“We need to hide,” says Luke, once all four of them have spilled out of the building.
“You guys need to tell me what the hell is going on here,” says Jessica. “Because let me tell you, I didn’t expect the karate welcome wagon.”
“That’s because none of you know the concept of subtlety,” says Elektra, stashing her sai inside her bag. The blood from their meeting at Midland Circle doesn’t stand out against her red dress, which is a small mercy.
Sweet Christmas, when did that become a small mercy?
“And you’re subtle?” says Danny.
“Far more than you,” Elektra shoots back.
Luke sighs. Just a few days since he got out of prison and already he keeps throwing glances over his shoulder like someone might be following them. All he’d wanted to do was to help someone, help a grieving mother get some justice for her sons, and now here he is walking fast with a kid with a glowing fist, a woman who stabs people’s eyes out, and—Jessica.
He glances at Jessica, catches her looking at him too. She looks away.
After a moment, he does too.
“I know a place,” says Elektra, suddenly. Her pace speeds up until she’s ahead of them, and they have to follow her down a winding, twisting path through dark alleyways and so-called “shortcuts” until they stop near a restaurant.
The Royal Dragon, reads the neon signage on top.
“Oh, great,” Jessica mutters beside him. “A Chinese restaurant.”
“They serve some splendid pork dishes,” says Elektra.
“They’re closed,” says Luke, nodding to the last customers happily stumbling away from the doors. “We need a better place to hide.”
“This is the best place,” says Elektra. “Besides, I’m famished. What about the rest of you?”
Luke’s stomach rumbles, just then. Right. Dinner had been a long time ago, and had consisted of some reheated leftovers. “Point,” he concedes.
“They have shrimp, I bet,” says Danny, dreamily. Then he snaps back to reality and says, “But are they going to let us in? It’s closing time.”
“They will,” says Elektra, casually, just before she steps closer to Jessica. Luke shifts closer. “I need your scarf.”
“Why,” says Jessica, just as Elektra whips her scarf off her neck, ties it around the lower part of her face as if to hide her identity. “What—What the hell?”
“Now they’ll let us in,” Elektra says.
--
“The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” whispers the owner, eyes growing wide, and Elektra resists the urge to snap at him, because that’s not what someone trying to protect people does.
“The what,” says Rand, behind her, flatly.
There’s the sound of a big hand hitting a forehead, and Luke mutters softly, “Sweet Christmas.”
“Fuck,” says Jessica, much more succinctly.
“Can we come in?” says Elektra, her manners as polished as her swords. More polished, right now. “We’re in some trouble.”
“Yes, but—”
“Oh, good,” Elektra chirps, pushing past the door. “We need to make this place look closed. Do you mind if I hit the lights?”
“No, but—”
“We won’t let anything happen to you,” says Luke, to the restaurant’s owner, as Elektra closes the blinds. “But for your safety, you and your employees might want to stay in the back.”
“Someone needs to stand guard,” says Elektra. “A wooden door won’t do much to stop the Hand.”
“The what,” says Jessica, irritated.
“They’re evil,” Rand supplies, tapping the restaurant’s owner on the shoulder. “And, yeah, a guard’s a good idea—”
Jessica, in answer, lifts up a table. The cheap vase falls to the ground, shatters into so many pieces. Elektra pauses in her work to look at Jessica, who’s shoving the table into place against the door. That, she supposes, is one way to keep someone out.
“She is very strong,” says Rand, admiringly.
“Wǒ de huāpíng!” the owner cries, aghast, and Rand takes him aside, conversing about replacing the vase and reimbursing any possible damages and do you have any shrimp here, by any chance, I’ll pay your rent for the next few months.
Elektra makes a mental note to herself: buy this building. A restaurant like this with such delicious pork dishes shouldn’t have to pay out through its nose to hang on by the skin of its teeth.
“You speak Chinese?” calls Jessica after Rand.
