[open]

[wrackful]

CHARACTERS: Murphy & OPEN
WHERE: Various around the Station.
WHEN: DAY :042 - :045 (see headers for specifics).
SUMMARY: Some misc downtime stuff and nightmares.
WARNINGS: Nightmares/memories of violence, death, gore.

( SCAVENGE | DAY :042 )

[The ship they'd stolen to get off of Shril looks out of place in the Station's hangar. It isn't elegant or sleek, or has any of the geometric lines which would put it in keeping with the honeycomb textures around it. Dark, aged and patched in places with newer metal, the bulbous shape of it more resembles a vegetable than anything else. It didn't match the store it had been built into, either, but the links were all too clear if examined for a moment. People coming to a new place, building a business and a life out of the shell of what they'd been before, but still keeping it. Remembering it.

Murphy doesn't think about it. If he did, he'd have to think about how that family were destroyed now, torn apart by Murphy and the group he'd led through their store, through them, to this ship. To survive, he tells himself, but that stopped making it less bitter to swallow a while ago.

It doesn't make him feel bad about searching the innards of the ship. Thievery had been easy, and he'd rather make what they'd done worth it than leave what might be useful stuff to rot over some misguided idea like respect. The ship is full of stuff, alien items varied from the bizarre to the mundane, and it turns out "useful" doesn't apply to a lot of it. Hunting through definitely isn't boring, though, and he's been at it for a few hours by now, the odd clatter or crash echoing out from the ship's open door. There's a slowly growing stack of items by the door: a small pile of books, two pairs of boots with a stray solitary companion, an embroidered case holding rows of tiny silver balls, and a large framed painting of a six-limbed alien reclining on a green-sanded beach.

The last is balanced pride of place, and almost definitely there to screw with people.]

( COOK | DAY :043 )

[He still hasn't dug through the whole of the ship, but he's rescued every book he's come across so far. Most of them don't interest him on first look, set aside to probably be dropped on Bellamy at some point, but two had been recipes. Pictures of food. He'd flicked through idly just to see what the meals looked like, but after stopping at a few, realised the instructions hadn't sounded that difficult. Simple stages to follow, point A to B to C, and a decent reward at the end.

The ingredients he'd found in the kitchens hadn't been exactly the same as what was pictured, but they seemed close enough. There's something soothing in the process: cut things up, combine, apply heat. What's simmering on the hob right now isn't quite the same colour as the dish in the book, but it smells good. It tastes good, too, when he stops to check, and the low sense of surprise spreading outwards from him isn't because it's all alien. It's at his own success.]

( RUN | DAY :044, MORNING )

[Running laps is not Murphy's idea of a good time. The opposite, really. But as much as he'd dug his heels in when Annie and Bellamy had first pushed it on him, the logic behind it was sound. Train now, survive later.

That still doesn't mean he enjoys it, and this morning Bellamy's tolerance for his constant mental complaining has worn out. He's opted for a checkpoint system, timing how long it takes Murphy to do each loop through the corridors and past him. It doesn't work to inspire, though, and right now Murphy's taking a breath. Hands braced on his knees, he's dripping sweat, chest heaving, totally unfit and looking it. Feeling it, too, and what had truly been intended as just a breath abruptly turns into a full break.]

Screw this.

[He spits, and then drops, ungainly, to sprawl out on his back on the floor. Bellamy will come looking, eventually. Right now he doesn't care at all.]

( DREAM | DAY :042 - :045, NIGHT )

[Awake, Murphy's control is strong. It has been from the start, some kind of intrinsic understanding regarding his own mind and how to keep it removed from others. Memory and emotion pierce that, often, closeness with some leeching through in smaller ways.

Nights are different. Especially since Shril. His nightmares are the same from the ground, following him here, but they bleed outwards now. Pain, fear, loss, death. Dark trees with warpainted warriors stalking amongst them, sickness spitting blood from a dozen young faces, stifling desert heat and the stomach-knotting tension of death waiting underfoot, a cloaked priest with raised fists, a woman splattered with black blood sat on a throne with a child's head in her hand. The visions mix, blur, sometimes don't come to shape at all. But they come every night. There's never been any freedom from them.]

