✧】xii. moonshine【✧

[ contents under pressure ]

"WHAT? NO," BELLAMY says, turning on his heel and making to walk away. Arrogant, impatient, rude– what had Amery expected?

For a moment, her heart falls, shoulders sagging in resignation, but then she remembers how terrified Keaton had looked when they'd hauled Cash through the gates, bloody and bruised. She remembers her dagger falling uselessly to the ground. She remembers how absolutely and utterly helpless she felt watching the Grounds battle her friends.

So Amery marches around Bellamy and blocks his path.

"Yes," she emphasizes, standing her ground. She grinds out each word, nearly growling at the taller boy. "Teach. Me. To. Fight."

"I don't have time for this, Mecha," he mutters, and she raises a brow at the nickname Clarke gave her, the one she thought he was done using. She finally notes the tension in Bellamy's jaw, his clenched fists. Something happened. But she brushes it off. She doesn't care.

"Then find me someone who does," she demands, and Bellamy shakes his head slightly, exhaling in disbelief but with a slightly amused smile playing across his face.

"You won't stop, will you?"

"No."

Exasperated but not seeming genuinely angry, just mildly inconvenienced, Bellamy scans the clearing.

"Miller!" he barks, and the broad-shouldered boy trots over to where they stand, head tilted curiously.

"Yeah?"

"The mechanic wants to learn to fight." Miller studies her for a moment, then breaks into a grin.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Amery echoes, gaping. That was... easy.

"Yes, okay," he smirks. "A friend of Keaton is a friend of mine. Come on." Amery's heart skips a beat, guilt swirling in her chest. A friend of Keaton. Is that what she is? Would he still call her a friend?

Miller turns, then stops to look over his shoulder when Amery doesn't immediately follow. "We start now. Let's go."

Amery follows Miller away, but not before looking back at Bellamy and giving him a firm nod.

Bellamy smirks.

His turn in the opposite direction is punctuated with a massive clap of thunder, making Amery jump and nearly topple right into Miller, her twisted ankle protesting.

With a crackle and a flash of light, the sky seems to split along its invisible seams. Amery turns her eyes to the heavens as water pours from the stars.

"Maybe we don't start right now," Miller sighs.

With hair matted to her face but a warmth in her chest, Amery laughs.

"Yeah," she says. "Maybe not."

✧✧✧

Outside the dropship, the sky is thick with slate-gray clouds, layers upon layers of dark that seem to suck the very color from the earth. The rain is less rain than it is a torrent of ice, falling in sheets Amery thinks could very well slice a tree right down the middle.

Her shirt sticks to her skin, hair plastered to her face. She'd been unable to escape the onset of the rain before Miller had dragged her into the dropship, disappearing to the upper level at Bellamy's demand. Bellamy had then stormed out, that irritating expression on his face saying he was about to do something incredibly stupid, but justified in his own mind.

"Hold it back!" someone shouts, and Amery silently observes the campers holding up tarps and yelling commands. Any gaps or vents in the dropship have been covered twice over by whatever people could find, casting the interior in a mute dullness.

Still no sign of Monty. Or Jasper.

When Amery asked around to see where the boys had disappeared to, she was met with varying degrees of I don't know and fuck if I know. And the worry settling in the pit of her stomach hasn't eased since.

The mechanic turns back into the dropship, beelining for Raven at the radio. Drowning her worry in productivity, the best way she knows how to cope.

"This is Raven Reyes. Calling Ark Station," Raven is saying, eyes set in that stone determination Amery knows so well. "Come in Ark Station. This is Raven Reyes. Calling Ark Station." Her voice is more desperate now, pleading. "Please come in. Can anybody hear me?"

Amery surveys the radio setup, the lights blinking on and off indicating a steady range of wave transmission. Raven– naturally– is doing everything right.

So where's the goddamn Ark?

"Are you sure you have the right frequency?" Zoe murmurs, arms crossed over her chest as her toe taps against the metal floor anxiously. Amery tenses at the doubt in her voice, but knows Zoe isn't trying to be condescending. She's just as worried as everyone else and doesn't know where to put the energy.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Raven snaps.

"Raven?" Clarke says firmly, but not unkindly, leaning over the girl's shoulder. "You can do this. Okay?"

