The next day, things were difficult again.

Monty had left Miller at the crate when he'd started nodding off, worried he'd fall asleep unexpectedly and tip over like an ass. Miller had seemed more amused than bothered, but he hadn't stopped him. Monty had crawled back into his cold cot and gotten a few hours of rest in the early morning. When he woke up, the others were gone and he felt guilty for being relieved. On the downside, while he didn't feel nearly as heavy in his chest as he had the day before, his body did ache a lot worse, to the point where he had to hold back tears when he tried to lever his stiff limbs out of the cot. In the end, he just lay there until Jasper returned from breakfast and was suddenly hovering over him. Wordlessly, he threaded his arms under Monty's shoulders and guided him up. Monty couldn't help his groan of pain, or the tear that did finally manage to eek out, but Jasper was his best friend, his brother, and he knew a hug went a much longer way than words could, especially an extra gentle one for fear of causing any more pain.

"I think you're coming to Medical with us today," Jasper said.

And having no real argument to the contrary, Monty could only reply, "I think you're right."

They walked in as a group - Jasper, Maya, and her dad destined for surgery, Jasper's parents to see them off, and Monty to be looked over for nothing more than bruises and scrapes. He knew nothing was wrong with him, he just hurt and short of painkillers that would be in already short supply, there was nothing to be done but wait for it to pass. But still he let himself be led to Medical, walking past the people from Mount Weather and the bone marrow volunteers from among the less-than-forty and their grateful families. Some of them recognized him and smile or waved in acknowledgement, and Monty smiled back with genuine goodwill, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets to keep them from idly pressing on his drill wounds, as if his hands could even protect him.

The donors and recipients would be in Medical for at least a week for recovery and observation, a far cry from the three hours in a cage he'd gotten between procedures (and he'd only had that because Dr. Singh had insisted on going back and forth between him and Harper, to prolong them).

He was grateful it was different for his friends, how could he not be? But he couldn't help the tiny speck of ugliness that roiled low in his gut; a speck of a reminder that life was unfair and he just had to deal with it.

Maya and her father were immediately escorted to the airlocked section (after one last hug to Jasper, of course) so that their oxygen tanks could be redistributed to the others who had to wait for their procedures, but Jasper's parents lingered with the Mountain Men. They felt the need to thank each of them for saving and protecting their "boys", and hearing the words out loud, even knowing they were spoken with nothing more than love, felt like balloon of relief quickly growing in his chest, making him lighter for a brief moment, before being pierced and destroyed a second later. He couldn't explain it, he just knew he loved and hated the sentiment simultaneously and with equal passion. In the end, because it usually got him through the bad times, he focused on his best friend.

"You remember the first day we got here," he said, standing guard at the screen behind which Jasper was changing into a medical robe, "after Octavia almost got eaten by the thing in the river, and I told you it seemed like the way to get girls to like you was to save their lives? I didn't actually mean for you to turn that into your standard courting practice."

"Shut up," Jasper said, coming out from behind the screen with a bashful grin. Too quickly though, he grew serious, the way he'd started to lately, and said, "They saved us first."

Monty nodded.

"I guess fair's fair."

"Plus, it can't hurt my chances right?" Jasper said, winking, despite them both knowing Maya would be sticking around even without the marrow, as long as the oxygen tanks were in good supply. If they had to, she and Jasper would make it work.

"Trust me, it's not your chances it'll hurt." The words left him before he could take them back, more angry than he'd ever meant them to sound.

"Hey," Jasper said, laying a hand on his arm, his face concerned and resolute, "you're gonna take it easy this week, right? Don't go out thrill-seeking while I'm laid up in here."

"Right, because that's my style," Monty replied sarcastically.

"You are a known delinquent," Jasper pointed out cheekily. "But more important than your health is the fact that I'm gonna be laid up here all week, and Maya's going to be in the airlock until they're sure the marrow takes, so it's going to be up to you to be available and come here every day to entertain me."

"You mean wait on you hand and foot? Forget it," Monty answered with an incredulous laugh.

"I'm saving lives here, doesn't that call for quality service?"

"You know, the last time you started thinking like that, you turned into a total asshat," Monty reminded him, unimpressed.

Jasper's nose scrunched up in a grimace. "Oh, yeah, I did. I said sorry for that, right?"

"Probably," Monty said honestly. They'd had hundreds of petty (and less petty) fights over the course of their friendship, his general test was that if they appeared to be good now, the asshole of the moment had likely apologized.

