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

[wrackful]

CHARACTERS: Bellamy, Murphy, Ilde, The Darkling and a special appearance from Y.
WHERE: Gamma Block Jail.
WHEN: DAY :050 - DAY :052
SUMMARY: Bellamy and Murphy spend two days in jail before Ilde and The Darkling bust them out.
WARNINGS: Violence.

Comments

[deployed]

[ 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. ]

[wrackful]

[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.

[deployed]

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. ]

[wrackful]

[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.

[deployed]

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. )