scarlet shoes

Vision isn’t surprised when Tony Stark bangs down his door at seven-thirty the morning after Hank Fucking Pym appears in New York.  

Honestly, Vision is surprised it takes Tony that long to seek him out, though his rumpled shirt and rather smug smile that he shoots at Vision within two minutes of throwing himself on top of the covers on the bed gives Vision some idea as to why he delayed.

Vision is sitting at the tiny desk in his hotel room, a half-drunk cup of tea by his elbow, and a graphing notebook in front of him, littered with notes and tiny diagrams of choreography placement.

Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet score is drifting through Vision’s tiny blue tooth speaker, the melody scraping his ears as he listens to it for the tenth time since he crawled out of bed.

Vision raises an eyebrow at Tony. “Can I help you?” he asks dryly.

“Hank Pym is in New York,” Tony says.

“Oh?” Vision says. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Almost punched his nose again,” Tony says wistfully. “Wish I had.”

“You don’t need another assault charge on your record,” Vision tells him.

“Plus, it would have upset Pepper,” Tony says. “She says Hank’s nice, apparently Wanda’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Vision shuffles through his papers casually.

“Mhmm,” Tony is watching him closely. “He bought her dinner the other night and I guess he took her out last night after the show. Pepper thinks Wanda might have a crush.”

“Why would I care?” Vision asks in exasperation.

“Don’t you think we should warn her?” Tony asks.

Vision pushes away from his desk with a groan. “Wanda’s a grown woman, she can make her own decisions.”

Tony studies him for a moment.

“Plus,” Vision stands and his back pops in four different places. “There’s nothing we can do about him.”

“You’re being shockingly blasé about this,” Tony says. “Especially after your untimely exit last night.”

“That was so I didn’t punch him in the nose,” Vision says pertly.

“Was the cozy sight of him with Wanda too much for you to handle?” Tony asks slyly.

“What are you doing here, Tony?” Vision can feel the tips of his ears turning pink.

Tony just raises an eyebrow at the subject change. “I found you a studio.”

“What?” Vision wrinkles his brow.

“I found you a studio,” Tony repeats. “You know, for your ballet school.”

Vision blinks at him.

“Your school for inner city kids?” Tony says. “Ringing any bells?”

“I know what you’re talking about,” Vision says impatiently. “What I don’t understand is how you found me a studio space so quickly.”

“Well,” Tony begins and Vision holds up a hand.

“The short version please,” he says.

Tony pouts. “Fine,” he says. “I used a couple of contacts to scope out some places here in the city because you should be here with your family and not back in London.”

“What’s wrong with London?”

“You hate London,” Tony tells him bluntly. “Besides, Darc and I barely see you as it is. It was purely selfish motives that got me to search for a studio here in New York.”

“And you found one,” Vision says.

“I found one,” Tony grins. “Want to check it out?”

“I-,” Vision glances at the clock. “I’m teaching a class at four.”

“It’s barely eight am,” Tony says.

“Where is it?”

“Don’t freak out,” Tony says. “But it’s in Brooklyn.”

Vision just blinks at him. “What’s wrong with Brooklyn?”

“It’s Brooklyn,” Tony says as an answer, a sneer on his lips.

“And that’s bad because-?”

“It just is, listen,” Tony says snootily. “You’ll understand if you live here longer than six months.”

“Didn’t Darcy live in Brooklyn?”

“And I spent the better half of four years trying to convince her to leave that dump for Manhattan,” Tony smirks. “It worked.”

Vision glances at his papers, strewn across his desk. “I have a lot of work, Tony,” he hedges.

“The viewing of the studio is at nine thirty,” Tony tells him. “You’ll be back in plenty of time to continue procrastinating.”

Vision glares at him. “You planned this all out perfectly, didn’t you?”

Tony extends his hands in front of him, palms out. “It’s not my fault you are a shockingly predictable man, V.”

“Fine,” Vision says. “Give me two minutes to change.”

