#OC: Murphy Malware O'Rourke

[sacredglitch]

It's 'Thinking about OCs silently' time so have this piece that I wrote on a whim after listening to "What Once Was" by Her's on repeat.

TW: Death / Pondering Death (through memories)

Celebrations were in high spirits in the 141 Mess. Classic rock shaking the walls as each sector of the base celebrated another hurdle crossed into locating more insiders of Shepard's, though apparently nothing closer in locating the man himself. Laswell was hopeful that one of them would crack and reveal his wearabouts. Hope was enough for them to take a moment to breathe.

Murphy was asked by countless members if he was up for drinks, even challenged by Moggy to see who could drink either under the table best. He just laughed it off and let them all enjoy themselves.

For him, tonight was a different celebration. His hand traced the 3 year old tattoo.

Three fucking years.

Three years since he watched his commander give his last commands. Since he watched his fellow Lieutenant count from three to one. Since the door opened and they all swept into the room, one foot hitting off a trip wire and the room exploding into dust. First year he wasn't at home to remember them or visit them. First year it was just him.

Keeping their faces and voices alive.

He grasped the Guinness can and took a swig. How his Commander drank this like it was water was beyond him. But it kept him alive. To Malware at least.

Green eyes danced with the shadows in the Mess. He envied it. Being able to celebrate with a team you felt right in. Felt at home in.

Last he felt that was when Captain Donovan was harping at Corporal Fitz that he "Better kick those superstar calfs into high gear, now" as they jumped down from the Helo. Another swig of stout, washing the memory away with the taste.

"It's not a simple 'rest on it and it'll pass', Murphy" Clicker had once said in one of their sessions, "This could take years to finally settle with. A support system is crucial in healing."

Survivors Guilt, amongst PTSD and other labels was all he gained from that fuck up. He's still unsure if he should feel appreciative it was just them, not a limb or his life. Maybe his life would have be-

He huffed.

No, O'Rourke, no self depreciation.

One of the worst habits he taught himself after everything. That and taking the blame. He did not cause it. He couldn't change anything.

He needs to learn that.

Another swig.

Boots crunching on the autumn grass caught his ear but made no moves to acknowledge them, eyes solely focused on the obstacle course ahead. The steps halted just behind him. Ghost wouldn't let himself be heard, Soap would have made some calling to him, and Soup would have probably chucked her shoe at him. Other names floated in and out of his mind before they slammed to a stop; "Penny for your thoughts, Irish?"

Gaz.

A smile came to him, though he didn't let it go past his cheeks. If you thought Price or Wrench could be bad with their 'mothering', Gaz was much worse. Though more of subtle method to his loving madness, it could be just as smothering.

"A support system is crucial for healing."

Damn it.

He shook his head, gesturing to the curb beside him. Observing lazily, he noted the Sergeant was just in his down time clothes; a hoodie and slacks, no hat. Going off the direction he came from, he must have been with the other crew of celebrants; movie watchers. It was Roach's pick this time so fuck knows what kinda film was being shown. Most likely foreign, man had a weird love for them.

They all had a weird love for something, Murphy supposed. His eyes did catch a glint of a beer bottle. Not a completely sober film viewing then.

"As if I've got any thoughts to give." He teased back easily, swirling the can in his hand. "Movie any good?"

The younger shook his head, scrunching his face. "It was something sappy in Spanish. Think Alejandro had mentioned it last time him and Rudy visited. Couldn't make heads or tails on the love triangle so..." Gaz trailed off with a shrug, looking at the night sky. "Mess having any fun?"

Murphy returned the shake, eyes falling to the half empty can. "Nah, wasn't in there... I'm drinking on my own terms." He paused. "Though rumour has it Moggy has replaced me with Conor, fucking Maple syrup bastard."

Gaz let out a low whistle. "He in the dog house then?" Another tease.

"Too right he is!" he laughed then took another drink. "Fucker can fix his own damn PC next time."

The air around them began to ease, feeling more open and lax than it did when he started drinking. Garrick always had that aura to him. Even when he was just starting out in the base, the Sergeant never failed to make him feel at peace. The taste of guilt crawled up his throat. He took a short breath, then chased it away with more stout.

Brown eyes watched him before furrowing. "Thought you were a cider kinda guy?" Murphy forced a grin. "I am."

"You trying to prove to Conor who's the better Irishman?" "No."

A pause, Gaz taking that moment to reflect over Murf's tone. Cold. Closed off.

