He Keeps My Heart From Getting Broken

[John Murphy]

"Yeah... " He gave a nod as he headed further into the Hangar. When he'd woken in the medical bay, the plate that had been brought to him before he'd passed out had been set aside near the bed, along with another cup of water. As unrecognizable as it was, he'd eagerly swallowed it down chased with the water, his hunger bypassing any unpalatable aspects of whatever it had been. "Some grey thing... maybe it wasn't food. Tasted better than a mouthful of sand." He gave a shrug as he joked, momentarily considering the fact he could still feel sand stuck to his skin here and there. 

Easing down to sit at a table with a slight wince as he settled, he scanned the Hangar once more before his gaze rested on Bellamy. He looked hollow somehow. Or not hollow, more misplaced. Out of sync in some strange way, and if Murphy wasn't mistaken, he appeared discreetly caring? It wasn't that Bellamy was incapable of that, far from it, but towards Murphy? Not so commonplace. Usually the opposite in fact, although the other had taken him in, helped him to medical, made sure he was seen to right away, and now here he was asking if he'd eaten. Maybe it was just small talk. 

That didn't fit with Bellamy either, he wasn't one for mindless chitchat. If he had something to say, he would usually come out and say it, in Murphy's experience. Or at least keep it to himself, but let it be known he would come down on you like a ton of bricks if you pushed him the wrong way. Murphy's thoughts momentarily shifted from Bellamy as a faint wave of nausea passed over him once again, but it was gone just as quickly, and since Bellamy had mentioned it he considered if it might now be due to hunger. Despite his meager snack. "Why, do I get a welcome back meal?"

Tag: Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy withheld a slight smile that perhaps could have more easily been brought up had things been different. "If you want one." Murphy's words may have held some sarcasm, but Bellamy's did not. "Things are more established now than they were before." Based not only on their current location, but the functionality of it. The food was a hell of a lot better than what the delinquents had to make do with for the months they were here on their own. But then again, food was food. They had managed. They had survived. Bellamy continued to watch Murphy.

It wasn't so much that he was focused on the male's current actions . . . as he was what Murphy represented. Bellamy and him had been at odds ever since the hanging. John marked another one of Bellamy's failures. It had been a different time then, he knew that. But it wasn't an excuse. Seeing him now, brought up the memory of it. How Murphy had looked to him to help him, be the protector that the others assumed him to be.

And how did he respond to it? Allowing the others to do whatever they wanted. Whatever the hell we want. It had happened so many times over; seeing the look of fear in the delinquent's eyes. Looking to see if he would be able to help them. And he didn't. He failed more often than not. Murphy had been the first that he had truly failed. And somehow, that was what the older male was more focused on at the moment, rather than the series of events that followed which would intensify the rift between them.

Murphy had still been responsible for Charlotte's death . . . but Bellamy found it far easier to accept his true target of anger. Murphy had been a scapegoat. Because it had been far easier to hate and blame Murphy than to hate and blame himself. But after Mount Weather, that acknowledgement was embraced. Fully. "I should have stopped them." The words just came out, in line with his own train of thought, but he supposed seemingly random considering the current conversation. His voice was spoken in a low volume, heavy with sincerity, weighted with the burden of what Bellamy had allowed to happen to the younger delinquent.

Bellamy had said that Murphy deserved to die. But he knew now, that there was only one person who deserved that. And it sure as hell wasn't' the younger male he was now in the company of. Bellamy also knew that he had said these words to Murphy before . . . and the male had responded with how it was too late. It still was. The damage was done, and yet the words still fell from Bellamy's lips without over thinking it. As if he had no control over the instinctive words that had been flooding his thoughts ever since seeing Murphy returned.

[John Murphy]

Not exactly the response he'd expected, but again Bellamy was going on with the vaguely subdued approach, verbally at least. The other was right. As little as Murphy had seen so far, the somewhat ramshackle camp he'd left was now clearly more in order. The medical bay for a start, where he'd been checked out before when they'd first been brought back here, was now functioning as more than just a temporary setup. Just as well as they had more patients too. In fairness, at first glance it seemed the Arkers had made a fair amount of progress in the time they'd been down here. Perhaps things were different under the surface. 

