Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel Cinematic Universe, Iron Fist or anything else you may recognize

Thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed or reviewed this fic so far.

And thank you to Brainstorm Sorcerer for the chapter title suggestion.

TW: Thank you for the review and glad it was nicely done.

Chapter 10- Heart of Dragon

New York City

The Chikara Dojo was quiet, its once serene atmosphere disturbed only by the sound of the front door creaking open. Danny Rand and Colleen Wing stumbled inside, their bodies bruised and tired, their clothes torn and bloodied from the long, gruelling night, with Danny supporting Colleen. First, it had been The Hand—relentless in their pursuit and goals—then Davos, striking out with his own desperate agenda. Each confrontation had left them more drained than the last.

Colleen shut the door behind them, leaning against it for a moment as she caught her breath. Danny dropped onto one of the training mats, wincing slightly as he sat down, the ache from his injuries making itself known. He glanced up as Claire Temple emerged from the back room, concern etched across her face.

"Jesus, you two look like you went through a meat grinder," Claire said, rushing over with a first-aid kit in hand. "Sit down, let me take a look at you."

Colleen managed a weary smile. "You should see the other guys."

Claire snorted softly, but her expression turned serious as she began to inspect their wounds. She worked quickly, dabbing antiseptic on a gash along Danny's arm while he winced. After a moment, she glanced at the two of them, a troubled look in her eyes. "There's something you need to know. About Joy Meachum."

Danny tensed, his gaze snapping to Claire's. "Joy? What about her?"

Claire hesitated, choosing her words carefully as she continued to bandage his arm. "She came here earlier tonight. She was... desperate. Said she needed the medallion. She tried to take it, but I managed to stop her before she could get away with it."

Danny's brow furrowed, a wave of shock and confusion crossing his face. "Joy tried to take the medallion? How did she even know about it? Why would she need it?"

Colleen, seated beside Danny, exchanged a glance with him, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "It doesn't make any sense. From what we know, Joy's never shown any interest in stuff like that before. And how would she even know where to find it?"

"Not sure", Danny sighed, before looking at Claire. "The Hand, they killed my parents."

"What?!" Claire asked in shock, sure she'd misheard. "I thought it was a plane crash."

"We met this woman, one of their heads, calls herself Madame Gao", Danny explained, shaking with anger, trying to keep calm. "Her operatives had poison on their blades. We turned the blades back on them without knowing, and the poison took them out." Danny closed his eyes, remembering the pilots again, before shaking his head as he opened his eyes. "The pilots of our plane looked just like that after it had crashed. They were poisoned, and she said it was them."

"But why?" Claire wondered.

"She said they did it as a favor to someone else", Danny confessed, before grabbing his head, and shaking it again with a groan. "All this time, I was after The Hand due to them being the enemy. And they still are, but I never thought there'd be another. What do I even do now?"

Claire shook her head, her expression softening as she glanced between the two of them. "I don't know. And I get that you're both worried, and Danny, I'm sorry about your parents, I really am, this should never have happened", her voice became slightly firm, "but right now, you're in no shape to go running after Joy, or this Gao, or trying to figure any of this out. Look at yourselves—you're battered, exhausted. If you tried to take on The Hand again in this state, you'd just be walking into a trap."

Danny opened his mouth to argue, but the ache in his muscles and the deep weariness in his bones told him that Claire was right. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, frustration gnawing at him. "But if Joy's mixed up in something—"

"Danny, she's right," Colleen interrupted gently, touching his shoulder, while wincing herself. "If we go out there now, we're just going to get ourselves hurt—or worse. We need to rest. Claire's got a point."

Claire gave a small nod, her gaze steady. "Take a night to recover, just one. I'll keep watch, make sure nothing happens here. You need to get some sleep, heal up, and then you can deal with whatever Joy's gotten herself into, and whoever it was that Gao owed a favor to. Okay?"

Danny sighed, leaning back against the wall. He knew they were right. He could feel his body screaming for rest, his mind barely able to focus after everything they'd been through. He turned to Colleen, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Okay. We'll rest. But just one night."

Claire offered him a small, reassuring smile, before cleaning up Colleen's wounds, including the one in her back. and bandaging her, Colleen wincing but letting her do it all, after which Claire walked back to her vigil by the entrance, leaving Danny and Colleen alone on the training mats.

Colleen shifted beside him, her expression softening as she looked at him. "I'm sorry about your parents, Danny."

Danny nodded in appreciation. "Thank you. I'm trying to keep calm, remembering all the lessons taught to me, but right now….its really hard."

Colleen could see why. "I get it, Danny. This wasn't something you were expecting to be thrown your way. All I can say is- I'm sorry." She wasn't sure for which reason she was saying it, but she knew she had a couple. "I'm here for you if you need me."

Danny smiled at her, and then looked away before Colleen said. "Thank you, Danny. For listening, I mean. And for... for trusting me."

Danny's eyes met hers, the lingering hurt and uncertainty from their recent conflicts still there, but tempered now by understanding. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his. "I meant what I said, Colleen. I know you thought you were doing what was right, and I get why you didn't tell me at first. I was angry, but... you've shown me that you're not with them anymore, when you jumped in the way to save. I think that you never really were with them, at least not the real Hand, because you never knew about them."

Colleen blinked, a small, relieved smile tugging at her lips. "I never wanted to hurt you, Danny. I thought... I thought you'd never forgive me."