Rand, the show-off, replies in Chinese.
Elektra says, “He says, yes, and you’re welcome.”
“You too?” says Jessica, scowling at her.
“I traveled quite a lot when I was younger,” says Elektra, with a shrug. “I can speak quite a few languages. Would you like a demonstration?”
“God, no,” says Jessica. “Am I ever going to get my scarf back, by the way? We’ve already seen your face, after all.”
“You have,” says Elektra. She nods to the owner, still talking to Rand, and to the cook and the waiter, talking to Luke. “They haven’t, and I need to keep them thinking Elektra Natchios and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen are separate. That way, I don’t have to contend with a very messy legal system.”
“Yeah, I noticed you’re not great at that part,” says Jessica.
Elektra leans against the windows, the plastic blinds digging into her back. “Growing pains,” she says, thinking of her first month on the job, of having to consciously keep herself from impaling someone who’d begged her, please don’t kill me I didn’t know it was loaded I didn’t know I didn’t—
“Three people dead is growing pains?” Jessica asks.
“Before this,” says Elektra, “I didn’t have to worry about keeping people alive.”
Jessica stares at her for a long moment, and Elektra wonders, suddenly, how much a private investigator like her can discern just by looking at someone. If the Black Sky is a part of it, somehow.
“Funny,” says Jessica, “last I checked, business didn’t end in bodies.”
“Depends on the kind of business we’re talking about,” says Elektra, pulling the scarf up a little. This is what she hates about having to borrow from people—the scarf is itchy against her skin, not like her own mask. “I’ll check on the back door. No one here wants any more surprises, I’m sure.”
--
“Back door’s clear!” the Black Sky, former destined weapon of the Hand and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, announces as she walks back into the restaurant proper. She’s pretty cheery for someone who’s running around in a bloodstained dress, though Danny supposes that’s why she wore red. “Everything’s locked, we’re safe for the moment.”
For the moment. Danny doesn’t miss the emphasis she places on the words, like she’s not betting on how long it’ll last. Truth be told, he isn’t either.
But he doesn’t tell the Royal Dragon’s owner that. Instead he promises to order four of everything on the menu, maybe five considering his appetite.
The man sighs, at last, and mutters a curse in Mandarin. “All right,” he says, in English. “You can stay. I owe the Devil a debt, anyway.”
Danny looks briefly at Elektra, now talking with Luke and the PI in the leather jacket. It’s hard to believe even now—the Black Sky, a weapon for good. A stabby weapon for good, but still.
He wonders what happened to the first Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, if Elektra had anything to do with it. If she might have—
“Well?” says the owner.
“We’ll take it,” says Danny.
“Remember, the damages are on you,” says the owner.
“I’ll remember,” Danny promises, and watches the man head to the back, presumably to enjoy the relative safety while it lasts.
Then he turns to the three and says, cheerfully, “He says we can stay!”
“Oh, brilliant,” says Elektra, delighted, tugging the scarf down so he can see her grin. “They serve the best chow mein in the city here, I’ve been dying to try them out again.”
“You’re thinking of food at a time like this?” says Luke. “And what did you do?”
“I gave him my black card and agreed to pay the rent for the next six months,” says Danny. Then he looks at the PI, scowling at them all, and says, “Hi, I’m Danny.”
“Jessica,” she says. “Hey, She-Devil, I need my scarf back.”
“You can have it,” says Elektra, “once we’re out of here.” She pauses, then adds, “I don’t want to get into any more legal trouble than I’m already in.”
“I think the whole secret vigilante thing is grounds for a whole lot of legal trouble,” says Jessica.
“Not if no one finds out,” Elektra replies.
“You can take the scarf off, you know,” says Danny, encouragingly. “Your secret’s safe here, we all already know.”
“You are admirably innocent for an Iron Fist,” says Elektra, carelessly. Danny opens his mouth, and closes it. Innocent? He isn’t—He isn’t so innocent, anymore. How can anyone call him that, after everything, after—
He swallows the lump in his throat, forces a smile.
