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Not The Only One
“She’s not the only one, you know.” Murphy stares at Bellamy where he’s sitting across from him, alone in one of the communal rooms. Murphy thinks they would be considered ‘living rooms’ back when the earth was… alive.
“What?” Bellamy’s head shoots up from where he was staring a hole into the table between them. Murphy doesn’t lose his nerve, and continues to stare at him, looking directly into his eyes.
“Echo. You look at her like she’s some delicate, precious, anomaly. As though she’s different and more damaged than all of us when in some ways she’s luckier than most.
“What are you talking about, Murphy?”
“She tried killing herself, right? And you stopped her. That’s what I’m talking about.” Bellamy shoots up out of his seat at that, gripping the table between them and for once, Murphy doesn’t flinch as he stares at the hands clenched around the table as though he was wishing it was Murphy’s throat. Murphy finds himself wanting it to be the case and he blinks the thought away.
“What the hell are you trying to say, Murphy? That being suicidal isn’t that bad? That it doesn’t matter that she tried to kill herself because she was lucky I stopped her?”
“No. I’m saying you don’t know shit about being suicidal and how much it sucks to want to kill yourself and she’s fucking lucky to have had you there to stop her. To have you here, now, fighting for her.” Murphy feels the spark of satisfaction at the anger in Bellamy’s face.
“Murphy, I swear to God—”
“I’m just saying, Jasper wasn’t so lucky. And I… I—”
“You what Murphy? You don’t know shit about being suicidal either so you should just shut your goddamn mouth. Just because you’ve been treated like shit doesn’t mean—” Bellamy slammed his fist on the table and Murphy cut him off quickly, quietly, staring at Bellamy’s fist clenched white, pressed to the steel tabletop.
“I was. Am.”
“You’re what?” Murphy watches Bellamy’s hand twitch and begin to uncurl slightly, his brows furrowed. Murphy lifts his gaze and looks him stubbornly in the eye, letting the anger take over him for a second.
“Suicidal. I tried to kill myself when I got locked in the bunker and at least three times a day I consider opening one of the airlock doors and floating myself into the cold heart of space, just like my father. Because I’m useless. Worthless. You’ve said so yourself. Then at least I’d be dead with the people who cared about me and I wouldn’t have to just keep surviving anymore, because no matter what any of you people say, just trying to survive is far from living. So if you’re done pretending like you ever even bothered to try to know me, when you’ve never even tried to fight for me, no matter how many times I tried to prove myself to you, I’m going to go to sleep and try not to wish that I won’t wake up tomorrow morning.”
“Murphy…”
“Go float yourself.”
“You’re not going to—”
“No, Bellamy. I’m not going to kill myself over the fact that you have proven, once again, that you don’t give a damn about me. That you never gave a damn about me.”
“Mur—“ Bellamy’s eyes are wide, shocked, and it makes Murphy want to laugh in a bitter and aching way that he feels in his gut, in his heart, but he hides it behind the cool exterior that he adopted years ago after his father was floated and his mother… was no longer anyone he recognized.
“And if I do, I promise I’ll make a grand announcement beforehand, just for you.” Sarcasm drips from Murphy’s voice like the poison he wishes he could just give in and down as he pushes himself aggressively away from the table. He stands and his chair falls with a resounding clang to the floor. He doesn’t look back as he leaves the room besides the glimpse he gets of Bellamy gaping after him, looking more lost and confused than he had ever seen him before.
As Murphy lay in his chambers (well, not his chambers, he was afraid Bellamy would come after him), he wished for warmth. When he had Emori he was never cold. She used to like to cling to him in her sleep, but everything changed when he was out of his algae-coma, and he realized that she liked to cling to Raven now. Which he understood, in a way, since he had changed too. He’d become more manic, panicked, and prone to attacks of extreme anxiety that she didn’t want or know how to deal with, and, quite frankly, he didn’t want her to deal with them either. He knew what they had was never quite the sort of love that he knew she wanted, that he knew he wanted, so he was happy for her. Slowly things between them broke down until it ended and they both jumped ship after four years drifting apart on the Ring. That was a year ago now, and Murphy thought it was pathetic that it was little things like touch and warmth that he missed more than the girl herself. He was glad she’d found Raven. He knew she deserved better. They both deserved better than him.
