"Who is he, Danny?"
Danny flinched, whirling to face Shang-Chi. "Christ, Shang, you almost gave me a heart attack. Don't do that." He gestured to the edge of the roof. "Wanna sit?"
Shang-Chi folded his arms and nodded to the alleyway below them, where a figure in a green-and-gold costume was sparring with invisible opponents. "The new Iron Fist. Who is he?"
"You know about as much as I do. Young, mostly self-taught. He's good, but he's a mess of forms and moves. He can handle a sword, and he's smart, but inexperienced. And he's not from K'un Lun. Shanghai, if you can believe it. And he can do this knuckle-spike thing with his green chi."
"Green," Shang-Chi repeated.
"Yeah. Pretty sure it's from these— here, I'll show you." He leaned over the edge of the rooftop. "Hey, kid! C'mere a second."
The new Iron Fist sighed, broke form, and started to make his way up the fire escape. He vaulted easily onto the roof, stabilizing himself in an instant.
"What?" he asked Danny, not looking at Shang-Chi.
"How are your hands?"
He froze for a few more seconds than was necessary. "They're fine," he said carefully.
"That's good. Kid, this is Shang-Chi—"
"I know who he is." He took one careful step away. "I need to get back."
Shang-Chi started to say something, but he was already gone.
"He's usually friendlier," Danny told Shang-Chi, rubbing the back of his neck. "That was kind of weird. Do you know him, or something?"
Shang-Chi shook his head, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he recognized the voice.
"Huh. I'll ask him about it, I guess. Just… would it kill you to call first instead of just appearing out of the shadows like that? It's cool, but it's pretty freaky." Danny looked over his shoulder at the now-empty rooftop. "And… I'm talking to myself. Great."
Shang-Chi came across the new Iron Fist fighting demons a week later, in another alley, nine against one. Not great odds, even if you were experienced.
He had intended just to watch, but the kid blocked a hit with his forearm and cried out, fists flickering, and Shang-Chi's instincts took over. Before he was even conscious of the motion, he'd jumped down from the fire escape and landed on one demon, kicked another in the chest, and knocked a third into the wall.
The fight was over in another minute, the demons crumbled into debris around them. Iron Fist took one look at Shang-Chi and leapt towards the fire escape.
His fingers barely closed around the metal rungs before he dropped back to the ground, arms drawn in tight to his body.
"You're injured," Shang-Chi told him.
"Yeah, no sh— yeah." He flexed one hand experimentally and hissed. "Ah."
"Let me see it."
He pulled his hands away from Shang-Chi, so sharply it had to have hurt. "Look, thanks for the help and all, but I'm fine."
"You are not."
"It's an old wound," he protested, hands still half-curled against his chest. "It'll stop hurting in a minute. You can go," he added when Shang-Chi made no move to leave.
"I'd rather not."
He huffed and sat down against the alley wall. "Fine. Hang out in an alley with the demon dust or whatever."
"So they were demons?" Shang-Chi asked, raising an eyebrow. "They looked familiar."
Iron Fist's head snapped up, his face taking on a deer-in-headlights expression that was obvious even through the mask over his eyes. "What?"
"They looked familiar," Shang-Chi repeated. "Is everything alright?"
"Fine," he gritted out, wincing as he adjusted his arms. He settled on sitting with his knees up and propping his wrists on them.
The alley was quiet for a few moments, except for the occasional hissed breath or pained exhale from Iron Fist.
"Do you meditate?" Shang-Chi finally asked.
He looked up again. "Oh, you're serious."
"Danny didn't teach you?"
"Rand didn't teach me shit," he muttered. "But yeah, I can meditate." He fidgeted with the wrappings on his hands. "Not really gonna do much. I've tried. Sorry."
The apology seemed out of place. Shang-Chi decided not to comment on it. Iron Fist messed with his wrappings some more, revealing a shiny green shard — the color and material oddly familiar — embedded in his wrist.
All the pieces clicked into place.
"Lin Lie?"
The sharp intake of breath told him he was right.
"I thought—" There was suddenly a burning behind his eyes. "Lie, I thought you were dead."
"I know." The words were clipped.
"What happened?"
Lie didn't look up. "The sword broke. I fell. Washed up on the shores of K'un Lun." He shrugged tightly. "Became the Iron Fist, I guess. Since Rand isn't doing it anymore. Dragon chi's gotta go somewhere."
"The sword is in your hands?"
He undid the bandages instead of answering, tugging them off with his teeth when his trembling fingers couldn't grip them well enough.
Shards of metallic green littered his hands and forearms, embedded into his skin, connected by squiggly lines of nerve and muscle damage and scar tissue, some of which looked newer than the rest. The mark of the Iron Fist — a dragon tattoo that shimmered orange and gold — wound carefully through the scars and sword pieces on his right arm.
Shang-Chi had seen a lot of injuries in his life, but none quite like this.
"Yeah," Lie said. "It's better than it looks."
"No," Shang-Chi replied. "I can see that it's not." He knelt in front of Lie and held out his hands. "May I?"
Lie's face tightened, but he set one hand gingerly in Shang-Chi's.
Shang-Chi steadied it as best he could. "Do they always shake like this?"
"Yeah." The mask made it impossible to tell if Lie was meeting his eyes or not. "I was working on getting my strength back— Rand was supposed to be helping— but it doesn't stop."
"And does fighting make it worse?"
He didn't answer.
"Lie."
"Yeah, actually," he snapped. "It does. The one thing I'm supposed to be good for, and it's agony. I wasn't a good enough swordsman, and I'm not a good enough Iron Fist either." He pulled his hand out of Shang-Chi's grip sharply, rubbing one trembling thumb over the tattoo that coiled around his arm.
