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The last thing Basira hears of Daisy is a distant, animal roar as she attacks the hunters, Trevor Herbert and Julia Montauk. Basira can't stop herself from sobbing, and salty tears are pouring down her face and—it's better to focus on running. One foot in front of the next. She doesn't know where she's going aside from away.
They could've—together—
Basira chokes back another sob and keeps running. Her heavy booted feet make the Archives' aged hardwood floors creak something awful, giving away her location—she has to get out. But every time she tries to make a break for an exit, she can hear Daisy, or the hunters, or the thing that is vehemently not Sasha in her way, and if they chased her into the streets of London—not an option. So she changes her target. All she has to do is make it to Artefact Storage. Steel door, concrete floors.
Down the wooden staircase, across what used to be their office space, past the room that Daisy had claimed for 'archive work', which was really napping. She can't think for too long because then her steps might falter. She hears a faint roar, the sound of the thing that used to be Sasha screaming, hopefully in pain or fear.
Basira wrenches open the door to Artefact Storage and closes it ever so gently behind her. She locks it with a satisfying click, wedging a folded chair under the doorknob before she tries her best to melt into the stacks and stacks of entity tchotchkes. Her eye catches on one that says in Tim's scribble, "Haunted toothbrush???" and she almost smiles.
Then she sits down against a box labeled, "Sweater so ugly it kills people… I think it's the same one Martin wore it to the last office holiday party", and allows herself exactly sixty seconds to cry.
Not sixty seconds later, the door to Artefact Storage bursts open, and Not-Sasha's smile flashes bright white in the darkness. "Oh, Basira… I know you're in here! I've missed you so much," she says sweetly in her echoing voice.
Basira holds herself perfectly still while tears roll down her face. She's not about to scramble back in fear and give away her position.
"Basira," Not-Sasha sings. "Won't you come and say hello?"
Julia Montauk appears in the doorway, a knife flashing in her hands, and stabs Not-Sasha while she's distracted. "That's for what you did to Trevor!" she yells.
"Wait, wait," Not-Sasha protests, hands scrabbling at the knife in her back.
But Julia isn't one for waiting. She's a butcher with her blade, slicing expertly through joints and arteries, and something that is only blood-adjacent splatters on the boxes near Basira's face—the stuff is grey and ashen.
"No!" Not-Sasha wails with her last breath, scrabbling weakly against Julia's boots.
Basira reflects on the situational irony of being freed from the table Jon trapped her in only to be destroyed half an hour later.
Julia lets loose a wild laugh, anger and fear and the fierce joy of victory. She's spattered in blood, her own and Not-Sasha's. "I can smell you, Basira," she says, smiling horrifically.
Well, Basira has a knife of her own. She stands up quietly, her regrettably small knife clenched in one fist.
Julia stalks the rows of artefacts, leaving reddish footprints behind her.
There's a terrifying frozen second when they lock eyes, then Julia stabs downwards at Basira's chest like they're in a slasher movie. Basira crosses her wrists above her and catches Julia's arm between the backs of her hands. The impact knocks the knife out of Basira's grip and sends it skittering across the floor. Julia looks… maybe a little surprised, her momentum still carrying her forward. Basira shifts to a one-handed grip on Julia's wrist and pulls her into an absolutely bloody perfect hip throw, and Julia falls onto her back with a satisfying thud in front of Basira.
But because Basira has so little luck these days, Julia keeps ahold of Basira's sleeve as she goes down and takes Basira with her.
"You bitch!" Julia hisses. There's another knife in her hand, and she pins Basira to the floor, and Basira's got hair in her mouth and in her face and she's bitten her tongue, and oh man, this is bad.
The first blow glances off Basira's arm, thrown up hastily in self-defense, slicing a jagged line through her skin that burns. But the first rule of knife fighting is to expect to get stabbed, and she's frankly had worse. Much worse.
Basira tries desperately to get Julia off of her, but the other woman is too heavy to move. Great, now she has to die down here, with a cursed toothbrush and a brutally ugly sweater for company.
Then a roar tears through the air, something not entirely wolflike, and a blur rips Julia off of Basira.
Julia screams as claws sink into her chest and a jaw snaps around her shoulder, shaking her like a rag doll. The wolf crunches through bone, and flesh squelches warm and wet between its fangs, and Julia falls twitchingly silent.
