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*
Just a few days ago, Danny pulled together a small group in Hell's Kitchen to start fighting back against the creatures setting up shop there. It's not much yet, but it's the beginning of something. Something that could be good. There are still things they need, still work to be done. But just as that began, she heard on the news that the initiative for heroes including one Captain America was being disbanded. And that? Waste of perfectly good resources.
It took some calls, mostly on the part of Jeryn Hogarth to various contacts to find out where the Captain could be found, but eventually she got an answer. In wide-legged trousers and a green button-down blouse with her hair braided away from her face, she's come knocking.
*
The door opens slowly on account of the chain that blocks it from opening all the way. Old ladies lock the door in such away, as does Steve Rogers, apparently, even though he is entirely safe within the Baxter Building. Maybe it's the war. Maybe it's something else. He closes the door, unlocks it, and opens it. Out wafts the smell of…what is that? Frying Spam? It is.
"Hello," Steve says, clad in a black t-shirt and blue jeans. "Can I help you?"
*
"Hi." Danny smiles swiftly, an open expression, before she holds out a hand. "I'm Danny Rand. I, ah." She pauses, smile slipping self-consciously crooked as she rubs her other hand at the back of her neck. "Sorry. I get that this is probably rude and obnoxious, but I caught the news, and, well. Seems to me that if the UN doesn't want help, there are people right here in New York who do."
*
Steve looks completely confused. He thinks he recognizes the name somehow, but the thought is pushed out by how quickly she moves on. "I was actually employed by NATO," he says absently. "How did you get in here?"
*
"Right. Sorry. Politics are sort of not my thing. I walked in." Danny points a thumb over her shoulder, looking back in the direction of the elevators. "I'm actually kind of- I'm the owner of Rand-Meachum Enterprises." Not as big a name as Stark, but they'd been getting into manufacturing during the war. Wendell Rand was a real rags to riches story - an orphan raised in the far east who built his fortune in New York. "Not that I think you should care about that, but doormen usually do. Also not really why I'm here. Sort of part of why I'm here, but not- Wow, sorry, I was not expecting to be this spectacularly articulate."
*
"I have some spam burning…Do you want to come in?" Steve says, opening the door a bit wider. He probably shouldn't invite strange women into his home, but she seems slight and unassuming. He could probably take her if she was deranged. Right? "I could make some more if you're hungry."
*
"Thanks," Danny replies, relieved, at the invitation, stepping inside before she realizes there was an offer in there. "Did you say spam? You know, I don't think I've ever tried spam." She looks around a little bit as she walks in, but she keeps her hands in her pockets, following him. "I think I looked at it once, but I really wasn't sure how you were supposed to cook it."
*
"We used to fry it when we could in the service. I never really lost the taste for it, despite eating a whole ton of it for four years." Steve's apartment is two things. Neat and Spartan. There's a sofa, a chair, a radio, a table, a coffee table and that's pretty much it. "Go ahead and have a seat at the table." He disappears, only to reappear with a plate full of thinly sliced, fried ham-ish stuff. It's still sizzling, so he must have put on more. "So, what are you looking for? Do you need a donation or something? Are you running for office?"
*
Danny settles in at the table, leaning over to get a look at the spam with a curious expression. "Huh. That looks way better than the pictures on the can." At his question, though, she laughs. "Yeah, no, neither of those. I've got plenty of money. Actually, the board kind of hates me because for the most part, my goal is to give away as much of it as possible. I'm planning on doing a few- Sorry, that's off-topic. Sort of. Not really why I'm here. And I'm definitely not running for office," she smirks.
She sets her elbows on the table, hands folded together. "Have you heard about what's been going on in Hell's Kitchen?"
*
Steve sets a bottle of catsup upon the table and sits down while the rest is frying up. "I haven't. To be honest I haven't spent a lot of time in that part of town, really. I hear a lot of bad things, but that's more general than anything else."
*
"Well, it's bad enough," Danny agrees, nodding. "Usually. Usually it's gangs and drugs and…unfortunately standard sorts of things. Right now, though, it's demons and vampires." She gives that a second to sink in, meeting his eye to maintain seriousness. "I'm working on putting together a group of people to help protect the people there and then to move in on the creatures that are trying to move into the neighborhood. I've got other, more reasonable long-term plans to help with the normal problems," she waves a hand, "But the vampires are sort of a crisis."
*
"You know, most people would call you crazy." Steve raises his eyebrows and realizes he's being rude. "I have some milk, water, cola, or beer." He takes a sigh a bit as he looks in his fridge. "Most people would call you crazy, but I saw some weird things during the war. Vampires included."
