Chapter 2

Surprisingly enough, the information that the Hood had given him, as specific as it was, did not help them all that much. Tattoos couldn't be registered, and neither could the fact that someone was ambidextrous, so they were simply digging through international mug shots, hoping to get lucky.

Lance was getting another headache.

He rubbed his fingers across the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, trying to block out the blur of photos beneath him.

Robert saw this and let out a long sigh.

"Getting tired, Quentin?"

Lance nodded, and pushed all of the photos over to the side, clearing the center of his desk, and then slowly lowered his head over his folded arms. What he needed was some pain killers, and some sleep…and a hot shower. Not necessarily in that order. The shower. Yeah, he could go for the shower first.

No, the sleep, he thought to himself as he turned his head to get into a more comfortable position, barely able to keep his eyes open.

And then his head throbbed.

Screw that, he amended. The painkillers.

He let out a low groan, and was suddenly surprised when he felt two firm hands slide over his shoulders and begin to knead the muscles at the base of his neck. Robert. Of course. He thought about protesting for a brief moment, but decided against it the instant he felt his fingers hit the perfect spot.

"Unghhh…"

Robert let out a low chuckle that went straight down Lance's spine.

God, it had been too long.

They had been involved, back when Quentin had first started training for his job in Starling City. That was back when Robert had still been a part of the Starling City Force, on loan from Scotland Yard, before he had been recruited by Interpol. Robert had been intriguing and fascinating, and, well, as flexible as Quentin was at the time.

They'd had their fling and enjoyed their time together, and then Quentin had met his future wife. They kept in touch over the years, and now he was back.

And, he couldn't help but admit it to himself (which was a rarity) that he was interested.

He felt his muscles turning to liquid under Robert's ministrations, and he let out another low groan, grateful that it was in the dead of night and no one else was at the station except for the two of them.

As Robert eased his old friend's tense shoulders, he thought over what else he could do to help the man. Catching the serial killer was, of course, first and foremost on his list, but it wouldn't happen if Quentin was hopelessly distracted and exhausted.

"Quentin…"

"Hmm?"

He focused his fingers a bit further up his neck and then leaned in slightly and said, "How long has it been since you slept?"

"Uhhh…"

He chuckled again.

"That's when you know that it's been too long." He pulled back his hands and pulled the detective's chair back from his desk and turned him around to face him. He nodded his head towards a well-worn couch in the corner. "Sleep. I'll keep an eye on things and keep looking."

He knew that Quentin was tired when he went without protest to the couch, and even let Robert take his jacket for him.

Within minutes, the man was out, and Robert continued to pore through the files.

And then, at about two in the morning, a cell phone rang. Robert knew immediately that it wasn't Quentin's normal cell phone as it was still lying on his desk, complacent. Which meant it was the phone from before that he'd answered.

He slipped his hand into the coat and immediately found it in the inside lining.

He answered it.

"Hello?"

"Robert Banner, I presume. Meet me on the roof, ten minutes."

And with that, the man hung up. This must have been the source that Quentin had been talking to earlier in the day. Well, in that case he would do as the man had asked him and be up on the roof of the station in ten minutes.

Ten minutes later he stood on the roof of the station, having used the roof access door. It had been locked, of course, but it had been an easy pick.

Suddenly, a man joined him on the roof, his face hooded and a bow and a quiver of arrows across his back.

"Good to finally meet the famous, Robert Banner…"

He raised an eyebrow at the man's descriptive adjective.

"I wasn't aware of the fact that I was the famous Robert Banner."

The hooded figure shrugged, and then the image finally snapped together in his head. A hand drawn wanted poster that was pinned to the board down in the main bullpen. On it, it had simply read: WANTED - The Hood. And, considering the high quality of artwork, he was certain that Quentin had done it himself.

Ah…so the lead detective on the case had a secret cell phone that hooked him directly to the Vigilante himself.

The Hood then said, "Your name's been floated around before, and I've heard a few stories…but that's not why I want to talk to you."

Just from the mysterious man's tone, he immediately knew what was going on.

"You want to make sure that someone's keeping an eye on Quentin," Robert said, raising an eyebrow, and crossing his hands behind his back. "Well, I don't say I blame you. The man has the tendency to drive himself too far; stretch the limits of his abilities."

The hooded figure simply nodded.

"Well, I'll see what I can do, but don't expect miracles on my part."

Again, the hooded figure nodded, and then turned to leave the building, but just as he was about to jump, his one leg bent and foot poised on the edge, he turned his head back over his shoulder and said, "I don't want him getting hurt. Not again. Not after…"

He didn't finish the sentence.

Banner helped him. "…Not after his daughter, you mean."

He didn't reply.

But then just as he dropped himself over the edge, Robert caught the words, "He doesn't deserve it."

Hmm…

Robert filed away the words for future reference, having the vague feeling that it would be important. Until then, he would do as the vigilante had asked him and keep an eye on his old friend. He was going to make sure that he took care of him.

Part 2/?