With a few moments to consider the offer of a meal, Murphy eventually declined with a shake of his head, the decision made for him by that now familiar wave of sickness rising up once again. He definitely needed sustenance, but maybe it would be better to wait until he was certain he could keep it down. Dominating the hunger was fatigue, even after the rest taken in the medbay bed, weariness still reached every part of him yet his mind was awake. Alert as much as it could be and possibly more than was necessary considering he was in the camp. But being among his own people didn't exactly equate to safety. Murphy knew that well.

Still, he was worn out and glad of the seat at the table while he watched Bellamy right back, the other remaining standing a short distance away. Ever the man of duty in one way or another, stood as if he was dormant and waiting to leap into action whenever it came. That was how it appeared to Murphy, but there were cracks in the veneer, or rather a slipping of the mask of composure threatening to fall away completely at any moment. He had seen it before but it was different now. Heavier to carry, harder to keep in place? 

Whatever it was, Murphy was deciding whether or not to question about what had gone on in his absence, the planned strike on Mount Weather and how it had turned out. Maybe the answers, if given, would go some way to explaining the perceived shift in Bellamy. What exactly had happened? Where was Clarke? What of the others who had been trapped there? And the Grounders? In truth, Murphy didn't care as much as perhaps he should, or so he maintained in his own thoughts. He figured it was curiosity that had him wanting to know and nothing more. 

Undecided as he was to ask, all notion of inquiring about Mount Weather vanished when Bellamy spoke up again. Murphy's gaze having drifted to glance around the Hangar now snapped back to the other man before he froze still. I should have stopped them. The words seemed to cut, heard once before and spoken by the same man. His judge and would-be executioner who had allowed the noose around his neck. The same man who could have stopped it with a single command. The words first spoken when Murphy had repaid the gesture with a noose around Bellamy's. Now he offered them again?  

A sick joke, surely. So out of place and unforeseen. Murphy went on staring while a cold fury rippled through him. Had Bellamy been referring to something else and not even realized the words he'd chosen? Applied them to another matter without knowing, or worse, fully aware? That would have been bad enough but Bellamy was still focused on him, the words seeming free of deceit, full of honesty, directed as they were the first time. So much so that Murphy finally tore his gaze away for a few seconds, absently picking at a loose thread from the bandage on his arm and silently cursing the wet glaze of his eyes. Angry and confused he slowly pushed to stand, easing from the seat but lingering there as he brought his attention back to the other man, fighting through a hundred responses, bitter and heartfelt, desperate to find one that hid his emotion. And failing. "... Float you, Bellamy."

Tag: Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy observed Murphy, watching his reaction intently. He didn't expect words of forgiveness. No. Bellamy was far too undeserving of that. As livid as he was with what Murphy had done, right now, he could only think of how it had been Bellamy's own actions that had caused it. Would the delinquent had exacted revenge on the two others when he returned, had Bellamy stopped it? Who's to say. Charlotte's death could have also been stopped. Raven wouldn't have been shot.

Everyone was accountable for their actions and Bellamy knew that everything that had happened . . . had started with that one incident. That one, allowance. He had let the crowd take control, form a riot, and Murphy had been the victim of it. Yet later, he chose to save Bellamy's life. It was an odd imbalance, as Bellamy's own actions did not reflect any reciprocation; no opportunity to save Murphy's life in return.

Yet the former delinquent had done it for him. Perhaps that was what left him in this current state of mind. Guilt ridden. Enough that the next words came out as well. He didn't want to provoke him, nor act as if should be forgiven. He shouldn't be. Not for any of his crimes. Yet the others exempt him from that. Maybe this was Bellamy's way of carving his own path of self destruction. Seeking out the anger of someone to thrust the blame upon him; to let himself feed into the self loathing that consumed his heart and soul every second of every day.