"Okay, well if you're not going to feed my ego this time, I think the least you could do is feed my soul," Jasper suggested, his eyebrows waggling for reasons incomprehensible to Monty.

"What?"

"Whet my whistle?"

"Are you meaning for everything you're sounding to sound sexual because…"

"Oh my god, Monty, alcohol!" Jasper cried as loud as he dared with Ark staff in proximity.

"Ooh," he laughed, his ribs twinging at the movement but faintly enough that he could choose to ignore it. "Forgotten already? Stills are illegal per Ark regulations."

"Forgotten already? You're a delinquent."

Point made.

"Might be doable," he murmured, tapping a finger to his chin as he mulled over the logistics.

"Knew I could count on you," Jasper said, clasping his shoulder. Normally, he would have dropped his hand again, but this time his finger squeezed gently instead. "You gonna be okay without me at your side for a whole week?"

Monty gave him his best unimpressed bitchface, but secretly he appreciated the thought.

"I'll be fine. You go be a live cadaver and I'll work on getting you properly hammered in case you make it out of surgery with your liver still inside you instead of on the black market."

"You're the best," Jasper said, pulling him in for a hug. "Morbid, and not at all helping with pre-surgery jitters, but the best anyway."

"You'll be fine," Monty said against his shoulder. He mostly believed it, too.

Then Jasper's parents were back and it was their turn for hugs; theirs were much longer than they would have been in normal circumstances - it was hard to get their son back and have to watch him walk into to a painful medical procedure less than 12 hours later. Monty was fine until Jasper's mom let her son go, with tears in her eyes, only to ruffle his hair just to be annoying and kiss his forehead. Jasper's face scrunched up and he tried to duck out of her grip lest anyone see him being babied by his mother, and Monty had to turn on his heels and make his escape.

He had an appointment, they'd understand.

Monty knew he was the kind of person others found it hard to get a read on until they knew him better. When he was happy or excited, he was effusive, especially with people he trusted, and demonstrative personalities were expected to always be demonstrative. But when he was pissed, when he was tired, when he hurt or distrustful he tended to look like he'd shut down completely. His face went blank, his eyes became shuttered and dispassionate. It threw people off, or used to back when he rarely had reasons to shut down and people only ever knew him for his bubblier side. He didn't actually shut down. He still felt every emotion keenly, he didn't tuck them away behind a wall to deal with it later. He felt. He just didn't let it show as much. Not around people he wouldn't lay down his life for. And it was something he'd always appreciated about himself before, because he thought it gave him an edge of mystery. The unpredictability of a quiet extrovert was edgy.

But in Medical, it was also the only thing that kept him from lashing out at the doctor giving him a physical. As he breathed in deeply (as deeply as he could anyway) on command, he wondered if Clarke and Bellamy had had to go through this after the battle. If they'd had to sit there and be moved around, and talked to like a frightened child in need of coddling. If they'd had to bite their tongue to keep from asking where this concern was months ago. Or asking if they'd been outraged when the hundred of them had been hurtled out of their home and abandoned on this god forsaken planet. Or asking if they thought they could gentle-talk someone into forgetting they'd seen their best friend get speared through the chest on day 1 and that somehow things had only gotten worse from then on.

There was nothing wrong with him, which he'd already known. And to their credit, they had offered him painkillers, which he'd refused as he'd been expected to. But the offer was appreciated nonetheless.

Stepping out from the Medical tent hurt, weary, and heart-sick, Monty let his feet lead him to where he wanted to be. But when he got to that secluded spot he'd found last night, Harper was on the crate next to Miller. Her skin was more red, blue, and black than it's former pale white, and beneath her tattered clothes, Monty knew there would be round scabs corresponding to his own. They had formed an unspoken bond in those cages, Harper and Monty had. One he thought it was unlikely he'd ever form with anyone else, one that made him fairly certain that he would fight to his very death to keep Harper from ever being hurt like that again, even before he'd fight for himself.

But regardless of their bond, she was sitting on his crate, in his spot, and she wasn't what he'd come here for. So he offered them a smile, and kept walking as though that had always been his plan.

Rounding the outer edge of Alpha, Monty spotted Clarke and Bellamy huddled next to each other around a fire, heads bent together to discuss something intently, as they did. Their backs were to him and he wasn't likely to be spotted, but he still ran for the first cover he could manage - inside Alpha. He wasn't avoiding them. They had saved his life and he didn't think the amount of gratitude and love he felt for them would ever be in danger of fading. But where Clarke and Bellamy went, hardship and conflict followed. They were leaders, the next courses of action fell to them, the big decisions were on their shoulders, and while Monty thrived as their and the group's support, he needed to not be part of anything bigger than himself right now.