“A what?” says Jessica.
“An Iron Fist,” Danny explains. “The Immortal Iron Fist, weapon of K’un-Lun.”
Luke lets out a long sigh. That’s—fine, Danny supposes. He can deal with a little disbelief, considering he doesn’t have any way to prove the sacredness of the title, the duty it confers upon him. The duty that he’d run away from.
His heart twists.
“Are you on lithium?” says Jessica, and his heart twists all the more.
Elektra sighs. “That doesn’t mean anything to either of them, you know,” she says, conversationally.
“But it does to you,” says Danny.
“Somewhat, yes,” she admits.
“You know what that means?” says Luke.
“An entrepreneur, an assassin, a vigilante, and now an expert on whatever the fuck this is,” says Jessica, sardonic. “What’s next? Reality show star? Scarf model?”
“Living weapon, actually,” says Elektra. “I’m not quite clear on the exact nature yet, but as far as I know it’s not a life that I would want.” She lets out a breath, and for the first time since Danny met her the smile seems to slip a little. “The vigilante part’s new, and besides, I—have people I promised to look after.”
“You’re not the only one,” says Luke.
“The organization we just fought is powerful and ancient,” says Elektra. “How do you think they lasted this long? By sparing their enemies and any potential enemies?”
“They have a name, right?” says Jessica. “Any stupidly powerful ancient organization has bound to have some kind of pretentious-ass name.”
“They call themselves the Hand,” says Danny, deciding to slide in before Jessica can get going.
“Right,” says Luke. “What are they really called?”
“No, he’s right, that really is what they call themselves,” says Elektra. “Pretentious as hell, I know. Next time they try to kill us I’ll be sure to let them know.”
“You’ve crossed paths with them before,” says Danny, looking to Elektra. She’s stowed her sai away now, and her arms are crossed across her chest, unconsciously defensive. “Not only that, but—you’ve managed to resist them. You’ve managed to resist your destiny.” He hadn’t known it was possible, for a Black Sky to do that.
Elektra smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I decide my own fate,” she says. “And I decided I was tired of being jerked around by destiny. It’s brought me naught but—”
She stops, looks down. There’s a story there, Danny thinks, one of grief and sorrow.
He almost, almost reaches out to take her shoulder. But his hand drops, at the last minute—he’s seen her fight, he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t quite appreciate the attempt at comfort. Especially not from him.
He says, instead, “We need to decide our next move.”
“Next move?” Luke demands.
“There is no we,” says Jessica, “and we’re not making a next move. We got into trouble, we fought our way out, let’s call it professional courtesy, end of story.”
“Oh, no, it’s not,” says Elektra. “They’ve seen your faces. They know your names. These people are dangerous—”
“So am I,” snarls Jessica, and for a second Danny can see the dragon inside of her—beaten and battered and bruised, but it’s there all the same, that core of molten steel. Hope kindles in his heart—if these people are on his side, then maybe, just maybe, they can win. “Now someone tell me what I need to know about—ugh, the Hand, so I can be on my way.”
“What is that?” Luke demands, and Danny turns to see the chef and the waiter emerging from the back, with plates upon plates of food. “Did you—Sweet Christmas. You didn’t.”
“It was part of the deal,” says Danny, sheepishly, scratching his neck under the weight of Luke’s incredulous stare. “He got me to order four of everything.” He squints, says, hopefully, “Is that shrimp?”
“Is that chow mein?” says Elektra, tugging the scarf back up to cover her face. Strange woman, trying to cover her identity now. “It is! Dibs on all of that, I’m hungry.”
“Why are both of you,” says Luke, “thinking about food? We’re not here to eat!”
“There’s something called multitasking,” says Elektra.
