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Post by John Murphy on Mar 28, 2016 23:23:17 GMT
Bellamy was beyond merely needing a little breathing room, though it wasn't a surprise. Not after the look Murphy had seen as they'd set off back to camp and he'd caught just a glimpse of agony in Bellamy's eyes before the other had turned away. That same look was present now as Bellamy emerged from the bathroom, a tormented gaze reddened at the edges. It had shown itself before though perhaps not so profoundly as this. In moments where nightmares shook him awake and he'd glanced to Murphy while wakefulness was still setting in and it seemed that Bellamy's very vision was clouded with ghosts. If only for a few minutes before he fully grasped at the conscious world. When he could roll up the defenses and find his mask.
It appeared he was attempting the same thing right now, only he hadn't just stepped out of a night terror this time. "Probably..." Murphy trailed off for a second or two before adding a confirmation, to reassure Bellamy although he was sure the other didn't need it. "... Yeah." Triviality. It was easy to focus on a task that was inconsequential by comparison. At times it might have helped. Shift thoughts to something relatively mundane or otherwise, whatever might distract from what ailed you. But now was not one of those times. This was too much to be pacified by small talk.
With a couple of tentative steps closer he paused again, letting his gaze drift momentarily only to settle once more on Bellamy. They were still a short distance apart and for the best, Murphy wasn't here to bombard the other both with presence and words. But something needed to be said so he decided to use the topic Bellamy himself had brought up to open an opportunity to deviate from it. "You're not worrying about that though... are you?" It was offered with a tone midway between a question and a statement.
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Post by Bellamy Blake on Mar 28, 2016 23:54:21 GMT
whatever THE HELL WE WANT Murphy knew him all too well. Which, made sense taking into account the considerable amount of time they spent with each other. The fact that they had gotten to know each other on a deeper, intimate level. Which was why Bellamy knew he had to tell Murphy sooner or later. The man deserved to know. If he didn't already. Bellamy remained silent, the response to his question easy enough yet it begged for more than just a simple 'no'. Right now, Bellamy wasn't concerned about the unloading.
Murphy should know what he had done. Yet that fear was there. The fear of whether his partner would look at him like the monster he truly was. See him in a way that everyone should see him. A man who massacred so many innocent people . . . because he did what he had to do. But that didn't change the fact that he did in fact do it. Bellamy had condemned Murphy for so long for Charlotte, killing two of their own, shooting Raven, and hanging him. He had blamed him for that months ago, expressed his anger toward it. And the older male knew it made him a damn hypocrite considering all he had done. It was why he had acknowledged Murphy's words that day in the hall, speaking of how they were alike, with Bellamy responding to how he was so much worse. The guardsman wasn't sure how long he had remained silent before, his eyes on the floor though not really looking at it.
His jaw clenched with emotion, taking a deep breath and knowing that he needed to tell him. He slowly brought his gaze to the former delinquent as he spoke, appreciative of Murphy moving closer toward him . . . because right now, Bellamy felt numbed. Yet at the same time, craved that contact from his partner. "Do you know what happened in Mount Weather?" He wasn't sure how much Murphy had heard or been told. It wasn't something they spoke about, and it was never a conversation that Bellamy brought up. But right now . . . he couldn't hide from it any longer. It was hitting him hard and whatever happened, whether this changed their relationship or not . . . Bellamy had to be honest with Murphy. He owed him that at the very least.
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 29, 2016 1:01:32 GMT
He waited as the silence persisted, giving Bellamy whatever time he needed to form a response. Murphy couldn't be certain if the other would dismiss his inquiry or swing to the other extreme and divulge everything in a fit of despair, although he certainly doubted the latter. It wasn't like Bellamy to expose himself so easily, and in fact more likely difficult to urge him to open up. This was Murphy's attempt, though only if his partner chose to at this stage. Perhaps if it didn't help he would be more direct.
There would be no need, as Bellamy finally spoke up with a question. The answer was that Murphy did know , although only the bare basics. That Bellamy had been involved, along with Clarke and whoever else was either trapped or attempting a rescue. He knew they'd been betrayed by the grounders, which had probably been the absolute least surprising part of the stories. Murphy had expected that little treachery long before it had happened. Yet he wasn't sure if telling Bellamy any of this would help or hinder. He figured the other needed to talk, so he would let him give his own account of the tale.
"More or less. People around here talked about it for a while, but I don't think they had their stories straight." The response was given along with another casual step or two closer, but with still a little space between the two of them. "I only got the campfire version... you want to give me yours?"
