What happened to Daisy?

It is always good to remember that Being Human belongs in Toby Whithouse's toybox and I'm just playing with it while he isn't looking...

I'll make you indestructible

Just another city, nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary.

It never used to be like this, there was a time when everything glowed with excitement and danger and fun. A time when blood was better than champagne, better than anything else in the world. Now it was just blood and there was never enough.

She had been indulged and spoiled and treated like a queen, like an empress.

She had been loved.

Now all that was left for her was loneliness.

And yet another dead, empty body.

Daisy left the drained corpse lying in the dark alleyway and leaned on the wall, lighting a cigarette. Someone would clean up. She had never needed to worry about the bodies before, Ivan always did that, as he had done everything for her and she had no idea who to call or what to do. She never stayed anywhere long and somehow, somewhere, someone must have been taking care of her, clearing up her mess, protecting her. She flipped the lighter closed; every time she used it she saw the smoke stains and the scorch marks that she wouldn't wipe away. It still hurt to see them but to remove them, erase the memory, would be worse.

She was tired of moving on, tired of the restless mess her life had become. For a moment she wondered if it could be Mitchell who was watching her, looking after her. But of course not. He wasn't the organised type. There had been a brief moment when she thought he could have taken the place of her Ivan, not replaced him of course, no one could do that, but it wasn't to be. Even after the death and destruction, the blood soaked sex and the plans for ever more slaughter, she couldn't forget that he killed her husband.

Oh, he could blame others but that bomb had been meant for Mitchell. Always Mitchell, with his half witted schemes of being human, denying what he is, what they all are and yet somehow he managed to walk away every time, leaving others to suffer. Ivan had saved him, sacrificed himself for Mitchell and she had no idea why. Neither had Mitchell. She might even have been able to forgive and forget if he'd waited for her, wanted her, even just a little. If Ivan had felt Mitchell was a man he should give his life for then maybe she was meant to be with him, maybe it was all part of some grand plan. Instead he ran off, forgetting about her, chasing his bible-bashing bomb making ex, not to mention the ghost and the dogs he was so inexplicably fond of. It let her know how unimportant she was to him, how easily forgotten.

Maybe Mitchell was dead too, she really had no idea. She doubted it, Mitchell was a survivor and someone always picked him up. It always used to be Herrick but others took over and even George, a werewolf, had killed for Mitchell. He killed Mitchell's creator for him, the man he loved and hated in equal parts. Seth had died because of Mitchell, he'd killed Lauren, his last child and laid waste to the very infrastructure he'd created to hide them, putting Ivan and the others in the way of madmen. How many more would fall to Mitchell's follies? In a way she had fallen too, she was still standing, still feeding, still... existing, but she was his victim as much as any of the others.

Daisy put out her cigarette and walked, no destination in mind, striding out through the last of the late night drinkers, ignoring the cat calls and the whistles. One was more insistent than the others and he left his staggering mates and followed her, talking to her, giving her the chat, watching her skirt swirl about her thighs in the wind. Eventually Daisy turned on him and took him by the throat – smiling at him, her eyes as black as night.

"Come on then, if you think you're hard enough!"

Her free hand explored, apart from the blood there was one other way she could find some distraction, a brief moment of contentment and peace but drink and terror had left him limp and useless and she dropped him, left him sprawled on the dirty pavement. She stepped over him, flipping her skirts as she left, letting him glimpse what he was missing. There would be another and then another and another but it still didn't make her feel right. Ivan had encouraged her excesses, had loved to see her play and she had known that whatever either of them did they were bonded eternally. She'd never been alone since being made vampire; Ivan had created her and kept her close. She didn't know how to do this on her own. The fun she had always found in others had lost its appeal when Ivan was no longer there to watch. Now it just felt like betrayal.

While they were still revelling in blood and each other Mitchell had told her where to find Cara, still trapped in the caves where he had left her in the darkness. He had been too weak to kill her as he had let everyone believe although having seen Cara so wretched and desperate she wondered if it wasn't cowardice. Maybe Mitchell had been deliberately cruel. Mitchell wanted Cara revived to help them scythe through the human race, killing everyone in their way until only Lucy was left. But Mitchell disappeared and Daisy and Cara never saw him again and the vampire's plans for revenge and retribution stalled. Without that vicious purpose the time she'd spent with Cara had given her space to grieve for Ivan. Hunting for Cara, taking her prey, helping her heal and then hunting together until they were as strong as they could ever be had given her a reason to carry on. It was only then that Cara told her what they had to do – they had to raise Herrick - and although she helped as she had promised it was a bitter situation. She would never know if Ivan could have been raised, he had never entrusted her with the secret and she never knew where his body lay. They had made no plans, they had never believed they would be parted.

Maybe it was for the best as when they raised Herrick from the icy ground he was insane, babbling and howling, and only Cara could see what he used to be. Her gentle care and boundless love for the empty, mindless creature that used to be her dark lord was too painful for Daisy to watch and she walked away. She'd been walking away ever since.

