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Full transparency: the first time Basira met Daisy, she had no idea whether they would get along or not. To say she was a little worried when they started working on more and more jobs together was a bit of an understatement. Daisy just seemed so…cold. Closed off. So unperturbed by literally everything. Maybe it could be chalked up to so many years of experience on the police force, but if it was, Basira was nowhere near that level of disassociation from the brutal things they faced just yet. The thought that she could turn out like that, one day, honestly quite scared her.
But her thoughts on Daisy changed when they encountered their first definitely-going-to-be-sectioned job together. Turns out, Daisy was just as capable of emotions, of fear , as Basira herself — and that’s when she decided that she wanted this partnership to work after all. She might just have to chip away at Daisy’s stony exterior for a while.
The least she could do was give it a shot.
—
And eventually, it started to work. She’d make jokes that Daisy’d crack a smile at. They’d have casual conversation while on the road. After a while, they even started sharing more personal details about each other. Not that Daisy ever shared anything particularly deep, just things like her favorite foods (anything Thai), what books she liked to read (thrillers), and even her favorite color (forest green).
But eventually, they became something like friends. And Basira quite liked that. Despite the initial hesitation, she and Daisy managed to get along just fine. Perhaps better than that, even.
—
“I don’t like you doing this.”
“Tough.”
Basira crossed her arms where she sat in the passenger seat of their department-owned SUV. Daisy sighed from behind the wheel, staring intently out the dash even though they were still parked in the lot at the station and her hands were nowhere near the wheel.
“He could be dangerous, Basira.”
“Oh, and those solo jobs you go off on aren’t ? Seriously Daisy, all I’m doing is dropping off tapes and talking to him for a few minutes. And with the lack of support I have I don’t really see any other useful avenues for leads, or a better way to keep him where I need him. Besides. If he tries anything, I feel pretty confident that I’ll be able to hold my own,” Basira ranted, frustration rolling off her in waves.
There was no response from Daisy. That was, until after a tense minute, Daisy began stifling a laugh into her fist.
A strange combination of confusion and indignation flooded Basira, prompting her head to snap towards the other woman with a defensive scowl on her lips. “ What ?”
“Sorry,” Daisy managed to get out in between honest to god giggles , hunched forward in her seat with the force of them. “Just thinking about—Christ, he’s a bloody twig— you could probably snap him over one knee.”
“I—uh, yeah, probably ,” Basira fumbled for the right words. “That’s why you don’t need to be worr—”
“I can’t believe he killed that poor old woman. You think that’s why he chose to use a gun? Because he didn’t know if he’d be able to handle her in a true fight?”
“Oh my— Christ, Daisy!” Basira exclaimed, but she couldn’t quite fight her own laughter as it bloomed to life inside her.
It overcame them both, the pure, unfiltered sounds of two friends enjoying a simple exchange together. For all Basira could remember, looking back, this might have been one of the last happy moments she had with Daisy before everything went wrong.
“Right,” Daisy exhaled once she’d managed to catch her breath. “Right. Don’t make me regret trusting you, here.”
Basira slumped back in her seat, the muscles in her stomach aching. She rolled her head, leaning against the lumpy headrest, towards Daisy again and gave her a loose grin. “Yeah. No need to be worried. After all, I can just snap him over my knee if it comes down to it.”
“Right,” Daisy smirked back.
“Right.”
And then they couldn’t help but laugh again.
—
“So, you have no idea where Daisy is?”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Martin shrugged. “She’s probably just using her ‘operational discretion’ to bully someone else.”
Basira’s mind caught painfully, and with a jolt in her stomach, on those two words. Her next sentence was more of a demand than a question.
“What did you say?”
Martin began spluttering a response, looking more annoyed than he had the right to be, if Basira was honest with herself.
“Did she use the phrase ‘operational discretion’?” Basira interrupted, the words urgent and insistent as they rolled off her tongue.
“Yeah. She said she had ‘full operational discretion’.”
