station72 | [closed] should've heard them knocked-out jailbirds sing

[It's not the greeting Murphy had expected. It's not information he was aware of, either, and the surprise is evident as he follows Bellamy's gaze to his hands. His knuckles, split in the fight with Yan, had scabbed in the time in the cell, but clearly the guards yanking him around had reopened some. He hadn't noticed, but now he's aware, he recognises the sting of open skin. Minor, probably gone in an hour.]

It's nothing.

[He wipes the worst of the blood off on the front of his jumpsuit.]

Don't worry, I won't get it on your sheets. [As he moves to sit beside him on the cot.]

Let me see.

[ It's a superficial injury. Bellamy's seen worse, and been unable to treat worse. He's not Clarke; his medical capabilities are far more limited. But he can handle Murphy's hands.

And it's partly his fault that Murphy landed in that situation. Bellamy suspects Yan would have picked a fight with them inevitably, but Bellamy had carried himself the wrong way. That had been made immediately obvious by Murphy's reaction. But even that aside, it's a natural urge to want to help where he can. ]

[Murphy would be more confused about why, if he couldn't feel Bellamy's intentions. Instead it's more bemusement, obvious in his expression as he holds his hands out.]

What, bored enough to play nurse?

[Not that his hands need any treatment - he'd certainly never given split knuckles more than a wash before. He turns his hands one way, then the other, then starts to pull them back.]

I told you, it's nothing.

[ On the ground, they wouldn't have bothered. Maybe Clarke would have, if they had time and she had the supplies. But a minor injury like split knuckles wouldn't have merited a second glance. Bellamy had tried to walk off a stab wound; he'd barely have taken notice of split knuckles.

They have the time here. That's the difference. ]

They're bleeding, [ He repeats, tightening his grip until Murphy stops pulling. ] You got something else you want to do right now?

[ They've been laying on their cots for hours. Unless Murphy wants to instigate a fight, he can humor Bellamy with this for now. ]

[Bellamy doesn't let go, so Murphy finally relents, leaves his hands where they are. It's clear he's humouring Bellamy more than really agreeing to this. He doesn't even know what Bellamy thinks he's going to be able to do. It wasn't like they had any medical supplies.]

One of those milk drinks from that place across the street would be good.

[Deadpan. Bellamy had asked what he wanted.]

Be realistic.

[ But jokes aren't the worst response Murphy could have. Bellamy's fine with Murphy humoring him too. It's for the best. The outcome will still be the same. Once he's satisfied that Murphy's not going to take his hands back, Bellamy reaches over to drag up his rumpled sheet and start tearing it into strips. ]

I don't think you're going to have a chance at those any time soon.

[ Even if they got out, they'll likely have to lie low. Or sprint directly to the station if what he'd caught from the Darkling and Shiro held true. ]

Seriously?

[But Bellamy doesn't even pause in tearing up the sheet, so: yes, seriously. Murphy looks around the rest of the cell, the attention they're getting for Bellamy's actions, but without Yan he can't see any of them being problems. He's glad, really. He's tired of projecting the attitude needed to keep them away, even if he'd know not to entertain that tiredness under nastier circumstances.]

Hey, maybe the next place they send us will have them. [There's something a little wistful in it. Then the corner of his mouth tugs, tone turning dry.] Maybe they'll all be like this, and it'll turn out we're the only planet that blew itself up.

[ Maybe they were the only planet that had been consumed by fire and bombs. It wasn't a very pleasant thought. Bellamy, taking advantage of Murphy's unexpected acquiescence, starts carefully winding the ragged strip of sheet around his knuckles. ]

I don't know if they'll all be like this.

[ Bellamy hadn't spent a lot of time considering the wide world beyond earth. There'd been enough to worry about without thinking about the universe. Even now, in a cell, Bellamy has a hard time formulating the possibilities. ]

We'll see after we get out of here. And after the others finish the mission.

[For all that it's been obvious where Bellamy was going with this, the moment he takes Murphy's hand and starts wrapping the torn fabric around his knuckles draws Murphy up short. Almost like he hadn't expected it to get this far, to fall away or be given up on before it got there.

His experiences of this kind of care have been scarce in the past few months, despite how many times he's been injured. Clarke, checking over his wrecked hands in the drop ship. Abby making sure the wound in his leg wasn't going to kill him before passing him back to the guards in Camp Jaha. Thoughts of milk drinks or future missions dry up as he watches Bellamy's fingers gently wind the makeshift bandage around his hand, looks at his face and the quiet concentration there.

The memories of Clarke and Abby both have Bellamy as a shadow, unforgiving and angry. Despite how far they've come since then, Murphy still would have never expected Bellamy to have turned this much care to him.]

Do you ever miss the Ark?