[[NOTE: I haven't written up set specific nightmare scenes for this one, but I can craft something more solid for anyone who tags in on it!]]

Comments

[adamance]

[There are two roads to take from his diatribe. The easier one, the less beneficial one, is to pretend that his words mean nothing to her, but Lexa has never been great about such a great degree of pushback. In the face of those she cares about, it's difficult for her to maintain her composure. That isn't to say she cares about Murphy—but like it or not, she has a lot riding on whether she can pull out some kind of alliance. Some part of her does care about making things work for Bellamy's sake. And more than that, she feels vulnerable in his presence because of the knowledge he has, because of what he's seen, because of what he's relayed to her.

The other road, quite simply, is to relent, at least a little.

Showing vulnerabilities to others is difficult. She's been trained not to do it, praised for her ability to overcome it, and tries not to relive the hours and days after she lost Costia for a reason. It's not Murphy's fault that he doesn't know about her. And she's not about to tell him.

Clarke, at least, is safer territory. Lexa has no idea of the depth of what happened at her bedside when she died, but she can only imagine that it was apparent that she loved Clarke. She loves Clarke. Months of being a Host has done nothing to temper that for her. It's only made her feel as if she needs to let her go, so that she doesn't wish her into existence in some way. (Feeling this way doesn't mean she's managed it. She hasn't.)]

For someone who speaks of Clarke so frequently, it's as if you don't know what I did to her. And to your people. I betrayed her. And them. I believed in what I was doing, and I realized the limitations of my decision in the end. I know exactly what followed could come back to me. I don't believe that I'm without fault, and I believe that realizing that mistake made me into the leader I could have been. [But she passed too early. Or she became a Host too early. It's hard to say.

As it is, she still believes herself to be a good leader. Murphy can criticize her all he wants, but she feels like she's gone through the trials and come out the other end. Just because she doesn't admit her faults doesn't mean she's unaware of them.

After a beat, she goes on, looking down at the bottle in front of her.]

And ... for a moment there, you sounded like her. Like Clarke. Do you really think you're the only person to be frustrated with me like this? But she's the only other one who's bothered to say it. [Sans Ilde, but it was in a time when she was in pain, and Lexa never bothered to give any weight to her words.

Perhaps it's a mistake to liken his words to Clarke's, but she feels like this may be the path he wants. Does he expect her to talk about Titus, about the pain she felt in losing him? Or about how she spoke with the other Commanders he taught while she was comatose, all to cope with that revelation finally? Or about Gustus, and what his betrayal meant to her? It's not easy for her to say these things, and part of that is because Titus had embedded that belief in her, even more strongly than all the others.]

[wrackful]

[He's expecting her to fight back. To get angry, either in an active way or that walled, holier-than-thou attitude she puts on. He isn't expecting her to actually seem to listen for once, to talk as if she's almost agreeing with what he's said.

But it's only almost. And when she gets to comparing him to Clarke, he can't help but laugh: dry, probably more genuine than Lexa's ever heard from him before. He shakes his head slightly.]

I really wish I could see the look on her face if she heard that.

[Nevermind that it isn't that surprising. Clarke had seen through Bellamy's bullshit, long before Murphy had been inclined to. Made a lot of decisions Murphy ultimately agreed with, as much as he might have not agreed with others, or her tendency to run right at whatever was most likely to kill them. And he still can't see what the hell she saw in Lexa.]

The part you're missing is that I wasn't with them. [One part, anyway. He's fully aware Lexa knows basically nothing about where he's been, what he's been through, and what he knows.] But it usually takes a lot more than realising one mistake.

[Twofold: to be better, and to gain anything resembling forgiveness from Skaikru. The last spikes a splinter of bitterness, digging in under the skin. He'd had to earn his way, and left when even that wasn't enough. What had Lexa done?]

[adamance]

Knowing Clarke, it's more likely that she'd calmly agree. [Clarke is far more diplomatic than Lexa will ever be. She's more interested in extending an appearance of seeming evenhanded, even if it's all a manipulative tactic to succeed. Like it or not, she is more willing to see the value in someone's words than Lexa will ever manage—though leadership's difficulties have taught her some of that regardless.]

