"You should go talk to him." Sara ran a whetstone along the length of her blade. "And actually use your words this time."
Even if the knife needed sharpening, which it didn't, the Waverider had the tools to do it quicker. Better. Except, day one, Sara had told Hunter that wasn't the point and, as it happened, Mick had agreed.
So here they sat, in the cargo bay, playing with sharp objects. Just like old times.
"There's nothing to say." Mick flexed his fingers, encouraging the slight sting across his healing knuckles.
The armour the Time Masters gave him was tough. Heavy. Kept him safe, but kept him apart too. Skin beating down on skin had felt so damn good, real in a way nothing else had in a long, long time.
Maybe Snart lying there like a mouthy kid on the wrong end of a shiv had made Mick pause, but it was the sharp burn of his own splitting skin that made him stop.
Could be Snart had counted on that; Mick doubted it.
"He barely tried to fight," Sara said, picking up a throwing star. "What was the point?"
"We go back longer than you've been alive, Blondie. You really think that was the first time we've settled things with our fists? He knew I wouldn't kill him."
"Seriously?" She looked up incredulously, star hanging from her fingers. "Neither of you has learned how to say 'sorry' without punching each other in thirty years? Even Ollie figured that out.
"I'll buy Snart knew you wouldn't kill him," she went on, when Mick didn't bother to respond. "Question is, who threw the first punch? Was it you or was it Chronos?"
Mick grunted.
"Yeah, that's what I thought." The whetstone scraped along the curve of the star. "I don't know what you went through. I'd say I'm willing to listen, except we both know you won't talk. But any time you want to take it to the mat, I'll see you there."
Now that was an offer. Without his armour, up close and personal, Mick wasn't sure who'd come out on top. Interest sparked and he knew from the satisfied curve of her lips that she'd seen the ignition.
"But that won't fix things between you and Snart," she said. "And we're all getting a little tired of waiting for that particular fuse to blow."
"We."
She nodded and carefully put the star back in its silk-lined case. Picked up the next. "Literally everyone. Even Rip . You aren't subtle, Mick."
"Why should I care? This isn't my problem to fix. We're not partners anymore - Snart's got you."
Not that he'd had a problem with Blondie and Snart cosying up. Now, he realised it had been one more flashing warning that he was on the outs. Then, he hadn't seen the threat until it was hitting him over the head and dragging him out of the inferno he'd planned to call home.
He'd liked Sara before and, hell, he still did. They understood each other. In their way.
Thing was, Snart had a type. Not in bed, but the people he actually wanted to spend time with. He'd probably say they were the ones who could challenge him, or the ones he had to work to take down. The ones who gave him that rush. Which was true, but only to a point.
Like everything else Snart came out with.
Fact was, criminal or flag-waving hero, to a man or woman, they were the ones who could stop him from going too far. Anyone who'd thought Mick was the only one who needed a fireline from time to time hadn't been paying attention.
"We aren't partners," Sara denied, oblivious to her place in Mick's hierarchy of damage control. "Maybe friends. As team building exercises go, almost freezing to death is up there. I'm pretty sure Leo would bleed from the eyes if he had to admit it, though."
"Don't call him Leo," Mick growled on a reflex he didn't know he still had.
"Why should you care?" she shot back. "It isn't your problem to fix."
The old Mick would have risen to that bait and she knew it. "Nice," he said, instead. "Tricky. I like it." 'But don't push it,' was the unspoken addendum, delivered with a slow, broad smile that reached his canines.
Sara placed the last throwing star in the box, then closed the lid with a firm click. She stood and looked down at him, lit from behind, blonde hair a crown of fire.
Beautiful.
"I'm sorry about what happened to you, Mick," she said evenly, all hint of humour gone. "You betrayed us, but you didn't deserve to be left like that. I would have ended it clean, if I'd known."
He nodded, accepting that for the kindness she intended.
"But if you turn on us again, know I am Ta-er al-Safar, twice-trained by The Demon's Head and beloved by the Heir to the Demon. I will fight back.
"Talk to him," she said over her shoulder as she walked away. "And if you won't talk to him, talk to them."
Beautiful.
-o-
Later, Sara stopped outside the third cabin from the left and leaned a magazine against the door, considerately open at the right page. "This stays between us, Gideon."
"What stays between us, Ms Lance?"
Sara grinned and walked away.
She'd pushed it with Nyssa al Ghul. Mick Rory? Pft.