Who Am I? » [Stucky]

151. Rash Recruitment

Grant was released from the cell by Coulson and instantly cuffed; denying him any usage of his weapon-worthy hands. He was restricted in bodily movements with his arms straightened behind him, elbows twisted outwards and hands awkwardly located by his arse.

He was untrustingly guided through the halls by Lance Hunter and Alfonso Mackenzie, both men flanking him with a white knuckled grip on his bony thin wrists.

"They say," Hunter began, his British accent misplaced in the American environment. "You're a traitor to SHIELD. Sold your own team down the river... Coulson, May, FitzSimmons... Skye..." He watched Ward visibly squirm; his perfectly intervallic blinks turning frenetic edgily. Grant wriggled his metal-bitten wrists in the shackles; rolling his shoulders backwards - trying to get comfortable. "They say you're Hydra..." Lance hissed protectively - wanting to avenge his team with the confidence eroding words and deliberately investigating into Ward's confidential and shameful past.

"Hey, man..." Alfonso shamed him with a withering look. "I wouldn't... That's a big mouth you got there and someday someone's gonna punch you in it..." He shook his head. "And I don't think I'd blame our buddy here if he gave you an elbow to your face."

"Don't worry about me - I'll see it coming; if it does..." He returned his eyes to Ward. "Is it true? Did you?"

Grant attempted to retain his peace and curled his hands into stressed fists; the knuckles cracking as they furled tightly.

"I don't see why my past is of any interest to you, newcomer..." Grant's dark eyes were filled with disdain; his eyes the conduit of his internal rage.

"Because I'm a newcomer! I wasn't here to see what you're actually like... And I'm just thinkin'..." He and Alfonso turned Grant around the corner to the male washrooms. "If they're going to unleash you, and you're going to be running around the base - then I need to know if you're a threat. I know Skye's not fond of you..." Hunter rattled off into a hysterical giggle; just thinking of some of the things she had implicitly attributed to him.

Grant stopped walking: his feet planted to the floor and he rooted himself. He filtered controlled breaths in and out of his lungs. "Can you please refrain from talking about Skye?" There was a tremor in Grant's voice as he tried to reign in self-control; an acidic lividness fizzling away within him.

Alfonso clapped an unwarranted fraternal hand on his shoulder; making Grant tense like a coiled cobra and flinch at the sudden striking - nearly whimpering at the unexpected friendly violent contact. "Yeah - sure, buddy. Lance, man, you need to-"

"Why? Is she still precious to you? Because I can tell you, you sure as hell ain't important to her. Not anymore, mate." He again chuckled at Grant's expense.

"Dude, I hate to say it; but you're acting like a dick. I thought you Brits were supposed to be polite?" He questioned.

"Not all of us. Just those posh twats who went to Eton, Tonbridge and Winchester. I'm far from Home Counties... And they all sound like complete toss-pots anyway. Also, I don't see point in politeness when dealing with offenders..." Hunter gave Grant a pointed look.

"I'm not-" Grant began, but quickly cut himself off.

"Not what, Hydra-boy? Go on. Deny it," Hunter urged provocatively.

"I'm not with Hydra. Not now... And I believe it's your duty to guard the washrooms whilst I shower and shave and nothing else. So if you could stick to your roles; I would greatly appreciate it..." Grant passive aggressively stated.

~

"Well... Ward... I have to say - you're looking a lot better," Coulson greeted him with a struggled smile; the twitchiness of his behaviour alluding to his discomfort.