Serve

"But in the end... and this is the end... you'll do what everyone else does for me. You'll serve."

-Alexandra Reid

TUESDAY, EARLY MORNING

"Want a drink?"

"Yeah, that's what you should ask me," muttered Ward.

"Watch your mouth," Harold reprimanded. "You sound testy."

He sat uncomfortably on the couch, arms wrapped around himself, face tight and lips set in a firm line. It was nothing new that his father expected him to act normal after the physical abuse, but usually he didn't look for him to be like nothing ever happened so soon following the incident. Only a few hours had gone by since he was attacked in his room.

When Kuo left him alone, he'd retreated into the bathroom connected to his bedroom, showering his rapist off. Putting a t-shirt and pants on, he'd caught his reflection in the mirror. His eyes lingering on muscular arms, he lost control and punched the mirror, cracking it pretty good. He had muscle so why didn't it do him any good to protect himself from an assault? Shame made him go retrieve a black zip up to cover the arms and that was when his father came looking for him.

He'd been scolded for hiding in the bathroom for hours and then guided into the living room. It was where he sat now, complete silence between them for quite some time. While his father had every appearance of being relaxed and at ease, Ward was anything but. On edge, he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

His face hurt, jaw aching and cheek throbbing from where he was hit. He'd been informed he would be calling in sick until the marks were no longer visible. Well that was fine by him. They couldn't try to force him to make changes in the company for their benefit if he didn't show at work. Of course, the downside of not going to the office meant he would be stuck in his house with Harold.

If he shifted a certain way, his ass hurt too. He'd been taken dry and unprepared. He would physically be feeling a reminder of the rape for days. Letting his head fall against his hand, he sighed tiredly. Tired from being woken in the middle of the night, from an exhaustive battle to prevent the assault. His eyes were fighting to close despite how little he wanted to be asleep this near to Harold.

"I'll get you a drink. You look like you need one," his father remarked.

"I don't want a drink, Dad," he said as he watched him continue to prepare drinks for them.

It never mattered what he said.

His dad brought over the drink and took a sip from his own, watching him. When he didn't take a drink and just gripped it in the hand resting on the arm of the chair, he noticed the cuts on his knuckles.

"What happened to your hand?"

He winced as horrible images dredged up into his mind. His dad destroying the teeth of two dead men on his living room floor. He'd been enjoying it, probably enjoyed making Ward get rid of the bodies for him too. The question had been asked about his bandaged hand, smashed in a car door during a desperate bid to find drugs his father couldn't track he'd gotten. He was trapped in Harold's axis and couldn't get out then. He'd have done anything at that point to never have to deal with his father's insanity again. And now look where he was...

"It's nothing."

His vague answer didn't bother Harold in the slightest, and brought the man back to the drink, tapping it with his finger.

"Go on. Drink it."

He gave his dad an impatient look. "I told you I didn't want it."

When he tried to put the drink down, his arm was gripped, preventing him from completing the action. Irritated, he looked at him.

"What's the problem, Harold? It's just a drink."

"I've missed you. I didn't like being so far away from you," he confessed. "I want us to have a drink together."

"Why? You gonna hit me again?"

Pressing his luck. It was what he did. His words and attitude were the only weapon he'd ever really been able to use against his father. He was as pathetic and weak-willed as his father thought, as Joy had accused him of a few times after Danny Rand reappeared in New York.

"I don't want to hit you, Ward."

He leaned forward, locking eyes with his father. "Why not? Need your camera here first?"

The eyes went cold, fingers reaching out to wrap around the glass in his hand, taking it from him.

"So you know about that."

Bile rose in his throat. It was one thing to hear something like that told to him secondhand, but his dad wasn't denying its validity. The guy was absolutely twisted and evil. Why the hell did he tiptoe around it for so many years? Harold had never shown a hint of remorse for anything. Even when he'd claimed to Joy he regretted choosing his son over her when he thought he was going to be permanently killed, the words left his mouth hollow.

"Helped me get through some lonely days," he admitted much to Ward's horror. "But that's in the past. Now, drink."

The glass was placed to his lips and when he tried to turn away, his hair was gripped harshly. Face and glass shoved together, his head was released and fingers shoved into his mouth, stretching it open. He tried to bite down on the fingers but then the burning liquid pouring into his throat distracted him. Grimacing, the entirety of the drink made it into him.

Satisfied, Harold let him go and he fell forward, coughing and choking. Empty glass in hand, he went to refill, returning with a second and holding it out to him. Managing to get a grip on himself, he glanced at it and then at his dad, feeling his eyes filling with tears from the quantity of liquor ingested.

He received a hard look when he took too long to obey and accepted the glass with great reluctance. The serious stare continued until he figured out what was wanted. He sipped a small amount of the drink, but it was good enough for the other man, who contented, sat down on the couch diagonal from him.

"There are some matters of importance to discuss," his father began, an all too familiar start to one of his obnoxious speeches. "The first rule of war is to know your enemy. And since we know our enemy, it should be easy enough to avoid them so long as we're careful."

