He Keeps My Heart From Getting Broken

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy watched Murphy quite closely, trying to see what he could on the younger male's face. Bellamy hadn't been with Murphy long enough to know him. To understand his tells. To recognize the emotions that flickered over him. Though . . . he suddenly found himself wanting to. An inexplicable desire that seemingly stemmed from no where. Perhaps part of it was the continued guilt he felt for allowing the hanging to take place. Despite the hostility that existed between them afterwards, Bellamy knew that it was his actions that had commenced the downward spiral of their relationship.

He had a lot to make up for. Unknowing if Murphy would even give him the opportunity to do so. Hell, he couldn't blame him for not wanting to. "All we can do is take it day by day," Bellamy continued. Day by day. Dealing with the emotions, the trauma, just . . . everything that the ground forced upon them. "And hope for second chances." There was a depth to his words, as he looked intently at Murphy. Perhaps he was subtly asking for a second chance. Perhaps he was offering Murphy one in this place. There were so many different interpretations for his words, though Bellamy knew that despite the different meanings . . . the foremost was his own self, asking for that. He would never be able to redeem himself for all he had done; but maybe, just maybe . . . he could redeem himself with Murphy.

[John Murphy]

He went on with his lazy inspection of the room, staying put where he stood as his gaze roamed, if only to avoid settling on Bellamy. Though when the older man spoke up, Murphy's focus snapped back to him once more. Unsure whether or not he was making a point with his comment, that Murphy had been offered such before, a matter that was debatable as far as he was concerned. Hard to believe in second chances when it felt like he hadn't really been offered a first.

Yet the sincerity in Bellamy's expression, the lack of smug superiority in his voice... perhaps he meant it. For both of them. As close as he was to being defiantly dismissive of the idea, of even the need for a chance, Murphy knew he wanted to stay for now. He'd returned here after all and sure he had nowhere else to aim for, but he could have headed to the dropship. At least he would have found shelter, a place to rest a while. But he had pressed on further for the camp with the prospect of tenuous safety, familiarity, assistance. A chance. But with Bellamy, it wasn't so rudimentary as surviving. Though that was certainly a part of it, surviving each other. But emotion, resentment, hurt and anger still weaved their way in to tear down the simplicity of merely trying to stay alive. The complication of a connection. Twisted but there all the same.

Now he found himself staring at Bellamy, the other's last words seeming to be awaiting a reply, confirmation that it was even possible and Murphy had no idea if it was for either of them. Finally, he offered a faint nod, brow furrowing a touch. "Right... second chances... " It was spoken without any convincing tone of cynicism. Doubts on how realistic it was aside, he wanted one. And to be a part of someone else's? Perhaps that counted as his own. As for anything else that remained unanswered between them, Murphy couldn't speak it, instead hoping to convey it silently. His gaze steady on Bellamy despite the surging of emotion ready to embarrass him if he let it, he watched the other while quietly seeking how to forgive him. Realizing he had already begun. At the cliffside, where clinging to a rope of all things had presented their second chance.

Tag: Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Second chances. The tone in Murphy's voice didn't sound like sarcasm or complete disbelief. Perhaps, they would be able to move forward. Bellamy knew he had wronged enough people, being faced with the delinquents every day and now . . . the ghosts that haunted him from Mount Weather. Perhaps he didn't deserve a second chance, but . . . it was all he had right now. All he could hold onto. The only thing that kept him feeling anything akin to hope. Hope, that he would survive this.

His gaze locked onto Murphy, returning the intent look, uncertain for how long before Bellamy's was the first to falter. He slowly nodded his head, folding his lips inward for a moment as if pensively, before breaking his stable stance. "Night Murphy," he finally stated, parting words as he turned toward the door, unsure why there was a hesitancy in departing. Though it wasn't impossible to battle. He swiftly left the room, closing the door behind him, prolonging his presence outside Murphy's quarters for only a few moments before finally turning and heading down the hall.

It was a few days later that Bellamy would find himself actually seeking Murphy out. While he hadn't actively avoided the younger male, he hadn't sought him either. He'd seen him around -- Arkadia was small enough to see everyone around. But he hadn't really spoken to him much. But now, he knew he had a duty that he had to fulfill. Bellamy had been present for Kane's questioning of finding out more about Jaha and the others who went with him, but he hadn't lingered. He hadn't asked any questions himself.