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Post by Bellamy Blake on Mar 29, 2016 2:58:36 GMT
whatever THE HELL WE WANT More or less. The fact that Murphy was giving Bellamy the benefit of the doubt . . . meant the world to him. It made Bellamy wish he could offer him a truth that made him worthy of that doubt. But instead, he feared Murphy's reaction . . . knowing that he deserved nothing less than disgust. The older male watched as his partner moved closer still. The temptation to just reach out and silence his own lips by pressing them against Murphy's was immense. It would stop any talking, rob his mind of any thought. And yet . . . this conversation had to be said. This was the perfect opportunity to speak about it. It was now presented, no easier way to bring it up. Yet the reluctance was there. He hadn't had to retell the events to anyone.
Murphy was the first person he would actually be telling . . . and perhaps the most important one. "We . . . " Bellamy paused for a moment. No. There was no we. Bellamy had tried to make it a we but Clarke abandoned him. Left him. She had made it clear that they were not a 'we'. "I . . . killed everyone in that mountain." The words came out almost blunt, so much emotion felt within him yet unable to be expressed. At least in that particular statement. His eyes fell from Murphy's once more, staring off at the nothingness of the ground. His mind flashed with the horrific images of the children.
The men and women who trusted him. The ones who had looked to him . . . who had helped him fight against their own people. And how were they rewarded? By death. "Did you know there were children in there? Infants. Kids." Innocents. That was completely relevant. Innocent lives, taken from this world . . . because Bellamy had placed more value on the lives of his people, rather than the lives of these innocent Mount Weather residents. He hadn't even realized that the topic had brought forth a stinging to his eyes, the threat of tears, not yet spilled . . . but getting more difficult to control in his partner's presence.
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 29, 2016 22:21:42 GMT
He felt himself tense just a little, bracing himself for the words that might come from Bellamy, or more so the emotion. This wasn't a regular occurrence for either of them, sharing this way. Although they now knew each other well and there was a constant security in it, a knowledge they had the other to turn to, they didn't often delve into the depths of what tortured them. Both knew enough of it for the most part. That didn't mean it was easy to open up like this or to hear it, whatever it might be, and Murphy was far from the best counsellor. But for Bellamy, he would do his best.
There was the desire to help, to ease the troubles. Not much of a natural trait for him these days except on rare occasions or with the other man, fondness having now grown to something more that he cared for Bellamy's welfare and not just his own. He kept his expression attentive and despite his inward apprehension at the potential awkwardness of the conversation, it felt far easier than it would with anybody else.
Catching the correction of we to I, he kept quiet as Bellamy confessed and looked away. Did he really mean he had or was this him shouldering the responsibility of everyone involved? It wouldn't be unlike him to do so, but something in the cold tone of the statement implied it was close to the truth. Murphy silently watched and waited for Bellamy to go on and once he did, the question was one of significance. The children of Mount Weather. Sure, he figured there must have been kids there. The Arkers had kids, the grounders too, and if Mount Weather was the deceptively idyllic society that the now empty facility hinted it had been, it made sense there would be children. Families. He gave a slow nod though Bellamy's gaze was still averted, but chose to address the other's first words, the words which encompassed the entire event. "Why?" He questioned without accusation, as if he were asking something light. "Why did you kill everyone?"
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Post by Bellamy Blake on Mar 29, 2016 23:08:11 GMT
whatever THE HELL WE WANT Why. The question was entirely legitimate. Why had he killed all those people. Bellamy didn't fail to recognize the lack of judgment in Murphy's voice. The older male knew he deserved worse. He deserved Murphy's disgust and horror, but instead . . . his partner was allowing him to explain. "The grounders retreated." After Bellamy had risked everything to get them out of their cages to set them free . . . they ran away. They left them for dead. They listened to a single woman instead of following their own damn culture.
Blood demands blood. Bellamy supposed it was only relevant when it came to Arkers; demanding everything from them yet conveniently doing nothing to stay true to their own kind. But it was not anger right now that Bellamy felt first and foremost. It was the pain of his actions; not the rage of the betrayal. "They were going to kill us." His sister. He would never forget the image of his sister in that dreaded room, where they were drilling everyone. It was how Fox had died. How a few of the others had died. Being drilled to death. In that sense, Bellamy was all too glad that Murphy hadn't been with them.
While he had his own set of traumas, he could be spared from that one. Bellamy felt his eyes well, trying to remain composed, but with his gaze wandering off, the flashes of past memories burned into his mind . . . it felt impossible to compose himself. "I did what I had to do." Words that were said as justification, ones that held a weight. But now, the confidence in them faltered. While they weren't untrue . . . Bellamy could not exempt himself of the blame. Of the horror of his actions. And it was then, that a tear slipped from his eye, trying to fight back any more emotions. A futile attempt.