Fuck.
Daisy was going to leave them royally screwed if she got what she wanted, which Basira had a sneaking suspicion might involve Jon with a bullet in his brain. Her thoughts fired a mile a minute, not unlike a wave of gunfire, actually, as she hastily scribbled down her number for Martin to take. She’d need whatever information he, or anyone else for that matter, might get. She needed to find Daisy, now .
The assault of worst-case-scenarios flying through her head very helpfully changed into a steady flood of curses, English and Arabic both, as she steamrolled her way through the Institute’s narrow halls. She didn’t have the slightest idea as to where Jon was, so there was little hope of her being able to catch him before his pursuer did. But she knew Daisy, and there were a few particular places that Daisy might be inclined to bring a victim. If Basira got there before them, she could talk Daisy down. Daisy would have to listen to her. Basira’s decision to interfere (something she never did, Daisy’s monster hunting was her own business, not Basira’s) would surely be enough to illustrate the importance of the situation at hand. Whether or not Jon murdered that old man was, frankly, irrelevant — Jon was much too important to whatever was going on to die without the two of them getting some further use out of him, at the least. She wasn’t sure how, she wasn’t sure why, but she just knew that was the case. Hopefully that would be enough.
Still, she was so relieved when Daisy listened to her. She’d let Jon live. Of course she was angry about it, but after their confrontation with Elias…
“Thanks,” Basira told her later that night, still sat at the Institute. It was the first word either of them had spoken to each other since everything came out. Since Basira became a…prisoner.
“Yeah,” Daisy said, voice measured and without emotion.
There was a heavy silence.
“I might still kill him when all of this is said and done,” She finally added. Her tone seemed just the slightest bit less calculated, a great relief to Basira.
Of course, she thought in response, breathing out a quiet laugh. Things were pretty shit at the moment, to say the least, but at least she was facing it all with her Daisy.
“Well, he won’t be my problem then. Suppose I won’t get in your way.”
Daisy nodded. “Good.” Her voice was clipped, satisfied. When Basira looked over, though, Daisy’s wrinkled brow told a different story.
“You’ve got that look again,” Basira prompted, leaning forward in her chair with her elbows on her knees. “What is it?”
Daisy’s lips tugged into a deeper frown than the one she was already wearing. “You’re stuck here now. I don’t like it,” She sighed, as she let her head tip against the back of her chair, eyes flicking to the ceiling.
“Yeah,” Basira murmured. She didn’t much like it either.
Accept and adapt, her father’s voice echoed, or fight and change it.
Well. Didn’t really seem like the latter was an option at this point. At least…not until she had more information.
“I’ll be fine. Make it work, you know?” Basira was reassuring herself just as much as Daisy.
“I just wish I could do something about it,” Daisy's words were a groan, muffled by the motion of dragging hands over her face until they dropped back into her lap. I know you do, Basira thought, warmly, in the pause between Daisy’s sentences. “But I can’t. We can’t. Can’t kill that bastard Bouchard without risking your life, too.”
“I thought you didn’t believe what he said?”
“I don’t know if I do.”
“Sure.”
In the lull in conversation, Basira thumbed at a loose thread on her shirt hem. She’d need to cut that off when she found a chance, before she tugged at it enough for it to fray.
Bouchard. Elias. He’d…said a lot of shit that day, that was for sure. And the fact that even she, ex-cop, and Daisy, still-cop, couldn’t quite pin down what was true and what was embellishment? Well…it made Basira feel bloody useless, that’s what.
Hah. Speaking of things that prick had said.
Oh, didn’t she tell you why she hadn’t gone back to the station?
Basira lips twisted downwards. Of course Basira knew there were plenty of things Daisy kept from her. Most likely…bad things.
She’s quite the killer, your partner.
Basira took a deep breath, securing her resolve. “Daisy, I want you to tell me what he meant.”
A pause. “What?”
“I know you’ve done some dirty work for the department. But clearly, there’s more than that.”
