Chapter Text
Chapter Twelve:
There was nothing viler to the people of K’un-Lun than the Hand.
The Hand had defiled the sacred notions of K’un-Lun and they had sought to disobey the natural order of the world. They desired a taste of power that far succeeded anything righteous in the world. Nothing about the Hand was, in any capacity, forgivable. Their actions, desires and views of the world opposed everything K’un-Lun stood for.
“And that is why,” spoke the Thunderer, glaring down upon Danny and Davos in a classroom which resembled nothing like what Danny had experienced back in America, “the Hand must always be considered the enemy.” Danny and Davos nodded their heads, their eyes capturing Lei Kung, fixed on him under the glimmering ray of sun that gleamed from the heavens of K’un-Lun.
“And so,” Danny broke in nervously, “the role of the Iron Fist is to defeat them?”
Lei Kung stared upon Danny with disgust and disapproval. A shame brimming in his eyes, as he answered, “No. The role of the Iron Fist is to protect K’un-Lun from the Hand.”
Davos turned and, in the silence that Lei Kung briefly provided, he continued his father’s words. “The Iron Fist is the enemy of the Hand.”
“Correct.” Lei Kung offered something close to a smile to Davos, but not quite. His eyes stared upon Davos with some sense of approval, but still it was clouded in his eyes. “The Hand has sought power for millennia and they have achieved much of it. But the Iron Fist is something they cannot match. It is therefore the duty of the Iron Fist to guard the gates of K’un-Lun, to prevent the Hand from ever reaching here.”
“But if it’s been so long,” Danny started again, nervously glancing to Davos as his voice broke through the brief pause of silence, “How can we know for certain the Hand still have the same goals? What if they just want to return home? If they’ve abandoned their search for power?”
“Regardless of where they are, Danny,” Lei Kung began, his eyes now glaring down upon him, “they are an enemy. Regardless of their changes, they are an enemy. The Hand have never shown change and they never will.”
“The Hand can only be the enemy?” asked Danny, watching as Lei Kung smirked at his naivety. “Never an ally?”
“The Hand only mean us harm. Anybody affiliated with the Hand, only mean us harm. Do you understand?” Danny hesitated to answer. “A snake that sheds its skin remains a snake. Naming the shedded snake a ‘serpent’ changes nothing but a fool’s naivety.” He shook his head, gesturing to the pair. “Look to one another – you are the only people in the world you can truly trust.”
Danny and Davos glanced to one another, their eyes fixing on the others. Built in that moment was something beyond a brotherly bond, but a bond between two people that could never be broken. A formed trust.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, Thunderer,” they both answered, bowing their heads back in his direction.
***
Bakuto’s warm smile greeted Davos, whose scowling narrowed eyes glared upon him. It was clear that the pleasantries extended to Davos were not returned, that rooted in his mind was a burning furious prejudice. He stood at the gate of the compound rugged and angry, his clothes deriving from his heritage in K’un-Lun, resembling nothing more than escaped monk.
Danny frowned, his face glancing between the two nervously. It was clear that their first impressions would set a precedent of Danny’s time at the compound with his brother at his side. But he knew, he needed to make it work regardless.
“This is Davos,” Danny introduced, feigning a smile as he glanced between the pair. “He’s from K’un-Lun…” As the words fell from Danny’s lip at Davos’ side, a feeling of guilt, as it felt as though he had betrayed his city in that moment. Colleen, who stood at Bakuto’s side, recognised the name and stared at Danny expecting an answer to a question she hadn’t uttered. “He’s come to New York to restore my place back in K’un-Lun.”
Bakuto’s face twinged with a smile, as a thought surged through his mind. Davos narrowed his eyes at this once again, whilst Danny hadn’t even noticed.
“Wait, you’re going?” Colleen leapt in with the question, her entire body convulsing forward and seizing Danny’s hand. Davos’ head cocked aside immediately, glaring at the contact of their hands with a clear disgusted disdain.
“Only once we’ve defeated the Hand.” Danny took Colleen’s hand and gifted her a comforting smile, their eyes interlocked with intimate affection. Everything around them, for that single moment, began to phase out of their attention. Davos and Bakuto and the Compound fizzled away, as they realised the time that they had together was on a path to its end.
Davos cleared his throat, his eyes trying to rip away from the intertwining hands. “But the gates to K’un-Lun aren’t open for too long, so we need to be quick. If this gets Danny back to K’un-Lun, then sobeit.”
Stepping forward, Bakuto offered a gentle bow. His face retained the warm smile, even if he knew it wasn’t received as intended at all. It was a sincere act, devoid of ego or intention, with the only desire to offer Davos the respect Bakuto believed he was due.
“It is an honour to meet another son of K’un-Lun,” said Bakuto, holding out his hand with the intention of a handshake.
Davos refused to return the bow, and simply glared at the offer for a handshake disapprovingly. He treated the hand stretched out to him as though it was foul and vile, and teetering in his mind were a dozen possibilities of how to treat the rage that coursed through him.
“You are not a son of K’un-Lun,” Davos remarked, shaking his head as his met with Bakuto’s again. “You’re nothing more than an enemy of K’un-Lun. Danny thinks you’ve changed, but my father taught me that the Hand wear many masks.”
Bakuto simply smiled, but refused to bark back. Colleen shifted nervously, before jumping in to remark, “Bakuto isn’t part of the Hand anymore. This place has gotten rid of the bad elements of the Hand by people like Gao.”
Davos’ eyes now shot to her, and he shared the same disdain for her as he had for Bakuto. “People don’t leave the Hand.” He glanced back to Danny, assessing him as to ascertain his stance.
Bakuto remained incredibly still, unfettered entirely by what was unfolding before him. He seemed so unphased that his face still held onto the polite warm smile. There wasn’t a cracking in his eyes or a fade of the smile, and yet whilst Danny was impressed, Davos felt nothing but a nagging suspicion.