“You can have mine,” says Jessica. “I’m not hungry.”
fill. role reversal au: elektra as a defender, matt as an assassin (1/2)
--
“We need to hide,” says Luke, once all four of them have spilled out of the building.
“You guys need to tell me what the hell is going on here,” says Jessica. “Because let me tell you, I didn’t expect the karate welcome wagon.”
“That’s because none of you know the concept of subtlety,” says Elektra, stashing her sai inside her bag. The blood from their meeting at Midland Circle doesn’t stand out against her red dress, which is a small mercy.
Sweet Christmas, when did that become a small mercy?
“And you’re subtle?” says Danny.
“Far more than you,” Elektra shoots back.
Luke sighs. Just a few days since he got out of prison and already he keeps throwing glances over his shoulder like someone might be following them. All he’d wanted to do was to help someone, help a grieving mother get some justice for her sons, and now here he is walking fast with a kid with a glowing fist, a woman who stabs people’s eyes out, and—Jessica.
He glances at Jessica, catches her looking at him too. She looks away.
After a moment, he does too.
“I know a place,” says Elektra, suddenly. Her pace speeds up until she’s ahead of them, and they have to follow her down a winding, twisting path through dark alleyways and so-called “shortcuts” until they stop near a restaurant.
The Royal Dragon, reads the neon signage on top.
“Oh, great,” Jessica mutters beside him. “A Chinese restaurant.”
“They serve some splendid pork dishes,” says Elektra.
“They’re closed,” says Luke, nodding to the last customers happily stumbling away from the doors. “We need a better place to hide.”
“This is the best place,” says Elektra. “Besides, I’m famished. What about the rest of you?”
Luke’s stomach rumbles, just then. Right. Dinner had been a long time ago, and had consisted of some reheated leftovers. “Point,” he concedes.
“They have shrimp, I bet,” says Danny, dreamily. Then he snaps back to reality and says, “But are they going to let us in? It’s closing time.”
“They will,” says Elektra, casually, just before she steps closer to Jessica. Luke shifts closer. “I need your scarf.”
“Why,” says Jessica, just as Elektra whips her scarf off her neck, ties it around the lower part of her face as if to hide her identity. “What—What the hell?”
“Now they’ll let us in,” Elektra says.
--
“The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” whispers the owner, eyes growing wide, and Elektra resists the urge to snap at him, because that’s not what someone trying to protect people does.
“The what,” says Rand, behind her, flatly.
There’s the sound of a big hand hitting a forehead, and Luke mutters softly, “Sweet Christmas.”
“Fuck,” says Jessica, much more succinctly.
“Can we come in?” says Elektra, her manners as polished as her swords. More polished, right now. “We’re in some trouble.”
“Yes, but—”
“Oh, good,” Elektra chirps, pushing past the door. “We need to make this place look closed. Do you mind if I hit the lights?”
“No, but—”
“We won’t let anything happen to you,” says Luke, to the restaurant’s owner, as Elektra closes the blinds. “But for your safety, you and your employees might want to stay in the back.”
“Someone needs to stand guard,” says Elektra. “A wooden door won’t do much to stop the Hand.”
“The what,” says Jessica, irritated.
“They’re evil,” Rand supplies, tapping the restaurant’s owner on the shoulder. “And, yeah, a guard’s a good idea—”
Jessica, in answer, lifts up a table. The cheap vase falls to the ground, shatters into so many pieces. Elektra pauses in her work to look at Jessica, who’s shoving the table into place against the door. That, she supposes, is one way to keep someone out.
“She is very strong,” says Rand, admiringly.
“Wǒ de huāpíng!” the owner cries, aghast, and Rand takes him aside, conversing about replacing the vase and reimbursing any possible damages and do you have any shrimp here, by any chance, I’ll pay your rent for the next few months.
Elektra makes a mental note to herself: buy this building. A restaurant like this with such delicious pork dishes shouldn’t have to pay out through its nose to hang on by the skin of its teeth.
“You speak Chinese?” calls Jessica after Rand.