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 29, 2016 23:55:43 GMT
The admission regarding the grounders almost drew a huff in bitter amusement, but he held it back. The grounders retreated when they had needed them. There was no shock in the revelation, they couldn't be trusted and it had been a foolish move on the Arkers part to do so. He had even said as much during alliance talks, though there had been nobody to listen and he'd left them behind to their truce and new friends. Murphy thought to comment on that... the grounders let you down, what a surprise... but there was no place for the remark. Not now. Not with Bellamy so clearly torn up inside.
From disjointed pieces of the story that were still drifting around camp when Murphy had returned, he'd gathered that what the Arkers had done had been necessary. If Bellamy's actions had been paramount in that, then he was no doubt pushed to it. Yet, he had been pushed to do awful things before when there was a choice not to go ahead and if this had been a similar scenario, had the other been justified at all? The next words from Bellamy's lips seemed to answer, they were going to kill them. Such circumstances shifted the boundaries, altered how far one could or should go. And they had gone all the way.
Still, he let Bellamy go on, the other man appearing to need to say more on the matter. His next statement was prominent regardless of Bellamy's wavering composure. What he had to do was a long way from merely giving the people what they wanted. Although Murphy considered pushing for the entirety of truth behind the words, he knew they were honest. The tear that broke away to expose Bellamy's pain seemed to confirm the gravity of his words and coaxed a closer step from Murphy to bring him right in front of the other. With a faint tilt of his head to catch his partner's gaze. "It was you or them? Then yeah, Bellamy... you did what you had to do."
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Post by Bellamy Blake on Mar 30, 2016 0:19:08 GMT
whatever THE HELL WE WANT Bellamy couldn't bring himself to meet his partner's gaze. Despite the close proximity in which he stood at. He did what he had to do. Words that Bellamy had been told; words that Bellamy had said. He did what he had to do. "It was our people, or theirs. I decided who was worth saving." He had place value on life; placed importance on his people above children, innocent men and women. Bellamy truly wished it had just been a matter of him versus Mount Weather. If it was only his life at risk . . . he would have gladly ended it. But it had been Octavia's. Kane's. The delinquent's. The adults. Everyone's.
How could he just stand there and watch them kill everyone? He couldn't. He hadn't. Bellamy sniffed, another tear falling from his eye, inwardly cursing at his actions. "And I have to live with it." With the results of his actions. With what he had done. It was in part why he didn't feel he deserved to be with someone he cared about. He had deprived so many others of love . . . what gave him the right to be with someone who helped ease his mind. Who gave him peace. Who was his sanctuary. He didn't deserve that. And yet, he selfishly hang onto Murphy, as if his very life depended on it. Which, in a way it did. His soul at least. Or whatever was left of it.
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 30, 2016 0:47:57 GMT
As the other spoke it sounded almost like he was trying to convince himself, to make sure the words were true and he hadn't been fooling himself into vindication just to get through each day. As far as Murphy could fathom, Bellamy was right, even if it didn't erase the horror of it all. He'd chosen to save his own, people who no doubt relied on him just as Murphy had seen so many do. A role Murphy could never take on and would never want to carry the duty of everyone looking to him for decisions and protection. And if he were thrust into the same circumstance he doubted he'd have the incentive to save people. Himself he would have fought for, but others? Who could say?
"Did you have a choice?" No matter what insults and blame had passed between them since they'd landed on the ground, growing in ferocity and resentment, Murphy had come to know Bellamy didn't do anything lightly. This was no different and would stay with him despite any assurances that he did the right thing. Confirmation that his actions were permissible wouldn't simply snatch away the guilt. As another tear fell Murphy reached with one hand to curl his fingers into the other man's shirt, low at the hem, as if to remind his partner he wasn't alone. "Did they?"
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Post by Bellamy Blake on Mar 30, 2016 1:46:38 GMT
whatever THE HELL WE WANT Bellamy paused at the question. Choice. It always came down to a choice. Making the difficult decisions. And he was so damn tired of it. Exhausted from these decisions that cost the lives of either his people, or others. Being responsible for someone's death, no matter which group they were affiliated it, was still a person's life. Bellamy knew everything had changed -- he had changed -- since he fired the gun with the assumption that he'd killed the Chancellor. He had tried to kill a man. And now, he had killed over 600. "I felt like we didn't," Bellamy finally answered in a low voice. An admittance.
