Miss Me Princess?

Chapter Two

[1x10 – 'I Am Become Death']

Four people came marching into the dropship, moving purposefully towards the small cot in the far corner of Clarke's makeshift medical bay, where Murphy had lain since he was first brought in. Bellamy, Finn and the two guards who had carried Murphy into camp, Conor and Derek. They gathered behind Clarke in a tight semicircle, fencing her and Murphy into the corner. Murphy struggled weakly to pull himself up into a sitting position, gritting his teeth against the pain. Clarke instantly reached out to assist him, urging him in a quiet voice.

"Please lie back down and rest." But he ignored her, his eyes flicking anxiously between the men standing behind her as he awkwardly propped himself up against the wall with a wince. Clarke remained where she was, kneeling beside the cot with her back to the others as she worriedly watched him shift, her arm outstretched towards him in case he needed to steady himself as he shifted his weight. An ember of anger started to heat inside of her as she watched Murphy's face turn sickly pale and his breathing turn to sharp pants, his wary gaze darting back and forth between the others. Despite Murphy's poor condition they stood in a tall and imposing formation, towering over him and Clarke, with all except from Finn holding a gun ready in their hands. This wasn't about safety it was about Intimidating Murphy. She squared her shoulders and stood, turning to face them with her hands planted on her hips and an angry frown in place.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" she demanded.

"He's conscious." Said Bellamy whose gaze was locked on Murphy, "Now we're going to get some answers out of him."

Clarke's anger grew with Bellamy's blunt tone. He had no concern for how much pain Murphy was in or what he must have been through. She shifted a half step to her left, cutting across Bellamy's gaze until his eyes moved away from Murphy to focus on her.

"He's barely been conscious a few seconds and you think it's a good idea to ask him questions now?" Her frown deepened into a glare. "How did you even know he was awake?"

"Derek was guarding the dropship door. He signalled to me when he heard talking." There was an unspoken accusation in Bellamy's tone of voice. That she shouldn't have spoken to Murphy? That she should have yelled for Bellamy and the others the second he opened his eyes? Her anger was rapidly boiling as she struggled to keep her temper in check and stay in control of the situation.

"He's been awake for all of five seconds Bellamy." She snapped "I was training to be a doctor not an interrogator: my first thought was getting him some water and seeing how he was doing - which by the way I haven't even done yet. He may not even be lucid. You can all come back in once I've checked him over." That wasn't really true, she could tell he was lucid, so why was she making excuses?

"Not going to happen Princess." Bellamy retorted, turning to his men and effectively ending her input.

"He claims he was with the grounders." Started Derek.

"We caught him trying to sneak back into camp." Added Conor.

"I wasn't sneaking I was running from the grounders." Murphy spoke out behind her in a low voice that was rough and hoarse and heavy with exhaustion. The sound was like a siren calling out to Clarke's caring nature; her shoulders tensed and her glare intensified.

"Anyone see grounders?" asked Bellamy, looking in turn to each of the guards who both shook their heads. Clarke's anger flared again, their indifference was grating against her temper. How could they be so flippant when the evidence of the grounders brutality towards Murphy was right in front of them, quite literally carved into his bloody and swollen face?

"Well in that case." Bellamy said, raising his gun and aiming it directly at Murphy's chest. Her stomach gave a sickening squeeze. Without a second thought Clarke reacted, moving in front of Murphy to block Bellamy's shot.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she shouted, a fierce look flashing in her stormy blue eyes.

"We were clear on what would happen if he came back." Bellamy shouted back. His gun still raised.

"No." Clarke said in a dark and determined tone. Staying in the path of Bellamy's gun she backed up towards Murphy, trying to make sure that neither Conor nor Derek could get a clear shot at him either. Finn edged forward nervously. Always uncomfortable with any use of the guns, even more so now that one was pointed towards Clarke.

"If he really was with the grounders then he knows things that can help us." he interjected in a pacifying tone.

"Help us?" Bellamy asked, turning to Finn with an incredulous stare. "We hanged him. We banished him. And now we're going to kill him." He turned back to Clarke. "Get the hell out of my way."

"No. Finn's right." She said.

"Like hell he is. Clarke, think about Charlotte." Clarke stiffened at the mention of the young girl and the memories that surrounded her death. All of those horrible decisions. All of those avoidable mistakes. Her mind was already made up.

"What happened to Charlotte was as much our fault as his." She hissed at Bellamy "He's not lying. His fingernails are torn off. They tortured him!" Her outraged at what the grounders had done to Murphy fuelled her anger.

"You and the grounders should compare notes." Finn goaded Bellamy.

"The grounders know we're at war." Bellamy fired back at Finn before fixing his glare on Murphy again "What did you tell them about us?"

In an instant Clarke's anger was extinguished by dread. The sudden shock and terror sending a chill over her body like being drenched by a bucket of cold water. Oh God she hadn't even thought of that. Why hadn't that occurred to her? Because she had been too busy feeling sorry for Murphy and wallowing in her own guilt and self-loathing to consider the bigger picture.

Murphy closed his eyes. "Everything" he groaned.