Danny squeezed her hand, a warmth spreading through his chest. "I do forgive you, Colleen. I think... I think I already have."

Colleen's smile widened, and she leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you. For saving me. For being there when I needed you most."

Before Danny could respond, she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips softly to his. The kiss was gentle, tentative at first, but then it deepened, a shared breath between them as the weight of the world seemed to lift, just for a moment.

When they finally pulled back, they stayed close, foreheads touching, their hands still intertwined. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was a sense of peace between them—a small pocket of calm amidst the chaos.

Danny managed a tired smile, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. "We'll get through this, together. And we'll figure out what's going on with Joy, and whoever wanted my parents dead."

Colleen nodded, her eyes shining with a renewed determination. "Yeah. Together."

They settled back against the wall, their hands still linked as exhaustion finally took hold, allowing them a brief respite from the battles and mysteries that awaited them.

Iron Fist intro plays and is shown, displaying a shadowed figure doing martial arts with a dark-greenish background, and it ends with the title screen.

New York City, 15 years ago

The penthouse was bathed in the glow of the city lights, but the warmth of the view did little to ease the tension that gripped the room. Harold Meachum stood by the window, staring out into the darkness, a tumbler of whiskey clutched in his hand, though he barely touched it. His other hand shook slightly, the tremor a reminder of the diagnosis that hung over him like a specter. He tried to keep his breathing steady, but it came in uneven, ragged bursts, each one a reminder of the sickness slowly eating away at him.

Terminal. The word echoed in his mind, a death sentence he couldn't escape. The doctors had tried to soften the blow with their assurances of treatments, experimental therapies, but Harold had seen through the thin veil of hope they offered. He knew the truth—there was no getting better from this, no miracle cure that would save him. His body was betraying him, and all the money in the world couldn't buy back his time.

He took a shaky sip of the whiskey, trying to drown the rising panic, when a voice—cold, smooth, and unsettling—cut through the silence.

"You look like a man staring into the abyss, Mr. Meachum."

Harold spun around, nearly dropping his glass, his eyes widening at the sight of her standing in the shadows of the room—an old Chinese woman with a stick, Madame Gao. He hadn't heard her enter, hadn't even known she was coming, yet here she was, as if she'd emerged straight from the darkness that seemed to cling to her like a shroud.

His shock quickly gave way to annoyance, though it did little to mask the desperation in his voice. "How did you get in here?" he demanded, trying to steady his voice but failing. "What do you want? Who are you?"

Gao stepped closer, her face calm and composed, as if the fear radiating from him was nothing more than a mild curiosity. "It is not what I want or who I am, Mr. Meachum, but what you need," she replied smoothly, her gaze settling on him with a penetrating intensity. "I've heard about your... condition. You're dying, and the fear of it is consuming you."

Harold's hands tightened around the glass, his knuckles turning white. "You don't know what you're talking about," he snapped, though the quiver in his voice betrayed him. "You have no idea—"

"I know more than you realize," she interrupted, her voice unyielding. "And I also know that you would give anything to be free of this suffering, to regain the strength and power that illness has stolen from you."

Harold's mouth went dry, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to deny it, to dismiss her words as some twisted attempt at manipulation, but she saw the truth in his eyes before he could speak. She stepped closer, her expression almost pitying.

"There are ways, Mr. Meachum. Ways that can restore you to full health, make you stronger than you ever were before," she said, her tone smooth and inviting, like the whisper of temptation itself. "I can offer you that chance."

For a moment, Harold just stared at her, his mind reeling. How could any of this be true? He could be stronger than before?! What bull was even this? Some sort of scam to fool him completely?

"You're lying," he said, but the doubt had crept into his voice. "There's no way you can do that. No one can."

Gao smiled faintly, a secretive curve of her lips. "You misunderstand the nature of the world, Mr. Meachum. There are things beyond your comprehension, forces that can reshape life itself." Her voice grew softer, more insidious. "You have nothing left to lose, and I have the means to save you. What do you have to fear, except more suffering?"

Harold's breath hitched, his mind racing. He thought of his children—of Joy, who adored him, and Ward, who had always looked to him for guidance, which he gave in the way he always did. He thought of everything he had built, the empire that would crumble without him. The idea of leaving it all behind, of fading away into obscurity, filled him with a cold terror that cut through his pride.

His desperation overpowered his skepticism, and he took a step toward her, his expression haunted. "What... what do you want from me?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Nothing like this comes for free. And really, who are you?"

Gao's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it—only the promise of something dark and unyielding. "I am called Madame Gao. As for what I want- your service, Mr. Meachum. If I save you, you will belong to me and my associates, bound to fulfill our requests. Permanently."

Harold hesitated, but the fear of death clawed at his mind, the thought of withering away into nothingness more terrifying than the chains she offered. He nodded, a quick, desperate movement, his resolve crumbling. "Fine. I'll do it. Whatever you want, just... just make me better."

Gao's eyes glinted with satisfaction as she extended her hand, and he grasped it, sealing his fate. "Then our arrangement begins," she said, her tone smooth and final. "Prepare yourself, Mr. Meachum. You will be remade."

As she spoke, Harold felt a chill sweep through him, like the shadow of a cold wind that hinted at something far darker lurking just beyond his understanding. But he pushed the unease aside, clinging to the fragile hope that he might escape his fate—never realizing the deeper trap he had just walked into.

