"Her hands are so small. I never noticed before. She was always so strong and brave."

It was a truth universally acknowledged - at least among the Waverider's crew - that Sara Lance possessed absolutely lethal hands. Which is why no one blamed Mick Rory in the slightest from backpedaling away from her.

"Can I get a little help here?" Sara asked, looking to her teammates with great exasperation.

"Uh, what exactly have you got in mind, Sara?" Ray asked hesitantly.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm gonna pop his arm back into the socket, so we can get him back to the ship. He's in too much pain to walk straight right now, he's too heavy to carry, and they can probably hear him cussing on the other side of the city."

"You sure you know what you're doing?" Snart muttered.

"Yes. Now will you guys just hold him? I could put him out, but that would sorta defeat the purpose."

Ray looked at the thief and shrugged. "I think she's right."

"I know she is."

The two men advanced on the seething arsonist. It took them a minute to secure him - and he did manage to inflict a nice shiner on Ray - but Sara got his arm back in, abruptly silencing the stream of bellowed curses.

Sara laid one diminutive hand against Mick's ruddy cheek. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Guess not," Mick muttered. "Thanks, Blondie."

"How'd you learn to put arms back in their sockets?" Snart asked curiously.

They were working on repairing the Waverider. He was on his back, reaching up into an access panel, and Sara was seated on the deck, passing him tools. She was his favorite partner for this sort of delicate work. Her hands were tiny enough to fit into small spaces, but more than capable of managing tools or dislodging jammed components.

"Same way I learned to pull them out," she replied.

"Ouch."

"Well, you did ask."

Snart slid out from under the access panel and sat up, grunting as he rolled his head on his shoulders.

"Here. Let me," Sara offered, scooting up behind him.

Snart tensed involuntarily at her first touch. He knew those hands were entirely capable of snapping a man's neck, but she touched him with infinite gentleness, seeking out the knots in his muscles, and kneading away the stress. He groaned in a mixture of relief and pleasure. "You're really good at that."

"The League taught me a lot of ways to cause damage with these hands. It's nice to be able to turn that around, and do something good."

Snart reached up to lightly touch one of Sara's hands that rested idly on his shoulders. "I saw a news story once, about how these hands picked up a little girl, and carried her from a burning building. I'm no expert, but I'd call that good."

Sara quirked an eyebrow as Snart followed her into her room. He loosened his tie and sat down on her bunk. She shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket, and sat down on the opposite end.

"Feet," Snart said, patting his leg in invitation.

Grinning, Sara swung her legs up into his lap. "What's this?" she asked, as he went to work on the tiny buckle of her shoe.

"Returning a favor," he said nonchalantly. "How do you even walk in these things?" he asked, examining the strappy satin concoction quizzically.

"Actually, they're ballroom dancing shoes," Sara explained. "I had Gideon replicate them for me. They're more comfortable than they look."

"I'll take your word for it," he replied, dropping the shoes on the deck.

Sara all but purred as his hands wrapped around her foot, gently massaging the pressure points left by her shoes. "How did you get so good at this?"

"I learned by watching a friend," Snart replied. Despite the vague innuendo of his words, his expression was closer to a genuine smile than his usual smirk. "She's very good with her hands."