The world stopped, frozen in a stunned silence. No one moved. There was nothing but the sound of their own blood rushing in their ears. Just as quickly as it came the shock wore off and the numbness that had gripped them seeped back out of their minds, out of their bodies, out of the thick atmosphere inside the dropship, to be replaced by an instant rush of fear and anger. The anger was mainly Bellamy. Murphy looked defeated, weighed down by shame and sheer exhaustion. Clarke and Finn were both momentarily paralysed by fear. Conor and Derek fidgeted and shuffled impatiently waiting to be told what to do. Waiting for their leaders' reactions to guide their own reactions. Clarke spotted the anger rising in Bellamy, like a volcano about to erupt. She knew at who that anger would be directed and it was that thought which snapped her out of her daze and propelled her back into the role of dependable and capable leader. Before anyone else had managed to react she stalked forward, purposely drawing all eyes to her and said in the most authoritative tone she could manage.

"Once he's better we'll find out what he knows about the grounders that could help us."

It was a plan, a next step. A decision was made and that in itself seemed to set Conor, Derek and Finn at ease. But Bellamy still vibrated with anger. And anger, she knew all too well, could lead to rash decisions.

"Then he's out of here. Or we kill him." he seethed before storming out. The breath she had been holding came rushing out.


"Would you like some more water?" Just like that the others were forgotten and Clarke was back to looking at him with such attentiveness and such care that he could only stare for a moment before mutely nodding at her. She handed him a canteen with a soft smile that didn't lessen the swirls of sadness clouding her eyes. All of the soft vulnerability that had bled out of her features the minute Bellamy and the others had barged in was back again. It made him wonder if this was who she really was. If this was the person she would have been, the warm and compassionate doctor she would have become if she hadn't been locked up for treason and banished to earth.

"I soaked some seaweed in the water and added some herbs. So it should work just like antibiotics and help your body fight any infections." She explained without looking him in the eye, focusing instead on her lap as she unrolled bandages and started fumbling with a needle and thread. "I'm afraid I don't have anything for the pain though. I used most of the moonshine as disinfectant but there's still a little left in the flask if you want to drink it."

Murphy was confused. He expect the hate, anger and aggression from Bellamy and the others, but the princess was confusing the hell out of him. He kept waiting for her to lecture him on selling them out to the grounders, or to press him for information about the grounders; details of his capture, or specifics of their camp size and numbers. But she didn't. She didn't act like a leader at all. She hardly spoke at all. There was no sign of the bossy know-it-all leader, just the doctor. But even then she wasn't what he expected. He had seen her treat patients before: he and Bellamy once had to hold down a thrashing boy while she set his broken arm without so much as a wince or an apology; she had pulled inch long splinters out of a screaming girls hands and popped a cursing teen's dislocated shoulder back in with a detached calmness that he reluctantly respected. But now there was none of that cool professionalism she had previously shown. She was being apologetic, friendly and…shy? It sounded strange even as he thought it, but that was what she was acting like: head down, struggling to meet his gaze, no hate or malice or anger when she did just soft smiles and warm eyes, to match her quiet voice and gentle hands.

Clarke was finally finished. Every inch of him from the waist up had been examined, washed and treated. (She had tried to examine every inch of him, but he firmly assured her that they weren't so sadistic as to strip him naked and torture him, if she couldn't see it then they hadn't touched it: torso, arms, and face, were all they targeted.) Between the sharp tangy smell of the alcohol burning his nostrils and the stinging of his disinfected wounds, Murphy's eyes burned with unshed tears. He had been cleaned, disinfected, bandaged and stitched, and while his tired muscles screamed at him and his skin had been rubbed raw, it was a good kind of pain, a healing kind of pain.

Once she was satisfied that his wounds were all sterilised and sealed Clarke tidied away her supplies and returned with some food, water, a blanket and more herbs.

"Why waste this stuff on me." Murphy broke the silence that had settled around them.

"It's not a waste." She said.

"In a couple of days Bellamy's either going to send me out to die, or kill me himself." Murphy said.

"I'm not going to let that happen." Clarke answered. Murphy frowned and watched her closely, trying to judge if she was saying that just to keep him calm or because she really mean it.

"So you'll talk them into letting me stay?" he questioned sceptically, "It's only a matter of time before I piss someone off, or do something wrong again. Are you going to jump in front of every gun for me?" It came out sounding much harsher than he meant it to, but something about the righteous princess stepping in front of Bellamy's gun for him had irritated him. She just shrugged without even looking up at him. He continued, his next words sounding more like a warning. "Then they'll start blaming you for everything I do. They'll turn on you just as much as me." Her eyes snapped up to meet his and for a moment they regarded each other, and it was as if everything that had happened between them before, all of the anger and resentment and the baggage of who each of them was, and what their lots in life had been, all of that faded away. They were two people who were both scared, lost and alone, and nothing else mattered.

"Maybe that's what I deserve." She whispered, staring deep into his eyes and for once not blocking out the fear and doubt that she worked so hard to pretend wasn't there. "Get some sleep Murphy. I'll be right here if you need anything ok."


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