Chapter Text
Daffodils had been Daphne's favorite flower all her life. They'd sat on her bedside table in her childhood bedroom after her first day of elementary school, and they sit on her dresser now. Every morning, she got ready for work alongside the flowers that bloomed with her as she grew up. "daphs.daffodils" was her username on every platform since her fourteenth birthday, when her parents finally let her join her 8th grade group of friends on Facebook. Most importantly, she had two of them tattooed on her inner wrist, a spot that was usually hidden by what she wore to the office.
She looked in her square mirror, lit up around the edges with warm lightbulbs. She had just finished curling her long, dark hair, the iron freshly cooled. For the past few months, she'd been waking up a few hours before she needed to be at the station so her mornings could be slower. In a job like hers, she was constantly made aware of how short life could be. So she did her hair, took her time with her makeup, and cleaned her kitchen after breakfast.
If she'd started this during her first few years as an officer, it would have been performative. Something she did just to say she did it. But with confidence in her work, confidence grew in herself, too. She knew who she was now, or at least she knew more than she ever had. She woke up early to sit with her thoughts. Her early mornings were for her, and maybe Pixie.
She'd gotten Pixie last year when she'd been promoted to a higher detective rank. She had more time at home, which meant she could finally get the kitten she'd always dreamt of. She had cats when she lived at home, but they were never babies. Pixie was the sweetest baby in the world, but was slowly growing into a teenager. She was sleeping at her feet now, little grey tail tucked between Daphne's feet.
She stood from her vanity and started picking out her outfit. She loved fashion; it was one of her favorite things about the detective position. Obviously, she loved helping people and was amazing at solving things, but she could do that at any rank. The thing she actually loved about being a detective was being able to take a case and see it through. When she was an officer, she saw a case and had to move on immediately. It was always fast paced and stressful to be the first on scene. She was the first person the victim saw, but she never got to fully let herself be in something. She loved the feeling of working hard on something till you solved it.
She piled things into her work bag as her finger traced along her favorite gold ring, the one her friend, Oz, gave her. It sat on her left pointer finger; her fingers would mindlessly spin it when she thought. He was probably her best friend, but her sisters would always be her real best friends. She felt the grooves of the daffodils engraved around the band she was still tracing. She'd never told him about her love of that particular flower; he'd just noticed. He'd stolen his love of yellow from her, actually.
They'd been working late one night, one of the many hours they'd been fused to each other's side. On nights like those, it was like they spoke their own language. She never had someone's brain work in sync with hers like that before. He'd told her his favorite color was dark green, immediately making her close her laptop, because look at him. Dark green goes with a man like Karadec, who is the complete opposite of Oz.
Throughout her life, she'd noticed that most men actually had no idea what their favorite colors truly were. They weren't encouraged to explore shades and hues the way girls were. Most of them just chose the color they wore most often. She hadn't bought or worn yellow decorations since she graduated from high school, but it was still a huge part of who she was.
She'd eventually convinced Oz that he didn't like green; he liked yellow. She could convince him of anything, to be fair. As an apology for taking her color, he'd given her the ring. He said he found it in a thrift store, but she was never sure if she believed that. It was perfect, thick enough not to need to be stacked with another, exactly her size, and in brand new condition. But if he'd bought it, she had no idea what that meant.
Growing up, she'd never had male friends. She fully embraced the warm pink of girlhood, never even getting a boyfriend until her twenties. She'd had guys that were "friends", but they always ended up dating her sisters. In college, they'd all sleep with you, no matter if they were your friend or not. Truly, it didn't even matter to them if you had a name. In the case of most men, that didn't change much going into adulthood. But she knew good men; they existed. She saw them in quiet moments. And for the first time in her life, she had 2 close guy friends. Adam (who would never admit they were friends) and Oz.
Sure, they could've been friends of convenience. Forced proximity could've played a factor in who she chose to be in her life. But when you work in the police force, you meet 100s of people. You see people you barely know in a deeply vulnerable light that most people will never see them in. You know how people will react in situations they didn't even know themselves in. That's how you pick your people. And if you're lucky, you get put into their office.
She'd known many great people in the LAPD, very few of them men. Women and people who didn't identify with gender always seemed to draw her more. They just always seemed more empathetic, plus they understood the experiences she'd been through more. Men can be good, they just choose not to be. They are not babies; the way they're raised does not excuse their 43-year-old behavior. The men she let into her life had to prove themselves to her, and those 2 had.
As she slipped her brown kitten heels over her black sheer tights, her mind's loop brought her back to the case they were working on today. They weren't always partners, but Selena knew that she and Oz were more productive together. It was a chain of violent robberies brought out over the last few months. They seemed to target high-end businesses, which led her and Oz to stake out their next projected target: an art gallery in downtown LA. They'd been right, but the criminals escaped capture. Now their experts were tracking where they'd hit next.
She picked up her grey shadow and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Pixie liked being alone, but she felt bad for leaving her anyway. She took one last check in her bag to ensure she had all of her things, including her favorite gum (Hubba Bubba watermelon). She was wearing a black short dress with a green blazer draped over her shoulders. A few gold bangles were wrapped around her wrists. Though you couldn't see them under her sleeves, she knew they were there. She tucked her hair behind her shoulders and walked out the door.