Murphy shook his head harshly and turned over, slamming his head against his pillow in an attempt to keep his thoughts from slipping any farther—before he had an attack, or worse. Murphy was spiralling and Echo wasn’t, not anymore. Echo had Bellamy. And Murphy had a ship spinning endlessly in space with no foreseeable chance of being on the ground again.
Murphy wanted to cry. All he ever wanted was to have Bellamy, even for a minute, for more than the hot, passionate, sex-filled nights they’d had when they first landed on the ground. Before everything that Murphy had tried to build had fallen to shit, just like every other time before. He felt guilty for being jealous of Echo. He knew he shouldn’t have lashed out. He should be happy that his… friend? His family? Had managed to find her way, at least a little bit, out of the darkness, because he knew, he could see it in her eyes the same way he knew she saw it in his, that she was never going to be completely okay again. He realizes now that it’s only because he was fighting so hard for his life, that he’d become so accustomed to doing so, that he didn’t even know how little he actually cared about it anymore. She was better for now, because she felt at home, comfortable, and happy. She was supported by Bellamy, and probably the others (Murphy didn’t see any of them very often anymore), and Murphy didn’t know how to do that. He didn’t know how to try again, so he just stopped.
When Murphy woke up the next morning, he stayed in bed, staring up at the blank white ceiling in the unwelcoming room he’d chosen. He loved – loves – Bellamy, and he never dared admit it to himself other than on those rare mornings when he couldn’t escape the thoughts of him. He felt guilty over last night, but he pushed the feeling down as he tended to feel guilty over everything these days and he knew he couldn’t handle yet another thing. Murphy stayed in bed all day, ignoring the hunger pangs until he didn’t notice them anymore besides a vague lingering nausea.
This was by no means abnormal. Murphy was prone to wandering off and not being seen for a good few days by anybody on the Ring, and nobody on the Ring really worried because they knew he’d always turn back up (except for the days he almost hadn’t, but only Murphy, and just once, Monty, knew that). Murphy found it strange then when he began to hear muffled voices coming through the ventilation systems, until he realized that he’d forgotten how irritating Bellamy is and that he’d probably told everyone and they were out looking for him. Those who cared - and Murphy could tell that there were at least two of them because the voices were having a conversation with each other - at least enough to not want to have to deal with a dead body.
Murphy listened as the hours passed and the voices got louder and softer as they searched and Murphy was unsurprised that the voices belonged to Monty and Bellamy, since Monty had found him after he’d nearly gone through with it, and Bellamy refused to mind his own business. When the door opened and Murphy squinted into the light that was suddenly shed on his mess of a body, he found himself somewhat relieved that it was Monty’s face that peered through the door. Murphy knew that while Monty still didn’t like him all that much, he couldn’t stand to see another person commit suicide, not since he was unable to stop Jasper. Monty gave him just one look, and in a second Murphy was sobbing – he wasn’t sure how since he’d felt numb until Monty’s face appeared - and Monty was closing the door softly behind him and pulling Murphy’s form close to him, holding him in his arms as though he was a child.
“I know,” Monty murmured as he lightly stroked Murphy’s greasy hair, “I know.”
And Monty did know, because Murphy had let him read the note that he’d planned on leaving behind the day he almost did it. The time Monty found him. They had just sat in silence then and Murphy had been grateful.
Once Murphy had cried himself into lethargic silence, Monty slowly and gently removed himself from Murphy’s body with a promise of being back later with a bit of algae, and Murphy could tell he was relieved when he made a noise of disgust. Monty opened the door gently and the light flooded in, blinding Murphy momentarily as he slipped out through the crack. He closed the door behind him so softly Murphy barely heard it, and he turned his back to the door, huddling himself back up in his blankets, suddenly feeling exhausted again.
Murphy no longer heard the voices and he knew then that Monty had told the others (Bellamy) that he had found him. He let out a sigh, wrapping the sheet tighter around his body, knowing that soon his ability to make his own decisions was about to dwindle rapidly in the eyes of the group. The family that reluctantly took him in. He knew they regretted it. He could see it in their eyes that they know he’s useless. He could see them questioning how he managed to even survive for this long, and honestly, he wasn’t even sure anymore. He just wishes that maybe he hadn’t.