“How about we take this somewhere more private,” suggested Bakuto, gesturing inside the compound. Behind him, a natural buzz in the air lingered – some sounds were people training, whilst others were simple conversations. Looking past Bakuto, Danny spotted young men kicking around a soccer ball, whilst another group of young people sauntered by laughing. Something in Danny stirred, although he wasn’t sure whether it was some form of discomfort or envy.
“Predators do prefer encloses spaces,” remarked Davos, still glaring.
“Soldiers with no aim prefer open ground.”
*
Davos had considered Bakuto’s pitch convincing enough to someone desperate and naïve enough. It posited the Compound as a healthy striving alternative for the Hand’s corruption. Bakuto spent his time praising the work of his people, who would train and continue their work elsewhere. Doctors, lawyers, researchers, teachers…
Although not convinced, and certain that he had found himself trapped in the dark insidious web of the Hand, Davos decided to downplay his suspicions. Despite the seething rage that flowed through him like an uncontrollable desire, wanting nothing more than to rid Bakuto from the face of the planet for his treachery as part of the Hand, he considered it best not to make a scene.
Rather, he took on the skill of patience. Waiting patiently for when Bakuto slipped up. Waiting patiently for the moment he could expose the Hand’s presence and make his path to their slaughter.
Until then, he watched the compound. He refused to train with Danny, but did opt to eat and spent much of their leisure time together, even if it was done in silence. Danny would spend much of his time conversing with Colleen, and Davos was certain that Danny had broken his vow of celibacy. Together, the pair flaunted their personal intimacy with held hands and close proximity and whisperings. They laughed and smiled and each time, Davos felt a stirring in his chest. A tightening knot of fury.
He found his fists clenching to his cutlery, his food falling cold as he watched the mockery of his beliefs and values unfolding before him. And yet, they failed to notice.
During his time not alongside them, Davos wandered the compound. During the night, it was quiet and still. Guards patrolled the emptiness, ensuring the curfew was kept, but Davos had trained better than paid fools like these. Avoiding flashlights was child’s play in comparison to his own childhood, stealing apples or sneaking to the valley. That said, there was little to observe during the night. Over the few nights, Davos had tried to keep a watchful eye on Bakuto, but he seemed aware of such observations.
Each night, he followed the same routine – meditation, some form of a meal, a bath, readings, and then sleep. It was constant and perfectly timed.
This meant that the Compound’s ground were most interesting in the day. It was during this time, when the sun basked down from the skies upon the open green pastures, that Davos could see the corruption of the Hand at play.
It was early on his second day, as Danny was in a meeting with Bakuto about their plans to track down the Hand, that Davos had decided to stroll the training grounds. Like Danny, he had noted how the Compound felt familiar. For the first time in his journey to find Danny, he had uncovered something that resonated deep within him. A comfort of home, but yet it was uncanny. The air was warm and the skies were almost cloudless. The horizon was bare, besides trees and sky. Not a mountain, nor a blizzard nor fog…
As he wandered along the path, he paused at the sight of two young men training. He paused, watching their delicate and careful executions of balancing their chi. Even without the fist, Davos and the men knew that harnessing chi and keeping it well balanced was the key to any warrior’s approach to a battle.
The first man was rugged looking, barely shaven with long scruffy hair and clothes that were slightly too baggy. His eyes, beneath the brown locks of hair, were green as they caught a glimpse of the sunlight above. He was the first to opt to fight, standing prepared as the second man nodded in agreement. The second man was better groomed, with a better sense of fashion and upkeep. His hair was trimmed, his skin almost pristinely clear. His clothes well fitted, with enough flexibility in the fabric for him to move.
It was almost instinct to consider the pair a reflection of Danny and Davos, obviously Davos himself being the latter. For a moment, Davos envied the men. Even before their fighting, it was clear they were synchronised, well matched to one another as they prepared themselves.
The rugged man lunged first. Instinct drove him forward, with a forceful strike blocked immediately by the second. As the fight ensued from there, Davos watched. He assessed that the forceful strikes conducted by the rugged man were intended to overpower. They were incessant and powerful, constant without relenting. Meanwhile, the second was defensive. Through power of blocking and careful dodging, he spent much of the opening of the fight avoiding the blows that the rugged man attempted to strike him with.
As the fight continued, fists turned into open palms and kicks into pivots. Overtime, the fight was more comparable to a dance than a conflict. They moved with grace, transferring momentum to one another after each other had attempt strike the other. Their movements synchronised, flourishing into a delicate display of artistry rather than sparring.
All that ended, however, as the rugged man launched his leg into a hubristic kick, which despite the elegance in its craft and swift swipe, had led to his downfall. What had intended to knock the second man had actually provided him an opportunity, as he lunged into the arcing leg and slid his fingers through the air, pressing two against the rugged man’s throat.
A moment, which felt as though a century, passed. The second smirked, remarking quietly and menacingly, “dead.” A laugh erupted from him, and the rugged man groan dramatically, before collapsing into the grass.
Davos frowned, as the mockery of death and combat unfolded.
“I hate sparring with you!” the rugged man exclaimed, staring up towards the second with an agitated and envious stare.
“You just hate losing,” dismissed the second, resting his hands against his hips.
“I hate losing to you.” He groaned again, seizing the offered hand from the second man. Graciously gliding back through the air, he landed on his feet. The second man arched an eyebrow, something that seemed to become a ritual at this point. “I know!” he called our sarcastically, “I left my centre exposed – but I almost had you.”
“You’ve almost had me for months.” The remark left a silence, and Davos considered the ensuing silence an opportunity for the rugged man to strike. He was expecting the moment of mockery to provoke a desire in the man. Yet that desire to prove himself never came, and instead any chance fizzled as the pair laughed together. A smile was shared in the aftermath of their sparring.