That was perhaps the last time he'd spent significant amount of time with John. But now . . . he owed him something. And he owed it to Mgebe. He held a small pack while knocking on Murphy's door. Within it was Mgebe's belongings; whatever possessions he had were rolled into this pack, ready to go to its new owner. Because Bellamy knew it was what Mgebe would want. John was dead because of him. So many were. And if all he could do was fulfill a promise, honor their memory even in this way . . . then hell, he had to do it.

[John Murphy]

He offered no response to Bellamy's parting words and it hadn't seemed any were necessary. They'd each said all there was to say, for tonight at least and perhaps for good on the matter that had been brought up. Looking away as the other man made his way out, Murphy's attention drifted to the door once it was closed before he finally let his gaze wander the room once more. The space seeming abruptly more empty of anything personal than it already was. 

He slept well, through mere exhaustion no doubt, his body still recovering. The nights that followed were less restful but it wasn't anything new to him nor a surprise that he should wake several times throughout. A normality by now. When Bellamy had found him and brought him to Kane, Murphy had given his account of what had happened with Jaha in a slightly less cynical way than he had relayed it to Bellamy, if only to get out of there sooner. He didn't enjoy being questioned so formally, feeling that at any moment the spotlight might turn on him in some way and the conversation would become a real interrogation. 

During the time that had followed, Murphy had spent it wandering the Ark and the grounds within the barriers, occasionally stopping by the Hangar but soon enough he would return to his assigned room. After all, there was nobody around for company. Not really. He subconsciously asserted he didn't need any. It wasn't as if he hadn't spent plenty of time alone. But when Bellamy showed up at his door there was as odd sense of gratitude, however faint. With Murphy opening it up, gaze darting to the pack in Bellamy's hands with vague suspicion before he refocused on the other. "Delivery man now?"

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Murphy's sass ridden statement was almost a . . . relief. Was that even the right word? It just felt, normal. Regular. As if there wasn't so much between them. As if their past wasn't filled with betrayal and attempted murder, later met by saving and understanding. The younger male wasn't slamming the door in Bellamy's face, so that was a good sign. Not that their previous parting had been one of such hostility. Bellamy extended the pack to Murphy; the older male had never been one to beat around the bush. He often got straight to the point, and the short silence that had passed, already made him feel like it could be misinterpreted a stall.

"It belonged to Mgebe." The two had evidently been friends, and even after Murphy's banishment . . . Bellamy knew Mgebe had missed his companion. "He would want you to have it." As he had no existing relatives, Murphy was the next closest thing he had to a family. Though, the guardsman wasn't sure how it would be recieved by the former delinquent . . . considering what happened. Still, he held it out for him, knowing that he had a duty to honor the deceased. John was dead because of him. This was the least he could do, to honor what he was able to of the young man's memory.

[John Murphy]

Once Bellamy held out the pack for him to take, Murphy almost glanced down to it once again, until the accompanying comments had him staring at Bellamy as he offered it. Mbege. His friend turned traitor. For that's what he had become in the end. When Murphy had needed somebody to stand by him more than he ever had. No matter their friendship, no matter their history, no matter Murphy's innocence, Mbege had left him. Betrayed him. And Bellamy? Bellamy knew it. It had been their fearless leader who had given the ultimatum after all. Why the hell would he think Murphy would want anything of Mbege's? As if the betrayal wasn't enough.

Because Mbege would want Murphy to have it, apparently. A notion met with a bitter smirk and a quiet huff in dry amusement. "Would he... " Murphy's gaze fell momentarily to the pack in Bellamy's grasp, but he neglected to take it, instead offering a derisive look at it as if it's very presence was an insult, and turned to wander away from the door. Despite his response he left the door open, giving Bellamy the option to linger or leave. As long as he took the pack with him. "Why don't you keep it, Bellamy..."