Present day, New York City

Harold sat across from Madame Gao in his penthouse, trying not to let the fear he felt from her presence even show on his face. The faint hum of the city outside the window was the only sound between them, creating a tension that felt like it could snap at any moment.

"The medallion is not with you, I see", Madame Gao spoke, her voice smooth and even. There was no anger, no overt threat, but Harold knew better than to be reassured by that. He had seen her like this many times in the fifteen years he'd known her—calm, composed, but deadly beneath the surface.

Harold cleared his throat, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "My apologies, Madame Gao," he said with a slight bow of his head, hoping to show respect, or at least submission. "I know it's taking longer than anticipated, but—"

"It has taken much longer than anticipated, Mr. Meachum," Gao interjected, her tone still perfectly neutral, but her eyes, dark and unwavering, cut through him like daggers. Harold could feel his pulse quicken as he averted his gaze, focusing on the ornate teapot she had brought with her—a courtesy she often extended, though he suspected it was meant more as a reminder of the strings she held over him.

"I just need more time," Harold continued, desperation seeping into his voice despite his efforts to keep it steady. "Danny is still not under my thumb, and my son, he—"

"Better pay back your debts fast, Mr. Meachum," Gao said, her voice cutting through his rambling. She leaned forward, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips, but it carried no warmth. "Or I will have to consider alternative methods."

Harold's heart skipped a beat, his mouth going dry. He swallowed, trying to keep his composure. He knew what her 'alternative methods' meant—how many times had he heard the consequences of those who had failed her? People who vanished without a trace, businesses that suddenly crumbled. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, running a hand through his hair.

"I…..I promise you, I will get it", Harold said desperately while shaking, knowing he needed to get out from underneath The Hand's influence somehow, or they'd kill him for his failure. "Otherwise, my head is yours to take."

"It already is", Madame Gao shrugged while taking a sip, Harold shivering as she stood up.

"As I said, pay up your debts fast, Mr. Meachum", Madame Gao told him. "This profitable venture has been going on for years now. You live, we deal in heroin and other things using your company as a front, your son covers it all up. And sometimes, we do you favors, or you do us favors. We've done you two, you better return the courtesy."

With that, she walked off, seemingly disappearing into the shadows, while Harold released a breath he did not know he'd been holding.

He looked at Kyle, who was staring.

"Get back to work!"

"Yes sir."

The city buzzed outside the high-rise windows of Ward's apartment, but the noise felt distant, muffled by the suffocating thoughts racing through his mind. Ward sat slumped on his couch, his shirt rumpled, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. The apartment was dimly lit, a few lamps casting shadows that seemed to twist and stretch across the walls.

On the coffee table in front of him sat the photograph he'd pulled out of an old file—one of his family with the Rands, smiling on some sunny day years ago. Well, he and Danny were pretending to cordial, but still. He'd found it in a drawer after Joy's frantic call earlier that day, hoping it might offer some clue, some explanation that would make this nightmare make sense. But now it just stared back at him, a haunting reminder of what had been lost.

Ward downed another swig from the bottle, the alcohol burning down his throat. His mind kept replaying Joy's words: "I found the wreckage of the Rands' plane. The one that... that crashed. It's all here. It's been here for years." Each time, it stabbed at his thoughts, twisting his stomach with a sick, growing realization.

He staggered up from the couch, pacing the length of the living room, the bottle dangling from his fingers. He pressed his free hand to his forehead, trying to force some clarity into his thoughts. His father's voice echoed in his head, the manipulative reassurances, the half-truths, the constant insistence that everything he did was for the family, and how Ward needed to help him. But now those words rang hollow, unraveling against the weight of what he had just learned.

"Why would he...?" Ward muttered to himself, the words breaking into the silence. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that might push the thoughts away, but the pieces kept assembling themselves into a picture he couldn't ignore.

The timing. The sudden complete control Harold had gained over Rand Enterprises after the crash, then coming back from the dead. The way his father had spoken of the Rands, dismissively, almost with disdain, and even wanted to first off Danny, then control him. And now, the revelation that the wreckage of the plane had been kept hidden away in a Rand warehouse for years—right under their noses.

A chill ran through Ward, his breathing growing faster, more ragged. He stumbled back against the wall, staring blankly at the ceiling as the truth clawed its way out of the shadows. He did it. His father, the man who had dominated every aspect of his life, had been behind the Rands' deaths. All to secure power, to build his empire—an empire Ward had helped run and maintain, unknowingly.

His hand shook as he brought the whiskey bottle to his lips again, but he couldn't take another drink. Instead, he hurled the bottle across the room, sending it shattering against the wall. The amber liquid splattered across the floor, mingling with the shards of glass, but Ward barely noticed. His chest heaved, each breath like a knife in his lungs.

"I can't... I can't let this go," he rasped, his voice rough and strained. He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to steady himself, to stop the spiral that threatened to pull him under completely. But there was no stopping it now—not until he confronted the truth, until he faced the man who had destroyed everything.

Ward turned back toward the photograph on the table, staring at the Rands' smiling faces, and his own younger self and Joy's younger self with smiling faces, one last time, as if seeking their forgiveness. The Rands for what had happened, himself for what he'd become, and Joy because she was unknowingly wrapped up in this and didn't even realize it.

Then he grabbed his coat from where he'd thrown it earlier, tugging it on with unsteady hands. He strode to the door, each step driven by a dark, growing resolve.

