Work Text:
John Murphy is with Bellamy Blake for two weeks- fourteen days before his heart is broken. That's gotta be a record or something.
"Hey, Mbege!" a deep voice calls from behind them. Murphy turns sharply, annoyed at the interruption in the conversation. He recognises him- the guard from the dropship; tall and dark haired.
"Bellamy." Mbege smiles and salutes him from where they're standing.
"Who's your friend?" Bellamy's voice carries well over the noise of the other kids, and Murphy's kind of embarrassed when he has to shout.
"It’s Murphy!" he rocks forwards on the balls of his feet and almost overbalances.
"You got a first name, Murphy?" Bellamy's smirking by the trees, arms crossed over his chest.
Murphy laughs bitterly. "Not one that you'll get to know." he says before flouncing off, deciding that he's definitely had enough of Bellamy whoever.
//
Bellamy's a natural leader, and soon he becomes the voice of authority in camp. Murphy learns that Mbege and Bellamy knew each other from the ark, and is less than pleased when Bellamy sends both of them out to do his work.
But Murphy likes following orders. He likes having things to do, a task to put his mind to. So he kind of ends up doing whatever Bellamy says.
It starts out as orders and a curt nod each morning, but Murphy starts to notice Bellamy lingering after Mbege has gone. He starts to talk to Murphy- general chitchat, straying farther from the subject of work every day. Murphy also starts to notice the prolonged eye contact, and Bellamy "accidentally" brushing against his shoulder one too many times.
But he likes talking to Bellamy because he really listens, he likes the way he raises his eyebrows when Murphy says something stupid, the way his lips quirk up at the corners, and the way his hair looks when he's just woken up and stumbles out of his tent.
(The voice in the back of his head is telling him that he's going to get hurt, but Murphy's never been good at listening to advice.)
//
On the second night Bellamy asks Murphy to train with him. He begrudgingly agrees, following the older boy to the edge of camp.
They spend a few minutes in silence, Murphy attempting to clean the dirt off his shoes and Bellamy sharpening his knife.
When he's finished he throws the knife smoothly and it slices through rough bark, lodged firmly in the tree trunk opposite them.
"That’s so cool." Murphy doesn't mean to say it out loud, but when Bellamy turns to him and smiles he doesn't regret it.
"You want me to show you how?"
Murphy shrugs and pulls his own knife from the pocket of his jacket. "Sure."
Murphy's shit at throwing, and Bellamy stifles a laugh when he misses the tree by a foot and has to search for his knife in a nearby bush.
He's a quick learner though, and soon he's almost as accurate as Bellamy, but needs to put more force behind his throw.
Bellamy runs his finger over the small J.M. etched into the metal from the dropship.
"Your first name starts with a J?" he asks, handing the knife to Murphy.
Murphy just raises an eyebrow and throws again, gasping when the knife plummets into the tree.
Bellamy grins and Murphy whoops; arms raised in the air. The setting sun is illuminating Bellamy; the light falling across his face like liquid gold. Bellamy reminds him of a God.
//
On the fourth night Bellamy grabs his shoulder and leans in closer than he needs to.
"You wanna get out of here?" he says lowly, his hand still on Murphy's shoulder.
His face is open and genuine, freckles standing out against the silvery light of the moon. Murphy swallows, but doesn't hesitate when he says yes.
Bellamy smiles at him bright and wide, and tells him to wait where he is. He's back soon with two sleeping bags and he tosses one to Murphy, trailing him out of camp.
They lie in the woods under the glow of the moon and the stars. Bellamy points out all the constellations, and tells Murphy the stories behind each one. Murphy laughs at the names of the Greek heroes and offers his opinion on what to do when faced with a Cerberus.
"Knock all three of its heads together, that’s what I’d fucking do."
Bellamy chuckles throatily and goes on to tell him the story of Orion, but Murphy doesn't miss the softness in his eyes, the way he stretches and his hand lands suspiciously near the boy beside him. Or how he pretends not to notice when Murphy entwines their fingers together on a whim.
"The stars look different from down here." Murphy says, hoping that it’s too dark for Bellamy to see him blushing.
He nods, staring at the sky like the stars hold the secrets to the universe. "Makes you realise how small Earth is."
"Yeah it does."
//
On the sixth night Murphy finds himself in Bellamy's tent, nestled among the threadbare blankets with a cup of moonshine in his hands.
Bellamy takes a shot and his adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he tips his head back, inky curls following the movement.
Murphy can feel himself staring and scrambles for something to say. "What’s your favourite thing about earth?" he says- his voice ringing out against the soundtrack of the night; crickets and the wind blowing through the trees.
Bellamy looks around and shrugs his shoulders. "I’m not sure. The sun maybe? Fresh air?" he smiles suddenly, his face lighting up. "No, water- the lakes. You ever been?"
Murphy shakes his head no.
"I’ll take you then. We can go tomorrow, make a day out of it. Explore the lands, get to know the territory." Bellamy looks genuinely excited and Murphy falters, one eyebrow raised.
"Kind of sounds like a date."
"Do you want it to be a date?"
"Wouldn’t mind."
They drink until early dawn before Murphy stumbles back to his tent, smiling smugly with his hands shoved into his pockets.
//
Bellamy dives into the lake, back muscles stretching and moving the freckles scattered across his dark skin. He taunts Murphy when he remerges, dark hair plastered to his forehead as he calls from the water.
They wrestle playfully; shouting half-hearted insults and laughing, flinging pieces of seaweed at each other like kids.
Before long they both still, chests heaving and dopey smiles on their faces. Bellamy's callus hands trail over Murphy's shoulders and linger there.
Bellamy kisses Murphy in the lake under the shade of the trees, light from the sun shining through the branches and dappling the water with iridescent light.
