For the longest time, the only person Leonard Snart had truly trusted to have his back was Mick Rory. But it wasn't Mick who spotted the sniper - it was Sara Lance. She slammed into him as Mick realized what was happening and sprayed an arc of fire over their heads, effectively disposing of the shooter. After a long moment, Snart realized he was no longer hearing gunfire. He shook his head sharply, then moved to sit up.

That's when he heard a soft gasp of pain, and saw Sara sprawled on the pavement. There was a hole in her shoulder, and her fair skin and pale leather outfit were spattered with bright red blood. Her arm seemed to be at an odd angle where it had taken the impact of her fall. Sara glanced at the injuries with an almost offended expression on her face, and tried to push herself upright. She did not succeed.

Snart skittered to her side just in time to prevent an impact between her head and the concrete. There was a great deal of blood, and her skin was already clammy with shock.

"Mick, are we clear?"

"Yeah, Boss. How's Blondie?"

"Not good."

"I'll take her," Mick offered.

"No. You can't just sling her over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes - not with that arm."

Snart settled Sara's injured arm across her body as gently as he could, but she still uttered a low moan of pain. Mick wordlessly handed over his jacket, and Snart wrapped it around Sara, zipped it up, and knotted the sleeves together to hold her arm steady. He stood carefully with her in his arms. Her head lolled on his shoulder and his hands were slick with her blood, with more seeping through the jacket. Right now, she seemed as fragile as a bird with a broken wing…and he didn't care for that image one bit.

Mick snatched up the cold gun and called back to the Waverider to have the medbay ready.

"How is Miss Lance?" Rip Hunter inquired.

Mick just rolled his eyes in the direction of the medbay door.

"Get this thing off of me!" Sara Lance yelled.

"Ah."

Snart pushed himself off the wall. "I got this."

He sauntered into the medbay, where Sara was trying to extricate herself from the rather large and awkward looking piece of equipment encasing her arm from collar bone to wrist.

"Sara -" Ray was entreating, overlapping Gideon's "Miss Lance, you really need to -"

"Tsk, tsk. Such language. And here I thought canaries were dainty little songbirds," Snart drawled.

Sara proceeded to tell him exactly what she thought of that notion.

Snart buffed his nails on his sleeve. "What language is that?" he asked conversationally.

Sara glared at him.

"Come on. Let's blow this pop stand," Snart invited, holding out his hand.

"Snart, she really needs to keep that cast -"

"Mr. Snart, Miss Lance requires rest-"

"Yeah, I get it. Bed rest and the cast. Come on," he repeated.

Sara grinned and unclipped the IV bracelet. She wobbled a bit when she hopped down from the bed. Snart noticed, but refrained from sliding his arm around her waist until they were around the corner from the others. She frowned at him, but didn't pull away.

"Now, what was all that ruckus about?"

"I don't like being restrained," Sara muttered.

"Me neither, but I do like having two good arms, and in your case, that's going to require that fancy cast you were trying so hard to wriggle out of."

Sara was leaning heavily on him by the time they got to her room, and her face was coated with a fine sheen of sweat. Snart guided her inside and helped her onto the bed. He knelt and removed her boots, then swung her legs up onto the bunk.

"Since when do you play nursemaid?" she grumbled half-heartedly.

Snart shrugged. "Since you took a bullet for me. Get some rest. I'll be here if you need anything."

He slipped out of his jacket and tossed it onto a chair. Sara swallowed hard at the sight of the dark stains on his clothing. Blood. Her blood.

Snart saw what she was looking at. "You scared me today," he said quietly.

Sara nodded and closed her eyes.

Leonard Snart didn't do domestics. He didn't do touchy-feely, and he wasn't anyone's babysitter. Yet here he was, watching a tiny blonde assassin sleep off a bullet wound and assorted broken bones. Frightening as the bullet wound had been, Gideon was able to repair it quickly. The heavy bones in her arm and shoulder would still take a couple of days to completely heal, even with the cast.

Sara Lance was one of the deadliest people he knew, but laying still with that bulky cast encompassing her arm, she looked fragile and delicate. He'd never really noticed the tiny golden freckles that colored her complexion, or how long her eyelashes were. He wasn't entirely sure she'd appreciate him noticing now.

There was a quiet tap at the door, and he moved to open it before there was any noise that might rouse Sara. Mick was there, and Snart quickly stepped out into the hallway, so their voices wouldn't carry.

"Englishman sent some stuff," Mick explained, offering a large thermal box. "Dinner." He fished around in his pocket, producing two medical injectors. "Uh, the red one is for pain, and the blue one -"

"Actually, Mr. Rory -" Gideon interrupted.

"Thanks, Gideon. I'll read the instructions before I use them," Snart replied.

Mick rummaged in his pockets some more and came up with two bottles of beer and a pack of cards.

"Hunter sent those?"

"Nah, that was me. Why didn't you just let them keep her in medbay?" Mick asked curiously.

"Same reason I wouldn't let them keep you or me in medbay. Place gives me the creeps. It's too open, too exposed -"

"Too fulla Pretty Boy?"

"That, too."

"This thing itches!" Sara complained.

