✧】xiii. i know you【✧

[ contents under pressure - day trip ]

THE SOLE BARRIER between Amery and endless arguing takes the form of a thin sheet of fabric next to the dropship. On the second level, Clarke and Bellamy have been screaming at each other for what feels like ages, and at some point Amery's eye rolls at the incessant sounds turned into a full-fledged effort to move all necessary radio equipment to a tent outside.

She's not sure how much of the heated debate that's been raging since the dropship hit the grass is due to real differences in ideals and how much is due to the fact that really, clearly, Clarke and Bellamy have some sort of weird romantic or sexual tension going on and refuse to acknowledge it. She's also not sure whether she's more amused or exasperated because of it, especially given Finn's little fling with the blonde.

They're fighting about what to do with the Grounder Bellamy managed to chain up, the one brought in during the storm. Amery learned later that it was indeed the Grounder who stabbed Finn. The one Octavia somehow manipulated into revealing the antidote to whatever was poisoning Finn. It was impressive, Amery will give her that, but she doesn't see why Bellamy and Clarke aren't letting Octavia have any say in what to do with the Grounder when she's the only one who's had any success.

Raven had disappeared to the second floor at some point during the storm and come back looking two parts enraged, one part satisfied, and Amery could only assume she'd gotten in her punches for what he did to Finn. Amery wishes she could have a go at the Grounder who hurt Cash. He's in a tent with Keaton, who still won't talk to Amery—not that she's tried, really. She's not making the first move.

Maybe that's too proud. She doesn't care.

So while Bellamy and Clarke continue to have their lover's quarrel, while Raven fawns over Finn and ignores the reality that he cheated on her with Clarke, while Keaton takes care of Cash and ignores Amery like his life depends on it, Amery and Monty sit side by side, working to establish video connection to the Ark. They're aiming to channel the audio through a headset, decreasing the likelihood of eavesdropping on what are bound to be very personal conversations.

Now, the only sounds are those of metal and electricity, Monty's soft breathing and occasional light laughter, and the voices in Amery's head sounding an awful lot like Keaton at the moment.

The familiarity of it all is grounding. Amery's hands move of their own accord, the silent language of mechanics flowing between Monty and herself like a natural spring. And on top of that, the attention to electronic detail gives Amery's eyes and hands something to focus on while she and Monty converse in real language, too.

"It's weird, right?" Monty is saying, eyes narrowed in concentration as he maneuvers a wire into its designated port.

"What is?" Amery's brows furrow as she snaps a metal panel into place against the back of the transmitter.

"Talking to them. From down here."

Amery nods, grounded by the sensation of cool metal against her fingers, and Monty continues.

"It's like we just got used to having some degree of freedom, but they're going to start ordering us around again. We'll be back to square one."

Amery sits back on her heels, realizing the truth in Monty's words. On the ground, at least they've managed to retain some level of autonomy, but the second Jaha and everyone else hit the dirt, it'll all be gone.

"Not that I don't want them to come down," Monty says quickly. "I—I miss them. It's just gonna be...different. That's all."

"Yeah, I get that," Amery sighs. "I miss Sinclair. And Kyle. Just—not really anyone else, honestly. Maybe I'm... selfish. But I didn't have a lot of people up there."

Which is why, maybe, she didn't leave the dropship that day. Perhaps the pull of creating a new life on a dangerous planet was stronger than whatever artificial gravity held her to the floors of the Ark.

"Well, you have a lot of people down here," Monty says quietly, tapping his sneaker against her boot. She looks at him and mirrors his little smile, the one that makes her chest do that weird fluttery thing. "You got me and Jasper. And Raven. Harper and Monroe. Cash and Keaton. Miller, even."

Amery flinches at Keaton's name, and Monty frowns, always a little too perceptive for his own good.

"What?"

"Keaton is, uh," Amery searches for the right words. "We're not—we aren't talking right now, I guess." She hates how uncertain the words come out, how obvious it is that the situation troubles her.

Monty's dark brows knit together in puzzled concern. Instead of asking why, he just keeps looking at her, like he's letting her decide how much she wants to say.

People don't do that a lot these days, Amery thinks—know when to stop pushing, know when to leave something up to someone else. She appreciates Monty for it. Unlike Amery, he doesn't mind giving up control, doesn't mind not knowing every detail about everything. Unless it's a machine.