Approximately four minutes later, Vision exits the bathroom in khakis and a white button down, covered with a blue sweater. Tony is still on the bed, though he’s frowning at his phone.

“What?” Vision asks as he bends over to grab his shoes from where he toed them off haphazardly the night before.

“Nothing,” Tony says, looking up.

Vision narrows his eyes at him.

“It’s nothing, Mr. Rogers,” Tony snorts, flicking the collar of Vision’s shirt as he passes him. “Are you ready to go?”

Vision follows him to the door, smoothing his palms down his pants. A thought occurs to him as Tony opens the large hotel door. “How’d you get in here anyway?” he asks. “I didn’t give you a key card.”

“Myrtle at the front desk was very happy to help me out,” Tony says mischievously.

Vision rolls his eyes. “I bet she was.”

“I can’t help that I have a recognizable name,” Tony protests, following Vision into the elevator.

“No, but you could afford to not swing it around as much,” Vision says.

They bicker good-naturedly as the elevator dings to the lobby, Tony’s enormous black car idling in front of the hotel.

Tony opens the door graciously and Vision slides across the leather seats, the smell of new car and air freshener wrapping around him gently.

“Okay, Sid,” Tony slams the car door behind him, buckling his seat belt. “To Brooklyn, please.” Sid mimes vomiting and Tony grins. “He gets me,” he informs Vision gravely.

“Just show me what all this fuss is about,” Vision grumbles. “I have a ballet to choreograph.”

Sid clicks on his blinker and pulls into traffic with ease, the car purring gently as the tires whir.

There is silence in the car, the only noise coming from the car speakers, a soft classical piece tinkling from the stereo.

Tony eyes Vision as the buildings begin to melt together. “Are you okay?” he asks. “I haven’t seen you this uptight about a ballet in years.”

Vision chews on his lip, his fingers rapping against his thigh. “It’s this damn Romeo and Juliet pas I have to create,” he huffs. “I’ve got the entirety of my own piece together, but I can’t even begin to think of what the first step should be for Romeo.”

Tony has crinkled his brow. “Sorry,” he says. “Civilian over here, what’s a pas?”

“Pas de deux,” Vision says distractedly, glancing out the window. They’re driving over the Manhattan bridge, and he can see a sail boat skimming the East River below them. “A dance for two people. In this case, a romantic dance for two people.”

“And you’re worried about this why?” Tony asks. “You’ve danced probably a thousand of those in your career.”

“I don’t know,” Vision runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “It should be so easy, right? I mean, two steps here, two steps there, lift her over your head, and then kiss, boom, end of the piece.”

“Seems easy enough,” Tony nods.

“But that’s the problem, it’s not!” Vision groans. “I’ve listened to that ridiculous piece of music over and over again and all I can think of is how I can’t think of anything.”

Tony leans back in his seat. “Who have you cast?”

Vision lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s just the thing I-,” Sid swerves to the right and lays on his horn.

“Hey!” he yells. “Asshole, learn how to drive!”

Tony seems unbothered by this display, and is frowning down at his phone.

“Okay,” Vision twists in his seat. “What’s going on? That’s the fifth time you’ve made that face.”

“Nothing!” Tony protests.

Vision raises an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Tony sighs. “But you can’t laugh, okay?”

 Vision nods.

“I haven’t heard from Pepper since she left this morning,” Tony says. “I know it’s ridiculous, she’d got a busy day, but I thought I’d hear from her when she got to the studio.”

“Does she normally vanish like that?”

“Occasionally,” Tony admits.

“Hm,” Vision says.

Tony turns to him. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Tony studies him. “You don’t like her.” It’s not a question.

“I don’t mind her,” Vision says. “But,” he takes a breath. “Don’t you think you’re a little more into this relationship than she is?” The vision of Pepper and Tony standing outside of the theater rushes to the forefront of his brain. Tony wrapping his arms around her and Pepper looking… uncomfortable. Embarrassed.

