Cleanse My Soul of Malice

Cyra sat around the fire with some of the other survivors, feeling strangely…at home. She hadn't expected such acceptance from other prisoners; she'd never met them before after all. It was almost like they knew, everyone knew, when to trust someone and when not to. Sitting among Sasha, Brandon and Matt, along with a couple of others who seemed to know her but she did not know them.

A distant rumble of thunder vibrated the air around them. "I wonder if it will rain again," Sasha gasped happily. She found that she loved the rain, even if she got wet and cold from it. None of them had seen rain before coming to Earth, so it was a magnificent sight and wondrous feeling to have water soak through your clothes and touch your flesh in a refreshing, new way.

"I hope so, we're running out of water in those barrels," Matt agreed, glancing up at the black sky. The clouds were thick and masked the moon and stars, leaving them in darkness if they happened to lose their flame.

"Did they figure out a way to cover the fires, yet?" Cyra asked, glancing among the faces around her.

"Yea!" one of the younger boys, couldn't have been more than fifteen, answered her. "They took some metal paneling from inside the dropship and bent it like a roof. That way it won't burn like a wooden shelter."

"Smart," Cyra commented with an approving nod. It caused the boy to beam happily, taking it as a compliment to himself even though he hadn't been the one to think of it. "If it does rain, we'll get to test those out."

When it had rained back at the camp days before, it had been while she was out with Clarke and the others, heading for Mount Weather. The storm had passed right by them, directly over the camp but missing the troupe that had been on the adjacent mountain. Cyra found herself wondering what it was like; she wasn't sure how much she liked swimming, since it wasn't the best of experiences the past two times she'd had the honor, but she did like water. And she did wonder what it would be like to experience standing beneath the rain.

"Do you like the rain?" Sasha asked innocently, looking over to Cyra.

"I was with the group to Mouth Weather, never found out," she answered back, leaning her elbows on her knees. "I'll admit; I hope it rains so I can find out."

Sasha smiled at the answer, nodding her head encouragingly. Another sharp rumble of thunder punctuated her words, causing them all to look upward. Brandon's eyes were trained on Cyra, her head tipped back and exposing the long expanse of pale skin along her throat. She truly was the palest person that he had yet to see, but he also believed that it made her look beautiful in her own way. Like the marble statues they'd learned about—rather pointlessly—back on the Ark.

"It's getting closer," Cyra mumbled, more to herself than any of them.

She was still in only the t-shirt that Bellamy had given to her, her arms mostly exposed, along with the bandage that circled her arm from Wells' bullet graze. She had yet to seek out Clarke to get the girl's opinion on whether or not it was infected, but it hadn't been hurting any more than usual so she felt that was good enough for the time being. However, it was starting to grow colder as the night closed in and the storm rumbled overhead.

Hopefully, her sweater had had enough time to dry. In the same instance, though, it was an unsettling thought about wearing it. What they assumed was a Grounder had held it, ran off with it. She felt it was…dirty, somehow.

Brandon looked away from her when she returned her attention down to the fire, green and blue eyes dancing with the movements of the flames.

"We should cover the fires," she said suddenly, rising to her full height. As they were all sitting down on logs, close to the ground, it made them feel as though she was a giant. "Who's in charge of that?" she asked, glancing again to the boy who had answered her the first time.

"Oh! Atom was put in charge of it!"

Cyra remembered when Bellamy had spoken with Atom before they'd gone to save Jasper from the Grounders. She knew what he looked like and was certain that wherever Bellamy's group was, he was sure to be with them. "Thanks," she offered with a smile, getting another bright one in reply from him, before she turned to head toward the other fires, eyes seeking out a familiar face.

Thankfully, she had been accurate with where to find him. Sitting with Murphy and Bellamy, as well as others she didn't know the names of, Atom was silently staring down into the fire as the others laughed and joked around him. Distantly, she could hear Jasper groan in pain from inside the dropship, muffles by the walls and floors of metal.

"Hey, Atom," she greeted, gaining the males attention with a bit of surprise on his face. "There's a storm coming in, the thunder's getting closer by the minute. I hear you were in charge of sheltering the fires so they don't go out."

"Yea," he answered immediately, rising to his feet. Had she not known better, she'd have assumed he was trying to get away from the boys around the fire. "Care to lend a hand?"

Nodding along, she followed after Atom as he left his supposed friends behind. She could feel them burning holes into her back as she walked away, but she didn't dare look back and instead kept her eyes focused keen on Atom, watching as he tapped people on the way passed. She assumed they were the ones he'd been working with. The others went to work covering the two fires they had on the far side, while Atom and Cyra took the one to cover the fire that Bellamy and his troop were sitting at.

"The metal heats up pretty quickly, but at least it won't burn," Atom explained to Cyra as he showed her the bent piece they would be carrying. "We had to take metal beams because we were afraid the hot metal would burn the sticks we'd first picked out."

"Probably," Cyra agreed, taking her end and two of the beams, Atom supporting the other side while carrying two beams as well—they were just metal rods pulled from the dropship, like most of their supplies were.

