Fanfiction for a friend

A friend of mine made the mistake last month of showing me a fanfiction scene she'd written as a warm-up for NaNoWriMo. I read the scene, and then the next day, I started sending her scenes for her fanfiction, because I enjoy messing with other people's characters. I realize there's no context for this scene here (and explaining would take too long) but I really enjoyed the character interactions here. What you need to know: 
- Rick is an ex-military bodyguard
- Mitchell is a telepath and a technopath
- Snart is a villain
- The girl on the bed is Skye Sperling, a distant relative of the Flash and similarly gifted
Enjoy. 
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The room was nearly silent around him, save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and Skye's soft breathing. She was on her back, hands folded on her stomach, legs straight, hair arranged perfectly on the pillow around her face. She had been washed and treated. One leg was in a bulky temporary cast, and fading bruises colored the side of her face under the scrapes that were already healing pink and raw-looking under the thin scabs.

Snart sighed. To see her lying so completely still struck him as wrong. He was willing to bet that she moved even in her sleep.

"You should have kept running," he told her, breaking the silence without any real intention to say anything. "You would have been fine if you had kept running. I know it would have been close, but you would have made it. You always do."

No response. Snart groaned softly and ran both hands through his hair. He felt it sticking up at odd angles. He needed a shower. What time was it? He checked his watch, but then remembered he hadn't put it on that morning, and his phone had already been confiscated. He groaned again.

"You know, this is all your fault. All of it. Not just the bus." Snart glared at the woman on the bed, but she didn't so much as change the rate of her breathing. "You had to be so stupidly attractive, and then you had to be so helpless." He paused, but she didn't correct him. "Alright, not helpless. You've arrested me too many times to be helpless. But you've got that… look. You know the look. The 'help me, Obi-wan Kenobi' look."

Still no response.

Snart rubbed his face with his hands. He needed to shave. How long had he been here? "You know, I really thought about doing you that night at the club. You were so out of it, begging for it. I wanted to… but I knew you would hate me for it when you were yourself again." He hesitated, looking around the room hastily. As with the last five times he had checked, he didn't see any recording devices, video or audio. "And having something on the Flash was too good a chance to pass up, you know?"

The defense was a weak one. She would have laughed in his face if she'd been awake. "I guess there are some perks to you being in a coma," he muttered, and ran a hand through his hair again. He really did need a shower.

The door opened, and the man that stepped in was one that Snart vaguely recognized, though he couldn't tell where from. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with thick, dark brown hair and a square chin. Handsome, in a military sort of way.

An image flashed through Snart's mind, of a man and two boys, grinning as they surrounded a laughing blonde in blue, visor-style sunglasses.

Ah. Then this was the mysterious partner. Snart stood as he felt his gut clench, but forced himself to nod politely to the guy. Shaking hands was entirely out of the question.

"I don't trust you," said the man without any sort of preamble.

At least that was somewhat predictable. "Nice to meet you, too," replied Snart with a smile. "I suppose you're Mr. Sperling?" The name tasted like spoiled tomatoes on his tongue. Snart wanted to rinse his mouth, and his brain, and get rid of the concept permanently, like he might wash wilted spinach down the train. He savored the image of turning on the garbage disposal in his shiny stainless steel sink and watching this man and everything he stood for disappear.

"No." The man's solid, hard voice (not angry, just hard - interesting combination) threw a damper on the raging jealousy Snart was wrestling with. Not married to her. Good. Ex, maybe? The man continued. "Name's Rick, and I'd like to know what you're doing here."

No explanation of relationship or why he had come. Snart's appreciation for the Tall Broad and Buzz-cut was limited to the simple knowledge that he was not, in fact, married to the unconscious girl on the bed between them.

"He's here because he saw what happened." There was a second person in the door now. A gangly, scrawny-looking boy with the pinched, underfed appearance of someone going through a major growth-spurt. His hair was short and untidy, and there was a pair of glasses dangling from his shirt collar, seemingly forgotten. He was looking at Snart. No, he was looking through Snart.

"Leonard Snart. Elemental villain, Class III. Alias: Captain Cold. Currently unarmed."

Snart frowned slightly. "That's… unsettling. I'd rather you didn't do that again."

"I'm sure you would." The boy looked at him, expressionless. "You can call me Mitch."

"Pleasure," Snart muttered. "Look, I'm sure this is a lovely reunion and it's going to get disgustingly touching in a moment here. I'll just leave you to it." He took a step toward the foot of the bed, but neither the man or boy moved away from the door. Rick folded his arms across his broad chest in what Snart supposed was meant to be an impressive gesture.

"I'd like to know why Captain Cold is in a room with an unconscious Speedster."

Snart rolled his eyes. "As it happens, we were having a very interesting conversation before you two interrupted. A little one-sided, but such things tend to be that way. You understand."

"He's worried about Mom." The boy called Mitch announced. Snart thought he sounded more surprised that anyone had a right to. The word "mom" hit him like a punch to the gut, but he'd already suspected as much.

"Worried? Why would you be worried, if you're the one that did it to her?" Rick was scowling.

"You know, you're not very good at this good-cop, bad-cop thing. Now, if you want someone to learn from, I'd definitely recommend Officer Marshall and his partner, what's-her-face. Penny? Patty? Something like that. Anyway, they pulled it off really well."

"He didn't do it," said Mitch, as though Snart hadn't spoken at all. The villain glared at the boy, lips pressed into a tight line.

"That's starting to get on my nerves, kid. Keep your mind to yourself, and maybe I won't decide to use you as blackmail." He was rewarded with the satisfaction of seeing Rick step protectively in front of the boy. Mitch said nothing. Two birds, one stone. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm sure you three have a lot to catch up on." Stepping forward confidently, he started to move past them. Mitch caught his sleeve as he passed, and Snart paused to shake him off.

"Thank you. For helping." His voice was quiet, and Snart pretended not to hear.

"When she wakes up, tell her she owes me." With that, he left, walking quickly down the hall and not looking back.

"I still don't trust him," grumbled Rick, and his voice carried down the hall to Snart, who couldn't help but throw one last comment over his shoulder.

"And I still don't care. Ciao."