"Come here." Bellamy's voice is a low rumble, so close to Murphy's ear that he can feel the heat of Bellamy's breath.
Make me, he wants to say, but they both know Bellamy can.
Still, Murphy doesn't turn. He doesn't look at them, because he's afraid to. Because if he turns to them, he sees what he did to them. He sees himself mirrored in their eyes, a traitor looking back at him.
What he did—what he almost did.
What he would have done.
"John."
Murphy flinches. "Last person who called me John was fake-Clarke," he said. "With her immortality bullshit."
Bellamy's broad, calloused hand descends on Murphy's shoulder. "Enough," he says, and there's an edge there now, beneath that calm.
There's something in John Murphy that craves that sharp edge inside Bellamy, something that shouts piss him off. Keep going. Keep going, and see what you can make him do to you.
Murphy looks down at his glass, at the dark amber liquid, and swirls it idly. He lifts it to his lips, and then it's knocked from his hand, whiskey sloshing down his chin and his shirt. Fuck he cannot do this conversation without it.
He whirls on Bellamy, whose mouth is a flat, grim line.
But that damn calm is still there.
"Fuck you," Murphy tells him. "I was going to drink that."
"Sit your ass down," Bellamy tells him firmly, and this time Murphy dares to meet his eyes. They're dark with sadness, and Murphy drops his gaze immediately.
I'm sorry, he's screaming, but the words aren't making their way to the surface. His eyes flick to the rest of the group—Clarke, their Clarke. Emori, who won't look at him. Raven, unsurprised fury etched into the lines of her face. Echo, cold but unperturbed as always. Jordan, wide-eyed and hurt and scared.
Murphy sits at the edge of the circle.
"You're a traitor," Jordan breaks the silence first. "You knew it wasn't Clarke and you listened to her and you went on with her plan because"—
"Because you were afraid to die," Echo says coldly, but there is an odd understanding in her eyes.
"I want to live as much as anyone," Emori interjects. "But there are some costs"—
"I would never have let them hurt any of you," Murphy bursts out, because there is no redemption for him, not ever, but they must at least know this. "I thought…I thought Clarke was already gone."
Bellamy lets out a sharp breath. "I don't think anyone here is surprised that you wanted to live," he says finally. "You're a survivor, Murph. We all are. But by allying yourself with someone who you knew killed your friend"—
Murph. The nickname is as good as a knife wound.
"That backstabber who does anything to save his own hide? That's who I am," Murphy shoves his chair back and stood. "How long have you known me now? That's who I've always been."
"No." Clarke balls her hands into fists. "Cut the bullshit, Murphy. Everyone here has done terrible things"—
"Well, not me," Raven says. "Or Echo, really. Certainly not Jordan."
Echo holds up a hand, shooting a look at Raven. "I think what Clarke was trying to say," she pauses, exchanges an unreadable look with Bellamy. "Is that we have all done things we regret. Big or small. And what matters now is how we go forward."
"What if I can't?" his voice is small, quiet, hidden. He can barely summon it.
They stare back at him, varying shades of grief in all their faces.
Emori is the first to reach out a hand towards him. "Forgive yourself, John," she says, and her voice is sharp but it is merciful. "That's how."
"I can't," Murphy says, and there is something hollow inside of him that he doesn't want them to see. Can't let them see. "You're better off without me. You've always known that, remember? Since you banished me?"
Something twists on Bellamy's face, and he catches Clarke's eyes.
"Of all the things I regret," she says softly. "That one haunts me the most."
"More than all the genocide?" Raven interjects helpfully, and a shard of a laugh rips from Murphy's lips.
Clarke looks down.
"My parents would say"—Jordan begins, but then something crosses his face. Something dark. "My parents would say that the only way we do better"—
"Your parents were full of shit," Murphy snaps, and Jordan draws back as if Murphy had struck him.
Something hardens in Clarke's face. "Jordan," she says quietly. "Maybe it's best if"—
"I'll go," Jordan says, his face working as if he is trying not to cry.
He is gone within a moment, and the others stare at Murphy. This is just one more thing he is guilty of. One more goddamn thing.
Bellamy sighs and looks across at Echo, who nods slightly. "Murph"—
"Don't," Murphy stops him. "Let me drink and let me be. I'm not going to change. I'm not going to be the person you want me to be. I'm not going to wake up a changed man. I'm going to always be this and you hate this and I hate"—
"Murphy," Clarke says softly. "We know who you are. We've never been surprised by that."
"Survivor isn't a bad thing," Emori says. "We live. That's what we do."
And then Bellamy stands, the chair creaking as he does. He crosses the space between them and Murphy raises his hands to shove him away but instead Bellamy pulls him into a crushing hug.
He opens his mouth to say something—fuck off or you're gonna break a goddamn rib or what the fuck are you doing—but Bellamy holds him tighter and says "Shut up," before he can say anything at all, and then Murphy is crying, he is crying into Bellamy's shoulder.
"I forgive you," Bellamy says, his voice a low rumble in his chest, and Murphy is trembling now, actually fucking trembling.
"So do I," Clarke says, and then her hand on his shoulder, too and Echo is there next and Emori and then finally Raven limps to join them.
"Maybe we could get one of those new-personality-inserted-in-your-neck things for you, too," she adds. "There's hope for you yet."
Bellamy laughs, short and sharp, and then pulls Raven into the hug too.
"You're crushing me," she complains, but she hugs them both back.
"Me too," Murphy mutters.
"Shut up," Bellamy tells him again, and this time Murphy does.
/
When Murphy wakes the next morning, it's to the thought that maybe, just maybe all that was a dream. That maybe his friends—his friends—have not forgiven him after all.
But Jordan is waiting for him before breakfast, and Bellamy slaps his shoulder encouragingly and even Echo gives him a little smile.
Jordan is quiet and awkward and Murphy considers saying nothing at all about it.
But Bellamy is only a few steps away and will probably kick his ass if he doesn't apologize to Jordan, so Murphy mutters a few awkward sentences about Harper and Monty being good people and good friends and Jordan being right. And then Jordan hugs him, and Murphy has to pretend, again, that he doesn't like this and doesn't want anyone this close to him, so he pats Jordan on the back and sends him on his merry way.
And of course the others—Bellamy and Clarke and Echo and Emori and Raven—surround him immediately to ask how it went.
"Fine," he tells them uncomfortably, and Clarke exchanges a smile with Bellamy.
"Who knew a piece of shit could change?" Raven says, but she's grinning when she punches him, hard, in the arm.
"What if," Murphy says hesitantly. "What if I can't, though? What happens when I disappoint you all again?"
They hesitate, all of them.
It's Bellamy who speaks first. "We'll call you on your shit," he says. "We always will. But of all of us, Murph, you don't have innocent blood on your hands. Not like some of us—not like I do. I'd be a damn hypocrite if I was one to judge you."
"Me too," Clarke adds.
"I'll judge all of you," Raven says. "To make up for Bellamy's non-judgmentalness."
"I'll also judge you," Emori reassures him. "Just for generally being a dumbass."
"Me too," Echo says, but she punches him in the arm again.
And as he falls in beside them on the way to get breakfast, for the first time in years—years—John Murphy feels like he's going home.