Chapter 18
Vision wakes the morning of the gala with a churning stomach and a pounding headache. He manages to slide out of bed at eight am and takes a quick shower before dressing in tights, gym shorts, and a white t-shirt.
His hands are shaking so much that he knocks his tube of toothpaste into the sink, he stumbles over his dance bag as he’s crossing to unplug his phone from its charger, and almost spills coffee on the carpet of his hotel room floor.
Focus, Vision, he scolds himself, squirming into a blue sweatshirt and his pea coat. It’s just another day at the office.
He takes a moment to sip his coffee and stare at the people bustling below his hotel window before his phone alarm blares and he has to race to catch the 1 train uptown. He’s decided to take company class that morning, to warm up his body as best he can before the performance that night, but as he settles into an open seat on the uptown train, he can physically see his hands shaking, his nerves slowly overcoming him.
When he gets off at 66th Street, he sees Steve hobbling towards the entrance to the studios, a crutch cradled under his left armpit.
Vision hurries to catch up. “Hey,” he says.
Steve looks sideways. “Hey, man,” he says. There is a wariness in his expression that Vision isn’t used to.
“How’s the foot?” Vision asks.
Steve drops his eyes to the boot. “Hurts,” he admits. “But not as much as this damn crutch.”
Vision chuckles. “Yeah, they suck,” he agrees sympathetically.
“I think I have more bruises under my left arm than I do on my ankle,” Steve grumbles.
“Yep,” Vision says.
Steve glances over at him. “You taking class today?” he asks.
“Seemed foolish not to,” Vision answers, opening the door for Steve.
Steve snorts but doesn’t respond, the two of them walking to the largest studio on the first floor where there are already at least fifteen people sprawled out on the floor, waiting for class to begin.
Steve hobbles to a seat in the front, sitting next to another man with an injury, the two beginning an animated conversation.
Vision searches the room for a spot, and sees one near the end of the long line of barres, tossing his bag to the floor and beginning an old and familiar warm-up as he waits for the class to fill up.
Wanda enters about five minutes before class begins, her red hair swept messily out of her face, her familiar oversized sweats engulfing her small body. There are dark circles under her eyes and her skin looks paler than usual.
Vision tries to make eye contact with her, but she beelines for a spot on the opposite side of the studio, sitting with Natasha and Monica to lace up her pointe shoes.
The class is taught by Suki today, and she arrives with a crisp clap of her hands, her ever-present menthol smell sweeping around the room.
Vision can feel eyes on him as the class progresses through barre into center combinations. He tries to push the attention away as best he can, focusing on slowly reinvigorating his muscles.
The only person he cares about gaining their attention is the one person who seems, as the class continues, to be avoiding him.
He leans around Clint as Suki is demonstrating a pirouette combination, trying to catch Wanda’s eyes, but she keeps her unwavering focus on Suki. Or on the ground. Or on the wall.
Anywhere but at him.
The longer she ignores him the more Vision can’t help but feel a small, uneasy tug on his gut.
Maybe she’s nervous too, he thinks. After all, tonight is her first big solo performance.
He powers through the class, and at the end, intends to hop over to where Wanda and her friends are clustered, but she quickly pulls off her shoes and zooms out of the room.
Vision blinks, the unease in his stomach doubling in size.
She has to talk to you tonight, he reasons with himself. Just let it go for now.
He spends the rest of the day a bundle of nerves, too nervous to dance, too nervous to sit still.
He goes out to lunch with Darcy and spends the whole time fidgeting with the silverware until she exasperatedly pays the check and shoos him away.
At five thirty, he finds an empty studio to warm up, the strains of the Waltz of the Snowflakes echoing from the studio next door as he plies and tendus and stretches until he feels pliable, sweat misting on his forehead. Only then does he head over to the theater and his dressing room, one that he’s borrowing from Steve for the evening, his Romeo costume hanging on a rack, his makeup spread out on the counter.
He silently pulls on the blue tights and billowy shirt, leaving the collar untied as he sits in front of the mirror, flicking on the bright lights to see his face. He blots foundation, powder, eyeliner, eyeshadow, and mascara across his skin, his fingers on autopilot, the art of stage makeup so ingrained in his body that he barely has to think.