It only took about two minutes for them to set up the structure, digging the beams into the ground so they were secured before putting the fitted metal overtop. It caused smoke to pour out from beneath the metal, but at least they wouldn't go out. A flash of lightning lit the sky as Cyra stepped away from the metal structure, eyes turning upward, before thunder shook the Earth a second later.

Then, the sky opened up.

Rain dropped down on them like a sheet, survivors crying out in surprise at the downpour from all over the camp.

At first, Cyra did nothing more than close her eyes, protecting them against the assault of water that fell from the overhanging sky in torrents. Inhaling deeply, the touch of the rain on the ground released a fresh, moist scent from the Earth that was so overwhelmingly pleasant that Cyra began inhaling deeply over and over, the same as she had the first day. And again, it made her lightheaded to do so.

"I forgot you guys didn't get rained on."

Bellamy stepped up beside the woman, watching her bask in the rain. It was already cold that night and the storm only made it more so, but she didn't look to have a care in the world as she stood beneath the natural shower from the sky. Rivets of water trailed along her cheeks, pouring off her pointed chin and over her slightly parted lips, dipping between to tease her teeth.

Then, she let out a breathless laugh as a smile lit her features, eyes opening to meet his gaze. "It's cold," she marvelled, holding her hands out in front of her to catch the droplets on her palms.

And Bellamy was struck.

He'd seen other survivors around the camp taking in their new surroundings, basking in the freshness of Earth; the contrast from the Ark they had all been born and raised on—but this was different. The look that came over Cyra's face, the expression she wore so openly, it made Bellamy's heart stutter. When it rained that first night most of the survivors had loved to drink the water, feeling it on the skin without worrying about running out. But Cyra…she marvelled that it was cold. She just closed her eyes and smiled, taking it all in while she could.

Her shirt was soon plastered to her thin torso, outlining her boney figure while also making it possible to trace the outline of her bra. It reminded him of how she looked after Finn had pushed her into the river, only her lips were now touched with a faint, but honest smile.

Her head tipped back as the cold droplets cascaded down her face, the firelight making the pale skin of her throat glow like white silk in moonlight. It reminded him just how pale she was. Most of the time, they all had so much dirt on their skin, they look like they'd been tanned by the sun all their lives. He remembered the first moment he'd seen her, stepping into their group abruptly to volunteer for the away trip to the mountain.

Hollow cheeks, pale skin, mismatched eyes of green and blue. They'd looked…haunted. Lonely. Her hair was probably lighter than when he'd first seen it, darkened with body oils and slicked backward against her skull, falling into loose waves and curls around her neck and shoulders. She was tall, much taller than he'd seen most women back on the ark. She was someone from the working levels, he could tell immediately, but at the same time she was skinny as a twig. Fit as a malnourished person could be.

She'd avoided looking at Octavia at first, almost obviously, but the second she'd first spoken his sister had straightened up like someone had shocked her spine. She'd recognized her friend's voice instantly.

When they'd had some time to sit and talk, she'd told him about Cyra. How they'd been the only friendly voice the other heard—the guards were less than kind to them, so they usually tried to keep quiet and out of their way. Octavia would lie on her cot, stretched out on her stomach to face the grate, and listen to Cyra's voice whisper through the metal, telling her stories about the people she knew when she was a kid, keeping names and places out of it so as not to reveal anything she wishes to keep secret. Cyra was what kept her from losing her mind in that little box, and judging by how happy the older woman was to see Octavia, it had been mutual.

His thoughts were broken when she suddenly gave a tremendous shudder, the cold finally getting to her and causing her skin to pebble as her muscles tensed.

But that smile remained across her lips, softening her narrow bone structure.

Looking around, there were very few who lingered around the fires—most had sought refuge in their makeshift tents or the dropship. Anywhere that was dry and away from the wind.

"Come on," Bellamy said quietly, not wanting to break the moment but knowing that they should get out of the rain. "I doubt you want to get sick out here." Taking her uninjured bicep gently in his hands, he tugged with the faintest amount of pressure to guide her in the direction of his tent, closer and less crowded than the dropship.

She hesitated still, but with another nudge she was moving to follow him, wiping some of the water off of her face so she didn't get it in her eyes. If anything, the rain had only continued to come down harder after the initial drop. It was a good thing that she had hung her sweater up to dry, otherwise she'd have nothing else to change into. That, however, didn't seem that it was going to happen soon, as Bellamy hauled her under the protective cover of his tent, not the dropship.

Thankfully, everyone else was distracted by something and didn't notice when Bellamy pulled her behind the protective entrance of his tent, blocking them from view. Even though the wind and rain was blocked out, the sudden still air caused Cyra to shiver even more, her hands wiping at her face and hair, trying to put the wet strands away from her skin. The touch of her own hair made her shiver tremendously.

Bellamy watched as she shook her hands, droplets of water flying off of the tips of her fingers. Even though she had been in the tent before, she still looked around at the interior curiously. It wasn't like he was able to decorate or anything, it was just draped parachute with a bunch of blankest draped on the ground, making up his bed. With her hair flattened with water, it let him see just how long it actually was, reaching mid-back. A bit longer than Octavia's.

