Apple Polishing

Robin lags behind. “Huntress,” he calls, apologetically, and she resists the urge to fire a bolt at his feet to see if that will make him stiffen his spine a little. She turns.

“Yes?”

“Are you… Is there something bothering you?” He sounds honestly concerned, which irritates her.

“Yes, for some reason muggers preying on little old ladies bother me.”

“He was a cut-purse. And you broke his jaw.” She hates how he’s so passive-aggressively persistent, like a fucking brown noser trying to get her to round up their mark.

“I am not having a good day, but I turned his head so he wouldn’t choke in the blood, didn’t I?” she asks.

Robin is silent for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I forgot. Report cards are coming due, aren’t they. I can cover your beat if you need more time.”

At that, she gives in to the urge.