When it first happened, she hadn't been the only one to panic.

She wasn't supposed to exist, really. Her mother had had a brief affair with a man who would kill any evidence of his transgressions, and so she'd always been kept at home. Her older brother taught her, her mother went out to work to feed and clothe them and her life was... small, but good.

She'd never had a reason to complain.

And then one morning she'd woken up to an icy day, the heating long since gone off due to bills not being paid, and she'd looked across at Bellamy, dithering under six blankets and shaking all over.

She'd just wanted to help him.

Of course, setting him on fire wasn't going to do that.

He'd screamed.

She'd screamed.

He'd rolled away from her hands which were incendiary and grabbed his jug of water.

She'd squealed and scrambled away because the last thing she wanted to do was burn him.

He'd tossed water at her.

She'd stood there like a drowned rat, whimpering quietly at him.

He'd raced over to her once she wasn't burning anymore and he'd taken her hands in his, checking her for burns. "You're not hurt?"

"I..." She couldn't make words, shaking all over from the terror of almost burning her brother alive. "I..."

"O?" He checked her fingers individually like he'd find burns if he looked hard enough.

"It came from inside me, Bell," she said, looking up at him with big eyes filled with fear. "I don't know how. I just wanted to make you warm."

He held her hands tight in his and kissed her forehead. "It's okay, O, it's okay."

The second time, she was a little older and she was scared. A man came to the house, so Bellamy bundled her into the basement hatch under the hall, the one hidden by an old rug, and she stood on the old stone stairs and shook in fear because of how much she hated the basement.

It was dark and gloomy and almost certainly haunted, and it was all she could do to not hammer on the hatch and beg to be let out. She could hear Bellamy's voice, suave and calm, making an attempt to convince the man that he was alone (were you supposed to admit you were alone in the house? Or was it different for a grown man?) and there was no need to come in and look around.

She looked down the steps and she could swear she saw eyes looking back at her, and she stifled a noise of fear with her hand and dropped to sit on the step, trembling all over.

Her other hand started flaming and she lifted it, looking at the fire as it licked her hands, emanating from somewhere on her palm, watching it swirl and move and glow. She felt calmer, now. Warmer, calmer, lit up.

The cat blinked at her from the bottom of the stairs and she moved down until she could sit on the floor, left hand on fire and right hand stroking the cat.

When Bellamy let her out, he was surprised to see she was so far into the basement and he smiled at her, ruffling her hair. "You're growing up brave, O," he said. "I still don't go down there alone in the dark."

"O! What're you doing?!" Bellamy shouted, grabbing her wrist and yanking her hand away from the candle she'd been touching the flame of.

"Bell, stop," she said. "Watch." She shrugged off his touch and put her hand over the flame, feeling the warmth as it pressed to her palm.

"Octavia!" He pulled her hand back and turned it over, but there wasn't a mark. "What's wrong with you?!"

"I don't know," she said, getting a little smaller.

"Don't put your hand in a flame, O!" He searched her palm for damage. "Why aren't you hurt?"

"Fire doesn't hurt me, Bell," she said, meeting his eyes when he looked up for hers. "I don't know why."

Midway through her sixteenth year, she lay quietly in bed, listening to Bellamy on the phone to some girl and moving her fingers in the air above her face. Sparks flew, almost igniting her pillow but disappearing before they could, and she tilted her head, experimenting with which movements created fire.

She'd almost got it down, now, how to control this curse.

That was what it was, wasn't it?

Even Bellamy had seemed horrified.

"What're you doing?" She'd turned, hunkering down to pretend she was asleep. "O, I know you're awake."

She huffed and rolled back over to look at him standing over her. "Yeah?"

"What're you doing?" he said again.

"Nothing," she said.

"You're hiding something," he said. "I know you." He sat on the bed with her. "What is it?"

Usually, it was a request to go out - and he did let her sometimes: walks around the block, mostly - but it wasn't today, and she didn't feel like lying to him. "I'm trying to control my curse."

He frowned, watching her. "Control your curse? What curse?" he said.

She lifted a hand and it burst into flames.

His eyes widened and he jerked backwards a little, so she extinguished it instantly, hiding her hand beneath her body and looking away in shame.

"No, hey..." He reached out for her, but hesitated. "O, it just made me jump... how did you..."

"It's just something I can do," she mumbled, refusing to look at him.

"O," he said, watching her. "It's okay."

"No, it isn't!" she exclaimed, looking back at him. "It scares you! I almost burned you once! I could burn you! I could burn this house down, Bellamy! It's not okay! It's a curse!"

"It's not a curse," he said, wincing a little. She could see it on his face: all the things he wished he'd done differently for her. "It's not a curse," he repeated. "It's just something that makes you unique."

"It's a curse." She looked down at her hands.

He put his hands over hers. "A curse is something bad," he said. "This isn't bad." She twitched her fingers, trying to draw away, but he pulled her hands closer, bringing them up to his mouth and kissing her palms. "See?" he murmured. "Would I do this if I thought you'd burn me?"

"I might," she whispered.

"You won't," he said and kissed her forehead. "We'll figure this out together. I'll show you it's not a curse. I promise."

She smiled a little, closing her eyes. "You will?"

"I will." He squeezed her hands and moved, lying down by her side on her bed and offering her an arm. She made a little noise and curled up against him, body trembling nervously as she fought to not start burning and hurt him. "Relax..."

"I'm scared, Bell," she whispered. "I could hurt you."

"You won't." He held her close. "Just relax."

She closed her eyes, relaxing into his hold, and simply trusted him.