Un:

His tent is too far away for anyone to notice.

People like to call Murphy dumb, or thick-headed, or illiterate, and while they all might be right, he always has a plan. This is just a part of it. This is just one, small part of it, he tells himself.

He tells himself this so he doesn't lose his mind.

Too late.

There's trees. A lot of them, actually. More than he can count on both hands combined. It's a - shoot. He doesn't know. He didn't learn what this was...what is it…

A forest. He's in a forest, and the night is black, forcing him down into the ground. He keeps going, anyways. He may not have learned about the wilderness but he sure as hell learned how to keep going -

Until, of course, he stops, roots seeping out of the floor and grabbing his ankles. He can't move. The wind grows colder. Eyes flash in the darkness. Someone calls out - maybe it's him.

"Whoever's there," he yells, "come out, please, just-"

The roots tied to his feet constrict, drawing his knees together. He falls. The ground hits him, hard. His legs begin to sink, the dirt pulling him in.

He cannot escape. He will not escape. He is not meant to escape.

Someone steps out of the shadows and he thinks, this is it, I die here or he kills me and -

There's no way for him to know. He does not look up to meet the eyes of the suspicious person. The ground swallows him up first.

Murphy wakes with a yell, instantly throwing a hand over his mouth to stop the sound that keeps escaping. Tears sting in his eyes but he bites his tongue until he tastes copper. Good.

When the moment passes, he stops, he waits, he hears - nothing. Nobody heard his cries. Nobody is coming to yell at him and call him crazy. Nobody is coming.

His tent is too far away from the camp for anyone to notice, anyways.

The night outside is black, but it feels darker inside the tent. This is only one night of many in which he chooses to spend it outside, away from the idea of sleep. After everything, he can't imagine sleeping peacefully. It's probably for the best.

He finds his way to a small clearing, in the corner next to the wall. The ground looks inviting this time. As he sits, he thinks vaguely that maybe it will swallow him up. He can't find the harm in it.

Arkadia lies behind him, the metal somehow glimmering without the presence of light. Emori is somewhere inside, with a warm room and a warm bed and hopefully a warm sleep. She's invited him to stay there, every night. She's asked if she could stay in his tent. His heart aches for her, for anybody , but it's better this way.

Does he deserve it? He's not sure. Sometimes he likes to think about what would have happened if he wasn't here, if the sickness had killed him back on the Ark, if his father -

"Murphy."

The voice sends chills through his body but he continues to bite his tongue. He will not let his weakness get the best of him, not again. He doesn't respond to the mysterious person, partly because he doesn't know what to say for himself.

"Murphy," it says again, and this time Murphy raises his head to look. Bellamy stands only a few inches behind him, as if he wants to sit next to him but he's afraid to get closer. Murphy can't blame him, though a part of him breaks when he sees the fear.

"Bellamy," Murphy says, turning away. "What are you doing out here?"

"I came to ask you that." Someone is sitting beside him and oh no no no he's got to run and - oh. Right. He knew this was coming. If Bellamy notices the war raging inside Murphy's mind he does not give an indication.

"Sure," Murphy finally says. He does not elaborate.

"Come inside," Bellamy replies, quickly, too quickly. There's another agenda going on. He knows it.

Some may call him cynical or an over thinker, but Murphy is smart. He has spent his entire life feeling guilty, over his father, over Charlotte, over the innocent people that he killed, over Raven. He was wrong for all of it. And then - well - there was her , and she - he stops. It's no good to think about it. If he thinks about it, he can feel the chain wrapped around his neck, pulling, twisting, slicing -

"Murphy?" Shoot. That's Bellamy again. He's got to find a way to get him to go away. Too many people have been hurt by his actions and Murphy would rather go back to her then let the next victim be Bellamy.

"I'm fine out here," he finally says. "I like it."

"Okay," Bellamy says. "But Emori's worried about you."

Murphy gives a faint smile, but his eyes turn towards the ground. Emori has his heart, and she knows it. "She sent you out here, didn't she."

"Yeah, she gave me the idea," he agrees, "but I'm worried about you, too."

Murphy's gaze doesn't move. He doesn't know how much more of this he can take. "Well, you don't have to be. See? I'm here. I'm fine. All is good in the world, isn't it?"

Bellamy lets out a laugh, low and from the heart. "I can tell when people are lying to me, you know."

"Uh-huh."

"Murphy."

"Bellamy, please -"

"Just tell me what's the matter."

What's the matter? What's the matter? How can he - how does he expect him to - how how how how how - it's the question that's been raging around in his mind for days on end and yet, he can't answer it. Murphy has everything, he does. A home, someone he cares about - he only needs one - and people that don't hate him as much as they could. He's okay here, and yet, if he closes his eyes the ground is swallowing him up and chains are around his neck and she is there and his hand is on her heart -

"Who are you talking about?"

The air is still. Murphy isn't sure how much has been said aloud. He says nothing at all.