So she says, "It's my fault Cash got hurt. So he—we had a fight."

"That's ridiculous," Monty scoffs defensively, setting down a cable crimper and turning to face Amery fully. "First of all, you didn't control Cash's choice. And second, you definitely didn't decide to have a Grounder run at you with a big-ass knife."

Arguments fight for dominance on Amery's tongue. But I went out totally defenseless. I distanced myself from the group. I tripped over a fucking tree root.

She doesn't get the chance to voice any of them.

"You would've died, you said. There's no way Keaton would rather have you dead and Cash unharmed," Monty says evenly, firm but not unkind. "No way. No matter how hurt he is right now, Ames."

Amery's funneling into her mind for a response, gaze going out of focus as she stares and stares at her boots, when she registers what Monty just said.

"Ames?" she grins. Monty flushes red, ducking his head and causing dark hair to fall into his eyes.

"That just—uh, it slipped out. Sorry. I—"

"It's okay," Amery laughs, an open, free sound she hasn't heard in a while. It's nice. "You can call me that, Monty."

He smiles, and the tent suddenly feels a few degrees warmer. Amery shakes her head and turns her attention back to the project at hand. Nearly done, now.

"Do the honors?" Monty asks, scooting over to allow Amery to put on a headset. They've managed to hook up two. She fits one over her head, breathing out slowly, and flips the switch.

For a devastating moment, nothing happens.

And then the screen before them flickers to life, and a voice punches through the static. The grainy figure of Jacapo Sinclair fills the screen, and Amery's heart swells.

"Sinclair!" she exclaims into the headset, and Sinclair cringes, so maybe that was a little too loud. But as the image clears, he's smiling.

Oh, she missed that face. The screen isn't very high-definition, but Amery can fill in the laugh lines and details of Sinclair's warm face from memory, the warmth of his eyes and the arch of his brows.

"Amery Ekker," he says, shaking his head. "Thank God you're alive. The second I get down there, I'm going to kill you. Hey, Monty."

"Good to see you, sir."

"I'm sorry," Amery says sheepishly. She feels bad, she really does. She hadn't stopped to really consider how worried Sinclair would be when she disappeared, overcome with the joy of seeing Keaton again and the possibility of adventure.

"God, I am glad to see you both," Sinclair says, shaking his head. Occasional bouts of static, both audio and visual, interrupt the screen in a fizz of blue and green, but it's more than Amery could've hoped for. "Nice work on the comms. You're quite the team."

Amery grins at Monty, who elbows her playfully. "Yeah," he says. "We are."

"So," Sinclair says, "where's that son of mine? Thelonious wants to speak with Clarke, I think, but I just need to see him first. Figured my rank up here is at least good for that much."

Though a crooked smile plays on Sinclair's face, it's not difficult to see how nervous he is, how badly he needs to be reassured that his son is alive and well.

Amery grimaces, trying not to show it. Monty squeezes her hand.

"I'll go get him." A little tension eases from Amery's shoulders.

"Is Kyle there?" Amery asks hopefully, and Sinclair smirks.

"If you think I was mad, you should have seen Wick's reaction when he found out what you did," he jokes. "And then Raven, too. I don't think he stopped cussing the both of you out for two days straight. He should be outside, actually, hold on."

Sinclair pulls away from the screen for a minute, saying something in the direction of the door.

Only moments later, Kyle Wick's face fills the screen, all bright eyes and smiles.

"Amery fucking Ekker!" he shouts. Amery cringes. "I don't know if I should cry of joy or threaten to murder you!"

"I'd vote option one. Sinclair handled the second," Amery says dryly, watching Sinclair pull Kyle back and shove him into a chair. Oh, she misses them.

"You," Kyle says slowly, pointing an accusatory finger, "gave me a goddamn heart attack. And an aneurysm. And about six hundred other obscure medical tragedies, you hear me?"

"I'm sorry," Amery sighs.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just glad you're okay. Guess they needed you down there, anyway, or we probably wouldn't be on video right now."

"Actually," Amery says, "Monty Green has proved pretty capable."

"Monty!" Kyle lights up, messy blond hair falling into his face. Grease stains smear across one of his cheekbones, and Amery tries to remember if she's ever seen Kyle Wick actually looking remotely put together. "I love that kid! Man, I haven't seen him in years. Just had to steal more weed, didn't he?"

