Triplett: So Garrett says your family is like the cable version of the Kennedys.
Ward: I doubt he said that.
Triplett: Fine, I did my own research. Had to, following in golden boy's footsteps.
~ The End of the Beginning ~
"Your lawyer's here to meet with you."
Grant Ward opened his eyes and propped himself up on the cell cot. The door was open with three guards standing outside impatiently. Confused, he pointed to himself and pantomimed Me?
"Yes, you. Get going, we haven't got all day."
The guards kept a firm grip on their sidearms as Ward swung his feet around and gingerly stood up, keeping the weight on his good foot. Limping through the corridor, he kept a close eye out for more guards. Moving a prisoner from his cell to the visitors' rooms was a perfect opportunity to eliminate any undesirable loose ends. Ward's wounds had healed well enough that he thought he could probably take on the three guards with him (two of whom looked as though they needed a gym membership), but they were probably about his limit.
But he reached the other end of the prison without incident, and was shown into a small room containing a table, two chairs, and a middle-aged man wearing an expensive suit. The guards pushed Ward into a chair and chained his hands to the table, then two left while the third stood just outside the door where he could keep an eye on them inside.
Once the door closed, the man reached across the table. "My name is Terrence Holleran, and I'll be your attorney." Ward stared at the hand until it was withdrawn. Holleran cleared his throat, then opened up a file and passed across some papers and a prison-issued pen - soft tip, no removable pieces to make into weapons or to pick the cuffs. "I have a great deal of experience with detainee tribunals, including a number of cases down in Guantanamo Bay. I've reviewed your file, and I'm confident we can put together a strategy for negotiating a deal that will keep you from going to trial. I just need your signature before we begin."
Ward stared at the papers - they included a resume of prior cases, release forms for medical and professional records, and a contract for legal representation. Ward flipped over the resume and wrote on the back, Who sent you?, then showed it to Holleran.
The man smiled, showing perfectly straight, white teeth. It reminded Ward of a shark. "Your family, of course." Ward stiffened. "Your uncle reached out to me and explained the situation, then made the arrangements for me to meet with you. It's a good thing he has so many connections, it's been very difficult to even know who's been detained, let alone where they are or to make arrangements for representation. Your parents have offered to pay all of the legal fees involved in the case, should you not have the means to do so yourself. There's nothing for you to worry about, it's all been arranged. As I said, I just need your signature."
Ward clenched his teeth together and closed his eyes. After a moment, he slowly picked the pen back up, then on the same sheet of paper wrote, large and dark, No.
The lawyer peered at him in confusion. "I don't think you understand. All of the fees are taken care of, these are just release forms and the retainer so that I can represent you."
He just shook his head, then scribbled I'm done here and held it up for the guard to see.
The lawyer was still spluttering in shock when the guards led him out of the room.
The following week, Holleran returned with the paperwork. Ward glared at him as he entered the room. "Mr. Ward, I'm afraid we got off on the wrong foot last week. Perhaps it will help if I explain the defense strategy I'm building up for you."
Ward shook his head, but Holleran laid it all out anyway. Instead of listening, he fixed his eyes on a point he could see through the glass where the paint was chipped on the concrete wall. It seemed like Holleran was taking an awful long time, so finally Ward wrote down, How much are they paying you?
Pleased to be getting a response, the lawyer responded, "Aside from the initial retainer, the hourly fee is $675, plus any related expenses."
Only years of training kept Ward from choking in shock. But then another question occurred to him. How long can you stay with me?
"As long as necessary."
Hiding a smile, Ward began to write down questions that Holleran was eager to respond to. When the page he was using was full, Holleran passed over a notebook. He asked about the lawyer's experience, about other cases, asked for more details about the defense strategy, and even asked about the man's family life. Being in prison had skewed his sense of time, but Ward guessed several hours had passed by the time he ran out of mundane questions to ask.
As he paused, Holleran smiled. "I trust this puts all your fears to rest. Shall we sign the paperwork now?"
No.
Ward left behind a speechless lawyer, something that gave him a great sense of accomplishment.
The next time Holleran visited, Ward used the notepad to doodle and sketch. When he started sketching various forms of knives, Holleran told the guards they were finished for the day.
"Ward, visitor."
He rolled his eyes as he swung off the bed. His foot was starting to feel well enough that he wasn't limping as noticeably, and most of his cuts were healing nicely. But his throat still felt jagged and torn, so he simply waved in response to the guard as he got up.
Once outside his cell, his preservation instinct kicked in as he noticed there was only one guard this time. Once he thought more about it, he realized it was far too late in the day to be receiving visitors, even those as rare as his lawyer. The halls sounded emptier than usual, too - no witnesses. Ward kept himself alert on the journey, his eyes scanning his surroundings.
But they reached the visitor center without incident. The guard brought him into the small room and chained him tightly to the table, leaving very little room for his hands to move. He then bent down and chained his legs to the chair, and checked the bolts on both chair and table to make sure they were secure. Ward's heart raced, wondering who could be coming that would require this kind of extra security. It occurred to him that maybe it was Coulson, or another member of his team - they might have the pull to arrange a more private interview.