His eyes fell from Murphy for only a few moments, trying to maintain his composure though it was slipping. He wasn't a whole man. He couldn't remember a time when he had been. Then again, he couldn't even remember a time where he didn't live in fear. He just never thought it would be this intense fear of himself. "I'm sorry." For what happened. The words genuine, as he said them once his eyes returned to Murphy's. Bellamy wasn't one who often apologized, but he had never said these words before. And felt the need to say them now. Compelled to do so, without expecting John's acceptance. He wasn't sure there was a chance for a clean slate. But never the less, he needed to offer an apology. He needed the words to be said.

[John Murphy]

What the hell was this? Where had this dizzying change of pace come from? Maybe it hadn't been as sudden as he'd thought and he'd missed some build up to this moment, he was recovering after all. Or had that distinct faltering in Bellamy's composure been the obvious clue that he was ready to offload... something? Atone for his sins here in the deserted Hangar in the middle of the night.  

Murphy's gaze held steady on the other man while he'd looked away, however briefly, with a burning anger that was fueled by every flash of memory that now visited him thanks to Bellamy's words. Of the event in question and all that had stemmed from it. These memories were always there with him. Ominous in their presence and haunting him with every step, every breath, every day. They pushed him onward, serving as the motivation for his own survival. It was why he needed nobody, wanted nobody. Trusted nobody. But he'd learned to push them aside enough for them not to pull him down into despair, a path he was unwilling to take easily. 

Bellamy had dragged them out into the open to force an acknowledgement together. As much as Murphy wanted to bury it all just below the surface again, now Bellamy had brought it up he hoped it hurt. He found himself willing the recollection to burrow so deep into Bellamy's self-righteous soul that it would be torn apart, the king left slain but existing. Devoid of life but full of regret and guilt and sorrow. For the other's destruction would surely mean some claim of victory over him, finally. 

Yet it seemed Bellamy was already halfway there and knowing it lacked the satisfaction Murphy had wished for, the other man's pain doing nothing to ease his own. Instead, the next words from Bellamy's lips only deepened it to a point Murphy would never have believed possible. Two words to awaken depths of misery he hadn't imagined. Two words to pull him down. Two words to offer both a chance to crush the one who spoke them, or to forgive. The idea was distant, too much had happened between them and it was no doubt best left as it was without this, but here it was, in the open. He took a few steps to the side away from the table but halted again. "You're sorry?" Even as he repeated it he felt his voice threaten to crack, but he continued with as steady a tone as he could manage, though it was choked with grief. "What the hell do you want me to say to that?"

Tag: Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy once again had prepared for the acknowledgment of his words not being well received. But it was enough to ellicit more of a response from Murphy . . . more of one based on emotion. Which, made sense. It was a difficult subject. A traumatic one. Recalling the horror of those events. Of how it was what unwraveled the dynamic they had; threatened his very life. There was a lot Bellamy would never forgive himself for. This was among them. He saw no reminder of Mount Weather when he looked at Murphy, but he saw the reminder of what he had done in the past.

The willingness to let one of their own get killed. The fact that he had been the one to kick the support out from under Murphy had made it so much worse. He should have stopped them. He should have done more than succumbing to the pressures of the crowd. But he hadn't. And Murphy had suffered because of it. "I don't know," Bellamy answered, a hint of defeat in his voice . . . the stoic guard he strove to upheld starting to waver. He didn't know what he expected Murphy to say. He had to admit that he was at least relieved that the male allowed him to say it; that he hadn't left his company. Not yet anyway.

"I just, didn't want to leave it unsaid." So much could easily be left unsaid. But this, he needed to say. He needed to verbally acknowledge, just like had in his mind. He wasn't even sure if these words would make any difference. He didn't know if he was trying to mend what was broken between them. Was that even possible? With all they had been through, with all they had put each other through . . . what were they now? "You didn't deserve that." More words that just fell from his lips. Words that he was losing control over guarding and that made Bellamy more uncertain about where this conversation would go, how it would continue . . . and where it would end.