As he wrenched open the door, the chill night air hit him like a slap, but he welcomed it. It cleared his head, even if just a little. His mind focused on one thing now—Harold. He needed answers, and he would get them, no matter how painful they were.

With one last look at the wreckage of his apartment, Ward stepped out into the hallway, heading for the elevator. The confrontation that lay ahead was inevitable, and for the first time in years, he felt something like clarity. It was time for the truth.

New York City, 15 years ago

The penthouse was a mess of discarded papers, overturned chairs, and shattered glass—a reflection of the turmoil roiling inside Harold Meachum. He paced back and forth, his breath coming in shallow, frantic bursts, his mind spinning with the new information that had upended everything. His face, gaunt from illness but still determined, was slick with sweat.

His hands trembled as he reached for the laptop on his desk, re-reading the words he already knew by heart in the email. The email was from the Rands, who were overseas—an urgent warning that Wendell Rand, along with his wife Heather, had uncovered irregularities in their business dealings in China. They had booked a flight and were on their way to investigate further with their son, Danny, to dig into the hidden dealings Harold had tried so desperately to keep buried, having informed Harold because they wanted him to be in the know, not realizing that he was the one who'd done these dealings in the first place and was trying to cover them up.

Harold's vision blurred with panic. If Wendell found out and then exposed the truth, it would all come crashing down—his partnerships with them, the secret projects that funneled money and power into the shadows, the ties that kept him bound to the darkness. He could lose everything. He would lose everything.

Desperate, he snatched up the phone with shaking hands, his fingers fumbling over the numbers as he dialed a contact he had hoped never to call again from his end at least, as the less she was around him personally, the better. His voice was a hoarse rasp when he spoke.

"Madame Gao. I need to see you, please. Now."

Later

Madame Gao arrived silently, her expression inscrutable as she stepped into the penthouse and surveyed the chaos with a slight raise of her brow. Harold stood in the center of the room, his face pale, his clothes rumpled. He was breathing hard, barely holding himself together. He met her gaze with a desperation that made her pause.

"You called me in a state, Mr. Meachum," Gao said calmly, her left hand folded neatly before her. "What is it that has you so... distressed?"

Harold thrust the laptop towards her, his hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped it, before showing her the email. "The Rands. They know about our business. Wendell's coming to China to investigate. He'll find everything. He'll expose it all." His voice cracked with barely suppressed hysteria. "They're getting on a plane tonight."

Gao's expression remained unreadable as she skimmed the letter, her eyes narrowing only slightly. She looked up at Harold, her voice as smooth as ever. "You overestimate the damage he can do, Mr. Meachum. The Hand has dealt with far more serious threats than a curious businessman."

Harold shook his head violently, stepping closer to her, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper. "You don't understand. Wendell isn't just some businessman. He's... he's a friend, but he's relentless. And he's got resources. He won't stop until he finds out the truth, and if he does, it'll be the end for me, and you'll lose this... this venture." He gestured wildly to the penthouse around them, as if it represented the empire he feared crumbling. "You'll lose me."

Gao studied him for a long moment, her expression unwavering, and then she let out a soft, dismissive sigh. "What is it you are asking of me, Harold?"

Harold swallowed hard, as if the words themselves were poison. He glanced around, as though expecting the shadows to be listening, before he forced himself to speak. "I need them... I need the plane to... to never make it to China. I need you to do something."

Gao's expression turned cold, her mouth tightening into a thin line. "You want me to arrange the deaths of your friend and his family?" she asked, her voice edged with disapproval. "The Rands' disappearance will draw attention, unwanted attention. And The Hand does not like loose ends."

Harold's desperation only grew as he reached out, gripping her sleeve with a trembling hand, his eyes wild. "Please, Gao. I'm begging you. Just... poison the pilots, make it look like an accident. If Wendell finds out what I've been doing with you and your people, it'll ruin everything we've built. You'll lose a profitable partner, I'll lose everything, and he'll ruin us both."

Gao looked down at his hand on her arm, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features. But there was a faint hint of satisfaction behind her stern gaze—she knew she had Harold exactly where she wanted him. She slowly, deliberately extricated herself from his grip and took a step back.

"Very well, Mr. Meachum," she said, her voice cool and detached. "But understand this: such actions carry a heavy price. You are already in our debt, and this will only deepen your obligations. There will be no turning back."

Harold's face crumpled with relief, his knees nearly giving out as he sagged against the desk. "Yes... yes, whatever it takes. Just make sure they never reach China. Make sure they never find out."

Gao inclined her head, her expression giving nothing away as she turned to leave, her footsteps soundless on the polished floor. "Consider it done," she said without looking back. "But do not forget, Mr. Meachum, that you asked for this."

As she disappeared into the shadows, Harold was left alone in the wreckage of his office, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a vice. He had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed, sealing his fate and the Rands' in one desperate, irreversible act.

But all he could focus on was the desperate hope that it might be enough to save him.

New York City, present day

The penthouse was eerily quiet, the city lights flickering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the luxurious space. Harold Meachum sat alone in his armchair, gazing out at the skyline, deep in thought. He swirled a glass of whiskey in his hand, the amber liquid catching the light as it swished, the only sound being Kyle typing on the computer.

The quiet was abruptly shattered by the sound of the elevator doors opening. Harold turned in his chair just as Ward Meachum stormed in, his footsteps heavy, his face pale and drawn. The scent of alcohol clung to him, though this time it was mingled with a dark urgency.