Davos frowned, unsettled by the fact that the competition between the men had resulted in little more than humour. A second ago, the rugged man was in a position where he could have theoretically been killed. Had the second man struck harder, or armed himself, the scene would be different. The competition clearly set the second as the superior of the two. They had assessed weaknesses in their form, and yet neither were determined to strive further.
The defeat was a source of amusement…
“You’ve improved though,” added the better-groomed man, with a sincerity resonating in his voice.
Once again, Davos paused. He replayed the compliment in his mind, confused by the presence of praise… What confused him more was the fact that the loser smiled and yet the victor encouraged him. There was no humiliation, no ego, no resentment, no hunger for honour. Between the two men was simply respect.
“Brothers, eh?” a voice interrupted his thoughts. Davos’ furrowed brow released as he spun around, his eyes falling upon Colleen. She approached to his side, with two wooden practices swords in arms. She smiled at Davos, unsurprised when it wasn’t reciprocated. “Danny told me you two were like brothers, back in K’un-Lun,” she added, feeling the silence linger uncomfortably.
“Those days feel like a lifetime ago now.” Colleen continued with a polite smile, unsure what to say in response.
“Do they train together often?” wondered Davos, his eyes fixing on the two men.
“Apparently so,” she remarked, “I’ve not been here in a while, but they grew up together. Trained together, pushing each other to the best of their abilities.”
“Neither intends to surpass the other?” Davos turned, confused by the notion.
“Of course they do. That’s why they’re sparring.”
“They conceal their desires well then. It’s easy to misunderstand their friendliness for weakness. Is that their intention? To fool the other into trust?”
Colleen blinked, scoffing at the abstract thinking Davos applied to the simple concept of comadierie. “No, they just… want to help each other. They both understand that if one of them gets stronger, they both get stronger.” As they spoke, the two brothers continued to spar, flowing into a natural beautiful state of elegant combat once again.
“A warrior who doesn’t seek victory courts defeat.” Davos watched the brothers. Strike after strike colliding into one another yet never weakening either.
“What happens to a warrior obsessed with victory?” Colleen wondered, raising her eyebrow. She watched as the rugged man swung a kick as he had before, before enacting a move to avoid leaving his centre exposed once again. “I’ve seen people who only desire victory… and they rarely win. Proving you’re stronger than everyone else leaves you isolated.”
“K’un-Lun teaches excellence.” Davos shifted his eyes towards Colleen, glaring upon her as though she were his enemy. He observed her, treating her like an animal in cage, assessing exactly what made her powerful.
“So does Bakuto,” Colleen stated, the words stinging Davos as he almost growled at her, “but excellence to him is different. If we only strive to the best out of everybody, we fail the collective.”
“Then he teaches weakness,” Davos replied, rejecting the bitterness of Colleen’s words. “But I’m not surprised the Hand teaches unity from so early. Recruitment and indoctrination – committing yourselves to the higher power.”
Colleen sighed with a heavy release of agitation, “We’re not the Hand. Bakuto isn’t the hand. Not anymore.”
“A snake that sheds its skin-”
“-Remains a snake.” Colleen snuck her words into a swift interjection. “Danny says your father taught you that… do you really believe that people cannot change?”
“I know it.”
“Then I pity you,” Colleen half-smiled towards Davos, and he stared with a genuine confusion. He searched her eyes and words for some semblance of mockery, perhaps she too shared the humour in combat as the brothers, but there was only sincerity. “To lack faith in people so fundamentally must be a sad way to look at the world.”
Neither of them spoke again, with silence held between them. It was only the ringing of a nearby bell that summoned an eruption of noise around them, as groups from around began converging upon the dining hall. Laughter and chatter and a genuine remaining bond bound the groups. There was no marching nor orders, just calm.
Two elderly women passed, discussing gardening and various techniques, whilst a group of teenagers dripped with beading sweat after heavy training in the beating sun. Davos turned around, his eyes scouring rather than gazing. His eyes flicked up and down past each passerby, swiftly moving on each time he assumed they were no threat.
“What are you looking for?” asked Colleen eventually, fascinated by the constant search Davos underwent.
“Soldiers,” he replied bluntly.
“You won’t find many.”
“I already have.”
Colleen shook her head, the act of which caught Davos’ eyes. “No, you haven’t.” She smirked, now glancing back into the passing crowd. “You’ve seen kids. Doctors, teachers, parents, runaways, recovering addicts.”
“All armed and trained like warriors.”
“If they need to be,” replied Colleen. Immediately, Davos cocked his head aside. Something familiar stirred with him, clawing at him as he considered her words. Noticing his curious glance, she continued, “And that’s only necessary when there’s a threat to the Compound.”
Davos folded his arms and glanced at the towering brick building by them. “So, you only fight defensively?”
“Usually.”
“And if your enemy grows stronger elsewhere.”
“We wouldn’t leave ourselves like sitting ducks, but we wouldn’t go out and search for them. The Compound is more important, but people will leave and spread the ideals of protection.”
Davos nodded his head, inspired slightly. “I suppose it isn’t too different to K’un-Lun.”
“Maybe you should speak to Bakuto,” Colleen suggested, offering a smile. “It might help you adjust to Danny’s new world. Hopefully set you on a path to resolving this conflict between you?”
***
Bakuto and Danny were mid conversation when Colleen and Davos entered the room. Silence immediately hung in the air, as eyes glanced between the four uncomfortably. Danny prepared to intervene in an ensuing argument, whilst Colleen brimmed with some hope.
“I’ve seen how your compound is similar to K’un-Lun,” stated Davos, bringing an end to the thick mist of silence. Danny glanced towards Bakuto, studying his face before Davos continued. “I don’t trust that you have changed, but I do think there can be value in your actions.”