*
"Water's fine. Crazy's fine, really," Danny shrugs, though the crooked smile remains. "Wouldn't be the first time. I'm a twenty-four year old woman who's taken control of a major corporation in five years after coming back from being presumed dead for ten. I date who I want, I dress how I want, and I don't belong to anyone. So yeah, most people would call me crazy. And then there's the other part." Sitting up a little straighter, she crooks two fingers. "Go ahead, try to hit me."
*
"I beg your pardon?" Steve says, now sure that this girl is crazy. Immediately he regrets bringing her into his home. Although he can totally sympathize with the assumptions of death.
*
"It's okay. Trust me. You'll miss." Danny sounds completely certain of that, too, sitting there calmly. If he can look past the surprise, he might be able to tell there's something a little bit different about the way she holds herself. Loose, but ready. Relaxed, but completely alert at the same time.
*
"I'm not going to punch you," Steve says flatly. He puts the glass of water down on the table and sits across from her with a beer in his hand. "What role are you playing in this other than organizing it? It doesn't seem like something a CEO of a major company would get involved with."
*
"I know you're not," Danny says lightly. "I'm trying to demonstrate just how much you're not." She reaches for the water, taking a drink. "You know the part where I said I was missing and presumed dead for ten years? Well, I wasn't dead. I was busy. Given the crazy talk, I won't go into the details of where and what was going on. But the short version is, I'm a fighter. Kung fu, mostly, but I've picked up some other things along the way."
*
Steve raises his eyebrow and nods, "Well, I didn't mean to assume…I mean." He reddens a bit, realizing he may have come off as rude. "Who else is helping you?" he asks, trying to change the subject out of embarrassment.
*
"Guy by the name of Luke Cage, runs an investigation firm called Heroes for Hire." Danny doesn't seem to be offended by the assumptions, continuing along cheerfully. "A couple of mercenary sorts. Not super trustworthy or reliable, probably, but they seem to have a horse in the race, at least. A woman who's apparently invulnerable, a friend of hers who seems to have some magic connections and can heal people. A man who says he's just lucky."
*
"Well, I'm interested in helping any way that I can," Steve replies. "I can't vouch for people I don't know, and I can't promise I'll be able to work as a teammate with them, but at the same time I would be happy to do whatever I can."
*
"That's what I was hoping," Danny grins, setting the water down. "I kind of figured that Cap- That Steve Rogers wasn't going to be the sort to sit around and let things go to hell just because someone told him he couldn't do something about it." Only then does she reach for the spam to give it a try.
*
"They just won't write me checks anymore," Steve says with a shrug and a smile. "They didn't say anything about sitting on the bench."
*
"Well, hey. Good news is, I have a lot of checks." Danny winks, taking a bite of the spam and pausing as she chews. "That is…" Chew. Chew. "That is, uh." Chew. "I'm deeply confused about my feelings about this." A little more chewing. "Anyhow. I'm gonna give you my number," she pulls a card from her pocket. "And there's an address on the back for a scrapyard where people are meeting for now."
*
"You're really confused about giving me your n…Oh," Steve says as he gets the card. "It's good with ketchup," he says with a shrug. "Instant meat can never be bad in my book."
*
"It's not bad. It's just…different," Danny says as she takes another bite. "I'm not that picky, really. Sometimes you eat what you need to eat, you know? I feel like it'd be good with pineapple. Isn't there pineapple in the picture on the can?" The card is a little battered, but it says exactly what she said she was. Minus the master of kung fu part.
*
"What isn't good with pineapple?" Steve responds as he reaches into the kitchen to get the can. Seems like this one is sadly pineapple free.
*
"Huh. Maybe I'm thinking about something I saw in a magazine," Danny muses, turning the can around to get a look. "Anyhow." She looks back up, smile crooked. "Most of the people there don't know me as Danny. It's Iron Fist when I'm working. But you should stop by. Maybe we could talk about some of those other ideas. I've got a friend who's a veteran I think whose story'd be an interesting one for you."
*
"Iron Fist? That's kind of a swell name. I haven't really kept up with the superheroing that's been going on, or I'm sure I'd have heard of you," Steve admits.
*
"Probably not, really," Danny laughs, grin flashing as she shakes her head. "The title comes from a mystical city in the Himalayas that only exists on this plane once every ten years. You earn it by defeating every other warrior in the city, then defeating the dragon Shou-Lao the undying and plunging your hands into its burning heart." Another bite of spam. "The full version's a long story. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."