Rand, the show-off, replies in Chinese.
Elektra says, “He says, yes, and you’re welcome.”
“You too?” says Jessica, scowling at her.
“I traveled quite a lot when I was younger,” says Elektra, with a shrug. “I can speak quite a few languages. Would you like a demonstration?”
“God, no,” says Jessica. “Am I ever going to get my scarf back, by the way? We’ve already seen your face, after all.”
“You have,” says Elektra. She nods to the owner, still talking to Rand, and to the cook and the waiter, talking to Luke. “They haven’t, and I need to keep them thinking Elektra Natchios and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen are separate. That way, I don’t have to contend with a very messy legal system.”
“Yeah, I noticed you’re not great at that part,” says Jessica.
Elektra leans against the windows, the plastic blinds digging into her back. “Growing pains,” she says, thinking of her first month on the job, of having to consciously keep herself from impaling someone who’d begged her, please don’t kill me I didn’t know it was loaded I didn’t know I didn’t—
“Three people dead is growing pains?” Jessica asks.
“Before this,” says Elektra, “I didn’t have to worry about keeping people alive.”
Jessica stares at her for a long moment, and Elektra wonders, suddenly, how much a private investigator like her can discern just by looking at someone. If the Black Sky is a part of it, somehow.
“Funny,” says Jessica, “last I checked, business didn’t end in bodies.”
“Depends on the kind of business we’re talking about,” says Elektra, pulling the scarf up a little. This is what she hates about having to borrow from people—the scarf is itchy against her skin, not like her own mask. “I’ll check on the back door. No one here wants any more surprises, I’m sure.”
--
“Back door’s clear!” the Black Sky, former destined weapon of the Hand and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, announces as she walks back into the restaurant proper. She’s pretty cheery for someone who’s running around in a bloodstained dress, though Danny supposes that’s why she wore red. “Everything’s locked, we’re safe for the moment.”
For the moment. Danny doesn’t miss the emphasis she places on the words, like she’s not betting on how long it’ll last. Truth be told, he isn’t either.
But he doesn’t tell the Royal Dragon’s owner that. Instead he promises to order four of everything on the menu, maybe five considering his appetite.
The man sighs, at last, and mutters a curse in Mandarin. “All right,” he says, in English. “You can stay. I owe the Devil a debt, anyway.”
Danny looks briefly at Elektra, now talking with Luke and the PI in the leather jacket. It’s hard to believe even now—the Black Sky, a weapon for good. A stabby weapon for good, but still.
He wonders what happened to the first Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, if Elektra had anything to do with it. If she might have—
“Well?” says the owner.
“We’ll take it,” says Danny.
“Remember, the damages are on you,” says the owner.
“I’ll remember,” Danny promises, and watches the man head to the back, presumably to enjoy the relative safety while it lasts.
Then he turns to the three and says, cheerfully, “He says we can stay!”
“Oh, brilliant,” says Elektra, delighted, tugging the scarf down so he can see her grin. “They serve the best chow mein in the city here, I’ve been dying to try them out again.”
“You’re thinking of food at a time like this?” says Luke. “And what did you do?”
“I gave him my black card and agreed to pay the rent for the next six months,” says Danny. Then he looks at the PI, scowling at them all, and says, “Hi, I’m Danny.”
“Jessica,” she says. “Hey, She-Devil, I need my scarf back.”
“You can have it,” says Elektra, “once we’re out of here.” She pauses, then adds, “I don’t want to get into any more legal trouble than I’m already in.”
“I think the whole secret vigilante thing is grounds for a whole lot of legal trouble,” says Jessica.
“Not if no one finds out,” Elektra replies.
“You can take the scarf off, you know,” says Danny, encouragingly. “Your secret’s safe here, we all already know.”