Which is a mistake because his nerves are beginning to arrive in earnest and he has nothing to distract him from the horrible thoughts that are beginning to race through his head. Starting and ending with dropping Wanda on her head.
He can feel his hands shaking as he sprays setting spray across his cheeks. He runs them through his hair, shaping the locks in a stylishly ruffled fashion, spraying hairspray across the top to keep the hair from moving during the dance.
He needs Wanda, he decides. It’s time for her to stop avoiding him, he needs her centering presence or he’s not going to make it.
Outside of his dressing room, the hallway is quiet, everyone getting ready for the show or warming up in the tiny studio next to the stage. Vision starts there to find Wanda, but she’s nowhere to be seen in the crowd of people stretching, so Vision ducks away before being he can be pulled into any conversations and continues down the hallway.
There is the sound of a door opening behind him and he swivels his head to see Wanda exiting the door to the stairs, her red Juliet dress hugging her body lovingly, her hair curled around her face. Her eyes are far away and she clearly doesn’t see Vision as she walks towards the stage, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip pensively.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Vision says, stepping over to her.
Wanda looks up, startled, her eyes large in her small face. “Oh!” she says. “Hi, Vision.”
“Huh,” he leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “Are you okay today?”
“Of course,” she answers, too quickly.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “Because I get the feeling you’ve been avoiding me.”
“No, I haven’t,” she insists.
He raises an eyebrow and she flushes. “It’s nothing.”
Vision waits patiently as she screws up her face in concentration. Its adorable to watch.
“Well,” she begins and then stops again.
He smirks. “Yes?”
“Did you hear that Tony and Pepper broke up?”
Vision feels his face freeze in his smirk, his muscles tensing. “Yes,” he answers. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
“Not really,” Wanda swallows. “Well, actually, a little bit. It’s something Natasha said.”
“Okay,” Vision is completely unsure of where this conversation is headed.
“It’s been bothering me all day,” Wanda says. “And I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for it but you know me, I won’t be able to fully relax until it’s sorted out.”
“Wanda,” Vision gives her a small smile. “Just tell me what it is.”
She takes a deep breath. “Natasha said that the reason Tony broke up with Pepper was because you told him too. And I know that’s completely ridiculous because you don’t strike me as a manipulator, but I’ve just been wracking my brain trying to find a reason as to why she would think that and I can’t come up with anything.”
Vision isn’t sure what his face looks like.
“I mean,” Wanda is laughing, a high, breathy sort of laugh that has an edge of panic sharper than a knife. “It’s silly to even think you would do something like that, right?”
Vision’s jaw is clenched so tight, he’s surprised his teeth aren’t grinding together.
“Right?” Wanda says in a very high voice.
He feels air whooshing from his lungs like a punctured wheel. “Wanda, I-,” his mouth opens and closes uselessly as he stares at her.
“Oh,” she’s backed away, her hands over her mouth. “Oh my god.”
“Wanda, please, let me explain-,” he desperately tries to grab her hands.
“Places!” Jimmy pokes his head into the hallway. “Places for the top of show!”
Vision turns to Wanda, and he’s sure his absolute horror is covering his face. “I will explain everything,” he promises. “I just- can’t think about this right now.”
Her mouth is set in a thin line but to his relief, she nods. “The show must go on,” she says bitterly.
“Later,” Vision practically begs. “I promise we’ll talk later.”
She steps around him, entering the wings. “Later,” she agrees, her voice flat.
In front of the curtain, Agnes is giving a speech, thanking the donors for coming to the gala, but Vision only listens with half an ear, watching as Wanda carefully walks up the balcony steps, placing herself against the grey wood, leaning her hand against her cheek, her skin eerie in the low blue light of backstage.
He can feel the fear he’s tamped down rising higher and higher in his throat, dancing with the guilt Wanda has unlocked, until Vision thinks he might vomit. Agnes concludes her speech and the lights go out backstage, bathing them all in pure darkness.
Vision feels a hand grab his and he jumps.
“Hey,” Darcy’s voice says soothingly in the darkness. “You okay?”
Vision thinks his whole body might be shaking, he’s so anxious. “No,” he manages.
She squeezes his hand. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispers.
“Easy for you to say.”
“Yes,” she admits. “But I know my friend, Vision Shade. You used to be like this before every performance, and every time you were amazing.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Vision breathes.
