scarlet shoes

Vision isn’t nervous until 4:25 the next day.

He’s expecting to only see Wanda in the studio, as he’s yet to arrive before her to a class or rehearsal, but when he walks into the studio, five pairs of eyes are staring at him.

He coughs, unprepared to be so immediately thrown into the role of leader.

“Uh,” he says. “Hello everyone.” 

They blink at him. 

“Right,” he clears his throat, not sure why he feels so nervous. “Just, um, talk amongst yourselves for a minute.” 

None of them speak so he turns away awkwardly to the little speaker set up, stripping off his sweatshirt and dropping to the floor to tie on his dance sneakers. 

It’s deadly silent in the studio, he’s not even sure anyone is breathing. 

That makes six of us, he thinks grimly as he straightens from the floor, wiping his hands against his thighs. 

The clock reads 4:28, so he does a few self-conscious jumping jacks, leaping up and down in a vain attempt to warm up his muscles. 

Wanda, for the first time ever, does him a favor by beginning her own warm up, dropping to the ground and saying: “hold my feet,” to Natasha, and starts doing sit ups. 

Though Vision knows she’s doing it out of pity and not because she needs any extra warm up time.

But it pulls the attention off of him; Steve begins to do some push-ups, Julie Tyler Tremble squats down and reties her pointes, and even Mary Tompkins performs some halfhearted pliés. 

As the clock clicks to 4:30, he lands his last jumping Jack and shakes his arms, once, twice before fixing them all with what he hopes is a welcoming smile. 

“Hello,” he says. 

Instantly they all stop, Wanda pulls her feet out from under Natasha’s hands gently and crosses her legs into a basket, her green eyes fixed on him expectantly. 

Her leotard is a hunter green today and it causes her eyes to glow. 

He loses what he was going to say next as he stares at her, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. 

“Hello,” Natasha ventures and it snaps his focus from Wanda. 

“Right,” he knows his cheeks must be bright red. “Sorry, lost my train of thought. Hello.” 

To their credit, no one laughs, though Vision does see Wanda’s lips quirk upwards gently. 

He forces his attention away from her. “Uh, welcome to your first rehearsal. I guess it’s not a secret anymore that I’m choreographing Romeo and Juliet. Well,” he corrects himself. “Not the whole ballet, just the balcony scene.” 

No one speaks so he continues as confidently as he can. “Obviously as there is only one performance, there can only be one Juliet. Agnes didn’t feel I had been here long enough to make a confident decision about who would be the best fit for this role, so she suggested I create a shortlist,” he eyes them all, but no one looks confused, so he continues. “I don’t want any of you to treat this process like an audition, I want you to treat it like a rehearsal. Show me what you can do, but also show me you know how to take direction and notes. Any questions?” 

No hands rise, so he nods crisply. “Right, um, okay. Let’s start with Mary and Steve in front, everyone else learn at the back.” 

He doesn’t miss the smug look Mary shoots at the other women as she steps next to Steve, sweeping a stray lock of her brown hair away from her face impatiently. 

He resists the urge to sigh. This is why he had been initially against a shortlist of dancers. 

The atmosphere at any ballet company is already so competitive, the last thing anyone needs is the pressure of a shortlist. He can hum and haw all he wants about this process not being an audition, but everyone in this room is aware that it is. The competition began the second he stepped foot in the studio. 

He can only hope it won’t end with glass in someone’s pointe shoes. 

He steps back and studies Steve and Mary, standing about a foot away from each other. They’re a good pairing, there’s a nice height difference between them and their faces complement each other. 

A handsome couple, Darcy would call them. 

“Okay,” Vision darts his eyes around the room. There is a small stack of chairs in the corner by the door and he beelines to them, lifting the stack of four easily.

Steve hurries over to help him set up the four chairs in a line up-stage, away from the audience. 

“Agnes has given me permission to use the balcony that’s usually built for Romeo and Juliet,” Vision continues, holding out a hand for Mary Tompkins. 

She gets the hint, placing her hand in his and allowing him to help her step gracefully onto the seats of the chairs. 

Vision takes a step back and assesses the picture and he sees Wanda grimacing in the back. “Yes, Ms. Maximoff?” he asks 

She looks startled for a moment. “Huh?” 

“Do you have something you want to share?” 

Her face turns bright red. “No, I’m okay.”

He raises an eyebrow.

Grim determination flashes across her face. “Okay, yes I do,” she says. “That balcony is terrifying.”

“Terrifying?” Vision asks.