Harold frowned, setting down his glass, then looked at Kyle. "Get out."

"Yes sir." Kyle immediately walked off, past Ward.

Then Harold turned his attention to Ward. "Ward? What are you doing here at this hour?"

Ward ignored the question, his eyes darting around the room before locking onto his father. His jaw clenched, and he took a few quick steps closer, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I need you to tell me something, Dad. And I need you to tell me the truth."

Harold raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement curving his lips as he leaned back. "That sounds serious. What's on your mind, son?"

Ward let out a bitter laugh, his voice strained with barely contained anger. "Joy found something in one of our warehouses. She called me about it. Pieces of the plane crash—the Rands' plane crash."

The smirk faded from Harold's face, replaced by a wary stillness. "And?"

Ward's breathing quickened, his expression twisted with rage and disbelief. "And? You knew! You knew they were there all this time. But it's not just that, is it?" He stepped closer, his voice rising. "Did you do it, Dad? Did you cause that crash?"

Harold's expression darkened, the amusement gone, replaced by a glimmer of something colder. He took a deep breath, studying Ward's face as if weighing his options. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and spoke softly, almost casually.

"Yes, Ward. I did."

The admission hung in the air like a clap of thunder. Ward staggered back a step, as if the words had struck him physically. His mind reeled, and he felt the ground shift beneath his feet. He had suspected it, but to hear his father say it out loud—so calmly, so shamelessly—sent a wave of nausea crashing through him.

"You... you killed them," Ward whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. He gripped the back of a nearby chair for support, his knuckles turning white. "You caused the crash. You killed Danny's parents, your own friends, just to take control of the company?"

Harold's eyes glinted in the low light, and he let out a long, slow sigh, as if this conversation was nothing more than an inconvenience. "It wasn't that simple, Ward. There were... complications, opportunities that presented themselves, and those people controlling me. And, yes, I made a decision. One that was necessary for our family's future."

Ward's lip curled in disgust, the reality crashing over him. All this time, he'd believed that whatever darkness had taken root in his father came after The Hand brought him back to life. But now he realized that the rot went deeper—Harold had been a monster long before they'd ever intervened.

He thought back to various conversations, various moments, long before The Hand had been part of their lives.

"Necessary?" Ward's voice cracked, and he felt a surge of emotion rising in his chest—anger, grief, even a twisted kind of pity. "You murdered two people. You destroyed Danny's life. And for what, Dad? For more money? For control? Do you even hear yourself?"

Harold's expression hardened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He pushed himself up from the chair, taking a step closer to his son. "Don't be naive, Ward. You've benefited from that decision as much as I have. The company, the wealth, the power—it's all ours because of what I did."

Ward shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You think I care about that now? You think I can look at any of it the same way, knowing what you did? And really? Its ours? We're just errand boys for these people who have you here!" He took a step back, running a hand through his hair, his thoughts racing. "I thought maybe all of this, dying and coming back, that made you worse. That those people twisted you into this... thing. But this... this is all you, isn't it? You were already like this."

Harold's eyes narrowed, and he tried to regain control of the conversation, his tone softening in a way that felt rehearsed. "Listen, Ward, I know this is a lot to take in, but there's still a way to make things right. I need your help. There's a relic, a medallion, in Colleen Wing's dojo. If you could just get it for me, I might be able to finally free myself from—"

Ward cut him off, his anger flaring again. "No, I'm done. I'm done being your pawn, your lackey, your fixer. All you ever do is lie and manipulate. You don't care about me, or Joy, or anyone but yourself."

Harold's expression twisted with frustration, but before he could say another word, Ward turned on his heel and marched toward the door. His footsteps echoed through the penthouse, his shoulders tense with rage and pain. He stopped at the doorway, turning back for one last, searing look at his father.

"You're on your own, Dad. If you want that medallion, you can find some other sucker to do your dirty work."

With that, Ward slammed the door behind him, the sound reverberating through the penthouse. Harold stood alone, the icy façade slipping away as a shadow crossed his face. He clenched his jaw, staring at the closed door, his mind already calculating his next move.

New York city, 15 years ago

Harold Meachum sat in his darkened penthouse, slumped on the edge of his bed, staring vacantly at the floor. The room was eerily silent, but inside his head, a whirlwind of thoughts and anxieties raged on. He had barely slept since last night when he had asked Gao for her help. The weight of what he had set in motion was a constant ache in his chest. He clasped his hands together, clenching them tightly, as if trying to hold himself together. He knew the time was near for news—one way or the other.

Then, a faint knock echoed through the stillness, and Harold's head snapped up, his breath catching in his throat. He pushed himself up with effort and crossed the room to open the door, his heart hammering in his chest. When he pulled it open, Madame Gao stood on the threshold, her face unreadable as always.

"May I come in, Mr. Meachum?" she asked, her voice smooth and measured.

Harold nodded shakily, stepping aside as she entered. He shut the door behind her, the sound of the latch clicking shut seeming far louder in the silence. He turned to face her, barely able to keep the tremor out of his voice. "Is it... is it done? The Rands, are they...?"

Gao's expression didn't change as she inclined her head slightly. "The plane went down over the mountains," she said, her tone almost clinical. "There were no survivors."