Amery bristles in annoyance. Of course Raven can do this. It just doesn't help that everyone is crowding so much.

"Alright, give her some space, okay?" Amery snaps, waving her hands in a shoo motion to the cluster of kids around Raven. "Leave it. Go."

Raven just nods appreciatively as she continues speaking into the mic, glaring at the frequency dials.

"Calling Ark Station." The words becomes background noise as Amery gazes at the repaired radio. Between her, Raven, Monty, and Keaton, they'd managed to fix it up enough to handle basic transmission, though the inconsistency of the signal makes Amery long for a digital radio rather than an analog.

Amery realizes how timely Raven's arrival was. If she hadn't come down with the radio, dismantled or not, they'd be royally screwed– despite all her and Monty's efforts, the wristband endeavor was fruitless, and Amery doubts communicating with the Ark in Morse code would be quick enough to save Finn's life, anyway.

Keaton hasn't spoken to her since their shouting match outside, the boy now nested beside Cash on the dropship floor.

"Ark Station. Please come in. I'm on the ground with the hundred," Raven says again, her voice loud and steady as she searches for a response. The command in the words quiets as she glances at Finn. "We need you."

Amery's heart almost breaks at the desperation in her friend's voice, the way Raven's eyes soften with love and concern at the sight of her boyfriend. But then her eyes dart to where Clarke hovers over him, and Amery doesn't miss the way Raven's shoulders tense.

Something happened between Finn and Clarke. And Raven knows.

"Do you want me to..." Amery asks, gesturing to the headset and radio, but Raven shakes her head, eyes bouncing between Finn's bloody form on the table and the radio. Amery understands. If Raven isn't doing something, she'll go out of her mind. Amery is about on that brink herself.

"Are you there? Please come in. Calling Ark Station. The hundred are alive. Can anyone hear me?" Raven grinds out.

Keaton appears on Raven's other side, chewing his bottom lip anxiously as his eyes dart over the radio setup. Amery doesn't look at him.

Suddenly, a crackle of sharp feedback comes through the speaker, and then Amery makes out a deep, authoritative male voice. She nearly screams.

"This is a restricted station. Who is this? Please identify yourself."  Amery's breath catches in her throat as she avoids Keaton's pointed gaze, instead directing her full attention to where the transmission now rings through.

"This is Raven Reyes. I- I'm from Mecha Station. I'm transmitting from the ground," Raven manages, her eyes nearly popping out of her head in disbelief as the rest of the kids in the dropship flood the space around her. Amery doesn't bother to shoo them away this time. "The hundred are alive. Please, you need to get Doctor Abby Griffin. Doctor Abby Griffin. Now!"

"Hang on, Raven," a crackling voice says, different now. "We're trying to boost your signal."

Even with the feedback, Amery's heart stutters in her chest. She would know that voice anywhere.

"Sinclair?" she whispers, and Raven's brows fly up as she, too, recognizes the voice.

Keaton inhales sharply, and this time Amery does look at him, the way his eyes are lined with silver as he stares in disbelief at the radio.

"Dad?" he breathes.

A beat of silence follows, and then Sinclair's voice, still thick with feedback: "God, Raven, it's good to hear your voice. Just– is Keaton– is he–"

"Alive," Raven says firmly into the mic, and Amery dares to glance at the boy on Raven's other side, hand clapped over his mouth, tears in his eyes. "Alive. He's fine. Amery, too. We're here, we're all here."

All of Sinclair's kids. He'd always been more of a father to Amery and Raven than anyone else, Amery's parents dead and Raven's harsh and neglectful. Amery suddenly wants nothing more than to be wrapped in Sinclair's arms, wants him to tell her it's going to be okay, that she'll work it out like she always does.

But he's in space. And she's down here. That's her fault, she reminds herself. Keaton had made that clear enough.

"Dad," Keaton murmurs.

But then Sinclair is gone, Abby's voice ringing through the radio. "Raven? Are you there?"

"Mom? Mom, it's me." Clarke says, grabbing the mic.

"Clarke?"

Abby's voice breaks. Amery can't imagine the relief she must be feeling, but Clarke– Clarke's eyes are hard and set with determination, no relief or affection in her voice. Doctor mode, Amery supposes.