[John Murphy]

"I know," he bit back at Bellamy's last remark, the response out before he could restrain it. Only to disguise his feelings on the matter would he have considered giving no reaction at all but it was too late for that, he had already opened up to it. Murphy could feel the tremor waiting to break out in his words, the uneasy wave of rage and sadness that pushed him to try to hurt. He didn't deserve it? No kidding. "It's taken you this long to figure that out?" Somehow he managed to keep his voice quiet, but it was tainted with bitterness. No, he hadn't deserved it, he didn't need anyone to tell him that. 

Yet Bellamy's words hinted at recompense, both angering and compensating in some small way that Murphy was doing his best to ignore. He didn't want it, it was too late for this, just as it had been before. Regardless of what had happened since, there was not enough left between them to come back from those earlier events. Surely? What was left? Resentment? But something had changed since, there was no veering around that. The decision he'd made at the cliff's edge had been significant, where it seemed more than just Bellamy and the girl were in danger of meeting their end. Much more could have ended, yet hadn't.  

He'd tried to push that aside too since it had happened. After all, he'd still returned to the camp and been treated as the same criminal he was seen to be before. How could things have changed at all if nothing had truly altered in the actions of those around him? Sure, he hadn't stuck around to find out for certain but he'd thought it for the best. "So now you've said it... you feel better?" For all his derisive denial, something had changed and now it was evident. In Bellamy's words, in the apparent honesty of them, and in this annoying notion for closure Murphy now found tugging at him. For closure and absolution.

Tag: Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Murphy's anger was accurately targeted toward him. Bellamy knew he had wronged him. Allowing the crowd to act the way they did, not stopping it, kicking the support out . . . it had all been a mistake. His mentality then was such a contrast to what it was now. Where any threat placed on one of his own . . . was his trigger. Something he would not stand for. He had always lived for other people -- before it having been his sister -- and now, he lived for the Arkers. More specifically, for the delinquents.

"No," he said, answering Murphy's first question. Bellamy knew he had acknowledged that some time ago. But far later than he should have. "It just took me this long to admit it." To say that he was sorry for that happened; that Murphy, someone Bellamy had charged had and beat up not once but twice, deserved better. "Not really," he added on, to answer John's second question. "It is too late," he agreed, knowing that it was. That nothing could change the past, even though he wished there were so many things he could change. "I can't change that." And he couldn't ask for a clean slate. But out of Bellamy's many regrets, at least he would not have to regret never giving Murphy the apology he deserved.

[John Murphy]

Bellamy was beginning to sound convincing. Truly convincing. And now Murphy was growing more and more uncomfortable with the conversation. Accusations he could handle. Complaints, recriminations, but an apology? And no vicious remarks to counter his snapping back at Bellamy. No provoking of the other's 'true' feelings on the matter. Even at the time following the event in question, Bellamy had shown little patience for Murphy's reaction back then. His throat sore from the noose and his calls for justice, and his judge had still spurned him. 

Yet here he seemingly continued on the path of remorse regardless of Murphy's response, steady in his regret if nothing else. It was unsettling, unfamiliar and more uncomfortable now Murphy could see the other didn't seem to be ready to take it back. It was real. But who was it for... Murphy or Bellamy himself? To ease whatever weighed him down on the matter, or actually seek some sort of pardon from Murphy? The vague idea that the latter was even possible was disregarded but Murphy abruptly lost his energy for the argument, if indeed it could be called one. 

"... Whatever, Bellamy." Dismissive instead of drawing it out any more, he felt the need to get away, heading towards the other man intending to pass right by and out of the Hangar. Too late? It was too late. Too late for apologies, too late to change anything. At least the king had something right. Yet Murphy found himself slowing as he neared Bellamy, pausing with a slight sway as if ready to take off again at any moment while his attention settled on the other. The contempt in his gaze having faltered and faded away now exposed a vulnerability as he studied the older man. Perhaps he was searching for the same thing reflected back. It was short-lived, with Murphy averting and continuing on with his exit out into the hall without a word as he made his way to his room. His room, the location of which he had no clue. Several steps from Bellamy and he slowed to a stop with a defeated sigh, quietly speaking up as he turned to cast a sidelong glance back Bellamy's way. "I don't know where I'm going."

