FROZEN STARS
TWENTY SIX
" if i could dream long enough, you'd tell me i'll be just fine. "

IT HAD been dark when they got back yet the camp was in complete disarray. Everyone was still awake, huddled around the dropship, curiously worried chatter filling the air. Bellamy had marched towards the crowd, demanding to know what could possibly be more important than keeping watch over the wall or maintaining the fire.

Octavia had been there to meet them, hands on her hips, half-scowling and her expression troubled. 'Murphy's back', she'd told Clarke and Bellamy and they'd glanced at each other before before Bellamy, expression twisted into anger, stormed furiously into the dropship.

"Where is he?!" His booming demand was loud even from outside.

"Oh, shit," Elijah whispered, unable to mask his laughter. It fell to be serious when the crowd, who had previously been stood curiously outside of the dropship, surged forward, all eager to catch sight of their previously-exiled former campmate. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" He pushed his way to the front of the crowd, halting them in their tracks. "Leave them alone, go finish up your work." He ordered.

After a few seconds skeptical glares in Elijah's direction, the crowd — slowly but surely — dissipated, everyone shuffling back to their abandoned stations; guards returning, guns cocked, to the border fence, the telltale crackle of the fire as new logs were tossed into the flames.

And, on Elijah's face, sat the biggest grin Marley had ever seen. He pushed some hair out of his face — it was getting far too long yet he'd flat out refused to let Raven so much as touch it — before wiggling his eyebrows in her direction. "Oh, I love the power."

Marley raised a questioning eyebrow in his direction - a gesture which only widened his smirk. "Watch your back Bellamy Blake, it's Elijah Bowman's camp now." He proudly proclaimed.

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THE SUN was only just rising when Marley woke; she could see the colours on the horizon, ever soft hue of orange and pink and purple, illuminated by the bright cracks of sunlight breaking through the trees.

The morning it happened, she was on breakfast duties with Elijah. You could say what you wanted about the dark-haired boy and his persistent goofiness but he worked hard. By the time she arrived, still rubbing her eyes and yawning, he'd already finished setting everything up.

And it was a normal morning — Marley and Elijah performing their obligatory role handing out breakfast — considering there was a bloodied and beaten Murphy sat within the dropship. At least, it was, until the sickness came. First, it hit Clarke, Connor and Derek - all succumbing to whatever sickness Murphy had brought into camp. Then, the quarantine came; everyone who had made contact with Murphy had been hauled into the dropship to try and stop the sickness.

Evidentially, it hadn't worked.

More and more people were stumbling towards the dropship, coughing and spluttering, legs weak and threatening to give way.

The thing was, Marley hadn't felt that ill until it was too late. She'd stopped dead in her tracks, only for a second, hand bracing against the table beside her. It was a momentary dizziness, the floor tilting in front of her. Only for a second, so briefly that she barely paid it much attention.

But apparently enough for Elijah to notice something was wrong. "Marley, are you okay?" He questioned.

"I'm fine." Marley shrugged off his concern, rubbing her eyes. Her eyelids felt heavy - but she was tired, they'd got back late and she'd woken up early morning for work - it was  shrugged off as nothing more than lack of sleep. "Just tired," she lied.

Though, when spots clouded her vision — dark and imposing — they blotted out the sunlight. Her head felt heavy and she really did feel unbearably sick, the world twirling in front of her eyes.

"Elijah, I don't feel-" she managed to murmur. She couldn't even finish her sentence; she was already out. And she was falling — darkness descending over her vision — towards Elijah. He caught her as she fell, inches from hitting the ground.

"Marley? Marley, are you okay?"

She can't have been out for long, surely no more than a matter of seconds, because she was conscious enough to hear his words. They were distorted, warped and strange-sounding, almost like she was dreaming. But her vision was still blurred — all the colours and shapes blending together, a disorientating kaleidoscope of greens and browns and greys and blacks. It was as if she was underwater, everything obscured by the waves rushing around her head.

"Marley?" Came a second voice. Bellamy. She had no idea where he'd come from - she hadn't even seen him all morning. "We need to get her into the dropship." He told Elijah, who was still holding her up as best he could. "Marley, can you walk?"

She could - but barely. "Hmm," Marley hummed in reply, "I'm fine." She insisted.

