Montgomery was one of the few people on the Equinox that Olympia had never quarreled with. Sure, they'd only had one chat, seemingly forever ago, when Mont had ditched the medbay and they'd talked about books. How long ago that seemed now...that was a time when things were simpler. When Olympia hated Phoenix and hated the A.I., but at least they were all still alive. Now it was all so complicated. Now she didn't know who she hated, except the Director. Her hatred for him had grown like a parasite in the last few months, until it was difficult to keep under the surface. 

But Montgomery was one of the few she hadn't started to dislike. Sure, he could be a cocky asshole sometime, but mostly a solid guy. 

"I trust you too, Montgomery," Olympia said quietly, replying quickly and steadily. There were few people on the ship she felt were steady enough to earn her trust, but she would trust Mont in the field covering her. Even though he was part of Gamma--a team Olympia planned to avoid since the Locust mission--Olympia didn't see him as a Gamma. 

They were lying next to each other, sprawled out under the stars, the observation deck deserted except for them. Montgomery had made his way through more than half a bottle of whiskey, and the dinner that Nashville had cooked was nothing more than empty plates now.

They'd been talking about stupid shit. Music - he preferred Mars Art New Rock, Montgomery was more interested in the Underground Retro Grunge scene - movies, childhood stupidity. First kisses, first fucks, the things they missed - burgers and sunshine and the smell of freshly cut grass. Things soldiers always talked about. Idle chatter to fill in the spaces between dying.

They'd fallen silent, though, as the night wore on. As good food and the whiskey Montgomery had drank turned them warm and satisfied.

Shoulder to shoulder, they stared out at the stars.

And then, those words.

Nashville wished he could say they made him happy. That somewhere deep inside he had a part of himself that wanted that. That could handle that.

But whatever part of himself that Adrian had created, whatever part of his heart that he'd claimed and marked and made grow, it had been scooped out with his death. Nashville had nothing there, anymore.

He was hollow. There wasn't anything left in him that understood how to love like that.

But Montgomery was beautiful and smiling at him. And they could all die tomorrow. So instead of explaining why he couldn't, Nashville swallowed back his fear. He ignored the consequences entirely.

And he turned on his side, sliding fingertips along Montgomery's jaw. He couldn't say it back. He'd never be able to. But Nash could lean in, kissing him slowly, deeply. Smiling against his lips.

He couldn't do love. Not ever again. 

She pulled her boots on as she sat at the edge of his bed, her hair curling itself into ringlets from sweat and heat. For a moment, she didn't register what he was saying. For a moment after that, she hoped she she was hearing things again. Augusta's heart was still and she felt her stomach slide up into her throat. No. How dare he do this to her. How dare he say that to her. 

They both knew better, they had both agreed. This wasn't supposed to get messy. This was supposed to be easy. Just a way to pass the time. She could hear her blood pumping in her ears and she focused on the laces of her boots as she tied them. Her fingers clumsily trying to tie knots that were usually so easy. How could he say that to her? How could he open his mouth and say those words? The silence hung heavy in the room, the worst kind of silence. The silence that comes after words unwanted. 

But not necessarily words unreturned. 

Finally, she found the courage to look at him. Green eyes soft with a sort of unspoken desperation. She needed him to know things she wouldn't say, or couldn't say. Leaning over slightly, she placed a hand on his bare chest and kissed his cheek. His skin was hot against her lips, it made her want to stay. It made her want to slide up next to him and bury herself in the scent of him. But she didn't. 

Instead she stood up and walked to the door, turning around one last time she looked at him. 

In an instant, she saw too many possibilities. Too many fantasies where they had met somewhere else when she was younger and the world was still new enough to have mystery, to have desire. Where they weren't confined to secrets and tin cans for walls. She wondered if he'd still be saying those three horrible words if they had met at any other time. This was too much, this was too close. Augusta considered what might happen if she opened her mouth and just said the words back. 

It's not like she didn't feel it too. It's not like she'd be lying. But they had already gone too far. Shared too much. What had started with easy fucking had consumed her, overwhelmed her. But saying those words would confirm all suspicions. It would make them both responsible for what was happening now. 

She slid her hands into her pockets. 

"Don't say that shit, Mont," she offered him a small smile of regret and turned out of the room, heading for nowhere in particular. To see Charlie, maybe. Or Madison for a drink. Anything to keep her from turning back and wrapping herself around him. To keep her from kissing him squarely, honestly, and with fire. To keep her from breaking away the final bricks from the wall he had tried to demolish. To keep her from saying those four fatal words.

The Pelican was shaking around them, Covenant fire ricocheting off of the wings. Nashville's fingers were flying over commands, his arms shaking as he struggled to keep his bird in the sky.

Montgomery was standing over his shoulder and Nashville spared him a quick grin.

"You should. I'm the best damn pilot you've ever had."

They soared through a narrow cavern, Nashville gritting his teeth as his eyes flicked between his displays. They reached the other side, the gunfire fading off into the distance, nothing but blue sky again.

With a whoop, Nashville turned, hauling Montgomery in for a hard kiss. 

"And that is how you do that, sweetheart."

Orion blinked, an human expression used to fill in the moments of silence that they found so distasteful. The statement was so obviously false that Orion was uncertain how he was expected to respond.

Humans were distressingly complicated.

sighs im not even surprised