Tag: Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy couldn't say that he was surprised or disappointed by the dismissive nature of Murphy's words. He expected them. Forgiveness was not something Bellamy was used to gaining from others. He was often regarded as such that he had to work toward redemption. With Murphy however . . . his failures were extensive. Why? Because what he had done to him wasn't for 'the greater good'. It wasn't to protect his people. His allowance and encouragement of hanging Murphy was for the sole, selfish reason to keep the crowd in his favor. To further manipulate them. Hanging Murphy was wrong. Allowing it to happen, pushing the stand from beneath him . . . it had been so damn wrong. There was no justification for it. Bellamy's line of 'I did what I had to do' often used for justifying his actions, were irrelevant in this situation.

If anyone had a right to be angry with him, it was the former delinquent who was now in his presence. One who began to move away from him. Bellamy couldn't look at Murphy, ashamed of his actions against him. Ashamed that it had taken him this long to offer an apology. Bellamy had been a monster since the very beginning, and what he had done to a man who'd been loyal to him, would never be excused, forgotten or forgiven. Eventually, Bellamy's gaze met the younger male's, unable to fully guard his own emotions in this moment. He didn't have to try for long, because Murphy stepped out of the anger. But instead of hearing his footsteps disappear down the hall, fading into nothing but a distant echo until they were too far to be heard . . . they abruptly stopped. And his voice followed. Bellamy would have smiled had he not felt so burdened with the emotions that often plagued him. Silently, he stepped out into the hall with Murphy, not about to provoke him with a sarcastic remark.

No. He was far too beyond that now. "This way," he urged him, his voice low, void of any demand or authority. He was unsure what else to say. While Bellamy often used words to inspire the masses . . . he had none to offer right now. There weren't any which held the magnitude of what he felt. Killing over 600 people took a toll. "To the left," he added, breaking the silence as they reached a turn that would soon bring them to his apartment. A destination that Bellamy knew was the goal to get to . . . yet he also wondered if that would be it. If this conversation would be the only one they had in such privacy. Why that even mattered to Bellamy . . . he wasn't entirely certain. He only found himself hoping that it wasn't, confused by his own realization that he dare not make known to the other.

[John Murphy]

He waited for some clever retort though he only half expected one, the weight of the shared words and the memories they had unearthed still heavy in the air. So when Bellamy offered only a direction and a guide to the room, it wasn't really a surprise. There was almost a hope the other man would give some surly remark for Murphy to react to, if only to shift them back to what was familiar and out of this limbo in which they both now seemed to be suspended. It was irritating, this uncertainty of which way the conversation would go. Or if this one was over, where the next might begin. There was a chance there wouldn't be another, although despite all that had happened, Murphy figured that was unlikely. One way or another he knew he would eventually have more to say, for better or worse. 

It came sooner than expected, with Murphy pushed to break the inconveniently awkward walk to his room. If only he had kept going when he left the Hangar, found somewhere else to rest or headed back to medical in hopes of being left alone. Instead of prolonging this ludicrous interaction with Bellamy. The possibility that Murphy didn't want it to end went largely unacknowledged, a flicker of thought towards it snuffed out before it caught. Why would he want more of this? Still, he spoke up. "So, is this you turning over a new leaf? Should I expect the same from the princess too?" 

That was preposterous and he knew it, but he felt the need to include Clarke in his bitterness. The truth was, regardless of certain similarities, Clarke and Bellamy were quite different. And although Murphy might band them together in many ways, it had been Bellamy he had followed to begin with, Bellamy he had listened to, Bellamy who had betrayed his misplaced trust. So it was the other man who was ultimately far more significant to Murphy. More than he was comfortable with, evident in the fact that his inclination to hurt the other had waned so quickly. He continued his attempt to turn that around. "Or is this a special occasion?"

