advancing quickly.
"Bellamy, gun!" Clarke calls, scared, and the boy reaches for his hip.
He finds nothing at his side, rapid gunfire eliciting from Wells of all people, arm straight out before him as he trains on the feline. If things weren't so serious and Quinn wasn't caught between a rock and a hard place she'd chastise him for his form, or lackthereof. The cat is wounded, but not dead, and everyone circles wildly trying to get a lock on its presence. There's a haunting silence, and then the panther jumps out of the brush, but for all the theatrics the big cat is shot immediately in its arc towards Bellamy, resting on the ground with pained yelps.
The gun clicks repeatedly as Wells tries to shoot despite the empty clip. After many moments of intense agony he drops it to the ground, and Bellamy wastes no time in being an absolute dickhead.
"Now she sees you."
Clarke's mouth is agape, sheer panic in Wells' eyes, and before the situation can spiral further out of control Quinn finally cuts loose the last of the vines that encapsulate Jasper. He sags forward, Quinn taking nearly all of his weight despite Finn trying to lurch forward to assist.
"Make yourselves useful and help me get him down," She bites out, entirely done with whatever drama is happening around her.
Between Finn and her they make an easy team, and below the four at the base of the tree waste no time in offering their arms for Jasper's body. Well, maybe Murphy is hesitant, but taking in the looks of sheer terror affixed across everyone in proximity Quinn somewhat understands it. She still doesn't agree with it.
She offers to help carry Jasper, and it's only the firm touch of Wells' hand on her shoulder that makes her shrink back. Most everything running through her brain is pure survival mode; going off routine drills from her father, but despite the want to do everything herself she settles back against his hand. Finn and Bellamy take Jasper between them, starting off back towards camp, and falling in stride between Clarke and Wells.
She feels the guilt weigh her limbs, and Quinn despises it. Her instinct isn't good enough, all the times she sat listening to Marcus' stupid words, and all she can do is trail behind two burlier boys that hold her brother in their grasp.
"Hey," Clarke begins, face and voice achingly soft. "He's okay. We found him, and he's coming home."
Quinn doesn't want to acknowledge her words or the idea of trying to justify the entire ordeal to Monty once they get back. She promised she'd bring him home, but bringing him home in such a damaged state is sure to dissolve his trust in her, not to mention lessen morale around the camp. She doesn't want to think about it so she doesn't, taking the sachet of water off her belt and stepping forwards until she's between Finn, Bellamy, Wells, and Clarke. She barely tastes the liquid as it downs her throat, but she's determined to do some sort of good somehow, and she scans the treeline behind the two boys.
The group walks in silence, only sporadic bursts of Jasper's groans breaking the tension. Every sound is another metaphorical wound in Quinn's chest.
It's dark when they come upon the camp, and even though she should feel relief Quinn's shoulders tense for the umpteenth time as the gang make their way past the undrawn barrier. She should fix it; knows that she needs to fix it. They need walls around them if hostiles are near, anything to take her mind off of the thought of facing Monty when Jasper is barely coherent and nearly dying beside her.
Any semblance of a chance to avoid Monty is cut off as she makes her way towards the center of camp, the boy waiting while he takes in the sight of his best friend being carried in, a poultice adorned on his chest. Clarke wastes no time for pleasantries, calling out to anyone near, her eyes darting stealthily towards where Quinn is standing with the most mournful expression on her face.
"I need boiled water and strips of cloth for bandage."
Quinn barely hears Bellamy as he seats the large, dark cat down beside the fire, knowing that he's trying to elicit leadership as he calls out to the masses. Instead she accidentally catches Monty's gaze, and immediately she looks back down to the impossibly dark forest floor. She's failed them more times than she can count, and it's absolute agony standing in front of him while his best friend is being lauded off by others.
"I'm s-sorry, I tried-" She begins, and she wants to shrink as small as dirt as Monty presses forward, his hands grabbing her shoulders and warmth making her look up into his eyes.
"It's not your fault," He stresses, squeezing tightly. It's not morse code, but a reaffirmation. He knew she would bring him back, and she has. "Clarke will take care of him. He's safe because you went out there, Quinn."
