scarlet shoes

Wanda watches Vision walk away, disbelief stamped across her face.

She looks up at Hank, who has settled at her side, his arm still playfully caught around her shoulders, but his expression is neutral as he watches Vision hightail away.

Wanda blinks at Natasha and Pepper, but they both look as confused as she feels, unsure of how to continue any sort of conversation after Vision’s untimely exit.

Tony Stark, however, has gone sheet white, his eyes narrowed and flashing at Hank.

Wanda once believed Tony looked like a harmless squirrel, soft, gentle, and mischievous, but now watching him practically hissing at Hank, his hackles raised, she’s wondering why she didn’t see him as a tom cat; large, aggressive, and dangerous.

Tony wraps one arm around Pepper’s shoulders and whisks her away without a word, Pepper leaning around his torso to call her good nights to Wanda and Natasha as she goes.

There is a long moment of silence. 

“What the hell was that?” Natasha finally asks.

Wanda looks at Hank, the same question on her lips. 

He smiles down at her with those grey eyes, though there is a lingering hardness in his face. “Want to get a drink?” he asks conversationally. 

Natasha immediately excuses herself, citing exhaustion, and gives Wanda a hug before she departs. “You’re welcome,” she hisses in Wanda’s ear. “I want all the gory details as soon as possible,” she releases Wanda, gives Hank a half wave and disappears into the crowd of theater goers. 

Wanda watches her go with reluctance. She likes Hank, it’s not that she doesn’t; they’d had a very pleasant time the night before. After he’d bought her dinner, she’d suggested off hand that he could join her if he wanted, one of the tables had cleared in the time they’d spent arguing over strawberries, and he had readily accepted. 

He was fun, with a fast mouth and a wicked sense of humor, he’d kept her on her toes the whole time. 

And of course, the outrageous compliments. Most made her laugh and bat him away, but some made her blush, frustrated that he could affect her in even the slightest way. 

She likes him, but she doesn’t trust him. He has too much money and too much free time.

Still, she guides him across the plaza to a small bar that is dark and stuffy, but quiet enough to have a conversation.

They snag a table quickly, a tiny corner booth with vinal cushions that make unpleasant noises as Wanda slides into the seat, her back to the wall, facing the open floor of the bar.

“What can I get you?” Hank asks. 

“Gin and tonic,” Wanda answers, though her insides cramp uncomfortably as she thinks of all the sugar. But she just danced for two straight hours and the last thing she wants is the burn of a vodka soda. 

“Gin and tonic, got it,” Hank maneuvers his way up to the bar and signals for the bartender’s attention. 

Wanda sits quietly, one hand caught under her chin as she assesses the room. 

The lighting is low, so it’s hard to make out many patrons, but Wanda does recognize a couple of apprentices sipping glasses filled with something pink and fruity, likely here because they don’t card, and two soloists bent over pints of beer, their faces exhausted. 

Hank returns quickly with a gin and tonic in one fist and an old fashioned in the other. He takes a long sip and sits back in his chair, sighing. “God that’s nice,” he says. 

Wanda sips on her own drink, enjoying the sharp, piney taste. “Mmm,” she agrees. “I forgot how good a gin and tonic can be.” 

“You don’t drink them often?” Hank asks.

Wanda squirms, feeling a little embarrassed. “No,” she says. “Too much sugar.” 

But where some else might sweep his eyes over her frame, trying to deduce if she has some kind of eating disorder based on her body, Hank keeps his eyes on hers. 

Wanda feels a stab of guilt for misjudging him so soundly. He’s more understanding than most of the civilians in her life. The people who don’t eat and breathe ballet. 

“So,” she tries to steer the conversation away. “Tell me what that was all about.” 

To his credit, Hank doesn’t pretend to be ignorant to what she’s asking. He takes another pull of his drink, his eyes far away as he seems to piece together what he wants to say. 

“I know Vision,” he begins. “We grew up together.”

Wanda blinks. “What?”

“Yeah,” Hank tilts his head. “How much do you know about him?”

“He’s a choreographer?” Wanda says. “He’s from London and hired a lot by the Royal Ballet.”