She carried on, finding a quiet park, away from the brightly lit streets and she wandered in between the trees, not keeping to the path. Daisy found the darkness soothing but there was still that feeling of being followed. Not by more drunken humans though – this was something stealthy, something careful. She started to pay attention – still striding out, no change in her confident gait and the swing of her hips but she was aware. There was a faint scent, a recollection of something past– it was almost like... The memory was elusive but it would come. She made her route more complex, circling through the trees, doubling back on herself but whoever – whatever – was watching her kept pace. Too far away to be seen, just a sense of something waiting, biding its time. She retraced her route to the gate and the streetlights and spun round but it had gone – all was calm and quiet and just an almost imperceptible taint remained on the cold night air.

She closed her eyes. Stood still and breathed deeply – what was it? She let her mind wander, let the memories come, she had to remember. Suddenly she knew and her eyes flew open in surprise.

Werewolf.

Of course. She should have known straight away – the smell was pervasive and unmistakable but she had been fooled. Most werewolves ran when faced with a vampire, they knew what would happen – at best a beating, at worse... Well, it would be so much worse. the cage fights were only the beginning. They knew the dangers and every instinct would tell them to flee. To find one that was prepared to follow her, to track her was rare. In fact, as far as she knew, it was unheard of.

Although there had been one wolf who hadn't run away. One wolf that had run after her and although he argued against her view of their supernatural world, made her cry over her lost child and challenged her husband, he had stayed and she had been able to draw him even closer.

George. Could it be? Was he looking for her?

Of course not – she laughed grimly, quietly, at her thoughts. George had his bitch and he had never really wanted her. He wouldn't even remember her, she had no part in his memories. She had hypnotised him, screwed him and then ticked him off her list. The werewolf who had killed a vampire. He had torn Herrick apart and for that reason alone he was a curiosity, something she had to have and Ivan helped her find him.

Thinking of George, remembering how he smelled, and the memory and reality got confused and she didn't realise that the werewolf was back. She shivered, something was making her uncomfortable and she suddenly knew - this wasn't the memory of George, this was the smell of a real live wolf. It was close by. Very close.

Too close.

She spun round but saw nothing. She took a deep breath and her mind was filled with that oily, musty scent. It was close, so close she had no idea of the direction it was coming from. By the time she sensed a movement it was too late and she turned to the left as a figure ran from the trees. A man, a werewolf, and despite the speed he approached her she could see him quite clearly in the moonlight. She glanced up; the moon was almost full so he would be stronger and faster than the human he appeared to be. His face was set and hard, his eyes fixed on hers and he was behind her before she could think of running. He wrapped an arm round her neck, pulling her head back, his other hand trying to catch hold of her wrists.

She fought viciously, desperately, kicking and clawing, hissing, her eyes jet and her fangs bared. She had thought that her life was over when Ivan died but now she found she wanted to live more than ever. For a moment she thought she was free – her nails slashed across his face leaving a bloody trail and her heel hit his knee hard and he let go, cursing under his breath. She went to run – he'd never catch her once she was out of reach - but he was almost as quick as a vampire and he grabbed her long hair, pulling her back to him and wrapping one hard muscled arm round her, holding her arms at her sides.

"It's a long time since I met a vampire as feisty as you."

His voice was close to her ear and his werewolf smell filled her senses. She had never found that odour as vile and cloying as some vampires did but right now it was more terrifying than revolting.

"Most of them are easy meat, cowardly."

He spun her round, quickly enough to make her dizzy and caught both her wrists in one of his hands. She wanted to keep struggling, fighting and kicking, but she knew it was pointless. She was tired and he was too strong and anyway, perhaps it was time. Maybe this was the end.

She pulled herself straight and faced him, her eyes clear, as human as she could ever be. She looked him in the eye, challenging him to just do what he had to do and he smiled at her bravery. He almost looked regretful but there was a hardness in his pale blue that belied that hint of mercy. It told her that there was no point in running, in fighting. He had the look of a zealot and the strength that came with having a mission. She had nothing to lose but she still couldn't beat him.

As he looked at her she could see he respected her standing to face him, even though he didn't want to. He wanted to hate her but somehow he didn't and it was concerning him.

"I'm almost tempted..." He shook his head. "But I can't. Vampires should not exist, I won't forget or forgive and I can't let you go." He sighed. "You will carry on killing and I won't be responsible for more pain."

He reached inside his battered coat and she saw the stake. It was well used, the wood old and worn and the carving of a wolf's head was polished from being handled, it fit his hand as if he used if every day. It looked as though it was part of him, it completed him. The end was sharp; it was white and clean as if it had recently been made ready. For her? Maybe. But it seemed more likely that this wolf was always ready.

She watched the stake come towards her. Although he moved quickly, a routine he was familiar with, for her it was as if everything had slowed down. The world had become silent and the time the stake took to touch her felt like forever. It was time enough to look up and past McNair, to something behind him. An insubstantial shape, changing and focusing, becoming clearer and stronger. A familiar shape,

Ivan.

He smiled

"Come with me."

His voice was loving and his face told her this was right.

The stake plunged into her chest but there was no pain, no blood. All she could see was Ivan and the stars and she suddenly knew that this was how she came back to him. He held out his hand and she felt herself drifting towards him, her essence and his combining in the wind, together forever.

"I'll make you indestructible"