You promised yourself you could handle it. You swore things would get better. That you could make them better.

The universe had decided to take your determination and throw it back in your face, spiteful and cruel in its mockery. Maybe you truly had done something to deserve it.

No… that felt like bullshit. Which is why when your boyfriend, after too much beer and too much pent-up aggression, had shoved you against the wall and growled what a nagging, stuck-up bitch you were, you had turned and left the apartment without a word. Insensate to his alcohol-fueled screaming.

He didn't bother chasing after you. He knew you'd be back. You always came back. Where else would you go?

You rubbed your arms as you walked down the sidewalk, surrounded by crowds of strangers even this late at night. You hadn't had the wherewithal to grab your jacket, your phone, or even your wallet. There had been no time; the surge of anger and sharp hatred had threatened to erupt from within your chest, and you'd rushed out the door before the situation escalated.

Not because you still cared about your domestic partner. That time had passed long ago. But lashing out at a member of the Hand was a surefire way to lose a few fingers, toes, or worse.

Your options were limited and decreasing as the minutes ticked by. There were a few places still open where you could take shelter from the biting wind. But that would only solve the immediate problem of being exposed, and do nothing for the long-term crisis that had become your existence.

No. This was going to end, one way or another. Tonight. You were sick and tired of the anger, the terror, the shouting. Something had to give, and with the ways things were going, it would be your sanity or your life.

Turning left along the next avenue, you changed course as you grit your teeth against the chill, steeling yourself for what was to come. It was going to be painful in a way that only emotional vulnerability could be. Even though objectively you understood you had nothing to be ashamed of, it didn't damper the heat in your cheeks.

There was one place you could go. One person you could turn to. It was just a matter of swallowing your pride and asking for help.

With no money for a cab or the train, you used the only transport available to you: your feet. After a half hour of walking, the tip of your nose numb from the wind, you deeply regretted not grabbing your wallet.

Hell, you regretted a lot of things at this point.

After forty-five minutes of brisk walking, you were there, thankful that you didn't have to travel to another borough. Standing outside your destination, you craned your head backwards to take in the well-lit, ornate face of the towering building, gut sinking as you immediately felt like an outsider. The doorman who opened the entryway once you approached stared at you with a dubious expression. The man at the security desk gave you an even more suspicious glance.

"Can I help you?" he slowly inquired, taking in your wind-swept appearance and lack of appropriate clothing for the autumn air. Not to mention your thin sweater, faded jeans, and careworn shoes.

"I'm here to see Danny Rand?" you responded, internally wincing from the lack of firmness in your voice, presenting the request as a question. "Is he in?"

The man stared at you. "May I have your name, please?" and you nearly sighed with relief, giving him your name as you nervously brushed your hands against your jeans. You'd been to the building only once before, soon after Danny's miraculous reappearance. It had been a much happier visit then. A blip of brightness in your world of gloom and doom.

You just hoped he was here. Sure it was getting pretty late, but if history was anything to go by, your childhood friend tended to prefer the open-air of the parks, rather than be cooped up in a skyscraper residential complex.

The security guard made the call to Danny's apartment while you looked around the lobby. All soft gold and gentle rose red, with white veined marble blanketing the floor, causing you to fear scuffing its reflective surface with your old tennis shoes. The lobby itself was more grandiose than anything you had ever lived in. Hell, the revolving door itself was probably worth more than a year of your rent.

"He will see you now. Do you know the way?"

You gave a small jump, heart beating faster in your chest as you turned your attention back to the guard.

"Ah, yes. Thank you," you responded once your voice and manners had returned to you, giving him a nervous smile before quickly walking to the bank of elevators, eager to be away from the two pairs of eyes that bored into your back. They felt like a silent accusation.

You don't belong here.

On the elevator ascent, you rubbed your palms together as you attempted to calm your nerves. Now that you were actually here, you were questioning your decision with growing anxiety.

It wasn't really that bad, was it? Your boyfriend had never really hurt you. Sure, he lost his temper sometimes, and he scared the hell out of you with increasing frequency, but there were moments when he was the person you remembered from the beginning of your relationship. Sometimes it wasn't so awful, and at least you never had to worry about money problems or being evicted from the cramped Manhattan apartment you shared. If it wasn't for him, you wouldn't have had snowball's chance in Hell of living close enough to see the Manhattan skyline, let alone live within it.

