The Taisho fire

The sight

The sight came and went, manifesting in the strangest moments. It wasn't difficult, per se, to have visions of people and places of the past. Sometimes, Gwen could even spot ghosts and spirits... or so they thought. The gift – the sight – had been an endless source of awe for her little brother at the time.

They'd joked and played, searching for clues that corroborated her dreams and visions, testing the limits of the sight by launching the most ridiculous undercover investigations. Mulder and Scully at work; she was the sceptical rusty haired woman. It matched her colouring after all, while little brother played the devil's advocate.

He'd dubbed her 'the faërie' after an unsuccessful attempt at calling her a witch. But none of it mattered anymore; Gwen had sworn off anything supernatural when her mother died from carbon monoxide intoxication. The broken look on her little brother's face, three years ago, had been the last blow. He didn't accuse, just held her as she cried at the funeral. Still, she knew he wondered why she had allowed it to happen. Why didn't she use her gift at the time ? She, that could guess events before they happened ?

So Gwen had left college – her language and civilisation studies – and enrolled in the firefighters. Preventing accidents like those who had claimed her mother's life became her purpose. It kept both anger and sadness at bay. And when the grief became too much, she punched a bag into the ground, or played the worries away on her piano until all energy left her body, and exhaustion claimed her.

Gwen had never been good with words, hence her choice to study ancient civilisations. In writings, emotions flowed freely from the book to her heart. But the reverse always was difficult; the young woman didn't allow access to her soul. And even when she wanted it, the words never were enough.

Little brother had chosen another path – he grew up, and chose psychiatry. Pestered her to talk to someone, and relegated all thoughts about the supernatural to that taboo box that none of them ever expected to open.

Until yesterday.

Gwen shuddered, yesterday's fight so vivid. The memory of those unnatural eyes carved in her memory.

Gwen's muscles tensed as the scuffle escalated. It happened, once in a while, that the firemen would be ambushed by bad intentioned youth who only wanted to pick up a fight. This was one of those days. Even though the Captain insisted they'd be trained to fight, Gwen always hesitated to land the first blow.

It wasn't lack of proficiency that stayed her hand, but compassion. Hurting another living being, human or animal, wasn't in her nature. She squared her shoulders nonetheless, because Erik wouldn't be able to hold all three of the thugs by himself. Thank God for little victories – and the British legislation - they were drunk, and only equipped with switchblades.

"I called the station", Erik told her between grit teeth, taking in the situation.

Gwen nodded and turned to the youths. Three guys, two of them barely over fifteen, slurred insults at them. Something about being at the government's behest, or whatnot.

"Let me", she told her colleague.

A woman always seemed less menacing than a firefighter in full gear. Adopting her most soothing tone, Gwen attempted to diffuse the situation. To no avail, more insults were hurled, none of them inventive. She lifted an eyebrow, hoping that her calm demeanor would keep those three brats in check. She would reflect later on her gigantic failure.

"Watch out !"

Erik's warning saved her from a deep laceration as she twisted away from the blow aimed at her face. Her bulky colleague bellowed in outrage and jumped into the fray, distracting her opponent long enough for her to land a harsh blow upon his wrist. The blade clanged to the floor and she kicked it away, wrestling the youth to the ground without grace. Her knee landed harshly upon the concrete and she winced – welcome, giant bruise.