Hank waits, but when she doesn’t say anything else, he asks: “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Wanda nods, trying not to feel incredibly ignorant.

Hank gives her a gentle smile. “It’s okay,” he says comfortingly. “Vision’s been keeping his private life out of the spotlight for years.”

“It’s that messy?” Wanda asks.

Hank tilts his head to the right, his mouth twisting upwards. “Vision’s dad was Mikhail Orlov.”

Wanda inhales sharply, her eyes widening.

“I assume you’ve heard of him?” Hank asks.

“Heard of him?” Wanda’s jaw has dropped. “Of course, I’ve fucking heard of him, he was one of the greatest dancers to ever live.”

Mikhail Orlov had been a dancer with the Bolshoi Ballet for years, earning celebrity status in Russia with his acrobatic dancing style and his attention to technique. When he’d retired in 1984, he’d gone on to be the director of first the Bolshoi, and then the Royal Ballet in England. He was the stuff of legends and one of Wanda’s favorite dancers. As a child, she’d watched his performance as Albrecht in Giselle so many times, she’d broken the VHS tape.

“I didn’t know he’d had a kid though,” Wanda says.

“Right,” Hank is nodding. “It wasn’t common knowledge because Vision’s mother was a dancer with the Royal Ballet and she was like eighteen when she got pregnant and I think he was close to seventy?”

Wanda wrinkles her nose.

“Uh huh,” Hank nods his agreement. “My old man was a stage hand at the Royal Ballet,” he continues. “Which is how I met Vision. We were around the same age and both stuck at the theater for hours in the evenings so we were thrown together a lot while our parents worked.”

“That’s nice at least,” Wanda thinks about all the swearing and nude bodies and general chaos backstage during a performance. “Growing up in a theater probably isn’t the best environment for a kid.”

Hank laughs. “No, it wasn’t,” he agrees. “But Vision and I got on well and we both loved to dance. I remember we used to beg some of the dancers to teach us variations during the shows until we were old enough to be allowed to join the company classes. It got to a point where his father promised us both scholarships to the Royal Ballet School and, if we did well, entry into the company immediately. But the year we were both eligible to audition for the school, the company took a pay cut and Mikhail could only accept five students. Guess who wasn’t accepted?”

“You?” Wanda says, though she already knows.

Hank’s mouth twists. “Yep,” he says. “So, I spent most of my time in a subpar dance school that I could barely afford. Later, when I finally got to a point that I was confident enough to audition for the company itself, Mikhail had died and Vision was on the board for accepting new dancers into the company.”

Wanda’s mouth is open. “Isn’t that a huge conflict of interest?” she asks. “I mean, if he’s a dancer in the company and also making calls on who should be in said company, isn’t that-?”

“Shitty, slimy, privileged bullshit?” Hank fills in bitterly. “I’d say so, yes.”

Wanda is feeling a rolling of emotions in her gut, all of her frustrations at the nepotism she’s experienced over the last five years of her time in a professional company, rising in her throat. “And he has the gall to walk away from you like you’re the slime?” she asks fiercely.

“Woah, Wand,” Hank places a hand over hers. “I appreciate the defense, but it’s okay. It happened a long time ago, I’m over it.”

“Well, I’m not,” Wanda says. “Bigheaded pig.”

Hank laughs. “Don’t ruin your own career by letting anyone hear you say that,” he pleads.

“Oh,” she waves a hand. “He already knows I don’t like him, what’s a little more alcohol on the fire?”

Hank grins and lifts his glass to tap hers gently. “Just don’t get burned.”

***

The next day, a notice goes up that Agnes will be holding a special partnering master class with Vision Shade. It is said to be optional, but implied that one should miss it at their own risk, so Wanda reluctantly arrives at three thirty that afternoon with her armor fully up.  

Luckily, she’s one of the first to arrive so she finds a good place at the barre and begins to warm up. She’d come from another Agon rehearsal, so she’s only just stopped sweating and in the time it takes the rest of the company to file into the studio, she’s lightly perspiring again, her muscles long and supple.

