"I'm surprised you're awake."

Snart lifts an eyebrow at her from where he's semi-reclined in the medbay, resting while Gideon oversees another blood transfusion.

Aside from bleeding copiously from the meeting site back to the ship, he's fine. The damage has been repaired. The blood is being replaced.

And oddly, she can look at him and breathe again.

"Arrows," he drawls, "hurt like fuck."

"That they do." She puts a hand to her abdomen before realizing what she's doing, see his eyes on her and removes it. "Hopped-up on painkillers from Gideon?"

"Gideon? Am I…hopped-up?"

"Yes, Mr. Snart, I believe that is the correct phrase." Gideon sounds long-suffering. Again.

"Oh, well." He's actually smiling, a little. It's always been a rare expression, and since his return from the Legion, it's been nearly nonexistent. She can't help but smile back.

She makes a show of checking the display with his vitals (good) before looking down at him again. "Next time, don't bait the former Ra's Al Ghul, OK?

"He's cute, actually, but I really don't like him."

OK, really hopped-up on painkillers. She bites her lips to keep from laughing. "First, I'm not sure what that says about your taste in people—and whether I should be offended. Second, I can't imagine why."

It's sarcasm. He takes it seriously. "You really have to ask that?"

The meaning is unmistakable. She stares at him. "You knew? That Merlyn was responsible for..."

"Your death. I didn't at first. He mentioned it while I was still putting the memories back together." His faces darkens. "And Darhk. I thought about taking him out for you, but I figured you'd want to do it yourself. And I thought it was important I get out of there when I figured out some of what they were doing."

It's the first time he's acknowledged that he knows what Darhk did. She runs her hands along the arm of the medbay chair, trying to calm herself. "When did you find out that Darhk..."

"Not until fairly recently. I'm sorry, Sara."

"Not your fault." But she can't restrain the words. "I wondered how you could work with the men who..."

He grabs her hand, the shock of the skin-to-skin contact shocking her out of her reverie.

"I. Didn't. Know." He pronounces each word separately, grip tightening just a little. When she meets his eyes, the blue is even more intense than usual. "I didn't. Not until I started putting the pieces together later. I need you to believe that."

"I do." And, somehow, she does.

"Good." The grip loosens a trifle. "I…Tell me a little more about what happened to the team. While I was…gone."

He doesn't let go. She doesn't pull away. They're still sitting like that an hour later, when Mick stops in to check on the patient.