Their line of work takes a lot out of a person (after all, that's all they are: people). All they have is their job, this life; he watches her out of the corner of his eye, keeping her always in his peripheral, needing something to hold onto, to ground him, to remind him that he is real.
Sometimes he sees the exhaustion on her face and thinks of the life they could have, swears to take her away someday.
He remembers the look in her eyes when he cornered her, well and truly caught her. ("Give me a reason not to," he had growled. She couldn't.) This was when he saw it, the path they shared, the regret and rage that bound them.
He sees the little girl, born in the winter and lost in the night.
He yearns for redemption for this little girl, sees the need for it in her eyes; he watches her fight beside him, bargaining for a better world (this world that has given them no kindness except second chances).
He sees all this, but he knows at his core— they are damned. There is no happy ending here, they will not be spared by fate, and their debts will not be repaid.
So he clings to her, this tired, fearsome woman, and fights.