Tag: Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

The princess. It was one thing for Bellamy to display some emotion when it came to his regret over the treatment of Murphy -- and his part in it. But . . . on the topic of Clarke, that wound was still too fresh. Too painful. All the times she had asked anything of him, he had done it. He had given up his soul so that she wouldn't have to endure the aftermath of Mount Weather alone. And she left him. This was one time he had so desperately needed her . . . and she left. He had promised never to allow himself to be emotionally vulnerable to anyone else. But . . . he doubted that would last. If there was one thing that often defined Bellamy, it was his emotions.

"I wouldn't know," he answered laconically. Overcompensating in his detached tone to suppress the hurt. Though, he imagined he wasn't very successful. She had been one of the most important people to him . . . and her actions revealed how little worth he had to her. "She isn't here." His words holding more depth than merely speaking of the obvious of how she wasn't currently in their company. She wasn't in Arkadia. Bellamy decided to focus on the question Murphy posed, rather than the mention of Clarke. Neither was easy. "Let's just say . . . doing what you have to do to survive, doing what you have to do to protect others . . . comes at a price." He couldn't look at Murphy, almost afraid of the vulnerability that would inevitably seep from his mere gaze.

What was it about the younger male that was making these emotions draw out of Bellamy. He needed to remain guarded; stoic. That was what everyone expected of him. "And we all have to live with it." Burdened. Forever plagued with the haunting memories of ones actions. "It changes a person." Inevitably. And Bellamy knew full well, that he was not the same person he was who had allowed the delinquents to hang a man and kick the stand out from under him. For looking at Murphy now, recognizing him as one of his own . . . Bellamy knew that he would without hesitation, protect the younger male with his life.

[John Murphy]

She isn't here. There was enough in the delivery of the words, despite Bellamy's apparent attempt at impassivity, to make it clear he meant she was no longer in the camp and that it wasn't a fact Bellamy was at peace with judging by the subtle wavering in his voice. At least, what Murphy took to be one. Emotion in the otherwise deadpan offering of information, and the other couldn't seem to look up as he spoke just yet. Murphy couldn't decide whether the news was perplexing or just the inevitable result of whatever had gone on here in his absence.

Either way, he didn't know of the events that had led to Clarke of all people leaving, if that was what had happened. Or was she dead? He figured Bellamy would have specifically said 'dead' if it were the case, but before Murphy could voice the query the other continued. More vague explanation that still seemed to say enough, to give all that was needed. Or maybe it was that the changes in Bellamy had already been visible to Murphy that the clarification of them wasn't so odd, even if the details were left out. "Clarke left?" He felt it necessary to make sure that's what Bellamy meant, that she hadn't died, though he was sure it was the former guessing that the other man would have bluntly said so otherwise.

Would Murphy have felt anything if Clarke was dead, or was that just a part of their lives? Death, on the Ark or down here. It wasn't uncommon for it to come before it was seen as due. Though it still affected each of them when it happened. To someone they cared for, someone they loved, but Clarke was neither to him. Other than a basic tending to one another they may have shown at some point, they were never friends. But to Bellamy? Everyone knew she meant something, whatever that had been. Whatever had happened to her, it wasn't appearing to sit well with Bellamy. Murphy's thoughts now shifted to why he should care about what bothered Bellamy at all, but as he studied the other man, he found that he did. Not potent enough that he would seek to comfort but a care nonetheless, and realized now that his animosity was dwindling.

He could put it down to weariness, still worn out from his recent journey back here, but that troublesome inkling to forgive if not forget hinted otherwise. Persistent though understated. And for what purpose? Would it serve to soothe either of them if he offered it? He turned his attention towards the doors leading off from the hallway. "Yeah, maybe. Or maybe that's just what we tell ourselves and the whole 'who we have to be' thing is just who we've always been..." He gave a shrug as if to drive the point, slowing his already lazy pace a little more as they passed a few doors. "... and always will be."

