Prompt: fluff, Basira & Daisy meeting at an arcade or theme park
Basira had never thought too hard about their relationship. There was never anything that needed to be explicitly stated. Nothing to be clarified. It had always been understood that they had each other’s backs, and that’s all that ever mattered.
When two outsiders find each other amongst the mess of brutality and violence that comes with being a sectioned officer, there’s something that brings those people together; something unquestionably strong. Whatever that bond is, it had found Daisy and Basira.
She had never wanted to call it trust. That’s not something she shares with anyone other than herself- not knowingly, anyway.
Things have changed. The woman on the bench next to her isn’t the outsider she met when she was first brought into Section 31: delicate features hardened by the scar on her jawline and the ferocity in her eyes: hair cropped for practicality, shoulders squared through defiance. Now, that same Daisy leans forward in her seat beside Basira, growing hair falling into her closed eyes. Shoulders rounded, protective.
Basira looks at the woman who has made herself small to survive.
“Ever been to Brighton,” she asks. Her voice always makes questions sound flat.
Daisy opens her eyes. She doesn’t respond immediately, instead, casting her gaze towards the grey horizon, ocean blurring into cloudy sky. The wind making her hair tickle her scars.
“No,” she admits. A lot of what she says sounds like an admission, these days. “I haven’t.”
Basira lets the silence sit between them again. A gap between their bodies that was always there, but that she’s only just now noticing. It’s a breezy autumn day, and the only people on the promenade are joggers and dog walkers. Nobody pays them any attention: two killers finding solace in their sea-torn landscape.
Daisy falters. Basira looks.
“When I was a child. Before…” Her jaw clenches. And then she sits up, zips up her leather jacket and Basira sees some of that old steel return. “My father would take us to Anglesey. It’s an island just off the coast of Wales. Nothing much to do, but the beaches would go on forever. Rocky beaches that hurt your feet.”
That’s the end of that story, it seems. Basira nods slowly. She doesn’t know this woman. Her strength had always been being able to read people, understand them. But she doesn’t know Alice Daisy Tonner at all, she realises.
“Have you been here before?” Daisy suddenly asks.
Basira nods again. “Yeah. Days out in Brighton were as much as my family could afford when it came to Summer holidays.”
The sea roars distantly. A brown dog runs into the ocean to fetch a stick.
“There’s an arcade here,” she continues. “My brother and I used to go. We’d get bored sitting on the beach.”
That’s probably the most she’s ever shared about her personal life with anyone. Bringing Daisy here- was that what she was planning? Some part of her wanting to open up? It seems unlikely. And she doesn’t want to think about it, not when she needs to be spending all of her energy protecting Daisy rather than showing her a good time. But then, seeing how Daisy is looking at her now in her peripheral, she finds her motives murky. The definition of what they have, murky.
Then, looking Daisy square in the eye: “Let’s go. You and me.”
A deep, long intake of breath. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Playing shooting games in an arcade is hardly the same as holding a real gun.”
“Could trigger something. Shark in an ocean. Catching a scent of blood.”
“Or, could be like a nicotine patch.”
Daisy blinks. She doesn’t smile, because Daisy doesn’t smile, but Basira does see the way the resolve falls away. And it’s then that she realises that maybe Daisy doesn’t need to be hard in order to be strong; there’s a strength in being flexible, too. Being flexible means being less brittle.
“Alright, then.” She slaps her legs. “Show me the ropes, then.”
So that’s happening, apparently. Basira leads them to the arcade; a tacky ruin of flashing lights and cash jingles. The carpets are a splurge of 90s train-seat patterns, the machines talking to no one but themselves. A family with two small children, trying to win a Minion toy.
They stand at the entrance, suddenly aware of how surreal this is: partners, walking into an arcade to win stuffed bears. Basira expects Daisy to back out, sort of hopes she will, but then she sees her heading for a claw machine, unzipping her leather jacket and rolling up the sleeves. She casts her grey eyes towards Basira, expectant and, apparently, mildly entertained.
This is the woman who likes listening to The Archers, Basira remembers. It makes sense that she’s cheesy when she wants to be. But why does she want to be, now? Who is that almost-smile for?
Basira acquiesces. She stands formally beside Daisy, who pops in a pound coin and takes the handle of the claw machine.
“The trick is not to try and get anything in particular,” Basira explains, remembering her older brother’s wise instruction. “You need to just go for it. Try too hard to get one toy and you won’t get anything at all.”
When she looks over, she finds that the look on Daisy’s face is wolfish. Perhaps that’s a little off-colour, but that’s the only word Basira can think of.
It takes three tries. Daisy runs out of change after the second one, and Basira pays for the third go. The claw is maneuvered carefully and strategically - Daisy was always better at strategy than Basira, who never liked planning - and it dangles slowly, descending into the pit of stuffed animals.
When it emerges, it produces a tiger cup with giant, sparkling eyes.
The toy clatters into the bin. Daisy fishes her hand through the flap and removes the tiger. They both measure it, dumbfounded.
“What do we do with it now,” Basira asks seriously.
There’s a pause where they continue to stare. And then she finds the toy shoved in her direction, Daisy disappearing before Basira can get a hold of it. She bends down to fetch it, looks up to see her partner skulking further into the arcade with square shoulders and a confident thud to her boots.
