Trust Is To Be Earned

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

don't tell me

TRUST HIM NOW

The worst of it was over. They had lost a few to the virus, but not everyone. Which was a relief because with the exception of a few, they had all caught it. Bellamy had admitted his fear to Octavia. A fear that came from not being able to control what was happening in his body; he couldn't physically stop it nor do anything but wait for it to pass. And it had. They were all slowly coming out of quarantine now, a few weak from the aftermath. But they couldn't waste any time. The Grounders had done this to weaken them. They may have bought some time with destroying that bridge but it wouldn't keep them back forever. Bellamy's mind was already reeling with everything that needed to be done, including setting up defenses and such. But first . . . they had to take care of their dead.

More bodies to add to their growing graveyard. After dragging out the bodies of those who didn't make it, Bellamy looked at the corpses, clenching his jaw to hold back the emotion over how it felt every time they lost one of their people. He couldn't help but feel like a failure; unable to protect them. Wrinkling his nose in a slight sniffle, he turned to see the man that had brought this upon them. Did he trust Murphy? Absolutely not. But . . . second chances. That was what Clarke had said, that she believed in second chances.

 And he respected her enough to not make Murphy eat a bullet. Bellamy grabbed one of the shovels and went up to Murphy, throwing it in front of him. "Come with me," he instructed -- or perhaps demanded was the more accurate term. A man that Bellamy had once appointed a second, who the crowd had turned against and who turned against them . . . was now back. And Bellamy was going to have to deal with that. Because deep down, even he knew how Murphy hadn't deserved what happened to him. That sure as hell didn't excuse Charlotte but hell, he wasn't going to throw him out. That much was clear.

[John Murphy]

The fever had left him quickly, as it had with the others, and now he was recovering from his torture. That would take longer. Nobody had noticed anything unexpected as the bodies of those claimed by the virus had been carried out, and why would they? After the first person had passed away, there were surely more to follow, it was no surprise they had. Now as the others recovered, it seemed everyone's thoughts turned to defending themselves, the survivors no doubt thankful most of them had come through the biological attack merely weakened. Many appeared to be keeping their resentment towards Murphy - the catalyst - subtle. 

There were of course others who had no problem showing their distaste, their reluctance to have him in the camp, and no doubt disappointment that Murphy wasn't among those bodies soon to be heading six feet under. One such as Bellamy; the animosity palpable as Murphy cast a glance to their leader, slowing his exit from the smoke hut once he met Bellamy's gaze. 

As the other approached, Murphy's attention fell to the shovel thrown at his feet, having half expected it directed at his head, the order to pick it up met with faint irritation but heeded nonetheless. "... Sure." How easy would it be to take out the king right now? His mind played over the thought but he kept it to himself as he followed, his expression shifting somewhere between wry and receptive as he waited for another instruction. 

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

don't tell me

YOU TRUST HIM NOW

Fortunately, Murphy was wise enough not to protest. Though Bellamy was just waiting for a reason to kick his ass. And yet, he was controlled enough not to. A lot had happened since Murphy's banishment. For both of them it would seem. If Clarke wanted to give him a second chance, then Bellamy would accept that. It only meant that he would be keeping his eye on Murphy, and the younger male sure as hell better know that. Bellamy started walking toward where Wells had started a small graveyard for the delinquents who had passed. Which, ironically involved the body of Wells as well. The numbers were getting high. Too high for Bellamy's liking. Every marked grave represented a failure.

He couldn't save them all and he knew that it was irrational to believe that he could. Still. It didn't mean he wouldn't try. "Start digging," Bellamy instructed . . . or perhaps ordered. He held that same authoritative tone and aura he had the moment they arrived onto the ground. He kept it up in John's presence, not wanting the former outcast to believe he could get away with anything. "We have to clean up the mess you made." Accusatory. But Bellamy was angry. Angry that the Grounders had used Murphy to weaken them; angry at Murphy for telling the Grounders everything about their camp . . . and angry that the banished delinquent's return had killed a few of their people -- even if that had not been entirely in Murphy's control.

[John Murphy]

He slowed his already reluctant steps as they reached the delinquent graveyard, expecting to be given the task now barked at him, but he'd thought there might be a lecture in there somewhere first. He had no doubt it would come at some point. Obedient for now, outwardly at least, he positioned himself next to one of the older graves, doing as he was told and starting on a new one. Whoever had dug one of the others nearby hadn't bothered going deep enough, he noted. Spotting a flap of material poking out from the ground.

But who cared? Dead is dead.  

The mess he made. The leader's words prompted little response, just a glance towards while Murphy went about his digging. Never mind the mess Bellamy had made of everything. Or Clarke. Their so called leaders walking the way of those before them. Dictators pretending to be all for the people. Funny that they'd come all the way down here to be practically stuck in the same place. Same heirarchy. Same injustices. 