"No, you're not," Elijah told her. Her head was clearing - steadying along with her hands and feet, the warping and distortion dissipating - yet, the second her feet planted firmly on the ground, she stumbled, knees buckling. Elijah's arm was still around her, Bellamy's looping around her waist to hold her upright.

"You're not sick yet," Bellamy told him, "Let me take her."

"You're not sick, either." He countered. "I'm good to take her."

"I've already been exposed and we can't risk anyone else getting sick. I've got her," he murmured.

Elijah dropped his arms and it was just Bellamy holding her now, hand on her waist as she draped her arm around his shoulders. She moved slowly — legs aching at every small movement — thankful that her vision had mostly returned to normal so she could actually see where she was going.

"Thank you," she whispered. The words scratched her throats, ugly coughing wracking her body. Sharp gasps of air followed by angry, hacking coughs. There was a lingering metallic taste, pooling inside her mouth; she was too scared to look but she knew exactly what it was. The pair carried on their slow hobbling towards the dropship despite this. Marley clung to his shoulder, the dark material of his jacket bunched up in her fist.

With every step she took, she grew weaker. Every step sapped the energy from her bones, an ache twisting up her limbs. While once she could smell woodsmoke, she could now only smell blood, clear and present.

It had turned to chaos inside the dropship. Against every wall sat people, huddled into themselves, coughing violently. Some were asleep — at least, Marley hoped they were — as blood smeared around their mouths and eyes. She closed her eyes to shield herself from the sight. She didn't really want to think about dying right now, she just wanted to leave the dropship and go back to work; laying there with nothing to do but worry about herself and those around her.

"I'm fine, honestly," Marley insisted as the pair reached her final resting point. Bellamy lowered her to the ground, her aching legs thankful for the rest. Despite this, she still tried to protest.

"You need to lay down," Bellamy told her.

"No, no, I'm fine, I need to-"

"Lay down and rest," He repeated.

Marley's breathing was laboured. Every inhale was raspy, rattling through her chest as she struggled to suck in the air through the burning that had bloomed in her throat. "Fine." Her voice was so raspy; it was terrifying how quickly the sickness was overcoming her. Her throat, her head, the blood.

"I'll be outside if you need me," Bellamy told her, turning to walk away with a half-smile.

"Bellamy?" She called as he turned to walk away.

"Yeah?"

"Am I going to die?" Marley could recall nothing but the row of dead bodies outside the dropship. It was a wonder Bellamy could even hear her whispering voice over the persistent coughing and groans of pain.

Bellamy took a pause. She knew why - even as he tried to mask it with another forced smile - but his answer was still: "No." It seemed he didn't believe his words any more than she did; Marley was still grateful for the reassurance, regardless.

"Promise?" She murmured.

"I promise."

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FALLING ASLEEP had come easily to Marley; she was exhausted, every ounce of strength had seeped from her body and she had nothing left in her holding her eyes open. But it wasn't a good sleep — not one which you woke up from feeling content or refreshed — but the kind wracked with vivid, horrifying dreams that seemed so real that, even when you did wake, finally returning back to reality, you still couldn't quite shake the feelings they stirred within you.

At first, everything was inky black. It was like she was floating weightlessly - she was in space, almost, but a dark, lifeless lacuna in the universe void of stars and light, happiness and hope. And she was stuck there, suspended in a reality that somehow appear all-encompassingly dark — filled with a debilitating blackness — yet blindingly bright, eyes squinting for some inexplicable reason.

Soon though, the colours came into focus, shapes forming coherently in front of her eyes. She was suddenly stood in the Ark's red room. People walked around her, laughing, joking, smiling, paying no mind to the girl that stood by the giant window in the corner. And they were walking through her. Literally right through her, like she was a ghost invisible to their eyes. Like she just didn't even exist to them.

"Marley," someone called from behind her.

The girl turned, ponytail swishing behind her head (she never wore her hair in a ponytail anymore), to see Tate. He looked different from how he did when Bellamy had banished him; long, curly hair flopping into his bright blue eyes and that innocent lopsided smile that drew her in and once made her feel safe and wanted. He was the masquerade he'd once placed upon himself.

