AN: I like and don't like season one of Iron Fist. The character of Ward Meachum intrigued and entertained enough that I became invested in him and his future. Danny Rand I could mostly give or take. There was at least some improvement in his character during The Defenders.
Here is my attempt to remedy the series by creating an AU Iron Fist Season 2. This is a written format version. If it were to be visual, there would be far more awesome martial art battles. Regardless, I hope you read and enjoy.
Effective Method
"I find partnership to be a much more effective method."
-Bakuto
TUESDAY, PREDAWN
"Wake up. Ward, wake up for me. Come on, son. Wake up."
Ward jolted awake from the nightmare of his father's voice calling to him. Blinking tiredly, he realized the light in his room was on. Off to his left, sitting on the side of his bed, was his dead dad. He rubbed his eyes, certain it was a remnant of his nightmare. But the man's form was solid, and presently, he was smiling warmly at him.
Freaking out, he scrambled to the other side of the bed, back smacking against the headboard. He stared at the dead man, utterly horrified and lost. Did he lose his mind? Was this somehow a particularly vivid dream?
"Calm down, Ward. It's just me."
Just.. Holy crap he finally cracked! But he'd been feeling great, bordering on happy. Never quite there, being alone and running an enormous company virtually on his own, but getting better. Why was he snapping now? He missed Joy, he did so much. But he'd laid off the pills. It had been surprisingly easy the moment his dad was out of his life permanently, and killed justly at that.
"He's real, if you're doubting yourself," another voice said, filling the quiet tension.
His eyes lifted to the doorway where a man he recognized was standing. The name was escaping him as he wasn't certain he'd ever been given it. What he did remember was that he was a leader in the Hand, the creepy shadow organization Harold forced him to merge into Rand Enterprises. He also recalled the man was supposed to be dead too. Danny's girlfriend cut off his head herself before his body was lost in the rubble of a decimated building, accompanied by the rest of the "fingers" of the Hand.
His own fingers crept along the covers to his beside table. He kept a gun in the drawer. The movement did not go unnoticed by the keen gaze of the one by his exit.
"I took the liberty of removing your gun. I don't want anyone to die today."
Despite his claim, Ward checked the drawer to find his weapon was indeed gone from its place. There was no sign of his cell phone anywhere either. Sighing exasperatedly, he sat back again, keeping distance between him and the monster dad still.
He turned his eyes to his father to tell him matter-of-factly, "I watched you burn to ash."
"Uh uh," the man by the door sounded. "I had someone on the inside at the morgue switch him with a prepared body double."
Prepared...?
"Why would you do that?" he questioned with a mixture of confusion and disbelief that they would bother.
"Harold Meachum has proven his usefulness, even if the relationship with the Hand began to deteriorate after a decade of service. As well, I am extremely favorable for having back-ups in place."
"More than a decade," his dead father clarified stiffly.
Ward drew his knees up to his chest, terribly uncomfortable to be in the same room with these two men. He glanced cautiously between them before focusing on the man who could provide clear answers. Of course, the man was miles from trustworthy, but not looking at the face of his father sounded fantastic right now.
"Is that how you're alive? What kind of back-up could revive someone from decapitation? You told me that was the way to ensure immortals didn't come back."
"Very right, my friend. But you see, I lived in K'un-Lun with my brother. He didn't depart with me, far too loyal to our masters, except he missed me. He chose to leave one day to find me and I convinced him of our cause. Immortality, shaping the world to be better than what it was becoming. As a leader in the effort, he devoted to the protection of that leader. Willingly he volunteered to die and be resurrected. Brought back, we induced a coma. He was to be my vessel should anything ever happen to my own body, that I could not return to it, his would take its place."
"A twin," he assumed by the face staring at him, feeling incredulous at the revelation. "How in the hell do you get yourself in someone else's body?"
"I spent many of my days searching and investigating the mystical sides of the world. While Madame Gao and Alexandra made big plans and schemes, I remained on the fringes, looking for answers to life's secrets. There was a curious place and to wrap up a long tale quite simply, very old magic allowed for the transference of my consciousness into the empty shell of my brother."