Luckily for him, as he glued himself to the interior wall of the empty corridor, angry, sniping, familiar voices reached his ears and made him almost laugh with unexpected relief. He followed the voices, letting his quiet laughter bubble out when he heard the distinctive sounds of a wrench being thrown across the room.

"That almost got me in the face," he could hear Wick yell.

"Should have let it hit. It could only improve things," Raven retorted.

"Oh as if, bolt-head -"

"Bolt-head?" Raven returned, affronted. Now that Monty had edged his way to the outside of the open door, he could see her eyes open wide and her brow furrowed as if she was mentally computing how it was possible Wick could be so lame.

"-you like this face."

"If I do, it's entirely down to exposure therapy. You've got such a fat head it's impossible to turn around and not have all of that," she gestured rudely at his face,"sticking where it doesn't belong."

"How luck you are," Wick sighed wistfully.

"Ugh," Raven groaned.

Monty realized waiting for a pause in the argument would be fruitless and knocked on the door frame.

"You guys busy?"

"Monty!" Wick cried out happily, already rounding the desk with arms outstretched and demanding a hug that Monty was all too happy to concede to. "My man."

Wick was technically an adult but he was also the guy who had bought Monty's "supplemental produce" on Farm station, helped him and Jasper improve their processing and distillation techniques, and happened to be the guy who realized Monty had the potential to become an engineer and recommended him to Sinclair for early training. When he thought about it (and he didn't like to), it was because of Wick that Monty had been able to survive on Earth at all and help the group as he had.

"Oh my god, you're back. I mean we knew everyone was back from the mountain but I didn't see you by the time I got out there." Wick said when he finally released him.

"Not everyone is. But I'm back," Monty agreed. "Hey, Raven."

"Hey yourself," she said before coming in for a hug herself. She had a pronounced limp, and a brace around one leg, but she seemed to tense up when he noticed so he didn't say anything. And when she squeezed slightly too hard around the drill point just under his shoulder joint and he jerked back instinctively, she didn't mention that either.

"What are you guys up to?" Monty asked. He tried not to worry too much when a slight air of tension seemed to settle around his friends, but Wick was quick to smile excitedly and rush back to his work station, which was littered with what looked like radio parts and rudimentary scanning equipment.

"Now that Mount Weather's transmissions are down, we've been working on finding and contacting the other stations that made it to down here."

"We don't know which those are yet," Raven interjected gently.

Monty nodded firmly. "Can I help?"

"Hellz yeah," Wick said with a mischievous grin that Raven mirrored, until he continued. "About time I got to work with someone who could think outside the box."

Her grin faded instantly into a death stare.

"Are you kidding me right now?"

"I'm not kidding, it takes a little more creativity than-

"He-li-um," she said, elongating all three syllables.

"Oh please, I gave you that one."

"Excuse you? You were being an immature brat."

"All in an effort to gently guide you towards the solution."

"You are so full of shit."

And so the afternoon went, with Monty being brought up on their projects by way of heated anecdotes neither of his lab mates could agree on. And while the smile on his own face was nowhere near blinding, it didn't have cause to fade for hours.

"Mecha can't do better than the cast-offs of the cast-offs?" Miller asked, watching Monty eye the heaps of scrap metal at their spot.

When he'd passed by to see if he could find anything useful, Harper hadn't been there, but neither had Miller, and Monty had suddenly wished he'd stayed earlier instead of walking away. But barely a half hour into his entirely legitimate examination of the bits and pieces, he'd heard shuffling feet walk slowly towards him and he breathed just a little easier.

"Word certainly gets around fast," Monty replied.

"Bellamy and Clarke were gonna go see you about working with Raven at some point, you just beat them to it."

He felt slightly bad that he'd…circumvented them earlier now.

"So what are we looking for?"

It was lame and he knew it but Miller's use of "we" had Monty smiling.

"We are looking for parts for a still."

"A what now?" Miller asked, his tone slightly edged.

"A still, like the one I made at the drop ship. Remember? Unity Juice? That was Jasper's horrible name by the way." Realizing what he'd just said, Monty straightened from where he was digging through the scrap heap. "Oh, I wonder if it's still there, at the drop ship. I could salvage a few things from it if it survived the attack. It would be easier than starting one from nothing."

"No, wait. Take a giant step back for me." Miller said, holding his hands up and looking pissed. "Your family is out there somewhere, and instead of letting you work your magic in Mecha, they're sending you out for booze? What the hell?"