Harold's knees buckled, and he stumbled back, catching himself on the edge of a table. His face went pale, and his breathing turned shallow. The reality of what he'd done—what he'd asked her to do—finally hit him with full force. He tried to speak, but no words came.

Gao watched him impassively, waiting as he gathered himself, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Finally, she took a step closer, her gaze piercing. "Now, you must do something for me, Harold. The wreckage of the Rands' plane—gather it and store it in one of your warehouses. Keep it hidden."

Harold's head snapped up, his face drawn with confusion. "What? Why would you want me to keep the wreckage? Why not just let it disappear with everything else?"

Gao's expression hardened, her voice turning cold as steel. "We do not want anyone stumbling upon the remains and making their own conclusions about what happened. Nor do we want any evidence that might point back to us. Keeping the wreckage hidden means keeping our secrets safe. And..." She leaned in slightly, her tone taking on a darker edge. "It will serve as a reminder to you, Mr. Meachum, of the consequences of disobedience. A reminder that you are ours, now and always."

Harold swallowed hard, his throat dry, and nodded. He understood the unspoken threat. The plane's remains would be a constant, lurking presence, a physical symbol of the bargain he had struck with The Hand. He tried to steady himself, to keep his voice from shaking. "I... I'll do it. I'll have it moved to one of the storage facilities, just like you said."

Gao gave him a faint, almost mocking smile, as if she could see the fear and realization etched across his face. "Good. See that you do, Mr. Meachum." She turned and made her way to the door, her footsteps eerily silent. But before she left, she paused, glancing back at him. "And remember—there is no turning back. This is the path you chose."

She disappeared into the shadows, leaving Harold alone in the cold, dimly lit room. He sank into a nearby chair, his hands clenching the armrests until his knuckles turned white. His mind was awash with conflicting emotions—fear, desperation, anger—but above all, he felt a crushing sense of dread.

In that moment, he realized that the deal, the crash, the deaths, and everything that came with it would tie him forever. But he also knew that there was no other choice for him now. He was bound to Gao and her shadowy organization, and he had just buried any hope of getting out from their service beneath the twisted wreckage of the Rand family's fate.

Present Day, New York City

Madame Gao now sat across from Bakuto, the latter asking. "Do you truly believe Meachum will be able to reclaim the medallion for us?"

"He has ample motivation", Gao said with a thinly veiled smirk, both she and Bakuto knowing just what kind of motivation she was talking about. "He knows what will happen if he fails. He is also aware that we are the ones who know how to accomplish it, because we brought him back."

They looked ahead at the map, still showing the areas in the city under their influence, though quite a few of those places had been raided by the Iron Fist, and their hold over there had weakened.

However, as long as the portal opened, and they marched into K'un-Lun, it did not matter. The power of K'un-Lun will belong to them, and then they would use it to take over and change the entire world for the better.

Power was what caused change, and they would be that power.

Gao then looked at Bakuto. "What about that traitorous student-"

"Former student."

"-of yours?" Gao finished asking, ignoring Bakuto's interruption. "I am surprised to see she still lives. She dishonored you by siding with our enemy, and you showed her mercy?"

"I did no such thing!" Bakuto denied. "I did not believe she could be any kind of threat to me. There is no student of Bakuto who has the competence to defeat Bakuto."

Gao chuckled. "Clearly, that claim is not true."

"It is", Bakuto insisted. "For she did not defeat me, I merely underestimated her skills. I would have killed her had the Iron Fist not interfered. Next time we meet, she will be put to death for dishonoring her sensei in such a grave manner."

"Good", Gao said with a smirk, before looking at the area where the apartment was, where the portal was still opening as they spoke. "However, the Iron Fist and the traitor, they are not our priorities anymore unless they attack us again. Preparing our army to travel through that portal is our priority."

"I was working on it, until those two so rudely interrupted me", Bakuto snarled in anger. "However, I shall get back to it. And I believe you shall too."

Gao nodded, adding. "They will not see us coming, especially since they never realized one of their own followed us and our teachings."

"He has made our plan so much easier, and its timespan much shorter, by telling us the Iron Fist has left K'un-Lun, and has come right into this city", Bakuto agreed, thinking of him with a smirk. "I admit, when he first approached us and told us he'd travelled out of K'un-Lun at the same time as the Iron Fist, to seek us out, I was skeptical. It seemed too good to be true." He chuckled. "However, his information helped us out greatly."

"Indeed, even the Iron Fist does not realize how badly he has been played. By the time he does, there will be no stopping him, or us", Madame Gao told Bakuto in reply. "And then, we will take the power that is rightfully ours, and use it to better the world, something those cowards will never do as they hide in that city and claim to be better than us!"

The penthouse was dimly lit, a soft glow casting shadows along the edges of the modern furniture. Harold Meachum stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the cityscape that sprawled beneath him. His reflection in the glass was sharp, mirroring the cold, calculating expression on his face.

Behind him, the sound of the elevator doors sliding open broke the silence, and Joy Meachum stepped into the room. Her face was drawn, shadows under her eyes betraying her exhaustion and frustration. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage before speaking.

"Dad," she began, her voice tinged with regret. "I... I'm sorry. I tried to get the medallion, but I couldn't. Danny's friend...Claire, she stopped me." She crossed her arms, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I failed."

