[She takes a minute to just look at him, silently, and almost finds herself wanting to smile; how long has it been since the moment she first recognized how good he is at getting her to say things she wouldn't to anyone else? That's a gift that goes back long before she ever knew his face, and it hasn't gone away yet.

A person can't go for long, seeing and doing the things we do, without facing down at least one run through fire.

She's had several, herself. Some were at the hands of madmen who would've liked nothing more than to see her go down in flames. But one...]

The headmistress told me I smelled like smoke, when the policeman found me on the streets of San Francisco. And I remember fire. More than that...

[She shakes her head, tipping her head back to rest against the wall behind her.]

It's the earliest memory I have, and even that much is fuzzy at best.