#jontari

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What as it like? What did they think it was like? It was disgusting. If he never saw an open chest cavity again it’d been too soon. But he’d had no choice. That always seemed to be the way of it with Ontari, didn’t it? Even in death she still held some power, some control it seemed. 

But he’d done it. Mostly for Abby and because if he didn’t, they were all going to die or have ALIE drilled into their head by brainwashed grounders. He tried not to look. He tried not to vomit. Her body was still warm and he gagged as his hand wrapped around the muscle. Dead muscle. It wasn’t beating. Abby pulled him out of it, he guessed, said something that made him start moving his hand, squeezing slow and steady and so unlike his own in that moment. 

Murphy’s pulse raced. Another thing that always seemed to happen around Ontari. It hadn’t always been a bad thing. At first it was more like a rush, a quick skip in the beat of his heart as he watched her very naked, very wet body step from the bath. Then there’d been fear, sharp blades at his throat and harsh words making his heart speed even though he’d gritted through every moment, just as he did now. 

His hand clasped her heart. The irony wasn’t lost on him. She’d been eager to give so much but not that, yet here he was holding it. But oh, how it’d raced once. He’d felt it beating against his own body, pulsing in time with his, and regardless of the circumstance that meant something now. 

There was a war raging behind him, but there wasn’t anything he could about that. She was his task and all he could do was keep time with his hand and hoped there was enough blood left in her body for Clarke to finish her mission. If she didn’t, none of this mattered anyway.

Murphy finally let himself look at Ontari. He hadn’t slept much that first night but she did. Like a rock. She could have almost been sleeping then if it wasn’t for the black blood smeared on her face or the futile bandage wrapped around her head. Or, you know, her chest cut open with his hand inside it. His hand continued to pump, a cheap imitation, nothing like the lively girl he knew not long ago. If only they’d gotten there sooner, if he’d gone for Jaha and not Abby, if he’d stopped her from taking the chip in the first place. He could kill himself with the questions but looking down at her now, the false commander, he couldn’t help but feel as if he’d failed as her fake flamekeeper.