AN: I am so sorry I disappeared for a while there. I haven't forgotten about this story, I still love it and will finish it, I've just had a very busy year. I hope there are still some people out there who want to keep reading this.

Miss Me Princess?

Chapter Twenty

Clarke still held a glimmer of unease in her eyes, but Murphy was happy that he had talked her round to the idea convincingly enough. So now he could move on to what was bothering him most. He slid his palm from her cheek drawing it down to cradle her jaw, the thumb that had been stroking her bottom lip slid down to her chin allowing him to tilt Clarkes face up. Murphy locked onto her gaze with intensity.

"Forget about the burn victim for a minute." He instructed. Clarke nodded, her eyes trained intently on his. "Tell me what happened with Justin."

She could see it now, the anger that had been burning away all the while, underneath his concern. Clarke started to shake her head, to deny that anything bad had happened, to sooth his anger.

"It was nothing." She reassured. Murphy's jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed sharply.

"He was holding you back!" Murphy exclaimed. "That's not nothing Clarke. He shouldn't be touching you at all."

"I was in such a hurry I crashed right into him." She explained, her hand coming up to hold his wrist. "He was stopping me from barging passed because he wanted me to apologise."

"You looked terrified." He said darkly. "When I saw him holding on to you…" With her hand on his wrist Clarke gently tugged on his arm until Murphy removed his grip on her chin, allowing her to lean further forward. She leaned into him, resting her forehead against his.

"I was distracted." They were so close that when she spoke it was as though she was breathing in the air from his mouth, like they were sharing a breath. "I was caught up in my head, thinking about this place; about the burn victim and whatever freaky science-defying tricks they're doing here." A shiver of fear twitched down her spine as her mind briefly flashed back to the hurricane of frightening thoughts that had so recently whirled through her mind. "That's what was scaring me." She pulled back slightly so she could look into his eyes. "If I hadn't been so caught up in all of that I would have dealt with Justin." Murphy frowned. "It was nothing." She repeated. "I'm not scared of Justin."

"Maybe you should be." His expression was tight, his eyes burning with concern. Clarke smiled. His eyebrows shot up with surprise.

She nodded.

"We need to watch out for him, he's definitely trouble." She conceded. "But I'm not scared of him. I wasn't, even when he was following us through the forest on our way to the bunker."

"Why not?" Murphy questioned with a look of confusion.

"Because I've got John Murphy at my back." Murphy's eyes widened. Clarke smiled at him. "When he saw you," Clarke continued with a mischievous grin. "I'm pretty sure he looked more terrified than I did." There was a flash of amusement in Murphy's eyes as a small smirk slowly curled his lips.

"Yeah well, what was it you said about me Princess? People don't like me very much."

"They don't?" she cocked her head to the side, regarding him with mock surprise.

"Nope. I'm mean and kind of a bully." He informed her, using her words from a conversation that felt like years ago. Clarke's expression softened.

"I like you." She said quietly. His eyes flickered over her face, as though to try and gauge if she was being truthful. Murphy swallowed.

"Good." He muttered softly. "I like you too Princess." A rush of warmth washed over her. She had already known how he felt, of course, but that was the first time either of them had openly said anything. Despite the situation they were in Clarke couldn't help but feel happy. But then the worry resurfaced, gnawing away at her insides and her thoughts fell to less happy things as her earlier fears were again rekindled.

"Murphy are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked him.

"Absolutely." He told her firmly. She sighed and leaned into him.


Murphy's plan was simple: he would follow Justin into the toilets, goad him into a fight, then make sure that he took a punch that would be solid enough to get him taken to the medical bay. Clarke was to give him five minutes before sending Miller in after him to discover them, split up the fight, and call for some help. It was simple. It was two people spiting words and throwing punches at each other for a few minutes before someone intervened.

But almost as soon as Murphy left, Clarke changed her mind; it was a bad idea. These were two people who hated each other and five minutes suddenly seemed like a ridiculously long length of time. Surely one punch each would be enough, and that would only take a few seconds. How many hits could they get in in five minutes?

Clarke's eyes were glued to the door of the bathroom as she sat squirming on the couch, counting every second as it crawled by. Her heart rose uncomfortably in her chest as she imagined what was going on behind that door. Memories of Murphy after he was beaten up by the grounders turned her blood cold as they swam in her mind and a knot tightened in her throat as she continued to count. She was barely able to stay in her seat for the full five minutes. As soon as they were up she sprang to her feet and raced towards Miller, calling out his name as she dashed across the dorm.

