#jmrph

‘       HEY.     LISTEN TO ME.     WE ARE    ALL    GONNA GET OUT OF HERE,     but we need to stay focused.     can you do that   ?       ’

his voice is calmer than his pulse,     steadier than his nerves     ;     this disaster is counting down fast towards    launch    in both a literal and figurative sense,     and they’re feeling it as a collective.     it’s written just as plainly on murphy as anyone else,     though bellamy has to give him credit     —     he’s done a hell of a good job at hiding it so far.

but that big doomsday clock is ticking.     they’re almost out of time.

a twitch of jaw muscles as his gaze flickers to look past murphy’s shoulder,     towards the lab entrance.     raven has to be well on her way back by now.     clarke    has    to be almost finished rerouting power to the go - sci ring.     they’d be stumbling inside at any second.

c’mon,     raven.     we need you.

(    they aren’t going to come back,     are they   ?    )

‘       yeah,       ’       murphy says,       ‘       i can do that.     can you   ?       ’

he swallows,     throat dry,     tongue soured with a panic that swells in his chest but doesn’t make it past his teeth because they    don’t have time    for panic.     panic gets you killed.

you,     or somebody you care about.

their eyes catch and he nods,     a single curt motion.       ‘       help me finish loading up.     we should be ready when they get back.       ’

‘       EITHER THAT OR A GROUNDER.       that’s the point.       ’       it’s easy to lose your bearings on unfamiliar turf,     easier still with the imminent threat of    death    hovering constantly above their heads like a sword of damocles.     the fog in question     —     the regular kind,     not the    burn your skin off    kind     —     had started at such a gradual crawl that they hadn’t noticed right away,     its creeping tendrils barely a lacuna in their peripheral vision.     if he were to guess,     given the blind spots that begin at about five feet in every direction,     he’d say it was already rolling off the water when they’d left camp just under three hours ago.

on the one hand,     readily provided cover makes him feel less like a sitting duck     ;     but on the other hand,     cover    won’t matter if they end up going in circles because they can’t fucking    see.

murphy’s wandered ahead a couple of cautious paces,     and even that minor span of distance makes him harder to see.     for bellamy,     at least     —     something tells him a    sentry    waiting for a kill shot in one of these trees could see him just fine.

his heart thuds up against the base of his throat.     urgent.

more so than he’d like.

‘       …     damn it.     murphy,       ’       two strides bring them level,     one hand braced on the rifle at his side while the other grabs for murphy’s shoulder,     a clear prompt to    stop.     voice low,     an edge to it,       ‘       what the hell are you doing   ?     fall back.     we’re not going anywhere until this clears up.       ’

‘       WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS   ?       ’

the constant hum of machinery,     the soft rattle of air ducts churning out recycled O2,     is nothing but white noise at the edge of his awareness.     it’s a zoned hypnosis,     familiar and easy to ignore     ;     just as easy to    listen    and lull into a false sense of complacency.

there’s a half - empty cup of moonshine in his hand,     and it doesn’t help.     a strong smell,     heavy and chemical,     and an even stronger burn that strips his throat like a corrosive.     something meant to dull the jagged edges but only manages to make them sharper.     or maybe it’s    murphy    who’s doing that.     they’ve been back in space for almost three months and he still can’t believe murphy’s tolerated being in the same    room    as him,     let alone the go - sci station itself.     this haphazard scrap of pressurized steel and hydraulics,     suspended some twelve - hundred miles in low earth orbit,     not even equipped with enough hydrazine to fuel their five - year descent.

barring another life support malfunction,     they could be stuck here forever.     stuck here and faced with the weight of what they’ve done.

what    he’s    done.

he remembers the roar and clamor of the crowd.     how quick they’d all been to condemn without proof,     without explanation,     based solely on accusations thrown and initials scratched into the handle of a stolen knife.     he remembers the    fear    in murphy’s eyes,     the way he’d choked out bellamy’s name     —     remembers the splintering crash of that crate and the taut snap of the makeshift noose that somehow,     miraculously,     didn’t    break the boy’s neck.

he doesn’t know how to apologize for something like that.     not in the right way.     not in a way that might actually    mean    something.

a long look into the cup and he reconsiders that last sip,     because it’s making his head reel and his gut heave.     looks at murphy instead,     leveling eye contact,     and the undertow of contrition tugs at him until he has to drop his gaze again.

‘       —     you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone,     murphy.     especially not to    me.     not anymore.       ’

‘       LIKE HELL YOU ARE.       ’       a quick retaliation,     and an even quicker side - step to block murphy’s path.     he says it with squared shoulders and a hard stare,     like his tone needs bolstering     ;     like he doesn’t already know how to command attention,     exude authority.     most of it’s bravado.     he's as scared as they are,     but that’s not important.     what’s    important    is making them believe they have a fighting chance.     making them believe there’s    hope.

‘       you saw what the grounders did to jasper.     they’re out there right now,     and we have no idea    what    they’re planning or when their next attack is gonna be.     so until we can figure that out,     nobody    leaves this camp.     we clear   ?       ’