“Basira. I haven’t told you because I don’t—don’t know if you’ll understand . I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
“I want to know , Daisy. I’m not-” Basira sighed, dropping futilely gesturing hands. “It’s not going to change anything. Whatever it is you’ve done. I just…”
“No, no. I…yeah. You deserve to know,” Daisy conceded with a sigh. She paused again, clearly stewing over something. “It’s my fault you’re trapped in this shithole anyways.”
“It’s not,” Basira corrected, pointedly and immediately. “I got myself involved when I agreed to bring Jon those tapes. But…yeah. Whatever you’ve done, Bouchard was able to use it as leverage against us. I think it’s time for me to know, Daisy. And after all of this? I think I can handle it.”
With a barely audible mumble of something Basira couldn’t quite make out, Daisy rose from her chair across the room and found a new one closer to Basira. Basira could practically hear her thinking, wondering if they should find somewhere more private for this conversation, but the Institute was already closed, the bullpen outside of Jon’s office deserted. There was no one around to overhear.
Except Bouchard, of course, but there was no escaping him within these walls anyways. And it’s not like Daisy’d be sharing anything he didn’t already know .
Basira’s eyes locked on Daisy’s, and she offered her partner a nervous smile. She wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from…whatever Daisy was about to tell her. But it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
Not unpleasant enough to scare her off, though. Basira was sure of that.
Daisy smiled back, a half-smile that just barely showed the dimple in her cheek.
“Suppose I should start with why everyone calls me Daisy, then.”
—
The night before the Unknowing, after everyone else had gone off to try and get some sleep, Basira and Daisy sat awake in their shared room in the bed and breakfast Bouchard had sent them off to. There were two beds. They were sitting together on one. Daisy’s head lay on Basira’s shoulder.
“I’m not sure how confident I feel that we’ll both make it out,” She admitted, and Basira rubbed her lips together and sighed.
“It’s gonna be…tough, that’s for sure.”
Daisy sat up and took Basira’s hand. It wasn’t an uncommon gesture, something that Daisy often did when one or both of them were stressed or otherwise upset. Her touch was familiar and comforting, and Basira refused to entertain the thought that this might be the last time she ever felt it. She had to believe they’d both be okay.
“Basira,” Daisy started. “I’m glad I met you.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Basira scoffed.
“I just want you to know. I’m worried I might…lose myself, in there. I don’t know what will happen to me if I do.”
“If that happens, I’ll bring you back.” Said with full confidence. To Basira, there was no other possible outcome.
Daisy didn’t say anything else, just smiled — fond, but tinged with melancholy. The smile of someone who knew a good thing was about to end.
If they were touchier people, Basira might have enveloped her in a hug. But they weren’t, so she settled for squeezing Daisy’s hand instead. Daisy lay her head back on Basira’s shoulder and they sat there, together in the quiet, and tried to pretend that tomorrow would be okay.
—
When Basira learned that she was the only survivor of the Unknowing, she hardly even bothered to mourn Tim and Jon. Basira simply locked herself in her hotel room and thought of Daisy, and cried for the first time in years.
—
She felt herself growing colder in Daisy’s absence. She couldn’t bring herself to care. This mess had gotten the one person she loved more than anything killed, and she let that anger fuel her.
When Jon told her that Daisy was in the coffin, the same one that Daisy’s old partner, before she was sectioned, had disappeared into, she very nearly didn’t believe it. But the more she thought about it…it made sense, didn’t it? If she had been in Breekon’s shoes with a magical “suffer for eternity box” available as she watched her partner get murdered, wouldn’t she want to do the same to the killer?
But even then…she found it hard to let herself have any hope.
She knew enough about the coffin to know that no one who entered it returned. Quite frankly, she thought Jon’s plan to go in after her was insane, but he couldn’t be persuaded otherwise. He and Daisy were similar in that way. Once they were set on a plan, it was nearly impossible to stop them.