He supposed it depended on who Murphy asked. Jasper seemed to think that they had a choice. That they had maliciously decided upon this; an act that would take the love of his life from him. But . . . Maya had saved Bellamy's life. More than once. And he had killed her. "They trusted me. They helped me." Not the ones associated with Cage, but the ones that he felt the guilt over killing. In addition to the innocent children who suffered a cruel fate. "And I killed them all." Clarke believed she had to bare it, but her interactions had been more limited. These were people Bellamy had worked with. Relied on. Trusted him. Looked to him to find a solution for everyone.
He had encountered them. Seen the children. He was at least relieved that Clarke would be spared of those images . . . but it made him all the more resentful and bitter that she left. And now here was Murphy; his touch providing an instant warmth to Bellamy, despite the waves of emotions that were plaguging him. Murphy. His partner. The man who was still with him. Who was touching him despite his revelation of how much of a monster her was. He was here. Sharing this burden. Willing to listen. He didn't deserve this. Bellamy had feared whoever would be trapped with him, despite his pursuing of Murphy.
He had wanted to be with him, but knew how greedy he was being by doing so. He finally turned his head to look at the younger male, emotion pouring out of his gaze. Unguarded. Emotional. Unsure how to even define the expression behind his eyes in a single word. "You should hate me." For condemning him and having done this. For being a damn hypocrite. For being selfish. For . . . so many things that Bellamy could list in his mind, yet none that he had the strength to voice.
"I'm sorry." He didn't know where the apology came from, somehow followed with his train of thought, seemingly disjointed in his words. He turned his head away again, though was unable to break himself from the contact of Murphy. "I always hurt the people I love." His mother. Octavia. Others. And . . . he had hurt Murphy. And he knew now in his heart how he felt for him. This being as close to admitting it . . . because he had just admitted it to himself.
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 30, 2016 2:44:37 GMT
The pieces were coming together the more Bellamy shared, his words limited but poignant, enabling Murphy to draw out the parts of the story he'd picked up prior to this and slot them together. Pick out which were truthful, which were myth. He'd heard there had been a stand-off of sorts, an ultimatum at least, and the occupants of Mount Weather or rather their leaders had rejected it. In which case, perhaps it would feel that the Arkers had no choice and were forced to take action. It sounded more than reasonable, more than fair. They hadn't stormed the place with a ruthless determination to wipe them out as Murphy figured the grounders would have done. They had planned to do the same to the delinquent camp. And maybe that would have been excusable considering the crimes of Mount Weather, but the Arkers hadn't done so.
As Bellamy went on, Murphy was ready to speak up with more questions. Who trusted him? Who helped him? But his thoughts drifted to Jasper and his occasional outbursts in the Hangar or wherever goggle boy decided to rage about murder and Maya, whoever that was, and 'if they had just waited'... for what? This surely came back to the Arkers and the choice they were denied, to Bellamy and his guilt. So they had allies in Mount Weather but they had to have been few. Why else would it have been such a struggle for those trapped to escape? The majority must have been adverse or indifferent. Aside from the children.
That was undoubtedly the worst part for Bellamy. The innocence lost. The friends left behind. But Murphy knew that the other would take the entire body count, friend and foe alike, and carry it as penance regardless of what had been necessary. It was more evident now than ever as Bellamy met his gaze, free of deception through duty to remain strong and instead overflowing with the emotion of his torment. Hate him. How many times had he tried? Only to eventually admit to himself he couldn't. "... I haven't managed to hate you yet, I'm not about to start now."
The other's apology was offered up to the ghosts of those sacrificed, Murphy thought. With the anguish of never having the chance of forgiveness from those gone. It would only add to the burden. But the living, they could offer it, or some amnesty in understanding. In acceptance. For Murphy, their was no struggle to understand, he would have made the same choice and would have told Bellamy as much but it would inevitably make him feel no better, perhaps worse. He stilled at Bellamy's final word, studying him for a few quiet moments before he leaned in to rest his forehead to his partner's temple in some small show of support. "What's done is done. You have to live with it, but the blame? You gave them the chance to protect their own and they didn't take it. That's not on you, Bellamy... that's on them."
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Post by Bellamy Blake on Mar 30, 2016 21:56:37 GMT
whatever THE HELL WE WANT Murphy didn't hate him. Bellamy felt relief in that, yet that same undeserving feeling of his partner's affections. But he didn't hate him. He didn't seem disgusted by him. And Bellamy did not want to convince him otherwise . . . even if the former rebel king felt like he should. Felt like he should convince Murphy that he wasn't worth it. That he should be hated. But instead, he felt only gratitude. Because he truly believed him. Trust him with his heart. What they had, was not something so easily severed . . . and for that, Bellamy was indeed grateful.
