Chapter 4

Oliver Queen just grinned back at him, ignoring the glare that the man sent his way, and approached the Interpol agent, one hand outstretched.

"Hi, I'm Oliver Queen, a…well, an acquaintance of Detective Lance. And you are…?"

Cordially shaking the young man's hand, Robert replied with a smile of his own, taken in by the young man and his charming demeanor, deliberately ignoring the fact that Quentin obviously had a problem with him.

"Robert Banning. An old friend of Quentin's."

Queen nodded, smiling slightly at the emphasis that he heard on the word friend, and then turned and looked back at the detective, a grim smile on his face, knowing that he was going to have to do this whether he wanted to or not. He actually did have a legitimate reason to be here, for once.

"Detective…I was hoping to get your help, or, at least, your advice."

Lance raised an eyebrow at him in shock, not quite believing what he was hearing.

"Help? Advice? Yeah, right, sure you do, Queen. C'mon, what's your real reason for being here? Come to leave a few more scars on my life?"

The venom in his words stung, and Oliver actually physically winced as they were practically spat at him and then slowly shook his head, and then uncharacteristically and quietly responded with, "No…I…I wouldn't do that to you…Not again."

There was an awkward silence, during which Robert gave his friend a slightly chastising look for his comment.

Finally, Detective Lance relented and said, "Sorry. That was…a low blow. I've…I've had a long night."

Queen just nodded and finally pressed on with the conversation.

"I…I actually really do need your advice. It's, well, about some regulations on my new club. Apparently," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets, "According to the laws and regulations regarding security on a privately run business, I'm supposed to have at least one security guard for every fifteen people in my club."

Quentin, seeing that Queen was actually being serious for once, motioned for him to sit down.

He did, and then he continued.

"You see, in the evenings my club gets pretty packed. Over two hundred people, easily, which means I need at least thirteen security guards…as it is, I only have three. I was wondering if you knew any good private security agencies that I could look into for hiring."

The detective raised an eyebrow at this and then glanced up at Robert, who gave him a look. He knew that look. It said, Oh, get over yourself and help the man.

Reluctantly, Quentin complied.

"Yeah…I know of a few. Here, I'll give you a list and some numbers. Just…just don't mention this to anyone, alright? I'm supposed to hate you, remember."

At this, Oliver grinned and leaned back in his chair, lifting one leg so that his foot rested on his knee, his hands on the armrests, and said, "My lips are sealed, Detective."

Unable to keep it from rising, Quentin grinned as well as he wrote down the names and numbers onto a sheet of paper. For a brief moment, the animosity that was usually thick in the air between them was cleared, and Robert was slightly surprised at what he saw in that moment.

As Quentin was finishing up, Oliver stood and looked down at the chaos covering the detective's desk and his eyes narrowed.

"Is this about the recent murders?" he asked, touching one of the photos and swiveling it in his direction with one finger.

Quentin surged to his feet, shoved the piece of paper at him, and pulled the photo back across the desk, glaring at him, his sudden urge of goodwill gone in an instant, along with the almost friendly atmosphere.

"That has nothing to do with you, Queen, so take the damn information and go. Got it?"

Queen just grinned at him, nodded, and then motioned with the piece of paper between his fingers and said, "Yeah. Got it, Detective. By the way, you look good. Looks like you finally took some time to get some sleep…good for you."

With that, he turned and sauntered back to the door, but then turned back around and said…

"You deserve it, Detective. You're not gonna catch the Vigilante by wearing yourself out, you know."

And with those last parting words, he walked out of the precinct, leaving Quentin slightly pissed off and Robert incredibly curious about what had just transpired in front of him. To him the whole situation had looked like…well, to be honest, like flirting. Foreplay. They had been both pressing the other person's buttons just enough to get a reaction, but not pressing it too far, and it left Robert curious as to why Quentin hated this Oliver Queen as much as he seemed to hate the Vigilante.

Speaking of…something about Queen's words seemed maddeningly familiar. It was when he had said, "No…I, I wouldn't do that to you…Not again."

It had been remarkably similar to the words that the Hood, or Vigilante, had said to him on the roof… "I don't want him getting hurt. Not again…" Also when he had said, "He doesn't deserve it…", and then just seconds before… "You deserve it, Detective…"

And he had also mentioned the detective wearing himself out…exactly what Robert had mentioned to the Vigilante on the roof.

Both times the wording had been the same. Two different voices, two different men…but the same concern. The same regretful and painfully reminiscent tone. Could it be…? Was it possible? As he turned it over in his head, he silently decided to look in on it himself.

If this man Queen and the Vigilante were one and the same, then how had Quentin not caught it? The man was actually one of the most brilliant detectives that he'd ever worked with, and the FBI and Interpol had both tried to recruit him several times in the past. He was intelligent and observant…so how had he not seen the similarities? Already Robert could, and he'd only spent less than ten minutes combined with the hooded figure and the man named Oliver Queen.

Hmmm…perhaps I should mention it, he thought to himself, but then the detective suddenly slammed his fist against the desk and glared at the closed door, looking royally pissed off.

And that was when he realized.

He does suspect him…but he has no proof to hold him, Robert silently concluded.

In that case, he would do and say nothing, and instead focus once more on the killer that was stalking the Starling City streets…even though it was now obvious to him that Detective Quentin Lance was fighting with his attraction to the one man who he was trying to put behind bars.

Well, it wouldn't hurt him to look into both things at the same time.

He had a job to do, after all.

Part 4/?