scarlet shoes

“What do you mean, ‘Steve got hurt’?” Vision isn’t sure how to process the words coming out of Wanda’s mouth.

He’s all set up for rehearsal that afternoon, their last before moving to the theater for dress rehearsal when Wanda arrives with slumped shoulders and a bloodless face.

She closes her eyes momentarily and takes a deep breath. “Steve got hurt,” she says. “I’m not sure how many other ways to put it.”

“But how?” Vision demands, crossing his arms. “Like did he bump his knee and has a bruise or did he fall on his head?”

Wanda lets out a frustrated noise. “I don’t know,” she says. “I saw him land on his foot wrong, I heard a pop,” she shudders. “And he was rushed to Maria’s and then to the hospital for an X-ray.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that he won’t be ready to dance in two days?” Vision asks.

Wanda bites her lip. “I don’t think he’ll be able to walk in two days.”

Vision groans, digging his hands through his hair only vaguely aware that Wanda is watching him with concern. “Ridiculous,” he mutters under his breath.

“What?” Wanda asks.

“I’m saying it’s ridiculous. RIDICULOUS!” he roars and Wanda jumps. “Four Juliets. Four FUCKING Juliets and not a single extra Romeo, what the fuck was I thinking?” he stomps across the studio, anger pulsing out of his veins. “I mean, I must be the biggest idiot in the world! Did Agnes do this?” he whirls on Wanda who is still standing by the studio door, her green eyes wide. “No, don’t tell me,” Vision continues. “Of course, she did this. She tripped him, didn’t she? She had someone mop the floor right before he started dancing- why are you laughing?”

Wanda shakes her head, helplessly giggling. “I don’t know.”

“It’s not funny!” Vision yells. “She’s had it out for me since I told her to fuck off, bloody fucking hell and hairy bollocks, DAMN HER!”

More giggles spill from Wanda’s lips. “’Hairy bollocks’?”

“Yes!” Vision shouts. “HAIRY! FUCKING! BOLLOCKS!” he punctuates each word with a step forward until he’s fully in Wanda’s personal space, breathing heavily. Wanda’s back hits the wall of the studio and Vision’s hands rest on either side of her head, caging her in.

“And you know what the worst part is?” Vision asks, his gaze caught in her green eyes, her damned green eyes that he can’t get out of his head, no matter how hard he tries.

“What?” she whispers, all amusement gone from her face. Her small hands reach up and land on his chest, though whether to push him away or pull him closer, Vision isn’t sure.

He dips his head so his forehead rests against hers, their breath mingling. “I never got to watch you triumph.” He wrenches himself away from her before he can do anything stupid, like kiss her. “Go,” he says roughly. “Get out of here and enjoy the sun. One of us should.”

Wanda is leaning against the wall, her face dazed but as he dismisses her, her eyes jump to his and narrow. “What?”

“Take an extra-long break,” he tells her. “God knows you deserve it.”

“What are you talking about?” she seems to have gotten her feet underneath her.

“Clearly we’re cutting this piece,” Vision says slowly. “So, you can leave.”

“You can’t cut the piece!” Wanda says. “They already printed the programs!”

“They can make an announcement,” Vision grumbles.

“People paid a lot of money for this gala!” Wanda pokes him in the chest.

“There are five other dances on the program, I think they’ll be okay!”

“Why are you giving up?” Wanda cries.

“Because the ballet is called Romeo and Juliet,” Vision counters nastily. “Sorry, sweetheart, I know you’re talented, but last I checked you couldn’t dance a pas de deux by yourself.”

Wanda breathes slowly through her nose, her eyes closed. Her lips move faintly, though no sound emerges.

“What are you doing?” Vision asks petulantly.

“I’m counting to ten,” Wanda says, her eyes still closed.

“Why?” he demands.

“So, I don’t strangle you,” she answers.

“Why?”

“Because you’re giving up!” she snarls. “Because you’re giving up and I’m not going to let you.”

“As far as I know, you don’t let me do anything,” he hurls.