Monty came and left quietly, only the distinct scent of the algae and recycled urine there to remind him that he ever came back. Monty had run a gentle hand down Murphy’s shoulder. He’d felt his fingers in his hair. Murphy hadn’t moved, except for the exaggerated exhale he let out in order to let Monty know that he was, in fact, still breathing. Monty had left Murphy alone with the stench after that (of which Murphy realized was a mixture of himself and the algae but then decided he didn’t really care either way). Murphy drifted back into a restless slumber, the “food” and “water” laying untouched on the table.
His eyes blink open at the sound of a gentle knocking on the door. He sighs, snuggling himself into the covers deeper, wanting to go back to sleep and ignore whoever is behind the door. He didn’t need or want to see the fake looks of pain on their faces at his situation. He knows they pity him, but that doesn’t mean they care about him. He hears the knocking again, gentle and almost soothing. Until he hears the voice. “Murphy?” Bellamy’s voice is quiet and soft and Murphy isn’t sure if he wants to hang himself from the ceiling, throw up, or murder Bellamy. He chooses none of the above and snuggles deeper into the sheets, feeling unnaturally cold. He looks at his arm and thinks maybe he needs more fat on his bones and that he should really ingest something soon, the bone having become oddly visible and more skeletal than ever before. Even that time when his mother had been trading his rations for alcohol. He almost wanted to laugh. He could be a ghost with how pale and thin he’d gotten. He refused to look at his face, but he figured that he had dark enough circles.
“Murphy, please. Can I come in?” Bellamy’s voice is soothing in a way it hasn’t been in a long time, and in a way his mothers never was. He hears the shaky fear in the man’s voice, though, (a side effect of caring about him so much for so long), and he feels something in him cave. He also knows well enough that if he doesn’t give a sign of life soon, Bellamy will kick the door down without first checking to see if it was unlocked. He thinks that might be one of Bellamy’s worst character flaws but decides it’s unimportant.
“Murp—"
“What do you want, Bellamy?” His voice scares him when he speaks. He’s never sounded so devoid from emotion before.
“Murphy, are you okay? I’m so sorry—”
“Go float yourself.”
“Murphy—"
“Better yet, why don’t you let me go instead.”
Murphy’s door opens, not unexpectedly, with an angry crash and he takes a moment to himself before he turns over in the bed for the first time in who knows how long and smirks darkly at the red-faced Blake. “That’s not funny, Murphy.”
“I think it is. And you don’t get a say.”
“Murphy, it’s not. You shouldn’t joke about—”
“I said, you don’t get a say Bellamy. Not anymore. You lost that right a long time ago.” Murphy can’t look at Bellamy’s face anymore, not now that he sees the hurt seeping into Bellamy’s guarded and angry expression.
“Murphy, I didn’t know.”
“How could you have known.” Murphy feels like he’s about to be sick, his smirk growing more dead and somehow more twisted, unnatural.
“What?”
“You never cared, Bellamy. You were never around. You abandoned me the day you kicked the crate out from under me and you spent nearly every day after that making sure I knew where I stood with you. With the others. Up here it changed, but not enough that you could even manage to tell that a stranger was hurting, much less someone you fucked and then fucked over.”
“I saw… You were closed off, Murphy.”
Murphy finds the energy in the surge of anger to lift himself into a seated position on the bed, gripping the sides until his fingers turned white, trying to ground himself as he glared at the man he knew he’d always somehow love. “So it’s my fault that you didn’t see me struggling to decide whether or not to live? That you didn’t see me wondering every day since we’ve been up here if I should have left like Jasper. Thinking that maybe he had the right idea and that all of this shit is for nothing. Because I’m a survivor. That’s all I know how to do. Living… now, living, on the other hand, I don’t know how to do, because if I’m not surviving I’m thinking about all the ways I’ve fucked everything up for everyone and myself and about how useless I am now that we don’t have to figure out how to survive. We get to figure out how to live now and I don’t operate like that. So, yes. I was closed off, but if you really ever even cared, you would have just asked.” Murphy’s shocked at how forceful his voice sounds despite the fact that anyone could have heard how badly he was shaking through his hard, sarcastic tone.
