Disclaimer #1 - I do not own any of the characters or copyrights for the Arrow series other than the original characters I created.

Disclaimer #2 - I know Oliver doesn't actually start wearing a mask as part of his Arrow/Hood costume until after the events of the Undertaking, but it makes more sense than the green paint alone in my story... please forgive me.

Junction

The Hood stares at the monitor, the grainy image of the CCTV system blurring slightly the appearance of a figure wrapped in leather armor, a black hood and cowl over his face. He can see the quiver of arrows so similar to his own slung over the figure's right shoulder and the piercing eyes. The black and white of the camera feed doesn't show the color, but the Hood knows that they are blue - the cold blue of an arctic ocean and just as icy and deep. In the background gagged and bound to a chair is John Thorne – Queen Consolidated Board Member and the man responsible for "suggesting" his father take the Queen's Gambit out for a week to get away from the stress of the office. The man who jokingly promised to take care of "everything" while Robert Queen was away. The man who created and placed the bomb on the Gambit while giving his friend a cheery wave and hearty clap on the back, before escorting him down the docks. The Hood knew that someone else put Thorne up to the sabotage, even if he didn't yet know who, but Thorne was last smiling face that Robert and Oliver Queen had seen as they took off from the docks and he never said a word of warning.

Pressing a button on the computer fast forwards the image again, only to stop as the image of the Dark Archer moves closer to the camera and bows, before stepping out of view.

He knew that I would see this footage.

He WANTED me to see this footage.

The question is – Does this footage mean he knows who I am or is it just a coincidence that he chose to use John Thorne? Thorne was on the list…

The Hood flashes back to the first and last time he had seen the Dark Archer nearly a month ago. Glass walls let the lights of Starling City into the executive office on the 63rd floor of Artac Industries. Keaton Artac sat behind his opulent desk reading a report on the latest increase in his company's share prices, uncaring that hazardous waste from his factory in the Glades had seeped into the water supply for a local school, causing the deaths of twelve elementary students and sickening twenty five others. Artac had bought off the investigator - the whole situation was blamed on an E-Coli outbreak and promptly forgotten. A minor setback when the factory was the exclusive maker of a moldable plastic that had tensile strength four times greater than steel and heat tolerances in excess of 1000 degrees Fahrenheit. It was already lucrative and an unofficial test of ammunition made from the material was showing promise. But that was only the most recent offense of many others committed by Keaton Artac, his name being among the first listed in the leather journal Robert Queen had pressed into his son's hands. The Hood had slipped into the office and hid in the shadows; his deep voice echoed off the glass as he said, "Keaton Artac, you have failed this City." The Hood watched as surprise, fear, and then cunning slid across the features of the older man and knew that this was one that held no regrets or empathy for the people he used. Keaton Artac was a man to use and discard, not one who would ever willingly accept responsibility… an arrow through the heart would be cleaner than the farce of a trial in the corrupted Starling City Justice System. But even as he knew the end result, the Hood needed to give the man a choice if only for the sake of illusion. As he stepped forward to lay down his terms, the whisper-snick of an arrow being notched and the soft twang as the bow-string sang, caused him to duck quickly and roll into cover behind one of the couches in the office. His bow was out and ready before he had even completed the movement, but there was already a black fletched arrow in Artac's heart. He scanned the room and saw the shadowed figure by the door. A trick of the reflective qualities of the glass cast a sliver of light across his features, face covered and hooded like the Hood's own, except for his eyes. A voice nearly as deep said into the silence. "I am not here for you. Artac Industries and its Board have been knowingly given prototype ammunition to three different gangs in the Glades. These gangs are terrorizing the city. They will do so no more. This is my undertaking and Starling City will emerge from the ashes of corruption and greed to shine again." The Hood cautiously stood, still armed and ready taking every detail of the man across from him. The Dark Archer continued, "You are not my enemy but neither are you my ally. I give you warning – Do not stand in my way." Before the Hood could respond, the Dark Archer dropped a small canister which created a flash-bang and disappeared. The Hood sprinted after him, but it was too late – the Dark Archer was gone. The next morning the news reported that the entire Board of Artac Industries had been murdered by a hooded vigilante and speculated that there may be two separate vigilantes in the city.