Bakuto smiled, a sincere gesture towards Davos, “well perhaps you’d like to join Danny on his next mission.” Both Colleen and Davos turned to Danny, expecting his explanation the moment Bakuto finished speaking.
“The Hand, under this other woman is more of a business. They’re operating on a financial level, interfering with the world through the economy. Under Gao, it’s street level work, drugs and power and gang wars, but the Hand clearly operate on different levels.”
Colleen’s face slithered with a smile. “Meaning, if we track down the company she’s reportedly working for–”
“-We’ll find her,” Danny continued, nodding his head. “Bakuto’s been able to offer some cities the Hand have operated in. If we cross reference shell companies in those cities and find a link, we can track down the Hand.” Danny and Colleen shared a smile, excited and instilled. Bakuto nodded approvingly, whilst Davos stood and glanced between them, uncertain of his feelings towards the flurry of joy that surged through them.
“How can we be sure this isn’t a trap?” asked Davos, sinking the joy as he spoke. “I understand your trust in Bakuto but, if I entertained the notion for a moment, we still need to consider the fact the Hand might still be interfering. They are a smart and powerful organisation, I doubt the intricate complexities of the western world are enough to entangle them.”
“Even if it is a trap, it would lead us to them.”
“You’re willing to risk walking into a trap?” Davos asked, shaking his head. “Hope and faith aren’t enough to win a battle, Danny.”
“As long as we’re careful and strategic, it’ll be fine,” assured Danny, resulting in nothing by a heavy relucant sigh to exhale from Davos. “Are you coming with me?” he asked, focusing back upon Davos after a straying glance around the room. Davos’ gaze flickered between Colleen and Bakuto, considering either of those to be a worse influence on Danny than his absence.
“Yes,” Davos answered, “But we go now. Return here for the night.”
***
Rand Enterprises was a foreign world to Davos altogether. Men and women wore suits, ties and shirts, sauntered around with files and phones. Each one busied and distracted, focused on their own line of work. It was encapsulating in its own way, although not as elegant as fighting, it was like a hive of ants or bees. Swarming, working, apathetic to the world around them beyond the task at hand.
The lobby was just as busy as the seventh floor, flooded with men and women swarming around desks. None paid attention to Davos, beside curious passing glances at his attire. The fact he was following Danny Rand answered enough questions, and thus nobody quite cared.
As Danny and Davos were led through to a small office, with glass windows glaring out into the busy work floor, the woman who had led them smiled graciously towards them.
“Welcome back, Mr Rand. Mr Meachum informed me you were taking a brief sabbatical from the company.” She wandered back around her desk, before standing behind her seat.
“Something like that – where is Ward?”
“Pre-disposed, I’m afraid. Perhaps we could schedule something for tomorrow?”
Danny shook his head, as his hands seized the back of his seat. Flitting in his eyes was a moment of desperation and panic, before he sighed heavily towards her. “I, uh, don’t have time for that. But this shouldn’t take long.” Danny landed in the seat, setting a precedent that the meeting had begun. It was impromptu, of course, but he assumed as 51% stakeholder, impromptu meetings were easily arranged.
“Well, I’ll see what I can do,” replied the woman, sitting down herself and typing a password into her computer. Her eyes flickered up towards Davos, who remained standing, motionless. He was careful and deliberate, refusing to take a seat as though rejecting the trait of weakness that derived from comfort.
“We’re trying to find an organisation, because we want to ensure our partners are reputable. They’ve set up worldwide shell companies. Sao Paulo, Berlin, Moscow, Paris, Miami, Phnom Penh, Cambodia…” As Danny listed the countries, the women set off to work. Her fingers aggressively typed in the words, trying her best to keep the pace, impressed with herself as she split her attention between the reeling names and the looming Davos and the letters scattering the keyboard. With a final click, she stared at a loading symbol, and reared her head towards Danny.
“I'm cross-referencing short-term holdings through those cities… it seems that two hundred exist in the overlap. But, three of them shut down last year…” she squinted her eyes, and caught Davos and Danny staring towards her intently as she did so. “What’s strange though, is that they all shut down on the same day, all having made deposits into one place… here in New York.”
“So you were right,” Davos remarked, a daring teasing smile darting across his face. “They are here in New York… but that doesn’t disprove the fact Bakuto is still part of them.”
Danny snapped his head around to Davos, glaring as he caught his gaze. “Can we not do this right now?”
“Would you rather do it when you’re dying? Or when the Fist is being used as a weapon by the Hand?”
The woman turned flushed and pale, her voice stopping Danny from replying as she nervously spoke. “T-The Hand?”
Danny and Davos locked eyes with her, fixed and observant, surprised she even recognised the name. “This is the Hand?”
“You know them?”
“Not know, exactly. But we know of them – the Hand is like some urban myth,” she stuttered and stammered for a moment, her eyes flitting between the two men in her office. “I can’t be involved in this.”
“Just give me the name,” Danny pressed, “Just the name and we can leave this place and you’d never see us again.”
The woman’s eyes flickered between the reassuring smile pressed into Danny’s face and the screen before her. She knew the dangers of this information. The power it held, the consequences it could unleash.
With a relenting sigh, heavy and terrified, the woman gulped. Her eyes met with Danny’s once more, and she nodded. “Midland Circle Financial.” Danny raised an eyebrow, pressing for anything more she could offer. “CEO, Alexandra Reid. 560 West, 44th Street. But that’s all I can give you.”
“It’s enough.” Danny reached his hand across the table and held hers in a reassuring embrace. “Thank you – honestly, you’re a hero.” With a warm smile shot her way, Danny leapt from his seat and locked eyes with Davos. Now they both knew the path ahead.
Chapter Thirteen:
While the events concerning Danny Rand and the Hand take shape elsewhere, the changes to this timeline branch further beyond the four fighters known as the Defenders. As you have seen, the life led by Jeri Hogarth has altered to a point almost unrecognisable, as she works in the cramped office of Nelson & Murdock. Or the lives of those running the Hand have diverted even further, scattered in their efforts of seeking power.