“You are admirably innocent for an Iron Fist,” says Elektra, carelessly. Danny opens his mouth, and closes it. Innocent? He isn’t—He isn’t so innocent, anymore. How can anyone call him that, after everything, after—
He swallows the lump in his throat, forces a smile.
“A what?” says Jessica.
“An Iron Fist,” Danny explains. “The Immortal Iron Fist, weapon of K’un-Lun.”
Luke lets out a long sigh. That’s—fine, Danny supposes. He can deal with a little disbelief, considering he doesn’t have any way to prove the sacredness of the title, the duty it confers upon him. The duty that he’d run away from.
His heart twists.
“Are you on lithium?” says Jessica, and his heart twists all the more.
Elektra sighs. “That doesn’t mean anything to either of them, you know,” she says, conversationally.
“But it does to you,” says Danny.
“Somewhat, yes,” she admits.
“You know what that means?” says Luke.
“An entrepreneur, an assassin, a vigilante, and now an expert on whatever the fuck this is,” says Jessica, sardonic. “What’s next? Reality show star? Scarf model?”
“Living weapon, actually,” says Elektra. “I’m not quite clear on the exact nature yet, but as far as I know it’s not a life that I would want.” She lets out a breath, and for the first time since Danny met her the smile seems to slip a little. “The vigilante part’s new, and besides, I—have people I promised to look after.”
“You’re not the only one,” says Luke.
“The organization we just fought is powerful and ancient,” says Elektra. “How do you think they lasted this long? By sparing their enemies and any potential enemies?”
“They have a name, right?” says Jessica. “Any stupidly powerful ancient organization has bound to have some kind of pretentious-ass name.”
“They call themselves the Hand,” says Danny, deciding to slide in before Jessica can get going.
“Right,” says Luke. “What are they really called?”
“No, he’s right, that really is what they call themselves,” says Elektra. “Pretentious as hell, I know. Next time they try to kill us I’ll be sure to let them know.”
“You’ve crossed paths with them before,” says Danny, looking to Elektra. She’s stowed her sai away now, and her arms are crossed across her chest, unconsciously defensive. “Not only that, but—you’ve managed to resist them. You’ve managed to resist your destiny.” He hadn’t known it was possible, for a Black Sky to do that.
Elektra smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I decide my own fate,” she says. “And I decided I was tired of being jerked around by destiny. It’s brought me naught but—”
She stops, looks down. There’s a story there, Danny thinks, one of grief and sorrow.
He almost, almost reaches out to take her shoulder. But his hand drops, at the last minute—he’s seen her fight, he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t quite appreciate the attempt at comfort. Especially not from him.
He says, instead, “We need to decide our next move.”
“Next move?” Luke demands.
“There is no we,” says Jessica, “and we’re not making a next move. We got into trouble, we fought our way out, let’s call it professional courtesy, end of story.”
“Oh, no, it’s not,” says Elektra. “They’ve seen your faces. They know your names. These people are dangerous—”
“So am I,” snarls Jessica, and for a second Danny can see the dragon inside of her—beaten and battered and bruised, but it’s there all the same, that core of molten steel. Hope kindles in his heart—if these people are on his side, then maybe, just maybe, they can win. “Now someone tell me what I need to know about—ugh, the Hand, so I can be on my way.”
“What is that?” Luke demands, and Danny turns to see the chef and the waiter emerging from the back, with plates upon plates of food. “Did you—Sweet Christmas. You didn’t.”
“It was part of the deal,” says Danny, sheepishly, scratching his neck under the weight of Luke’s incredulous stare. “He got me to order four of everything.” He squints, says, hopefully, “Is that shrimp?”
“Is that chow mein?” says Elektra, tugging the scarf back up to cover her face. Strange woman, trying to cover her identity now. “It is! Dibs on all of that, I’m hungry.”
“Why are both of you,” says Luke, “thinking about food? We’re not here to eat!”
“There’s something called multitasking,” says Elektra.
“You can have mine,” says Jessica. “I’m not hungry.”