In the months since, the Dark Archer had claimed the lives of six more people, two of which were on the list. The Hood had caused two others to remand themselves to Police custody and killed four more. Each time, justification that he was doing the right thing for the city grew stronger. The Hood became his life as the façade of Oliver Queen billionaire playboy grew more brittle. He left the running of the club to Tommy, avoided Laurel, and buried the hurt he felt when Felicity and Diggle had walked out on him, claiming he was turning into someone they didn't know and couldn't work with. The journal that Robert Queen had given him became his sole focus as a darker picture emerged – a picture of manipulation, murder-for-hire, drugs and gang warfare with some of Starling City's Elite pulling the strings. There appeared to be no end to the corruption and everything that Oliver had believed in prior to the Island was now obliterated by the harshness of the truth. It makes more sense to put down a mad dog than cage it. It wasn't long before the kills became more satisfying than the capture and the only shred of emotion left was the slow burn of anger at the men who had started it all.

Now this footage… and Thorne. Is it a trap or something else? The bow at the end was a challenge that much was clear, at least.

I need to know.

Within moments he is sliding into his custom leather suit – slick and flexible against his skin, black mask fitted firmly across his eyes, dark green hood blending into the shadows of the lair. He knows the footage came from one of Thorne's warehouses on the docks, so the Hood quickly makes his way through the poorly lit streets, parking his motorcycle a few blocks from the site and finishing the distance by rooftop.

Breaking into the warehouse is easy, though he uses more caution than normal, fully expecting to have the Dark Archer spring up on him. Stealthily, he creeps through the open area using the shadows for coverage and listening for the smallest sound to determine where the others may be. He knows Thorne is bound somewhere around one of the false walls and it causes a slow burn in his chest, but the Dark Archer is still an unknown. Turning a corner he freezes and a rage unlike any he has ever known takes over. Flashes of Sarah being pulled under the water of a sinking boat, his father's suicide to save him, the torture on a distant island… all of it seethes into a well of hate and before he takes more than two steps into the room, he has fired four arrows into Thorne – one in each thigh, one in his right shoulder, and one still quivering in the headrest of the chair Thorne is bound to, glistening with blood from where it nicked his ear.

"You stood by and waived as you watched them go to their deaths!" The Hood screams in a voice ragged with emotion, "You planted a bomb on their boat and set a timer. You murdered a man you called your friend. You don't deserve the choice. You deserve to die a slow painful death the way they did. You WILL bleed for them." The Hood notches another, ignoring the fear and pain in the eyes of his victim. This time he will go slowly, pulling the drawstring back, feeling the tautness of the wires against his fingers, knowing that there is nothing that Thorne can do or say that will make up for the injury he knowingly caused. A blink later and the arrow is set free…

A leather clad hand reaches out a catches the arrow inches from Thorne's left shoulder. In a blind fury, the Hood fires again and once again it is stopped before it can reach its target. A howl of rage escapes the Hood's lips as he tries to shoot another, only to have the Dark Archer fire one of his own black fletched arrows at him, knocking the bow from his hands.

"Enough." The Dark Archer growls.

Still in a blind rage, the Hood rushes the Archer, knocking the bow from his hands and landing several punches to his chest, before the Archer maneuvers him into a choke hold.

"I said enough." The Archer releases him with a shove and the Hood stumbles back.

"He deserves to die."

"Yes he does." The Archer replies, hardness in his voice. "His pharmaceutical division recently created a drug that is claiming to be the cure for Vertigo addiction. Only it makes the user even more addicted to the 'cure'. Those who have taken it become violently psychotic if they don't continue treatment."

"Then let me kill him."