Tag: Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Murphy asked a simple question, yet one that caused an array of emotions to stir within Bellamy. He knew what Murphy was inquiring about. Confirmation that Clarke had left and that she wasn't dead. "Yeah," Bellamy confirmed, his attempt to keep the emotion from his voice futile. How Murphy of all people could be the one to draw it out of him . . . he didn't know. Perhaps it was due to their former emotionally charged conversation, at least from Bellamy's perspective. Apologizing to the younger male for what he had caused, what he had let happen, what he had condoned. And now moving onto Clarke . . . the one that Bellamy had trusted and put his faith in, only to leave him to deal with everything.

"She . . . " left him. Couldn't bear to see their faces. Abandoned everyone. "Left." The weight of the words were heavy, like an anvil to hold down the truth of her departure. But even now, he couldn't talk against her. What she had done, hurt Bellamy in ways that he never thought he could hurt. But he doubted Murphy wanted to hear about that. Hell, he was even surprised that the former delinquent cared enough to ask -- because it was far more than what Bellamy deserved. "Do you really believe that?" The guardsman asked, genuine curiosity in his voice as Murphy spoke of this could have been who they always were. Only expressed now due to circumstances. There was a fear in how true this could be. For if it was, Bellamy had always been a monster. And knew he was fooling others, perhaps even himself, if he attempted to consider otherwise.

"Do you think you would have done what you did, if you didn't have to?" Bellamy didn't doubt the things that Murphy had to do to survive. They all had done things. "I'm not sure I would have," he admitted. But . . . maybe that was reaching. Maybe he really was a murderer; a killer. A failure. "But then again, we'll never know." Because that was not the reality of their lives. The cold, brutal harsh world they were forced into, robbed them of that chance for self exploration. They neared the door to his room and Bellamy opened it, allowing for Murphy to go on in Bellamy lingered in the thresshold.

[John Murphy]

The confirmation had little impact in itself, but the delivery was another matter, with any question of the effect Clarke's departure had on Bellamy more or less answered. It could be seen as the other man clarified, and picked up in his voice more than anything else. He may not have been baring his soul and was unlikely to do so, but Bellamy gave it away all the same. Quietly and perhaps unintentionally, but there it was. He was hurt. Or angry. Or both.

Again, Murphy found himself wondering why he held any care for the matter at all. She had left, so what. That's what people did in one way or another. The appeal to remind Bellamy of that was there but it soon fell flat, going the same way as every other urge to take a verbal jab now did. There was no disorderly display of the other's grievance, no cries of abandonment or mistreatment, or even a sour word for Clarke. Maybe it was an accumulation. The shift in Bellamy's general composure, the apology. The fact that a few words... she isn't here, she left... seemed to tell so much, if only in the hint of distress as they'd been spoken, but Murphy felt he didn't want to make it worse. As if he could.

The questions given in response to his half-cynical comment forced him to assess it. Did he believe it? There was no prompt answer forthcoming and he let Bellamy go on to offer his own view, before Murphy's thoughts focused on the question once more. Do you think you would have done what you did, if you didn't have to? He paused at the door as Bellamy opened it up, eyeing the other man as he sought to give a reply. Justification, that's what it all came down to in the end. There were choices some might make that others wouldn't in the same circumstance, so what did that say for those who did what they had to do? Who were they? He couldn't answer. And the longer he watched Bellamy the more he felt his own emotions edging closer to the surface and he had to look away, biting at the inside of his cheek as if it might halt the exposure.

With his gaze now turned to the room, he headed in with a shrug to neglect the discussion for the moment, pausing a step or two inside as he glanced around. It was bigger than he had expected, still modest though more than sufficient. His surprise hinted in a faintly apprehensive glance back at Bellamy, however brief, as though the other might announce it was the wrong room. Another step further in before he stopped once more, adopting as much nonchalance as he could muster, though with his gaze still averted in case it should slip. "Yeah, we'll never know... "

Tag: Bellamy Blake