Of all the snide comments that almost made it to his tongue, he opted for one of muted sarcasm, though there was an element of real curiosity in the question. "Is one of these for me?" Considering he was supposed to be dead.

Tag: Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

don't tell me

YOU TRUST HIM NOW

Murphy's sarcastic question may have held the potential to be rhetorical, but Bellamy intended on answering anyway. Because he wanted things to be very clear. They had banished him from camp and now he was back. Second chances or not, the older male didn't trust the delinquent. "Depends," Bellamy nonchalantly answered, though his tone was a serious one. He didn't look at John, Bellamy just dug. "If you do something to warrent it." If he did something stupid that would validate Bellamy's distrust for him. Bellamy wasn't quite like some of the others; he wasn't an optimist. Pausing for a few moments, he eventually spoke again.

"You're damn lucky to be back here, Murphy." Lucky that Clarke was willing to give him a chance that Bellamy was not. He wouldn't forgive him for Charlotte's death. But . . . he also knew that they had all done things here. He couldn't fully condemn the delinquent when Bellamy's own actions had caused the deaths of so many others. "Don't screw it up." Words of somewhat advice. Not encouraging, but a reminder . . . that this was indeed a second chance for Murphy, and that he shouldn't take it for granted. Because Bellamy would do whatever it took to protect his people . . . from whoever he needed to..

[John Murphy]

Bellamy's comments prompted a faint smirk. Lucky to be back. So lucky. Lucky to be alive, some might say. Lucky he wasn't hanging from that noose a while longer. Lucky the grounders didn't kill him after Bellamy banished him. Real lucky. As far as he could see their leader was at the center of all this. Murphy's plea for Bellamy to back him up when he truly needed it had fallen on deaf ears. Or worse, ignorant ones. Now he had to endure the older male telling him how lucky he was to be here. 

As he emptied a shovel full of dirt off to the side, Murphy cut a sidelong glance to Bellamy while he pushed the shovel back into the ground. If only he could swing it at their great leader's head, maybe he could take him out right now and leave him in the hole they were digging. People would see. Not yet.  

That would warrant it, huh, Bellamy? He didn't voice the thought, merely drawing his attention away as he continued to dig in silence a while longer. Eventually, his need to respond won out. He tamed his bitterness to give a deceptively humble response, though he didn't manage to speak up without that same smirk in place, as if he had some secret. "Don't worry, Bellamy. I won't screw it up..."

Tag: Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

don't tell me

YOU TRUST HIM NOW

Don't worry. Bellamy was worried. He didn't trust Murphy. The man had always been a wild card, which was why Bellamy had brought him in as early as he had. Him and John. He needed to because they could have done some serious damage on their own. And Murphy had. Because of him, Charlotte was dead. He didn't' believe Murphy's words, but he didn't expect to. Murphy could say whatever he needed to in order to appease Bellamy.

Fact was, John was here now and they had to deal with that. But it didn't mean that the older male's guard would lower around him. Not for a second. He would keep him close, make sure he wasn't messing around with people; causing havoc. He didn't say anything in response. He just kept digging, his mind going back to the initial reason that Clarke had wanted to keep him here.

Perhaps it would be easier to talk about that than the illusion of trust. Because, he damn well knew that neither of them trusted each other. Murphy surely didn't trust Bellamy as a leader, and Bellamy didn't trust Murphy was one of their own. "What can you tell me about the Grounders?" He questioned. The location he was taken to, what was there, and so on. He didn't even consider the effect of reliving the trauma it may have on Murphy. Then again, Bellamy wasn't even fully expecting an honest, detailed response. But hey, it was worth a shot.

[John Murphy]

His smirk lingered a while longer when his remark garnered no response, even if he may have gotten some pleasure out of one had it been offered. With everything that had happened, even simply to irritate Bellamy would provide some kind of enjoyment, though it wouldn't be enough. In reality, neither enjoyment nor amusement were on Murphy's mind, things were far more serious. Bellamy's betrayal had been no imagined slight, not to Murphy. No matter the entire lack of blame the other accepted, instead laying it all on him. 

Charlotte too, the perpetrator of the crime of which Murphy was accused and punished. He had demanded her answer for it and set out to chase her down. And why not? Hadn't she deserved it? For the crime and for not speaking up sooner. In truth, Murphy wasn't sure what he might have done had he ever gotten hold of the girl, but even Charlotte had admitted her crime and accepted her fate. Punished herself even. But no admittance of failure from King Bellamy, no confession, no apology. It was just as well... none would have sufficed. 

His faint grin fell when Bellamy finally spoke up again, the mention of Grounders making him nauseous for a second or two, so much so that he almost winced at the thought alone, never mind from the still fresh ache of his injuries. Almost. Instead he gave a slight sneer as he offered a reply, unhelpful as it was. "I already told Clarke everything I know... " He might have continued, but the appearance of Myles bringing Bellamy a cup of water silenced him, though he did slow his digging to eye the boy who had tied his noose.

Tag: Bellamy Blake