"Mom, I need your help. One of our people was stabbed by a Grounder."

It occurs to Amery that the people on the Ark have no idea what a Grounder is. She wonders what Abby is picturing at the word.

Amery chances another glance at Keaton and finds him looking right at her, mouth slightly open as if he wants to say something but doesn't know how. She doesn't break his gaze, just wanting him to say something, anything.

But then it's Jaha's voice crackling through the radio, and Amery nearly bares her teeth at the command in his voice. Keaton glares at the floor, and the moment is over as soon as it began.

"Clarke. This is the Chancellor," Jaha says. Amery wants to mock the way he talks about himself in the third person, parading his title around as if it matters to the kids on the ground. "Are you saying there are survivors on the ground?"

"Yes, the Earth is survivable," Clarke says. She pauses, scanning the eyes around her, all trained on the radio. The dropship is cramped and warm, too many bodies pressed against one another in the small space to shelter against the storm raging outside. "We're not alone."

Clarke shakes off the gazes of the others and says, "Mom, he's dying. The knife is still in his chest."

"Okay," Abby says. There's a pause. "Hold on–"

"They're patching her through to medical," Raven says as Clarke paces behind her.

"Clarke," Jaha's voice says again. "Is my son with you?"

Amery's heart falls. Wells.

She tries to block out the heavy sound of Keaton's footsteps as he returns to his place against the wall with Cash.

"I'm so sorry," Clarke says softly, voice waving. "Wells is– Wells is dead."

Amery doesn't realize she's shaking until Raven grabs her hand, giving her a slow, reassuring nod. A silent we got this.

Amery nods back. But then her gaze is trained on Keaton and Cash, the latter shuddering against the wall with a hand pressed to his side. Clarke said he'd survive, but the sheen of sweat still coats his face, his brows pinched together in pain.

A particularly harsh strike of thunder shakes the dropship, and Amery stumbles. Cash jostles against the wall and groans, but Keaton pulls the boy into his arms, steadying him against the movement.

Cash seems to lean into the touch almost unconsciously.

Amery's heart pangs at the sight. Maybe she fucked everything up with Keaton. With Cash. But at least... at least they have each other.

The radio crackles, and not a half-second later, Clarke is barking demands again.

"Raven! What's wrong?" Clarke shouts, and Raven curses.

"It's not the radio. It's the storm!" she cries. The rain is coming down far too hard for the waves to transmit uninterrupted.

"Clarke, we need to hurry," Abby says.

No shit, Amery thinks.

Octavia bursts through the dropship door, carrying a silver canister, panting and soaked to the skin. Monty and Jasper stumble in behind her, and Amery nearly sobs in relief as the three trail water across the ground. They're back. Thank God they're back.

Clarke takes one of the canisters, twisting it open and smelling it, then immediately grimacing. "Great. Ugh," her nose wrinkles at the smell. She glances at Monty. "Moonshine?"

They were outside brewing moonshine? Amery smiles in spite of herself. Of course they were. Of course they were.

"Pretty sure no germ could survive it," Octavia pants. Clarke accepts this as good enough, starting to sterilize her hands, then what little equipment she's gathered.

Amery raises a brow at Monty as he ambles over to her, having handed the other container over to Octavia.

"You brew hard liquor often, Green?"

"Only during storms," he says teasingly. "Lightning's the secret ingredient." Amery snorts. The banter is a welcome distraction from the gravity of the situation– a ravaging storm, two injured campers, tension so pronounced the dullest scissors would set it unraveling.

"Storm's getting worse. Monroe, close the doors," Clarke calls, and Amery's eyes dart to Zoe, whose eyes are wide.

"But we still have people out there," she protests.

"Bellamy," Octavia explains, her voice quiet among the clamor of the dropship. Amery remembers the way Bellamy had stormed out of the ship earlier, two of his cronies on his tail, all armed. Where had they been going?

"It's okay. He'll find somewhere to ride it out," Clarke says.

"Where's Bellamy?" Monty asks, leaning against the wall beside Amery. She shrugs.

"He stormed out earlier," she says. "Didn't tell anyone where the hell he was off to."

"Figures," Monty sighs, eyes flickering to Raven as she pushes back her chair and stands, tossing Amery the headphones.

"Take over?"