She’s determined to not make a fool of herself a second time in front of Vision Shade. Because no matter how much of an absolute shit head she privately believes him to be, he still holds an enormous amount of power and influence over her head. Even more so now that she knows where he comes from.

He enters the studio after Agnes, dressed in a sweatshirt and black tights, neither doing anything to mask the powerful muscles in his thighs and chest. 

Wanda studies him as he sets his bag down near the piano, giving a gentle smile to the older woman positioned behind the instrument and begins to warm up in his own corner. 

Now that she knows who his father is, Wanda wonders how she never noticed the family resemblance. It seems obvious now, in the tilt of his head and slope of his nose. Even his bright blond hair, tousled just so, is a dead ringer for his late father’s famous locks. 

He looks up and catches her eyes and she realizes she’s been staring at him openly for at least two minutes. Her cheeks flush a dark pink and she drops her eyes to her lap, twisting her fingers in her short wrap skirt, the hem just skimming the middle of her thighs. 

Natasha and Monica have appeared next to her, the former giving her a quizzical look. Wanda hadn’t texted her after her drink with Hank, she’d been too keyed up and too angry to think about anything but Vision Shade. 

Natasha opens her mouth, but fortunately, Agnes claps her hand in the front of the studio and all heads swing her way. 

“Good afternoon,” she says crisply. Today, Agnes is dressed in a deep purple leotard and matching skirt, a graceful cardigan draped over her arms. Her dark hair is swept back in her signature tight bun, and her eyes sweep the group critically. “Thank you all for coming,” she continues. 

To her right, Wanda hears Clint snort almost inaudibly and she smirks out of the corner of her mouth.

Like any of them had any choice. 

She catches Vision’s eye and schools her face back into a neutral mask, but she knows he’s seen her react. 

“Today, we’re going to be learning the Sugar Plum pas de deux,” Agnes is saying and Wanda snaps her attention forward, sure she misheard. 

Sugar Plum Fairy? They’ve all been doing that particular variation since they were at S.A.B. 

Clearly, she’s not the only one confused. Lottie Harboard, who has been in the company since the 90’s and has probably danced the Sugar Plum Fairy over a thousand times, is crinkling her brow and even Julie Tyler Tremble has dropped her perfect mask, opening her mouth in confusion. 

“The Balanchine version?” Steve bravely ventures. 

“Yes,” Agnes says. 

“But, Ms. Harkness,” Julie has raised her hand. “We all know that variation.” 

“This is a back-to-basics class,” Agnes explains gently. 

“We know you’re all excellent dancers,” Vision says from his corner and eyes snap to him. “What we want to see is how you can add honey to basic bread and butter.” 

“Exactly,” Agnes agrees, though she looks mildly annoyed that he would dare to explain the goal of the class. “Let’s begin.” 

She partners them up, and Wanda watches sadly as Clint is paired with Monica and Steve with Natasha. When Agnes stops in front of her, she purses her lips, examining Wanda from head to toe before she says: “Peter.” 

Wanda didn’t know Peter Parker was there, but sure enough, he emerges from the back of the group nervously, his hands carding through his light brown hair as he steps up. “Yes, Ms. Harkness?” He squeaks. 

“You’re partnered with Wanda,” Agnes turns a rather nasty smile on Wanda. “Please step over,” she waves them to the right side of the studio where the other couples are standing. 

Wanda smiles bravely at Peter, ignoring the sympathetic glances from her friends. 

Peter is an excellent dancer and she reminds herself that she could have gotten partnered with Jackson who has perpetually sweaty hands, or Mark who always smells just a little bit like a dead skunk.

The problem is that Peter is small and slight.

Wanda herself isn’t large, but while Peter has about two inches on her when they’re both flat footed, the second she rises on to pointe, she’s about six inches taller.

He’s nervously glancing around the room as the rest of the group is paired off, and he blinks at Wanda apologetically as they step back onto the studio floor.

“Right,” Agnes arrives back at the front of the studio. “We’ll skip the introduction for now,” she explains. “Girls on the right, boys on the left, we’ll start with the sous-sus and continue from there.”

