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Meetra drew the bowstring back and aimed her arrow at the demon, tracking its movements as it skulked deeper into the forest, unaware of the huntress that was taking her time to fire on it.
The demon was tall but hunched, clawed fingers grasping at empty air. They had large, fleshy wings sprouting from their shoulders. There was blood on their torn clothes, from where they'd spent the afternoon menacing people in the street. Now they just seemed to be exploring.
“You know,” Atton drawled from behind her “I could take it out for you if you’re nervous.”
Meetra was silent as she released the bowstring and sent her arrow flying into the monster’s heart.
"I guess not," Atton muttered, turning back to the trees.
Meetra joined him back by the van several moments later. A little bit of golden blood had found its way onto her hands and face when she'd stabbed the demon. Had to be sure it was dead. And that it wasn't suffering.
Atton leaned against the beat up shell of their van and cocked his head at her. "You seem more melancholy than usual. What's up? Wanna go get a drink?"
Meetra unstrapped the belt of her quiver from her chest and shoved it at him. "Let's just go."
Atton sighed, standing up to swing the side door open and drop her gear inside before he closed it again and moved up close to Meetra, fixing her with his hazel eyes. "Testy. I'm just tryin' to help."
He reached out and wiped her cheek with his thumb, smearing away the golden blood. "Just because our job is killing things doesn't mean we have to be angry all the time."
Meetra slapped his hand away. "They're not things! They're people. Some of them are people I know. Maybe you're fine with it, but I'm not."
The lines around Atton's eyes tightened, hurt, but also angry. "Did I say I was fine with it?"
Meetra scoffed and climbed into the passenger seat of the van. "You seem pretty fine."
The door slammed, and Atton didn't flinch but it was a near thing. He grumbled and dragged himself around to the driver's seat.
Evening. It was a takeout and wine and ignoring each other over TV night. Cardboard and plastic dishes with half eaten food littered the table, and Meetra was frowning through the dim light of their apartment, staring at the screen.
Atton was focusing much more on the wine than the old sitcom that appeared to be playing, and then when the wine eroded his frustration he focused on her. They'd both been doing this, the hunting, for decades at this point, but until they'd met they'd done it alone, in their own ways. The differences between them could fill a book, and being partners had just multiplied everything that sucked about their job.
Arguably the relationship wasn't that good either. Meetra never apologized for snapping and Atton never apologized for being glib in the first place. He had a feeling they made each other miserable just a little more than they managed to make each other happy.
But still he wasn't looking for an out. He scooted closer, squeezing her shoulder and sliding into the space next to her as she relaxed. Her frown eased as she leaned on him. His hand trailed over the skin bared by her tank top and traced the outline of her wings.