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They've barely touched in 19 days. She's been keeping count, could feel it would be the last time for a while, when she had to bite down a scoff as they were still embracing. Daisy had tried to hold on for longer, but Basira had writhed out of her arms and turned away. They've barely touched at all since then, only letting their knuckles graze gently while passing the occasional file between their hands.
Basira can feel it in every fiber of her being, can feel it in the way her fingers flex when she looks too long at Daisy's hands, the same scars and round fingernails, the same knuckles and wide palms that look so much more fragile now.
She stands in the dark in front of the cot, a bag slung over her shoulder. She has written a note and left it next to the cot, telling Daisy she'll be back in a week or two.
Has she been keeping count, too?
Daisy is sleeping in front of her, the faintest shimmer of street lights through a dirty window illuminating her face. She looks more peaceful like this, Basira thinks, the lines of worry and fear that mark her face at all times now look softer, almost washed away. Sleep hasn't managed to wash away this new softness that Basira can't quite get used to, but it doesn't look as strange now. Daisy always looked gentler in her sleep.
Basira shifts the bag on her shoulder, clears her throat quietly and tries to will away the chasm that has opened in her chest. She must look like some sort of stalker, she thinks dimly, looming and watching Daisy as she sleeps like this. She would have never felt like she’s intruding, before, like she’s doing something she shouldn't.
Daisy wouldn’t have kept sleeping while she was being watched before, something in the back of Basira's mind insists. She's unsure whether to feel relief or concern that Daisy doesn't possess such an instinct anymore.
She stands still for another few seconds, taking in the details of Daisy's face as if it's the last time. She knows she should leave, her flight isn't going to wait for her and the abyss in her chest grows with every painful breath. Basira swallows hard, and shifts the bag off her shoulder and onto the floor. She takes a step towards the sleeping cot, and Daisy sighs and stirs in her sleep. The sound tugs at Basira's heart, travels up her throat and begs to be let out. She bites it down and swallows, once, twice, until she can breathe again.
A siren goes off somewhere down the street and Basira looks up at the dusty window. She tries to remember what it was like before. Before she knew there were things out there trying to end the world. Before she watched all of her friends die or turn into monsters. Before she had to stop her Partner from almost killing a friend. When she thought she knew Daisy. Did she ever, really? She still remembers the feeling in her stomach whenever she looked at Daisy, when their eyes met, like something was set aflame underneath her skin. Basira’s eyes drift back towards Daisy almost of their own volition, and she slowly crouches down next to the cot. It doesn't feel the same, when they look at each other now.
She crosses her arms over her legs and rests her chin on them, tracing the shapes of Daisy's face with her eyes, the blond eyelashes and scars that seem to almost shimmer in the dim light. There's new scars now, all over, ones Basira doesn't know as intricately. Scars where the dirt didn't find enough space to spread, so it pressed down on Daisy. Little rocks cutting into her skin, blood and dirt getting mixed into dark red mud on her body. She remembers vividly how Daisy looked when she came out of that hellhole, the way she couldn't stop grasping at her, gasping desperately for air as Basira helped clean her. Her fingernails had left imprints on Basira’s arms.
She stops the train of thought forcefully, blinks away the moisture from her eyes. In the quiet of the night it's hard to gain her composure, so she keeps watching Daisy quietly, watches without moving as she starts stirring. Her heart weighs her down, renders her unable to move.
The lines on her face are starker again, and her breathing quickens. Basira wonders idly whether Jon has fallen asleep on his desk or somewhere in the Archives, if Daisy's dreams have wandered to horrid memories again, like they do almost every night. She doesn't think Basira knows, doesn't want to be a burden, but Basira can hear the heavy breathing, the stifled sobs when Daisy wakes up.
She wants to reach out, to comfort and care for Daisy, but she doesn't think she knows how to, anymore. She knows in her heart she's being cruel and unfair, knows that Daisy deserves more than for Basira to be hung up on the person she used to be, but her patience is worn so thin these days and every move Daisy makes is like a painful memory of who she used to be. Basira can't help herself from turning away.
There's still remnants of the old Daisy that Basira finds when she looks long enough. The way she laughs, the way she walks, the tone of her voice, the tilt of her mouth. Some of the things Basira fell in love with. Something warm drips onto her cheek and she wipes at her eye quickly.
She still loves Daisy, she thinks. Her right hand traces small circles into the fabric of her sweater, underneath which she knows the daisy tattoo blooms that she’d gotten a few months ago, when she thought Daisy dead. A way to honor and remember her partner and the woman she loved.
She still loves Daisy. It aches more, these days, makes her throat feel raw and her chest heavy when she looks at the broken figure cowering next to Jon. She feels her entire being brim with jealousy that she can't give Daisy whatever it is Jon seems to be giving her. There is less comfort in the way she loves Daisy now, but she loves her. She needs to learn how to fall in love with Daisy again though, she thinks, and almost smiles to herself.
