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You hear her before you see her. You want to reach out, want to touch her, want to confirm that this is real. But you don’t. It’s been five years since you were pulled out of the earth covered in grime and guilt, but you still feel dirty. It doesn’t seem right to touch her—not here, not now. Her presence is the purest, pitch black that completely overpowers your senses. And you’re anything but pure.
Does she know that?
Does she understand?
Is she just refusing to see?
The questions won’t stop rattling in your head, loud enough that you can hardly hear your own voice say her name.
"Basira?"
"Ah-Hello, Daisy."
"Hi."
It sounds so small and silly. You aren’t strangers. And you knew this was coming, sooner rather than later, because what Jonathan Sims wants he usually gets. That’s how these things work. You’re well-aware. Still, you have to ask.
"Do you have a minute? Or are you…?" Maybe she’s here for another reason. You tilt your head ever so slightly in the direction of the Institute, just in case.
"No, I’m..." She wavers. You don’t move, don’t even breathe. "I’m here for you."
"Oh." You feel yourself saying it more than you hear it, a soft exhale as the world comes into focus again. "Well, here I am. Been waiting." You dig your nails into the side of your arm, wincing at the pain prickling on the skin there. You can’t yet bring yourself to actually look at her properly.
"I’m sorry for that. I shouldn’t have..." She can’t seem to get the words out. Eloquence has never been what drew them close. "It’s-I’m glad you are. Here, I mean. You’re alright?"
Is she surprised? You gesture to yourself, smallish but sturdy, simple clothes and worn black boots that haven’t seen a wash in months. "Still in one piece." You attempt a smile, not quite getting it right. Teeth that can tear flesh effortlessly don’t work the same to cut the tension that stands between them. You run a hand through short hair. Maybe you don’t have to do this yet. There’s probably still time. Neither of you are dead. "We don’t need to… I mean, it can wait, you know?"
"Right."
"So you talked to Jon, yeah?"
"Yeah. He told you, then? It’s another thing for us to sort out."
There’s always something is what you think she wants to say. And there is, always is. And what’s been put off this long, well, what’s another five years, in the grand scheme of things?
"Yeah. He’s done his due diligence, I suppose. I get the sense that he wants this taken care of sooner rather than later. So I’m really glad you’re here." You straighten your spine, finally daring to let your eyes meet hers. It’s not the only reason you’re glad. She must know that. And you think, with relief, that she does, when her face visibly softens into an almost-smile.
"He did seem keen. I can understand why. Would you—could we walk?"
You wonder if she feels the tension too, thicker than the dense, dark forests you both take solace in for different reasons.
"Mm, sure. Lead the way."
It’s your turf, but you want so badly to be at her heel. Being together, a familiar feeling, even though the circumstances have changed and the world has changed and you have both changed. Her shadow looks unnaturally long but you don’t point it out. She doesn’t say anything about the sharpness of your eyes, your jaw, your hands.
"What’s your take on all of this, Daisy? I’m sure you like the odds about as much as I do—We’re going in blind."
Her tone is all business but she chuckles darkly at that little slip, presumably not intending to sound so morbid. You laugh in return, and are relieved that it seems to finally cut a bit of the tension between them.
"Don’t love them! But it does seem… necessary to take care of him quickly." There’s a beat while you piece together the rest. "Dunno. Guess I can’t really think of a more fitting duo to get the job done." Your steps begin to sync with hers, side by side now instead of tandem. "Just like old times, yeah?"
There’s a bit of an edge to it. It’s not what you intended. She squints down at her boots and takes her time with her response.
"Right. I don’t think there’s anyone else around here anymore who could work as cohesively as us." She sounds cold, detached. After all this time, she's still being careful. You don’t even realize how much it bothers you until the words are out of your mouth.
"You haven’t been around here." You regret it instantly, though it rings true. But you can’t bring yourself to speak the apology on the tip of your tongue, biting your lip instead. "Shit—that’s not how I want this to—how I want us to…" You sigh. "Never mind."
She winces, features pulled taut and shoulders tense, eyes cast downwards in what might be shame. Her soft sigh is cold. "I know. I’m not-I don’t-" She speaks through clenched teeth, like saying the words amount to a physical pain. "I won’t leave again unless you want me to."
You notice how she seems to take up more and more space. You wonder if that should worry you. The silence stretches long and weighty in the dimming light of late evening until you finally break it.
"No. I want you to stay. Here, I mean. You know how I get. Feels better when I know you’re safe here. Here with me." You feel emotion rising up and you swallow it down, unwilling to break that seal just yet. "If you want. If you-Well, I think that’s it, isn’t it?" You watch as she chews at her lip, the telltale sign that she’s conflicted. You think you feel a faint buzz of something powerful, unfamiliar but not unpleasant.