“She’s going to be fine,” Darcy murmurs.
“She’s mad at me,” Vision answers.
“What else is new?” the lights come up and Darcy’s face is suddenly painted in the bright yellow lights, her mouth curved serenely. “Whatever you’ve done this time, it’ll work out.”
“Wait, what makes you think it’s my fault?”
Darcy cuts her eyes to where Wanda is running her fingers along the top of the balcony. “I know my friend, Vision Shade.”
“Rude,” he scowls at her.
The curtain rises and there is a slight intake of breath from the audience as it reveals the massive balcony, Wanda’s small red form leaning against the railing romantically, her eyes caught somewhere far away.
“Merde,” Darcy whispers, her fingers squeezing his before sliding away.
Vision swallows as he hears the orchestra begins the top of the piece and he counts to eight before exploding onto the stage.
There is a smattering of applause when he appears, and it throws him off, panic filling his veins as he realizes he can’t remember a single step.
He blindly looks up at Wanda, her pale face an oval above him, her focus far above them both and suddenly everything is narrowed to her. The audience vanishes, the lights and sets vanish, it’s just the two of them and the music that rolls across the stage floor in a romantic fog.
Wanda races down the stairs towards him, her hands outstretched to him, a huge smile across her face.
But he can see, even if the audience can’t, the sorrow, hurt, and anger in her eyes.
He swallows against the guilt in his stomach and does his best to school his face into a cheerful mask.
He always thought the music for the balcony scene playful and sometimes achingly romantic. Tonight though, all he can hear is the melancholy bass, the woven grief of watching Romeo and Juliet dance. Knowing how their story ends. Knowing neither of them make it.
He hopes his thoughts don’t show on his face as he lifts Wanda, her body so familiar to him now, fitting perfectly against his, her green eyes boring into him with an intensity he doesn’t want to unpack.
He leans in to kiss her before leaving her arms, putting as much joy as he can into the movements, trying to recapture the lighthearted magic from their waltzing.
He thinks he finds it for a moment, he’s certain he sees a spark of exhilaration in Wanda’s eyes as they weave around each other, and he feels his heart lift until it presses against his throat, singing her name.
The music slows to the end of the piece, the violins beginning a sweet, thin melody as Wanda rushes away from him and he catches her hand, pulling her back into his chest, lifting her to the tips of her toes and dropping his mouth on hers.
Because if this is the last time her gets to kiss her, he’s going to make it count.
He thinks he hears someone sigh in the first row, but instead of bothering him or breaking him from the spell, it only weaves into the music until it’s his sigh, until its Wanda’s sigh.
Her arms wrap around his neck before the last notes begin to chime and she twists out of his arms, racing back up the balcony steps.
He lets his raw emotions cover his face, sorrow, guilt, and unbridled joy at the pure admiration he has for this woman, that she helped him learn how to fly again. He turns to see her, leaning against the railing once more, and blowing him one last kiss.
He catches it against his chest, holding it tightly as the lights go out and the thunderous applause begins.
***
The second the curtain comes down, Wanda runs away.
She desperately needs air, her lungs heaving, the feeling of pressure slowly squeezing her rib cage until she thinks she might pop like a balloon.
She’s dimly aware of Vision chasing after her as she yanks open the door to the stairs and takes the stairs two at a time, her pointe shoes clumping on the cheap plastic. She explodes through the door to the roof, thankful there is no one up on a smoke break, and leans over the rail gasping for air.
She hears the door open again and hears Vision step to the railing. “Wanda,” he pleads.
She ignores him, focusing on her breathing.
“Wanda, we need to talk.”
“Talk about what?” she whirls on him. “The fact that you intentionally broke up one of my best friends with a man she’s madly in love with? The fact that you willfully destroyed her happiness in one swoop?”
“I didn’t mean-,” he begins.
“I can’t believe you,” she fumes. “Low, petty-,” she’s wheezing now, her emotions rattling in her skull until it pounds an uncomfortable rhythm on her temples.
“I did it for Tony!” Vision shouts. “Because I believe that she was humoring his feelings! Whether to be polite or because of his money, I don’t know!”
Wanda’s jaw drops. “Of all the stupid-,” she wishes there were a wall closer for her to bang her head. “Pepper is shy, Vision, she’s not good at public displays of affection! Something you would know if you had taken two minutes to get to know her!”