Seeing that quality reflected in him, one she’d always associated with Daisy, made Basira sick.
Despite her hesitation towards Jon’s plan, though, deep inside Basira wondered — if someone was going to go in after Daisy, should it be her instead? After all, wouldn’t Daisy do the same for Basira? (She would. She knew Daisy would.) But she also knew that, if anyone had a chance to succeed, it would be Jon. Daisy would understand that, if he managed to get the both of them back out. Still, Basira worried.
She told Jon not to do it.
So when she returned from the massive time-wasting mission Elias had sent her on to find that not only had Jon gone into the coffin behind her back, but he’d returned with Daisy , conflicting anger, disbelief, and even joy flooded her. But after locking eyes with Daisy she couldn’t even bother to be angry with Jon anymore, at least not right then, because Daisy was alive and breathing and here . She looked like hell, but she was here. Seeing as Daisy had practically been resurrected from the dead, Basira couldn’t help it; as soon as they had a moment alone she hugged Daisy like her arms were the only things keeping the other woman above ground.
“I thought you were dead,” Basira whispered into Daisy’s shoulder, holding her close. Daisy’s arms wrapped around her just as tight in return.
“For a while, I thought I was,” Daisy laughed, incredulous.
“We made it. We both made it.” Basira squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t ready to let go. She was afraid that if she did, Daisy might disappear again, crumble into dirt. Into nothing. That she’d wake up from a dream, taunting her, to a world still missing her Daisy.
“It still isn’t over, though. Things could still go wrong,” Daisy murmured, pulling away. “I’m…I’m hungry , Basira. I…I let the Hunt take over in the Unknowing. When I killed Hope. I made it back this time, but…if I let it… again… I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull myself back. And I don’t know if you’ll be able to…either.” As she spoke, Daisy almost sounded afraid.
Daisy was never afraid.
“So we don’t let it happen again. Simple.” Basira clutched Daisy’s shoulders, looking her in the eyes. “Simple” was an understatement, she knew that. But Daisy had always been there for Basira when she was afraid. Of course she needed to return the favor. She needed to at least try .
“Basira, you’ve seen how difficult it is for Jon. If I get to that point, I don’t, I don’t know if—”
“Daisy,” Basira interrupted, giving her arms a squeeze. “We won’t let it overcome you. I swear.”
“Basira…”
“Daisy, I swear. ”
I can’t lose you again.
Daisy took a deep breath and, after a moment, finally nodded. “Okay. We’ll make this work.”
“There we go. Yes, we will.” Basira smiled hopefully at her, trying to seem confident — and Daisy smiled back. Neither of their expressions felt convincing enough.
—
But much to Basira’s disdain, keeping Daisy clean from the Hunt was so much more difficult than she anticipated, even expecting it to be hard. So difficult that she almost began to feel bad for Jon, going through the same thing but with a different Fear.
Almost.
Honestly, she didn’t have the extra energy to worry over anyone else — she was exhausted. And Daisy…Daisy just hadn’t been herself since she returned from the coffin. Was it awful that Basira missed the days from before, when the Hunt’s mark on her partner had still been present but not so overwhelming? In her fight to resist it, Daisy seemed so…docile. Nothing like the strong, overconfident, stubborn woman Basira fell in love with. She was in a lose-lose situation. They could either let Daisy go, possibly dooming her to a life following the scent of Blood forever, losing her humanity in the same way Jon seemed to be; or they keep doing what they’re doing now, and let her waste away into nothing.
She was losing her best friend either way.
Most days, Basira didn’t even bother hoping that things would get better.
—
“These last few months…it was always borrowed time, wasn’t it? Can’t outrun it forever.”
Basira knew it was true. That didn’t mean she wanted to accept it.
“Promise me,” Daisy demanded, and oh god, what else was Basira supposed to say?
I love you so much. The months I spent without you were some of the worst I’ve ever lived through. Don’t make me go through that again. God, Daisy, I love you so much.