“The stairs are so narrow,” she nods. “It’s like any second you’re going to tumble over the side.” 

“Let me rephrase,” he sighs. “Did you have anything to say that is pertinent information?”

“Is the safety of your dancers not pertinent?”

“That’s not-,” he runs a hand through his hair, dimly aware that the rest of the group is watching them like a tennis match, their heads snapping back and forth between them. “Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“Then don’t ask me to share what I’m thinking!” she retorts.

“Are you being difficult on purpose?” he snaps.

“I’m answering a question that you asked!”

“Uh,” Steve says.

Vision realizes belatedly that he and Wanda are practically nose to nose, her green eyes just a breath away from his. She seems to have the same realization and steps away from him quickly, her face pink.

Vision swallows. “Let’s continue,” he tells Mary and Steve.

“Okay,” Mary says, though she looks a little scared.

Steve just nods, though as Vision turns to begin the music, he sees Natasha shooting Wanda a smirk.

Vision ignores it, turning on the music.

He has exactly thirty-two seconds choreographed, and those thirty-two seconds are just Steve entering stage right and seeing Mary on her chair balcony.

Those thirty-two seconds fly by and he’s left resisting the urge to bite into his nails as he assesses the picture.

She needs to get off the balcony somehow or else it’s just going to be a solo for Steve while Mary watches.

Vision takes a huge step back and considers the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Wanda standing with one foot flat on the ground, her right foot in full pointe, half her weight pressing into the toes of her right foot.

It’s a casual and relaxed position, a resting position, and he gets a sudden rush of inspiration in his head.

“Mary, lean forward,” Vision instructs. “As though you’re leaning against a balcony railing, yes exactly,” he chews on the inside of his cheek. “Now don’t look at Steve when he enters.” Vision cues up the music again. “Steve make your entrance again, but add a cabriole after the glissade.”

Steve nods and positions himself in the offstage area, counting out eight beats before exploding on to the stage. Vision barely watches Steve, though. He barely watches Mary. His eyes are on Wanda as she stands in the back, copying Mary’s position, leaning forward, chin under her right palm, eyes faraway.

Inspiration is flooding into his brain, like a dam has broken.

He realizes that the thirty-two seconds are over as the music continues and he hurries to stop it, his brain whirling.

“Okay,” he says, his mood improving mightily by the second. “Mary, you’re going to see him on the third eight and start bourrées on the count of two, got it?”

***

The rest of rehearsal moves surprisingly quickly. In fact, Vision is wholly unprepared when the clock hits five forty-five.

“Oh,” he says. “Sorry everyone, that’s it for today. Thank you for your hard work.”

The atmosphere relaxes and the dancers all move to their bags to drink water, Mary giving him a little curtsy as she leaves the studio.

“Ms. Maximoff,” Vision calls. Wanda’s head spins towards him, her face red from exertion. “May I speak with you a moment?”

Peculiarly, he sees fear slice across her face for half a second before she schools her features into a neutral mask. “Sure,” she calls, standing and dusting off her legs.

The studio clears out and she comes to stand next to him, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes fixed on his expectantly. “Are you going to yell at me about earlier?” she asks before he can say anything.

His mouth twists. “I don’t appreciate my authority being questioned in my rehearsal.”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Wanda tells him.

“I know you didn’t mean to, but you did,” he says.

“I’m sorry?” she offers.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Are you going to dismiss me from rehearsals?” she asks.

“Do you think I would do that?” he leans against the wall, crossing his arms across his chest, mirroring her position.

She swallows. “No?”

That makes him smile. “You don’t sound so sure.”

“Well, you did spend the whole rehearsal completely ignoring me,” she tells him. “I figured I was a goner.”

Thank god she hadn’t noticed him blatantly staring at her for a full hour.

He shakes his head. “Not this time, Ms. Maximoff.”

She smirks now, dropping her arms from her chest. “Is this a truce, Mr. Shade?” she asks.

He feels a grin teasing the corners of his mouth. “I believe it might be, Ms. Maximoff.”

She shoves a hand out to him. “Wanda,” she says.

He takes her hand in his, shaking it firmly, ignoring the fact that her skin feels like velvet against his palm. “Vision.”

“Nice to meet you,” she extracts her hand from his grip and shoulders her bag.

“You too,” he tells her.

She opens her mouth to say something else, but a voice from the studio door cuts her off. “Pst! Wanda!”

Wanda turns, giving Vision an open view of the graceful curve of the back of her neck. “What?”