“I have to look out for my friends!” Vision yells.
“Oh yeah, like Hank Pym?” Wanda counters.
Twin spots of red appear on Vision’s cheeks, his eyes flashing. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hisses at her.
She cocks her head to one side. “Don’t I?” she asks. “I know you cost him his career in London. I know you used nepotism and control to keep him out of his dream company.”
Vision laughs, throwing his head back humorlessly to the starless sky. “Is that what he told you?” he asks.
“Yes,” Wanda sets her jaw. “Why? Is it wrong?”
Vision smirks. An ugly, malicious smirk that looks horribly out of place on his face. “Oh no, he’s telling the truth.”
Wanda feels a rolling in her stomach. For the first time, she wants to hurt this man; she wants to wipe the smirk clean off his face. “What does 1986 mean?” Wanda crosses her arms.
Vision freezes. “What?”
“1986, Vision, what does it mean?”
Vision’s face has gone deathly pale. “It’s a year,” he says. “I believe it was the year Chernobyl exploded.”
“Bullshit,” Wanda says.
“No, it’s true, look it up.”
“What does it mean, Vision?”
“Who told you?”
“Who do you think?”
“He had no business telling you anything about me,” Vision snarls.
Wanda feels an ugly triumph blooming in her chest. “What. Does. It. Mean?” she asks, stepping forward until she’s in his space, her eyes narrowed.
Vision looks like he might spit on her, his eyes are so angry, and then he does the last thing that Wanda expects.
He grabs the back of her neck and pulls her into a kiss.
His lips aren’t angry, in fact, the second her mouth hits his, she feels his whole body relax, leaning into the point of contact, caressing Wanda’s lips lightly until she gasps. He takes full advantage of her open mouth, licking his tongue around her teeth, wrestling her tongue for domination as his hands slide around her waist and then lower, cupping her backside through the thin layers of her red Juliet dress.
Wanda wraps her arms around his neck, sliding one hand into his soft gold hair, the other tracing the muscles down his arm. She pulls on his hair and he growls, deep in the very recesses of his chest.
The sound causes her to shudder, pressing herself closer to him, all of her anger has dissolved, the only thought in her head is more, more, more.
One of his hands slides up, dancing along the curve of her waist up to the underside of her breast, playing with the loose fabric of her dress as the cool night air ruffles it along her torso.
His thumb brushes dangerously close to her nipple as his lips break from hers, blazing a trail of fire down her neck.
There is a slamming noise from below, the stage door being open and shut and the sound brings Wanda back to herself. She places both hands on his chest and pushes and Vision stumbles back, his lips breaking from her skin with a pop.
They eye each other, gasping in the night air.
Wanda breaks eye contact first. “I need to get downstairs; I have to change.”
“Wait,” Vision sounds desperate, his voice hoarse. “Can we please just talk about this?”
“What’s there to talk about?” Wanda asks exasperated.
“Everything!” Vision cries.
“Like what?” Wanda yells.
“I’m falling in love with you!” he roars.
There is a moment of pure silence, as though the whole city holds its breath.
“What?” Wanda could not have been more stunned if he picked up a baseball bat and told her he played for the Yankees.
“I love you,” he says, stepping closer to her, clearly encouraged by her lack of movement. “I tried not to love you, believe me. But I just couldn’t stop it. Because even though you’re just a dancer and have a temper like nothing I’ve ever seen, I love you, Wanda Maximoff.”
Wanda’s jaw is at her chest, but she can feel rage building behind her forehead. “What.” she hisses.
Vision’s eyes go very wide, as though he’s just realized his mistake. “I don’t, I just- I didn’t mean-.”
Wanda shakes her head. “You had me fooled, Vision Shade,” she says. “When I first met you, you were so stuck-up, uptight, proud. And the more I got to know you, the more I decided that maybe you were just shy, a little socially awkward. Caught in a job he hates,” she’s backing towards the stairwell, her eyes flashing. “But now I see you for who you really are,” she continues. “An arrogant asshole who will never amount to anything but a sad little man, living out the rest of his days hiding behind his friend’s money and his daddy’s name.”
With that, she whirls around, yanking open the roof door and flouncing away, letting the heavy metal slam satisfyingly behind her.