"Pretty sure that means it's doing its job," Snart replied, not looking up from his cards. "Be a good little songbird, and leave the cast alone, and I'll fetch you some -"

"Don't you dare say birdseed!"

"-chocolate cake."

Sara glared at him.

"And some of that fancy antique brandy from Rip's private stash."

"Deal."

They played in silence for a few moments.

"How long do I have to keep this thing on?"

"Another twenty four hours, according to Gideon."

"Thank God. I could use a bath."

"Me, too."

"Are you offering to wash my back, Leonard?"

"Maybe."

He reached for another card, and Sara suddenly reached out and grabbed his hand. There was dried blood caked around the edges of his fingernails, the sort that wouldn't come out without a good soak and scrub.

"Have you been in here the entire time?" she asked incredulously.

She'd been dozing on and off for hours. Even though Snart had been there every time she'd woken, she'd just assumed he'd gone off at some point to rest and recharge.

He shrugged, and tried to tug his hand free.

"Why don't you lie down for a while and take a nap?" Sara suggested softly.

"Because every time I close my eyes, I see you bleeding out on the pavement," is what he thought. "I'm fine," is what actually came out of his mouth.

Snart had had just about enough of Sara's grumbling when the lights on the cast flashed and the thing popped open.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, struggling to remove her arm from the contraption.

"Here. Let me," Snart offered. "Damn, this is heavy. Grumpiness forgiven."

He tossed it aside as Sara lifted her arm free. "How's it feel?

"OK, I guess."

Snart skimmed gentle fingers down her bare arm. "Not even a scar."

"Guess super hi-tech medical equipment is good for something," Sara said. She raised her arm and rotated it in slow circles, trying to ease the stiffness from days of confinement in the cast. Then she got a whiff of herself and screwed up her face. "Ugh. I want out of these clothes."

Snart raised an eyebrow at that.

"And no, I don't need your help."

He smirked at that. "Well, in that case, I'm not feeling too fragrant myself."

He moved to leave, but Sara's quiet voice called him back.

"Len? Thanks for looking after me."

"Just don't make a habit of it."

"And you still owe me that cake and brandy."

Two showers and changes of clothes later (with a training session in between), Leonard Snart found himself back at Sara Lance's door, jugging a bakery box and a decanter of fine brandy.

"How's the arm?" he asked, when Sara let him in.

"A little sore," she admitted.

"And you thought weight training two hours after you got the cast off was a good idea because?"

"Because I needed to know that I could still take care of myself," she said stubbornly.

"You can. You will. Just…maybe not today, all right?"

"I don't want to be a liability to the team."

"Never happen," he assured her in a voice devoid of his usual snark.

"What'd you bring me?" Sara demanded, deftly defusing a moment that was becoming just a little too charged for her taste.

"A bottle of Rip's finest, and some chocolate mousse cake."

"Sounds great. Plates?"

"Hey, I got two forks!"

Sara rolled her eyes. "Way to keep it classy, Leonard."

They set up their impromptu picnic on Sara's bunk and dug into the cake.

Snart shrugged. "You wanted classy, you should have stuck with Oliver Queen."

Sara shook her head. "Sneaking aboard that yacht was the most selfish and irresponsible thing I've ever done. I managed to hurt everyone that I loved."

"But if hadn't gone on that boat, you wouldn't be the person you are now." He paused a moment. "I like the person you are now."

Sara looked down. "I'm not sure I do."

"That's OK. Perfect people are boring. Look at Ray Palmer. You're never boring."

She washed down her chocolate with a mouthful of brandy, straight from the crystal decanter. "I could say the same about you."

Snart grabbed the decanter and raised it in a mocking little salute. "You could."

The cake was reduced to scattered crumbs in the box, and the brandy, coupled with her recent injuries, was clearly making Sara drowsy.

"I should go," Snart said quietly.

"I dunno…I've gotten used to having you around."

"You need to sleep."

"I don't really sleep all that much -"

That earned a snort from the man who'd been watching her sleep for the past two days.
"-usually."

"Me, neither."

He settled back on his end of the bunk, and Sara did the same.

"There's something I've wondered about," Snart began, then stopped. She might very well tell him to go to hell, and he really couldn't blame her.

"What is it, Leonard?" she asked softly.

"How does the ass-kicking champion of the known universe pick a name like Canary? Why not something more dangerous?"

Sara laughed. "Well, for one thing, this team already has a Hawk Girl," she began, but Snart was staring at her in a way that made her discard her attempt at levity. She looked down briefly, then met his gaze across the small space that separated them. "I think that deception is part of the allure. People look at me, and this see a small, helpless blonde. They don't realize who I am, what I'm capable of."

"That's their mistake."

"Sometimes, it's their last mistake."

"You said part of the allure?"

Sara was silent for several long moments. Then they both spoke at the same time.

"Look, you don't -"

"It's OK. The canary - it's a symbol of hope. At least, it is to me. I was floating on that wreckage, all alone in the middle of godforsaken nowhere, and I saw this small, yellow canary. And I thought it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. And I thought, if that tiny, fragile little bird could survive out there, then maybe I could, too."

"I'm glad you did."

"So am I."