Luca studied the man before him and ransacked his memory for answers.
The face was familiar.
That meant this person existed somewhere in Marvel’s vast roster of named characters.
But why couldn’t he place him?
Grant observed the target’s contemplative expression and silently questioned his foster father’s judgment.
He was not a diplomat.
His talents leaned toward action rather than conversation, fists rather than persuasion.
Missions like this, negotiation, the delicate art of bringing someone inside, belonged to specialists like Phil Coulson.
Or Jasper Sitwell, who balanced his S.H.I.E.L.D duties with his HYDRA obligations so seamlessly that both organizations considered him an exemplary employee.
But John Garrett, Ward’s foster father and immediate superior, had insisted.
Unlike the HYDRA faction that had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D from its earliest days, Garrett had started as a genuine patriot.
Flawed, certainly.
Self-interested, perhaps.
But his compass had pointed generally toward justice.
Then came the injury, severe enough to force him from active duty into a desk role.
And then came the insult.
Some black-haired director, no need to guess which one, had implemented a ranking system that reduced a legend to Level Eight.
Level Eight.
Garrett had served since Peggy Carter’s era.
He’d bled for the organization when the current director was still playing in the mud somewhere.
And now he was expected to accept parity with functionaries who’d never heard a shot fired?
Worse, that same director, through blatant favoritism, had promoted a woman barely out of her twenties, an agent with less than 5 years of service, to Level Nine.
Her qualifications apparently included long legs and the director’s personal approval.
Garrett’s decades of sacrifice meant less than nepotism.
So he’d turned.
With decades of accumulated contacts and credibility, he could write his own ticket anywhere.
HYDRA offered resources, autonomy, and vengeance against the system that had discarded him.
But HYDRA’s American operations remained embryonic.
Garrett commanded perhaps two or three reliable assets, hardly an army.
Hence the interest in Luca Quinn.
A bomb master of evident skill.
A potential solution to Garrett’s manpower shortage.
The puppet master couldn’t appear personally.
Trusted intermediaries were scarce.
So despite knowing his son’s limitations as a recruiter, Garrett had sent Ward anyway.
A dead horse of a son.
“Grant Ward, FBI.” The agent flashed his badge.
“There are some matters I’d like to discuss with you.” Ward had wrestled with his approach during the walk over.
How exactly did one open a recruitment conversation with a suspected bomber?
The badge was a safe bet, official and vaguely threatening.
If this angle failed, he carried credentials for CIA, MI6, and several other three-letter agencies in his various pockets.
One of them would fit.
The moment Ward identified himself, recognition clicked into place.
S.H.I.E.L.D agent.
Luca remembered now.
The TV series, an attempt to capitalize on Marvel’s cinematic success when the A-list superheroes demanded salaries beyond television budgets.
Grant Ward had been a breakout character, significant despite (or perhaps because of) the unknown actor portraying him.
The show’s timeline placed it after the Chitauri invasion, six or seven years from the current date.
That explained the delayed recognition, this Ward was younger, missing the weight of events yet to come.
To be fair, Luca rationalized, who memorizes the faces of marginally attractive men?
If this were a beautiful woman, I’d have placed her instantly.
More importantly, if Grant existed in this timeline, did that mean Skye was out there too?
The “Vibe Girl,” the hacker with the mysterious past, currently bouncing through foster care as an orphan?
Luca filed that thought away for later consideration.
Raising one superpowered teenager wouldn’t be much different from raising two, surely.
“FBI?” He kept his expression neutral, though inwardly he was already calculating.
“I’ve been in the country less than a week.
What possible interest could you have in me?” Beside him, he gently directed Wanda upstairs with a reassuring nod.
She hesitated, then obeyed.
Ward met Luca’s gaze and caught something unexpected there… Relief.
The agent found this deeply puzzling.
Even a bomb expert standing on home turf had reason to be cautious when federal agents came calling.
Yet this man looked almost…
pleased.
“We’re aware your documentation doesn’t reflect your actual identity,” Ward said carefully.
“I escaped from Sokovia.
The Italian papers were practical necessities, nothing more.” Luca shrugged.
There was no point pretending otherwise.
The S.H.I.E.L.D.
or more accurately, the HYDRA branch operating under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s banner, would have already mapped his entire history.
Thanks to Nick Fury’s tireless expansion and creative budget management, the organization had grown into a global surveillance behemoth.
No refugee’s background could withstand that scrutiny.
Luca had always known he’d intersect with S.H.I.E.L.D.
eventually.
He’d just hoped to delay the meeting until after he’d visited a few more worlds.
“In that case—” Ward extended his hand.
“Grant Ward, Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.” “Given your particular skills, I assume the name isn’t unfamiliar.” To most civilians, S.H.I.E.L.D.
was a ghost, unacknowledged, unknown.
But Ward felt confident this young man moved in circles where the organization’s reputation preceded it.
Luca took the offered hand, his mind racing ahead.
S.H.I.E.L.D.
HYDRA.
Garrett’s recruitment pitch.
He smiled warmly.
“Luca Quinn.”