Well that didn't make any sense to him, but there were a lot of ridiculously insane happenings in the world today. New York seemed to get hit by most of them too. Some random magic bringing a person back to life via twin? Sure, why not? A body double for fucking Harold? Why?
Speaking of Harold...
"I missed you, son," he professed. "It was so difficult to be away from you for this long. I forgive you for all those things you did; helping Danny, shooting me.. You were trying to be your own man, and I can see that now."
He blinked blankly at his dad. "I tried to kill you three times. I did kill you two of those times. Why would you forgive me?"
"Because you're my son." His father reached out to try and touch his hand but he pressed farther away to avoid contact. "And I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you."
"You seriously expect me to believe that bullshit talk?"
"I remember telling you that you were my biggest disappointment but I know I was wrong now. You've been running the company for more than a year and it's flourishing. Well done, son."
His entire life had been spent trying to get his dad to say words like that. Instead he was constantly put down, constantly refused to have his own ideas, constantly forced on a linear path in life, and that was before his dad died and came back even more distant and controlling.
A laugh burst out of him. "There you go again. This is what you do. You express nice sentiments and say measured things that sound good, but really it's empty of meaning."
"I love you. I need you, Ward. I only want the best for you."
"Shut up! Your eyes are cold. You're not my dad. My dad was a bastard, but you're even worse. A complete monster who hits his kid like it's any other order of business."
For the first time, he noticed a blinking red light coming from the corner of the room near his flat screen. Frowning at it, he looked over to the Hand leader in the doorway.
"Is that a camera?"
"Your father and I have made a new arrangement, Ward Meachum," the man told him, ignoring his inquiry. "This quid pro quo relationship won't work without your help, however, so I'll be requiring your cooperation."
"I cut the Hand out of Rand. We don't do business with any of those accounts or properties anymore. I couldn't help you if I wanted."
His father suddenly snapped a hand forward, trying to grab his arm. He ended up with a wrist when Ward shifted away from the reach. The grip was tight and painful, causing him to wince.
"I've always been willing to do what needs to be done for success, to come out on top. My love for you gave you everything you have. I raised you to be like me and what did I get? Someone so weak they can't see grand opportunity when it's right in front of them."
"Ow.. You're gonna break my wrist, Dad," he complained, gritting his teeth and wondering if he would have to wait for the inevitable snap.
The man moved away from the doorway to approach the bed. "Harold, no visible injuries. We talked about this."
His dad breathed in and out, then released his grip as the other retreated to the door. "Sorry, son. My temper sometimes..."
Maybe he was wrong about his dad being different when he came back from the dead. Maybe his dad merely decided he could be who he truly was when he beat death. Either way, there was no debate whatever was going on with his dad's perpetuating existence, he was unstable and dangerous.
Warily, his attention roved over to the camera set against the far wall so it took in this entire side of the room and probably the door area too. Why use it? He didn't think he should wait to learn the why. The unknown never turned out positively for him.
"I have disengaged from the Hand," the man informed him. "I go my own path with my followers. I started on that even before the organization was destroyed by these.. defenders of New York City. I went by the name Bakuto, but now I have given myself a different name for a different path. It is Kuo Abt. Please, call me Kuo. I would like for us to build a new relationship. A more positive and equally beneficial one."
Ward scoffed. "As long as Harold is anywhere near me, I'm not doing shit for you."
The man's expression darkened. "I suspect you would refuse to cooperate whether I got rid of him or not. Despite what your father thinks, I can see you are resilient from tribulations endured."
He made a gesture as if he was going to consider the words, and then rolled off the bed, going for the window. Both men stared at him, neither reacting, uncertain of his intention. Ward used the opportunity to open the hidden compartment in his windowsill, pulling the handgun from it. He clicked the safety off and broadly aimed it toward the two intruders.
"Get out of my house. I want you to leave."
Bakuto, no, Kuo, regarded him differently, a quiet examination of his face under way. Meanwhile, Harold was being Harold, telling him to put the gun down so they can talk peacefully.
"Come on, son. You don't have to worry about a thing. I'll tell you exactly what to do."
The repetition of a mantra his father used with him over and over to convince him things were okay, burned his ears. Hatred rushed through him. His grip remained steady on his firearm.
"Like always," he muttered, recalling what he always said to that exact assurance.
