He was cold, tired, and clinging to the peace of unconsciousness on a hard surface - an unfortunately familiar set of conditions that promised more pain to come - so when a hand gripped his shoulder, Monty panicked quite completely.

He flailed, trying to simultaneously punch backwards with his right arm and kick back with his right leg, which meant that all he accomplished was the momentum to fall onto his back to face his attacker. He scrambled a full foot backwards, jerkily, slipping on something too smooth for purchase, before he realized that the wide brown eyes looking down at him belonged to a friend and not an enemy.

"What the fuck," Monty exclaimed, panting.

"Same!" Miller replied, his eyes still startled wide.

Monty worked to regulate his breath and looked around to distract himself from the fear lingering in his bones; he was in the still tent, the ground was hard and cold because he didn't have a cot, just the worn sleeping bags. Miller was with him.

"I think I fell asleep," he said, dumbly.

"You think?" Miller repeated, shaking his head.

"I think," Monty replied, an unexpected laugh spilling out of him. It might have been infectious but Miller limited himself to a huff of breath and a relieved smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"What time is it?" Monty asked with a deep yawn, adrenaline fading quickly after the moment had passed.

"Early. Dead shift just ended."

Usually, he'd be sneaking back into his cot at the Jordans' by now, but he couldn't work up the will to get up and leave.

"What are you doing here?" He asked instead.

Miller grinned the same mischievous grin Wick and Raven had sported long days ago, and reached into the bag Monty hadn't noticed until now. When his hand came back out, there were two slim lengths of copper tubing in it, and the loud clinking in the bag told Monty there would be a lot more at his disposal.

"Holy shit," Monty marvelled, hands reaching out for them automatically. The pieces looked about a foot long each but then he realized they were specifically sized for the bag Miller was carrying them in. "Where did you get this?"

Miller excited grin didn't fade, though he did hesitate before saying, "My room."

"What?"

Miller swallowed reflexively the way he did when they approached a topic he didn't like discussing.

"Major Byrne…bit it, so my dad is Chief Guard again. He has quarters inside Alpha, close to the new Chancellor. So, I do too."

The last part was spoken almost uncertainly, as though he wasn't sure he was entitled to it.

"You pulled this from the walls?" Monty asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Miller grinned proudly. "The water pressure system was crushed when they landed, any parts that were left were broken up and sent to Medical or Mecha. Nobody's going to miss the tubing for a bathroom that's never gonna see running water again anyway."

Monty shook his head in wonder, but smiled appreciatively. "You really are a great thief."

"Just work your genius and make us some drinks, would you?"

"On it. I'll save the first one for you," he replied with a wink.

The light blush peeking out over Miller's beard was enough to sustain Monty's cheer for a good long while.

Several hours, Miller had left to wherever it was he went during the day, and Monty had sacrificed being able to feel his arms to solder together and bend the copper as he needed it. Luckily for him, Harper and Fox wandered in just past noon with food, fresh energy, and the extra gallons of water they'd need. Together, they finished rigging up the structure in quick time.

"Okay," Monty said, surveying his work, and pointing to each third of the contraption in turn. "Mash pressure cooker will release the alcohol steam into the cool water bucket, and then into the second condenser bucket."

"And that's where the good stuff comes out?" Fox asked skeptically.

"That's where the good stuff comes out," Monty affirmed. "You guys get the mash into the first container, I'll get the water in the other two, and we can get the fire going!"

"It smells disgusting," Harper said, angling her face away from the fermented mash.

"Yeah, that's not going to improve," Monty said, wincing when the fumes reached him. "But after a couple cups of the end result, you probably won't be able to smell anything anyway!"

"Something to look forward to," she drawled, with a pointed look in the direction of his body. He took offence to that. If he smelled of anything, it was the sleeping bags, and they were the ones who brought them in here.

Soon, the fire was lit, the mash was boiling, and the steam was making its way through the still, and there was nothing left to do but wait. Well, wait and spread the word.

By the time the sun was setting that evening, they had their very first batch of moonshine ready for consumption and a good dozen delinquents ready to forget their troubles for the night. Miller, to Monty's disappointment, only arrived after the first round, but when he did show, Monty pulled him into the emptied tent and towards the back where he'd hidden two mugs, covered with a cloth. With a flourish, he removed the covering and presented a cup to Miller.