A creature looks up at Basira—pale golden fur, reflective green eyes, the remains of clothes clinging to a sleek, muscular form.
"Oh, Daisy."
The wolflike beast bounds towards Basira, and she thinks, this is it. I survived Nikola Orsinov and Not-Sasha and Julia Montauk only to be killed by my own girlfriend. Better her than any of them.
Daisy's jaws crunch into Basira's already injured arm, and she cries out as Daisy slams her back into the edge of a metal bookcase. Basira's ripped, bloodstained hijab falls away, and she wishes she could have taken it off for Daisy under different circumstances, perhaps in an egregiously expensive hotel room after a June wedding. A perfectly fine last thought.
But instead of mauling her to death, Daisy immediately lets go of Basira with a whimper of shock and buries her face in her bloodstained paws.
Basira tenses, still sprawled uncomfortably over a shelf, not daring to move. "Daisy?" When that gets no reaction, she inches a bit closer, praying in her head. She puts one hand on Daisy's head—her fur is soft, warm.
Daisy peeks at Basira and hides her face again when she sees Basira hasn't fixed her hijab. The action, coming from a huge wolf who has just murdered someone, is almost hilarious.
In a burst of recklessness, Basira pets Daisy's head and has to stifle a giggle when her wolflike ears twitch and swivel forward. She moves closer, wincing as she accidentally tugs her injured arm, and rests her head against Daisy's flank.
The wolf's entire body flinches, then relaxes. Daisy still hasn't looked up, which is… oddly charming.
Basira has to one-handedly wrap her scarf back around her hair and neck. She'll need a new one, because this one is absolutely disgusting right now. "Okay, you can look."
Daisy snuffles and finally uncovers her face. Then she looks up at Basira, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she pants softly almost in a smile.
"Hello," Basira says, knowing she's got the goofiest grin right now.
Without warning, Daisy stands up, and Basira bumps to the ground with an "Oof!" Daisy yips and sniffs over Basira, checking her for injuries, and when she gets to the combo gash-bite-mark on her left arm, she whines and flattens her ears against her head.
"Hey, I know you didn't mean it. Mostly," Basira tries to explain.
Daisy tries to make another sound, like she wants to speak, but she can't, so she tilts her head back and howls.
Basira reaches out for her, and Daisy bares her teeth and backs away. "Daisy, please," Basira practically begs.
Daisy's claws dig into the concrete floor, and she's caught between staying and running, turning her head away from Basira.
"Don't you dare walk away from me!" Basira tries to shout, but it turns into a heartbroken sob. "Don't walk away."
Daisy howls again, but this time, the rich sound thins out into a humanlike cry. Then bones start to crack, and Basira hears the absolutely horrible soft slither of tendons moving under flesh. The fur disappears and the paws shrink back into hands, completely clawless, until Daisy is left gasping on the floor, still wearing the ragged ruins of her clothes.
Basira makes a purely animal sound and tackles her with a hug.
"Basira," Daisy groans, her voice rough. "Basira." She presses her face against Basira's shoulder, her entire body shaking as she cries. Although, the tears don't last long.
"You came back. I knew you would come back," Basira says, pulling Daisy in close. "Are you smelling me?"
"Yeah. You smell good." Daisy manages a tiny smile.
Basira laughs. "You smell like blood."
"Occupational hazard."
They laugh together, and it feels wonderful.
"How d'you suppose the boys are getting on?" Daisy asks after a moment.
"Er… fine? They'd better be fine," Basira mutters under her breath. "After all of this, we deserve a break. A long, long holiday. Maybe—maybe a honeymoon of sorts?"
Daisy says nothing.
"I mean, if you wanted to. No pressure—" Basira blinks and Daisy is kissing her; by far one of their worst kisses, Daisy's hands stick to Basira's damp hijab, they're on the floor, Daisy tastes like copper and dust—and it's by far their best.
"I'll follow you anywhere," Daisy promises.
"Especially out of this crime scene," Basira says only mostly jokingly.
Daisy presses a kiss to her forehead. "Shall we check on the boys?"
"I suppose we have to, don't we?"
"Then we can do whatever you like."
Basira smiles. "I like the sound of that."