“I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Is all Bellamy can say, his voice soft and Murphy hears it drop off at the end, cracking rough and pained, and Murphy turns his back on the beautiful man, not wanting to add his broken expression and reddened nose and eye-rims to his guilty conscience. He knew Bellamy was about to cry and he didn’t want to give a damn, so he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. Shortly after, he heard a shaky breath and the staggered thump of feet before the door was pulled jerkily and softly shut with a faint click, and Murphy felt his body relax as his mind found sleep filled with dreams of raven hair and brown puppy-dog eyes.
Murphy drinks the urine water. And the algae. Monty checks on him every few hours. Or days. He doesn’t know anymore and frankly doesn’t care, so the knock on the door isn’t surprising. It wakes him from his fever dream of guilt and shame over killing Charlotte and Connor and whatshisname and for hanging Bellamy. “John?”
The voice behind the door surprises him and he’s not sure if he wants to cry or hide or kill her, feeling embarrassment run hot through his body, knowing that Bellamy told her everything. “Yeah, Echo?” He tries not the let her hear how fragile he is.
“Can I come in?”
No. “Yes.”
The door opens slowly, and she peeks in before inching herself in bit by bit. There’s no pity in her face though, just calm observation, and he’s glad. The door closes with a gentle snick and then it’s just the two of them alone, quietly staring at each other. “You don’t have to do this, John.”
Murphy scoffs and she looks at him sharply. “Look, I don’t need your pity.”
“No. You don’t. You need my help, though.”
“Nobody can help me.” Murphy says, rolling his eyes, flopping back, and rolling to face the wall.
“I can. Bellamy can. Monty can. We all can, if you just give us a chance, and let us in.” Her voice is soft and it weirds him out, so he reacts the way he knows best.
“That’s rich, coming from you.” His snark is on point and he expects and half welcomes the thought of her beating the shit out of him or just turning on her heels and leaving. But she stays. And Murphy frowns at her small chuckle.
“You and I are more alike than I ever imagined. We push people back to keep us safe, and hurt them when they get too close. When we feel cornered.” He can feel her eyes burning holes into his back so he turns around out of spite, not knowing what to say because he knows she’s right to an extent. “We need people like Bellamy, Monty, the rest of them. The people who refuse to give up on people like us. Because without them we lose ourselves and we die.”
“They already gave up on me. A long time ago. All of them. Even Bellamy.” He tugs is mouth into a sad smile, not bothering to hide his pain as a tear slips past his defenses, cascading down his pale cheek.
“I haven’t. And they haven’t either. Why else would any of us be here if none of us cared.”
“Because the do-gooders will feel guilty that I offed myself on their watch. Plus, no one wants to deal with a dead body.” He sits up as he talks, dropping his head back against the wall and maintaining Echo’s frighteningly intense eye contact. “Quite a hard stare you’ve got. No wonder people are so afraid of you.”
“Don’t deflect.” Murphy realizes he’s touched a nerve and allows himself to feel a bit bad but doesn’t apologize for it. He can see now that her gentle façade has cracked that she’s the same woman she was before. Still awkward and weird about the feelings stuff, just a bit more open.
“Okay, then. Still doesn’t change the fact that half of the people out there would prefer me dead than alive.”
“That’s not true, John.”
“It is.”
“Bellamy doesn’t.”
“Sure he does. All he needs is another reason to be disappointed with me, and that’s sure to come soon, then he’ll be right back on the bandwagon.”
“I don’t think you give him enough credit.”
“Hard to do that when he’s busy kicking crates out from under me hours after fucking me.”
“That was a long time ago, Murphy.” Her voice is quiet and he realizes that Bellamy didn’t tell her about them. He worries that he’s messed up whatever they have going for them, because as much as he loves Bellamy, he doesn’t want to fuck up his relationship. He just wants him to be happy, and he can’t with Murphy going around messing everything up. “He still cares about you.”
“I’ve followed him blindly and been left behind and forgotten by him too many times to count, so forgive me if I don’t believe you when you tell me I’m one of his priorities.” His chuckle is bitter and dark, and Echo shifts awkwardly.