"It has its own smell," she mumbled, turning to look at Bellamy with an excitement in her eyes. "The rain. I never would have thought it would smell a certain way."

Her happiness over the entire ordeal made him smile back. It was contagious, it seemed. Even in the darkness of the tent, he could make out her pale flesh and the definition of her body. The light from the nearest fire breached the translucent material of the parachute, giving a dusky rose and gold hue to the two standing inside. The sight of the flames visible through the tent drew Cyra's attention, turning toward the tent exterior.

Doing so, her face was painted with the rose and gold as her hands pulled her hair back and up, exposing her thin neck and lifting the heavy set of hair from her back. The resulting shift of her shoulders and shirt, tightening around her collar and breasts for further definition, caused Bellamy's cheeks to burn as he watched the movement. She must have not been aware she was so alluring at that moment. Having been drawn to looking at her chest, he noticed that the chill of the water and wind had more than just made her flesh pebble, but also caused her nipples to strain against her shirt.

Swallowing around the sudden thickness in his throat, Bellamy turned away from her to retrieve one of the blankets from his makeshift bed. "Here," he offered, shaking it out and opening it for her. "You're gunna freeze yourself."

Draping over her shoulders and wrapping her in the blanket, her back against his chest as she distractedly grasped the edges of the blanket at her chest. Her hair dropped down to drape his arm when she did, leaving him to flinch slightly at the cold feel of it. He thought his shaggy hair was cold on his neck, hers felt like ice coming in contact with his bare arm.

"My sweater," she commented dazedly after a second. "It's still in the ship."

"It's gunna be a fight to get through the others if you want to get your sweater," he commented, remembering the mad dash most of the survivors had made to get back to the dropship when it started to rain. "Just take your wet shirt off," he offered, before flinching at his own words. Not the best thing to say to someone who'd been sexually traumatized by ship guards before she'd even had the chance to mature into a young adult. "I mean-"

"I know," she assured, glancing back to him. "Don't worry."

"Sorry," he blurted out abashedly, stepping away from her to strip off his own soaked shirt. Cyra watched him a moment, only able to really see the muscles of his back shift as he pulled the soaked shirt off of his arms, the material sticking to his skin. There were hints of scars from his years working on the ark, but she could see that it had toughened him over the years, preparing for the need for survival here on Earth.

Glancing back, Bellamy caught Cyra's eyes as she watched him. Unlike him, however, she didn't jerk away or fearfully turn her eyes. She was appraising him in a way that wasn't sexual, something that he wasn't very accustomed to. When women on the ark or here on the ground had been taking time to look at him, it was usually someone who was only doing so by a physical attraction. Cyra seemed to be appraising the strength of a fellow survivor, examining the history and story that could be told by his body.

After a second of calm eye contact, she finally glanced away. "Sorry," she offered, repeating his earlier shy comment. Turning her back on him again, he only watched a moment more—the movements happening beneath the blanket told him that she was trying to get the wet shirt off while preserving modesty beneath the blanket.

Short minutes later, both of their shirts were hung up on the metal side of the dropship that his tent attached to, along with Cyra's pants. She was wrapped entirely in the blanket that he had given her, not even a hint of skin visible to him aside from her hands and her neck and face. She had pulled a section of the entrance flap away so she could look outside without entirely opening the tent. The sight of the rain falling amazed her, especially watching the silhouette of it falling before the bright fires—the flames had dulled as the fire ate through the wood, but the rain had yet to touch them.

Sitting back from her, Bellamy was shocked by how fascinated she was by the rain. For him, it was amazing after being on the Ark for so long, but he wasn't as overwhelmed as she was. It left him to wonder what it was about this particular even that sparked in interest to keenly.

"Why do you find it so fascinating?" he asked after silence had stretched between them for a few minutes.

Cyra inhaled deeply as she pondered. "I don't really know," she admitted suddenly. "It's just so…fresh. Untouched and pure. It's kind of like when we first got out of the dropship and the forest was so beautiful and green, so new to us. The rain is kind of similar for me right now; it's new and unique, something I never thought I would have the chance to bear witness to."

Glancing over her shoulder to him, her eyes were soft and kind as a warm smile graced her lips.

"Even with everything happening to us down here, the Grounders and the lack of food, I can't regret being here. We're free." Holding his eyes, she didn't seem shy about his presence in that moment. "The rain…it washes away the stains from living on the Ark. It helps me feel clean again."

Bellamy didn't need to ask what she meant by clean. And he knew that it was more than just the filth of the ark she was referring to, but also the events that had led to her incarceration in Solitary. What those men, and her father, had done to her must have left her feeling disgusted with herself. Self-hate was a dangerous thing, but when you're locked up for years with nothing but that hate, it could manifest into something dangerous.

If all it took was the rain to help her relieve the burden of that hate, Bellamy was happy to provide her with shelter once she was content.