"What I want and what’s… helpful , they aren’t always the same. And I really—" She pauses and glances at you as if to make sure you’re really listening, as if there’s anything else you’d rather be hearing than her voice. You just barely resist rolling your eyes as you watch hers darken to a degree you’ve never seen before. " I know you , Daisy. But I didn’t know that you’d even want to… see me. Didn’t know that you wouldn’t want to kill me. Or—or if you’d decided that you didn’t... need me." She folds her arms close to her chest as your heart speeds up in yours. Your stomach drops as you begin to feel the sensation of being pitched forward, dragged into something unknown. But your boots are still planted firmly on the damp ground, and hers are too.
"It’s not about need. I do just fine here. And I’m sure you do fine too. It’s just…" You sigh and stop in your tracks, turning instead to fix sharp green eyes on her. You don’t like feeling as though you can’t see her. Not now, not after everything. "Basira." It’s soft; the only way you want her name to sound on your lips. But no matter how tender, if it doesn’t reach her it isn’t worth a damn. "How the hell did you come to the conclusion that I’d want you dead? I wouldn’t be here, like this, right now, if I wanted that. And it’s—it’s been years. Don’t you think if I wanted—I could have found you."
You bite out a shaky laugh; too many feelings and not enough room to lay them out properly. "Look, there’s a lot-lot we probably have to say." You exhale, attempting to expel some of that foolish, useless anger. "It just. It all means nothing if you don’t—Basira please." You’re so transfixed on her face you don’t even notice how the space around you is enveloped in deep, dark unknown.
"I didn’t do it, did I? I couldn’t!" She’s near shouting now, a tone you’ve never heard her take to you. "Daisy, I didn’t do what you asked me to do. I couldn’t. Why would I…"
She sniffs. She’s not crying. She wouldn’t. It's something else. Something inhuman. But you still hold your breath. When she speaks again there’s a disarming thickness to it.
"Why would I ever think you’d… God…"
You know the shock must show on your face when she moves her arm to her face to wipe away? To cover up? The… blood? No, it’s not quite that either. Doesn’t have the right smell and it’s too dark. You’re shaking now, terrified of what you might be doing to her. She’s undeterred, however.
"I’m here now because—because I want to be, Daisy. But I don’t regret that you’re here too. It doesn’t—it means everything to me." As she shifts under your gaze you see her grey sleeve soaking through, darker than the night sky above. Your eyes widen, pupils blown. Finding her face again, refusing to lose it. Holding her here.
Stop it.
It’s practically a howl, a desperate plea.
"Don’t hurt yourself for my sake, Basira." You can hardly see your own hands in front of your face but you still step forward into that deep, dark nothing, because when she’s there it isn’t really nothing. You reach an arm out, careful of claws, sharp from Listening. You grasp her shoulder a little too tightly. "Let’s head back."
Your arm seems to get pulled into her, like a black hole swallowing whatever’s within range. It should feel terrifying. It feels sad. It feels lonely. She shudders silently at your touch and for a sickening moment you think you’ve misread the pain in her face. But she inhales sharply and clasps onto your arm tightly. It feels like right here, right now, is all there is. It feels like don't let go.
"Right, that’s—That’s a good idea." She wipes her face and looks at you with a desperate intensity that you bravely match. "I’d—I’d do a lot more, if I had to."
She starts to walk and you match her gait. The effort of keeping yourself in check makes your whole body shake. There isn’t anger, just an intensity that stirs in your gut, urging you to act on it. You wonder how you’ve both managed to get this far, to survive this long, with neither of you ever bothering to ask for more. More than survival, more than primal need or monstrous instinct sending impulses to your neurons telling you to go, do, run, hide, chase, kill.
"I know," you assure her. "But… you don’t have to. Like this, I can take care of myself just fine. Just…" You can sense her guilt. You hate to be the source of it. "I know you’re doing what you can. We all are." You fight instinct and push into the darkness, shoulder brushing hers, damp chill and warm heat, whatever’s lodged between them be damned. She sucks in a deep breath and straightens her posture but she doesn’t pull away.
"I’m certainly trying. I know… I know you have been doing far more than I have. Really helping." Her sleeve is stained with what looks like ink but isn’t, and there’s a sudden confidence in her tone as she continues. "I’m going to make up for it."
You clench your fists together, nails digging in just enough to help you think. She didn’t need to say it, doesn’t truly owe you anything, but it’s nice to hear all the same.
"We’re here now, Basira. That’s what matters."
The slow trek back to the Institute and Jon’s awaiting mission is spent in a drawn but comforting silence.