The Way We Talk

Transparent (Little Talks #7)

Prompt:  "I know what I saw."

Quentin Lance does not consider himself a difficult man to get along with—unless, of course, he doesn't like someone, like that Queen kid.  He also doesn't consider himself a fool.  That reason is why he calls the meeting with the Arrow after the whole Count incident.

He's on the rooftop of the designated meeting building, staring at the impressive skyline and fuming—fuming because he doesn't like feeling he's been played.  The Arrow said he was trying a different way, so Lance gave him the benefit of the doubt.  But he heard otherwise on the radio not hours previously:  he shot the Count three times before the guy fell off the building.  Hell, Lance saw the guy with his own eyes, and he knows there's no way the Count could have survived the first arrow, much less the third.  New way, indeed.  Seems like old methods to him.

It doesn't take long for the Arrow to appear, standing proudly and in the distance so as to help hide his face.  "Something troubling you, Detective?" he asks immediately, all business as usual.  The voice synthesizer is switched on, making his tone unnaturally deep and electronic.

"I don't like being played," Lance says at once, also direct and straight to business.  He doesn't elaborate, though.

Starling City's Vigilante cocks his head to the side in a way that registers familiarity to Lance, as often happens around the man.  But, like always, he can't exactly place the feeling.  "What do you mean?" he asks, and while the confusion isn't necessarily present in his altered voice, it is in his cloaked expression.

"You told me you were trying a different way," Lance continues, "But clearly you're not any longer.  I heard the call go out on the radio tonight, and I saw the result.  You killed that man in cold blood, and you said you wouldn't anymore."  He shakes head in disgust.  "Guess I was wrong to trust you... again."

The Vigilante speaks up instantly, something about his demeanor indignant.  "You don't understand, Detective," he starts coolly.

"What's there for me to understand?" Lance shoots back instantly.  "I know what I saw."  He shakes his head, disgusted with the man he once believed in.  "You put three arrows in that guy.  Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he's gone, but since when did you become judge, jury, and executioner?"

"He had Felicity," is the quick explanation the man in the green hood offers.

Just like that, it clicks for Lance.  He was protecting one of his own.  That, the former detective could understand—he would do anything if it was Laurel's life on the line.  Still, he can't help but think the use of three arrows is excessive.  At first he dismisses it as a warning for any other low-lives out there to avoid Felicity Smoak, but then it clicks again for him, this time his own revelation startling him.

"You love her, don't you," he says finally, and it's not a question—Lance already knows the answer.  He takes the Arrow's silence as confirmation; if there's one thing he knows about the man, it's that he wouldn't hesitate to correct God himself.  Lance isn't quite sure how he feels about his correct guess because, hell, he likes Felicity, but the girl is of similar age to his daughters.  Heaven knows he wouldn't want them looking at a vigilante as a choice in romantic prospects.

After mulling it over a long moment, he says, "Be good to her, or you'll have me to deal with."

"Always, Detective," he answers, and something in his tone seems to be sincere, for a change.  The other man is gone in an instant, leaving Lance to his thoughts, but they always come back to the same one:  she could do a whole lot worse.

After all, he could be that damned Queen kid.