“I promise.”
—
In the weeks before the end of the world, Basira was sick with anxiety. Not that she shared that anxiety with anyone. When calling Jon and Martin, at the safehouse ( Daisy’s house, the one that Daisy had taken her to once, after a particularly stressful week on the job. She’d had her suspicions about Daisy at that point. Basira knew that terrible things had happened there. But really, she was just glad that Daisy trusted her enough, cared about her enough, to share it with her. That if things ever went south, she and Daisy could be safe there. In fact, if recent events hadn’t gone the way they had, would they be sheltering there now with Jon and Martin? Instead of them, even?), talk of Daisy was off-limits except for short, brusque reports on Basira’s progress tracking her. It was difficult to do so when she had to remain so close to the Institute, responsible for retrieving statements for Jon as soon as police were done picking through the place — which could literally be any day. The officers on the case were sectioned, of course. Who knew how long they’d keep going before writing everything off and calling it a day.
Still, she wasn’t doing nothing . She was keeping an eye on the news, both mainstream and otherwise. There’d been a sparse few recent incidents that could have been Daisy’s doing. She kept track of their locations just in case. But honestly, she wasn’t quite sure where to start when she was free of her tether to the Institute. She could start at Daisy’s usual spot, but would she be aware enough of herself, her tendencies, her routines, to go there in her animal form? Maybe instinct would guide her there without a second thought? Though, with the Hunt in full control, she might not worry about where she killed at all. Where her prey went, she would follow. Fuck, she could be anywhere by now.
With so much energy spent worrying it’s no wonder Basira began to have nightmares. It’d be her and Daisy, primal, in a standoff against each other.
We were never supposed to fight like this. We’ve always had each other’s backs.
In the nightmare, Basira always used her gun. She’d never been one to get her hands dirty, preferring the distance the weapon put between her and her target. Daisy had always been the one willing to get close. Looking back, though, Basira knew it was more wanting to than willing to — one of the first stains of the Hunt on Daisy.
She was horrible. She held grudges like a bitch and once she caught a scent, she pursued it ‘till the end, no matter what. But she’s my best friend. I love her.
Their eyes would meet right before Basira pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening.
I’m sorry.
“ Tr-traitor,” Daisy would gurgle as blood sloshed up her throat and out of her mouth, and she collapsed with the force of the bullet that Basira put in her.
“N-no.” Basira would stutter. “I’m doing this because you asked me to. You made me promise, Daisy. I’m doing this because I love you.”
“ Traitor…”
How could dying eyes be filled with so much hate?
And then Basira would wake. She was never one to scream or thrash about. Consciousness would come suddenly, with little effect on her aside from the pounding in her chest. Then she’d dig out the sleeping pills from her nightstand and use them to knock herself back out. They didn’t let her dream. She was grateful.
—
She hadn’t anticipated that Daisy would actually recognize her. Foolishly, she’d convinced herself that the job would be almost easy, that Daisy would be so far gone that Basira wouldn’t register as anything other than more potential prey. Maybe if she was lucky, Daisy would attack and she’d have to shoot out of self-defense. (There was no way her nightmare would be anywhere close to reality). But then, when they finally met, after Basira’s…hesitation, Daisy spoke to her.
“Partner. Come.”
And, oh…
For a moment, the offer was so, so tempting.
They could be together again. She and Daisy, against the world, just like it had always been.
But deep inside she knew that’s not how it would go. The Daisy she loved was gone. And she’d made a promise to that Daisy, one she intended to fulfill.
It was the least she could do.
Later, after the shots had been fired and Jon and Martin were gone, Basira allowed herself a few tears as the body burned — but nothing more. It was over. They were over. And truthfully, it had been that way since the Unknowing, lifetimes ago, now.
Still…it hurt like hell.
—
She had a key to Daisy’s flat.