He didn't specify who "them" was, but it was easy enough to assume he meant these defenders of New York that tended to be popular in the papers lately. He'd be happy he wasn't out to kill anyone this time, except it didn't improve the odds on his end in the slightest. It might even make them worse.

"I can go as I please as long as I'm careful about who might see me. Isn't that great? I get real freedom unlike under that bitch, Gao. I get to be with my son and I get my company back with you in my stead."

No way was he working for his dad. He wouldn't live that miserable life again. He was off the drugs, addiction turning out to solely be an extension of his desire to block the hell of his father from his head. He couldn't go back to that.

"Hey," snapping fingers drew his gaze, "Are you listening to me?"

Blinking dubiously at him, he said, "Dad, I shot you until you fell off a 45 story building. I'm not being a puppet to you again. You act a good game, but you're manipulating, and frankly, you're evil."

"Oh don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not. Danny told me how you always wanted to kill the man who was supposed to be your best friend. It's too bad he couldn't see you for the monster you were until it was too late."

Harold was shaking his head at him, ready and willing to disparage his thoughts. "I do what needs to be done, always have. Do you think the company would be where it is now if it weren't for me? I'm disappointed you still can't see the big picture."

"Which is what?" he exclaimed, setting his nearly full drink on the table and standing. "What are you trying to prove? That you can have power? Nobody cares!"

"You really don't understand..." his father uttered, bafflement in his words.

"Well you're so much better than me, right? I'm too stupid to get your grand plan for the world. You're constantly telling me things I already know like I don't know them. Ever think I don't want to know? I never wanted to be involved in the crazy and amoral shit you do."

As usual, Harold heard the part he decided he would hear, and had something to say concerning it.

"I don't think you're stupid, Ward. I just think you're contrary, and that's an issue for me."

"It's my company now. Danny and I are the new generation and we're not going to let corruption become part of us. You might have been willing to sell whatever soul you had when you made a deal with the Hand, but I won't do the same."

"Don't get self-righteous with me, son. You were plenty willing to have others do bad things for you if it made your life easier. Sending my security after Rand..how many times? It's fine as long as you don't have to get your own hands dirty, isn't that right?"

He flinched at the darker parts of himself he didn't like to admit or take too hard a look at. He'd made some questionable decisions in the past, happy and relieved to do them knowing it would make his father happier and off his case. They were mistakes. At least he accepted that's what they were, unlike Harold, who thought it was a weakness he didn't go and do the deed with his own two hands.

"I mistakenly thought I could make a decision that would have you proud of me finally. I was a pathetic kid desperate to please his father. I've grown a lot in the time you've been gone, Harold. And it's time you understand what's important to you isn't important to me."

"The company is mine and you will get on board, Ward." Harold declared. "This is important for us both, even if you choose not to believe it."

His father finished his drink and set the glass on the table, observing him, in all likelihood judging. He turned away from the intense focus and rolled his eyes, slumping in his chair. It was a bizarre thing to be seen as rich and powerful by anyone on the outside looking in, when on the inside, he was as powerless as he was at eight years old. Eight was the age his dad stopped any and every possibility of a life outside his controlling influence.

"You never get it, Ward," he finally said.

Oh come on. He was sick of hearing this crap. Only his dad could be proud of him for betraying him with Bakuto and the Hand in the past, claiming it took balls to do such a thing. And only his dad would be willing to work with that same man, and the son who crossed him. Such was his delusion his children would ever not hate him for destroying their family and faith in a father.

"Always fighting me," he continued. "Making me get angry with you."

Frustration at a high, he started to walk around the chair, planning to return to his bathroom. He could hope Harold would leave him alone for a few hours. A sharp pain as a fist collided with his side brought him to his knees. He groaned and gritted his teeth, struggling to showcase the least amount of outward agony possible.

"You should be grateful I don't punish you for betraying me," his father pointed out.

In a little bit too much pain to respond, he just looked up as the man came to stand before him.

"You belong to me. Never forget it."

He worked through the pain, feeling it necessary to respond. "I'm not yours. Sick fuck."

Harold smiled down at him. He twisted about momentarily to pick up Ward's abandoned drink. Knowing what he was going to do, he tried to move. The other caught him by the back of his collar and pulled, causing him to stumble into his solid form. A grip that felt like iron encased him when he wrapped his arm around his back, and then the fingers were jamming into his mouth once more.

His own arms stuck by his sides in the tight hold, he had no trouble forcing the bourbon down his throat a second time. Badly reacting to it, he started to cough, which Harold reacted to by removing his fingers to seal his mouth shut until there was nothing else to do but finish swallowing the harsh fluid. Hand left covering his mouth, the other man leaned close to his ear.

"Kuo insists you be kept awake today," his dad murmured in his ear. "Since I already got plenty of rest earlier in my cryo chamber, whatever shall we do to pass the time?"

/

THURSDAY, NIGHT

"It's been 64 hours since you last slept." Kuo revealed to him.