Once the guard was finished, he crossed the room to the visitor entrance and opened the door. But the man who walked in wasn't Coulson, or SHIELD, or even Holleran.
It was Maynard Lawrence Ward III.
Maynard spoke softly with the guard and passed him an envelope that had been tucked inside his tailored suit jack. The guard turned around to exit the visitor room. He stood at the usual station for monitoring the session, but turned his back to the window.
Maynard smiled at him and tipped his head to the side. "Hello, little brother. It's been a long time."
Adrenaline poured through Grant's system, and everything in him screamed for the freedom to indulge in a fight or flight response. Mostly flight. No witnesses. After hours. A guard who'd been paid off. Tightly chained down. Maynard could do anything. And Grant was completely helpless.
"I'm Agent Grant Ward, and I can rupture your spleen with my left pinky. Blindfolded."
Simmons's mocking tone ran through his head, but strangely it comforted him. He remembered the confidence they had that he could handle any situation, get them through any mission. It stemmed the flow of his panic, and suddenly he took a deep breath. He could do this.
Maynard, meanwhile, propped an ankle on the opposite leg and leaned back, striking a relaxed pose. Up close, Grant could see the ever so faint trace of a burn scar on his face. However, the scar seemed to only enhance the bastard's good looks, giving a rugged edge to his otherwise porcelain features. "Terrence tells me you haven't been cooperating with him. Really, Grant. He's only trying to help."
Ward just stared at him, refusing to indicate any response.
"I don't think you understand what's going on here. What's at stake. And how much we've already done for you." Maynard leaned forward, capturing Ward's eyes in his gaze. "When Uncle Douglas found your name on a list of detainees, he knew we'd have to do something about it. After all, can't have it be known there's a Hydra traitor in the family."
Ward shrugged, and tried to bring up a cocky smile, but he suspected it was little more than a grimace.
"Oh, not that I give a damn about what you've been doing. Or even what might happen to you in here." He squared his jaw. "But you fucked up, and there's too much at stake for anyone to know about it. Maybe you missed it, running around with your Nazi pals, but Uncle Doug's already announced his retirement, opening up a seat in the Senate." Maynard placed his hands on the table and pushed himself forward, only inches from Ward's face. It took everything Grant had in him not to flinch back. "I intend to take that seat. But I can't do that with a fuck-up little brother as a known traitor, now, can I."
Maynard captured his gaze for what seemed like an eternity, and finally Grant flinched and looked away. When he glanced back, his brother had leaned back in his chair again with a triumphant smirk. "You're lucky that Uncle Doug has a soft spot for you, and would rather have Terrence find some kind of deal for you." He stood up and casually walked around the table, placing a deceptively friendly hand on Grant's shoulder. "Me, I think it'd be a lot easier to make sure you ran into the wrong person in prison, then find someone to wipe the records clean. I'm sure you'd agree - hell, you were probably the one to call for that sort of thing before, weren't you?" He leaned down. "Shame - first time in your life you had a spine and were useful, and you had to fuck it up by getting yourself caught."
The berserker rage deep within Ward that he kept under such tight control boiled, and it erupted in a low growl that tore through his healing throat as he jerked toward the man next to him. In response, Maynard grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into the table. He struggled to pull away, but couldn't get the right leverage.
"Here's how this is going to work, Grant. You're going to sign those papers. You're going to say and do everything that Terrence tells you to do, exactly as instructed. And then, you're going to disappear. Permanently." Maynard leaned down, close enough that Grant could smell his breath. "Otherwise, Uncle Dougie can't help you anymore, and I'll make sure you disappear. Understood?"
Grant felt sick with shame as he nodded against the table. But Maynard slammed him again. "Say it, Grant!"
Feeling as though he was slicing his own throat open, Grant managed to croak out a weak, "Yes."
Maynard yanked him up by the hair and let him slam back into his chair. Grant struggled to breath as his brother walked back around the table and then pulled a sheaf of papers out with a pen. He placed them in front of Grant and then stepped back to watch him. "Sign it."
His hands trembled as he strained against the cuffs to grasp the pen with his fingertips, then awkwardly signed the paperwork authorizing Terrence Holleran to be his legal representation.
Maynard flashed a brilliant smile at him. "There, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" He gathered back up the papers and pen, then condescendingly ruffled Grant's hair. He jerked away and glared up at his brother. "Don't worry, Grant. You know how well I can make things go away."
With that, Maynard rapped on the window to alert the guard that they were finished, and then left the visitor's room whistling Secret Agent Man in a cheery tune.
Ward managed to make it back to his cell before he was sick, then sank against the wall with a blank expression. 15 years, and he was back exactly where he'd started. Slowly, the rage boiled over, and he screamed as he overturned the low bed, throwing the few possessions he had in his cell against the wall before beating his fists against it again and again and again until the guards rushed in and sedated him.