Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ideas. :)

A/N: Reviews feed my muse ;) thank you for reading my story! Hope you enjoy. Live long and prosper xx

It didn't take long for Monty to realise that apart from himself, Miller was one of the most concerned when it came to Clarke's disappearance.

"You sure she's not sketching somewhere?" The gruff boy had asked, and Monty was only a little surprised that Miller knew how much she liked to draw.

"I've checked everywhere," Monty stressed, and Miller frowned and got up to help him ask around. Monty didn't ask why.

After Maya told them that Clarke was in the psych ward, Monty sat on his bed and chewed his nails. Clarke wasn't crazy, he knew it. Maya's words were running around in his mind, over and over and over again. Tearing her stitches out, tearing-her-stitches-out, tearingherstitchesout. Monty felt sick.

Miller appeared at his side and sighed heavily. They sat in silence.

"She'll be okay," Miller sighed.

"Will she?" Monty replied, and Miller shrugged.

"She's Clarke, isn't she?" Monty shrugged back.

"I don't believe them," he said. Miller twisted his fingers together.

"You knew Clarke well, right?" Miller asked casually, flopping down onto the chair next to him, ignoring Monty's sound of protest.

Monty sent him a weird look. "Yeah? I guess so. She's my friend."

Miller nodded. Monty waited for an explanation, but none came.

"Monty, what would Clarke say to break up a fight?" Miller announced and Monty blinked at him blearily.

"What?" He asked groggily, and Miller waited for him to sit up, massaging his sore neck.

"What would Clarke say to break up a fight," Miller repeated calmly. "Archer and Smith are fighting. They listened to her."

Monty blinked again and got up to help him pry the boys apart.

"What would Clarke do?" Muttered Monty, and Miller looked at him sideways. "What?" Monty asked, defensively, and Miller almost smiled.

"Nothing, it's just... why do you say that?" Monty shrugged.

"It helps me when I'm stressed," he grumbled. "To clear my head. Clarke, she always knew what to do." Miller clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"She always knows what to do," he stressed. "We'll find her, Monty." Monty wasn't sure if he was talking about Harper or Clarke.

Monty was hiding and terrified. The sound of a gun shot made his heart pound furiously and his eyes well up, and he couldn't think straight. He bit his fist to keep from crying out, and thought what would Clarke do what would Clarke do what would Clarke do? The problem was that he didn't know anymore.

Clarke was there and she was okay and in charge and everything would be fine!

Right?

...Right?

Bellamy put his hand over hers and Monty's world came crashing down as his two friends killed three-hundred-and-eighty-two people. What would Clarke do didn't seem so simple anymore.

And then she left, but her presence stayed. What would Clarke do was still relevant. Jasper cut himself up and Monty tried to detach himself like he'd seem her do to stay efficient. He pried away the glass from Bellamy's fingers and handed him over to the curly-haired bartender. He sat next to Raven and soaked in the silence of companionship.

He hoped Clarke was okay, wherever she was.

Miller found him sitting on a roof.

Monty was staring at the stars. "Where do you think she is?" he asked, and Miller (Nathan) looked up at the sky.

"I don't know," He said finally, and Monty swallowed and blinked back the heat behind his eyes.

"I hope she's safe," Monty whispered.

"Me too," said Nathan. "She's Clarke, though. She'll be fine." Monty wasn't so sure.

Bellamy was bleeding out in the rover and staring at his fingers. "I almost had her, Monty," he whispered, and Monty wanted to say he understood but he couldn't. He wouldn't have stopped looking... but he would have gone in with a plan. Bellamy hadn't. Bellamy had lost everything. Monty hoped he never fell in love with a person so deeply that all ration abandoned him.

"It's okay," he muttered. "She'll probably be fine." The lie tasted bitter on his lips. He'd never seen Bellamy cry before.

Nathan found him again, sitting at a table and glaring at the floor.

They sat and glowered at the world for a bit.

"Bellamy is being an idiot," Nathan snapped finally, and Monty swallowed. "He was the one who made me watch out for her back at the dropship. When I thought he was dead, I tried to do the same in the mountain. I know Clarke is a force to be reckoned with, but I thought I'd failed him." He shook his head bitterly, disgusted. Monty felt ill.

"And now-" He broke off and walked away. Monty followed him.

Clarke's face crumpled when she saw Monty, and then she was hurrying towards him and he was rushing towards her and her arms were around him and Monty felt safer in her embrace than he'd felt in his own mother's. (How awful was that?)

When she pulled back to look at him, her hands stayed on his shoulders, and there was moisture under her eyes. Monty let himself look her over; took in the shadows under her eyes, her long wavy hair, the sword on her back.

"I'm so glad you're here," said Monty, and Clarke breathed a little laugh, desperate and disbelieving. Someone called her away, Wanheda, and he smiled and told her it was okay. Nathan stood next to him a moment later, and they watched the grounder words flow off her tongue, eyes intent, even as her gaze lingered on her people.

"It'll be okay," Nathan said, and Monty shrugged.

"Maybe," he agreed. "Yeah. Or not. That's okay too." Nathan laughed.

Clarke fell asleep with her head on his shoulder, and Monty felt the ropes around his heart loosen. Nathan grinned. "Told you she'd be fine," he mumbled, and Monty smiled softly.

"She wasn't fine," he replied casually. "Still isn't. But neither are we." Nathan's answering smile was sad, but it was honest. It was okay.