"It's not for them. I mean, they definitely weren't against the idea but-"

"Yeah, I'm not exactly against it either, except when it means keeping you from doing what you really want to be doing and let's be honest, it's not this. You can't lose hope, Monty, they are out there and you're going to find them."

He'd been telling himself that since yesterday, of course, and Wick and Raven had firmly reassured him of the same, but somehow, hearing it come from Miller, whose default point of view was pessimistic with a healthy dash of cynicism, it felt so much more real.

"Yeah," he said, his voice bordering enough on wondrous that Miller looked almost startled. Monty cleared his throat and smiled. "Exactly. I need to find them. I need to be out there when they go looking. They're going to send teams of guardsmen out when we get a good fix on possible locations, and they're going to need either a Grounder to lead them, or one of us. And given that this truce of Clarke's seems pretty damn shaky at best, my money is on one of us. But they're not going to let me go if they think I should be somewhere else."

Miller seemed to understand then. Life on the Ark had always been about assigning resources based on need, and when Wick and Raven told him earlier that only a very small handful of engineers and mechanics had survived this far, Monty knew he'd be consigned to Mecha for the foreseeable future. They couldn't afford to let him do anything else.

"You don't want them to know you're kind of brilliant," Miller said.

"There's really no 'kind of' about it," Monty replied with a cocky smirk that made Miller shake his head, his lips firmly tugged upward on either side. "I'll be working at Mecha during the dead shift so I run the least risk of being seen, and in the meantime, I can work on this."

"Save our people, and then get 'em drunk," Miller nodded appreciatively. "They may just make you the next Chancellor for that."

Monty pretended to consider it for a moment. "I could deal with that."

"And when does sleep fit into these plans, Chancellor?"

"What's that?" Monty replied jokingly before shrugging. "I don't think I'd be getting much sleep on those cots anyway." He sighed nostalgically. "I was stupid and got used to bed frames and mattresses while we were kept against our will for our parts. Really wish we could have dragged those back down the mountain with us."

Miller looked like he wanted to say something, like it was just at the tip of his tongue, but he held himself back. "So, what are we looking for?" he ask instead, avoiding Monty's gaze to peer at the piles of crap.

Unsurprisingly, Miller's "we" affected him just as much as it had the first time and it took him a second before he could lay out his plan without having to try to hide a too-wide smile.

Unfortunately, Monty's prediction about sleep not being in his future proved true that night. He had left Miller with the long list of bits and pieces to search for in the big stack of bits and pieces and gone to get some rest before the dead shift started. He'd have roughly between the hours of 1am and 5am to get some work done, which meant he needed to get all the sleep he could before then. Sleeping from 6am onward would only arouse suspicions, probably of the "how are you coping" variety, which he didn't care to deal with.

That didn't mean sleep would come when he wanted it to though. The cot was just as uncomfortable as it had been the night before, the tent was just as cold, and his body just as achy. But more than that, the tent wasn't overcrowded tonight. It was a large enough family tent, but a family on the Ark was three people, not the six they'd been yesterday. It should have been comfortable, but it just meant Monty had lost his buffers between himself and the people who wanted to care for him so badly that it was radiating out through every look and every gesture. And he wanted them to. He really did. He wanted to run to them and let them hug him, he wanted cry on their shoulders and let them reassure him like parents do. But just the thought of it felt like a betrayal of the worst kind. Like if he let himself act like their son, if he accepted the comfort they wanted to offer him, even for a second, he would somehow be sealing his parents' fates. It was irrational to the extreme but it wasn't like he could rationalize himself out of a near panic attack whenever Jasper's parents got too close or looked like they wanted to talk.

The easiest thing - the cowardly thing - would be to leave and set up his own tent elsewhere. But he couldn't manage that either. He couldn't let them get too close, but he couldn't snub them like that. They were good people, and he loved them. He was worrying them, he knew that, and he couldn't help it. But he knew that leaving their tent could break something that might not be fixable when everything was alright again, and he didn't want that. His parents wouldn't want that.

So instead of going on another walk, he forced himself to stay put on his shitty cot while his every emotion and every logical fallacy flew through his head, keeping him from sleep. He wouldn't wake them up and beg them to talk him through his waking nightmares, and he wouldn't let himself get up and seek out that corner behind Alpha. He would stay in the Jordans' tent, his hands curled into shaking fists, and silent tears of fear and helplessness slipping across his temples and into his pillow.

That's how it had to be.