"Told you I'd save you the first cup," he explained, raising his own as an invitation to clink. Miller grinned and bumped their cups together before taking a long pull and promptly coughing up what sounded like at least part of a lung.

"Oh my god," he wheezed, with cough-prompted tears gathering on his lower lash, "that is so much worse than the Unity Juice."

Monty, who had honestly saved the first two drinks for them but had meanwhile partaken of at least one or two others, giggled helplessly.

"Sorry," he said without any sincerity.

"No, I love it," Miller replied. He tried again, this time with a much smaller swallow, and managed to get it down with only a few light coughs and a failed attempt at nonchalance that was painfully adorable. It was then that Monty realized they were alone in the tent. There were a few handfuls of people just outside and they'd be barging in for refills any time now, but this one moment, in a quickly overheating corner of the tent…it was really nice.

Surprisingly, the interruption came not from unwanted tent guests but from a commotion outside of hooting and clapping. Eyes wide, Monty and Miller raced out.

"Shut it down," Miller said, with enough of Bellamy's tone that most of the delinquents obeyed immediately.

Miller winced and added, "We're too close to camp, if they hear us, we'll get busted."

"Yeah," came a familiar voice from behind the crowd. "Besides, the last time I got that kind of welcome, I'm told I became a total asshat."

"Jasper!" Monty cried, running out through the parting crowd to hug the crap out of his best friend. "You're already out?"

"Already? It's been a week," Jasper protested, despite the firm vice-like grip his arms created around Monty. "You suck by the way, visiting me while I'm unconscious does not in any way count as entertaining me on my sick bed. I don't think I can forgive you for that."

"Okay," Monty conceded, his hands out in front of him as if presenting an offering, "but I did make you booze."

"And that's why you're forgiven," Jasper replied with a last, strong pat on the back. When Jasper stepped back, Monty also caught sight of another surprise.

"Maya!" he said, reaching for his second hug of the night. She was outside with them, no containment suit in sight. "It worked!"

"It did!" she said, beaming. "Fresh air smells amazing!"

"Right?"

"At least it did before we got here," she said, her nose wrinkling.

"Don't you worry," Harper said, appearing out of nowhere and putting her arm over Maya's shoulder. "Monty's got a cure-all for that."

"Yes!" Jasper clapped his hands and took off for the tent, with Harper and Maya following quickly behind him.

Monty still had his cup in his hand, and he could feel Miller at his shoulder; he didn't feel the need to follow them. He was just content to see them there, healthy and happy.

Indeterminable hours later, the party had grown to such proportions that Monty was very surprised they hadn't been found out and shut down yet.

Before the first round was even over, Wick and Raven had strong-armed their way into the tent to inspect his work and complete what they called a "quality control analysis" on his product. Wick had declared himself proud of his protege, and Raven had stolen his cup for herself (despite already having her own). Soon after the first round, Octavia, Lincoln and their Grounder crew had arrived (with plenty of their own stock to share). They were a rowdy bunch, to say the least, and they started leading the Sky People in drunken tests of strength or battle techniques (the Sky people were getting creamed, but they seemed to be having fun). After them had finally come Clarke, Bellamy, and Lexa, so there had naturally been some impromptu speeches and the party had become significantly more sombre and solemn, especially when they called for a toast to the people they'd lost.

It was just as all eyes were on Clarke that Monty's heart stopped dead in his chest: there, in the distance, was a member of the Guard, hovering just at the edge of the out-facing wall hiding them from the rest of the camp. The guardsman seemed to be alone, and surveilling them, but when his eyes landed on Monty's worried face, his hardened expression softened into something gentler. And it was then that Monty was struck by the resemblance; that guardsman had to be Miller's dad. They had the same eyes, whether they were glaring or kind.

Miller's dad had caught them boozing it up with illegal products within the camp walls.

Miller's dad - the Chief of Guard - was going to arrest him.

Miller's dad was…nodding firmly and walking away.

A few moments later, Monty could see the outline of someone's back and leg where Sergeant Miller had stood, but after long minutes of anxiously waiting and wondering if he should sound the proverbial alarm, he could see no more guardsmen amassing. It was just the one, left behind and facing in the wrong direction. Almost like a look-out.