Something he aggressively reminded you when you dared to express any unhappiness.

Before you were ready, the elevator chimed and the doors parted smoothly. You stared at the small but still extravagant elevator bank, wondering what the hell you were doing there.

"This is a mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake," you muttered to the empty space. You stared at the keypad, fingers itching to press the L button and flee from the building as fast as possible. But the elevator doors seemed determined to outwait you, remaining stubbornly open, and eventually you caved.

Danny's apartment was at the end of the hallway – a glorious corner abode you had marveled at with your mouth gaping open (to your eternal embarrassment). The Rand's had always been incredibly well-to-do, but you'd forgotten what this sort of wealth looked like over the past fifteen years. And this apartment outshone even the Rand family home on Gramercy Park where you had spent a lot of your childhood.

You had a feeling the exquisite apartment hadn't been his idea. Danny had almost seemed more embarrassed than you, and it lent credence to the crazy tale that he'd spent the last few years living in a monastery. It was a fantastical, outlandish story, but you didn't really care. He was taller, broad-shouldered with a scruffy beard, but he was the same Danny Rand you had known as a kid. The same boy who would always pick stranded slugs off the sidewalk and carry them to safety, or found birds unable to fly and kept them in a warm box until they could be given to a rehabilitator.

It was that natural instinct to take in wounded, pitiful creatures that you were counting on now. You knew he wouldn't turn you away. The problem was: did you really want to drag someone with such a sweet disposition into your personal nightmare?

Already you were losing your nerve and preparing to turn around as you approached the door. It gripped you with abject terror, the idea of rapping your knuckles against the smooth wood in order to announce your presence.

But then the door opened, and all hope of fleeing burst like a soap bubble.

An earnest face, topped with gentle, golden curls and set with sympathetic blue eyes made you freeze like a deer before an approaching car. Your muscles tensed as one, fully locking you into place, and you didn't breathe again until a bright, beaming smile broke out onto that tanned face. He called your name, and the delight in his voice made you immediately regret coming.

"Hi, Danny," you responded through the tightness of your throat, and from those two words his smile began to fade. Already, your efforts to appear normal were gloriously failing.

"Hey, haven't seen you in a while. You… Jesus, you look like you're freezing," he said with furrowed brows, moving forward to stand before you as you had yet to approach his door from the middle of the hallway.

You opened your mouth to say "I'm fine," but the words stuck somewhere along the way. Either the lie was too big, or you didn't have the strength to tell it. Instead, you stared at him mutely, pleading with your eyes; for what, precisely, you weren't sure.

He seemed to understand, or at least sensed something was amiss, as he placed a gentle hand on the back of your shoulder. "Why don't you come in? Warm up, at least. You really do look cold."

Cold. Yes. That was a polite way of describing your silent helplessness.

But you let him guide you forward, muscles slowly loosening with each step, as if those few feet into Danny's apartment somehow set you at a greater distance from your problems than crossing several state lines.

Danny shut the door behind you, and you felt a sensation you hadn't experienced in what felt like a lifetime: safety.

The air rushed out of your lungs, and you began to believe that maybe you had done the right thing.

"Would you like anything to drink? Water? Coffee? Tea, maybe?" Danny asked as he walked past you in the brightly lit entryway, his eyebrows still knit in concern but his tone still warm and friendly.

"Uh. Sure. Tea sounds great." Your voice sounded almost human as you spoke, and the smile he rewarded you with did more to calm your nerves than should have been possible. Certainly more than you deserved, considering what you were about to drag him into.

"Oh, if there's one thing I have, it's tea. Go ahead and take a seat while I put on the kettle."

You thanked him, and the words felt like they were meant for much more than just the tea. He gave you one last smile before retreating in the direction of the kitchen.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, you told yourself. You didn't even have to tell him much. Or anything at all. Just being in the presence of your childhood friend was enough to make you truly believe everything would be all right.

The peaceful warmth spreading through your chest abruptly died as you entered the living room, the soothing calm replaced by the paralytic tension of muscle. A tall, dark, and very lanky figure currently occupied one of the armchairs; the last person you would have expected to be in Danny Rand's apartment.