"Oh, I don't think you're one to judge," Amery quips, raising a brow and smiling as Kyle cracks up.

And then Keaton bursts through the tent flaps.

"Dad?"

Sinclair claps a hand over his mouth and Kyle takes his cue, waving and then giving a two-finger salute before retreating.

Amery pulls off the headset, nodding to Sinclair, and pointedly avoids Keaton's gaze as she hands over the headphones.

"I missed you so much," Keaton says, voice cracking. Amery pushes out of the tent to find Monty waiting.

"All good in there?"

"All good," she says shakily. "Kyle misses you, apparently."

"Wick?"

Amery nods. She really only refers to him by his first name to piss him off, though she supposes she's pissed him off thoroughly enough now to last a lifetime.

"I always liked him," Monty says, and Amery remembers that Kyle was the one to recruit him.

The camp clamors with people lugging fallen trees out of paths, fires here and there cooking whatever food someone's hunted down, boisterous arguments punctuating the routine chaos of it all. Amery knows the second these kids find out the video connection is up, there'll be a long line of campers chattering outside the tent, eager to speak to families or friends back on the Ark. But per the Chancellor's orders, there's some business that needs to be taken care of first.

Clarke is nowhere to be found, probably still in the dropship with Bellamy and the Grounder. Keaton remains in the tent, and Amery isn't sure what the two of them are talking about, but she realizes abruptly that this is her opening.

To go see Cash.

"Monty Green!" Jasper shouts loudly, appearing from around the dropship. "C'mere." His mess of hair is all over the place, but his eyes are alight in a way they haven't been in days. It's good to see him like this.

Monty rolls his eyes, squeezing Amery's shoulder before heading off to see whatever Jasper's gotten into this time.

Steeling her nerves, she aims for Cash's tent.

Two smiling faces intercept her halfway there.

"Where've you been?" Zoe demands, concern furrowing her brows. "I feel like you've barely been in the tent. Do you even sleep?"

Amery chuckles humorlessly. "We were getting the video transmission set up."

A sly grin works its way onto Harper's face, directed solely at Amery. "We, meaning you and—"

Zoe elbows her in the ribs, and Harper whirls to face her with an offended expression, slapping her shoulder lightly. Zoe just laughs.

"You did it, then? Got the video up?"

Amery nods.

"That's fucking amazing. You're—wow. Thanks, Amery," Zoe says earnestly, and Amery realizes with a pang of guilt that she hasn't even been thinking of their families. She knows Zoe's father is still up on the Ark and that while Harper doesn't have living family left, Zoe's pretty much adopted her.

"Once Clarke figures stuff out with Jaha, everyone's gonna get to talk to their families," Amery says, glancing left and right to make sure nobody overhears. "Probably first thing in the morning. But you didn't hear it from me."

Harper nods, eyes glistening, and abruptly wraps Amery in a tight hug. Momentarily stunned, she stands there for a second before wrapping her arms around Harper. She feels Zoe join the hug a moment later, and they all just stand there in the center of a chaotic camp, appreciating each others' presence.

Monty's words ring in her mind. You have a lot of people down here.

For the first time, Amery starts to believe it.

✧✧✧

Cash is sitting up when Amery pushes through the tent flaps, his skin having gained some color back. The tattered blue sleeping bags and ratty blankets scattered around the tent, coupled with a few stray flasks and a pair of goggles, indicate Monty and Jasper's residence. Cash smiles when he sees his visitor.

"Hey," she says awkwardly, unsure of how to breach this. "How are you feeling?"

Cash holds his palms out face-up in a what can you do? sort of gesture.

"Like I got stabbed and then Clarke saved my ass," he says matter-of-factly. "But, better. Really. I'm good. Thanks for asking."

Amery tugs the tent flaps closed. "I, um. I wanted to come thank you. And apologize."

"For what?" Cash asks incredulously. "You got me back here just in time to save my life. Seems like I should be thanking you, Ginger Ale."

She grins at the nickname, taking it as a sign Cash is feeling better. She takes a seat beside him on top of a sleeping bag, leaving a few inches of space between them.

"I mean I'm sorry that I—you jumped in front of me. I got you in that position."