But in the heart of New York City is a trial that would almost be unprecedented in your timeline. As Matthew Murdock and Jeri Hogarth defend Cornell Stokes upon his return to New York City. And from here, the tidal-waves-turned-tsunamis mass into larger and larger forces against your timelines natural order of events…
***
Hogarth had expected the trial to be the media frenzy that it had become. She knew too well that legal drama didn’t need murders or scandals to attract the attention of the masses, merely high-profile figures and high stakes. Names that people recognised and enough police attention to warrant some focus.
Infamy had stalked Cornell Stokes, cousin of the councilwoman and philanthropist Mariah Dillard, but his popularity battled it too. Everybody in Harlem knew of his criminal dealings, even if there had never been concrete evidence for much of it. Equally, everybody in Harlem knew of his nightclub. High end, popular. Good drinks, amazing music and a vibe that could ascend you to heaven. Cornell Stokes had often been seen above, staring down from an ivory tower that had been built by the Stokes for generations.
Yet, here he was, in the midst of a criminal investigation. An investigation that determined whether Cornell could restore his role in Harlem as master of its paradise or be escorted by handcuffs.
The judge adjusted her position, glancing over the bench. She settled herself carefully, sat perfectly that she was in full view of the court – that everything before her was aligned perfectly in her view, and that she was undoubtedly the power of law and order in the entire hall.
Journalists lined the seats, including Ben Urich, who had been dredged out of retirement by an old friend, Karen Page. Ben hastily penned the words uttered by Judge Batzer, who scoured the hall carefully. He noted the tension, the silence, the anticipation for her words.
“I have reviewed the evidence submitted by both parties. I have considered the ownership records and the financial statements and the witness testimony and the findings regarding the alleged transfers of Harlem’s Paradise,” stated Judge Batzer, who took a moment to allow the pause to gravitate tension towards her. “It is in the interest of justice to hold those accountable for criminal actions, and in the instance of this case, criminal activity did occur. That is a point not in dispute.”
Judge Batzer studied Cornell Stokes for a moment, before her eyes glazed over Matt and Hogarth, before turning to the Assistant District Attorney, who shifted in his seat with some concern over the outcome that was bound to happen.
The pause was noted by Ben Urich… a chokehold on the citizens of Harlem.
“Before this court, the State has argued a case that Mr Stokes was in control of the enterprises after the date of his disappearances. They have reasoned that, his absence did not indicate that he did not facilitate the criminal activity.” Batzer held a folder, an action which provoked a sudden sea of flashing lights which ceased moments later. “The evidence provided by Mr Murdock and Miss Hogarth, being phone records, financial transactions, testimony and medical documentation, all establish – rather overwhelmingly – that Mr Stokes’ absence was a complete detachment to his business. Therefore, the State’s case that assumed Mr Stokes was the principal actor in the racketeering is rebutted.”
A slither of hushed murmuring shot around the room, as Batzer took another pause to flip the page of the folder before her. Matt’s ears tuned around the room, pens scratched papers, fingers tapped against phones, and the ADA’s heartbeat rising with a flutter of nervousness. Beside him, he could hear as Jeri Hogarth granted herself a faint smile.
“In addition,” Batzer continued, consuming Matt’s attention once again, “the evidence provided by the defendant demonstrates that ownership documents concerning the business of Harlem’s Paradise, and several other businesses, were fraudulently executed. Without Mr Stokes’ authorisation, all transfers are declared void. Therefore, the City of New York is hereby enjoined from proceeding with the current civil forfeiture of the aforementioned properties.
The ADA rose, with the sound of his scraping chair pricing Matt’s ears with the sudden abruptness of it. Matt could hear his pounding heartbeat, whilst his sweat was a foul slicing odour. Matt cocked his head aside, hearing his voice rise from his throat.
“Your Honour, the State respectfully requests tha-”
“Denied.” Batzer answered, interjecting his words and bringing the room into silence. Matt smirked, an arrogant unbearable confidence that irritated the ADA as he began to lower himself in his seat. Matt listened as he muttered something under his breath, although Matt could hear it like a beckoning fury. “The prosecution is entitled to pursuing charges against those responsible for the fraudulent activity, should Mr Stokes or the NYPD be willing to investigate further. However,” Batzer summoned a silence of a room that began to rise with conversation. Her courtroom had begun to resemble a classroom, a minute before the bell was set to free its students. “This Court will not permit guilt by reputation.”
Ringing in Matt’s ears was Mariah Dillards joyous mutterings from the back of the room.
Hogarth leant towards him, and whispered, “I think everybody will be leaving this here.”
“Diamondback was behind the signings, so expect Fisk to be after him.” Matt smirked, as the conversation died and the clapping quieted. Peter flashed in his mind, having been the source of that nugget of insight.
“Mr Stokes,” Batzer began again, calling for Cornell to rise to his feet. A half-smirk twinged across his face. “The Court makes no finding that you are a man of good character. Your reputation and the record suggest quite the opposite.” Whispers flooded the back benches, the gallery filled with snippets of discussion regarding that – which Matt tuned out, uncomfortable with the notion he had helped a mob boss restore his power. “However, character is not the question I have been presented with. Instead, the decision I have had to make requires evidence and based on the evidence presented during this trial, the Court cannot hold you legally responsible for the crimes committed after you left the city.”
Cornell inclined his head, the smirk presenting entirely. His eyes gleaming like jewels, filled with the reassurance he already had. “Thank you, Your Honour,” he spoke, with swagger and confidence radiating from him like a star.
“The criminal charges presented before this court are hereby dismissed.” Batzer struck her gavel, a booming echo resounding through the gallery. For Matt, it was comparable to a winning strike in baseball or the highest note reached in a concert. It was loudest noise to his ears, and the most reassuring and pride-inducing.