A shudder from Daisy snaps Basira out of her thoughts, and she looks up at her face, scrunched up like in pain and she looks scared, and fragile. It tugs at Basira's heart, tips her forward and onto her knees. Her throat won't stop aching, and every breath she takes feels as if it were ripped from her lungs. She looks at Daisy, and her heart is unbearably tender.
Basira reaches out ever so slowly and wipes a strand of hair off Daisy's forehead, tucks it behind her ear. Her heart won't stop hammering and she feels like she's about to cry, and she leans forward and presses a kiss to Daisy's forehead, gently, so she won't wake her.
There's a sudden intake of breath and Daisy's head snaps back. Basira startles and moves away quickly, her eyes scanning Daisy with mounting alarm. Daisy's chest is moving rapidly, her arms are pushing her as far away from Basira as possible, her legs kicking gently to inch further away. Her eyes look unnaturally light in the dark. She's afraid.
Basira tries to make her mouth form words, tries to say Daisy's name, to calm her, but her throat won't let any sound pass her lips. Daisy's breathing slows, and her eyes dart through the room. She looks at the bag on the floor for a few seconds, then up at Basira's face. Their eyes meet, and Basira's heart lurches.
"Basira?" her voice is thick with sleep, "what's going on?"
She swallows, tries not to think of the laughable note she left by the cot. "I'm, uh- I'm leaving for a while. Wanted to say goodbye."
Knowing passes Daisy's face, and her shoulders droop slightly. She averts her eyes. "How long will you be gone for?"
Basira wills herself not to get irritated by the question, knows it's not about Daisy being unable to take care of herself, just that she'll be missed. “A week. Two, maybe." She tears her eyes from Daisy, stares down at her own hands, curled uselessly into fists on the edge of the cot.
"Oh," Daisy shifts above her, and Basira forces herself to relax her hands. Her heart aches.
She looks back up at Daisy, who has swung her legs over the side of the cot, just far enough so they won't accidentally touch. Has Basira made her think she doesn't want to be touched anymore?
Of course you have, something inside her bites, you've been shying away from any touch for over two weeks.
Basira stares at her hand again, resting just an inch from Daisy's thigh. She can hear Daisy open her mouth as if to speak, lick her lips. Basira shifts her hand, ever so slightly, and lets her little finger caress Daisy's leg.
She looks up at Daisy's face, and Daisy is looking back at her, lips parted in surprise, her eyes almost feverish. They hold their gaze for a few seconds and it feels like an eternity, and Basira's heart feels almost like it used to, when she used to look at Daisy. And then Daisy moves forward, just a bit, and Basira surges up to meet her in the middle.
Her hands find Daisy's shoulders, her face, and she pulls her into a kiss. Daisy makes a soft noise against her lips, something like a sigh or a whimper, and Basira's heart feels laid bare. She climbs up the sleeping cot and doesn't stop kissing Daisy, lets her hands caress her cheeks, her throat, her neck, her shoulders. Daisy's hands scramble against Basira's waist, looking for something to hold onto. They both lean into the touch heavily, and Basira sighs against Daisy's lips.
Eventually, they break apart, hands still clinging onto each other, foreheads pressed together. Something warm prickles under Basira's skin, and she closes her eyes against it. Daisy sniffles and lets her head drop down on Basira's shoulder.
"I'll wait for you," she whispers, and Basira knows in her heart that she will.
"I know you will," she whispers back.
Her hand moves towards the nape of Daisy's neck, and she scratches through the hair there gently. Daisy sighs, and leans back to look at Basira. Her eyes are still too-bright, shining like those of an animal in the dark, but there's something familiar in them, too. Basira reaches out and kisses Daisy's forehead, her cheek, her lips.
They sit in silence for a few seconds, before Basira sighs and shifts. Daisy lets go of her arms and she gets up from the cot, picks up her bag she left on the floor and swings it back over her shoulder. She looks back at Daisy again, can't stop herself from looking, and Daisy looks unsure and vulnerable and gentle.
"Thank you," Daisy says, "for saying goodbye." She swallows.
Basira smiles at her, although she thinks her eyes must still be shining with unshed tears, and Daisy smiles back. She takes the few steps towards the door leading out, a thin strip of light shining through from underneath it. She wants to tell Daisy she loves her, knows Daisy wants to hear it, deserves to know. Her throat is swelling up with it, and her heart aches with the words unsaid. She opens the door, and yellow light floods the small room. Basira turns again, and Daisy is looking at her with an unreadable expression. Hopeful, maybe, she thinks, or scared.
"I'll see you in a week," Basira says, and closes the door behind her.