Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel's "Black Panther." Or the "Avengers" series characters. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: I was trying to get this up before Halloween but that didn't quite happen. This is a Ross x T'Challa story.
Warnings:vampires, vampire!Ross, blood drinking, violence and gore. Someone kidnaps T'Challa and Ross goes into rage mode, pre-relationship, romance, drama, pining.
Violent Chemistry
Chapter One
It would be an understatement to say no one had been expecting Agent Ross to go off the deep end when news reached them that T'Challa had been killed in a hijacking on the edge of Wakanda airspace.
It would probably be more accurate to say he'd dropped an atomic bomb into the Marianas trench and rode the shock wave, complete with sharp teeth and claws. Leaving a gory, but righteous trail of blood and bodies in his wake.
For all intents and purposes, the moment Agent Ross learned of the crash, he went AWOL. Suddenly turning up in Paris, Mumbai, Los Angelus, Rome, Siberia, Ottawa, Kenya. Slaughtering entire enemy compounds one by one. No one knew how he'd done it or how he'd gotten the information, but one by one he hit every responsible party. Destroying operations S.H.E.I.L.D had been dreaming of taking down for years in less than hours. Each time moving too fast for them to follow as they scrambled to put together the pieces, always managing to be five steps behind.
There was only one problem.
T'Challa wasn't dead.
Not yet anyway.
"We need to tell him," Natasha pointed out. Voice as firm as her expression as she watched Agent Ross through the one-way interrogation glass. Pointedly not turning away as he changed into the clean suit he'd requested. Peeling off the blood-soaked slick of his suit jacket and pants without a hint of discomfort. Pale, freckled skin on display for all to see as he let the shirt and trousers stay where they fell. Pulling on the fresh pair they'd fitted with a tracker as a precaution.
More than a few lips twitched when Agent Ross raised his hand up to the glass. Letting them watch as a long black claw grew out of the nail bed of his index finger. Pausing for a long moment before the claw slid into the pocket where the tracker was hidden and cut it out with a swift jerk. Letting it drop to the floor with a hollow, significant sound before looking up again. Barely missing a beat as the hooked claw retracted and he started doing up the buttons of the dress shirt.
One of the techies sucked in a breath.
But otherwise everyone stayed quiet.
And for good reason.
His old suit was shredded, pock-marked with bullet-holes, knife slashes and charred by explosions. The same wounds they'd watched heal in real time on the surveillance tapes. Any time one of the enemy connected a blow, sharp claws ripped out the nearest throat in retribution. Lips curled in an animal snarl that transformed his face into something nightmarish and dark, as he drained them dry. Leaving them broken and torn into at the neck. A brutal example of cause and effect.
But it was more than that.
She knew vengeance when she saw it.
They all did.
Whatever Agent Ross was, he'd revealed himself for one reason and one reason only. Revenge. All that self control had snapped like a rope pulled tight the same day T'Challa's ship had been blown out of the sky. Reduced to nothing but tangled metal and charcoal-bones.
"I don't think that is the most pressing issue right now," Tony pointed out, jabbing at a computer-read out that he flicked towards the wall projector and expanded in front of their eyes. Showing a completely normal human x-ray, versus the x-ray that'd been taken when Agent Ross had been fighting his way through the third enemy stronghold in Berlin. "We don't know what he is or what his deal is. Somehow he got past our radar, the C. , and has been within sniffing distance of all of us. God knows what else we don't know. What are the Wakandans saying?"
"Nothing," Clint broke in. Shifting from his perch on the edge of the table. Looking at the playback of Ross flipping over a glass partition and landing gracefully. Sending a trio of enemy soldiers flying like it was as effortless as breathing and not impossible. For Thor, maybe. But without some other ability? Not likely. Hitting slow-motion as the moment Ross had shifted. Exhaling, chin to chest, before looking up to flash red eyes and sharp, vampiric teeth. "I get the feeling they didn't know, but I'm sure they're watching."
"He went M.I.A on their watch," Tony interjected, tapping the screen until the x-ray turned into an animation. Morphing from human to- whatever he was and then back again, over and over. "Are you telling me they have nothing?"
"Nothing they want to share," Clint returned. Switching to the video they had of the moment they'd caught up with him in Kenya. How the red had faded from his eyes and returned to blue as Agent Ross stepped out into the blazing sun as the sound of distant explosions started going off behind him. Blood had been dripping off him like he'd been doused it in it. Chin smeared with red as his tongue flicked out to clean the gore from his lips. Absolutely unbothered by the fact that he was surrounded or that Tony had at least a half dozen of his best weapons aimed directly at him. "Same as him."