“What about Monty then? Hm?”
Murphy’s lips curl into a twisted grin. “Monty hates my guts. I tried to kill Jasper once and he never let it go. He just doesn’t want to see another person die.”
“Emori?”
“I was useful. We understood each other at the time, loved each other at the moment, but when push came to shove, we didn’t fit. And now she hates me too.”
“She doesn’t.”
“She does. I heard her tell Raven herself. Three days ago? A week ago? I don’t remember anymore. Two days before I made the mistake of yelling at Bellamy.”
Echo’s eyes flash with sadness and Murphy shift uncomfortably under the stoic woman’s gaze. “And what about Raven?”
“She hates me more than the lot of ‘em. With plenty of good reasons, too.”
“She forgives you for what you did, Murphy. I can see it in her eyes.”
“Doesn’t mean she didn’t try to hand me over instead of her grounder-murdering boyfriend. Or ex-boyfriend. I never understood what was up with all that. Also doesn’t change the fact that she tried to beat the shit out of me before we went up in this rocket.”
“Then she told you she wants you to survive.”
“She wanted us to survive because she couldn’t. She wanted me to survive so that someone could let everyone else know what happened to her after she left herself for dead.”
“Harper?”
“Monty hates me, and Harper is a lot more aggressive than Monty, so odds are she hates me even more.”
“Me?”
“You?”
“Me. Why would I want you to die, Murphy?”
“Because without Bellamy feeling sorry for me and having to pretend to care about me, you’d be able to have him. More closely than with me around because I ruin everything for everyone else. You’d be able to love him without him running after me when I try to kill myself and you wouldn’t have to worry about my feelings for him, and the fact that I can’t get over him and the fact that we fucked. And he’d be able to let himself love you because he wouldn’t be worrying about me every ten seconds when he inevitably finds out that I’m unstable and still desperately in love with the bastard. Really, I think that you’d have most reason to benefit from my dying. So why can’t you just let me?” He says, knowing full well that they’re not the ones stopping him. He’s just too much of a coward at the moment to go through with it.
Echo is staring at him in shock and he shifts uncomfortably. Her mouth opens and closes a few times and Murphy shakes his head, rolling his eyes. He lays down facing the wall and pulls the covers over his head, hoping that she gets that he’s decided that the conversation is over.
“John, that’s not—”
“Yes, it is. Now please leave. I won’t kill myself tonight if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Murphy, I loved Roan. The man I loved died, and I would have died for him. I’m still grieving him.”
“Don’t lie to me. Plus, it’s been five years. Doesn’t mean you haven’t at least moved on.”
“I’m not lying, Murphy. I care about Bellamy, but nothing could ever happen between us. Not after what happened with Roan. Even if I loved Bellamy, I wouldn’t be able to love him like I loved Roan and that’s not fair to him. Not the way you—”
“Get the fuck out.” Murphy’s voice is tired, and she stops. He hears her take in a breath, hesitating, before turning, opening the door, and leaving him alone in his room when the door clicks closed. She leaves because he’s just like her. She knows he won’t listen to her, not right now. Murphy closes his eyes and lets himself drift off into deep slumber.
Murphy wakes up, and he realizes that he’s no longer as numb as he was when he fell asleep, realizes that maybe this bad episode has started to pass and will pass with him still alive yet again. He sighs, feeling the guilt over how he’s been acting prickling his skin. He wishes he could cope better. He rubs at his eyes, knowing he has to apologize to Bellamy because it wasn’t fair to the man to insinuate that it was his fault that Murphy had gotten this bad, that it was his fault for not noticing, because Murphy knew he hid it well enough until that day. He knew that Bellamy would have helped if he knew and that he’s probably wracking his brain and blaming himself for all the times that he realized Murphy was acting off.
He pulls his aching body into a sitting position and drops his head into his hands, procrastinating his return to the synthetic world outside his door. Murphy jerks back in shock as his door is thrown open and light storms its way into his pitch-black room, burning his retinas. He wonders if maybe he’s died and that’s why he feels less negative. “God? I get that you’re mad—”
“Not God, just me… Should I be worried?” Bellamy’s voice interrupts Murphy’s confused thoughts. He looks back up and sees Bellamy’s mess of curls atop the figure Murphy had assumed was an angel come to take him away.