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

It was clear that the pack wasn't well recieved . . . then again, with what had happened, Bellamy couldn't blame Murphy for being angry. Bitter against his friend who had chosen not to defend him. As Murphy walked away, dismissing the pack, Bellamy deliberated for a moment, before he made a decision. He needed to at least try to do this, for Mgebe. So with that thought in mind, he stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him so that no one would overhear the conversation. It was not one suited for the public. Bellamy wasn't going to keep the pack, nor give up so easily. If Murphy refused to take it, then well, Bellamy couldn't force it on him. But he had to at least try . . . he had to make more of an attempt than just extending it, met with rejection, and thus, defeat. After a few moments of silence passed, Bellamy responded, though not directly in reference to Murphy's statement.

Just, about the situation as a whole. "He regretted it, you know," Bellamy began to say. He had spoken to Mgebe after the events. Gotten to know him. It allowed him to say the words with confidence, not having to make up lies to appease the situation. Besides, Bellamy was not one to do that if only to spare another's feelings. Brutal honest. In this case, the truth. "Every day." Bellamy raised his gaze from the pack to look at Murphy. "But he was scared. Hell, everyone was." Bellamy took a couple of steps forward, not getting too close to Murphy, but well, just two steps away from the door. "He wasn't the one who had the power to stop the crowd." That, was Bellamy, his tone indicating of such, that he knew that. He would take all the blame . . . he did. Rightfully so. But even if Mgebe had tried, Bellamy doubted he would be met with anything less than hostility from the others.

[John Murphy]

Having come to a halt several steps into the room, Murphy now turned halfway enough to refocus on Bellamy as the other spoke up in defense of Mbege. It must be nice, he mused, to have someone defend you. Too bad Mbege wasn't around to appreciate it. Bellamy's tale of how the man in question had regretted his actions sounded like a twisting of the truth, a concession for the dead, so their choices would be lit with a more melancholic light. But Murphy knew Bellamy had no inclination for it. Instead, he knew the other would only say what he felt to be true with no sugar-coating to ease to telling. 

That only made it harder to swallow. Regret? A pointless offering. Scared? More than Murphy was when they walked away? But he chose to address Bellamy's last statement first, turning to face the the other as he did so with a lazy gesture of his arm towards. "So what... you want to take the blame for him? Go ahead." Mbege had still made the choice, no matter how difficult it may have been. Walked away without a word, there had been no evident battle of conscience or arguing Murphy's case. Nothing. Just leaving. And loss, though only for Murphy it seemed. "It doesn't change anything." 

It was a lie. Although the knowledge of Mbege's remorse did little to quell Murphy's bitterness over what had happened, the betrayal had hurt and Bellamy's words had awakened it. However slight. He didn't want a reminder in the form of Mbege's belongings, yet beyond Murphy's contempt was a hint of need to save some remnant of the past, but he stifled it. Staring at the pack as if he might be considering before he finally returned his gaze to Bellamy. "I don't want it."

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Want. What he wanted. The words were almost foreign. Bellamy did not live by what he wanted; he hadn't for a long time. It was always what needed to be done . . . what others needed of him. But he also knew this wasn't about him, nor was he going to make it so. He watched Murphy, wondering if he was reading too much into the gaze that seemed to suggest a slight flicker of consideration into taking the pack. But alas, he didn't. Once again, he rejected it. "You think this is what I want?" He questioned rhetorically, in reference to Murphy's words about 'wanting to take the blame'.

"Do you think this is what any of us wanted?" Once again, a question that he did not expect an answer for. Bellamy's words were more weighted, burdened rather than defensive and angry. He wasn't. How could he be? It wasn't anger that fueled this conversation, at least not on his part. With Murphy . . . he was still trying to read what he could of the man. "Mgebe isn't here anymore, but that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve a second chance." Forgiveness, or at least understanding. Second chances was something they had spoken about before. "You got one. After everything." Because while John was innocent of the initial crime, he was guilty of the subsequent ones; killing two of their own for revenge, shooting Raven . . . hanging Bellamy. Though the latter was not one that Bellamy directly held against him, he knew that others may.