This was the first time Ward had seen the guy since he was ambushed in his room. His phone taken that initial night, as no one came looking for him from the company, he figured they must have been sending texts or e-mail or something to confirm to his assistant that he was unavailable. There was a lot of work he was responsible for though, to delegate it to other company members, wouldn't do him any favors. It was feasible and the company would accept it, as they'd attempted ousting the very names behind Rand Enterprises in the past and nearly succeeded. It was depressing to know nobody would suspect it wasn't even him sending the messages. If Joy was still around, she would have noticed and been concerned something was up. But she wasn't, and he was alone like they said he was.

Eyes heavy, he wearily looked toward the man talking to him. He was presently sitting on the carpet of his living room, having been pushed off the couch by one of the ninja assholes when he started to drift to sleep minutes earlier. It was difficult to think straight, let alone process and remember new information coming in. He was too tired to care.

He leaned the back of his head against the soft couch and closed his eyes. Hands slapped him several times, careful to only hit hard enough to leave redness instead of any mark more permanent. They wanted him in condition to be seen at work soon.

A whining noise left his mouth, incensed they wouldn't let him sleep a few goddamn minutes. For possibly the millionth time in the last few days, he thought about how tired he was and how badly he wanted to sleep. What were they trying to accomplish?

The ninja moved away when Kuo approached and came to sit beside him on the floor. "Have you given my proposition further consideration?"

"Nope. Too tired."

He felt hands on him and didn't bother to bat them away as he was rolled partially over. Warm hands pressed against his shirt and then slipped under, lifting the shirt up his back. He winced at a few particularly sensitive areas being touched by probing fingertips. Turning him completely over, he raised the shirt up to his neckline and ordered the ninja hovering nearby to hold it in place.

Ward felt Kuo get up and disappear someplace else, and in the next instant he'd returned and was kneeling by him. He blinked. It had been like he'd teleported. His lack of sleep was really messing with his perception. Resting his chin on the edge of the couch, he felt the man pour something onto the bare skin of his back and he hissed in discomfort.

"I see your father has been busy giving you new reminders of his dissatisfaction."

"He doesn't mean to scar," he mumbled. "It happens sometimes when he hits too hard."

"Yes, I can see that." Kuo observed, using something soft to dab at the thin cuts across his backside. "You have a handful of old marks here and there. He must have been quite upset with you this time. I count five lines that drew blood."

"Why won't you let me sleep?"

"Suggestion," he answered simply. "Are you having second thoughts?"

He thought maybe he was supposed to be thinking seriously on his question, but he was left mostly confused. What were they talking about? This was exceedingly stressful to have the inability to focus on any one thing for very long. And now he'd forgotten what was said to him in the first place.

"Sorry, can you repeat that?"

Something was being applied to each of the cuts on his back, the welts left alone. It stung but he embraced the feeling, encouraged to remember reason from it somehow. His shirt was tugged down again and Kuo helped him up from the floor.

Slinging his arm around a supportive shoulder, he helped him toward the bedroom. Was he being allowed to sleep? Excitement at the prospect flooded his system, and he felt his mind quiet, eyes sliding closed. Then a hand closed about his throat, cutting his airway off.

He weakly struggled to remove the hand, to breathe despite his inability to do so. It was too hard. He was already drifting. A sharp slap brought him into a new awareness.

There was no longer anything cutting off his oxygen and he was sitting on the edge of his bed. Kuo sat on his right and several people were standing in front of them. Bleary eyed, he moved his heavy head to get a look at the three of them.

"Ward Meachum, I'd like you to meet your new guard. When you are outside the walls of this house, they will protect you and most importantly, they will watch you."

"What for?" he asked meekly.

It was too exhausting to muster up his usual put-on, sanctimonious tone.

"I trust eventually you will open your eyes and see things from a new perspective. I need only wait."

"Better keep waiting," he uttered, frowning slightly. Did his speech slur just then? "I won't be your servant."

"For the time being, you will sleep. Go to work tomorrow as any other day. When you return home, Harold will be your company. Unless you want to cooperate and prove loyalty to me."

He removed a folded piece of paper from his inner jacket pocket and placed it on the bedside table. Lazily, he followed it with uninterested eyes before returning his gaze to the man sitting where he much wanted to fall over and lose consciousness.

"These are monetary amounts and bank accounts I would like initiated by you, should you change your mind about working with me. We would be partners. As partners, if you show me this good faith, I will do the same and rid you of your monster."

Staring past the tempter at his soft, soft pillow, he resigned to shake his head. "No thanks. Do whatever you want to me, it won't make the answer any different. Unlike Harold, I can't be bought."

"Everyone has a price. Harold's was life itself. The chance to survive his illness and live again. Yours... Is not self-preservation or the avoidance of pain. You've learned to endure by whatever means necessary in the most trying of times, using only your own suffering to get it done. Impressive. Wasted."

Kuo put fingers beneath his chin, tilting his head so their eyes met.

"Physical pain continues to diminish a man's resolve, however, and entrapment. We understand you greatly despise being controlled and used. I offer partnership, a thing your father never would have given. While he remains alive, you will never be free. I can free you."

Ward was maneuvered to lie flat on the bed, the other man standing to pull the covers on top of him.

"You have a second chance to make the right choice. The world isn't what it used to be. Together we will rule the new world as kings."

A sweet dream swept him away.