“Oh. It’s just you.” He looks up at the ceiling. “Why have you forsaken me?”
“Shut up, Murphy.” Bellamy’s face is soft, and his voice is soft, and everything about him is gentle and Murphy doesn’t like it because it means that Bellamy’s walking on eggshells around him and this is exactly why he didn’t want him to know. Except that he also did want him to know. Murphy thinks that brains are too complicated.
“Fuck off, Bellamy.” Murphy’s voice is all snark in his response.
Bellamy ignores his remark with a practiced ease. “I heard Echo talked to you two days ago.”
“Two days?” Murphy recalls the encounter being no later than last night.
“Yeah. You slept all through yesterday. I thought you’d gone through with it. Scared Monty half to death when he came in to give you food.” Bellamy’s eyes are gentle and Murphy doesn’t like seeing the calmness behind them.
“He should have just kicked me. I would have woken up.” Murphy pouts slightly, feeling less alarmed than he probably should have that he’d lost an entire day.
“He thought you needed to sleep. Are you feeling any better?” Bellamy asks, and Murphy looks up at him dubiously. “It’s okay if you don’t, I just want to know. I care about you, Murphy.”
“Echo told you didn’t she. That’s why you’re here.” Murphy says, watching as Bellamy’s face changes from concern to something else… guilt? Murphy can’t pinpoint the exact emotion, but he can read Bellamy well enough to know that he’s right.
“Murphy, I—” Bellamy starts.
“I don’t need you to pretend Bellamy. She told you. But it’s fine. I’m over it, so you can go off with your girlfriend and—”
“Murphy, Echo isn’t my girlfriend. I’ve never wanted her to be my girlfriend. We’re good friends but…” Bellamy trails off, looking around the room uncertainly.
“But what, Bellamy? You don’t want the crazy’s blood on the floors so you’re just going to pretend that she doesn’t mean something to you?” Murphy laughs at the man in front of him. “Seriously, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’m always fine in the end. See? Not dead yet.”
“The yet is what scares me, Murphy. I don’t think you’re crazy. I know you need help. And I know you need us, but I’m not lying to you. Echo is nothing but my friend and always has been just that because I’m in love with you. I have been since I first saw you. And yes, to be fair, I pretended and wished that I wasn’t for a long time because I hoped it would justify everything I did to you and everything that happened afterwards. But I still love you. Now more than ever.”
“Bellamy, stop—”
“No, Murphy. I’m so sorry that you felt like you were alone. That you felt like I didn’t want you because that’s not what I meant to happen. And when you had Emori I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore, so I gave up. On you and on us and I didn’t think that you cared. I’m so sorry for not noticing how much you were hurting. I’m sorry for not calling you out on the changes I saw in you after you came back from the City of Light, regardless of your relationship. I’m sorry for assuming Emori was the reason behind all of it. I don’t want you to die. I’ve never wanted you to die and I’ve regretted kicking that crate out from under you every day since. It haunts me every night to know what I did to you. But you have no idea how relieved I was –am—that you survived. That you’re still here to be John Murphy. My John Murphy that I grew to know. Because I’ve fallen more and more in love with you the longer I knew you, each day that I saw you grow and change. And I was afraid that it was Emori that made you better but I know now that it was you that made you better.”
“Don’t you see Bellamy? I’m not better. I’m worse. All of this shit—”
“No, Murphy. You are a good man, and you’re the only one who made you that way. And I need you. I need you to live. Because I would be dead many times over without you. And I know that if you died it would kill me inside. I need you to live. And I don’t care if it’s because of me or if it’s for anyone else. I just need you here and to know you’re safe. Because I care about you.”
“Bellamy… I don’t…” Murphy feels his eyes welling with tears, his gut churning with anxiety, fear, and… hope? He looks away from Bellamy, only for the man to walk a few steps closer and into his line of sight, bending slightly to make eye-contact.
Bellamy watches Murphy for a few moments before the corners of his lips pull up slightly in a sad smile of recognition. “It’s okay if you don’t trust me. Or if you don’t believe me yet. I just need you to hear that I will be there for you from now on, no matter what. And I have to hope that one day I can be worthy enough to earn back your trust. And I have to hope that there will come a day where you look at yourself and you love yourself for who you are.”