There is a long pause, even Sid has stopped yelling at the cars and in the rearview mirror, Vision sees him shaking his head.

Vision braves a look over at Tony and cringes at his friend’s expression. “Sorry,” Vision says. “That was out of line.”

“Yep,” Tony agrees. “I know my track record isn’t stellar, but Pepper is different.”

“Okay,” Vision says.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “That’s not the end of it, is it?”

The car skids to a screeching stop and Sid shoots them both an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he mutters. “We’re here.”

Vision takes a moment from the charged energy in the car to glance out the window at a small, unassuming two story brownstone with a large FOR SALE sign in the window. The front steps are made of cracking concrete, the window frames have peeling paint, and the front door knocker is crooked.

It’s perfect.

“I don’t trust her,” Vision says, still looking away from Tony. “But I do trust you.”

A large warm hand lands on his shoulder and Tony squeezes the muscle there. “Thanks, V,” he says. He opens his car door and slides onto the pavement, shooting him a backwards glance. “You coming?” he asks.

***

When Vision arrives at the studios that afternoon, he still has no work done on Romeo and Juliet and his head is pounding.

“Oh, Vision!” Agnes’s voice is far too cheery for his ears in that moment and she bustles up to him with far too much purpose. “Thank goodness you’re here, we need to talk about the variation we’re teaching this afternoon.”

“Whatever you decide, I’m sure it will be great, Agnes,” Vision tells her.

“I want to do Sugar Plum Fairy,” Agnes tells him.

“Great,” Vision agrees. “Sounds good.”

She eyes him. “Are you all right?”

“Hm?” he’s running through choreography in his head. “Oh, yes, sorry,” he sighs. “Long day.”

Agnes’s face twists into something she probably believes to be sympathetic. “I’ll take the lead on the class,” she tells him. “They’re all going to be horrified we aren’t teaching them anything new anyway.”

“Then why have them do this variation?” Vision asks.

“Because I know you’re struggling to cast Romeo and Juliet,” Agnes tells him frankly. “And I want you to be able to see how they partner with something familiar.”

Vison blinks. “You’re doing this for me?”

She laughs. “Of course! You didn’t think I was doing this for my own health did you?”

“I just-,” Vision feels something akin to relief stealing across his chest. Maybe this would help him escape the weird funk he’d been in all day. “Thank you.”

Agnes just smiles at him before bustling off, and he follows in her wake to the studio, where there are already dancers beginning to warm up, chattering lightly amongst themselves before the class begins.

Wanda Maximoff is in the corner, clutching the barre as she dips into a deep plié, the muscles in her shoulders shifting delicately as she lifts her arm up to a fifth position. She’s wearing a dark blue leotard today, a short black skirt wrapped around her hips. The blue makes her hair glow distractingly and he tries not to study her as he places his bag down near the pianist, shooting the older woman a brief smile.

Its chilly in the studio as he begins his own warm up, stretching each muscle as slowly and methodically as possible, ignoring the stares that he can feel boring into his skull as he tendus and pliés his muscles into soft, pliable matter.

At one point he looks up and locks eyes with Wanda Maximoff, her green gaze unnervingly steady on his face.

She glances away when he catches her eyes, the slightest flush chasing across her cheeks.

He feels a tightening in his belly that he ignores.

“Good afternoon,” Agnes says crisply and the whole room silences immediately, all heads swinging to look at her. “Thank you for coming,” she continues.

Vision hears a rustling from the back of the room and cuts his eyes to the right.

Wanda is smirking at Clint Barton, but she when sees Vision glancing her way, she drops the smirk instantaneously.

His belly twists with irritation. Is there nothing that girl won’t laugh at?

He snaps his attention back to Agnes when he hears Julie Tyler Tremble say: “But, Ms. Harkness, we all know that variation.” 

“This is a back-to-basics class,” Agnes explains. Vision can hear the barest hint of frustration in her tone.