Wanda’s not exaggerating when she says she could dance this in her sleep. It’s tradition for the S.A.B. students to learn the Sugar Plum pas de deux within the first four weeks of joining the school. She’s never danced it on a stage, but she’s all too familiar with the steps, performing them over and over in class.

However, it becomes apparent as the pianist begins the rolling melody, her fingers drifting across the keys, that Agnes and Vision are expecting something different, something more.

“This is romantic!” she hears Vision somewhere to her right. “I want to see you gazing into her eyes.”

“Delicately!” Agnes yelps from the other side. “You’re not offering him a basketball!”

Wanda swallows hard as she steps up into sous-sus, her legs tight crossed, creating the illusion of one line from her hips to the floor where her feet overlap in pointe.

Peter mirrors her, both of their arms stretching into fifth position high above their heads, before they each step backwards, Peter presenting his hand.

Wanda grasps his right hand with her right hand, raising her left arm into fifth position and stepping into another sous-sus, shifting her weight to her left leg so she can developpé her right to extend in front of her body. She pulls it back into passé, her right foot meeting her left knee gently, as Peter lifts his hand as high as possible and she twists underneath his arm.

It goes wrong almost immediately; Peter is far too short and she can’t get under his arm without either ducking her head or letting go of his hand and turning herself on her own. Since the former would completely ruin the line of the dance, Wanda releases Peter’s hand for a quick second to allow herself to rotate around.

Peter, bless him, seems to understand what she needs because he grasps her hand again as quickly as possible so she only wobbles for a fraction of a second before he’s there. She places her left hand on his shoulder and he flips his right-hand palm up for her to grasp, her back leg moving from a passé position where the leg is bent at the knee, to an attitude derriére.

She squeezes her abdominal muscles as tightly as possible as Peter walks her around, rotating her body while she stays in the attitude, her left leg braced on the ground on pointe.

She brings her foot through passé to a front attitude, barely hanging onto poor Peter’s fingertips as he reaches above her head vainly. As he holds onto her fingers, she whips her right leg around and pirouettes, Peter holding her waist for three, four, and five turns, before she extends into an arabesque, her leg well above a ninety degree angle.  

They gratefully let go of each other before repeating the whole sequence again.

This time Wanda can’t help her wobbling and she looks up with frustration to see Vision Shade watching her and Peter closely, his brow furrowed.

“You aren’t feeling the romance,” he informs Wanda gravely.

She actually has to bite on her tongue to keep from reminding him that Peter is basically a child and four feet shorter, but it doesn’t even matter if she’d said anything or not because Vision just moves on to another couple and immediately begins correcting their feet.  

Wanda and Peter mark through all the lifts, there isn’t enough room with everyone on the floor to safely execute them, but Wanda is surprised at how well Peter is at adjusting her body. When he feels her slipping out of a turn, he increases pressure on the side of her body where she is tilting and she’s able to right herself with far less exertion than she would if she were by herself.

In fact, by the time Agnes breaks the couples into small groups to perform the dance full out, Wanda is feeling better. There’s obviously nothing they can do about the height difference, but Wanda has found that if she lets go of Peter’s hand right before she’s completed half of the turn, she can make it around without wobbling off her axis and making it obvious she’s adjusting.

So, she waits and watches the other couples perform until it’s time for her and Peter. The pianist begins the music at the top and Wanda and Peter enter grandly, walking in an individual circle before stepping into sous-sus.

They’re doing remarkably well, and Wanda is feeling just a little bit proud of herself for making the best of the situation. Her assemblés, a point in the dance where she runs to Peter and kicks off his body, her legs meeting in a long line in mid-air, could be higher, but she’s honestly amazed they’ve even reached this part of the dance with little to no issues.

It’s not until the shoulder lift, that things go wrong.

They hadn’t been able to rehearse it, and when Wanda runs at Peter and leaps, she knows she took off at the wrong time. He catches her, but only barely, and she can feel him grunting to get her high enough.

She’s never felt larger or lumpier in her life as he sets her down and they bravely continue.