His words once again were not throwing blame at Murphy, but trying to get him to understand. He instinctively took a couple more steps toward the younger male. "We've all done things. This place, has made us do things. Regret things." He paused, looking intently at Murphy, forcing the emotions back from his gaze though he knew a few slipped out. Nothing akin to hostility. He felt none toward John right now. "Don't you know what that feels like?" This time, the question wasn't rhetorical. Regret. Did Murphy regret what he did? Would he have wanted things to be different? If not, then perhaps Bellamy couldn't reach out to him for Mgebe's sake in this way. But if he did . . . then maybe, there was a chance.

[John Murphy]

What any of them wanted? He was pretty sure that some did, or at least some portion of the events. Still, nothing Bellamy said in reply stirred any faltering in Murphy's gaze, until he spoke of second chances. There was that term again, prompting Murphy to look away but not without another flash of a smirk, even if it faded sooner than he intended. Here they were back to talking about what people deserved, even those gone for good. Why did his 'friend' deserve anything, now that he couldn't even atone for any failures, correct any mistakes? Or even say sorry. 

You got one. After everything. That coaxed Murphy gaze back up. It was beginning to feel as if Bellamy was using the entire 'second chance' mantra against him, and now he searched the other's features for some telltale sign of pride, of superiority. But he found no trace of either. Regardless, the other still always held a natural air of authority, whether Murphy felt himself under it or not. He didn't. Not now and not for a long time, if he ever really had. Yet it was there all the same, troubling Murphy to wonder Bellamy's true intention of pointing out what he had been given. 

As Bellamy went on his feelings on the matter seemed to show momentarily, Murphy thought, and although nothing in the other man's tone sounded contentious, it still felt like an accusation. But the significance of the question swiftly pulled Murphy's thoughts to all he had done that would warrant any regret. His gaze fell to the pack once more but eventually drifted elsewhere. Regret, sure he felt it. Perhaps not for everything others might say he should, but it was there. Intertwined with justification and grievance, but there all the same. Though vocalizing such a thing to Bellamy wasn't going to happen. Instead he met the older man's gaze without any real suggestion of defense in his own, meaning to answer, if indirectly. And finally, a halfhearted gesture to the pack. ".... What am I supposed to do with it?"

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy had no idea how Murphy would react. Hell, he wouldn't even be surprised if the former delinquent grew defensive, dismissive of his company -- since they were after all in Murphy's room. All Bellamy did was remain silent, letting the aftermath of his question linger in the air as the older male searched the other's features for any sign of . . . well, anything. Whether his words had registered, or at least struck some sort of reaction. Murphy then asked a question and without answering Bellamy's directly . . . it was still an answer all the same.

A wave of relief washed over the guardsman, though he made no show of it, remaining stoic. As he always had to be. "Keep it." His response as casual as the question, though of course both the inquiry and response held a deeper meaning to it. "See what's inside for starters," Bellamy offered, almost in a teasing tone, an attempt at a jest . . . though it lacked as much joviality as one would hold. Still, it was progress on Murphy's part. Whether he asked the question to silence Bellamy's words, or whether his own had truly resonated . . . had yet to be determined. And perhaps it never would be. At least now however, Murphy wasn't rejecting of the notion; the idea of having something of Mgebe's not as evidently unappealing as his initial reaction.

[John Murphy]

Keep it. At Bellamy's words that concept of salvaging something of the past reappeared, but the idea seemed frivilous. It wasn't as though Murphy had anything else from his past, nothing specific or familiar. Not even the knife he'd made from a piece of the dropship when they had landed, and it was probably for the best. The blade now held both good and bad memories. Pivotal memories. Whatever had happened to the knife, it had been best left behind. Besides, perhaps it was preferable not to place importance on things, sentimental or otherwise. Things that could be lost just as people could. 

Bellamy's suggestion was met with a hint of a grin, barely there before it was replaced with faint boredom, pulled in place if only to avoid anything else breaking through. "Alright, let's see what I won... " With his eyes still focused on Bellamy, he stepped close enough to take the pack and headed to a small table at one side of the room, if it could be called that. More of a small surface attached to the wall and held up by a single bracket. Regardless, large enough to rest the pack on, which Murphy now did wasting no time opening it up. 