She stomps her foot. “Think, Vision, use your brain! The solution is obvious!”

“The gala is in two days, Wanda,” Vision throws up his hands. “Who the fuck can learn this dance in two days?”

“Jesus Christ,” Wanda smacks her forehead with the palm of her hand.

“I’m serious, Wanda!” he snaps. “Give me the name of one man in this company good enough to learn this dance in less than forty-eight hours and maybe I’ll reconsider.”

Wanda is looking at him with such exasperation that he feels a rush of pure aggravation hit him. “What?” he snaps. 

“I’m trying to decide if you’re being dense on purpose or if you really are only a pretty face,” she answers. 

“Excuse me?” Vision grinds.

“What other man, besides Steve, knows this ballet well enough to dance it in forty-eight hours?”

A cold sensation hits his gut. “Don’t say it,” he warns.

“Ah,” Wanda is looking at him. “So, you do know who I’m talking about.” 

“I won’t do it,” he says. 

“Why the fuck not?” Wanda asks. 

“I don’t need to explain myself to you,” he hisses. 

She crosses her arms. “Actually, I think you do.” 

“I am your boss!” he bellows.

“Well clearly not anymore, you coward!” she yells.

“Get out!” he hollers. “Get out of my studio!” 

“You’re being an idiot,” she huffs whirling on her toes and flouncing out the door, slamming it behind her.

Vision sinks to the studio floor, placing his forehead on his knees and breathing in and out against the panic rushing through his veins. 

Dimly, he hears the door open and soft feet padding towards him. He keeps his head between his knees, and feels rather than hears a body sliding against the wall to the floor, legs extended outward. He smells familiar cinnamon and citrus and hears a sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” Wanda says gently. “I don’t do well when people tell me I can’t do something.” 

“No kidding,” Vision mutters at his knees and hears her snort. 

“Can we start over?” she asks. 

“I don’t think there’s anything else to say,” Vision says.

“Don’t you think I at least deserve something of an explanation?” Wanda asks. “After all, it’s my career too.” 

Vision let’s his legs drop and he looks at her. “I haven’t performed on a stage since I retired four years ago,” he says. “If I could have danced for a career without the performing, I would have.”

“Why?” Wanda wonders. 

“I hate it,” Vision gives a self-deprecating smile. 

Wanda turns to face him full on, folding her legs into a basket. “What’s the point of all the hard work if you don’t like performing?” she asks him. “Sometimes the memory of the applause is the only keeping me going after hours of the same movements drilled over and over again.” 

Vision shrugs. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I just see all those people watching me and think: ‘this isn’t for them’.”

“I can respect that,” Wanda answers carefully. “But if there was any time to come out of retirement for a night, this is it.”

Vision swallows an old, familiar panic wrapping around his throat. “I don’t think I can,” he whispers. 

“You would give up the opportunity to be seen by hundreds of extremely wealthy people with bottomless wallets who wouldn’t hesitate to back your school in Brooklyn?” Wanda counters. 

He feels his entire body slump. “I can’t,” he says.

“Of course, you can,” she says, bustling over to the music.

“No, Wanda,” he surges to his feet and grabs her hand. “It’s been too many years since I’ve danced on a stage.”

Her lips curl into a small smile. “Don’t worry,” she says, gently pulling her hand from his to connect her phone to the speakers. “We’ll start with a warm up.”

Waltz of the Flowers begins to pour from the speakers, the familiar tune causing Vision to chuckle reluctantly.

“Is this some kind of elaborate ‘I told you so’ moment?” he asks as she approaches him.

“Please,” Wanda snorts. “Like I’ve got the time to plan something like this.” She lifts his hands from where they’re dangling uselessly at his sides and places his left hand on her shoulder blades, holding his right at shoulder level. “Just relax,” she says cheekily. 

“I thought you didn’t like this music,” Vision says as she places her right hand on his shoulder. 

She shrugs as best she can in their waltzing position. “I guess it’s growing on me,” she admits. She meets his gaze, green on blue, and he sees amusement and a reluctant fondness in their depths as she takes a deliberate step back with her right foot. 

