yee-ouch
They pile into the Rover by noon. Raven has said that Arkadia is running on a skeleton crew: most of A.L.I.E’s people have gone to the capital, to Polis, for some reason, and now would be a great opportunity to go over and smash everything and collect what they can. Clarke has gone ahead to warn Lexa and her crowd.
Raven stays behind with Octavia and Lincoln: Prosper and Moss have gone into the woods with Ryfe and Luna, maybe to gather supplies, maybe to avoid the rest of them. She’s wired the radios so that they work long-distance, so she’s running mission support from the cave system. It’s going pretty well.
—
They’re coming over the hill. Monty is talking to Harper about whatever he was working on before they fled to the ocean’s shores: he’s hoping to pick up the remainder of it when they pass through the dropship’s camp on their way to Arkadia.
They’re over the crest of the hill now. The grass underneath the Rover is ash.
It — hadn’t looked like much in the first place, but it was theirs, and they built it, and they were proud of it. Now it’s gone.
“Christ,” says Harper.
They don’t dwell on it. They keep driving.
—
<They’re coming. I can see them over the hill. You need to leave now.>
He’s never been happier in his life. There’s the sun, and the sky, and he is warm and Emori’s hand is twined within his. He doesn’t want to leave.
<Murphy. Go.>
Emori is smiling. He wants to go to her house, maybe —
A bolt of pain shoots up his arm. He opens his eyes.
There are footsteps in the corridor.
He’s sitting on the floor of his cell in Arkadia. One hand is cuffed to the wall. He’s wearing his shirt again. No word on where his socks went.
It’s weird, having a body. To feel things, with nerve endings. It’s weird, even, to feel pain, but he thinks that at one time, he was used to it. And — that memory is gone, too. Kind of strange, to feel out all these holes in his brain — but he’s glad for them. He’s better off without them.
Somebody swears outside in the hallway. There’s a thud, and then the door bursts open.
Bellamy.
—
He did not expect to find Murphy here, in Arkadia, in this room.
Murphy glances at Bellamy, visibly swallows, and then starts coughing.
Bellamy slowly realizes that he never expected to see Murphy again. He drops to his knees, to be eye-level with him, keeping his hands visible. Murphy coughs a couple more times, regards him with more curiousity than caution.
Bellamy reaches a hand out, touches the skin at the hollow of Murphy’s throat. Murphy’s eyes lock to his, but he doesn’t flinch. It’s like touching a wild deer, except his own caution feels like it’s unwarranted.
“Huh,” says Miller behind him. Bellamy startles bad enough to drop his hand. Murphy isn’t wearing socks or boots and he’s cuffed to the wall. They must have tortured him before they abandoned him here, although he doesn’t really look worse for the wear.
“They told me the dropship burned,” says Murphy. His voice sounds hoarse with disuse. “Is that true? Are you okay? Is everyone okay?”
Behind him, Miller almost starts speaking, and acting on impulse, Bellamy cuts him off. “No,” he says. “Everything is fine. We came back for you.”
“Thanks,” says Murphy, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
It’s a simple task to free Murphy from the wall: all Ark cuffs have the same locks, because resources were limited. Murphy pulls his wrist away from the wall, rubs it, hisses. He goes to stand, can’t make it, leans on the wall and finally sits back down. “Shit,” he mutters, and cradles his head in his uninjured hand.
Bellamy sets a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “When was the last time you ate?” he asks.
There’s a long pause before Murphy finally says: “I don’t know.”
Bellamy doesn’t even glance backwards. “Miller, can you —“
“Yeah,” says Miller from behind him, and he’s gone.
“I don’t even know what day it is,” says Murphy into his hand.
“Hey,” says Bellamy. “It’s okay, shh,” but Murphy doesn’t seem to need his usual type of reassurances, so they both crouch in silence until Miller returns with protein packs and what looks like an oatmeal cookie.
Murphy opens the oatmeal cookie with steady hands. He bites into it, chews, frowns, and takes another bite.
“What’s wrong?” asks Bellamy.
“This doesn’t taste like anything,” says Murphy, obviously perturbed.
Bellamy shares a significant look with Miller. Miller nods.
“The dropship is really okay?” Murphy asks again.
“Yeah,” lies Bellamy. “The dropship is fine.”
Harper is leaning on the doorframe. “Hey,” she says. “I found the mainframe, let’s go smash it, yeah?” There’s a pause, and then. “Hey, Murphy.”
Murphy graces her with a nod. “Hey,” he says.
“I thought you were dead,” she tells him.
“Sorry to disappoint,” he replies, but he sounds sincere rather than dry. “You’re gonna smash something?”
“Yeah,” says Harper. “You coming or what?”
Murphy glances to Bellamy, like he’s asking for permission. Bellamy crouches next to him, and Murphy wraps an arm around his shoulders and neck. They stand slowly, together, with Bellamy holding the majority of Murphy’s weight. “You good?” asks Bellamy.
“Yeah,” says Murphy, and they follow Harper further into Arkadia.
—
Harper is on the radio with Raven. “So, like, which things am I actually smashing?” she’s asking, holding a very large hammer in one hand, her radio in the other.
“Everything,” suggests Raven. “Anything that looks or seems mechanical, or like it could be mechanical, and anything that looks smashable.”
“Cool,” says Harper, and picks up the hammer to bring it down on the nearest monitor. Over the headset, Raven screams: Murphy’s fingers tighten around Bellamy’s shoulders, digging into his skin.
Harper stops almost immediately, and Raven recovers enough breath to say, “Hang on,” over the radio. There’s a muffled sound in the background, and Raven calls out somewhere behind her, “Hey Octavia!”
Octavia now, in that same faraway tone: “Yeah?”
“Can I borrow you for a second?”
Octavia has come around to sit beside Raven: they can hear a chair scooching up nearer to the microphone. “Yeah, what do you need?”
“Give me your hand,” Raven says. To them: “Okay, keep going, Harper.”
Harper obligingly continues. Distinctly, they can hear Octavia over the radio, a hundred miles away, go: “Yee-ouch.” Harper snickers.
Murphy’s fingers are tight on Bellamy’s neck. They get worse until Bellamy almost says something, but then the pressure abates abruptly, and Murphy’s hand is gone. He’s standing on his own weight now, and Bellamy watches him bend his knees slightly, going for the gun in Bellamy’s waistband. He is too slow to stop him, too slow to react: as Harper pulls back again, Murphy aims and pulls the trigger, catching Harper in the shoulder, and then again, in the leg.
Harper goes down.