An eruption of conversation roared through the gallery. Matt funnelled through the noise, as Mariah Dillard voiced her satisfaction to a woman beside her, as Ben Urich etched the final statement of Batzer into his notepad. Across the aisle, the prosecution huddled and discussed an appeal, desperation and frustration resonating in their discussion. He could hear Detective Misty Knight and her partner Brigid O’Riley voicing their frustrations, and Pop laughing at the ridiculousness of everything.
Matt was relieved that his somewhat lack of sight allowed him to avoid the blinding flashing of lights that lit across the courtroom. Lights drowned out the smile of Cornell, his face illuminated by their burst.
“I gotta say,” Cornell smirked, approaching Hogarth and Matt with his arms held out wide, “I was sceptical. We Stokes have leant on Ben Donovan for years, but you showed me today that my trust might have been… misguided. Without your work, I’m not sure it would have been that easy to get me back.”
Hogarth smiled, her eyes flitting towards Ben Donovan in the crowd, “I pride myself in my judgement. I would have never agreed to the case if I didn’t suspect we could win,” she said, before her eyes flitted toward Matt, who stood smiling modesty. “Besides, it was Matt and his team that got most of the evidence we needed. Impressively, he did all that whilst also handling multiple other situations. So I’m inclined to say he earned his fee, which I assure you won’t be cheap, Mr Stokes.”
Cornell scoffed and nodded his head, flicking his gaze back to Matt. “From what I’ve heard, you also helped out with Luke Cage’s wife case some time back.”
Matt paused, racing his mind back, before recalling reading the outcome of Karen and Foggy’s work during his stint in prison. “That wasn’t exactly me,” he remarked, “But I know Luke quite well.”
“Without Luke I wouldn’t be here.” Cornell gazed into the gallery, nodding his head as a smile struck his face. “Our allies define us.”
Matt’s reply was lost in a sea of questions that were shot in his direction. Although, none of the bellowing questions were actually for him. Instead, the gallery erupted with journalists who were eager to catch their scoop for their angle on the case.
“Mr Stokes, why did you leave New York City?”
“Mr Stokes, who do you think is responsible for the fraudulent activity?”
“Do you have any comments on Judge Batzer’s suggestion you have a bad character?”
“Is there a reason you haven’t chosen legal advice from Mr Donovan for this case?”
“Mr Stokes why have you returned to New York City?”
Matt, pressed himself forward, raising his hand as he called out, “My client has no comment on any matters. If he has anything to say it will be detailed in a later official statement but as-”
“It’s okay, Matt,” interrupted Cornell, slapping his hand against Matt’s shoulder. His leather shoes slapped against the hardwood ground, as he once again drowned in the beautiful shimmer of flashing cameras. “I came back to New York to hold sacred what belongs to my family. Because out in New Orleans I was reminded what my passion has been.” Cornell paused, and Matt could hear his head turn and his attention fix in one direction. He searched in that direction, focusing on the grunted muffled pains of another man. “Music.”
That answer alone erupted a flurry of questions, before he raised his hand and held a smile across his face.
“I intend on restoring Harlem’s Paradise to the powerhouse that it was. It is the northern star of the community, and it has been defaced by people like Willis Stryker. I support Wilson Fisk’s public criticisms of Stryker, and I’ll be pressing the NYPD to pursue the legal action that he should face for his crimes.” He nodded his head, catching a glimpse of his cousins smile. “That is all.”
***
“Josie!” Foggy exclaimed, his voice ringing across the bar, “I’m covering these two tonight!” He seized Matt with an arm around his shoulder, before pointing to Hogarth (in fear she would throttle him for merely the brush of his fingers against her suit).
“Sure, that’s a good idea?” teased Matt, folding his cane as his hand reached for his chair.
Of course, he could tell exactly where his chair was. Vibrations roared through the floor, footsteps, voices, the slight ring of music. It reverberated off of everything, creating a clear enough him in his mind. Moreover, Matt could smell the stench of alcohol from behind the bar, and the ancient stains on the table, and somebody’s inability to hold their liquor outside the bar. But Matt kept the pretence that his blindness was almost debilitating.
“You two are heroes! Do you know how much that Stokes case won us? I might even be able to afford a new suit.”
Karen’s eyes flitted up to Foggy, a mocking twinge to her lips as she remarked, “maybe a haircut first.”
As Matt chuckled, he tuned his ears around the bar out of curiosity. He heard voices discussing work, and the news relaying information regarding the early release of the Sokovia Accords, followed by local reporting of Cornell Stokes’ hearing. Matt’s ears tuned to Josie approaching the table, holding both his and Hogarth’s regular drinks. Although Hogarth hadn’t often taken to Josie’s Bar for a drink, it was easy enough to remember.
“I’m not Cornell’s biggest fan,” Karen started, taking a swig of her drink before continuing, “but it wasn’t fair what happened to him.”
“Not to mention, it gets us closer to that crime ring,” Matt remarked, imagining a victory against Wilson Fisk and Cornell Stokes and bringing their criminal empires to an end. Although, whether that was as Matt Murdock or Daredevil, he couldn’t quite discern.
“Investigation isn’t our job, Matthew.” Hogarth nodded her head to Josie as she took the drink, before taking a swig of it too. Her throat burned with the harshness, before she turned back to Matt. “We merely report and deliver the facts.”
“Which you did incredibly well in,” added Foggy, wanting to divert attention to the notion of Matt ‘investigating’ – since, for Matt, investigation often meant donning a red suit in the dark. “Although perhaps now we can start considering the IGH case a little further?”
“What case?” asked Hogarth, before a rare chuckle erupted from her. “You’ll get very little settlement out of that and there is barely any evidence.”