"Murphy is fighting Justin." She grabbed his arm and yanked. "You have to go and break it up." She urged him forward, gesturing towards the door.

"What?" Miller asked startled, scrambling to his feet.

"They're fighting. In there. Go. Quick!" The words stumbled out in a frantic babble.

Clarke knew what the plan was. She understood the plan. But when Murphy emerged several minutes later, leaning heavily on Miller and looking barely conscious, she felt her stomach give a sickening wrench. 'It's an act' she told herself, 'This is all part of the plan' she thought as she watched them leave the dormitory. With a shaky sigh she sank back into the couch cushions to wait for his return, whilst trying to ignore the worry that was twining around her heart in a tight band.


Murphy concentrated on keeping his breathing slow and steady as he lay as still as possible on the hospital bed, pretending to be unconscious as he patiently waited for Justin to be cleared and discharged from medical. His temple throbbed insistently and he could already feel a headache building behind his eye. Years of fights in the skybox had taught him to always protect his head from a punch but he deliberately hadn't blocked Justin's strike at his left temple, knowing it was exactly the excuse he was looking for to feign a concussion. There was already a lump pushing its way out along his hairline and he was sure the tightness he could feel across the top of his cheekbone was the start of a bruise. As he listened there was the rustling of sheets and the soft voice of the doctor murmuring just outside his range of hearing. Within a few minutes, after a few more muttered words from the doctor, Murphy heard footsteps scuffing along the polished floor and the creak if the door hinges. Then there was silence. He waited, allowing the silence to linger for a while before he chanced a peak, cracking an eyelid open to glance around the infirmary. Justin and the doctor were both gone. He opened both eyes fully, sat up and looked around. There was one other person in the ward, a man lying seemingly unconscious on the bed opposite him. With a quick cautious glance towards the door Murphy climbed out of bed, and at the back of his mind he noted that since the room didn't spin and his vision didn't blur then he wasn't concussed.

Murphy padded softly across the ward, quietly stepping up to the occupied bed for a better look. The face was vaguely familiar, and the lingering remnants of the burns still reddening his arm and face identified him as the burn victim that Clarke had described. Murphy was amazed at the difference in him, at the rate of his recovery, from being so brutally scarred and damaged just a few days ago and yet now there were only angry red patches of blistering skin. He examined the man closely, suspicious of how such a speedy recovery could be possible. He took note of the machine beside the bed, beeping in a steady rhythm and his scepticism made him question: if this man was as recovered as he appeared to be then why was he lying unconscious in the medical bay, hooked up to a machine?

A tube ran out of the machine and into the man's body through a needle in the crease of his elbow. At first glance Murphy thought the tube was red, but as he examined it more closely he realised it wasn't red, it was what was flowing through it that was red. Like blood. Was it coming out of him and into the machine or was the machine putting it into him? Murphy followed the tube, tracing its route as it extended out behind the machine to the wall, where it connected to a pipe which stretched along the entire length of the room. Murphy followed the pipe the length of the wall until it disappeared through the concrete. Murphy wondered if it continued into the next room, as he traced a hand along the seam where the pipe met the concrete. There was a large vent in the wall, just underneath the pipe. Murphy knelt and peered through the dusty slats. It was dark but there was space behind the vent, air was whispering through it. He gave the old metal slats an experimental tug and they shifted with a groan, loosening slightly. He adjusted his stance and took a firmer grip on the rusty vent, then he pulled, levering his weight against the hinge. With a screech of metal, it came free and Murphy removed the vent from its bracket to reveal a dark and dusty airduct.

Murphy climbed into the cramped dark space. Hunched in a crouch, he shuffled awkwardly forward towards the circle of light ahead of him. After a few minutes of difficult manoeuvring, that made his back ache and his legs cramp, he reached the end of the airduct. He stopped, lingering in the safety of the shadow as he peered out. The dark tunnel opened straight out into a room, there was no grate or vent on the mouth of the airduct like there had been in the medical bay, just a gaping hole at the end of the shaft. It looked like a service area; it was cold and quiet and had the same look of plain damp concrete as the service stairway he and Clarke had discovered. Murphy edged towards the opening with caution but could hear no noise coming from the room beyond and a quick glance saw no movement. He stepped out vigilantly, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light after the almost total darkness in the airduct.

He looked around the room and stopped dead. His heart froze in his chest for a long moment. Then it kicked back into life with a jolt and thrummed with terror against his ribs.