Natasha Romanov is leaning back into the studio, her face a mixture of apologetic and mischievous. “Pepper wants to know if you’re coming to dinner?”

“Sure,” Wanda agrees. “I’ll be right there.”

Natasha flashes her a grin and disappears from the doorway.

Wanda twists her head to look at Vision over her shoulder, a small smile on her face. “Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“Hm?” Vision asks, too intrigued by the length of her eyelashes to fully process what she’d asked. “Oh,” he feels the tips of his ears heat up. “Oh, no, that was it.”

“Okay,” her smile grows until it sparkles in her green eyes. “See you around, Vision.”

She hikes her bag up higher on her shoulder and vanishes out the studio door, leaving Vision feeling strangely chilly in her absence.

***

As long as Wanda can remember, she and Natasha have been competing for the same roles. She assumes its largely due to the fact that they’re near the same height, both similarly colored with red hair and pale skin, and both were taught the Russian method of ballet for years before arriving at the School of American Ballet.

It would be easier if they weren’t friends; if they hadn’t also been roommates during school.

They’d competed to be the Swan in the Carnival of Animals, Firebird in Firebird, Giselle in Giselle, and all of that only in school.

Once they graduated, they competed to be apprentices in the New York City Ballet and they competed to become corps de ballet the next year.

Wanda can’t remember a time in her life when her name wasn’t near Natasha’s on a cast list, a time when their friendship wasn’t tainted by having to pretend excitement when her friend got a role she wanted desperately.

So, when she got over the shock of seeing her name called for Juliet, right under Natasha’s, Wanda couldn’t pretend that she didn’t feel resentment bubbling in her stomach. Especially when Wanda rushes to catch up with Natasha after their first rehearsal with Vision, and Natasha catches her in a tight hug.

“Congratulations!” she squeals in Wanda’s ear. “We’re learning Juliet!”

“Thank you,” Wanda feels more subdued as she hugs Natasha back. “Congratulations to you too.”

“Thank you,” Natasha pulls back to give her a beautiful smile. “I can’t believe it!”

“Me either,” Wanda lets go and grips the strap of her bag. “Shame that only one of us can perform it, though.”

Natasha’s face falls slightly. “Yeah,” she agrees. “Still, we know it’s going to Julie if Agnes has anything to say about it.”

“Please,” Wanda snorts. “She looks too old. Juliet’s supposed to be, what? Thirteen?”

“I have a feeling Agnes won’t care,” Natasha stuffs her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt.

“No, she won’t,” Wanda sighs. “Just cast her and admit that you play favorites!” the last part of the sentence comes out louder than she means and Natasha giggles nervously, looking over her shoulder as she presses the button for the elevator.  

“I’m just happy to have more face time with Vision Shade,” Natasha admits.

“I can’t believe he cast me at all,” Wanda says, wiggling her right foot gently as they wait. “After the way I looked in his class, I expected to be kicked out of the company.”

“It’s because he thinks you’re hot,” Natasha says sagely.

Wanda coughs, caught off guard. “I’m sorry, what?”

“He thinks you’re hot,” she repeats.

“How do you know?” Wanda can see the flush of red creeping up her cheeks in the polished doors of the elevator. “Did he tell you?”

“Please,” Natasha snorts. “I barely know the man.”

“Did Tony tell Pepper something?”

“Did Tony tell Pepper what?” Pepper arrives next to them as the elevator dings open. Her gold hair is twisted out of her face, her blue sweat suit hanging around her body gracefully.

“Did Tony tell you that Vision thinks Wanda is hot?” Natasha supplies, pressing the button for the first floor.

“Oh,” Pepper says. “No of course not.”

“So, it’s not true,” Wanda says.

“I didn’t say that,” Pepper sends her a mischievous smile.

“Pepper!” Wanda says.

“Sorry, Wand,” she says, though she doesn't sound sorry at all.  

“How do you know?” Wanda begs.

“Because every time he sees you, he looks like this,” Natasha adopts a slack jawed, wide-eyed expression.

“Nauseous?” Wanda asks incredulously.

“Hungry,” Pepper supplies.

Something like a shiver darts down Wanda’s back. “Oh,” she says in a small voice. “So, you’re telling me, he only shortlisted me because he wants to sleep with me?”

Pepper and Natasha’s expressions grow identically horrified at the same time. “No!” Pepper says just as Natasha bursts: “of course not!”

“That would mean he’s scum,” Pepper tells Wanda soothingly. “And Vision is not that.”