"Which puts us back at square one. What is he? How dangerous is he? What does he want?" Tony shot back, typing furiously on his tablet before tossing at a startled tech to catch. "And hey- while we're at it, where does all this stop?"
The man in question approached the double-sided glass, causing the room to tense. Using the reflection to adjust his tie and smooth his hair. Looking every inch the Agent they'd all known - whether from first-hand experience or just his photo file. Making it hard to believe that hours ago they'd watched him sink his teeth into a half dozen throats and drink his fill. Presumably getting some sort of intel before he set the reactors in the compound to blow and walked out to meet them.
For such a clusterfuck of a situation, he'd actually done them a favor. More than one, actually. What Ross had managed to do in less than seventy-two hours, they'd been trying to destroy or at least infiltrate for decades.
Steve shook his head. Getting to his feet and approaching the glass as Agent Ross finished with the buttons of his suit and shrugged his shoulders. Adjusting the fit meticulously, nose twitching.
"Normally I'd agree, but somehow I don't think he's a threat. This is Agent Ross we're talking about," Steve murmured, staring through the glass the same moment Agent Ross seemed to look right at him. "He's a straight shooter. We've all seen his record. Seems to me this is more of a last stand than anything. Think about it, Tony. He's spent all this time normal, the same as us. Then he thinks T'Challa is gone. That's when he goes off the deep end. Not before. Not even when it meant his life. He kept it under wraps until now. But the way he's going? I've seen it before. He doesn't plan to get out of this alive."
Tony frowned.
"Why? How do we know?"
"Because he loves him," Natasha finished quietly, breathing through it as all the little pieces suddenly clicked together. Like the way Ross had spent the better portion of a year going back and forth to Wakanda before the agency had gotten tired of getting bare bones intel and called him state-side for a meeting.
It hadn't gone well. But in the end there had been nothing the agency could do when T'Challa named him the country's official foreign adviser. After that, the government had to be content with the scraps T'Challa wanted released and nothing more. Figuring it was better to have a man on the inside than nothing at all.
Still, anyone with eyes could see Ross and T'Challa went way beyond politics. It wasn't a position or a job that'd kept Ross from spilling, it was loyalty and respect. And eventually, something more.
"You only lose control like that when you lose someone you love," Clint remarked, chin tipping into his chest for a long moment before straightening again.
On the other side of the glass, Agent Ross pulled out a chair and sat down at the table facing them. Every action smooth and careful, fingers laced, staring back at them with an eerie quiet that itched between the shoulder blades.
"Either way, he stays put," Tony repeated eventually, switching to a live feed of the compound where they believed T'Challa was being held. "No one tells him anything until we have our guy."
But Natasha just shook her head.
"You don't understand. I asked him to stand down and come in and he did. He wasn't captured and he isn't contained. He allowed it. We only have one chance to get this right. If we want to get anything from him, we have to tell him. And the truth is, if anyone can get T'Challa out of there alive, it's him."
His eyes were their usual blue when she sat down opposite him at the interrogation table. Nothing like the red-rimmed dark in the security feeds. The type of shadowed glow that harkened back to eldritch, old world fears and monsters that lurked in the dark.
It was like she'd seen two completely different people fused into one.
Maybe that was more accurate than she realized.
Or maybe not.
"Thank you for coming in," she opened crisply. Realizing with a slow-moving prickle down her spine just how long he'd managed to pull the wool over their eyes. He'd worked with her directly for years and she'd never suspected a thing.
Impressive.
"Cut the crap, Agent Romanoff," he returned bluntly. Expression dead save for the exhausted purpose burning in the back of his eyes. A stark difference from an Agent she'd reviewed personally, more than once, as an asset to the agency. Balanced, cool-headed, by the book, loyal, altruistic- but flexible.
It was a look she was familiar with.
But only in the mirror.
"What do you want?" he stated coolly. Like he knew there was something.
Of course he did.
Her curls kissed her shoulders as she tilted her head. Catching a flash of blunt human teeth as he spoke. Knowing they were a lie. She seen that first hand. Long fangs all but kissing his bottom lip as he'd lifted a man up with his bare hand, bloody fingers tight around the man's windpipe. Hissing coldly before flinging him away like he weighed nothing but paper. Powerful. Feral. Vengeful. So controlled you knew he was anything but under the surface.