Miller's dad was enabling their party, and the realization made Monty a little lightheaded.

But he wasn't one to question good things. (Except for that one time when the good things were definitely shady and ended with his tissues being harvested, but this was Miller's dad so he figured it was okay.)

As he turned his attention back to the gathering, he found Clarke wrapping up what must have been a downer of a speech because everyone's faces were very downcast. But the party recovered, as they usually did when fuelled by young mischief and alcohol, so when he spotted Miller by their crate, waving him over, he decided to retire from his hosting duties and have his own fun.

A part of Monty was sad that their spot in general had been so invaded, even though it had brought so much good to so many people. There would likely not be another place he and Miller could just randomly meet up and be alone. Or meet up less randomly. Whatever. For now, he'd have to be content with leaning heavily against him and serenely watching the revellers get less co-ordinated as time went on. Though when Harper passed by them with a raised brow though, he stuck out his tongue at her pointedly, making her snort so hard she choked on her breath and Maya had to pat her back hard to get her breathing right again.

"What was that?" Miller asked, his shoulder jittering under Monty's head as he chuckled.

"Nothing," Monty dismissed. Harper could suck it. If Monty smelled of anything unpleasant, Miller certainly didn't seem to mind. If anything, he seemed to be inviting him to get closer. Every time they shifted and resettled, Monty was sure the arm Miller had trapped between them was moving further backwards. Eventually it would be behind them and he'd have nowhere to put it except maybe around him and, hey, that would be…really okay.

"Thank you, by the way," Monty said after long moments of peacefully staring out at nothing in particular.

"Hm?" his cushion replied.

"Thank you for helping with all this. It wouldn't have gotten done without you."

Miller's shoulder shrugged, gently though, like he was taking care not to dislodge Monty's head.

"Your brain and skills, my ordering people around."

Monty grinned slowly. He liked that. "Good teamwork."

He let his hand fall somewhat limply, palm-up on Miller's leg. It was a very low-key high-five, though he couldn't quite pull his eyes from Miller's hand when it covered his, or stop the shiver Miller undoubtedly felt when he slid his hand across his skin as he pulled away.

"It did boost morale," Miller noted, his voice softer, quieter, than before.

Monty shifted his gaze back to the party again and smiled. "That it did."

Unbidden, Monty's thoughts turned to Sergeant Miller, who had all but given the delinquents his blessing. He wanted to mention it, but he knew Miller's dad was a sore spot.

"Is it still weird?" he asked instead, like he had that first night.

"Everything is weird," Miller replied wisely, taking another long drink of his now near-empty cup.

Monty nodded, and thought the conversation might end there but Miller continued.

"It's weird being in the same room as my dad again," he offered slowly, as though he was mulling it over. "It's weird not having to worry about our safety because we've got fences and guns and trained guardsmen, but worrying about it anyway because we can't relearn how not to. It's weird to have nightmares about a hull breach sucking out all the oxygen and waking up to a world where it's limitless, but that was weird when we first landed. It's not new." And then, "It's weird to be grateful to the people who sent you to die for rescuing you way too late."

Monty could feel the familiar thick weight he'd been trying to ignore for days growing in his throat, so he tried to wash it down with alcohol. It helped a little, he thought.

"It's weird staying with the Jordans," Monty finally admitted out loud. "It's like being a kid again except feeling like a kid is the worst thing ever down here. You get all the helplessness and none of the innocence." Distantly, Monty noted that Miller's arm had found its place, curled loosely around his lower back, and he took that as permission to burrow more closely into his side. "And it's weird living in a tent again, period. Inescapable walls is all we ever knew, and then shitty tents that barely protected us from the elements for a few months, and then under the mountain for a few more. And…more than the clothes and food and the people, the walls of Mount Weather were what made me feel like we could be safe there. They're what made me feel like if I could just get you all in there and shut the doors behind us, we'd be okay again, finally. And I wouldn't trade this real air and sky and grass for anything, but…I don't know." He let his head fall forward. "I don't know."

They were quiet again then, but the hand at his back curled spasmodically around his side.