Either way, consider that mistake to be a turning point. You're also right that the choices I made at that time led to my death. I'd made arrangements beforehand. [Would she have ever expected it to come at the hands of Titus? Not in a million years. He had been her teacher, her mentor, and the man who guided her tattoo artist following her conclave.]

Not that anything I've said undermines your main accusation. You think me a liar. But I'm uncertain that there's much I can do to appease you there. [They both know the difficulty of survival. He knows how her people torture, and at least some of the difficulty they initially faced in ripping answers out of him. They had captured him because it was expected to go more swiftly. It hadn't. And he had been grabbed again and again for a reason, because he was a target. Being removed from his people ... it makes sense, now, knowing that he had been tortured by Titus. He once again proved to be a target.

As it is, no part of her wishes to relent when it comes to her emotions. She feels as if that would be taking things too far. He hasn't earned that from her.]

[wrackful]

[Still absolutely no sense of humour. It's almost more of a blow than anything else she's ever tried against him, the way it crashes and burns around her. More of a surprise than the way she still doesn't get that it wasn't about choices, or this idea that Murphy even wants anything from her. His mouth tugs flat at the corners.]

Yeah, I guess honesty would be too much of a stretch, right?

[Not that he's actually interested in knowing her feelings, playing some kind of confessional. He'd called her a liar because she lied to herself, and it didn't look like she even knew how to change that, no matter how much she'd given the impression of listening to him. This time around.]

And if you really wanted to appease me, all you'd have to do is leave me alone. [He lifts one hand, empty, lets it drop.] I don't actually give a damn about what you do. But you don't, you just keep turning up and trying to have these little chats.

[Veiled and not-so-veiled accusations, questioning his motives, intentions, loyalties. As if he had to answer to her, as if she could tell him what to do. And all of it framed in more assumptions about him than he'd even had to deal with in Camp Jaha.]

[adamance]

You call me a liar for choosing not to bare myself to you, and when I try to treat our relationship as one where we can mutually benefit from, you say you'd rather not. I hope you see the contradiction in this. [Essentially: she has no reason to be honest about her emotions with him. From her perspective, that's what he accused her of messing up. He called her a liar because she buried her pain. Does he think she's never experienced pain? It's possible. And oddly selfish and shortsighted who was just clever a moment ago.]

If it's the manner in which I went about it, I thought if I kept things more official, it would be easier for both of us. I believe I was wrong. The simple point of the matter is that we can't just ignore one another. You know why. [Bellamy is making that difficult. It's not just the worry about them spending time together. It's clear in his words and in his actions that he wants to change Lexa's opinion of Murphy. So, out of respect to him, she's trying to act on it.

These are all words that might be helpful to say, but she doesn't.]

[wrackful]

You're still not getting it.

[He shakes his head, incredulity pinching his expression. No amusement to it now. Just pure, unfiltered, that she could keep missing the point.]

I'm not pissed because I didn't get to be your shoulder to cry on.

[He hadn't wanted that. Had been trying to avoid it, leaving the roof without telling her the details of her death. He hadn't known it wasn't going to be a problem, then, and he wasn't calling her a liar for lying to him, or anyone else. The first person on the list was her.]

What you bury, you've pushed it down so deep you can't recognise any of it other people anymore. Not even your flamekeeper. [What got her killed: not her choices, or her arrogance, or even her trust. This.] You're blind.

[And it was her own doing. Self-inflicted, continually, but he can't tell if she held onto it because she thought it was a strength or because she didn't know how else to function. Either way, all it did was make her weak.]

And you know what else is a contradiction? You think I'm just keeping Bellamy around to throw under the bus, but somehow, now, I also give a damn about his relationships.

[He leaves it there, hanging. Can't have it both ways.]

[adamance]

[There's a certain irony in bringing up Titus' emotions as if she had failed to recognize them, when it was Titus himself who tried to suppress the part of her that cared for others and acted upon her feelings. She debates telling him about her last conversation with Titus, the one before she was with Clarke, and before she ended up here. Her understanding of her life remains certain: if she hadn't come here, she would've died one way or the other. It just would have been a different party killing her.