"Okay, no, we're not doing that. That was my choice and nobody's fault except that dumbass Grounder. Who, by the way, I am pissed at. He didn't even let me keep the knife. It was a cool ass blade."

Amery barks out a laugh. "Still, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Finn and I got sick matching stab wounds now, you know."

"Oh, I'm sure he's just thrilled."

"I'd do it again," he promises, gaze the most serious Amery's ever seen it. "I..." he casts his eyes to the ground, letting out a shaky breath. "I couldn't let another person die."

Amery stills. "Are you..." She swallows, taking a breath before continuing quietly, "Are you talking about Charlotte?"

Cash shakes his head. "I think about her every day," he whispers, voice strained, "but it's not... it's not her. It's just... you know how on the Ark..." Cash pauses, clearing his throat. A faraway look glazes over his eyes, a solemnity Amery's never seen on Cash before. "My mom was pregnant with twins."

Amery's heart gutters in her chest. On the Ark, because each family is permitted only one child, parents are forced to terminate one when there are twins.

"We were too close together in the womb for them to terminate before birth," Cash murmurs. "So they—they made her have us both. And then they made her choose," he chokes out. "They made her choose, and she killed him. She chose me. I—I don't know why. Flip of a coin, I guess."

Amery can't even imagine it.

"And my dad—he would always tell me she chose wrong. That he could've had a good, strong son, if my mom had just killed me instead."

"Cash," Amery breathes, unable to find the words to respond any other way.

Choosing. Choosing which child to kill. She's always known the Ark to be brutal, unforgiving, especially in regard to children. Octavia is living proof of that. What would've happened if the Council had made Bellamy's mother choose between her kids upon Octavia's discovery? Amery doesn't even want to think about it.

"I just have this stupid need to prove myself all the time, you know?" Cash scoffs, looking up at the tent's low ceiling, sunlight through the canvas turning the ground shades of orange and red. "Like if I was just good enough, they'd think maybe I wasn't a waste." He shrugs with one shoulder. "Then I got locked up, anyway. Just showed them they were right."

"They weren't," Amery says. Cash's eyes flicker to hers. "They weren't. You're not a waste. They're fucking stupid if they really believe that."

"You don't have to say that," Cash mutters, arm wrapped around his side. With a shirt on, Amery can't see the bandages undoubtedly covering the wound down his side. She's glad. Because she's not sure she could handle that, knowing she inflicted it.

"I know. But I'm right." Amery levels him with an unforgiving stare. "You saved my life, Cash. But even if you hadn't, you'd be more than enough, okay? If you told Keaton right now you weren't enough he'd punch you."

Cash chuckles. "Yeah. And then he'd apologize ten times."

"Thank you," she says earnestly, forcing Cash to meet her eyes. "For saving my life. Thank you."

Cash's eyes shine, maybe with tears or maybe with joy or maybe with something else entirely.

"Didn't wanna lose you and your relentless optimism," he jokes. "And Keaton, he loves you so much. He'd be a wreck if you weren't around, you know?"

The familiar heart-twisting feeling rises again. Keaton.

"I don't know if you've seen the way he looks at you, dude, but he'd be a wreck without you," Amery replies, and then feels her smile fall from her lips. "We...aren't really, uh. On great terms."

"What? Why?"

"Because of what happened in the woods," Amery shrugs, pulling her knees to her chest. "It's fine. He's right."

"We just talked about this. He's not. If he really thinks that, I can—"

"That's not the only reason," Amery whispers, halting Cash mid-sentence. Silence wraps its suffocating tentacles around her throat. Tell him.

He hesitates, wondering whether he should push. And Amery makes the decision to speak before he can.

"I'm the reason he was arrested," she blurts, and then abruptly turns her head away, unwilling to meet Cash's eyes at the admission. Her breath hitches. "I bugged the Council chambers to find out when they were gonna float my dad and then I jammed the doors. It was me. He took the blame and it should have been me. It's my fault." She isn't sure what she expects Cash to do with this information. Lash out, maybe. Demand she get the hell out of his tent. Cry. Shout. Scream. Lecture.

What she doesn't expect is the sound of dry chuckling.

Bewildered, she turns back to face Cash, who has a half-smile on his face and is shaking his head fondly.