Looking pleased, his dad nodded. "Yes, that's right. Like always."
His expression soured. "I won't be your slave again. I want my own life where I have real choices. I want to be away from you forever. You did everything you could to push me down and make me like you, make me live your life. You're a control freak and all you care about is yourself."
"Why do you say such things?"
That was a familiar switch. Often his father would maintain his casual demeanor seconds before hitting him, but if he was paying attention like in this moment, his eyes focused straight ahead right as he made the decision to cause pain.
"Get out of here! Both of you leave!"
The man in his doorway shrugged and put his hands up to show himself a non-threat. "Okay. Relax, kid."
His dad wasn't finished with his nonsense yet. The man was obsessed with hearing himself talk.
"I love you, Ward."
"Is that supposed to mean something?"
"I want us to be a family."
"You don't even know what love is, do you? I think you never did." He poked the weapon toward Harold, pointing it in his face. "Leave now."
"Come on, Harold." Kuo said, calmly. "The man wants us to leave."
Harold appeared anything but happy, reluctantly stepping away from him and backing up to the doorway. The look on his face was awfully familiar. Utter disappointment, like Ward had let him down. Twisted bastard.
Carefully, he followed them across the room, watching as they backed into the living area with a tight glare. He paused, listening, but didn't hear anyone else in the place. It was possible they could have come alone.
Scratch that. He spotted a ninja loitering in the middle of the next room. Upping his alertness, he used caution emerging from his bedroom, and the gun was knocked from his hands. No.. How..?
There was a second ninja lurking in the dark against the wall outside his bedroom. Silently, he stared at Ward. When he scrambled to reclaim the gun, it was kicked away from him by the same ninja. Cursing, he did the thing he could think to do next. He ran for the front door.
Arms encircled his waist, released when an elbow rammed back and caught his assailant in the stomach, then returned. This time they wrapped firmly about his arms and upper chest, trapping them to his sides. He squirmed desperately and yelled for someone to help, for someone to call the police.
Facial hair brushed against his own clean-shaven cheek. "Nobody can hear you from here. And if anyone did, they wouldn't dare call the police. No one likes to involve themselves in risky business. They all tell themselves someone else will take care of it; it's none of their concern. Don't you see it? This world is sick. So many are infected with impassivity."
He was being dragged, half-carried because of his wild flailing. These people were bad, bad people. He had to get away but he never seemed able to free himself from them. This was happening again. He couldn't believe this entrapment was happening again. He'd never loathed being a Meachum and having ownership on an enormous fortune more in his life than right now.
For the briefest of moments, his eyes locked with the eyes of the ninja standing at the center of his living room. They were wide, possibly surprise or concern there. He didn't have much longer than that stretched moment before he found himself returned to his bedroom.
Ward fell heavily to the floor by the foot of his bed when Kuo let him go.
"This world has a sickness and I work to free everyone from the hold of overwhelming indifference surrounding us. The Hand sought control on life and this world, but I seek to heal it. We are called Heart, and our mission is a noble one."
He snorted. "The Heart? That's what you're going with?"
The thought occurred he should figure out where Harold was but as he started to rise, Kuo kicked him behind the knee. He faltered to his knees and did not like that one bit as he looked up at his enemy.
"Join forces with me, Ward, and we can change the world."
"Do you people ever get tired of giving the same speeches?"
The other man genuinely appeared sympathetic as he crouched in front of him. "Do you ever get tired of being powerless to such people?"
"I'm not powerless. I told you no." Ward insisted, irritated he was technically correct and at the mercy of this guy. "Rand Enterprises will no longer be tainted by criminal organizations."
Kuo smiled softly. "I admire your resolve, truly. I'm afraid it won't help. You'll abide, eventually. Everyone breaks. There are no exceptions."
A hand dropped onto his shoulder, Harold kneeling behind him, and he recoiled at the dark look in those eyes. Lust which somehow one day his own father came to believe was his display of love.
"Take off your shirt, Ward. I want to see you."
He gagged, almost throwing up right then and there. His father was actually dead finally. He'd been gone from his life. This couldn't be happening to him!
"No, I won't."
"Ward, do as you're told."