“For a case like that, the money isn’t necessarily important,” replied Matt, shaking his head. “It helps to keep the lights on and replace the coffee machine, but we also have to think about serving the community. Helping the people of Hell’s Kitchen, and New York in general.”
“Well, you three can work on that as a side project. But I will warn you, if I start pulling my weight around to support this firm, it will become Hogarth and Nelson and Murdock.”
Matt chuckled, whilst Foggy shifted nervously. “I’ll bear that in mind,” remarked Matt, before raising his glass. “To Nelson and Murdock!”
Karen’s voice broke through the clinking of glasses, as she quickly added, “and Page and Hogarth.”
Ricochetting across the room was the sudden clinking of their four glasses, as the chiming resonated amongst the four and echoed to an almost deafening screech which Matt had to tune out. The swirling drinks inside the glasses sloshed around, until promptly delivered to the lips and burning throats of the four.
Conversation broke out, discussion on the case and Judge Batzer. Hogarth had little interest in staying longer than socially acceptable, but she did enjoy the small clustering comradery formed by the trio. It was reassuring and comforting to watch a family in its own right, and some envy broke through to her.
Flashing in her mind was the image of her father, and the image of her siblings. Through the youthful remembrance, she held images of their impoverished faces, their tattered clothes and weak bodies. They weren’t exactly sick, but it was easy to tell from a glance that money was rare for them. Yet, in her mind, she saw their furious faces on that last day she left. The outrage and disdain hurled towards her, as she chose a new life. Then came the image of the trailer park from her youth, in all its horrid rusting and claustrophobic enclosure. Then she pictured Wendy, but much like her connection with her family, that had been severed by her own selfish choices.
It was clear to Hogarth that a notion of a family was bound to be taken from her… it was only time.
Hogarth swigged her drink at that thought, before jolting to her feet and storming towards the bar for another.
Karen leant forward, her hushed tones bearing no weight on Matt’s ears. “Do you really think helping Cornell Stokes was a good idea? He’s a mob boss.”
“Bringing Cornell back should provoke Stryker to act out. Stryker making a move will provoke Fisk, increasing the chances of him getting caught up in something.” Matt smiled at Karen, with a confidence that could’ve carried him through life with ease.
Except, his smile promptly faded. Through the hustle and bustle of the bar, glasses clinking and voices chattering, he heard the heavy footsteps of a man outside. He could hear wind brushing through his beard, scratching his face. Matt could hear almost hear the strains of his muscles, and how the fabric rubbed against his back – scars lined them.
“Matthew,” uttered the voice, muffled at first by the wall and Matt’s focus elsewhere, but upon his name being repeated, he could hear the words fall from his lips again. “We need you to come with us. A matter has arisen, concerning the Iron Fist. You know where to go – you have twenty-five minutes.” Although the voice was nothing more than a grumbled whisper from outside the bar, by a man who Matt recognised eventually to be Stone, it was to Matt a booming summoning.
It was direct enough to strike a fear into him, having never been called upon by the Chaste before. Thus, he questioned what matter could be so serious that it required such a summoning.
Matt froze, a clear paralysis which erupted terror in Karen. “Matt,” she whispered, her eye shooting along to the bar, as Hogarth still waited to be served, “Matt, what’s the matter?”
Foggy’s head turned now too, fixing on Matt with a flurry of concern that fell short of Karens. Instead, he studied Matt carefully, before leaning forward, “is something happening?”
“No,” Matt broke out of the momentary trance, shaking his head, before adding, “but I think something is going to.” He took a final swig of his drink, feeling the burn of his throat which matched an agonising pierce. His head cocked aside to face Karen, before smiling towards her with some warmth and reassurance. Setting down his glass upon the table, listening as it clacked against the wood, Matt sighed. “I’ll explain later,” he assured them, half attempting a smile as he pushed back his chair and listened to the scraping of his chair against the wooden floor.
“Matt-” Karen called out, wrapping her hand around Matt’s wrist. She brought him to a halt, and now his face held a real, genuine smile.
“It’ll be alright.”
***
Matt could hear their heartbeats. Despite the urgency of the situation that called upon him, they all seemed rather unfettered. Of course, there was a slight flutter – something tempted them to the edge of their comfort – but mostly, they seemed patient.
From the doors, Matt could hear their discussions, but his ears tuned through them, shifting and sorting, until he caught a voice that he recognised. Upon doing that, he determined his smell and the way he moved, the fabric he donned and the wind through his hair… undeniably, he had been summoned by Danny Rand.
Making his way through to the grand hall of the chaste, cloaked in a dim light that barely flickered across the hall, Matt considered what could have called him here. A death? A discovery? The Chaste were sworn to serve the Iron Fist and, although Stick told Matt very little, Danny knew they were fine warriors. Powerful and unmistakably determined to break the Hand. Thus, Matt wondered if that was the purpose he was here?
Danny didn’t acknowledge Matt. He stood nervously, fiddling with his fingers. At his side, Colleen Wing glanced around nervously too, her eyes flitting through the warriors. For a moment, her eyes lingered on Matt. It was difficult to not pause and question the blind lawyer in the midst of trained warriors.
“We’ve tracked down the Hand,” stated Danny, finally breaking his silence. Now his eyes didn’t glance nor flit, but stared. They scattered the men, fixing on each one as he spoke. “Alexandra Reid of Midland Circle has taken charge of the Hand in the absence of Madam Gao. I have vowed to return to K’un-Lun upon her defeat, and I will be taking the fight to her tomorrow.”
“Reid is one of five,” Stone’s voice boomed from the back, “Gao is the second of those five. Killing her will do nothing but provoke the Hand into all-out war. Such an action is unwise.”
“If we act now, we have opportunity. Even if that’s disrupting the Hand.”