"We both want what is best for Starling City but we kill out of justice not revenge. Right now you are blinded by rage and fury. That is revenge. When you let it go and there is only justice, then you can kill him."

"What are you saying?"

The Archer walks over to a wall and pulled on a length of pipe that was sticking out from it. It comes away easily and he is left holding a five foot length. He tosses it to Hood and pulls another before saying. "Fight me."

"You're mad."

"Quite possibly. Now fight me."

In a flurry of movement the Archer twirls the length of pipe in front of him and rushes the Hood. Only the finely honed reflexes of hours of practice on the Island with Slade and Shado allows him to parry without being hit. He attacks back and is rewarded with a chuckle from under that mask.

"You have been taught well, I see."

"I've had some practice." A glimmer of discipline fights its way through the madness of the rage. The Hood sets up another attack and is able to score a hit to the Archer's thigh before being blocked. With each movement the Dance of the Staffs, as Shado used to call it, does what it always has for him – It focuses him. Slowly he is able to let the discipline overtake the rage at Thorne as he and the Archer trade blows back and forth, the sound of the pipes hitting each other echoing through the building.

Sometime in the middle of their match, both pause and by mutual agreement, remove their shirts and hoods, though the Archer elects to keep the cowl across his face and the Hood keeps his mask. Without their clothing, they are both exquisitely chiseled despite the scarring that crisscrosses across their bodies, and for the first time since the island, the Hood feels the first stirring of something other than hate. Thorne is forgotten as the fight resumes, each step bringing him further into the memories of the rare quiet moments on the island – training in archery with Shado, staff-fighting with Slade, and the warmth of their bodies as they met in something far more primal - Slade riding him as he buried himself in Shado's body or Shado pressed between them, sharing her spirit with both.

The Archer notices the change in the Hood's style and hides a small smile. His opponent is worthy of his respect and in this moment, his admiration. He knows that for all of his earlier statement about justice, his own rage is hiding deep and he will see the ones responsible for it buried under the weight of their apathy. A fleeting thought crosses his mind, an echo of something that his opponent had said earlier, something that raised a warning flag for his alternate persona, but it is pushed back to be analyzed later. This moment is for the one in front of him. The one he is thinking about bringing into his ultimate plan.

This time it is the Hood that notices the minute distraction and pushes his advantage, spinning his pipe in a series of attacks that pushes his opponent up against the wall. Pipe held across his throat he stares into those bottomless blue eyes. I have seen those eyes before… somewhere... but before he can trace the thought, the Archer twists and within the span of a heartbeat, it is the Hood pinned to the wall by his own pipe, breath coming in heavy pants as he feels the weight of the very masculine body pressed against his own. Within moments he is hard and his breath catches for another reason.

The Archer feels the erection pressed against his thigh, and shifts slightly to let his opponent feel he is not alone in his need. It is not the first time he has craved another man's touch though it has been years. Fighting by its very nature releases adrenaline and endorphins and the need for sexual release is common. In the League it was simply another part of the training as it built stronger bonds between the members. Decision made, he drops the pipe and slides his hand down to grip the hardness barely being held in check by the leather. Keeping their bodies pressed together, he asked, "You found the focus do you want the release?"

For the first time in months, the Hoods mind felt clear. The sparring had brought him back to the first lessons he had learned once he realized he wasn't helpless. Focus and Release - the foundation of Archery… and the lesson of fleeting moments of intense passion found on a battleground. With a growl low in his throat, he pushes his hips forward to grind against the Archer, hands going to his back hard, blunt nails scraping down the skin. "Yess…"

The Archer knows the need. He was there once - at that point of rage and desperation. Ra's al Ghul taught him how to control it and the Archer is compelled to pass on the teaching. It is the first step to bringing the Hood into the League and to the elimination of the corruption of the city. So he presses forward, deftly unzipping the leather pants to free the Hood's cock – gripping it tightly in his calloused fingers, just on the edge of pain. He is rewarded by the hiss of breath but demands another tribute. He angles the Hood's head, pulls down his cowl (carefully to make sure his face remains hidden) and bites hard on the corded muscles of the Hood's neck, the groan and body shuddering against him being the reward he truly seeks. It means that in a moment his opponent will be HIS. HE will control the situation as he was once controlled by it. He will find release in the man before him and in doing so will give the man his own.