But she chooses not to in the end, because while she might be frustrating, she doesn't care to open up to him simply to prove that she has some management over her emotions. She doesn't care to tell him that Titus' lack of faith in her and pressure to suppress her side of her had led to the contrast in opinions and her eventual death. He knows enough to create a fairly coherent narrative of her life and death; she sees no need to offer him more, even if it might clarify things.]

I recognize that Bellamy cares for you, [is what she decides to go with in the end.] He insists that the feeling is mutual. But you aren't like just another member of this Nest. [He isn't just another Host. Their lives overlap, like it or not, and she refuses to act as if they don't.]

[wrackful]

[There it is. She shuts down, doesn't respond on what he's said, and of course her apparent ability to listen for once was going to be short-lived. He wonders if any of it would stick, or if she'd just use whatever time until she ambushed him again to dissect and dismiss everything he's said.

It's a dry, bitter spark of amusement, and it's much easier to hold onto than let himself react to Bellamy caring for him. Terms he'd never put it in, but then, he tended to avoid trying to define his and Bellamy's relationship at any time. Especially not for Lexa's benefit.]

So that means I get these little 'prove yourself' interrogations whenever you feel like it.

[Part of him is almost resigned to it. Used to it. But he'd left Camp Jaha because he was sick of it, refused to go back for the same reason, and it doesn't matter what sentiment or motivation she puts behind it. He'll never bow to it, and his defiance is sharp and cold.]

I still don't answer to you. I never will. But you just can't wrap your head around that, can you?

[adamance]

Why is it so difficult for you to understand that I'm not here as Bellamy's Commander? [Lexa knows that her words can easily be twisted against her. She knows that he'll point out that she's no one's Commander. She steels herself for that pointless remark, because it has no place here.]

Bellamy will continue to put your needs ahead of his regardless of what I advise. Coming to a point where we can trust each other may only help him in the long term. The issue is that one of is accustomed to compromising their needs, while the other is not. [This is a way of instigating a reaction out of him. Lexa wants to agitate and antagonize him, so she pulls this out to see precisely how he can act.

She's far from willing to give up, as she did before, as she thought she did coming here. But something drives her to ensure that they can at least tolerate one another. It probably doesn't help that she's felt Bellamy's unconditional love for him. It's difficult to throw that aside easily.

Lexa doubts that Murphy believes she can experience any emotions and sympathize with them. She's not about to pull the veil off his eyes if he can't realize that yet.]

[wrackful]

[There's no doubt in Murphy's mind that she means him. That he isn't accustomed to compromising his needs, and she is. Maybe the last part is even true, though he can't help but think she's probably compromised a hell of a lot more on the needs of her people than her own. Like the kids Jaha had left in the mountain. Craig, thrown overboard to feed a monster.

There's no way she can know he's been forced to compromise on his needs since the day his father was taken to an airlock. How much he's had to fight for just the one, core and basic: survival. But he isn't going to tell her any of that, explain himself, all things she seems to totally fail to understand about who he is. It's just another link in the same chain with her, the push she's been making the whole time for him to prove himself, for Bellamy's sake or just to pass under her judgement.

He doesn't need to pass it. He doesn't answer to her, commander or not. His mouth tugs down at the corners, and he nods, eyes flat.]

Yeah, you seriously have no idea.

[Dry, distant, and very much finished with this chat.]

I think we're done here. [He moves to walk past her, finally.] Nice talk, again.

[adamance]

[Agitation—no, fury—rips through her for a brief, blinding moment, before she snuffs it out through the grind of her teeth and a sharp breath taken in. After all, Lexa is not so far removed from the person who would kill someone for speaking to her that way, and her loyalty to Clarke and Bellamy does little to completely remove that desire. Murphy will be able to sense the anger, as well as the fragility of the walls that she maintains; her feelings aren't for show here. She can only keep them fortified when she can refrain from moments like these.

Visibly, she closes her eyes while she tries to reel herself in, and it takes longer than she'd like. But she does. She has no choice.

She sends a single statement to Bellamy as she opens her eyes to reveal Murphy's back, a sign of her attempt:] ( I tried. ) [To her mind, she hadn't even come here to try, at least consciously. But try she did.

In her own way.]