"What—"

"Of course he did," Cash sighs, not looking at all perturbed. "Always been too selfless for his own good."

"You—" Amery can't even find words. "Aren't you—aren't you mad?"

"Mad? No," Cash says incredulously. "Ginger Ale. Come on."

"But I—I got Keaton arrested. It was my fault, Cash."

"Y'know, you keep saying that. Not everything's about you, hate to break it to you," Cash drawls. But Amery doesn't match his smile.

"Cash, I—"

"Uh, no. My turn. Eyes up here," Cash says firmly, gesturing with two fingers to Amery's eyes and then his. Reluctantly, she meets his gaze. "Listen up. Just like I chose to jump in front of you, Keaton chose to take the blame. And if you think I could blame you for that—man, Amery. You think I didn't know? Think I didn't have some idea that it wasn't him?"

Amery sputters. "How would you—"

"Come on, Amery. Have you met Keaton? That man is about as stealthy as a fucking three-headed Grounder with a blowhorn. As much as I love him, there's no way in hell he could plant a device in the Council's chambers and get away with it."

Amery sits back on her heels, stunned.

"You...knew."

Cash shrugs, then winces, immediately regretting the action. Amery opens her mouth to ask if he's okay, but he's already waving her off.

"He talked about you all the time. All the time. Honestly, I used to think he was in love with you."

Amery grins at that. Absolutely not. Never. Keaton—he's her brother, more than anything.

"I know, I know. Stupid. But he would do anything for you, okay? So it doesn't surprise me that he went into the Box for you. And I don't blame either of you for it. The Ark has a fucked up justice system and that's not your problem or Keaton's or mine. So stop blaming yourself. For everything. You hear me, Ginger Ale?"

"I..."

Cash gives her a warning look.

"Yeah," she settles on. "I hear you."

"Good."

As if summoned by the conversation, Keaton's voice floats through the air, indicating his approach toward the tent. Frowning, Amery makes to duck out.

"Hey," Cash says. Amery glances over her shoulder. "I'll talk to him."

"Cash—"

"This isn't your fault. Didn't we just talk about this? Seriously, if your retention—"

"Okay, Cash," she snorts with a half-hearted smile. His rambling, at least, means he's doing better than he was. "Thank you."

Amery pushes through the tent flaps, beelining for her own tent in a desperate attempt to avoid Keaton.

She doesn't, but luckily, he's not alone.

"Just who I wanted to see," Miller calls, grabbing Amery's attention. She plasters on a smile, self-consciously planting her feet in the dirt. She wouldn't put it past Miller to try to tackle her right here, just to teach her a lesson in attentiveness. "You wanna work some more?"

Keaton's staring at the ground like he's never seen anything quite like a pile of dirt, so Amery forces her gaze away from him and nods.

When he disappears into the tent, Amery doesn't wait to hear voices before Miller drags her away.

✧✧✧

"You're angry," Miller says, his breath barely catching as he throws a punch toward Amery's side, her own breathing coming out labored and staggering. It's not condescending, more of an observation, but Amery bristles all the same.

"So?" she huffs, shuffling back to avoid Miller's fist. If he lectures her right now, the chance of her driving an elbow into his eye is going up tenfold.

"So use it," he says. "Anger can make you stronger or get you killed. You have to control it, not let it control you. That's what makes you reckless."

"You're having way too much fun with this," Amery pants, aiming for his exposed left side. Miller moves to the right in the blink of an eye, sending her stumbling forward.

"Easy trap," he says, not responding to Amery's jab with words, only a glimmer in his eyes and the pull of a smirk on his lips. "If you throw too much body weight into the attack and they feint, they're gonna take advantage of you being off-balance."

"I'm already off-balance," Amery seethes, noting the pain shooting up her ankle at the strain.

"Like you said," Miller grins, setting her elbows in the right position and stepping back. He cracks his knuckles and smirks. "Grounders won't care."

"You're brutal."

"You asked for it."

That's fair. She had asked for it.

Miller works her until she can barely breathe, running her through various types of holds and then having her try to get a few hits in on him. She at least knows how to throw a decent punch, courtesy of a young and annoying Keaton who didn't know when to leave her alone.

"Go rest," Miller eventually instructs her, finally panting a little. "Your ankle, especially. Not gonna be my fault you wreck it, hear me?"