He chuckles and steps forward with his left, pulling her closer to him with a single tug and reveling in her small squeak of surprise. “Still don’t trust me, Maximoff?” he asks teasingly. 

She narrows her eyes playfully. “Bring it, Shade,” she answers. 

He raises an eyebrow that he hopes she translates to “challenge accepted” and pushes lightly on her back, forcing her to spin with the music, the violins chasing the cellos as she spins. 

“Weak,” Wanda admonishes him. “You can do better than that.” 

He chuckles. “I’m just warming up,” he promises and sees her swallow. 

Good. 

The music begins to swell as he keeps one arm clasped around her back, sweeping her in progressively wider and wider circles, her breathless laughter causing her chest to move against his distractingly. 

There is a small lull in the music and Vision pulls Wanda closer to him, dropping his hand from her shoulder blade to her hip, her arm wrapping around his neck and her fingers playing with the loose hairs at his nape.

“What did you mean, you told Agnes to fuck off?” Wanda breathes against his chest.

“Just that,” Vision answers, rubbing a circle against Wanda’s hip. “I think my exact words were ‘you disgust me’.”

Wanda chuckles, her cheek pressed against his chest. “I wish I could have seen that.”  

Vision pulls away to look at her face. He can count the freckles on her nose, small sun kisses dotting her skin gently. He focuses on them as he answers. “It felt fantastic.”

Wanda gives him a tiny smile, but he can see paper thin vulnerability in her eyes as she pushes away from him, improving a set of sharp pique turns. He follows, catching her back in a waltzing position.

As the music builds to the climax, Wanda leans forward, pushing to the tips of her toes, her feet bare beneath her leggings and she places her warm mouth right next to his ear. “Press lift?” she murmurs, releasing him and spinning away. 

She runs at him, and leaps with such trust caught on her face, he feels something seize in his chest. His hands span her waist as he lifts her above his head, feeling her spine dip gracefully. 

He rarely feels like he’s ready to take flight when performing with a partner. As a man in dance, he’s almost always the base, supporting the ballerina as she’s flung up to the sky. 

But when he dances with Wanda, he finds himself soaring. 

Their connection is unlike anything he’s experienced with the countless number of partners he’s danced with. He’s so attuned to every tiny movement in her body, every shift of her muscles, every catch of her breath he feels before it’s even escaped her lungs. 

The music is racing to the finish and he grabs Wanda around the waist, lifting her ungracefully, forcing her to wrap her arms around his neck as he spins her, her hair flying away from her scalp like flames. 

She laughs, a short, surprised burst as her feet lift off the ground and he feels her breath next to his ear, warm and sweet as he whirls them to the end of the dance.

The music finishes with a crash and Vision lowers Wanda to the floor, keeping her body flush against him. 

Shit, he thinks as his heart races, pounding a melody of its own.

Wanda.

Wanda.

Wanda. 

Goddamn it, Agnes was right. 

There is silence in the studio.

Vision keeps his arms tight around Wanda, his forehead pressed against hers, feeling her heart rate slowly calm. 

“Okay,” he whispers to her. 

“Okay?” she asks.

“I’ll dance Romeo,” he says, a twist in his stomach. 

***

They only have two days. 

Surprisingly, even though Vision has choreographed the piece, his knowledge of all of Romeo’s movements are spotty at best. 

Steve is the biggest help they have, arriving to an emergency rehearsal the next day with his foot in a boot and a crutch cradled under his left arm. 

“Two torn ligaments,” he sighs whenever someone stops him to ask. “Just a sprain, I’ll hopefully be out for only about four weeks.” 

He sits in the corner of the studio, running the music and calling out steps to Vision whenever he falters, which is often.

“Didn’t you choreograph this?” Wanda wonders as Vision pauses once again to get his bearings. 

He glares at her. “As of nineteen hours ago, it wasn’t my job to remember the steps.” 

“This is fun,” Steve says to no one as Wanda and Vision reset for the top of the piece. 

