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Valentina Allegra de Fontaine was an enigma to Everett Ross.
Unpredictable (sometimes violently so) and wildly intelligent.
Her face set like it was carved by Michelangelo himself, masterfully sculpted, marked by a look of disdain and disbelief at least eighty percent of the time.
The other twenty percent was occupied by a more subtle look: one of careful analysis. Val's eyes had a particular depth, crinkling slightly at the corners, and appeared to pierce your soul.
(He'd stopped looking directly into them towards the end of their marriage.)
Everett would be lying, though, if he neglected to mention the fact that, years and years ago, she was capable of a smile. A real one, not the endless supply of annoyed smirks she seemed to pull out of everywhere. He missed the old Valentina.
But, he wondered, was she really that different?
Maybe there wasn't an "old" Val. Maybe she'd been this way all along, and he'd just overlooked it, somehow, blinded by how much he adored her.
Did she feel the same? Did she think the same thoughts that ran through his head on more than one night alone? Had he changed, too?
Maybe, he supposed, I did. But not nearly as much as she had.
His mind flitted back to the earliest days of their relationship, where Val seemed so confident and collected, her dark eyes filled with determination and focus rather than a dangerous...emptiness.
He'd fallen for her composure and grace, decisiveness and elegance. Her sarcasm and strength were just a bonus. Val could handle herself and would have managed just fine on her own if he hadn't asked her to marry him.
The cruel irony of the situation was that they had somehow meshed so well together, despite being a less-than-perfect match.
He grounded her while she brought him out of his shell.
Everett honestly thought, naively, that they would last forever.
Then came the screaming, the careless disregard for the other's feelings on more than one occasion, and the broken crystal plates and smashed wine bottles.
Everything was stained red.
But they stayed.
Why the hell had they stayed?
Hatred grew behind her eyes, spilling out and over as tears poured down her face.
Her mascara ran grey and tainted her white pillow with evidence of their constant conflict nearly every night.
He'd never seen her cry before. But this wasn't vulnerability she was showing.
No.
Val wasn't the vulnerable sort.
This was pure, unbridled fury.
It was at this point her eyes lost the confident focus and curiosity he'd fallen in love with, replaced by a hollow resentment and a different kind of determination.
The vengeful kind.
Funny enough, all those traits he'd seen emerge retreated within her when she signed the divorce papers.
Everett remembered how she'd sashayed out of the courtroom, violet streak shimmering, a new purpose in her step. He tried not to be too offended.
But it was really hard.
On the other hand, had he really expected anything less?
No. Not in the slightest.
There was the Val he fell in love with, striding out confidently with her head up, sunglasses on, the same grace and elegance, composure and decisiveness radiating from her petite form.
His earlier suspicions were correct. That unpredictability had been there all along. That was Val's one perfect trap. Luring him in like a siren, drowning him in everything he'd adored and leaving him to die without her.
Such an enigma. He'd never seen it coming.
She said to him once, clutching a broken wine glass in a vice grip, their favourite cabernet dripping down the sleeve of her white blouse, that she was so very dangerous.
He wasn't sure he should take her seriously.
(In retrospect, he really should've.)
Her hollow gaze had intrigued him then. From there, her more theatrical antics escalated. He'd come home to a deep "x" carved into their bedroom door, his best chef's knife still embedded in the white oak. The next day she'd torn their pictures from the walls and used them as target practice, shattering each frame and marking each image with a single shot from her pistol.
But he watched her sign the papers and return to the Val he thought he knew.
Was it him that brought out that rage inside?
Or was she always simmering under the surface, waiting to erupt at any moment?
He'd never know, not really, and chose to concern himself with his work, classified files, and Wakandans.
It was a distraction, to say the least, and he was proud to say he'd eventually stopped thinking about her.
(The colour purple, however, remained an uncomfortable reminder.)
Then she was named Director of the CIA.
The news hit him like a brick wall, browsing through emails far too early one autumn morning.
He was all too familiar with her iron fist, the decisiveness and focused determination. She'd always get what she wanted; he knew immediately the sheer amount of power the new position bestowed upon her.
What was worse, Val's moral compass was ambiguous enough, even before she got the job. Her unpredictability meant walking on eggshells was what he had no choice but to resort to. She'd been watching him like a hawk, and he thought he'd been careful enough to avoid the suspicion behind her sharp eyes.
Clearly, he should have done better. Should have known better.
For God's sake, she'd gone so far as to warn him, all those years ago, that she was so very dangerous.
How long had she been planning this?
What was the master plan in the back of her mind now that her actions were, for all intents and purposes, government-sanctioned?
He'd never know, not really.
There was the enigma.
She embodied a delightful paradox - the more he learned, the less he knew. Always.
A face set like it was carved by Michelangelo himself, masterfully sculpted, marked by a look of triumph as she pulled the cuffs from the drawer.
One look, and he knew.
All the begging in the world couldn't change her mind.
(This was the woman he'd married, and she was arresting him for treason against the United States of America.)
But as her dark eyes bore into his from behind her tinted sunglasses as he was taken away, hands cuffed behind his back, all he could see was the Valentina he'd fallen in love with all those years ago.
His Val.
Forever the enigma.