In the aftermath of all that had happened, Melanie and Georgie did their best to support her. But they weren’t Daisy. And honestly, it really didn’t help that out of everyone who made it to the other side with her, it had to be two people who were together . Was it awful that, if only one pair was destined to survive, she wished it had been her and Daisy instead?
Well, there was Rosie too, she supposed. She got more bitter comfort out of the fact that she wasn’t the only one to end up alone than out of Melanie and Georgie’s efforts, as genuine as they were. She just hated their pity.
It took her three months to work up the courage to use the key. She stood outside the door to the flat for far longer than was acceptable. Surely, if any neighbors were watching, they were suspicious by now. Basira didn’t really care.
Her hand shook when she opened the door. Huh. That hadn’t even happened when she’d killed her. What did that say about herself, Basira wondered? That this mess had turned her into a cold-hearted killer, just like the woman she loved? She scoffed at the thought. Being anything like Daisy — brave, terrible, lovely Daisy — was something she’d learn to appreciate.
It was hard to step inside. The furniture was covered in dust. How long had she and Daisy been staying in the Institute like everyone else? When…when was the last time they’d had a movie night here? Made popcorn sprinkled with Tony Chacheres? When was the last time they sat at the kitchen table and talked late into the night about The Archers, or whatever other radio show Daisy was listening to at the time?
When was the last time Basira had told Daisy how much she’d meant to her?
She drifted into Daisy’s bedroom. On the walls were crookedly-framed pictures of the two of them — on a trip to Alps for Basira’s birthday, grinning at the top of a mountain peak; a blurry selfie taken on a rare trip to a pub as they held up their cocktails for the camera late on a Saturday night; she and Daisy all dressed up for the wedding of one of Daisy’s cousins in Ireland.
Other than that, the room was sparsely decorated. Daisy had never been one for flair. Function always trumped aesthetics. On the bright side, that would make clearing the place out easier, once Daisy’s pre-scheduled rent payments ran out. Which was sure to be soon, Basira figured. But really, the lack of Daisy’s visible presence in her home mostly made her depressed.
One by one, Basira removed the pictures from the wall, gathering them into the crook of her arm. A lump formed in her throat, but she didn’t cry.
Once she’d gathered them all, she walked backwards, carefully and silently, until her calves hit Daisy’s bed. She disturbed the dust as she sat, and thought distantly that her pants would probably be covered in it when she left, but worrying about dust-covered clothes was trivial compared to everything else she’d been through.
The photo on top of her stack was the first one they’d taken together. Basira laughed, a thorn in her heart and her smile not quite reaching her eyes, not that anyone was there to notice. It was a photo of them in the car after reporting to a call that, if there had been genuine cause for concern, would have certainly landed them more section 31 forms to sign. That being said, it’d been a false alarm. Daisy and Basira had been among the later officers to arrive, but of course the first to go in. Daisy, her blonde hair slicked back in her signature, military-style bun, was rolling her eyes at the camera as Basira looked straight into the lens, deadpan and annoyed.
Through the rear window of the car, another police vehicle could just barely be made out, the vehicle of another pair of officers who had been too selfish to risk getting sectioned. She and Daisy were both pointing a middle finger at it.
Basira laughed, no real emotion in it, set the photos aside, and dropped her face into the palms of her hands. It was so hard, now that everything was…not quite normal, but reminiscent of normal again, to go back to an uneventful day to day life. Without a world to save, a trap to escape, what was she supposed to do? Without Daisy, how was she supposed to know where she even stood in the world they’d brought back to life?
When she finally went home, she took the photos with her.
Despite the grief, Basira knew that Daisy wouldn’t want her to drown. So that was it, then, wasn’t it? If it was what Daisy would have wanted, that’s what she was going to do. Daisy would have wanted Basira to not just survive the Fears, but to learn to truly live in a world without them .
Accept and adapt, or fight and change it.
So even though it was fucking hard , Basira was going to live. She’d find something new to fight for.
She hung the photos in her bedroom, just like Daisy had.