He kept his gaze down as it wandered over the contents, in part to avoid a glance to Bellamy just yet. A shirt, unremarkable other than the fact it was Mbege's, and much like many of the delinquents' clothing. Murphy moved it aside to reveal the items concealed beneath; more personal. A blade not unlike Murphy's, but longer and narrower with a few indents worked into the knife where Mbege had intended on a serrated edge and given up after two notches had proven too much bother. From beneath that, Murphy pulled out a leaf and held it up, once bright blue but now faded to some shade of dark purple as it had dried. The idiot. "Worth the wait?" A wave of the old leaf as he now glanced to Bellamy before he cast it aside onto the shirt, the motion less dismissive and more with a brief soft amusement that the other had collected it. But Murphy fell silent as he eyed the only item left in the pack.

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Murphy finally conceded, and Bellamy felt the ease of the former tension and intensity of the conversation start to diminish. It may just as swiftly return, but for right now . . . it was not trumping the curiosity that prompted Murphy to start sifting through the bag. Bellamy took a few steps towards the table he made his way to, watching him intently, his own arms folded across his chest as he just observed Murphy start to pull out the contents of it. He knew what was inside, but they didn't hold meaning to Bellamy -- not in the same way as Murphy knew Mgebe better than he did.

Bellamy gave a slight shrug, a faint smirk on his expression in response to Murphy's question. "That leaf mean something?" He asked, wondering if there was a story there, or if he just kept it because . . . well, maybet he guy liked nature. Bellamy noticed Murphy pause at something in there, and he tried to recall what else was among Mgebe's belongings. There was really only one main thing left. "Never did understand that," he stated, referring to the emblem from what appeared to once belong to a guard's jacket. He wasn't sure the significance it held to Mgebe, as there could be a multitude of reasons. But whatever it was . . . Murphy seemed to know, judging by his reaction to seeing it.

[John Murphy]

There was a vague intention to form an answer to the query about the leaf, but it had been immediately forgotten once Murphy had spotted the emblem, and for several moments he merely stared down at it. Back on the Ark, Murphy had torn it from the uniform of one of the guards, though they hadn't been wearing it at the time. Rather Murphy had been trespassing, entering the guard's quarters with the intention of causing some damage although he hadn't known exactly what that might be. Until he'd torn the emblem from the hanging jacket, set it alight and watched as the flame had singed one side of it before inspiration hit. And in one calm movement he'd used the dying spark on the emblem to light the jacket before it went out, the piece of fabric smoldering out in his hand while the second fire caught and grew.

He'd managed to keep the emblem, through his arrest, throughout his time in the Sky Box and on the ground. Until his banishment. Aside from Murphy, Mbege alone had known the significance. While several others were aware of what Murphy had been arrested for, they knew nothing of the details, the reason, until Pike had so brazenly revealed it not long before the delinquents were sent to the ground. Prior to that, Murphy had no call to tell them. The act hadn't been for recognition or notoriety, but for his father. And for himself. 

Bellamy's comment drifted in to snap him back to the conversation, but Murphy kept his gaze fixed on the scorched emblem as the fact that Mbege had kept it sank in. Now emotion hit him, sadness and gratitude and yet shaded with anger. Regardless, he attempted somewhat unsuccessfully to cover it up with another smirk, unconvincing, as he reached into the pack to take out the emblem. "It's mine."

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

The shift in Murphy's demanour became more evident as he looked at the object, seemingly lost in thought. Had Bellamy not been looking at Murphy so intently, perhaps he would have missed those flickers of emotion . . . unable to by firmly pinpointed and described by the older male, but recognize none the less. There was a change. That much was undeniable. It was vaguely revealed when Murphy confirmed that the emblem was his. It clearly held sentimental value; for Murphy to react in such a way and for Mgebe to have kept it all this time.

Bellamy remained silent, just watching him, not daring to break the silence that he assumed Murphy needed to process what he found. Maybe he didn't need time at all. Either way, Bellamy let the quiet air continue . . . eventually, voicing aloud a thought of his own. "Guess there's a story there," he stated. The statement wasn't an inquiry as to what it was, though Bellamy couldn't deny there was some curiosity within him. But rather, his words were meant to serve as both an offer to talk about it should Murphy so choose . . . and if not, merely a way to acknowledge the discovery of this belonging that clearly meant something to Murphy.