He swallowed some of his own beer before nudging the brunet gently "Penny is still on offer here."

Murphy chewed the inside of his cheek. Other than Price, Laswell and the medics, he's never spoken about the faith of his old team. He bonded over his tattoo with Conor, who seemed to put the pieces of the puzzle together after hearing his name and shared a few stories here and there but...nothing, nothing, to do with the incident.

Perhaps it's a sign that now is the time to start. He doesn't have to go into detail. He doesn't have to say more than "It's the anniversary of my ARW team passing."

Murphy is in control here.

His hands fidgeted with the can, rolling it and playing with the tab before letting his eyes rest on the course once more.

"I'm drinking in memory of my old team....They're three years gone now." His voice was wobbly and scratchy, as if he hadn't been speaking at all. But he did it. It's out in the air. Out for Gaz to listen and process it.

He had a small debate on downing the rest of the drink, yet he knew well his stomach wouldn't appreciate it. Another sip instead.

"... I'm sorry for your loss." Came the reply. He knows he shouldn't of but he laughed, loud but rough. He's never understood why people apologise for something they were they ever apart of. "Don't be, Garrick. Not like you caused it."

Another drift of silence, then a hand fell on his shoulder. "Being empathetic here, mate." Gaz mused, smile still light on his lips. Murphy met the hand before shrugging lightly.

"I get that, and it's appreciated, but..." he sighed, moving his free hand behind him to lean on it before adding "The phrase never made sense to me. Still doesn't."

His eyes only saw the kind and most certainly 'mother hen-ly' face Gaz had on him. Shithead definitely picked it up from Price. Almost spitting image.

"Guess it is a weird one. But I get the feeling of grief....Be surprised if anyone on this base didn't."

How many people here have to suffer from multiple grievancs at once? He couldn't help but think.

As far as he knew, Soup was the only one with a similar experience. Yet she seemed as if she was on top of the world. Murphy still felt as though he was on the rubble covered ground, the weight of his Commander's lifeless body against his. His fist clenched around the can, indenting it.

"So..." Gaz began, tone one of ease, as if he was trying to deviate a situation, "was someone in the Ranger's a hearty Guinness drinker?"

The Lieutenant nodded. "Commander was, yeah."

That made sense. Gaz hesitated before moving his hand from the brunet's shoulder to around his back. Murphy didn't make any movements to pull back, if anything he moved himself in a little further but couldn't meet Gaz's eyes.

Lifting his own bottle, he looked to the sky again and softly said "To your Commander then. And all your troops."

Guilt almost had him frozen in a vice as he lifted the can in solidarity. "To the Band of Brother's." It was a rocky start to dealing with their loss openly, but a start nonetheless.

[sacredglitch]

I've been writing a lot of lore things for my COD boys and after mindless Tiktok scrolling, coming across a video with Fourth of July by Sufjan Stevens I got hit with this for Murphy and uh...I guess take it as is.

CW: Death/Wishing for Death and Gore, mainly seeking comfort from a dead body. Gore isn't heavily described but heavily implied (this was a word vomit okay?)

Losing a team hit hard, like anyone would feel after a death. It was a natural human thing grief.

But, it struck Murphy like a searing hot blade. This was finally a job he felt at home away from home, felt accepted as he was and felt in his place in the world.

All the love and memories and stories to come literally gone before his eyes.

The burning pain twisted in his heart as he had to crawl silently about the rubble, triggering every DSU (Distress Signal Unit) he could find before his own. His hands found themselves searching through what little remained of the men and women he arrived with morseo than just their vests.

Destroyed in mud, ash, blood and literal chunks of guts and other organs, Murphy could only wish for nothing more than to get caught and put out of his misery, join his fellow Rangers in whatever lay beyond.

Why he had to survive he doesn't know, can't know and most likely will never know. Instead he was playing a waiting game for either rescue or his demise.

In a desperate attempt at comfort, he dragged himself to their Commander, only evidence he was departed being the hole through his body armour, and curled up tightly.

The man had taken him under his wing, fought for his place within the ARW as Murphy, as a man, as a fucking soldier and ensured no one acted the maggot towards him or other soldiers alike.

Now the only way he could thank him for it all is to make sure he could go home to his family. It wouldn't be in an ideal state but an ideal state wouldn't have to have him, any of them, have to go home ready for the grave.

The Lieutenant's fists gripped onto what remained of his Commander's tact vest's straps, sobs building up no matter how hard he tried to keep them down.

Why the fuck did it have to be him?