“If we expose Midland Circle, we shine light on them,” added Colleen, whose eyes darted around the crowd. “The Hand operate with stealth in the darkness, they use the fact that nobody knows they exist. They puppeteer puppets without strings.”
“These actions are too impulsive. They are naïve. Ill-thought-out. Unwise. This is folly.” listed Stone, shaking his head. “No, we will wait until they converge.”
“We’ve learnt that the Hand is separated, and if that is the case, then they’re vulnerable. Reid is vulnerable.”
“Reid fears nothing beside losing immortality. Just like the rest of them,” called out another man amongst the crowd. A few began to nod their heads, as agreement surged and spread across like a fever. “Although, cutting the head of the Hand would be satisfying and some of the only real damage any of us have done against the Hand in our entire lives.”
Matt could hear, through the silence, the discomfort that grew across the room. Feet shifted and fists clenched and sharp breaths were drawn. He was sure that they looked just as disapproving as they sounded, which made sense to Matt. From what he could gauge from Stick, they weren’t exactly accustomed to disagreement, their orders were often harsh and direct. Stick’s own instruction once included the killing of a boy known as ‘the Black Sky’… and he obliged without question.
Stone’s feet were heavy as they slammed down against the floor, echoing through the room. There was no need for heightened senses to hear the authority in his boot. “You have spent only a short time in New York, Iron Fist. Yet, now you believe you can march into their stronghold and end a war that is older than the city you devote yourself to?”
“No.” Danny’s voice was stern and sudden, commanding a silence as heads pivoted towards him. Eyes watched him curiously, wondering how anybody could simply say ‘no’ to Stone and have no flush pale across his face. “I don’t believe the war ends with Reid.”
Stone arched his eyebrow, something Danny had seen with Davos before. Doubt, confusion. Refusal to accept it.
“What do you think happens when we kill Reid? Do you think they flee? Do you think they hide?” Crossed across his face was a mocking smirk. “Attacking one part of the operation isn’t a strategy, Iron Fist.”
“You’re right,” Danny admitted, nodding his head. “But it is action – something nobody other than the Hand is willing to take. The reason they’re winning, is because they are doing stuff. The reason K’un-Lun is hiding, is because they’re not willing to do anything. If you want to follow in their footsteps, go ahead, but I will be confronting Alexandra Reid tomorrow.”
“Danny-” Colleen shifted beside him, sensing the determined unchallengeable tone in his voice.
Danny shook his head, “We’ve spent too long waiting. We waited for Gao, we waited for the Hand to reveal themselves. I waited 15 years for the gates of K’un-Lun to open. Every time we wait, somebody pays for it.” His eyes darted around the room, skipping past Matt, who Danny trusted would be at his side regardless. “People died because you – we – allowed the Hand to continue.”
“Stick died.” A voice broke through the room. Whispers shuddered around the room as glances sought its source, before attention fixed on Matt. Matt clasped his cane in both hands, “Stick and Elektra died because nobody has tried to stop the Hand.”
Danny nodded his head, now feeling the shift across the room like some tangible mist that hung around them. He could hear his own heart pound against his chest, which had been beckoning for Matt this entire time.
“People have died because we’ve told ourselves patience is wise… but truthfully,” Danny hesitated, sensing that the words about to leave his tongue were unfavourable. “Truthfully, I think it’s fear.”
“You presume much.” Stone’s voice rang with fury, as he stepped forward with his hulking mass. His eyes glared across to Danny, a glare dripping with rage. “You do not know the sacrifices made in the time you were hidden in K’un-Lun.”
“That’s true,” agreed Danny, nodding his head, “I’ve lived a privileged life. I’ve been able to avoid the wrath of the Hand, but I have trained to fight them. I have trained to be their enemy.” His head spun around, his eyes now glaring upon his only certified ally beside Colleen. “Matt, you’ve fought them. Tell them – tell them we need to stop Reid.”
“You turn to Murdock? A man barely one of us?”
“Yes,” answered Danny, his gaze not leaving the sight of Matt. “He is the one I trust.”
“I don’t believe we should kill her,” stated Matt, provoking a disapproving scoff to leap around the room, “but I think Danny’s right. We need to do what we can, and stopping her is one way to do that. Because us, waiting for the perfect opportunity is exactly what the Hand expects, and we stand at a disadvantage if we continue.”
Stone frowned, as he said, “You would gamble the lives of the men and women in this room for some foolish search for leverage?”
His gaze flitted between Matt and Danny, neither knowing whether they were to answer the question, and so it was Colleen who interjected the pause and silence. “If that’s how you see it, and you refuse to accept the fact that Danny is trying to weaken the Hand, then that’s your problem. If you insist on only seeing this as seeking leverage, then be it on your own head.”
“What if we refuse to join you tomorrow? Because I have no intention of letting you lead the Chaste into a futile battle with the Hand.”
“Then I go without you,” stated Danny. “If you think I’m a fool, then I don’t care. I’ve lived my life fearing how I’m seen. Caring about how my friends and family value me. How Lei Kung valued me. But I know that fighting tomorrow is what must be done. And I will do it, regardless.”
A murmur broke amongst the Chaste. Discussion fizzled, disagreement fuzzed. Brewing amongst the crowd was a refusing storm of men and women who either valued their loyalty to the Iron Fist, or their loyalty to the fight against the Hand. In this circumstance, it seemed they contradicted each other.
Danny’s eyes glanced around, and Matt could hear his heartbeat falling like his hope. Dismay broke across his face, as Colleen seized his hand and held it tight. It was supposed to be reassurance that he was doing the right thing, but the arguments breaking out before him told him something different.
Stone held up his fist as he emerged from the crowd completely. The sudden gesture silenced the group with a thunderous muted strike. Eyes befell him, and Matt could hear their hearts ricochetting like bullets. Swift haste seized them as they rattled against ribs, in expectation for an order. “Tomorrow night, we display our loyalty to the Iron Fist.”