"Hey." Tate caught at her hand, tugging her towards him. He patted the space on the bench beside him.

It was when her arm passed into her sightline that she saw them: great, purple and red bruises peppered angrily across pale skin. Marley glanced around — willing someone, anyone to just see her, for once, and notice her. She needed to get out of here.

Everything about his dream-self seemed far too real, almost enough to convince her that, maybe, this wasn't the dream but rather everything preceding was; it was in the way his eyes sparkled — the same way they did when she actually thought he'd loved her — the way his hair seemed to lay almost too perfectly over his forehead, that one curl falling over his left eye, seemingly effortlessly every time. And, of course, his smile that seemed to draw anyone and everyone in, if he wanted it to.

"I love your hair in a ponytail," He grinned as she sat. He wrapped one of her curls around her finger, twirling it between his fingers. "I can see your face better, now." He added, his fingers moving from her hair to her cheek, sweeping over her skin.

"I'm not sure I like it," Marley told him.

"Well, I like it. You should keep it this way - for me." The way he was pouting. 'Give into me', it said, 'You know I'm right.'

"I guess."

"Good," he smiled. "Now," He hummed, hands drawing over her jaw and neck. Tate shuffled towards her; his breath bounced off her face. There was no echo of alcohol there, not even a lick. This isn't right. "Kiss me."

But Marley didn't want to kiss him. And she shouldn't have had to. This was only a dream - albeit one of those thinly-veiled calm nightmares where the monster was hidden behind the facade of normality - but it was still just a dream, a figment of her own fever-ridden, wild imagination, that she could surely control if she tried hard enough.

It was then, any other night, she would question why she never said 'no' to him from the start; truthfully, she knew the answer, though she remained reluctant to admit it to even herself. Truthfully, for the longest time, she'd wanted to walk (or more like run) away from him. But she'd cared about him too much; it seemed utterly crazy, in hindsight, that she could care about someone who had done all he had to her. The reality was: when Marley Munroe and Tate Harper had first met, he presented himself as nothing more than a boy who had fallen in love with a girl and would see himself floated before he saw anything happen to her.

And she would have done the same. Somewhere, somehow, even if that somewhere was deep down inside her gut, she believed that maybe she could change him. That, maybe, if she'd stayed with him he might realise that what he was doing was wrong.

Tate leant in to kiss her, hand clutching at her waist, anchoring her to the spot. He never kissed her gently - it was always with so much intensity like his lips were angry at her lips for some inexplicable reason. She barely ever kissed back; Tate didn't seem to notice, he never did. Marley would just sit there and take it, letting him kiss her for as long as he wanted until he got bored.

Only, this time, she didn't want to just let him. With hands planted firmly against his chest, she shoved him away. "No," she stated firmly.

Tate blinked a few times, bewildered. "What?"

With a voice that was unfamiliarly calm, she repeated her refusal. "I said 'no'."

When Tate grabbed her arm to yank her back towards him; that's when the blood started, swirling and spiralling down her arm, pooling out across the floor. Yet it didn't hurt - she didn't feel any pain.

That was when she heard her — not just heard, saw, clear as day and just as real as ever — stood behind him. She wore the kindest smile you ever did see and her grey eyes were crinkled at the corner as they willed her on. "Face your fears, Marley," she urged her.

She was so used to those words echoing around inside her head that it almost startled her to hear them with her ears. Then again, all this was inside her head. It was a dream — although a confusingly vivid dream right down to each minute detail — plain and simple.

"Get your hands off me," she ordered calmly, "Now."

She wasn't sure if she was supposed to wake up — nor if her dream was actually done — yet still her eyes sprung open and she sat bolt upright as if she'd had a bad dream. There was an echoing inside her head but it was a crescendo far too loud to hear; a whirring and buzzing and scraping that spun inside her.

The dropship, however, was completely and utterly silent. Aside from the odd harsh breath in or the cough of someone at the other side of the ship, there was nothing. No whispers or footsteps, not even from outside, where those who weren't sick still remained. There was just silence — a comfortable one, at that — which had descended over camp.

So had the darkness. The night had swept over them whilst she'd been asleep and nothing but the intermittent flickering of a burning torch in the corner offered any light. Marley could only see in shapes; the outline of a sleeping figure laid out at her feet, the arch of a hammock hanging from the rafters.

