meadowlarklogs | [open/closed]

"I'm not sure of anything."

Reassurance has never exactly been his forte. But since Bellamy's nervous, Murphy pulls the rifle forward and holds it ready. This doesn't make sneaking around any easier, but if he spots an unexpected visitor, he'll just shoot them.

He can't tell how far they've gone already. It feels like they could have left Bellamy's room either a minute ago or an hour ago. Everything here looks the damn same in the dark.

"If anyone's still up here, we can't leave them."

A slow, lonely death on a space station isn't something anyone deserves. Well, most anyone. And since Murphy is taking the lead here—

"How much time do we have?"

Time. He should have paid attention. There's no telling, now. Maybe they'll start losing oxygen any minute. "I don't know," he snaps, the panic edging into his voice.

They turn a corner he's pretty sure they turned already. Maybe they're going in circles. Maybe they've already covered the whole Ark, and there really is no way out. It's just here or the airlock.

He's so busy trying to sort it out that he trips over something draped across the floor, only managing to avoid falling over because he grabs a hold of Bellamy.

"Shit!"

He thought it was a duffel bag, a second ago, but when he looks down, he realizes it's a body.

Is that... Abby?

Bellamy steadies Murphy with a quiet, "Easy," until he looks down and his grip on Murphy's shoulder tightens. It's Abby, and Bellamy sucks in a sharp breath, letting go to drop to his knees beside her, his thoughts instantly turning to Clake.

He fumbles for a pulse, and his stomach drops when he finds her skin cold. There's a distant part of him that realizes this means it's too late but... But...

"Shit. Murphy, help me."

But Murphy only stares.

Bellamy's going to figure it out. He hasn't seen the bullet wounds yet, but he will, and he'll figure out where they came from, and then...

Okay, no, there's no proof. Anyone could have done this. Bellamy was in that room for who-knows-how-long and he has no reason to believe this is Murphy's work.

"It's too late."

He's right—it takes Bellamy a second in the low light, but he realizes there's blood soaking through Abby's shirt, almost black in the dark. He lets out a breath, still with shock.

"What the hell happened?"

"We should..."

It's coming back to him in fragments. He can't make sense of the order of things. The progress of cause and effect. It's the guilt that tells him how it went. But he had to clear the way. If he couldn't do anything else, he had to at least make way for Bellamy.

Murphy reaches for him. "We have to move. There's nothing we can do here."

Murphy's right. It's too late, and even if there were a way to help Abby, they'd have to get her off the station. He doesn't know how the hell they'd manage it.

But how is he going to tell Clarke?

Wait, where is Clarke? She wasn't supposed to be up here with them. Neither was Abby. There's an odd, disquieting feeling about this whole thing, but Bellamy can't figure it out until he reaches for Murphy's hand. As soon as skin touches skin, he can feel Murphy's anxiety and fear, and it clicks. This is a dream. It has to be.

In that same moment, something in this murky scene sharpens for Murphy. He's no longer swimming through slippery time, weeding tangled memories, fumbling in the dark. Bellamy comes into focus and everything else recedes. Not out of sight, but out of his attention.

"...Oh."

The relief that washes over him nearly sends him to his knees. He clasps Bellamy's hand tighter, for life.

"This isn't happening. This is just..."

"Yeah," he replies, quiet and uncertain. Maybe later, the irony of the fact that they spent so long worrying about having one of these dreams that they probably triggered one will hit him.

Right now, his focus is on Murphy. His grip tightens, and he clasps Murphy's shoulder with his free hand. "We're fine."

He can't help but glance back down at Abby, though. Honestly, he can't remember ever having a dream that involved Abby, even though he's had more than he can count about failing his people. Is that something from Murphy's subconscious, then? Is that how this works?

Murphy follows Bellamy's gaze back to Abby's corpse, but it's only a split second before he looks away again. It's bad enough to see her lying there. If she wakes up? If she talks? It could happen, here, and he wouldn't be able to handle it. This whole damn place would probably crumble around them.

"You said we could change it, right?" he mumbles to Bellamy, though he's staring at the wall now. A shudder runs through him, and he's sure Bellamy can feel it - along with everything else. The grief. The guilt. "Can you? Can you just..? Anything else."

Murphy can't do it himself. His mind keeps circling the horror. What if he manifests something worse?

Bellamy can feel all of it, clear as day. He can't help but suspect that this isn't just some strange dream fluke, that somehow this is specific. If this were survivor's guilt or fear of loss, why wouldn't Murphy be conjuring up Monty or Emori or any of the other dozen people he's closer to?

But. That guilt and that fear again. It tips Bellamy over into protective mode. There'll be time to talk about it later, but right now, he tugs Murphy away, trying to recapture his attention.

"I can try. Look at me."

He actually doesn't know how this is supposed to work. A part of him is afraid he'll conjure up something worse, too. So, he focuses on the glow in Murphy's chest, the warmth of his hand, and tries to think of... something else. Anything else that won't bring up more bad memories.

It turns out, it's not anything from home at all. That's all too tinged with loss and violence. Instead, it's one of New Amsterdam's streets, closer and more narrow than in real life, utterly deserted. But it's covered in plants, green leaves and bright blossoms and creeping vines covering the buildings. It's still and quiet and safe, and Abby disappears.

Murphy can hardly meet Bellamy's eyes, though he makes the effort. He does focus on Bellamy, at least. Trying not to interfere with whatever magic Bellamy is working by keeping his own mind fixed on the emotion Bellamy's sending him.

