Chapter Nine: What You're Doing to Me

The first part of the sentence alone had surprised Hilton. Quentin had fallen in love—when the man had hardly dated to speak of since his divorce—had, in fact, seemed alone and depressed more often than not. Lucas was happy for him. He was about to congratulate the man when the second part of the sentence threw him for a loop.

"Laurel's boyfriend…"

"Ex-boyfriend now," Lance interjected. "They broke up recently." If the sheepish expression on his face was anything to go by, he had somehow factored into the breakup.

"But wasn't she dating Oliver Queen? You're saying you fell in love with one of the two people you hate most in the world?"

Not two people, one person, Quentin thought, grimacing. Aloud he said, "I don't hate him anymore…at the moment. I might give you a different answer tomorrow, though." He was getting really tired of being ignored by the young man. If it wasn't for the fact that Oliver's mother was in prison for killing his best friend's father, Quentin would be feeling pretty insulted right about now. (At least he knew Queen hadn't had a problem with the sex.)

"But we are still talking about the same Oliver Queen whose mother threatened legal action against the department because of your supposed vendetta?"

"I'd like to see her argue that she's in prison now because of some vendetta," Quentin snorted. "I could care less about what Moira Queen thinks about me."

"Naturally; right, it can't be Stockholm because that's when you're being held prisoner… So must be the Florence Nightingale Effect. Queen was acting as your nurse, right?" Lucas asked.

"I didn't need a nurse!" Quentin said, exasperated. "He was acting as…my friend… You know, if friends ogled you naked—" He paused, realizing what he'd just said. "Forget that last part."

"I—okay then," Lucas tried to process this. "And Laurel knows about you and Queen?"

"Not only knows, she's the one that told me to go for it," Quentin muttered.

"That's…gracious of her," Hilton commented, trying to avoid insinuating that there was something screwed up about the Lance family. (But what daughter would encourage her father to pursue a relationship with her latest ex-boyfriend?)

"So if Laurel approves," Lucas continued, "and if you two hit it off, what's the problem?"

"He hasn't spoken to me since Merlyn Senior was assassinated."

"Well, it's not like he can blame you for what happened. You weren't on duty that night," he pointed out.

"He doesn't," Quentin couldn't explain to his partner that Queen blamed himself, not without revealing the vigilante's secret. "But he didn't take it well and," he sighed. "I want to be there for him, but he won't let me. And I can't believe that I just said I want to be there for Oliver Queen." The sergeant let his head drop to his desk for a moment. "How the hell did I start caring for him of all people?"

"Come on," Lucas grabbed his jacket. "We're going for donuts.* I'm buying."

~PB~

"Hey Dad," Laurel greeted her father as she strolled through the precinct Wednesday afternoon. He did not appear to be in good spirits. Oliver was probably still avoiding him, then.

It was times like this when she wondered if Ollie was still as immature as he'd been pre-island. She tried not to feel guilty for pushing her father to enter a relationship with the billionaire. Sooner or later Ollie would pull his head out of his ass and call to apologize. And if he didn't, well, her father would just have to get back in the saddle again. The experience would have shown him that it isn't too late for him to go back to dating and finding someone that makes him happy…hopefully.

"Hey Laurel," Quentin looked pleasantly surprised to see her. "Are we having lunch together today?"

"Actually, I came by to see if we could have dinner together tonight."

"With who else?" Quentin asked, suspiciously. If this was about Laurel wanting him to meet a new boyfriend of hers… although, actually, it could get worse. She might be trying to set him up with someone.

"With Mom and her new fiancé," Laurel admitted.

"Oh no, no!" Quentin shook his head, "nuh-uh, no way."

"Oh come on, please, Dad? She's making me meet him. Don't make me go alone!"

"Find someone else to go with you then." He had to stay firm. The last time he'd given in to one of Laurel's demands he'd wound up Oliver Queen's houseguest. "I've no interest in getting to know Dinah's next husband and besides, I'm sure she has no interest in my company."

"But I already asked and she said you could come. Please come with me? I'll owe you one, alright?"

"You'd owe me more than one," Quentin replied.

"Alright, but you'll do it?"

Quentin sighed.

~PB~

Quentin's jaw all but dropped as he and Laurel arrived at their destination.

"Astra? Are you kidding? Laurel, you know I can't afford to eat at Astra."

"Don't worry about it. Stepdad's picking up the tab," she assured him as they exited the car.

"Oh that makes me feel better. He's made of money? What does he do?"

~PB~

"Arthur Hartley, editor-in-chief of the Starling City Sentinel; pleasure to meet you, Quentin," Hartley shook hands as he introduced himself.

"Likewise," Quentin said, as the four took their seats at the table. "How did you and Dinah meet?"

"I was providing the floral arrangements for one of the Sentinel's functions," Dinah began. "And this man comes storming up to me to complain that I'd gotten the order all wrong—"

"And she, brazen as hell, whips out her invoice to prove that she hadn't—" Arthur continued.

"Before I knew it, he was asking me to dinner," Dinah finished.

"Great story," Quentin said. Noticing that Laurel was occupying herself with reading the menu, he groped for more small talk. "Where did you study journalism, Arthur?"

"At Metropolis University," Hartley replied.

"In what year?" Laurel scoffed.