They make it to the end of the piece, but after the lift, Peter almost drops Wanda twice, and the difference in height begins to feel vast. As the piano music dies, Agnes considers them both, one eyebrow raised.

“Peter,” she says. “Please go stand with the others.”

Peter nods and moves to the back of the group, a few people reaching out to pat him as he passes.

Wanda feels horrible as he walks away. “It wasn’t Peter’s fault,” she says. “I was the one who didn’t do the lifts properly.”

Agnes’s other eyebrow rises to meet its neighbor. “I’m aware that you’re the issue, Ms. Maximoff,” she says coolly.

It’s a blow and Wanda feels it deep in her gut. She swallows, refusing to double over, though she can feel the entire company watching her, can feel Vision Shade watching her.

“Mr. Shade,” Agnes says.

Vision jumps, as though he wasn’t expecting to be called. “Yes, Agnes?”

“Partner with Wanda, please,” she says. “Show her how to execute the steps properly.”

“Oh,” Vision cuts his eyes to Agnes. “I’m not completely warm and-.”

Agnes fixes him with a look. “Mr. Shade,” she says. “Partner with Wanda.”

He doesn’t continue to argue, he just strips off his sweatshirt to reveal a simple white t-shirt, and stands next to her. She can smell his cologne, a woodsy, masculine scent, and she has to physically stop herself from burying her face in his chest.

“Shall we?” he murmurs in her ear and suddenly she remembers her conversation with Hank the night before, remembers what utter slime he can be.

“If we must,” she says coldly, crossing to stage right to wait for the entrance music.

Vision comes to stand next to her and he holds out his right hand.

She regards his hand for a moment and he chuckles under his breath. “We’re supposed to be madly in love,” he says under his breath.

“Is that not what I’m emoting?” Wanda asks innocently, batting her lashes.

“You look like I make you nauseous,” Vision says and Wanda feels color sweep across her cheeks.

“Oh, silly me,” she says. “And here I was, trying not to make it obvious.”

His mouth falls open and she feels a moment of triumph before placing her hand in his, trying to ignore how wide and square his hands are. She straightens her shoulders determinedly.

The music begins and they walk onto the studio floor.

Dancing with Vision Shade is like nothing Wanda has experienced before. For one, he’s at least eight inches taller than Peter, so when Wanda rises on pointe, the top of her head barely skims his nose. He’s strong, the muscles in his arms band and cord hypnotically as he leads her from position to position, and when she drops into an arabesque, he spins her around effortlessly, even removing one hand from her waist and holding it gracefully above his head.

As she races towards him for the assemblé, he catches at her waist with his left hand, propelling her so high in the air, she barely avoids squealing in surprise.

And there are moments when he’s holding her so close, she feels the breath escape her lungs and it has nothing to do with the exertion of the dance. He catches her time and time again, and she spins countless pirouettes, supported by his steady weight behind her, and as she makes eye contact with him the last time that she races towards him to be caught, the room vanishes in a haze of music and bright blue eyes.

It’s not until the pianist pounds out the last few notes and Wanda falls gracefully into Vision’s arms, his right arm banded around her waist and his left extended for her left arm to drape gracefully across that Wanda remembers the rest of the room.

She swallows as he twirls her out of the ending position, dropping her hand and stepping away, the color high in his cheeks, his lungs catching mouthfuls of air.

Wanda looks at Agnes, and is pleased to see that she seems to have been rendered speechless, her mouth slightly open as she regards Vision closely.

Wanda swallows. “Uh,” she says, because it feels like someone needs to break the silence.

This seems to snap Agnes out of whatever astonished trance she had been in because she fixes Wanda with a haughty expression. “I hope you learned something,” she says to Wanda.

“I did,” Wanda answers.

Without being dismissed, she crosses back to the group of couples, standing off to the side of the studio floor, and takes a sip of her water bottle.

Agnes has already called another couple forward, but Wanda ignores them, her gaze honing in on the man across the room from her.

Vision has gotten his breathing under control; his face is now completely neutral as he watches the dancers on the floor.

But when he meets Wanda’s gaze, his cheeks just barely flush pink before his eyes cut away, shuttered and cold.