"I have walls," Miller offered hesitantly. "I don't like them, but I've got four of them and a busted door that doesn't lock anymore. If…" Miller sucked in his lips self-consciously. "If…you need walls, I have some."

And maybe it was the alcohol that made Monty's vision slightly blurry, and his voice a little wet-sounding when he managed to say, "Thanks." But it probably wasn't.

Miller nodded, resolute, and it almost made Monty laugh because it was nearly the same expression he'd seen on his father just hours earlier. But then Miller snuck a much shyer glance his way and Monty was helpless against the need to hug him. It was awkward and sideways since they were sitting next to each other, but it was warm and solid and neither of them was complaining.

The next thing Monty was aware of was someone shaking his foot, startling him awake.

"Hey," Wick called so quietly that Monty realized the party had all but ended. "Buddy, you with me?"

"I'm up," he said groggily. He didn't bother attempting to move though, he was so comfortable.

"I'm thinking you're gonna need to drag Jasper back to your guys' tent tonight," Wick said with a disgustingly near-sober smirk. Sure enough, after blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Monty could spot Jasper on his back on the ground, mouth open wide and snoring. At least Maya was in a similar state, sitting slumped over against a barrel next to Jasper's head. Complete lightweights.

Monty nodded. He'd take care of his friend, as always.

But when he tried to sit up, he realized he was comfortable because he had fallen asleep in a loose version of the hug he'd been enjoying with Miller.

Wick sighed loudly, but good-naturedly. "Or I could get him back to his tent and you can get back to all of that," he offered, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Don't be an ass," Raven admonished Wick after appearing out of nowhere, and punching him in the arm for good measure.

"I can't help it. Being the responsible one brings out the worst in me."

"Being yourself brings out the worst in you."

"Thanks, Raven," Monty interjected.

She gave Monty a begrudgingly approving kind of nod, and dragged Wick away to take care of his friends.

Monty waited until Wick was literally dragging Jasper away before he tapped his fingers lightly on the outside of Miller's thigh where they'd been resting.

"Hey," he murmured, "you faking?"

"Yep," Miller replied immediately.

"They're gone," Monty said.

"And you're not," Miller pointed out.

"Nope," Miller said. "Still here."

"Alright then."

Miller sat up slowly, letting their bodies separate without throwing Monty's balance off. Then he jumped the few inches off the crate and held out his hand, and Monty couldn't remember ever feeling this soul-filling brightness. It was a sweet and tickling feeling that spread to all of his limbs and made him feel light enough to float, and he thought maybe taking Miller's hand would be the only thing that could ground him again, so he did exactly that.

It didn't help with the tingling at all, but he wasn't about to let go either.

The journey to Miller's quarters was difficult; they had to make their way around Alpha's immense hull and then into its maze of corridors, and they were still generously tipsy and trying not to show it. Fortunately, it was the dead shift, and they were lucky enough to only encounter two people who didn't seem to care about them whatsoever.

Silently tiptoeing across Miller's dark living room was difficult; they had to pass his dad's closed bedroom door and Monty wanted to tug on Miller's hand, stop him, and tell him what his dad had done for them. But he was too scared of impeding what was coming, so he didn't say anything.

Getting into bed was difficult, logistically; it was not a bed designed to accommodate two mostly-grown men. And mellow though the moonshine had made them - which helped stave off the worst of the shyness and embarrassment - it also made them pretty uncoordinated. Fortunately, Miller was comfortable taking charge, and he led by example when he dropped only his pants and then got into the bed on his side, scooting over to the very edge against the wall. For a moment, Monty felt incredibly on-the-spot. It was his turn now, and his heart was beating deafeningly loud in his ears, but then Miller bit his lower lip lightly and everything suddenly felt so much easier.

It was easy to let his own pants drop and step out of them because Miller's eyes were locked on his and weren't moving.

It was easy to step onto the mattress because Miller's hand was holding the blanket up over the space he'd made for him.

It was easy to turn around and settle in, because Miller had let the blanket fall, and his arm had followed across Monty's waist; timidly, at first, then securely.

And everything was still messed up; Miller would probably still have nightmares tonight, and Monty's parents would still be missing in the morning.

But this? This was right, and comfortable, and good.

This was easy.