"Murphy, you can talk to me about - about whatever it is." A pause. "You said your hand was on her heart. Are you - Are you talking about Ontari? From when you were keeping Clarke alive?"

Chills race up his spine but he doesn't move, he will not move , he will not show weakness.

The ground is looking inviting.

"Murphy, what happened with Ontari?" It's the worry in Bellamy's voice that he can't take.

"I did what I had to do," Murphy finally settles on. It's not far off the truth. He's still not completely sure why he hasn't run away, but Bellamy has a way of trapping him, he guesses.

Bellamy doesn't say anything, but the gesture is there, and then - a hand is on his shoulder, caressing gently, and it's that sweet, gentle touch that forces him to open because my god , that touch is different than hers.

"The chain was around my neck," he says. "I couldn't run. I didn't - I didn't know how to stop her, but she wanted to - she wanted to relax, I guess, I don't know. I did whatever I could to get out of it, but it wasn't going to happen. I did what I had to do to survive, no different than any of you here."

Bellamy doesn't get it at first, he can tell, but the silence that consumes the pair reveals all. A sharp inhale sounds to his left and that's when he knows , he knows that he failed - he let his weakness reach another. "Oh, god," Bellamy whispers. The hand does not leave Murphy's shoulder - if anything, the grip tightens.

"It's okay," Murphy lies. "She's dead now, isn't she?"

"I'm sorry you were the one that kept her blood beating."

Murphy swallows, hard and jagged. "It was for Clarke."

"I'm still sorry. It shouldn't have been you."

Murphy laughs dryly. "Maybe."

"Do you want to come inside?"

The lights of Arkadia are still, somehow, glimmering. "No," Murphy decides. "I - I'm going to go back to my tent. Sorry for keeping you up."

"I'll go back with you."

And the thing is, despite everything, despite everything he's done, Murphy can't find it within himself to say no.

The forest is angry, beckoning, harsh. The roots around his ankles grow tighter as he struggles. He's fighting, for the first time in a long time, but he's still going down down down -

Eyes flash in the darkness. They belong to someone else, standing right in front of him. Murphy works up the courage to meet his gaze. Bellamy is standing in front of him, eyes bright, mouth twisted into a smile. He offers a hand.

When Murphy wakes, it is with a blink and a smile and a small laugh as he watches Bellamy's chest rise and fall. It's okay. Some noise is okay.

His tent is too far away for anyone to notice, anyways.

Deux:

Bellamy doesn't wake for a long time. His features remain soft despite, Murphy guesses, the fierce, raging thoughts going to war inside his mind. How he manages to look so peaceful, Murphy has no idea. He will have to take notes.

Winter is dragging itself into reality. Murphy's tent is not prepared for this, and frankly, neither is he. Upon arrival in Arkadia he simply swapped out his thin gray shirt for another one. It was not that cold in space.

Bellamy stirs beside him, just as Murphy was about to leave so as to avoid the awkward conversation that will no doubt ensue. Last night's memories begin to flood into his mind. His insides twist when he realizes how much he's given up about himself and just how thin is walls are for Bellamy.

"Murphy?" Bellamy says, groggily, before sitting and falling into silence. He remembers , Murphy thinks, cursing slightly.

He's not sure what to say. "Morning," he finally settles on. "I'm just about to head out."

He rises, gaze down and heart averted, but a hand grabs his arm and pulls him back. "Don't," Bellamy says. Morning fog is still leaving his voice.

When Murphy doesn't respond, Bellamy takes it as a cue to elaborate. "You opened up to me, last night, and I'm glad that you did. I don't want it to stop there."

It's so sickeningly heartwarming that Murphy isn't sure whether to vomit or cry. Maybe both. He doesn't know how to handle situations like this, he - he has to leave.

"Right, thanks," he says, dry as ever. In his mind he's standing up and getting out of the tent and running, running faster than he's ever run before and leaving this behind and yet - he has not moved.

"I'm serious," Bellamy continues, sitting up fully and turning to face him. They're uncomfortably close. "I missed you, okay?"

Murphy finds the strength to look at the corner of Bellamy's face, but then he knows. The realization hits him in the face and he almost falls. Physically, he's exhausted, but mentally, he becomes enraged because of course he fell for Bellamy's words, of course he did, he always has, always will. "I get it," he says, slowly, careful to say every word. "You pity me."

Bellamy looks confused, and that hurts even more. The cold is not biting anymore, but his wounds still sting. "Murphy, no-"

"I told you what happened, because I wasn't thinking right, and now you pity me. Well, guess what, I don't need your pity, I'm doing just fine, thank you-"

The hand is back on his arm. He moves, he twists, he shakes, but the hand remains. He cannot escape and the chain is around his neck except - he feels free.

His touch is soft. For a moment, he is back on the bed, his eyes shut in fear but she doesn't notice because she is all hands, all tight, all rough, but - he cannot be there anymore, for he is all soft, all light, all kind .