“We know you’re all excellent dancers,” Vision pipes up, immediately regretting it as all eyes snap to him. “What we want to see is how you can add honey to basic bread and butter.” 

“Exactly,” Agnes agrees. “Let’s begin.” 

She begins dividing the room into couples expertly, and Vision leans back against the wall to watch, noting the dancers she places together based on height and general body shape.

He sees Agnes arrive at Wanda and pause, her lips pursing. Then, with a sly side look at him from the corners of her eyes, she calls: “Peter.” 

Peter Parker emerges from the crowd of dancers. “Yes, Ms. Harkness?” he squeaks. 

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

Vision blinks twice, staring at the two of them. They’re an awful pairing and anyone with eyes could see that. Wanda is too tall for Peter, she’d tower over him the second she stepped up on pointe, not to mention the fact that she dances with a fierceness that will overwhelm poor Peter.  

Agnes gives Vision a challenging smile as she moves to the next couple, partnering them up neatly and perfectly.

She knows what she’s doing, he realizes with an uncomfortable twinge.

It can’t be a coincidence that the two people he plucked from the back of the company and placed on a plate in front of Agnes to be studied for casting purposes are woefully paired together for a variations class.

But what does Agnes think will happen? He already knows they’re good dancers, he doesn’t need a bad class to prove to him otherwise.

In the span of time that he’s caught in his thoughts, the music has begun and the couples have begun dancing.

Agnes is already correcting partners and he races to do the same, lifting arms here and correcting eyelines there. He’s in front of Wanda and Peter before he knows it, tilting his head to one side as she rotates quite gracefully, despite the fact that Peter is clearly struggling to get his arm high enough.

They’re both dancing clinically, neither of them making eye contact, their bodies held stiffly away from each other.

When she rotates back around, he eyes her. “You aren’t feeling the romance,” he says, stating the obvious.

Her eyes flash and he has to fight a smirk.  

He can’t help but admire her as she fights her way through the dance, learning how to partner with Peter with a grace Vision didn’t know she possessed.

In fact, it’s not until they’re performing it by themselves that he sees even any bit of frustration leaking out of her expression. It only gets stronger the longer the dance continues, and when Peter almost drops her, Vision sees her mask crumble for the briefest moment before she fixes it back on her face.

The music stops and the only sound in the studio are the puffs of breath from Wanda and Peter as Agnes stares at them both.

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

Peter looks crestfallen, but goes to stand with the rest of the dancers, leaving Wanda alone on the studio floor.  

“It wasn’t Peter’s fault,” she says defensively, lifting her chin. “I was the one who didn’t do the lifts properly.”

“I’m aware that you’re the issue, Ms. Maximoff,” Agnes says coolly.

Vision sees Wanda take the hit, though her face remains completely neutral, he can see a shift in her eyes that indicates that the blow lands.

“Mr. Shade,” Agnes says.

Vision jumps, so caught in studying Wanda’s face that he’s forgotten where he is. “Yes, Agnes?”

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

“Oh,” Vision feels his gut drop. “I’m not completely warm and-.”

Agnes tilts her head. “Mr. Shade,” she says. “Partner with Wanda.”

He knows what she’s saying to him as her eyebrow raises in a challenge.

You wanted Wanda Maximoff? You’re getting Wanda Maximoff.

Vision doesn’t argue, he just strips off his sweatshirt and steps onto the dance floor, feeling adrenaline zipping through his veins.

Wanda is blinking at him in a befuddled kind of way, and he’s surprised at how adorable he finds it.

“Shall we?” he murmurs in her ear.

The befuddled expression vanishes from her face and she straightens, her eyes snapping to a chilly, frosty glare.

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

Vision follows her, holding out his right hand.

She looks at his hand as though it’s a dead rat, but instead of feeling insulted, he feels amusement welling in his gut.

It’s fun to annoy her.

The thought is surprising, Vision had assumed he was past the phase where he delighted in pulling girl’s pigtails.

