Warning: Hints to Self-harm.

Nearly a week had gone by before Murphy even thought about leaving the comforts of the bunker. He had everything he could ever need or want within the bunker, so why would he leave the only safety he'd ever been accommodated with? The food had held up over the years, and if he didn't know any better he would say that it tasted a bit fresh. The panels outside the walls supplied enough energy for the systems to run within the bunker, and he had already spent an hour each day with hot water streaming down his body. It was too good of a feeling to have the dirt and grime off of him, and as the water trickled down his chest he couldn't help but think that maybe it was all worth it. The scars on his chest, his legs, and his face were deep but they were all worth this bit of luxury. The memories were daunting, but whenever he woke from his nightmares sticky in sweat he knew he could stand beneath the water and allow it all to wash away. He would soon curl back up in the folds of his red comforter and simply burrow deeper into the pillows, succumbing to the bitter-sweet haze of sleep.

The only thing he missed was the company. Even when he had been surrounded by surly strangers he had felt more at ease than when he was alone. Being alone reminded him of his days on the ark when he would often be put into solitary. It had been refreshing at the beginning, but he soon found himself overwhelmed by the empty room. The lack of noise caused him to start speaking to himself and purposely hurt himself so that the guards would return to his cell. The thunder of their boots would ease the tensed feeling in his chest and the shouts for a medic quieted the chaotic thoughts in his head. He had spent a considerable amount of time with the head doctor, Abby Griffin. And with that, he had also spent some time around her daughter, Clarke. He hadn't spoken to her during his stays in the clinic, but she had often hummed as she worked to bandage his arms. It was soothing, and it only further drove him to fight his own skin so that he could return to that soothing voice.

It had been a disappointment when he had truly met her on the ground though because he didn't know what he had expected of someone he had never held a true conversation with. She wasn't soft or comforting. No, she had her layers and found a way to carry most attitudes within her. One moment she was tending to wounds and the next she was chewing him out. It rattled him, but it also felt oddly comforting. She pushed at his buttons while also managing to keep him under wraps. He had once hoped he could convince her that he was worth her time, but the day she charged him in the clearing had sent those hopes crumbling. He had never truly wanted to kill Wells. Sure, he was the son of the biggest bastard on the Ark but he had no real reason to kill him. So when he had been hung for his death he had trouble fixing the logic behind his decisions. Even when he hadn't killed someone, they had expected it of him so he let it become who he was. It wasn't as if he had no reason for the murders he performed. Those guys had hung him, and Bellamy had authorized it and kicked the box out from beneath him. But he could never think of attacking Clarke. The memory of her humming as she patted the bandage on his wrist was too strong.

Once everything had been said and done, and he had returned to the fallen Ark he no longer knew who he was. He had set out to help his people and instantly been slammed back, and so he felt at odds with which way to go. He earned some respect from Bellamy, but the girl he wanted forgiveness from had refused it. He wasn't surprised though seeing as she had ended up killing an old love because of his inability to control, or even execute the psychotic Finn. Murphy groaned as he stood at the side of the pool table, his thoughts trapped in the past. He needed someone to calm his head, to soothe him back into feeling whole again. He had hoped to check for Jaha, but he knew nothing good would come of searching for the old man. He had tossed Craig out of the boat, and in the same instance stripped Murphy of the only friend he had the potential of having.

Murphy moved to the stereo system and began to twist the dials. He didn't want to alert anyone to his presence on the outside, but he also didn't want to listen to his own thoughts. And so he turned the volume up and collapsed backward into the couch. He leaned over to snatch up a half full liquor bottle and twisted his wrist to pour himself a glass. He sent it back quickly and felt the buzz right away.

"The promised land." His voice was hollow and the words felt numb on his lips.

One Week Later.

Murphy had barely heard the soft knocking over the stereo. The song was called "Uptown Funk" and he had just finished kicking the pool balls off of the table when he had heard it in the background of one of the quieter chunks of the song. He had thought it was him going crazy at first, deprived of human contact, but it had continued on much more loudly after a short gap of silence. He couldn't help but grumble as he leapt down from the pool table, nearly tripping on one of the loose pool balls as he crossed the room towards the stereo. He hesitated for a moment, waiting until the knocking continued before making his way up the staircase and opening the door once he reached the top. It was the first time since he had arrived that he had used the door and he was temporarily blinded by the sunlight. He lifted a hand to block the rays and caught the sight of blonde curls. His hand immediately dropped as he stumbled backward, shock written across his features as he tried to hold in the startled breath that was wedged in his mouth.

"Princess? How- where the fuck did you come from?"