It’s slow and sweet- the way first times usually are. Murphy is euphoric, and for the first time in a long time he feels genuinely happy.
(The voice in the back of his head keeps telling him that he's going to get hurt, but Murphy doesn't care anymore. He'd rather be hurt by Bellamy than the empty thoughts in his own head.)
//
On the ninth night Murphy moves into Bellamy's tent.
"Come to my tent after dinner. And stay this time." Bellamy asks, his eyes wide and painfully honest.
Murphy agrees, and he makes a home for himself among the blankets and soft shirts, even though he doesn't really know what home feels like anymore.
"Murphy?"
He grunts something that might be a yes while unlacing his dirty boots.
"I still don’t know your first name."
Murphy's hand slips.
"I mean, you don’t have to tell me. I get it, you don’t want to get attached or whate-"
"John. It's John Murphy." he murmurs quietly, and hates himself when he feels the sharp sting of tears behind his eyes.
Bellamy is silent for a moment before he pulls Murphy in to hug him.
Murphy cries into the crook of Bellamy's neck. He cries for his father, his mother and for all the things he's repressed and covered up with bitter humour.
Hours later and Murphy has told Bellamy everything- the flu, his father, his mother, his time in isolation.
And Bellamy has done the same- his mother, Octavia, the guards, his time as a janitor.
He smiles, and it's bittersweet.
"I like you, John Murphy." his name sounds different on Bellamy's tongue, like there's meaning behind his words- like Murphy's someone important, someone who's name is worth remembering.
And when they fall asleep; their legs entangled and Bellamy's arm around Murphy's shoulder, Murphy's last semi coherent thought is that he's drowning in Bellamy Blake's brown eyes, his dark freckles, his gentle touches. He's in too deep and he's fine with it.
//
On the eleventh night Murphy feels trapped. There's no rational reason, but he isn’t used to soft smiles and Bellamy encouraging him to talk about how he's feeling. It's all a little too good to be true and Murphy doesn't feel like he deserves it.
So he runs.
He avoids Bellamy by keeping his distance when he sees him across camp. Bellamy understands that Murphy needs time alone and gives him a couple hours of space.
But Murphy finds himself sitting in Bellamy's tent, staring bleakly at nothing and hugging his knees. He stays there for an hour or so- until Bellamy pulls back the canvas sheets that act as walls and sits beside him.
"Why are you avoiding me Murphy?" Bellamy doesn’t turn to look at him, instead focusing his eyes on the ceiling. His hair is swept back, and his cheeks are tinted pink from the wind outside.
Murphy shrugs. "Because I’m not worth any of this."
"Bullshit."
Murphy has no response. The only sounds are the muffled noise from outside until they settle in the blankets. There seems to be an unspoken agreement to end the conversation there.
Murphy shakes Bellamy awake a few hours later.
"I know this is going to end someday Bell, and I’m scared."
Bellamy just runs his hand through Murphy's hair, looking at him with a sad half smile on his face before rolling over and going back to sleep.
//
The next few days feel off. Bellamy takes his job more seriously and Murphy ends up pushed to the sideline; becoming someone to talk to at night, someone to hold when Bellamy feels lonely or stressed out.
He hates it. But it’s the only good thing that has happened to him for God knows how long and despite what he feels he can’t bring himself to end it.
//
On the fourteenth night everything falls apart.
Murphy knew that he was disliked around camp- he's abrasive and maybe a little bit of a jackass. Not many understand his sense of humour and he's usually met with looks of disgust or pity.
He's used to it.
But when it's Murphy's knife that's found next to Wells Jaha's body, no one is willing to believe that it wasn't him.
Clarke storms over to him, hurling accusations at him in front of the other kids. He responds with blunt answers.
"I know what you did. And you're gonna pay for it." She looks him dead in the eyes and he wants the ground to swallow him whole.
"Really?"
He's tense and anxious and his stomach is churning- but he puts up a brave front, because that's all he can do.
"Bellamy you really believe this crap?"
Bellamy shifts uncomfortably beside Octavia, arms crossed over his chest. He just stares at him. And it feels like a punch in the face.
"You threatened to kill him. We all heard you- you hated Wells."
He can hear Clarke talking, bitter and angry. And he can hear himself talking too, but he isn’t really registering what he's saying.
"Come on, this is ridiculous. I don’t have to answer to you- I don’t have to answer to anyone!" he throws his arms in the air and walks wildly around the circle of kids gathered around him.
"Come again?"
Murphy stops in his tracks.
There's a brief flicker of hope in him and he rushes towards Bellamy.
"Bellamy look, i'm telling you man- i didn't do this." he stands closer to him than he should.
"they found his fingers on the ground with your knife." Bellamy's arms are still crossed and his face is stern, his jaw set.
Murphy swallows thickly and looks away.
"I say we float him."
"It’s justice!" someone shouts from the back of the crowd, and Murphy turns his head so fast he could have whiplash. He searches for somebody, anybody who is disagreeing. He finds no one.
"Float him!" his head spins as the crowd of people chant the words with brutal vehemency.
He runs forward on impulse and crashes to the floor. He doubles in on himself as people start kicking him. People who said they were his allies, people he grew up with on the ark. He can't look up and see where Bellamy is- he's being held and his ears are ringing with the sound of shouting.
He's shoved into the mud and punched in the face- utterly fucking defenceless with his hands bound and a gag around his mouth.
But when he's being strung up he can see Bellamy- he holds eye contact with him and tries to say his name over and over. But Bellamy isn't listening anymore. He's surging forward and kicking the crate out from under his feet. His entire world stops and he feels pressure around his throat and his chest tightening.
(The voice in the back of his head told him that he was going to get hurt. He just didn't imagine that it would be like this.)