Amery just nods tiredly and trudges back to her tent.

✧✧✧

"Knock, knock," a voice accompanies the vague shadow on the other side of the fabric of her tent. Zoe looks up, and Harper doesn't, her head settled on Zoe's lap.

Amery pushes herself to her feet. She knows that voice.

She pokes her head out of the flaps, coming face to face with Monty.

He holds up a familiar silver canister and raises a brow as he waves it in front of her face. Mischief gleams in his eyes.

"You got a minute?"

Amery glances back at her tentmates, who shoo her off with shit-eating grins. In what she hopes is a discreet manner, she holds up a middle finger behind her back. A flurry of laughter follows as she leaves the tent.

She knows damn well Zoe and Harper will be taking advantage of her absence already.

She walks alongside Monty to the treeline, eyeing the canister. "Thought that was for special occasions. Storms only, right?"

Monty shrugs, trying and failing to hold back a smile. "Establishing video connection to the Ark feels like a pretty special occasion to me," he shrugs casually. "Who's to say I didn't brew a surplus during the last storm?"

Amery snorts, settling onto a large boulder at the edge of camp. Monty follows her lead and cracks open the moonshine.

It's insanely bitter, the kind of strong that nearly knocks Amery backward off the boulder. She's not an avid drinker of alcohol and it shows, apparently, because Monty laughs before he takes a swig for himself.

Night is falling, now, and Amery thinks it might be her favorite time of day, when the shadows start lengthening and then disappearing and the stars begin to peek through the curtain of the sky.

"Did you talk to Cash?"

Amery nods, leaning back on her hands. "I apologized and he told me not to. He—yeah. He said what you said." She braces herself for the I told you so. "That it's not my fault."

"Told you so," Monty shrugs, and Amery jabs him in the side with her elbow. He squawks in offense.

"Told you so," she mocks, deepening her voice in a horrible imitation of Monty. "What'd Jasper want?"

"To scavenge," he says dramatically. "I think he's still gathering nuts or something. He wants to be the provider or some shit. Probably to impress Octavia. I gave up after he started juggling."

"Juggling?" Amery giggles, picturing Jasper dropping rocks or nuts or berries all over the ground and then staring at them forlornly. Monty shrugs, chuckling softly.

"Yeah. Well, he's been a little loopy all day. He might've gotten into something."

"Just like Jasper to find earthly drugs and exploit them," Amery hums.

For a long minute, the two of them bask in silence, not tense at all but simply comfortable and open. It's starting to get chilly and Amery finds herself edging just a little closer to Monty, conscious of the small distance.

"You know, there was something I wanted to talk to you about," Monty says eventually.

"Hm?" Amery doesn't pull her eyes off the stars until Monty grabs her hand, turning to face her. Something serious, then. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Monty blushes. "Just—okay. When we were talking in the dropship about, you know, Cash. And I said something and you left. You seemed kind of upset."

Right.

"It wasn't you," she whispers, squeezing Monty's hand. "I'm sorry. It's just—I didn't—I don't really get close to people, much. Often. I don't know."

"I know," Monty runs a thumb over the back of Amery's hand absentmindedly. "But I was...I guess I was just thinking maybe we were. Close, I mean. And I might be really off-base, but—"

"No," Amery interrupts, heat flooding her cheeks. "We—we are."

Monty inhales a little. "Then...why did you leave?"

Amery pulls her hand away, tucking it into her pocket. The feeling of the leaf in her fingers is grounding, calming.

"I just—I—"

"I just want you to let me in, Ames," Monty murmurs, gaze on the ground. "I don't know why you keep pulling away."

Pulling away.

That's what she does best, isn't it? Shutting out anyone who breaches her first line of defenses?

"Because it's not a good idea," Amery whispers, realizing the truth as she says the words. When Amery forms close relationships with people, she hurts them.

Cash. Keaton. Sinclair and Kyle, even, when she left them on the Ark without so much as a word. Raven, too.

"You don't get to decide that for me, Amery," Monty says, and his voice is surprisingly strong. Her head snaps up and she meets his eyes, big and genuine and looking right into hers.

No, no. No.

