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i.
They don’t talk much.
It’s not a change from how they were on the ground. Just because the location changed did not mean the people, the relationships, or the betrayals had changed.
Harper doesn’t trust Murphy or Echo. Echo remains angry at Bellamy for his intervention. Monty blames Murphy for more than he is guilty of. Bellamy is irrationally angry at Raven for sending Clarke to her death. Raven, as much as she lies, has not let go of her past with Murphy. Emori chooses to isolate herself considering the situation.
Murphy’s barely holding it together, but that’s nothing different than the last few years.
He spends time with Emori, of course, but she spends more time alone or with Raven than with him. Learning about Ark technology seems to be her only distraction from the dismal five years ahead of them. Sometimes, he’s summoned to the medical bay, being the only one of them to know the slightest bit about medicine.
Not once does he tell them why he knows so much about it, how he spent years in and out of this room, most of it on death’s door. He doesn’t tell them that Abby was more of a mother to him than his own, and when she helped Bellamy attack him instead of just talking to him about letting Bellamy out of the chains – which he would have done – it killed him a little bit more.
He doesn’t tell this to anyone. Nobody asks.
It’s to no surprise, then, that they don’t talk much.
ii.
There is one night, only a few weeks in, that he remembers clearly.
Echo’s seated next to him by the viewing area of the Ark, the largest ‘window’ on the spaceship with the clearest view of Earth. It doesn’t look remotely like it used to. Instead, it reminds Murphy more of the sun, or a star, ready to explode and burn them alive.
Murphy and Echo don’t say a word for a long time, but they don’t mind each other’s company. They’re the only two of the group that nobody except Emori trusts. Raven may have forgiven him, but that doesn’t mean she likes him, and the others…well, he has a lot of ground to make up for.
He gives, and he gives, and he tries to give what he doesn’t have, but it never seems to be enough to satisfy. He wonders if he will ever be able to give enough.
“This is torture,” Echo says, breaking the silence, making him jump.
A bitter laugh escapes him. “Yeah. It is.”
iii.
Sometimes, he sees a particular wall, a door that led to somewhere important, a place on the floor where he used to step –
Sometimes, he remembers.
That is the spot his father last stood. Over there, his mother. Down the hall is Mbege’s old room. Even further down, to the left, to a place that was no longer there, was the Skybox.
Sometimes, he reminisces.
That is the spot his father told him he was proud of him. Over there, his mother. Down the hall is the place he’d go to celebrate, but also to re-energize. Even further down, to the left, a place of blissful silence.
Sometimes, when nobody is looking, Murphy weeps.
iv.
“When I was younger, I heard stories,” Emori says, her head resting on his shoulder. “I heard the sky was full of monsters and ghosts.”
“They were right,” he replies.
She raises her head, looking surprised. “John, do you believe in ghosts?”
“Sure.”
If he squints, tilts his head the right way, he can see his mother watching him from the corner of the room.
v.
Monty’s hands have mostly healed, save for some scarring, but he still somehow finds his way back to the medical bay nearly once a week. This time, he burned himself on an electrical wire from one of the old control panels.
“I was trying to make it work,” Monty says through gritted teeth. They’re at the painful part now, as Murphy goes to work on the burn spreading across Monty’s forearm. His shoulders are hunched, but not from pain. Murphy thinks that maybe, he’s ashamed.
Murphy nods. There’s no need to make the panel work, but Monty’s as bored as the rest of them.
He goes about his work in silence, as per usual. It doesn’t take long. There might be a scar, there might not be, but he’s not good enough at this to know for sure.
Just as Monty’s about to leave, Murphy calls out, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about Jasper. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
Monty stops for a moment, nods, and leaves the room.
vi.
“You’ve changed, Murphy.”
He is no longer the young boy, sitting in Earth Skills, accepting death by the hands of his teacher. Instead, he is sure death will come from himself.
Nothing else seems to work.
“You too, McIntyre.”
He says it lightly, but there’s understanding buried somewhere inside.
vii.
Raven’s leg brace starts to fail after four months. The technology behind it was solid, but not sustainable given everything she had been through.
Somehow, Murphy ends up being the one helping her as she tries to re-construct it. To do this, she takes it off, leaving her slightly vulnerable and helpless. He’s pretty useless at actually helping in the process, instead tasked to move about her work space and the Ark to grab parts.
He tries to be good. He tries not to let it show. But she wouldn’t have to waste days doing this if he hadn’t –
i did this i did this i did this –
“Shut up, Murphy.”
He raises surprised eyes to meet hers, but she’s not looking at him, instead focusing on her work.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“Oh, I know you better than you think I do,” she says dismissively. “I can feel the self-loathing from here.”
He doesn’t know what to say. It’s a big problem for him so far.