Amery nods as Raven darts around gathering things for Clarke. She takes a seat and tugs the headphones on, immediately reassured by the familiarity of the setup on the table before her. It grounds her at least a little, and she relaxes slightly as Monty settles in beside her, the radio just as much his as it is hers.

Amery sighs as sitting relieves the pressure from her ankle. It's either minorly sprained or just twisted, but it's more of an annoyance than anything. But looking between Finn and Cash, Amery feels she has no right to complain.

This radio, she knows. This is familiar territory, safe territory, something she can do.

"How's your ankle?" Monty asks, and Amery rolls her eyes.

"Nothing gets by you, does it?"

Monty shrugs.

"It's fine," Amery says. "I don't even think it's sprained. Just twisted weird."

Before Monty can tell respond, someone calls, "They're back!"

And Amery turns to see Bellamy and two of his men dump an unconscious Grounder on the floor.

"Holy shit," she says, and her eyes fly to Cash, who starts shaking, gripping Keaton's arm with white knuckles and wide eyes. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she shouts, putting the headphones around her neck as she points an accusing finger at Bellamy. "What the hell, Bellamy?"

"The hell are you doing?" Octavia cries.

"It's time to get some answers," Bellamy says, frighteningly calm, looking between Amery and Octavia.

"Oh, you mean revenge?" Octavia seethes.

"I mean intel," Bellamy hisses back. He jerks his chin to the boys who brought the Grounder in. "Get him upstairs."

"What are you gonna do, torture him?" Amery demands. "He's twice your size, dipshit!"

Bellamy glares, and she feels Monty's gentle hand on her elbow as the radio crackles a bit. She shakes her head hard, once, then turns away from Bellamy and pulls the headphones back on. Fuck, she thinks as she adjusts the frequency dial again, trying to get through the storm. Could anything else go wrong?

She at least hopes Bellamy's new prisoner is the Grounder who stabbed Cash. Or Finn. Without the terrifying bone helmets, she doesn't recognize him, but she supposes she's had limited enough exposure to the Grounders to not be able to tell them apart, anyway.

Tuning out Bellamy and Clarke's arguing, Amery lets her hands work on their own, keeping the signal steady and making sure Abby's voice is nice and clear.

"Watch it!" someone shouts, and Amery clenches her jaw as two guys behind her start shoving each other.

"Now?" she snaps, turning in her chair. "Grow the fuck up. Take it outside if you're gonna start wailing on each other."

One of the boys narrows his eyes and takes a step toward her, as if to argue, and Monty tenses, ready to get up and block his path. But Clarke curses and turns around.

"Clear the room," she demands.

Raven slips into command mode, gesturing toward the ladder. "Everyone! Upstairs! Now!" she barks, and the man sneers at Amery before relenting and turning toward the ladder. "Let's go!"

✧✧✧

"Three—Clarke? Clarke," Abby's voice starts crackling as the storm ramps up, and Amery cusses under her breath. Not now.

She adjusts the tuning knob slightly, praying to the gods she doesn't believe in and closing her eyes until Abby's voice comes back, clear.

And then thunder shakes the ship so hard Amery falls right out of her chair. A thud sounds, and Amery realizes Finn's rolled off the table and hit the ground hard. Cash is groaning in pain in the corner– he and Keaton stayed below, Cash unable to climb to the second level. Amery wonders how it's going on the top level of the dropship, where Bellamy is apparently torturing a Grounder.

Dumbass.

She scrambles on her hands and knees, and freezes when she glances back at Clarke, standing with her mouth slightly open, a knife in her hand.

"It's out," Raven calls, half-smiling in disbelief. "She did it."

Amery looses a breath. As much as she wants to sock Finn in the face, she doesn't think he deserves to die.

Monty offers Amery a hand and pulls her up, grinning as he removes the lopsided headphones from her ears. His hands linger on either side of her face for just a moment too long, and Amery's breath catches as she looks up at him.

But moment is fleeting, and Amery's head snaps to the side to see Finn seizing violently on the table. Clarke disappeared upstairs as soon as she sutured the wound, but Finn's skin is pale and the sheen of sweat coats his body as he jolts around.

"Clarke!" Raven screams.