"I was in the class of '66," the editor answered, frowning slightly at the young woman.

"Wasn't that the year you were born, Mom?" Laurel asked.

"Laurel," Quentin shot her a warning look, which she ignored.

"Mom, how can you marry a guy that's twice your age?"

"Don't speak to your mother that—" Quentin began

"Of course you would judge me," Dinah interrupted. "Didn't you tell me your father was dating a man younger than you?"

"Oh boy," Quentin frowned at the glass of water in front of him. Shouldn't someone be taking his drink order right about now?

"That's different," Laurel insisted.

"No, it isn't. You always take his side over mine," Dinah shot back.

"Honey, you're making a scene," Arthur interjected.

"That's not true!" Laurel bristled.

"Yes, it is. You blame me for the divorce," her mother observed.

"Because you left!"

"No one's to blame," Quentin spoke up, his eyes scanning the floor for their waiter. They froze on one of the tables across the room. Oliver Queen was dining with a young blonde. Lance lurched to his feet.

"Dad, are you alright?" Laurel asked.

"I just think I need some air. If the waiter shows up, you guys can order; you don't have to wait for me." He headed towards the door of the restaurant. Unfortunately, his path took him right past Queen's table.

"Quentin?" Oliver asked, rising from his seat. "What are you doing here?"

"Family dinner with Laurel," Quentin managed to answer. "Aren't you going to introduce me to this young lady?"

"I'm Marianne," the blonde flashed Quentin a smile and looked about ready to start batting her blue eyes.

"Nice to meet you," Quentin said. "Excuse me, I have to go."

"Quentin, wait!" Oliver called after him, but Quentin ignored him and kept going.

"Quentin!" Oliver repeated, following him out of the restaurant. Quentin kept walking. "Quentin, we need to talk! Let me explain." Lance paused to hear what he had to say.

"What you just saw… that was planned way before you and I got together…"

"You mean while you were still dating my daughter. How does that help your case any?" he demanded.

"It meant nothing! Nothing is going to happen between me and…" Oliver apparently struggled to come up with the woman's name.

"Marianne," Quentin finished for him. "It doesn't matter. It's none of my business. I mean it's not like we're going together or anything." As Laurel had been his ride to the restaurant, Quentin started looking for a cab.

"Quentin, can we just talk for a minute? Look, I'm sorry that I haven't been in touch. It's not that I don't care about you. I just… I don't know how to be a boyfriend."

"You don't know how to be a boyfriend," Quentin repeated slowly. "That's all you've got, huh? Okay," he nodded to himself. Then he reared back and punched Oliver in the eye, heedless of the camera flashes going off around them.

Oliver grimaced, gingerly raising a hand to the blossoming shiner.

"You don't have to worry about calling me, Queen," Quentin spat. Then he raised a hand to his chest. It felt like it was getting hard to breathe. He swayed on his feet.

"LANCE?!"

~PB~

Quentin woke up on a hospital bed in Starling General.

"Another heart attack," he mumbled.

"Not quite," the cardiologist standing at his bedside informed him. "Dr. Erika Palmer," she introduced herself. "Your EKG checks out. This wasn't a heart attack."

"It felt like one," the detective asserted.

"I'm sure it did. Anxiety attacks can be mistaken for heart attacks," Dr. Palmer told her patient. "It was brought on by stress."

Quentin narrowed his eyes.

"You're going to tell me to reduce my stress level."

"Yes, I am."

"Heh, my daughter's been telling me that for years. Let me tell you something, doc—it's not that simple."

"Maybe you haven't been trying hard enough," a familiar voice came from the doorway.

"That one, right there," Quentin jerked his head towards the voice without looking at the person it belonged to, "is the reason my stress level is so high."

"Good to see you're doing well, Quentin," Oliver said, coming into the room. Dr. Palmer left them alone.

"How did you get in here?" Quentin groaned.

"You know, it is amazing how well you're treated when your family's donated three-quarters of a million dollars to an institution over the past couple of years."

"Asshole," Lance grunted. "Shouldn't you have someone holding ice to your face?"

"I'm going to have a black eye either way," Oliver shrugged. "I've had worse."

"I'll be sure to swing harder next time."

"I know you're mad at me. I don't know whether you'll believe me, but that 'date' you thought you saw was just a pretense, part of my cover. I'm not saying that that makes it right," he sighed before continuing.

"You know my history. I do have a lousy track record as a boyfriend. I'd like to change that.

"I love you."

*I know you're probably thinking I'm using a stereotype of police officers. But an alternative way of looking at it is as a nod to Harry's request in "Small Favor," of The Dresden Files.

Author's Note: Chapter title is from Queen's "Somebody to Love." Astra is apparently a real restaurant (owned by the Charlie Palmer Group), though I haven't been there. Arthur Hartley is an OC I'm recycling from a previous fic. (Bonus points if you know which.)

I leave it to you to decide whether "Marianne" was, in fact, Felicity.

Thank you to those who reviewed and/or added the fic to your alert list/list of favorites!

There is perhaps one chapter/epilogue left.

Just so we're clear: In this AU, Oliver has not killed twenty-seven people (or so). I'm not going as far as to say he hasn't taken any lives, but he's rarely resorted to it and has had damn good reasons for what he's done.