In the weeks she's come to know Monty Green, she's learned that when he sets his mind to something, it's nearly impossible to change his mind. And that reads in the very determined look he's giving her right now, that look that says he won't back down, that he knows what he wants and he's ready to argue.

But this is different. Monty doesn't realize what a horrible plan this is. Doesn't realize that every other girl in this camp would be a better fit for him, with his sweet eyes and moonshine tongue and quick wit. Doesn't realize that Amery's heart is space-cold, zero gravity, no room for air.

"You don't understand," she whispers, looking down at her feet. "It's not...that easy."

"It is that easy," he responds evenly. "Amery. I like you. I know you feel whatever this is. And I don't want to keep pretending it's not there."

"Monty, you don't know me!" she cries, tears stinging at her eyes, cheeks flushing with heat. "You don't understand—"

"But you're wrong!" Monty says, and it's the hardest his voice has ever sounded. It's firm and unwavering and so is his gaze as the brown depths of his eyes bore into Amery's own, pinning her in place. "I do, Amery."

He's nearly panting now, his eyes a heartbreaking combination of pleading and determination. "I know you." She stills.

"I know you can't keep your hands still so you play with the leaf in your pocket or tap your knee or wring your hands so the energy doesn't drive you up the wall. I know you imagine picking apart a radio step by step when you can't fall asleep. I know you love the way the rain smells and hate the way it makes your socks wet."

He stands, and Amery does, too, taking a step back.

"I know you get frustrated when your hair falls into your face but don't bother to fix it because it'll just fall out again. I know you'd do anything for Keaton because he's your brother even if it isn't by blood. I know you had a crush on Raven when you worked together in Zero-G."

It's like he's stripping her soul raw, looking into every room she'd ever tried to hide in. His voice gets louder as he starts speaking faster, rambling now, fire in his eyes that doesn't burn but lights up everything she's been trying to drown in shadows.

"I know you've never done drugs because losing control scares you and I know you hate being too warm and I know that you think you somehow aren't good enough to deserve affection, but you are, Amery."

"Monty—"

"I know that you think you're going to hurt me, that you're going to hurt anyone you let past those walls you put up, and I know that you think when I see the real you I'll run away scared, but Amery, I've seen the real you, and I'm not scared."

She sucks in a breath, like she can steal his words from the air, make him forget them. His eyes don't leave hers, and as much as Amery wants to tear her gaze away, she can't.

"Why?" she whispers.

"Because—because I know that when you care about someone you always look at them first when you laugh. And I know you care about me, because you do, Amery—every time you laugh you look my way, and you do that little half smile and I swear part of me goes up in flames. So don't say I don't know you, Amery. I know you. And I'm not scared. I'm not."

He's closer now, sharing breath, one hand hovering in the air like he wants to touch her but doesn't know how.

"I want this, Amery," he murmurs, taking the leap, placing his hand on her hip. The warmth of his skin seeps right through the fabric of her thin shirt. She thinks even if she hadn't left her jacket back in the tent, she would feel him. His hand might burn right through her. "I want you."

And Amery realizes she knows him, too. It terrifies her, the way she can differentiate his footsteps, expect the blush on his face as she makes a quip only to have it thrown right back at her later. Only two weeks on this forsaken planet and Amery knows Monty Green.

She knows he looks innocent but is anything but. Knows he lives for the thrill of the moment and that's how he ended up in the Box. Knows he has a heart bigger than the solar system and would do anything for anyone he cares about, which is everyone, really. Knows he believes in goodness and tries every day to embody it.

He is the best person Amery has ever known.

Amery is both match and fuse, a whole package of pent-up energy and anger ready to blow at a moment's notice, wreaking havoc on everything and everyone in her path. No survivors.

And Monty still wants her.

It terrifies her that Monty can keep up with her, with every part of her, and he hasn't gone running away. Most of all, it makes her feel stripped raw that he knows why she's been running away.

He knows she's scared, and that's the worst part of it all.

She's not sure when they got so close. He's right up in her face, sharing breath, all wide brown eyes and warmth and... oh, stars.

"Monty," she breathes.

He squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again. Hesitates. Like he isn't sure whether he can talk to her. That's her fault—

"Can I kiss you?"

✧✧✧

a/n:

I'M SORRY THIS UPDATE TOOK TEN YEARS LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK I LOVE YOU

[ word count | 5.6k ]