Beatrix Blake and John Murphy share an intricate history of bitter resentment, as the lines between love and hate blur, they grapple with shared histories, betrayal, and the unpredictability of their feelings.
SLOW BURN enemies to lovers.
The 100.
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Shortly after it was made known that Beatrix had caught the illness, she was settled and attended to by Clarke, who's condition had seemed to improve.
With Beatrix settled, Bellamy felt a renewed sense of responsibility. He turned to his sister and gently touched her shoulder. "Rest. I don't want to see you leave the drop ship. I've got to go make plans about the Grounder attack. Let someone know if you need me, okay?"
Outside, the camp was buzzing with activity as people prepared for the impending battle. Bellamy, along with Clarke and the others, were deep in strategising. Beatrix closed her eyes, knowing she needed to regain her strength.
She couldn't afford to be weak in the face of danger, especially when her brother's life was on the line, but she wanted to help, now. "Please let me help, I want to come with you."
"I appreciate the determination, but you need to rest," he replied, his voice firm but filled with worry. "I'm worried that it might effect your seizures." He whispered. "I promise I'll update you on the plan, and if anything changes, you'll be the first to know. I need you to rest for now."
Beatrix opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself. She knew her brother was right for once.
As Beatrix rested in the drop ship, her condition got worse. She had seen others in the camp suffering from the same illness, and had expected it to get worse, but it was hitting her hard as she began to experience severe symptoms.
Nausea gripped her suddenly, and she doubled over in pain. Beatrix retched violently, and as she did, she couldn't help but notice the alarming sight of blood mixed with her vomit. Panic welled up inside her, worried that she would be one of the unlucky ones that didn't survive.
Beatrix's world spun as she continued to vomit blood, feeling a sense of helplessness wash over her. In her dazed state, she was surprised to see Murphy by her side. He wasn't exactly being helpful, but it was somehow comforting.
Beatrix groaned in pain, as she continued to vomit. Murphy held back her hair, watching with a cold, indifferent expression, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You look like utter shit, Blake."
Beatrix shot him a venomous glare between bouts of nausea. "Thanks, Murphy. Your concern is overwhelming."
He simply shrugged, waited till she had stopped and turned away, leaving her to suffer in silence. The mutual hatred between them seemed to grow stronger with every passing moment, and there was no longer comfort to be found in their strained relationship, even in the face of illness.
She observed him as he approached the hammock, forcefully pushing its current occupant. "Get out of my way," he grumbled, then carefully lifted Beatrix and placed her in the hammock. It was an unexpected act of kindness, one that left her momentarily perplexed. Their eyes met briefly before he walked away, leaving her in solitude.
She continued to watch him, Octavia ordering him to help out Connor. Beatrix narrowed her eyes, knowing that Connor was responsible for wrapping the rope around Murphy's neck, But Murphy still helped him, his words comforting. She didn't think she'd ever understand the complexity that was Murphy.
All eyes turned toward the door, their focus shifting as Bellamy stumbled inside, his steps unsteady, and Finn providing support to help him stay on his feet.
Beatrix hurriedly struggled to her feet, abandoning the hammock for Bellamy, but her weakened state betrayed her, and she stumbled. Before she could hit the ground, Murphy caught her, holding her steady. He didn't let go, keeping her on her feet. "Bellamy! What happened?"
Bellamy, looking disheveled and exhausted, waved off their concern. "I'm fine, seriously, I'm fine. Look after yourself, Beatrix." His voice carried a note of worry, but he was more concerned about her than his own condition.
Beatrix steadied herself with Murphy's support. She shot Bellamy a concerned look but nodded, understanding his point.
Murphy, despite his cold stare, seemed oddly attentive to Beatrix's condition. He glanced at her, his eyes revealing a hint of concern, though he tried his best to hide it. "You need to rest," he muttered under his breath, almost as if he didn't want anyone else to hear. "I'll keep an eye on you."
She nodded, letting her lay her down on the blankets on the ground. Her mouth leaked blood, and he turned her on her side, gently wiping the blood from her face. "Why are you helping me?" She coughed.
Murphy gave a nonchalant shrug, masking any hint of genuine concern. "I need my favourite argumentative bitch in top shape." With that, he stepped back, distancing himself emotionally, and returning to his usual gruff demeanour leaving Beatrix as confused as ever.
As the night wore on and the camp settled into a tense silence, Beatrix found herself drifting in and out of consciousness. Murphy, in his own peculiar way, kept a watchful eye on her. He occasionally fetched water or checked on her condition, never admitting that he was concerned, but his actions spoke louder than words.
Octavia and Beatrix stayed up as her condition started to get better, almost completely. She and her sister discussed the strategies Bellamy and the others had devised to defend their camp to ensure Beatrix knew what to do when morning hit. Most of the people who were ill had either gotten better, or died. And Beatrix was grateful she was one of the lucky ones.
They had watched Bellamy rest, he stirred, waking up for minutes, then resting again. He had regained consciousness, starting to improve. "Here." Murphy passed him a glass of water and Bellamy pushed it out of his hands. "Bellamy, I'm just trying to help. You're sick." His tone starting to show frustration.
"Just relax Bellamy, he's on our side right now." Beatrix added, and her brother glared at her.
Bellamy's threat, spoken in hushed tones, hung heavily in the air. "When I get better... And you're still here," he began, his voice carrying the weight of his warning, "you're dead. Stay away from us and keep your distance from my sister." His words were threatening and Murphy just nodded, bitterly.
Clarke intervened, sensing the need to diffuse the mounting hostility. She gracefully took the cup and cloth from Murphy's hands, her touch gentle as she rested a hand on Bellamy's shoulder. "Here," she offered, passing the cup to him. Bellamy accepted it with gratitude, his demeanour softening as their eyes locked.
"You feeling better?" he inquired, his voice laced with genuine concern.
"Yeah," Clarke replied, her gaze unwavering as they shared a moment of connection.
"That's good," Bellamy muttered, his struggle to express his emotions evident as he grappled with vulnerability.
Octavia and Beatrix exchanged a subtle glance, silently acknowledging a shared realisation. They had both noticed the shift in Bellamy's demeanour, a change they had never witnessed before. He was falling.