"That's not—"
Lie scoffed. "I wasn't even good enough to keep myself alive. Or to protect K'un Lun. And Rand said he would train me, but he's not—" He cut himself off.
"Not what?" Shang-Chi asked.
"Nothing. Never mind." Lie collected the bandages and started rewrapping one arm. "Don't you have a secret society of ancient warriors to run or something else to do besides sit in this alley?"
Shang-Chi shook his head.
Lie dropped the end of the wrapping before he could answer. The bandages slowly unspooled from around his arm.
"Shit."
"Can I hel—"
"No." He didn't look at Shang-Chi. "I can handle it. I've been handling it."
Shang-Chi said nothing.
"I can take care of myself, Shang-Chi," Lie continued. "I don't need— shit."
Shang-Chi caught the bandages he'd dropped a second time. "I'm not doubting you, Lie."
"Then give me back my wrappings."
"Alright." He held them back out.
Lie stayed still for a long moment, then extended one arm instead. "Fine."
Shang-Chi took it and started wrapping the bandages around his arm, careful of the shards embedded in the skin. "Tell me if it's too tight."
"Yeah."
They were quiet for a few minutes as he wrapped Lie's arms and Lie… Shang-Chi wasn't sure what he was doing. It was difficult to discern his expression with the mask tied over his eyes.
"Does that feel alright?" he asked, securing the last bandage.
Lie nodded. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright."
"Not about—" He exhaled sharply. "I'm sorry I— I should have— I don't know. I shouldn't have let myself get distracted. In Chungcheongnam-do. The kumiho got in my head and I put myself and Ami in danger."
"It's not your fault, Lie."
"I should have been better. I—"
"You saved Ami."
"And I died."
Shang-Chi stopped short. "What?"
"I fell off the cliff. Hit the water hard. And there were rocks, and the current was— I'm pretty sure I died." Lie's voice got quiet. "It felt like it."
"Are you alright?" Shang-Chi asked carefully.
Lie reached up and tugged off his mask. He looked older than Shang-Chi remembered underneath it. "I don't know."
"You have somewhere to go?" Shang-Chi pressed.
"Rand got me an apartment in the city."
"He's looking after you?"
Lie shot him a look. "I'm not a child."
"I know."
"Then why are you even still here? I'm not your br— you're not responsible for me." He pushed himself to his feet, hissing slightly when he put weight on his bandaged hands. "You don't have to keep an eye on me so I don't die."
Shang-Chi winced.
"Sorry. You know what I mean. I'm not—" He sighed. "I need to go."
"Lie—"
He pulled his mask back over his eyes sharply. "I can't do this right now. I have a duty to— to K'un Lun and to Rand and to my fam— my father. I don't have time."
Shang-Chi stood up. "Lie."
"I'm fine."
"You died," he said calmly. "And you didn't tell any of us you were back."
"You had a secret ninja society to run. Woo was busy. Amadeus was with the Champions. Dan Bi was in school, because she's like eight. Aero and Wave were somewhere with Triumph Division. Luna's on tour."
Shang-Chi just stared at him.
"I mean, I called Ami," he said after a moment. "Right before that weird giant space god showed up and decided it wanted to kill everybody." He fidgeted absently with where his bandages were secured. "I asked her not to tell you until I was ready, but I didn't really think she— she would."
"You didn't want anyone else to know?"
"Yes. No." He shoved a hand through his hair. Shang-Chi recognized that nervous energy from back when he'd first started training Lie. Uncertainty and trepidation. "I don't know."
"They looked for you," Shang-Chi told him quietly. "For hours. I think Pearl dredged the whole river twice. Jimmy told me he had to carry Dan Bi home because she fell asleep on the shore."
Lie shook his head sharply.
"They would want to know you were alive."
He didn't meet Shang-Chi's eyes. "It's fine. It probably doesn't matter anyway."
"Lie." Shang-Chi waited for Lie to look at him. "It matters to me. I'm glad you're alive."
Lie stared at him for a long moment, then stepped forward and hugged him tightly.
Shang-Chi put his arms around his shoulders, careful of his injuries. He tried to keep his surprise from showing.
"I just wanted to find my father," Lie said quietly. "I didn't want any of this. I didn't want to be the Iron Fist. I didn't want to die. And I'm—" His voice faltered, and he stopped.
"You're what?"
"Nothing." He pulled away, adjusting his mask and avoiding looking at Shang-Chi. "Sorry. I'm fine."
"You keep saying that," Shang-Chi told him.
"Yeah." He sighed heavily. "I— Will you tell them? Woo and the others?"
"Of course."
Lie nodded. "Thanks."
"Are you going to stay out any longer?"
Lie glanced at his hands. "No. The shards are quiet now. I think that was all of Chiyou's demons out tonight. And I'm really tired."
"Your hands hurt?"
He still wouldn't quite meet Shang-Chi's eyes. "Always."
"Relax your shoulders."
His shoulders slumped, and some of the tension faded from his arms and hands. "Oh."
"Better?"
"A little." Lie flexed his hands experimentally. "It's duller."
"Your arms are tired."
"My whole body is tired," he replied with a shrug. "I just need to go back to the apartment and sleep."
Shang-Chi nodded. "You know that you can call me if you need me, right?"
Lie glanced up at him. "I— yeah. Yeah. I mean, you're pretty easy to find." He gestured in the direction of the House of the Deadly Hand. "The giant fortress-looking thing in the middle of Chinatown is hard to miss."
"You're welcome to visit any time."
He blinked, hard. "Yeah. I— I might do that."