Amery shoots to the table and tries to restabilize the signal. "Fuck," she mutters again as she tries to patch Abby back through. Clarke's boots hits the ground with a thud, followed by the closing of the hatch.

"Get my mom on the radio now!" Clarke snaps, and Amery hisses through her teeth, hitting the radio in frustration.

"I can't! It's dead! Interference– fuck!" Amery pounds a fist on the table, burying her head in her hands. "It's dead. God damn it!"

If there's any particular emotion Amery knows best, it's anger. Anger that flows through every vein in her body, anger that pulses and writhes and fights to burst through her skin, to break through her teeth in the form of dagger-sharp insults or shouts of defense. That same anger threatens to boil her alive now, from the inside out, her eyes burning as the radio, that useless radio, sits dormant in front of her.

Monty grabs Amery's hand. She looks up at him through watery eyes, and somehow she reads the words in his gaze effortlessly.

The same ones she'd said to him when the wristbands fried.

Not your fault.

And the storm inside her, the storm rivaling the one brewing just outside, subsides just a little.

"Please don't let him die," Raven begs Clarke quietly, her plea punctuated by a few heavy thuds and shouts from above. Torture, Amery thinks. Monty puts a hand on her elbow and tugs her over to the wall where Keaton and Cash are sitting.

Shit, shit, shit. Monty doesn't know what happened. This is the last place she wants to be right now.

But she sinks down against the wall with him and averts her gaze, her genius programmer the only barrier between her and Keaton.

"How are you doing?" Monty asks Cash, brows furrowing in concern.

Cash smirks, though the expression is laced with pain. "Fuckin' peachy. I love it here." His eyes dart to the table where Clarke works. "You think she'll let me at that moonshine when she's done with it?"

"You get better, and I'll brew a whole batch just for you," Monty promises, and Cash's eyes light up.

"I thought it was reserved for storms," Amery teases, savoring the way Monty's lips press together in a restrained smile, the way he fails to stifle his laughter.

"I make exceptions."

"Everyone does, when it comes to me," Cash gloats. Keaton smiles.

Amery chuckles in spite of herself, and Cash's eyes gleam with that familiar mischief as he looks at her. Her breath catches.

There is no hatred in that gaze. No blame.

Cash smiles, and Amery smiles back.

✧✧✧

Amery stands two feet from Miller, watching him position his feet in a defensive stance. She puts every fiber of her being into mimicking him, blocking out the roar of the camp behind her, the sounds of last night's storm echoing in the back of her mind.

It had passed in a blur, Amery at some point falling asleep on Monty's shoulder as Clarke managed to save Finn's life yet again. The storm eased off eventually, and now the camp bustles with people making repairs, salvaging what they can, and making the most of the several trees the storm felled around the camp border.

Miller's gaze jumps to the bandage around her ankle, and he frowns.

"You asked me to teach you to fight with a bum ankle?" he says, deadpan.

"Well, I don't think the Grounders are going to be particularly forgiving," she hisses back. He shrugs.

"The basis of fighting– and, more importantly, self-defense– is balance. That all comes from your feet, your legs. If you don't have a grip on your center, nothing else is going to matter." Amery just glares at Miller, her eyes challenging and unforgiving. She sees the moment he relents, the exasperated roll of his shoulders and exhale of breath. "But for today, try to shift your weight forward a little," he advises, nodding as Amery adjusts her position. "There you go."

"So what now? I punch you?"

Miller barks a laugh, and Amery's face flushes in embarrassment. She doesn't know the first thing about fighting.

Obviously, her mind supplies as the same images flash before her. The dagger falling to the ground. Cash in a pool of his own blood.

"Absolutely not," Miller smirks. "You learn to defend yourself first. I'm gonna teach you how to get out of some holds, alright?" Amery nods, shaking off the sounds of the bustling camp around her: shouting, laughing, the echo of axe hitting wood.

Her ankle barks in pain that she brushes off as she stands with her feet shoulder-width apart, her right leg a step in front of her left, knees slightly bent in a ready position.

"Okay," Miller says, moving to a position behind her. "Don't turn around. I'm putting you in a chokehold."

"That's reassuring," Amery breathes, feeling Miller's arm wrap around her neck, his warm body pressing against hers as his other arm grabs his own bicep, locking her in. Not tight, just enough for Amery's body to thrum with adrenaline– her instincts saying danger, danger.