“Shut up, Steve,” Wanda and Vision mutter together.

Steve pokes his lower lip in a pout and lifts his booted foot pitifully.

“He’s going to be insufferable, isn’t he?” Vision murmurs to Wanda, his mouth close enough to her ear to send a tingle down her spine.

“Unfortunately,” she responds, hoping her voice isn’t as breathless as she feels.

Despite the snags, Wanda knows the chemistry between her and Vision is unparallel. Even as he falters in a turn, Wanda knows just when to expect him to grab her, support her, and twirl her. He clearly doesn’t trust himself, but she trusts him implicitly and its terrifying.

He also makes a devastating Romeo. With his tousled blond hair and sharp jaw, it’s all Wanda can do not to swoon every time he rushes onstage, his arms outstretched to catch her.

The little old ladies are going to eat him up, Wanda thinks.

Vision lands a triple tour en l’air, a tricky jump that requires at least one full rotation in the air, beginning and ending in a fifth position plie, and looks up at Wanda with such a pleased grin, that she feels a tiny bit of her insides melt.

I’m going to eat him up, the unexpected thought whispers in the back of her head.

“You guys make a good team,” Steve announces from his seat in the front of the studio, thankfully distracting Wanda from her dangerous train of thought. “Just don’t forget to kiss her, Vision.”

Wanda might kill Steve.

“This rehearsal is about the steps,” she says in a loud voice. “We don’t need to worry about the physical stuff just yet.”

“Unfortunately, I think he’s right,” Vision sighs. “The sooner we’re comfortable with touching each other, the better it will be onstage,” he crosses to his entry point and looks at her expectantly. “Let’s do it again.”

Wanda swallows and clambers up to her chair seat balcony, waiting for the music to begin. She does her best to ease her nervous tension, but every second she’s expecting Vision to kiss her.

“Relax,” he murmurs to her as he places her down from an arabesque lift. “It’s just a stage kiss, Wanda.”

But that’s exactly the problem, Wanda thinks as he jetés away from her.

She doesn’t want it to be just a stage kiss.

He waits until she’s caught unawares, floating through air as he supports her in a grand jeté leap. When her feet are firmly on the ground, he leans in and drops a quick peck on her lips before propelling away.

Wanda’s lips don’t stop tingling for the rest of the day.

Despite their best efforts, the time rushes by and suddenly they’re performing a dress rehearsal with full costumes, lights, and an orchestra.

Wanda is fully dressed with her hair waving expertly around her collarbone and her red skirts swishing around her legs when she sees a very tense Vision on the side of the stage, waiting for Jimmy to give the cue to the stage hands to roll the large, and as Wanda attempted to explain all those week ago, terrifying balcony out on stage.

Wanda takes a moment to appreciate Vision in his Romeo costume; he wears a billowy white shirt, an open blue waistcoat, and blue tights that lovingly hug the powerful muscles in his thighs, cupping him in all the right places.

Wanda swallows, her throat suddenly feeling extremely dry. “Hey,” she steps over to Vision.

He looks at her startled, the blue of his costume causing his eyes to burn. “Hey,” he says and his voice is raspy.

His shirt collar is untied, the ends hanging open, and Wanda can see smooth skin and a subtle brushing of blond hair across his exposed upper chest.

She averts her eyes before she can do anything stupid like lick him like a lollipop.

Vision lets out a ragged breath and Wanda wordlessly takes his hand in hers and squeezes it.

“It’s going to be great,” she says.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Vision says. “Great.”

“Hey,” she turns to him and grasps his biceps firmly in her hands. The thin shirt fabric shifts in her hands and the heat from his skin and the outline of his muscles distracts her.

“Hey?” he prods.

Wanda clears her throat. “Right, sorry,” she says, forcing her focus away from his distracting arms. “You got this. We got this.”

Vision’s gaze is caught away from her face as he watches the stage hands struggle to place the balcony on its marks. He sighs. “Have I thanked you?”

“Thanked me?” Wanda creases her brow.