“How do you know?” Wanda asks.

“Because he’s a well-known guy,” Natasha says. “If he did shit like that, we would have heard about it by now.”

“He shortlisted you because he thinks you’re talented, Wand,” Pepper tells her. “The fact that he also thinks you’re beautiful is just a plus.”

“Besides,” Natasha stands. “He should know that if he does try anything inappropriate, he’ll see the underside of my shoe,” she raises a pointe shoe with a comically threatening expression and Wanda giggles reluctantly.

“If you’re certain,” she sighs.

“Yes,” Pepper smiles. “We are.”

Wanda gives them both a genuine smile as the elevator dings open on the first floor. Monica is waiting in the lobby for them, her face breaking into a grin as they arrive. “Thank god!” she calls. “I’m starving.”  

Wanda follows the group to the large double doors of the studio when she hears someone calling her name. Confused, she turns around and sees Agatha Harkness walking towards her, her dark hair scraped back away from her forehead.

“Hi, Ms. Harkness,” Wanda says as Agnes approaches.

“Hello, dear,” Agnes answers gently. “I was wondering if we could talk for a moment.”

Wanda’s stomach drops. It’s never a good sign when Agnes wants to talk. Especially not after a class or rehearsal. “Okay,” she says nervously, her voice shaking. “I’ll catch up,” she calls to Pepper, who has turned around to see why Wanda has stopped walking.

Pepper nods, sending her a reassuring smile and vanishes.

Agnes gives her what Wanda assumes is supposed to be a comforting smile and escorts her into a darker corner, away from the bustle of the lobby. “Congratulations on the cast list,” she begins gently.  

“Thank you,” Wanda says.

Agnes lets out a long sigh and Wanda can smell alcohol on her breath. “This isn’t easy,” Agnes says. “I truly hate having this conversation.”

Cold runs down Wanda’s spine as she stands motionless and silent.

“I was watching your performance last night in Agon,” Agnes continues. “And I couldn’t help but notice you seem to have put on some weight, dear.”

It was worse than Wanda could possibly imagine.

“Obviously, Agon is a leotard ballet, and it shows far more of your figure, but I’m concerned that this might keep you from being officially cast as Juliet.”

Wanda opens her mouth, but there is a lump of dread in her throat and her eyes feel prickly. “Does Vision share this opinion?” she finally asks.

“I don’t know,” Agnes admits. “But I believe this is advice you should take to heart. I’ve got a good eye for these things, and you don’t want it to hurt your chances of future casting, do you?”

An image of Vision watching her backstage, his eyes roaming her figure, cuts in front of Wanda’s eyes and she feels her stomach roll. “Of course not,” she hears herself agree.

Agnes pats her shoulder fondly. “You’re a hard worker, Wanda,” she says gently. “I know this is just a blip in the road.”

Just a blip in the road.

“Right,” Wanda says.

“I’ll let you get going,” Agnes says gently. “Have a good night, dear.”

“You too,” Wanda says.

Agnes walks away, but it takes Wanda a few extra seconds to move, her body feeling cold and stiff.

She’s never had to have that conversation before, though she knows some people have. Two years ago, a girl named Lily went through a horrible break up, gained twenty pounds in a month, and was politely asked to take a leave of absence from the company.

But Wanda has always been so stoic, so rigorous with her body. Hell, half the time she skips at least one meal, though its usually unintentional.

How have I gained anything? she wonders as she enters the Café on autopilot. What are you seeing that I don’t?

She doesn’t talk much through dinner, opting to eat only a banana and a scoop of peanut butter. When Pepper gives her a concerned look, she tells her she’s feeling a little nauseous.

But by the end of the show that night, she’s physically shaking from hunger, and she has to place her head on the dressing room counter before she finds the strength to climb to her feet and leave for the night.

When she arrives home, she strips in front of her tiny mirror and looks at her body this way and that, assessing each curve. 

Maybe her hips did have a little more roundness to them, and her breasts were definitely a little bigger. In fact, now that Wanda is looking at herself, she can’t unsee the flaws about her body that are so unsuitable that they might keep her from getting cast.

But what is she supposed to do? It’s not like she can direct the fat in her chest and hips anywhere else.

It’s not like she’s in charge of where her body decides to store fat.

It’s too much for her to see so she covers her mirror with a towel and drops her aching body into a tub of scalding water, attempting to burn away Agnes’s words.

She eats some plain Greek yogurt and ignores the rumbling in her stomach as she falls into bed, shame tricking down her spine.