"I could," he agrees. Pauses as the next knife flies from her hand. He could ask. Part of him wants to ask and another part of him doesn't want to know. Since the Gambit went down it's been one horror show after another. Struggle and loss. Death. Fear. Solitude.

"Maybe another time I will."

Because right now, Oliver doesn't want to think about her past, his future and how it all tangles together. Or if it doesn't, if they simply follow different paths.

Maybe it's selfish, and it very likely is, but Oliver just wants a few hours without that hanging over his head.