The bite to his neck is the catalyst. The Hood knows that tomorrow he will be wearing a ring of bruises on his neck in a perfect impression of the Archer's teeth and it doesn't matter. What matters in this moment is the need. He tried to assuage it with Helena, McKenna, and countless other women whose names he can't remember, but it never truly went away. He knows now it is because they wouldn't… no… CAN'T understand how fundamentally his life was changed by his time on the Island. The Dark Archer KNOWS what he went through. The Hood doesn't know the story behind the man currently driving him into a frenzy, but the scars (so similar to his own), the skill, and the thinly buried rage are the signs that the need is understood for what it is – primal connection. With that thought, the Hood lets go of the iron grip he has been holding on himself and gives into the moment, instinctively knowing the release will bring a new kind of focus.

The Archer knows the moment of surrender. He relishes it and the power that comes with it. He turns his head to demand, "Prepare me," before taking a half step backwards to allow for the loosening of his lower armor.

The Hood immediately drops to his knees, looking up he see the Archer has once again replaced his cowl and the only thing visible are those arctic eyes. He feels the Archer's hands slide to his head, though he already knows what those words meant. His own hands steady, he finds the release for the lower leathers and as soon as the Archer's erection is free, he swallows it. The constant pressure on his head and the heaviness of the Archer's breathing keep him grounded as he works his tongue around the cock in his mouth, drawing on the skill he learned with Slade, knowing that the wetter he made the other man, the easier it would be for him to slip past the pain/pleasure threshold when he was claimed.

The Archer watches the man on his knees, sucking him off and has to fight back a groan with every sweep of the Hood's talented tongue. Where did he learn…? The idle thought is shattered when the Hood, slips a finger in his mouth to moisten it before sliding it back to tease at the tight puckered hole. For a brief moment, the Archer contemplates letting his opponent take control, and imagines what it would be like to have this virile man pounding into him. Perhaps next time… He replaces the thought with the one of him taking the Hood and he grows even harder. With a low growl he pulls the Hood's mouth away from his cock and says, "Now."

Now. The word echoes though the Hood's mind, and his own erection twitches with need. Without further thought, he slips off his own lower leathers and stands naked. Calmness, lust, and strength shine out of the green eyes behind the mask. He knows what is coming and welcomes it.

The Archer feels a stirring from someplace he thought was destroyed long ago. It isn't love, but it is closer to that emotion than he has let himself feel in years. Even with his son, it isn't love but duty. His capacity for love died with his wife. The rage replaced it and kept him going, even as he learned to focus it to justice. But this man… standing collected before him… who knows the pain… understands it… and channels it into something else – he is the one to strike the spark against a dead fire. We can be unstoppable if we work together…

The Hood sees the emotions flicker across those blue eyes and still holds them through it all. He steps forward and grabs the still hard cock of the other man before saying, "I am ready."

At those words, the Archer strips off his remaining leather and pulls the other man into him for a heartbeat – naked bodies pressing together in mutual need. That need flares again at the contact and with a rough turn, the Archer says, "Brace yourself against the wall."

Immediately the Hood does, spreading his legs wide and exposing the tight pucker of his ass.

The Archer knows that some of the wetness from being sucked off has dried, but they are both at the point where need outweighs the necessity of fleeting pain. Still, he draws two fingers into his mouth to wet them before pressing them into the tight hole.

The Hood hisses at the entry, his body taking a moment to remember the sensations and push past the uncomfortable. The calloused fingers inside him move and stretch him in preparation. With a twist they find his prostrate and the uncomfortable shifts into pleasure. A low moan escapes his mouth and he presses his lips together in an effort to mask the craving now flooding his body.