[It's an abrupt question, but his tone's softer, muted in the space between them. He doesn't mean the camp, whatever's been built out of the wreckage. He means before they'd been dropped, before any of them had ever seen the ground.]

[ The memories between them are like silt, rising in wisps when disturbed. Bellamy's face is always clouded with anger in Murphy's mind. He doesn't like that part of himself. He wants to be better than the man Murphy remembers him as, but it will take more to erode those images than carefully wrapped makeshift bandages. ]

Yes.

[ Because it was difficult not to miss a place that had once been a home. But when Bellamy says yes, he's thinking of all the parts of the Ark that had died with his mother. His mother and Octavia tucked safely in their quarters, cocooned together as his mother read to them. It felt idyllic; Bellamy should have known then that it would never have been possible for it to last. ]

And no.

[ No sparks a shift in his thoughts: the suffocating oppression of the class system, his mother dead, his sister locked away, a position on the guard wrenched from his grasp. His entire future had been swallowed up by the rules the Ark lived by. It's difficult to truly miss it now that he understood all the moving parts. ]

Do you?

[ His fingers smooth the material carefully, wrapping Murphy's hand as if they were going to box. It's the most secure way Bellamy knows, even if the fabric is uneven and he doesn't have quite enough. He'll get creative with it. ]

[One hand wrapped, Murphy draws it back, clenches his fist and releases again, testing. It's comfortable; not too tight, not too loose. He doesn't know what good it's actually going to do for his knuckles, but in the moment that doesn't seem to matter so much.]

Yeah. Sometimes.

[After a moment, after Bellamy's memories have started to fade in his mind. His own are coloured differently, happiness destroyed much sooner. His father floated and the misery of his mother's death drawn out long, soaked in alcohol and Murphy's complete inability to do anything to help her. Except stay and take every vicious word she sent his way. He looks back up at Bellamy, mouth tugging flat.]

I miss knowing what was going to happen. It sucked. It all sucked. But at least you knew how much it was going to suck.

[There was a safety in that. The process. The rules. They were bullshit, but somehow he thinks they were less terrifying than the desperate, scrabbling unknown they'd fallen into when they'd landed on the ground.]

But now I'd probably die of boredom before they even got around to floating me. [Tone drier again, mouth twisting in the corner.] Just can't win.

The Ark wasn't made to let people like us win.

[ Clarke had accused Bellamy of taking that stance to garner support among the hundred, and that hadn't been entirely wrong. But Bellamy had believed everything he'd said. The Ark wasn't made to allow anyone to flourish who wasn't as privileged as Clarke had been. Murphy's memories swim through his mind, mingle with Bellamy's as he smooths the fabric into place over Murphy's hands. ]

At least here we have a fighting chance.

[ Which is different from everything else that had happened and likely was still happening on the ground in their absence. ]

It's better than being a janitor.

[ It's said a joke, but it masks the bigger, more terrifying prospect that Bellamy had lived day in and day out with: Octavia's trial, and the possibility that they'd float her. Being slowly crushed to death under the weight of the Ark's hierarchy paled beside the idea of watching his sister be sucked out of the airlock the way his mother had been. ]

[There's a lot of things he could say to that. That Bellamy's idea of a fighting chance was seriously skewed. That being a janitor was probably better than having an alien bug in your head. That it wasn't the Ark which wasn't made for letting them win, but the whole damn multiverse.

But he looks at Bellamy's expression and swallows those words down. Cynicism was practical, had kept Murphy alive further than maybe he should have managed, but he knows it all and so does Bellamy. Neither of them need him to say it in this moment. His mouth tugs, instead.]

Yeah, somehow I doubt you were any good at that. Janitoring.

[He thinks of Bellamy with a mop in hand and can only imagine it shortly being used as a weapon. But he's done alright on this weird attempt at bandaging, as much as Murphy's sure he doesn't need it. The second wrap's as comfortable as the first as he stretches his hand, tests it.]

Thanks.

You're welcome.

[ Clarke would have done better with the bandages, but they look like they'll hold. His own hands fall to his lap as he watches Murphy inspect his handiwork. The Ark feels worlds away, but he still thinks about how he'd never have crossed paths with Murphy if they'd stayed on it. There would have been so much that never would have happened to him. Bellamy isn't sure whether that's a good or bad thing anymore.

But still, the idea of the Ark is still too stifling to feel preferable even in the face of so much suffering. Bellamy's trying to come up with a flippant way to voice that, or deflect the accusation about his janitorial duties when he feels a tug in the back of his head. ]

Murphy.

[ Bellamy's voice drops, quiet. He can feel the Darkling. It's not the same dampened contact from the hospital. He's close by. That changes everything. ]

( Our way out is here. )

[closed] should've heard them knocked-out jailbirds sing

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