Murphy does not know what kindness is, but - he thinks he's starting to learn.

"Okay," Murphy admits. "Fine. Sure. I - I guess I missed you, too, okay?"

Bellamy's smile slips to his face, but it's a more of an amused one, instead of sympathy. "Alright," Bellamy says, "C'mon."

Murphy's eyebrows knit together. "I thought you wanted me to stay here."

"No." Bellamy doesn't elaborate, and instead chooses to stand. His hand leaves Murphy's arm and he feels dizzy, set free too soon, but he stands anyways. "I want you to come with me."

"And where exactly are we going?"

"You'll see."

He doesn't like the sound of that. He doesn't like to not be in control but - maybe he'll let it slide, just this once.

They walk in silence up to the Ark itself, still silent with the morning air. A few people mill about, rubbing their eyes, but no one gives them a second look. "Right," Bellamy says, leading him inside the Ark into one of the side rooms. "Take your pick."

It's then that Murphy wants to cry.

He is standing in a supply closet, but this is not an ordinary closet of tools and scraps and emergency equipment, no - Murphy is standing in front of rows and rows of clothes.

"What do you mean?" Murphy asks, because he - well - he doesn't know what to do with this.

Bellamy laughs. "I mean , take your pick. It's almost winter, and even if you insist sleeping outside every night, I'm not about to let you - anyone - stay in a t-shirt the whole season."

"I like this shirt," Murphy whispers, but it's a self-defense whisper if anything. Bellamy laughs again, but then stands in silence, waiting. It's too much. "I don't know," Murphy finally says. "You pick."

Bellamy doesn't laugh at that one, instead looking Murphy up and down, and then grabbing choice items that hang and lie on the shelves. He is about to place them in Murphy's hands, before he stops. "Actually," he says, "there's something else you should do before I give you these."

This is more like it. Murphy nods. He knows that he has to earn things like this, things like choice, like this closet, like Bellamy's kindness. "What is it?"

"Talk to Emori."

Murphy's mouth goes dry. "About what?"

"Murphy." And, well, he knows this, too.

"I can't just - it's not just something I tell people, Blake." Maybe using this name will distance himself from this, this idea, the pile of jackets and gloves resting in Bellamy's arms.

It doesn't work.

"Talk to her," Bellamy says, again. "It will - It will help her, too." He has Murphy with that one.

A huff escapes Murphy's lips before he nods, thinking maybe he can fake this one and then leave it all far behind. "Sure," he says. "Whatever, I guess."

"Great!" Bellamy says. "I'll drop these off in your tent. Find me when you're done, yeah?"

Murphy just nods, and Bellamy returns it before departing. Several minutes tick by before Murphy finds it in him to make his feet work, to travel across the Ark. He avoids stopping at any other exits before he finds himself standing in front of the door to Emori's room. It's small, and tight, but Emori wanted it this way.

He breathes, and raises a hand. It's several more breaths before he quietly knocks. The door opens almost immediately, her smile resting and easy. "John," she says, opening the door wider and inviting him inside.

"Thanks," he says, because he can't be witty and sarcastic and jaded with her.

"I'm glad to see you," she says. "Finally listened to me and came inside, I see."

"Yeah, I-"

It all stops there. His eyes catch sight of the bed and his words doesn't make it out of his throat. His eyes narrow, looking for an escape, any escape, because the chain is around his neck and he doesn't want this, he doesn't want this, why doesn't she understand -

Arms are holding him tightly, bringing him to awareness. He realizes now that he is crying. "Oh," he lets out, and the arms only hold him tighter.

Emori draws away, but she stays close. "Talk to me," she whispers.

And, well, he does.

She listens, her eyes never leaving his. When he moves his head away, she gently touches his chin and turns it back to her. When he moves a hand to rub his neck, she stops and grabs it. When chills run through his body, her grip does not falter.

Murphy finishes with a, "I did what I had to do to survive," and silence falls.

Emori, thankfully, is the one to break it. "Oh, John," she says, "You should have told me sooner."

"I know," he says. "I was - I am ashamed."

"I know," she says. She doesn't try to change his mind, and that in itself is persuasive.

"Anyway," he sighs, "I have to - I guess I have to meet Bellamy."

Emori laughs under her breath. "Oh, no need. He brought your things here before you came."

Murphy's eyes travel to the table sitting at the other end of the room. The pile of clothes Bellamy picked out lies there, along with a folded up tent and what little things had been lying in it. He realizes he must have been standing alone in the supply closet for far longer than he thought.

"You're staying here tonight," Emori decides. Murphy doesn't fight her.

"Okay," he says. "Maybe, um - tomorrow, too?"

She smiles, and so does he.

In his dreams, the chain is around his neck, but she is replaced by a girl with the most beautiful laugh and a hand that, while disfigured, is far softer than she could ever hope to be. That hand holds the key. The chain falls away.

In his dreams, he is free, and in reality, he finally understands what this means.