"Information for information," she answered. Gratified to see a flicker of something pass over his expression before the mask fell back down.
She let the words rest on her tongue before she let them go. Knowing their weight. Knowing it was a risk. But also knowing it had to be done. She knew this kind of pain. If it didn't end here, now, on their terms, it could be a disaster.
"T'Challa is alive. The explosion was a ruse. He's being held prisoner by a special interest group that has ties to the Kremlin."
The air might as well have been a flash-point. With Agent Ross's eyes flooding red. Fists clenching so tight in his lap she could hear the bones creaking.
"He's alive?" Ross whispered, bleeding a devastated, desperate hope that was thick with disbelief. It was all there. Real. Honest. Making the knot in her chest untighten a fraction. Confident they hadn't read this wrong.
She nodded.
"We haven't been able to get to him. We have operatives inside but so far, its been too dangerous to attempt an extraction."
"Not for me."
She inclined her head. Believing it.
"So I see."
There was barely a breath between that and the next question.
"Where is he?" Agent Ross demanded, tone quiet but vibrating with violence.
"Answer my questions first," she countered. "Then, you'll have the coordinates. We'll even take you there."
There was another pause. But he didn't nod, didn't give her a polite opening. He just stared at her expectantly. Tired. Bored.
"What are you?" she finally asked. Feeling the tension building behind the one-way glass at her back.
His lip twitched. Like amusement, but darker.
"What do I look like?" he asked instead. Long lashes highlighting the dark hollows that stood out like track-marks below his eyes.
Her eyes narrowed.
He wanted her to say it.
Why?
"I was never told what I was turned into," Agent Ross told her, the corners of his lips lifting in a half smirk - like a pit of sharp edges. "But we've always had a word for it, haven't we?"
Her exhale was rooted in old world Russia fears. Emotional connections to a place she'd left behind long ago. But apparently still managing to affect her when she least expected it.
"Vampire."
He nodded. "It ticks the boxes, more or less."
"But not sunlight," she interjected.
He smiled like a knife slash before shaking his head.
"Legends can only be passed on for so long before they stop being accurate. I suppose it made people feel better, to believe that monsters only lurked in the dark and not the light as well."
How old was he?
It was a sudden thought. But she still turned it over in her mind anyway. Running a tally of contrasting facts and personality quirks as she thought back to the print out of information gleaned from his private residence. Nothing. Ross' apartment was just personal enough to say it was lived in. There were personal affects, signs of wear, but not to the level there should have been. In all likelihood he had another place. Even the most practical people clung to sentiment. It was part of the human condition. The inevitable collection of little things that could be used against you or even traced back to reveal your origins. Your weak spots.
"Is that what you are?" she asked. "A monster?"
"Depends on who writes the history, or so I am told," Agent Ross replied, rubbing distractedly at his wrist before- "Do you think I am?"
"Are you a threat to us?" she asked steadily. Countering his question with one of her own.
It was that, out of everything, that finally got a reaction. Watching as his spine straightened. Angry. Like everything about the question was insulting and distasteful. Looking more like himself than he had in days as he fixed her with a flinty stare.
"I have always been willing to die for my country. That hasn't changed. What I am doesn't affect what I do as an Agent or what I'm doing now. I destroyed those compounds for a reason – for T'Challa – but also for us. For the world. My career might be over, but I made sure to use the opportunity for good. That matters. Even if the C.I.A doesn't see it that way, I do. And that's enough for me."
It was enough for her as well. Enough to clear her throat and slide over the tablet with the coordinates and a live view of the enemy compound. Nodding for him to take it as he reached forward and studied it. Apparently committing it all to memory before setting it to the side and looking over at her. Body language changing, but not aggressive enough to make her get to her feet with him as his chair hushed back with a low, metallic clatter.
"Thank you, Agent Romanoff," Ross told her as he smoothed the sleeves of his suit in a familiar flick. Something in his posture triggering as she watched him closely. "But an escort won't be necessary."
Then, before she had a chance to say anything, just like all those times before, Agent Ross disappeared from the interrogation room between one blink and the next. Leaving behind nothing but a wisp of fog and the scent of singed pine as the echo of Tony's muffled curse issued from the other side of the glass.
She shook her head, biting back the small, impressed smile that threatened to make tracks.
She'd wish him luck, but somehow she didn't think he would need it.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. There will be another chapter, please stay tuned.