“Shut up, Bellamy. Of course I do.” Murphy snorts, rolling his eyes.
“Of course you what?” Bellamy asks.
“What you said.”
“Murphy. I’m not going to believe you until you’re able to say it.” Bellamy’s voice is soft, and he steps slightly closer, crouching in front of Murphy. His hand reaches out slightly and he brushes his fingers against Murphy’s. Murphy looks away, a tear spilling down his cheek. “And until you’re able to say it, I will.” Bellamy reaches up softly and cups Murphy’s face, smoothing away the tear in the process and turning Murphy’s face back towards his. “You’re not worthless, Murphy.”
With that Murphy’s sobbing, his arms pulling tight around himself and Bellamy is clutching him against his chest, wrapping him in his arms so tight Murphy isn’t sure that he’ll ever let go. Murphy cries against Bellamy’s chest and the man absorbs his sobs in such a soothing way Murphy feels his body shake even harder. He finds himself hesitating before he clutches at Bellamy’s shirt, accepting the embrace fully. Bellamy shifts them then, giving Murphy the opportunity to reciprocate the hug. And he does. Wholeheartedly clutching at Bellamy, he thinks he feels more accepted than he ever has with anyone else besides his father before he was floated.
“Thank you for seeing me. And not just my issues.” Murphy says, once the sobs have stopped and he’s still wrapped tight in Bellamy’s arms, realizing they’ve made their way to the floor.
“I’ll always see you. As long as you’re around.” Bellamy’s voice catches and Murphy pulls back slightly in time to see Bellamy swipe tears away from his eyes. Murphy’s heart clenches and he burrows his head back into Bellamy’s chest, allowing him to have a moment. He takes a deep breath, inhaling his scent and feeling his heart calm in his embrace.
“I’m still not okay. I won’t be for a long while. Maybe never. I still might…” Murphy trails off and pulls himself back from Bellamy again, sitting against the bunk.
Bellamy nods and allows him to pull back, sitting close, letting their knees touch. “I know. I just want you to know that no matter what, I’ll be here. Even if you don’t want to be with me now or ever. I just want to help you. Every day. Whenever you need someone. Even if you don’t want anyone.”
“This isn’t just about feeling alone, Bellamy.”
“I know. And that’s okay. I know that this is something you need to work on for yourself. Just know that you can come to me for anything, no matter what. When you feel low, tell me, when you feel good, tell me, when you think you might kill yourself, tell me. Tell Monty or Echo. Just tell us and we’ll be there.” Bellamy takes his hand softly, an act of intimate friendship and Murphy smiles slightly, resting his head on Bellamy’s shoulder, already exhausted at all the feelings he’s had since waking up.
“He’s right.” Monty says, hesitantly appearing in the doorway with an uncomfortable looking Echo. “No matter what, you can talk to us. We all want to help you, and we all want you to stay with us for a long time. You are our family. And we are yours. We won’t leave you. Ever again. You’ll always have us. Even when you’re annoying.” Monty grins, causing Murphy’s smile to grow ever so slightly. He looks at Echo half hiding behind Monty and the doorframe. She gives Murphy a small, knowing nod and Murphy nods back in recognition. She knows how he feels. She knows they’ll try to help him.
Murphy looks around at his small family from Bellamy’s shoulder and feels his heart swell with acceptance and love. He knows it won’t stay, and it won’t be this easy for ever. He’ll continue to have good and bad days. He’ll still have days where he wants nothing more than to lose to himself, but for now he thinks that maybe he won’t have to feel that way forever. Looking at his family, he knows that one day he’ll learn how to love the pieces of himself that he hates every day as he learns to believe they love him, learns to let them love him. That day is not today, but he allows the hope to fill him. The hope for the day when the light at then end of the tunnel doesn’t feel so far away. With he support of his family, Murphy knows, for at least today, that he will reach a day where he can stand alone, look himself in the mirror and say, “I’m not worthless.”.
“Ok.” Murphy murmurs, and while the word is small, he finally feels like he takes a step in the right direction.