There were two bodies hung up in the centre of the room. Two people hanging upside down by their ankles. A shiver crawled across his skin and rattled along his spine until the hair on the nape of his neck stood on end. Were they dead? His stomach roiled as he forced himself to look more closely, to take in details of the horrific scene before him. No, they were alive, but sedated or unconscious. Probably close to death. They were so pale and still, there skin was wane and waxy looking, the veins in their arms were blue and distended, and their lips and eye sockets were purplish blue like the colour of a bruise. Murphy spotted tattoos, the dark ink contrasting sharply with the deathly white of their skin. They were grounders. Murphy's heart sank when he noticed the tubes coming out of their arms and realised they were being drained of their blood. The tubes all converged and connected to a pipe which fed through the wall and back into the hospital wing. This was what the unconscious burn victim was hooked up to. They were taking blood from these grounders and putting it into him. Why? How could they do this? Did the people of Mount Weather know this happened? Was it hidden here in this service chamber because it was a secret or because it was easier for their consciences to bare when it wasn't happening in plain sight. What kind of people were they? Oh god, were they in danger? Would they do this or something like this to the forty-nine, if it was in the name of science or for the benefit of their own people? Clarke was right, this place was bad. They needed to leave.

Murphy didn't remember much after that. With the image of the hanging grounders burned into his mind he made his way back into the medical bay in a daze. He managed to focus enough to remember to replace the grate back onto the vent once he had climbed back through. Then he sat on his hospital bed in a dumbfounded stupor, watching the grounder-blood flow through the machine and into the burn victim while he lay unconscious on his own bed. It was treatment; the blood obviously had healing properties, but did this man know what it was that was responsible for his miraculous recovery? Murphy had no idea how long had passed by the time the doctor returned. She prodded his head, flashed a torch in his eyes, held up fingers for him to count, then curtly declared he was fine and dismissed him with barely a glance.

As soon as he was out of the medical bay Murphy was able to think better; and his thoughts instantly turned to coming up with an escape plan. As he made his way back to the dormitory, absently stretching and clenching his fist to ease the throbbing in his knuckles, he thought about the service areas and the airducts.

He began making a mental catalogue of every exit he could think of, picturing their various locations and considering all the points where they could find access to them. He skimmed his fingers over his temple, testing the bump there while his mind raced to construct a way out of their underground prison.

It wasn't until he opened the door to the dormitory that he realised how late it was. The lights were off, and the room was dark other than the soft glow of the safety lights that illuminated each of the doors and the crack of light issuing out from under the bathroom door at the far end of the room. The door slide shut behind him and Murphy was engulfed in darkness.

He stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust. A movement at the back of the dorm caught his eye. Someone sitting up in their bed. Even before his eyes began to focus he knew it was Clarke. He took a few steps further into the room. Slowly details started to appear out of the darkness. He could see the line of bunks and the path along the foot of them. He started to walk deeper into the room, cautiously moving towards the upright figure. She was in his bunk, he realised. He silently padded towards her, still seeing little more than the outline of her silhouetted in the dark and the slightest hint of light shining from her eyes as they followed his progress towards her. As he stepped up beside the bunk Clarkes hands groped in the darkness until they found purchase on his shirt. She gripped tightly and pulled him down onto the bed beside her.

He turned onto his side to face her and Clarke wriggled closer until her body was flush against him. Instantly her hands were exploring ever inch of him, skimming up his chest, sliding over his shoulders and down his arms. Murphy felt a slight tremble in her fingers as they trailed over his face. When she traced over the lump on his temple he winced. Clarke sucked in a breath, her whole body suddenly rigged beside him.

"It's just a bruise."

"Are you okay?" her voice quivered over the question.

"I'm fine." But she didn't look reassured.

"That was a terrible plan." She breathed out on a shuddering breath. Her fingers brushed tenderly along his cheek bone.

"Clarke, I'm okay." He repeated, catching a hold of her fingers and guiding them to his lips to press a kiss to them.

"You're okay?" she repeated shakily. He nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist

"I'm fine. But it's bad." Words clogged in his throat as he tried to figure out how to explain what he had seen. "It's…Jesus. You will not believe…"

"What?" she urged him.

"You were right. Behind the medical bay. Shit. It's really bad Clarke."

"Tell me." She insisted. Murphy pulled her tightly against him and started to explain in a whisper.


Thanks for reading.

And thanks to everyone that has reviewed and followed and favourited. I hope there are still people interested in this story despite the horrendously long amount of time since I last updated.

Feedback is always welcomed.