“Look, it sucks, but it was an accident. The more I think about it, the more I understand. Besides, you didn’t – it was an accident. That’s all.”
Murphy swallows roughly, fighting the emotions that stir up inside him. “Okay,” he says.
“Besides, I beat you up already, so we’re fine.”
For the first time, they both laugh.
viii.
“You killed your father,” he hears the ghost of his mother say, but now, he understands.
“It was an accident,” he says. “That’s all.”
ix.
Bellamy’s called them all to the viewing room, and they sit in a circle on the floor. “What’s up?” Raven says, jittery.
Bellamy doesn’t answer immediately, but then, “We don’t talk much, anymore.”
Ironically, they don’t know what to say.
He continues, “It’s been six months. A lot happened on the ground that nobody knows about. We’re still keeping secrets. It makes living up here more difficult than it has to be.”
Murphy understands what he means, but Monty just laughs. “So, you – you want us to have a therapy session?”
“Yes,” Bellamy replies. The confidence is inspiring. “I’m serious…so I’ll start. On the ground, I was an irresponsible and ruthless leader. I was distrustful. I – I killed over 300 innocent people. I was manipulated. I let my sister hate me. And I let Clarke go to her death, alone.”
Silence follows. It’s unnaturally heavy, but Bellamy looks light.
Timidly, Harper speaks. “On the ground, I watched people die all around me. I was kidnapped by Mount Weather, and they tortured me and almost killed me. I was hunted by my own government. I almost killed Monty. I watched Jasper die.”
Echo shakes her head. “The ground was my home. I do not think anything bad of it.”
“The ground was my home, as well,” Emori says. Murphy’s constantly surprised by how comfortable she is with everyone. “But I did not belong. I was cast out, left to die. ALIE took control of me. I felt the pain of my brother’s death.” She pauses, casting a careful eye over the group. “And I was nearly killed by the only group of people not to cast me out.”
There is so much more that is being said. Murphy had not realized they were hiding so much.
Monty’s throat is dry, but that might be from repressed emotion. Murphy knows the trick well. “On the ground, I was also kidnapped and tortured by Mount Weather. I killed everyone in Mount Weather, and then I watched my best friend become suicidal and kill himself.”
A moment of silence passes. Murphy really does think Jasper was a good person, but it isn’t worth much.
“Well,” Raven says, sighing. “On the ground, I was untrusted. I was shot and I’m disabled because of it. I was tortured by Mount Weather. I lost someone I loved, twice. I let ALIE take control of me and did horrible things because of it. I spent weeks sure I was going to die, before calling my friends to come save me and…now I’m the reason that we’re all here, instead of in the bunker.”
She’s wrong. She’s completely, utterly, totally wrong, but they all are.
Murphy’s the only one who hasn’t spoken. They look at him, expectantly. The hope and pride in Bellamy’s eyes scares him.
He’s about to open his mouth and finally talk, get everything out there, because maybe this is what he can give and maybe it will actually be enough –
He can’t.
For seventeen years, Murphy has been silent. He knows how to contain himself, to not spread his shortcomings, because so much, too much has happened to him in those seventeen years so clearly he’s doing something wrong.
He knows how to keep in the shadows. He knows how to silence himself. Secrets exist for a reason, and he wants to change, to share them, to learn what it means to have a family but –
Murphy stands and leaves the room without a word.
x.
A short time later, Murphy is alone. He sits on the bed in the room he shares with Emori, unable to think of anything other than the ground.
Maybe, just maybe, if he voices it to no one else than himself then it will ease the pain –
“On the ground,” he whispers, “I was hanged for a crime I didn’t commit, and banished for a different crime that I still didn’t commit. I was tortured for three days. I killed two people out of spite. I shot Raven. I couldn’t – I didn’t stop Finn from massacring the Grounder village. I helped Jaha. I was locked in a bunker by myself for three months. I was tortured by Titus for days. Ontari locked me up and tortured me and she – I–”
He can’t say it. “The things I do to survive,” he repeats, a long sigh leaving him. Finally, he looks up.
Bellamy’s been standing there the entire time.
“Murphy,” he says, softly, sitting gently on the bed next to him. He doesn’t touch him, doesn’t pry, as if aware of Murphy’s increased heart rate and intake of air.
“I can’t say it.”
“I know.”
“I’ve never said it before.”
“I know.”
“You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”
“I know.”
Murphy should be angry at Bellamy, for his unwavering sympathy, for his support, for his eavesdropping on things that he’s never told anyone but –
“I – I was raped.”
Bellamy doesn’t speak. Instead, strong hands wrap around Murphy’s waist and pull him in, a wordless display of trust.
Murphy allows himself to be embraced. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like.
“I was raped,” he says, and though he squints and tilts his head the ghost of his mother is no longer on his shoulders.
“I know.”
Murphy closes his eyes and weeps.