“For never taking my crap,” Vision grins faintly. “For always calling me on my bullshit.”

“Well, if you can thank me for something I do willingly,” Wanda snickers, still holding his upper biceps. “Then at least allow me to thank you for casting me as your Juliet.”

Vision shakes his head. “I told you,” he says, his voice low, his arms wrapping around her waist. “You were always my first choice.”

Wanda’s arms slide up his shoulders to hook around his neck and she can feel her heart pounding in her chest as his face gets closer and closer, his eyes darkening until there is just a tiny strip of blue around the pupils.

Wanda’s tongue darts out to lick her lips and Vision’s eyes catch on the movement, heat flashing in their depths.

“Places!” Jimmy yells backstage. “Places for the top of the show!”

Wanda wrenches away from Vision, dropping her arms like she’s been scalded, her heart thumping so loud, she’s certain he can hear it.

Vision lets out a self-conscious laugh and catches her eyes.

She stares back at him, watching his hand lift and his thumb caress her bottom lip.

“Later,” he murmurs in a voice so liquid and low that it turns Wanda’s legs to momentary Jell-O.

“Later,” she agrees breathlessly.

There is a superstition long held in the dance community that a dress rehearsal is supposed to go horribly wrong.

The worse it is, the better your performance.

Wanda usually doesn’t put much stock in these old wives tales, unless her dress rehearsal goes so wrong that she has to believe the performance will be better.

So, she thinks nothing of it when their dress rehearsal goes remarkably well.

She doesn’t fall down the stairs, Vision remembers every step, the orchestra performs at the perfect tempo, and every kiss they share doesn’t feel awkward at all.

Honestly, Wanda doesn’t believe it could have gone any better.

It doesn’t stop Vision from twisting his hands anxiously as he exits the stage, but Wanda merely pulls him into a wordless hug and vanishes into her dressing room to change for her next piece; the corps of Serenade.

Curiously, the dressing room is empty, makeup spread across the counters and two Serenade costumes are draped over Monica and Natasha’s chairs.

Wanda doesn’t think too much about it as she peels off her red Juliet dress, hanging it lovingly on the rack and stepping into the long, romantic tutu for Serenade.

She’s in the middle of pulling back her hair into a low bun at the nape of her neck when the dressing room door is flung open with a bang and Natasha stalks in, her face stormy.

Behind her, Monica enters with her arm caught around Pepper’s shoulders, the latter sniffling, the long tulle skirt of her Serenade costume catching around her legs.

“What’s happened?” Wanda asks, her stomach dropping.

“Nothing,” Pepper straightens and wipes her eyes. “Nothing, Wand.”

“Cut the bullshit, Pepper,” Natasha says harshly.

“Hey,” Monica admonishes. “Calm down, Nat.”

“I’m perfectly calm,” Natasha gnashes her teeth.

“Clearly,” Monica snorts.

“Honestly, I’m a little surprised you aren’t angrier, Monica,” Natasha says.

“Not all of us need to slam doors to show our anger,” Monica snaps out, helping Pepper sit in her chair.

“What’s going on?” Wanda repeats.

“It’s really nothing,” Pepper answers, giving a watery smile. “I’m overreacting.”

“You aren’t overreacting!” Natasha explodes.  

Wanda drops next to Pepper’s leg and looks up into her red rimmed eyes. “I’ve known you for years, Pepper, and I’ve never known you to overreact,” she says gently. “What happened?”

Pepper bites her lip as it trembles. “T-Tony and I broke up,” she manages.

“Oh,” Wanda feels her throat tighten. “Oh, Pepper, I’m so sorry.”

“Tell her why,” Natasha says harshly.

“N-n-,” Pepper shakes her head, sniffling. “I don’t want to throw her off.”

“Fine, I’ll tell her,” Natasha straightens. “If I were Wanda, I’d want to know, regardless of the circumstances.”

“Tell me what?” Wanda huffs in frustration.  

Natasha looks at Pepper who closes her eyes against the words coming out of Natasha’s mouth. “Vision told Tony to break up with Pepper.”