Oh God... He tried to get to his feet and Kuo hit him square in the solar plexus with a flat hand. He would have dropped but his dad's arms caught him. Ward felt his body spasm in extreme pain and not much else as he struggled to get himself together.
Warm hands slid beneath his t-shirt and a blur of white filled his vision as the fabric was pulled over his head. Shirtless, Harold turned him in his grasp, examining his backside with gentle fingers. Breathing heavy from the assault, he focused on gaining his strength and breath.
"Ah yes," he murmured, stroking along his skin. "I imagine some of these scars will not fade much more, will be here to remind you of your duty as my heir."
"You mean my role as a puppet," he snapped furiously.
Here came the terrifying talk. The last time he got this kind of talking, was before he snapped and murdered his father in a fit of insanity and rage.
"Leave me alone," he replied hopelessly, the last remnant of hope that words would be effective in any way dissipating even as he said them. "Go away!"
Desperation had leaked into the anger of that last part. He tried to calm himself as he was half held off the ground, half lying in his father's lap.
"I invested my life into you, boy. You are my legacy. I created you."
"Don't touch me!" he shouted, knowing all too well what his father was intending.
"You belong to me," came the predictable claim.
Feeling strong enough, he lashed out, twisting from his grip to the carpet below. He managed to swing his lower half about, landing the bottom of his bare foot into Kuo's crouching form, knocking him backward for it being unexpected. He drove his elbow into his partially standing father, aiming for the crotch but hitting the inner thigh instead. Still, it was forceful and damaging enough to put him on his ass.
He stood up and jerked to face the door in time to see Kuo close it. Quick at recovery that one.
Leaning against the shut way, he shook his head solemnly. Maddeningly, it had the appearance of sympathy and disgust for his plight.
"I don't approve of such abuse of authority and responsibility, but I am willing to facilitate to achieve my own ends. What I desire is supposed to happen; it's good. This is the consequence of your refusal to accept the inevitable role you must become."
"Ward."
He twisted around to find his father in the process of unbuttoning his shirt. His gaze fell on the scars that lay beneath. The intention of the action in the first place, he pointed at the circular wounds on his front with two fingers.
"This is where you shot me several times and killed me. These marks here, where you stabbed me repeatedly, killing me. I was so shocked when you did that. Didn't think you had it in you to murder your own father. Didn't think you had the will to get anything visceral done really."
"I killed a monster who was killing me slowly, draining the life out of me at every turn."
"That's a bit dramatic. Is that what you think?"
There seemed to be genuine confusion and situational uncertainty in his face then, head tilting from one side to the other. Then he snapped back into focus and his eyes were bottomless, staring ahead of himself. There would be no avoiding this, so he told him the truth.
"You know it is."
He was grabbed by the shoulders. "I love you."
His dad squeezed a hand on his throat and forcefully pushed against him, arm wrapping around his back, pressing lips onto his. He twisted his head away and the hand went from his throat to his groin, crushing painfully. A gasp escaped him and Harold used the opening to assault his mouth with better access.
Ward managed to temporarily overpower his attacker, shoving him away. "I hate you! Why can't you stay dead?"
A kidney punch landed and he felt paralyzed by the radiating agony. He could think of little else.
After his first death, his father practiced boxing and other forms of combat which made him capable of knowing where to hit to make him pliable. Ward was in good physical condition but it was never enough to prevent Harold from getting whatever he wanted. Especially since he tended to hesitate at the worst of times because of familial sentiment, even when he knew for fact that his dad was an imminent danger to anyone near him.
Harold was man-handling him to the bed, working his hand beneath the waistband of silk pajama bottoms. He felt them pooling to his feet. Forced onto the bed, there was hardly time to try sitting up before heavy weight settled on top of him. Frantic fear ached in his chest.
Far too close to the very worst thing his father sometimes did to him in his power play and twisted fantasies of family and love, panic arose. He tried to punch his dad but the arm was caught and held flat on the bed's surface.
"Don't do this. Get off!" he pleaded.
Six years he had to deal with the possibility of this happening, the reality of it happening. Constantly having to deal with his father's ever-changing moods, continuous speeches, and increasing secrets piled on top. Harold would never stop trying to hold him down and make him do whatever it was he wanted at the time, figuratively and literally. It enraged him.
