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What were promises if not a bond worth keeping?
The gun is heavy in her hand. The promise is heavy in her heart. Daisy is - Daisy is. And oh fucking hell, how Basira wants to be too. Through all the madness and blood and rage, Daisy still holds onto her. Pleading. Wishing.
And she can feel that tug, the quiet roar of the Hunt begging her to come back. There’s no place for her in the Eye. The Ceaseless Watcher can’t offer her what being a hunter can; it can’t offer her Daisy.
Daisy, who stands twisted and drenched in blood, dripping from that angry awful mouth that used to leave little red welts on Basira’s neck and chest when things were different. Before the coffin, when she was still a monster.
Her mouth is so dry. Her hand shakes. Her hands have never shook before, not when she knew what the right course of action was. That is the thing about justice; you can’t feel guilty for enacting it. And this should be the same. Daisy wanted her to kill her. Daisy didn’t want to be this thing that stands in front of her.
Except, Daisy is calling her name, enticing and raw. Daisy wants to live and run and chase down the monsters. Daisy wants Basira to live and run and chase down the monsters.
She wants that too. She’s barely hanging on as it is. This was everything she has been leading up to, and without it, what is even going to be left of her? She’s stitched together with a frayed thread. She’s falling apart.
How can she stand here, gun in hand, and Daisy right in front of her, and not answer the call? Daisy has always had her back. Always always always.
As if from a distance, she can hear Jon’s voice. He calls her name, too. He wants something entirely different/ He wants an action from her. If she chooses wrong, there’s a thread of fear that he will do what he thinks is right. Jonathan Sims has no good moral compass. What does he know about what’s right?
Does he get loyalty?
Does he understand love?
Would he kill Martin? If Martin was a monster and didn’t want to be, would he kill him? Would he do it if Martin did want to be a monster?
Without Daisy, Basira feels an ache inside of her. It began all those months - years? - ago, when she thought Daisy really had been dead. It’s a loneliness that claws through her, rips her apart like she’s just made of paper and can be easily shred. If she does this, that pain persists. Basira isn’t a masochist. She doesn’t enjoy being hurt. She doesn’t enjoy any of this bullshit because unlike everyone else in this bloody apocalypse, she’s the only one still holding on to purpose and reasoning.
But if that were true…
Why hasn’t she pulled the trigger?
Why can’t Daisy feel her need?
Why can’t Daisy have her back, just this one last time?
She tries to lick her lips, but her tongue is sand paper and her lips crack and bleed beneath the sweep of it. Her hand steadies. Clawed fingers twitch and beckon. Daisy tilts her head, almost like a dog. Her mouth is too wide, full of teeth and flesh. It almost looks like a smile as she continues to call her name.
She’s beautiful.
Her aim is true.
She keeps her promise.
Basira is left alone in a world meant for two.