"Marley," someone whispered through the darkness from behind her.

She turned to see Bellamy, back pressed against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. There was blood around his mouth and nose; his expression was stoic though Marley could tell that, despite that, he was fighting exhaustion, especially as he glanced back at her through half-open eyes. Even in the darkness, she could see that - the darkness clung to the bags beneath his eyes but Bellamy was stubborn and he surely wouldn't willingly fall asleep knowing there was no one to watch over camp, even though there were sure to be guards patrolling the perimeter fence just outside.

"Hey," she replied, though barely any sound came out; her throat was still painfully scratchy from all the coughing. "How long have I been asleep?" It had only just struck her that, when she'd first felt ill, it had been morning, the sun only just having risen over the trees. She had been one of the first inside the dropship - had been curled up against the far wall, alone.

Now it was pitch black again, night time. Now, she was surrounded by at least five others - including Bellamy, who had been completely fine last time she'd seen him.

"All day."

Marley pushed herself back against the wall to join Bellamy; the metal was freezing cold but it helped to cool her burning skin which was still ravished by fever. Sleeping had alleviated some of her symptoms — there was no blood, for one, and the cough seemed to have stopped — yet the sickness still raged inside her. Her hands and face were clammy, though at least things weren't as bad.

"How are you feeling?" He questioned. His voice was quiet and laboured - much like Marley's own but as if he was so completely drained by his illness that he barely had the energy to speak.

"Better." Her head fell back against the wall as she replied. She realised then that the ringing in her head - the horrible din she'd heard when she woke from her dream - had nothing to do with what she'd seen or heard while asleep. Her head was genuinely hurting, the pain trobbing down her spine and into her arms. Marley winced, pinching the bridge of her nose in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. "You?"

Bellamy shook his head, wordlessly. Reaching beside him, he handed Marley a rag; it was soaking wet and freezing cold. "Put it on your head, it helps," he croaked, leaning his head back against the cold metal to join Marley.

"Thanks but I think you need it more than me."

He pushed her hand away as she tried to give it back to him. He glanced at her, urging her to take it for herself, a small, weakened smile on his lips. But Marley persisted; she pushed away his hand, dabbing the rag against his forehead. His curls — already damp from the sweat — tickled her hand.

When he shot her a look — half urging her to take it for herself, half thanking her for helping him out — she smiled. "You need it more than me." She whispered.

"Thanks." He smiled in reply. "You're not having the best time down here, are you?"

She wasn't sure what had triggered his question. "Huh?"

"You've been hit over the head, strangled, almost fell into a spike pit and now you're ill."

"Getting real sick of almost dying." Marley added.

A small smiled etched itself onto Bellamy's lips. "At least it's 'almost'."

"It could definitely be worse." Marley hummed.

Then there was silence - until the cough that Marley thought had gone returned. It wasn't as bad as before, luckily, but it scratched furiously at her already-sore throat. One thing was for sure: a painfully sore throat, a headache and a cough definitely weren't the best combination and — if she could — she'd have probably cried out in pain.

"Sleep it off," Bellamy suggested.

She sighed; she wasn't even tired anymore but sleeping seemed like the only realistic way to beat her symptoms, especially given they had no medicine and waiting it out was the only way to rid the group of their sickness.

Reluctantly, Marley laid down. "You should sleep too." She murmured; she glanced back at his half-open eyes and how he was practically slumped against the wall in exhaustion.

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"No, you're not," she counted.

He paused for a second, his brain forced to work twice as hard as it usually did, before he conceded, laying himself down next to Marley. For a moment, they both lay on their backs, staring up at the metal rafters which lined the ceiling above them. Marley wished she could see the stars from here; they always brought her comfort.

"The other day, when you said I was different to when you first met me-" Marley spoke up, voice breaking through the silence, "-is that a good thing?"

"Very."

"Are you sure?" She squeaked.

Bellamy hummed in reply, a silent confirmation to her question. "Goodnight, Marley Munroe."

"Goodnight, Bellamy Blake."

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a/n: i feel like the beginning is so rushed but iI wanted to get to the important and cute bits at the end of the chapter. besides, shits about to go down with murphy and the grounders so we've gotta get this going!