Harold turned slowly, his expression softening as he faced her, a pained look coming over his face—though behind his eyes, calculations churned. He took a few steps closer, his voice gentle, but with an underlying edge. "Joy, it's not your fault. You did your best. But Danny... if his friend got in your way, then he must have known what you were after. It means he's chosen his side."

Joy looked up, confusion flashing across her face. "What do you mean? Danny doesn't know about any of this—about you, or what you need the medallion for."

Harold's expression grew more pained, as if the weight of what he was about to say hurt him deeply. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath. "Joy... there's more you don't know. Danny is an enemy of the organization that controls me—the ones forcing me to live like this, hidden from the world, faking my own death. And now, he's turned his back on us."

Joy's eyes widened, the shock hitting her like a physical blow. "Danny's their enemy? But... that doesn't make sense. Why wouldn't he help us if he's fighting them too?"

Harold's face twisted into a mask of sorrow, his voice breaking just enough to sound genuine. "I've asked myself that many times, Joy. Maybe it's because he sees me as part of them, because I was forced to do things... terrible things, things I never wanted to do." He took a step closer, reaching out as if to steady himself on her shoulder. "But he's never understood that I had no choice, that I was trying to protect you and Ward."

Joy shook her head, trying to process his words, her confusion deepening. "Wait…wait, he knows? But he... he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't just turn against us like that."

Harold tightened his grip on her shoulder, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Wouldn't he? Think about it, Joy. From what the organization have told me, he's been living in that dojo, hiding things from you, from all of us. And now, when you finally try to do something for me, his friend stops you. Doesn't that tell you where his loyalties lie?"

She stared back at him, doubt creeping into her mind, fueled by the uncertainty she had been feeling ever since she discovered the wreckage of the Rands' plane. The image of Danny she had held onto—a friend, someone who had always been trustworthy—began to fray at the edges. "But... maybe he just doesn't understand."

Harold's expression softened further, though there was a glint in his eyes—an almost triumphant gleam. He sighed, lowering his gaze, as if pained to even speak the next words. "And what about Ward? Your brother turned his back on me too. I asked him to help get the medallion, to take a chance and do what needed to be done... but he refused, just like Danny. Left me to fend for myself."

Joy's jaw tightened, a surge of anger and hurt bubbling up inside her. She had always looked up to Ward, trusted him to do what was right, even when he faltered. But the thought that he had lied to her and kept such a huge secret, and now had abandoned their father in his time of need, just like Danny seemed to be doing... it stung. "Ward wouldn't just refuse to help you. Maybe he—"

Harold cut her off, his voice rising with a note of desperation, carefully calculated. "Maybe he what, Joy? Maybe he doesn't care about me anymore? Maybe he's too afraid to do what it takes to protect this family?" He let the silence stretch for a moment, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he stared at her, making sure the weight of his words settled in. "You're the only one left who hasn't turned against me. The only one who can make things right."

Joy felt her resolve wavering, the lines between right and wrong blurring under the onslaught of emotions. She had been so sure of what she was doing—so sure that Danny and Ward had her back. But now, doubt gnawed at her. Her father's voice, his anguish, sounded so sincere, so real. She bit her lip, trying to steady herself, but the uncertainty was like a vice around her chest, squeezing tighter and tighter.

"I... I'll figure it out, Dad," she said finally, her voice small, wavering. "I'll find a way to make this right. For all of us."

Harold's expression shifted subtly, the faintest hint of satisfaction flickering behind his eyes. He reached out, pulling her into a tight embrace, his voice gentle as he spoke close to her ear. "I know you will, Joy. You've always been the strong one. I believe in you."

Joy closed her eyes, trying to ignore the unease that twisted in her stomach. She clung to her father's embrace, telling herself that she was doing the right thing—that she was protecting her family. But as she stood there, held in Harold's arms, the seeds of doubt that he had planted began to take root.

Next day, Chikara Dojo

Danny and Colleen were finally up, still recovering from their injuries, but sharing smiles every now and then, happy to have made up…..and more.

As they pulled out their chairs to get started with breakfast, Claire noticed how they were looking at each other, and folded her arms.

"Anything happen that I wasn't present for?"

Danny and Colleen realized what they'd been doing, and broke out of it.

"No, don't think so!"

"Definitely not!"

"Right…" Claire trailed off in a tone that made it clear she was not buying a bit of it. As they sat down, suddenly, the door burst open, causing all three to stand up, Danny and Colleen taking fighting stances, expecting The Hand, having come here to eliminate them or take the medallion, or both, which was the most likely scenario.

Only, it was Ward Meachum, glaring at Danny, and completely ignoring the other two.

Claire wondered if he was here for the medallion too for the same reasons as Joy. Unlike her, he was definitely going about it in a more aggressive way.

"Ward…." Danny trailed off, not having expected him. "What are you doing here?!"

Ward took out the flask he used to drink, and in front of them, angrily threw it to the ground, shattering it, as they backed off to avoid any glass.

"Get out!" Colleen said immediately, angered at him for having done this in a dojo of all things, that too her own.

"Its all YOUR FAULT!" Ward screamed as he pointed at Danny, rushing him and grabbing him by the collar. Colleen was about to grab him and throw him off but Danny shook his head while looking at her, so Colleen reluctantly backed down.

"Its ALWAYS ABOUT YOU!" Ward continued to scream while he shook Danny, keeping the hold on his collar, as Colleen and Claire just watched. "You're the younger kid! So you must be loved, protected from the horrors, coddled about EVERYTHING!"