“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.

Wanda’s cheeks explode with color. “Oh, silly me,” she says. “And here I was trying not to make it obvious.”

He feels his mouth fall open, all his amusement vanishing.

She allows her emotions to get the better of her, the thought flashes across his mind as her hand drops into his, a glint of triumph in her green eyes.

Her hand is tiny, the skin soft and warm in his palm. The feeling is so distracting that he almost misses the first two steps, rushing to get back in time with the steps.

Vision can honestly say he’s danced with close to two hundred women in his career. He’s danced romantic pas de deux, emotional pas de deux, angry pas de deux… he knows how to dance with another person, supporting their movements to the best of his ability.

Dancing with Wanda is a completely new experience for Vision.

He could have sworn he knew everything there was to know about dancing a pas de deux, but clearly, he had barely scratched the surface.

The way her body moved, the way her arms caught at his shoulders and fluttered at her sides; it is effortless to spin her, effortless to support her, effortless to gaze into her green eyes.

She responds to each of his touches with an ease that usually takes years for a partnership to cultivate. And as she runs towards him, her arms catching his biceps, he wraps an arm solidly around her waist and she drapes her body gracefully into his, letting him hold her.

He’s suddenly extremely aware of her breathing, each gust of air she pushes out of her mouth flows gently across his forearms like a caress.

He swallows and twirls her out of the position, the room deathly silent without the music playing.

Agnes’s mouth is open, staring at Vision critically.

“Uh,” Wanda says and the silence collapses around their ears. Her face is bright red, her hair exploding from its bobby pins.

Vision can’t keep his eyes off Wanda as she steps back to the line of dancers, unsure of even how to begin to process what he just experienced. She meets his eyes and he looks away, embarrassed.

Agnes sidles up next to him as they watch the next couple. “Are you sure?” she asks.

“Sure?” he asks.

“Are you sure?” she repeats, her eyes cutting to where Wanda is leaning against the wall, her friend Natasha’s head on her shoulder.

“Yes,” he hears himself say.

Agnes lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay.”

***

“It’s posted!” Natasha runs into the dressing room.

Monica looks up from what Wanda can only assume is a yoga pretzel and says calmly: “what?”

“The cast list is posted!” Natasha says.

“Oh,” Wanda turns back to the mirror, continuing to erase her features with foundation. “I already saw Nutcracker casting, guess who’s stuck in Snow again.”

Though Pepper had been called to learn the Sugar Plum Fairy, something Wanda felt was entirely deserved.

“No,” Natasha shakes her head violently. “It’s not Nutcracker, it’s Vision’s piece.”

“What?” Monica rolls out of a head stand, her eyes wide. “Are you sure?”

“It’s early,” Wanda says, suspiciously. “How do you know?”

“Because Lily said that Lauren heard that Jessica saw Agnes walking with Jimmy and she had a piece of paper in her hand!”

Wanda blinks. “Well as long as its straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“I’m telling you; it’s posted!” Natasha grabs her arm. “Let’s go!”

“Woah,” Wanda yanks her wrist from Natasha’s grasp. “I’m not sure I want to know, Nat. Besides Agon is on in like fifteen and I’m not even remotely warm yet.”

“Suit yourself,” Natasha shrugs her shoulders. “Monica, want to come?”

Monica shoots Wanda an unsure look, but rolls up her yoga mat decisively. “Sure.”

“Merde,” Wanda calls to them both as they leave her alone in the dressing room.

The bright lights surrounding the dressing room mirrors are suddenly overwhelmingly hot and she clicks them off, the temperature in the room dropping a good ten degrees.

She’s almost wishing she’d gone to see the cast list, just to release her inner anxiety, but she’s not sure if she can stand another cast list without her name. Especially not right before she steps onto the stage to perform Agon.