At the moan, the Archer is unable to hold back anymore and pushes into the tightness until he is fully seated. With a groan at the sensation of the connection he begins to move. He knows that soft and gentle is not what either wants so his thrusts are hard, rocking each of their bodies and forcing the Hood to absorb the impact in the arms still pressed against the wall. Still… the need is paramount and as it is shared, the Archer reaches around grabs the Hood's cock, stroking it in time with the thrusts. It's a measure of how aware they are of each other that they reach their climax at nearly the same moment. Blinding need… pressure… and release… bodies shuddering uncontrollably as they slide down the wall to collapse on the ground, unheeding of their surroundings, after all both have survived in much worse.

Neither realizes the other has fallen asleep; the connection overwhelming enough to break the ingrained habit of wariness of an unfamiliar location. They are naked and vulnerable. The Dark Archer wakes first, immediately listening and assessing the area for potential threats but there is silence except for a muffled sound a distance from their location. His mind immediately supplies the cause – Thorne. Still bound and pierced by arrows – none life threatening, but he would be in constant pain. 'He deserves to die'. The harsh words uttered by the man lying next to him cross his mind and he takes a moment to really look at the one who has the potential to be so much. He is younger than I thought… much younger in fact. He has to be in his late twenties or very early thirties. That would put him around Tommy's age. As if the thought of his son was a catalyst another image crossed his mind – the Hood raging that it was Thorne's fault for placing a bomb on a boat and killing… Robert Queen. The realization was like a shock of ice water thrown on his face. Frantically he looked again at the young man sleeping beside him, features and timelines merging into a picture that jabbed him through the heart and left him cold. FUCK! The Hood is Oliver Queen. The best friend of my son, Tommy. The son of the man I called MY best friend before he turned on me and tried to stop the undertaking… the man who owned the boat that I persuaded John Thorne to sabotage. The implication crashes into him, stabbing him with a thousand knives and he realizes that from this moment on, there is no chance that the Hood will join him in the undertaking. Rather, it will take every bit of cunning and misdirection he knows to keep the secret of his identity and the plan. After all… he knows his opponent and the Hood has proven that he is the Dark Archer's equal in every way possible. Together, we could have… but his training doesn't allow him to finish the thought and the grief at the loss of something that has the potential to be so much, is ruthlessly pushed down and buried under a landslide of conviction; conviction that he still holds the best course for the future of Starling City. Silently he dresses and walks away, ignoring the ache at leaving Oliver Queen behind him, but he can't regret leaving a single arrow next to the sleeping man. It's a reminder… for both of us. At the end of the building, he turns back, and without a word fires an arrow into Thorne's heart.

Oliver wakes with a start and immediately jumps to his feet, hand flying to his face to verify the mask is still firmly in place. With a sigh of relief as he realizes it hasn't been touched, he assesses the situation. The Dark Archer is gone but seems to have respected the trust the Hood showed him and didn't try to pry. As he pulls on his clothing, his mind flashes back to the events of a few hours before. THORNE!

He rushes to the front of the building, but Thorne is dead. The black fletched arrow that pierced his heart fired with such force that the arrow went completely through his heart and the chair he was bound to. He wants to be furious that he wasn't the one to kill him, but all he can summon is calm resolve that Thorne is dead. He won't be a threat to the city anymore and that is what matters. The Dark Archer was right. It is about justice not revenge. I forgot it for a time… that's what Diggle and Felicity were trying to tell me. The thought of the two people he genuinely considered his friends pushed him into action. I need them back. I lose myself without them. He resolves to get them back in any way he can. We are a team.

The Hood turns away from Thorne, knowing that he will be found by the warehouse workers in a few hours. He fingers the black fletched arrow in his hands as he slips out of the building to return to the Lair. The Dark Archer is a mystery that needs to be solved. Is he a potential ally or does he have his own agenda? One thing is certain… I need to find out.