Danny did not say a word, while Ward's grip around his collar tightened. "Then YOU HAD TO GO AND DIE, AND EVERYONE TALKED ABOUT YOU BECAUSE OF GODDAMN SYMPATHY!" He shook himself and Danny both. "'Oh that poor little kid, dying in a plane crash with his parents!'" Ward looked completely unhinged, like a rabid dog who'd bite any moment.

Danny looked into Ward's eyes.

"But no, you didn't die! You lived in a monastery! And then…..you had to COME BACK, AND RUIN IT ALL!" Ward pushed Danny off, continuing to glare at him. "It was about you then, its about you NOW! 'Danny Rand is back'. 'Danny Rand has returned'. 'Danny Rand is a survivor'." Ward grabbed his head, then pointed at Danny. "YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO MAKE IT ABOUT YOURSELF!" He continued to scream. "EVER SINCE YOU'RE BACK, ITS ONE MESS AFTER THE OTHER! CAN'T YOU JUST STOP?!"

He threw a lousy punch, and Danny easily deflected it as Ward just fell to the ground. Screaming, Ward stood up and threw more punches, Danny easily dodging or blocking.

With a loud roar, Ward threw another one, but Danny side-stepped, and Ward fell down to the ground, before rolling over.

Danny looked closely in his eyes, seeing the feral look being replaced by something else.

Something….vulnerable!

A brokenness.

One that he had back in his first few months in K'un-Lun before Lei Kung had broken through the walls.

"I'm sorry, Ward, for what has happened", Danny said gently, then, to the shock of Colleen, Claire, and especially Ward himself, held out his hand. "Whatever is happening, it is clearly getting to you, with all the drinking and the irritation." He switched to Mandarin, mostly to reaffirm something he'd heard to himself, because that was what he wanted for Ward. "Gold is easy to get, a close friend is harder to find." Ward did not understand, tried to find any deception or resentment in Danny's eyes.

He saw only kindness.

"But, it won't get to you if you don't let it", Danny assured Ward, then smiled. "I am here to help you, as your friend….brother."

Ward's lip started quivering, as he looked at Danny's hand, then his smile, then his eyes.

"You….." Ward tried to speak but no words came out. "You…"

"Brother."

Tears were rolling down Ward's cheeks, as he continued to look at Danny's hand.

"Brother."

Ward shakily held up one hand, and slowly, hesitantly, it moved forwards…towards Danny's.

And then, Ward grasped Danny's hand with his own, before grasping both his hands on Danny's, while he lowered his head, touching it to Danny's hand.

"I'm sorry…." Ward started sobbing, as Colleen and Claire watched in utter surprise, seeing the dam break. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry….sorry…"

Danny just looked at Ward in sympathy, the only sound in the dojo being Ward's sobs and his 'sorry'.

Madame Gao and Bakuto stood in their headquarters, turning around as they sensed a figure in the shadows, and from this angle, only the shape of his body could be made out, nothing else.

"The portal is opening faster than we anticipated", Madame Gao noted to the figure, who seemed to nod. "The Dragon chi wielded by the Iron Fist truly is the most formidable of all, even if the Iron Fist himself isn't."

The figure just chuckled. "He is quite gullible. Of course, it was easy to bring him here after he lost his friend. It was very easy to see just how much his friend wanted the Iron Fist, and how he would snap if he did not get it. Once that happened, bringing the Iron Fist here was only a matter of time."

He shrugged. "Lei Kung made my work easier for me without even meaning to, since he put the idea into his son that being the Iron Fist was his destiny. Once he realized the damage this was causing, it was too late. And now, because of that, here we are."

"Now, it is time for our return to K'un-Lun!" Bakuto declared. "Once we take the city, and its power, not even the Iron Fist will be able to stop us from bettering this world."

"He lacks the will to do what needs to be done, he lacks the strength", the figure said. "He is just an ancient relic, an armor or a weapon, depending upon how he is used. Like the rest of them, he will fall, and the power shall be used in the way it must be."

The figure looked at both Madame Gao and Bakuto.

"K'un-Lun will be taken over and made accessible, the Iron Fist's power will be mine, and he…..will be dead."

Ending credits play.

First 'episode' with no fight scene at all, but again, after all the action and steam in 'Episodes' 8 and 9, a breather was needed once more.

Danny and Colleen have fully reconciled and shared their first kiss. While I wasn't against their relationship in the show, it did feel rushed.

Hope I did a better job at building up to it.

We also see flashbacks of Harold ending up as Gao's servant. And any remorse he has is over the fact that he is now bound by The Hand, nothing about all the evil he has done, including the deaths of the Rands.

His manipulation of Joy has also gotten worse.

But Ward….Ward has finally started getting better, after that lashing out at the end. Man, even I'd to take a break while writing it.

Colleen and Ward were my favorite characters in the actual first Season, and the only ones with any arcs, plus Jessica Henwick and Tom Pelphrey really gave it their all, so I hope I'm doing their arcs justice here, as they're the only ones where the basics of their arcs remain unchanged, only the events get changed due to the changed context of my version of the show.

And The Hand has a secret ally, someone from K'un-Lun itself, huh? Now who can this be? Well, we'll find out soon.

But this explains why The Hand knew that the Iron Fist was in New York back in 'Episode' 1, as I planned this twist in advance.

Hope all enjoyed and see you all next time with another chapter.