He doesn't feel any blame in there. Traces of suspicion, maybe, but the type that inspires concern. Murphy responds to it with relief. And then, when he looks around to find them somewhere else entirely, gratitude.

"Not bad," he exhales shakily.

Bellamy can't help but be a little shocked it worked, and he lets out a relieved breath. He honestly thought this would be a hell of a lot harder, but he's still not exactly sure of the dynamics, so he keeps hold of Murphy's hand.

"Thanks. You okay?"

"Yeah. Just a stupid dream, right?"

Though it doesn't feel like a dream as long as he's in it. He could believe they were actually standing in this street right now. He can smell the asphalt and the blossoms and the leaves. Bellamy's hand is warm against his skin.

Murphy chances another look at him. It feels risky, as if Bellamy can read his thoughts as long as their eyes are locked. But if Murphy can't read him, the same is probably true in reverse.

Luckily for Murphy, Bellamy can't read his thoughts. He does get front row seats to his emotions, however, and it's painfully obvious Murphy is worried about something, here. Bellamy studies him for a moment, considering.

"Yeah. Don't worry, I've had worse."

The scrutiny is unnerving, but Murphy forces himself to hold Bellamy's gaze. The avoidance isn't helping anything. Bellamy's his best friend. It shouldn't be this hard to look him in the eye.

"Do we remember all of this when we wake up?"

It shouldn't be, but this is an... interesting situation. Bellamy doesn't really know how to handle it, either. He hasn't really known how to handle any of this with Murphy. Somehow, he always seems to be tripping up.

"Yeah, I think so. If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to."

"There's nothing to talk about."

Murphy gives Bellamy's hand a light squeeze, as if that's some kind of confirmation it's the truth. It isn't, of course, and Bellamy can probably tell.

Bellamy scoffs softly, a bit of frustration leaking through their bond.

"You keep saying that."

It's not going to work. Lying to Bellamy forever. It's why Murphy should never have gone home with him, should have found someplace else to stay and disappeared again. He needs to talk to Bellamy, but he knows that what he has to say will be the last thing he ever says. It's impossible to understand, let alone forgive.

"Please," he whispers. He needs Bellamy to just believe him. Just for now, stop looking for the truth.

It's already not working. It's obvious there's something wrong, something Murphy is intentionally hiding, but he doesn't have enough information to work it out. Something to do with Abby is his best current guess.

But this is Murphy pleading with him in a way he's never experienced, and his jaw clenches, the bond flooding with worry again. He wrestles with it for a moment, that endless desire to help, to fix it, but finally he relents.

"Okay. Okay, I won't ask."

A fresh wave of relief pushes Murphy forward. He lays his forehead on Bellamy's shoulder, loosening the entanglement of their hands so that he can wrap his arms around Bellamy instead. It's not about keeping distance between them. He doesn't know how to make that clear without saying too much, but the truth is what makes this all fall apart, and he's trying to keep it together.

"I'm sorry."

The bond fades, and Bellamy lets out a slow breath. Something is very, very wrong, and he can't imagine a way of dealing with this that doesn't make it worse. His hand comes up, smoothing slowly up and down Murphy's spine, trying to comfort him as much as possible. This might not be the way he'll do it in six years time up on the ring, but they've decided that doesn't matter, so he goes with his gut.

"You're okay," he says, voice quiet and a little rough. "We'll figure it out, Murphy, whatever this is."

Of course, Murphy doesn't want it figured out. He wants it all behind him. He wants to pretend it never happened, for Clarke and Bellamy to keep seeing him the way they see him now. Far from perfect, but at least he's not a traitor.

"Can we wake up?" he asks, without lifting his head. "I don't wanna mess all this up again."

They can wake up as soon as Bellamy figures out how, but he hesitates, hand stilling. His response is gentle, not prying.

"Mess what up again?"

"The dream."

Their connection. Their shared mindspace. Whatever. It feels awfully fragile and likely to betray Murphy's secrets at any moment. He's lucky it wasn't Clarke's body he tripped over.

"Alright."

He gets it, so no more questions. He just... tries to focus on ending the dream, on pushing back to consciousness.

There's nothing shocking or earth-shattering about it. One moment, they're outside, the sun shining and wind rustling through the plants, and the next, Bellamy is blinking awake in bed, Murphy beside him. Did that work for both of them, or just him?

It worked, although Murphy's slow to open his eyes. Neither unconsciousness nor waking seem very appealing to him right now. He'd like a third option, to escape somewhere. Maybe the bottom of a bottle.

His brow creases, his lashes twitch and flutter, and finally he chances a look over to Bellamy.

Bellamy only looks over when Murphy does, and for the first time since he arrived, he actually itches to activate the empathy bond, just to figure out what's going through Murphy's head. They've been depending on it to close that gap a lot, he realizes. But he doesn't reach for him, just stays where he is, shifting his weight slightly.

"Guess it worked."

Murphy doesn't reach for him, either. Not because he's trying to hide, but because he's made the overall mood terrible enough already. Bellamy doesn't deserve to be subjected to any more of his subconscious wailing.

"Well," he sighs. "That was about as bad as I thought it'd be."

Bellamy lets out a soft, almost amused sound.

"I thought it would be worse."

"Don't jinx it."

It probably wasn't much, Murphy realizes, without the internal panic of being discovered. But he sure as hell isn't saying that out loud. Instead, he inches a little closer to Bellamy.

"Next time let's try to dream about the beach or something."

"You want an umbrella in your drink, too?" Absently, he reaches out to give Murphy's arm a squeeze. No empathy bond this time, just mundane comfort.

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