"So what's your first move?" Miller asks, and Amery doesn't hesitate before slamming her foot into his.

Miller groans, but laughs at the same time as his foot is slightly dislodged. His arms remain around Amery's neck.

"Nope," he says, chuckling. "Never go for the feet."

"I thought you said it was about balance," Amery says defensively, trying to twist to face Miller. But he doesn't let her go, his arm only tightening around her.

"It is," he says. "But if you go for the attacker's feet, it's your balance that's gonna be off. It makes it easier for them to get you on the ground."

"Oh," Amery breathes.

"What you want to do," Miller says, freeing one arm to guide hers, "is duck your chin into the crease of my arm, and then use this arm to go for a vital area."

Amery obeys, digging her chin into Miller's inner elbow, then letting him guide her arm toward his face. She twists back, and Miller guides her elbow right to his eye.

"And if you hit them in the eye, they'll almost always let go, at least for a second," Miller explains, releasing his hold on her. "Or anything that's sensitive. If you can't reach the eye, go for the groin." Amery is already sweating, the combination of the proximity, the adrenaline, and the sharp midday sun beating down on her making her jacket unbearable.

"Okay," Amery pants. "Hold on."

She tugs the jacket off, tossing it nearby in the dirt, and uses the shoelace she found on the ground the day prior to tie her hair back. She rolls her shoulders, turning back to Miller, surveying the way he holds himself at attention even now, just behind the dropship.

"Let's do it again."

"Okay. I'm gonna hold harder this time," Miller warns. Amery nods, and the second she feels Miller's arm around her neck, she digs in her chin and jabs her elbow upward. She misses his face, and Miller releases her, catching her by her upturned elbow before she face-plants in the dirt.

There's no judgment in his face, no teasing, as he says, "Try to drive with your shoulder."

He comes up behind her again, and this time, Amery barely thinks as she ducks her head and throws her elbow into Miller's face.

"Fuck," he groans as her elbow hits home. She claps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide as Miller stumbles back, hand to his eye.

"Oh my god," Amery says, torn between laughing and apologizing profusely. But Miller is grinning. "I'm so–"

"Not sorry," Miller interrupts, holding up a hand. "Good. Really good."

"Really good," another voice echoes, and Amery whirls to find Monty leaning against a tree, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Thought you were a mechanic, Red."

Amery grins, and watches as Monty takes in her dirt-and-sweat coated appearance, her hair coming loose from its ponytail and tanktop riding up to expose her stomach. He glances to her discarded jacket and back to Amery, his face turning red.

"I've also been referred to as a ninja," Amery drawls, winking as Monty becomes flustered. Though the word sparks another stupid memory– ninja. Keaton had called her that when she was first reunited with him upon landing.

She wonders what he's calling her now.

"God, it's hot out here," Monty murmurs, and Amery stifles a laugh as the boy looks up, down, anywhere but at her.

"Isn't it?" she agrees, sniffling as her nose threatens to start running again. The windy morning after the storm, apparently, decided to brush up as much pollen as it could to make her miserable.

"Hey," Miller calls. "Green, either join in or stop distracting my student."

"Favorite student," Amery corrects.

"Only student," Miller counters.

"So, favorite." Amery turns to grin at Miller, then looks back over her shoulder at Monty, a quip of you gonna play or run? on her lips.

But he's already disappeared.

So she smiles as Miller cracks his knuckles, easing back into that ready stance. Amery slides her feet shoulder-width apart and adjusts as he gives comments on her form.

"Now from the front," he says.

✧✧✧

a/n:

SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO DAMN LONG idk why this episode was so difficult to find motivation for. it just has so many plot holes i didn't wanna deal with and also i've been reading the throne of glass series and watching stranger things both of which are very addicting so

it also just doesn't explain where the frick monty and jasper are at all. it drove me insane trying to figure it out. it doesn't address them leaving or coming back– octavia just offhandedly mentions that they're not back at the same time she talks about bellamy not being back (which, also, it never mentions when/why/with whom he went back for lincoln) and so i decided fuck that, he was brewing moonshine :)

thanks for reading! tell me what you thought! <3

[ word count | 4.5k]