Chapter Three: Out of the Doorway the Bullets Rip

"Detective, did you take any medications this evening?" Dr. Frank Magnarelli asked.

"What?" Quentin, feeling disoriented, peered up from the hospital bed. The man in the white coat standing over him looked to be no older than Laurel.

"I want to administer some blood thinners intravenously, but I need to be sure you won't have a bad reaction. Have you taken anything for erectile dysfunction?" the doctor continued.

"What?!" Quentin spluttered. "No! I don't have—"

"Good, then this won't kill you," Magnarelli interrupted as a nurse inserted the I.V. line. "Detective, it appears that you've had a myocardial infarction—a heart attack," he explained. "Do you remember what happened when the attack started?"

Quentin thought back. Oh, he remembered alright.

Flashback:

The Hood; Queen had the Hood's phone—Queen was the Hood. His daughter was dating the Hood!

Curses went off in the background; his gun had fired accidentally when he collapsed to the floor from the pain. He didn't know if anyone was hit. But Laurel was okay; she crouched down beside him.

"Oh my god! Dad!"

"Laurel," Oliver Queen's voice came. "Use your phone. Call 911; tell them we need an ambulance."

"You're not making any phone calls," Bertinelli warned.

Her threats didn't seem to be working. Laurel had retrieved his gun, evidently set to multi-task as she called for help with the phone in her left hand. She gave the emergency dispatcher the address and went on.

"We need an ambulance. Officer down—S.C.P.D. Detective Lance…"

A scuffle ensued that he could hear, but not see, following which Laurel apparently handed the gun to Oliver before she crouched down again. He was too out of it to follow what almost sounded like banter. And then they heard the sirens.

"That's not the ambulance," Laurel realized. "That's—"

"This is the S.C.P.D." Someone was using a bull-horn. "We have you surrounded."

"GET DOWN!" Oliver shouted.

The door burst open. There were footsteps and then gunshots; so very many of them, but Quentin was too tired to count. He may have passed out for a bit. He remembered being loaded into an ambulance and Laurel riding with him…

End Flashback

"Do you remember—" the doctor started to repeat the question.

"There was a psychopath threatening my daughter, Laurel. Is she okay?" Quentin asked.

"I'm fine, Dad. I'm right here," she said, coming into the room.

"What happened?" he asked, as the doctor excused himself from the room.

"Your buddies at the S.C.P.D. are rather protective of you. They must've fired two dozen rounds, easily—I'm fine! I was lucky; none of them hit me. One of the bullets did graze Oliver, though. The M.E. is going to have his work cut out for him digging all the lead out of Bertinelli. You hit her, too, Dad, when you dropped your gun; I think it went through her shoulder.

"You didn't make the killing shot, but she's dead now."

~PB~

The doctor caught up with Oliver in a hallway. (Oliver's flesh wound had already been treated, per Laurel's insistence. His shirt hid the bandages on his side.)

"Mr. Queen, your father-in-law is going to be okay."

"Thank you," Oliver sighed in relief. "He's not my father-in-law, though."

"Oh. I'm sorry; your uncle is going to be okay," Dr. Magnarelli said.

Oliver shook his head, bemused, but decided not to try correcting him again.

"Can I see him now?"

~PB~

"You," Quentin said, as he saw Oliver Queen walk in with the doctor.

"I see you're awake. What's the prognosis?" Oliver asked, ignoring the older man's attempt at a glare.

"Well, we're going to keep him overnight for observation," Magnarelli said. "We should be able to send him home by tomorrow afternoon with a nurse."

"That should give me enough time to have the place cleaned up," Oliver mused.

"What?" Quentin asked.

"It's mostly spackling, cleaning up some glass. I think the forensics team is already done with it. I can bring in some people to straighten it up one-two-three," the billionaire continued, snapping his fingers to illustrate.

"And why are you telling me this?" Lance asked.

Queen looked at him as if he'd had a concussion instead of a heart attack.

"When you're released, you're coming back to the beach house with me and Laurel. You didn't think we were going to send you back to your apartment all alone?"

"Doc, Laurel, do you mind if I speak to Mr. Queen alone for a moment?" Quentin asked. They shuffled out of the room obediently, shutting the door behind them.

"Like hell am I going to go anywhere with the Hood," Lance proclaimed when they were alone.

"The Hood," Oliver blinked.

"Drop the dumb blonde act. I called your phone. I heard it go off." I can't believe I was so stupid. I should've figured it out before.

"First off, you're assuming that was a phone. It could have been a vibrator," Queen said with a straight face.

"A vibrator," Quentin repeated, staring at him.

"A defective one, obviously, since it was going off on its own—"

"Queen," Quentin's voice was laced with something that said, quite clearly, 'stop screwing with me.'

"Alright, so my phone vibrated!" He checked himself and lowered his voice when he continued. "That doesn't prove anything. It could've been someone else calling me: Tommy, or my mom, or Diggle."

"But it wasn't. It was me," Quentin held his gaze.

"Look, you know how you think you know me? Well, I know you!"

"You don't—"

"And I know that after Laurel the most important thing to you is your job. What would happen if you did know the vigilante's identity? You can't get in trouble if you don't know."

"Don't threaten me, Queen."

"I'm not."

"I wouldn't be the one in trouble," Quentin hissed.

"Lance," Oliver shook his head. "You just admitted to me that when the chips were down tonight, you called the Hood for help. How would that look?"

"I left the police radio in the car. I happened to have…" he trailed off.

"But you were carrying the phone the vigilante gave you." He paused to let that sink in. And Oliver was carrying its mate, his vow to take a weekend away from his night job, notwithstanding (not to mention the fact that Lance was right there). What did it say that he'd become so accustomed to carrying it? "The best thing, for both of us, is to forget this happened."

"Does Laurel know she's dating the Hood?" Quentin demanded.

"She hasn't come to the same conclusion about the Hood's identity as you have," Queen picked his words carefully after he was done gritting his teeth. Lance was doing the exact opposite of forgetting.

"Is that so? Either you tell her, or I will," Quentin warned.

Author's Note: Chapter title from Queen's song, "Another One Bites the Dust."

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Bonus points if you know which fic my OC Magnarelli is from.