The older male closed his eyes when Murphy leaned toward him, resting his forehead to his temple. The warm touch of his skin an abundantly comforting sensation that filled him inside. Murphy's words only intensified that warmth. Murphy wasn't the kind of person to sugar coat words. He wouldn't just as any damn thing to appease him. He said what he meant. And that, gave Bellamy a further reassurance. He would never stop blaming himself . . . never absolve himself of guilt. But right now, Murphy knew the truth about him and wasn't pushing him away. He wasn't judging him, not even for the tears that had spilled from Bellamy's eyes. That, meant the world to him.
Bellamy slightly tilted his head to the side, his lips touching the corner of Murphy's mouth, brushing against his skin. "You don't think I'm a monster?" The question wasn't over thought by Bellamy. It just came out. Just like the rest of his words. It was so easy to escape into another world, where only the two of them existed. A world where Bellamy wished he could forever stay in. He had become dependant on Murphy in so many ways. In the way his partner made him feel. Following his words, Bellamy lightly kissed his jaw, his lips moving to his ear, though he was mostly just resting his cheek against Murphy's cheek. "You should." Uncontrolled words, yet ones that held that tone of relief that Murphy didn't seem him as such, despite the content of what he said.
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Post by John Murphy on Apr 7, 2016 19:15:22 GMT
A monster. What classed as a monster? Who among the Arkers could be called one? There had been more than enough candidates for such a title. Other delinquents. Finn. Clarke. Jaha. Bellamy. Murphy himself. Were they all monsters or merely people making decisions... making choices for better or worse? Perhaps what set apart and defined a true monster was in the detail of motives, the impulse that drove a person forward one way or another. Maybe a monster to one was a savior to others, so who decided which they truly were?
Their past was full of violence and resentment but Murphy couldn't say if he would have ever thought Bellamy evil with any solid conviction. People did what they did. If any of them were villains, maybe it only meant they all were. The philosophy of the matter was pushed aside. He didn't care about an authentic definition, only what he thought about it, about. Was Bellamy a monster? No. Even if he convinced himself to the contrary and would no doubt go on and continue to do so indefinitely, apparently with some persuasion for Murphy to do the same. All Murphy could offer was what was true for him. "Yeah, well... " He offered a light nudge of his cheek to Bellamy's as they rested together. "... never really been one for doing what I'm supposed to do."
That Bellamy cared at all or had even shared this with him meant more than he could explain, words to express the prominence of it sure to evade him if he had tried. But he felt the moment called for some emphasis of his stance on the matter, as if it could beat Bellamy's doubts and self-hatred into submission. Perhaps not possible but Murphy would give what little he could to the cause regardless. With a slight step to steal any small distance left between he pressed his chest to his partner's. A firm touch yet light enough so as not to lean against, head dipping to brush his lips to the curve of Bellamy's neck. Closeness offered in absence of a kiss.
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Post by Bellamy Blake on Apr 8, 2016 23:54:45 GMT
whatever THE HELL WE WANT The closeness of Murphy always provided a calming effect; as if this was close to peace he could achieve int his world. The physical contact strengthened it, knowing they were not only emotionally bonded -- though that was far stronger than any physical nature of their relationship. It made it more intense if anything, but that deeper rooted bond was what allowed Bellamy to cry in front of him now. And what gave him the feeling of his heart beating despite how shattered it felt.
The light brush of Murphy's lips against the skin of his neck, was as if he was breathing life into him; into his soul. Bellamy instinctively moved his arms to wrap around the younger male. Bellamy wasn't exactly a hugger . . . but with Murphy, everything was different. All that he had disallowed himself in any form of a relationship with a romantic partner, he had found in John Murphy. Bellamy nestled his head against the crook of his neck, his eyes closed as he just took in the wonderful scent of his partner.
He hated being this vulnerable, this dependent . . . feeling as if his life depended on holding Murphy right now; and that letting him go would be the ultimate loss that he would never recover from. His words belatedly registered in his mind, causing an ever so slight scoff of amusement. "I'm glad you don't," he said returning the tease. Though they were with truth. And . . . these were not the words he wanted to say to him. He wanted to say those powerful ones; those three words that he never dared allow himself to say or feel for anyone else.
But . . . there was fear. The fear that once he said them, he would condemn Murphy to the same fate that those who loved Bellamy often fell victim to. So he bit them back. Forced them back. The mere idea of how effortlessly they could fall -- or threatened to fall -- from Bellamy's lips, was almost alarming, if it didn't feel so damn good to love someone. Bellamy slightly tilted his head, placing a light kiss on Murphy's shoulder. "Thank you." For this. For being with him. For everything.
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