Instead of absolutely breaking down or succumbing to the comfort in his words Quinn unwinds herself from him, making her way towards the dropship. Now is not the time to feel discouraged, or to be caught up in a whirlwind of emotions. She needs to help Jasper.
"I need to help, I need to be in there-"
Monty understands her in an instant, and the pair walk into the dropship as Clarke is striding slowly towards Jasper, a rag in her hand. Her blue eyes are affixed to his forehead, as bloodied and sweat-laden as it is, and the ginger wastes no time before taking the cloth from her grasp and seating herself beside him. Everything around Quinn cuts out as she tries to clean the blood and grit from his face, a strangled sob cutting off in her throat. She needs to be better; needs to make sure nothing like this happens again to her boys. She should have been there. She needs to be there.
She needs to make up for time lost, for the fact that both of them are down here thanks to her.
A hand encircles her own, and she blinks up amidst tears to find that Monty is gripping tightly to her hand not clutching the fabric like a lifeline. He looks between Jasper and her, something desperate and thankful in his gaze, and he nods slowly.
"I told you to come back in one piece, and you did."
Quinn savors the warmth of his hand, although she feels like she doesn't truly deserve it, and takes in the room around them for the first time. Clarke and Finn are locked in an undoubtedly deep conversation, metal glinting in the dim light as he produces something makeshift and heartfelt. Wells is nowhere to be found, and she thinks back to if he ever even offered to come inside the dropship with the rest of them.
"I failed," Quinn whispers, a confession, and continues to try and clean up Jasper's skin.
Monty stiffens, catching a tighter hold on her hand. "No, you did all you could."
She's shaky, doing more harm than good as she tries to wring the cloth out with one hand. There's so much dirt and blood strewn across Jasper, and she's selfishly not wanting to let go of Monty's hand. It's the only thing keeping her somewhat grounded, and tears escape from her eyes as she looks at her brother with a goddamn hole through his chest. The rag in her hand is barely a resistance but it provides some.
"Not enough," Quinn breathes. "This is...this is all I can do. Cutting him down from the tree was all I could do. Getting you both locked up was all I could do. It's not enough."
She feels the pressure on her hand lessen and mistakes it for resentment, when in all reality Monty is taken aback at the sheer wave of guilt that follows her words. It's heavier than he's thought, and he grits his jaw before pressing closer. In his peripherals Clarke and Finn escape through the fabric of the dropship, and it's both easier and harder on him as the audience leaves.
Jasper is sweating, writhing. Quinn is anxious beyond any believable doubt, despite expected protests that claim otherwise. Even Monty himself is a mess, hair a disaster as he looks between the woman he loves and his best friend.
"I told you that you'd both come home in one piece, and you did," He repeats, and Quinn's eyes lock on him with incredulity. "He's here, and so are you. That's all that matters."
She can't meet his eyes, instead trailing her own across the soft expanse of Jasper's face. There's pain, that much she knows, his brows knit despite being unconscious. She presses the fabric on his forehead, wishing that she could take it all inside of herself instead. She doesn't say anything more, knows that whatever she says will make it worse than it already is. For the time being she clutches one hand around Jasper through the cloth, the other catching so tightly on Monty's hand it's sure to be uncomfortable. He says nothing, merely scoots closer, and with all of her might a sob is kept hidden in her chest. She doesn't deserve this, doesn't know how she got so lucky to be dropped into a wasteland with them both beside her.
She eats nothing, a barren in her stomach as she continues watching over Jasper with wide eyes, Monty at her side. Before too long she's pressing her chin against her chest, barely able to keep herself awake, and without any resistance Monty pulls her head on his shoulder.
She's asleep as he looks over the both of them; Jasper still in pain from his wound and Quinn's entire body still wound tight, expecting any threat. Quinn squeezes his hand lightly in her sleep and he takes inventory on his two injured friends, the sag of defeat weighing him down.
Note:
Me: yeah there's a lot of mutual pining.
Also me: *turns that shit up to 100*
This update took a minute because I've been trying to plan out the next few updates and they've been hard. Contrary to Quinn I am not good at diplomacy or counterattacks. I've had to discuss things with people who are basically mini betas.
Much love to TwilightEclps for the reviews; sorry I kept you waiting for so long.
Title credit goes to Mowgli's Road by Marina.