So, she draws her features back on with large dramatic sweeps, darkening her eyes with black, gluing a set of false lashes to her upper lids with professional ease. She chooses a dark red to swipe across her mouth, the color is barely allowed as its almost a purple under the stage lights, but Wanda feels confidence with it on her face, as though she’s thwarting the rules, just a tiny bit.

Finally, she steps into her costume; a black leotard and shiny black belt, and a brand-new pair of pink tights. She’s lacing up her pointe shoes when she hears the call for places and she rushes through her final touches, praying that the dash to the wings will be enough to warm her up for the next ten minutes on the stage.

“Merde,” Bruce whispers to her as she barrels past him to stand in the stage right wing. The theater is chilly tonight, and Wanda wraps her arms around her torso protectively as she relevés to the tips of her toes, waiting for the orchestra to begin.

Across the stage, she can see Vision Shade standing next to Jimmy, his attention on Mary Tompkins as she stretches.

Wanda shifts and the movement must have caught his eye because Vision’s attention snaps to where she’s standing, his blue gaze holding her still.

But as she stares at him, she sees his eyes drop momentarily to her right ankle.

Tension wells in her throat.

He knows.

But how could he?

Don’t be stupid, she berates herself. Everyone here knows about it, of course he would have heard.

She’s not sure why it bothers her.

Her focus suddenly snaps forward as she hears her intro music and she races on stage, shoving any unpleasant thoughts of Vision Shade to the back of her mind.

When she finally exits the stage after a quick curtain call, she sees Darcy beaming at her.

“Well done, you,” she says fondly, catching Wanda in a tight hug, not phased at all by the sweat dripping down Wanda’s back.

“Uh,” Wanda says intelligently as she releases her. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t know?” Darcy tilts her head.

“Know what?”

For an answer, Darcy spins her towards the tiny corner with the unsettling blue light where Wanda can see there is a new piece of paper tacked to the corkboard.

Her feet feel glued to the floor, unsure how to step forward.

She hears Darcy huff a laugh behind her and give her a tiny push forward.

This wakes up Wanda’s feet long enough to stumble forward, moving to the casting board in a dream.

The paper has a list of studios and times for when the dancers are called to learn each piece choreographed by Vision. She sees called at eleven thirty the following day is Maggie, Julie, Clint, Steve, Jackson, Jessica, shockingly Peter Parker, and Monica.

Wanda’s heart simultaneously leaps and falls at the same time. Because Monica is learning Vision’s new piece and Wanda knows it’s a dream for her to be plucked from the corps like that. But Wanda’s heart also drops because her name is nowhere to be found.

She turns to go, not sure why Darcy would congratulate her for nothing. Maybe she was talking about Nutcracker casting, which still hangs above Vision’s casting.

“Not so fast,” Darcy has materialized next her. “Why do you look so downtrodden? I would have thought you’d be leaping.”

“Darc, I’m not on this list,” Wanda tells her.

“Oh, no?” Darcy points a finger at the bottom of the day.

There in dark letters at four thirty, called to learn Romeo and Juliet is Rogers, S, Tomkins, M, Romanov, N, Tyler, J.T., and Maximoff, W.

Wanda has to do a double take. And then look one more time.

“Me?” she blinks but her name doesn’t disappear from the list. “Me?”

“You,” Darcy is grinning like a loon.

“I didn’t even know he was going to be choreographing Romeo and Juliet!”

“Neither did he,” Darcy snorts. “Apparently it’s for the gala night in November. One night only for all the doners.” She give’s Wanda’s right hand a squeeze. “Congratulations, Wanda.”

Wanda feels giddy. Giddy enough to throw her arms around Darcy with a soft squeal.

Darcy laughs under Wanda’s exuberant arms before Wanda releases her and turns back to the cast list with a huge grin.

She’s learning Juliet.

There is movement behind her and she sees Natasha walking to her place to begin La Valse and suddenly a horrible thought crashes down around Wanda’s ears.

One night only for the donors.

There are four women called to learn Juliet.

Only one of them will be dancing it.

Fuck.