scarlet shoes

Vision’s school is a roaring success.

Of course, it is, how could it be anything but? Wanda grumbles to herself.

He’s appearing on all sorts of talk shows, posing for the cover of Dance Magazine, and his face is splattered across her social media feeds.

His beautiful, chiseled, gentle, dear face that she can’t help but think she’s irreparably pushed away.

She knows Monica and Pepper would urge her to talk to him, to figure out how he’s really feeling, but as time inches by, Wanda becomes more and more intimidated by the man in front of her, on all her screens, and constantly behind her eyelids.

Vision is an undeniably good person.

How can she, loud, abrasive, and insecure, ever have hoped to retain any of the feelings he professed to have all those months ago?

She’s lucky he’s a kind person, treating her with respect when she showed up in his school, in his space, unannounced.

And if all of those feelings weren’t enough, now she has to contend with the fact that he sacrificed his own feelings to help save one of her friends.

She knows he did it out of obligation to himself to get Hank Pym out of all their lives for good, but she can’t but feel cowed by his irreproachable goodness.

It’s best if she just gracefully exits stage left from his life. Let the last memory he has of her be of a determined, emotional friend. A much better picture than the squalling baby he saw on the roof that night, shouting at him after he laid himself bare in front of her, professing his love.

She hopes that her own feelings will fade with time, healing on their own. Maybe one night, she’ll be going to bed and realize she didn’t think about Vision once all day. Maybe one day, she’ll meet someone new and she won’t immediately compare him to Vision. Maybe one day, she’ll fall in love again.

But she realizes that day is definitely further away than she would like it to be, and the presence of Vision in her life, smirking mysteriously from her Instagram feed, or his blue eyes warming her on someone’s newspaper on the train, is certainly not helping her state of mind improve.

And January marches into February and February bleeds into March.

Wanda is used to the monotony by now, the slow agonizing pace of class to rehearsals to shows. What once thrilled her beyond measure has become a chore, something she must fight through to pay her bills.

She and Natasha haven’t really spoken since the night Wanda managed to pry Vision’s involvement in the Hank Pym drama from her. The atmosphere isn’t cold around them, but it isn’t necessarily jovial either.

“God,” Wanda groans leaving the stage after a particularly grueling performance. “Was Coppélia always this cheerful?”

Monica snorts, toweling off her face. “It’s a ballet about a girl who discovers her boyfriend is in love with a mechanical doll, of course its cheerful.”

“I don’t know,” Pepper answers cheekily as she strips out of her costume. “I’ve seen many CSI episodes that begin just like that.”

Natasha sits in the corner during the banter, her face a pale oval, her mouth closed.

Wanda tips back on the floor, raising her feet up to the wall to drain them. “If I never do another balloné in my life, it will be too soon.”

“Did you see that Vision is hiring for his school?”

Natasha’s voice is so unexpected, Wanda’s feet slide off the wall with a thud. “What?” she asks.

“Vision,” Natasha’s cheeks have some pink in them, her eyes trained on Wanda’s face. “He’s hiring for his school,” she flips through her phone and turns an Instagram story towards Wanda.

“Huh,” Wanda barely looks at it, her voice a bored drawl. “Look at that.”

Natasha presses her lips together, swallowing hard and begins to chip off her makeup with force.

Wanda returns her feet to the wall, scolding herself for feeling guilty. But she just feels that talking to Natasha like nothing has happened would require acknowledging that she’s forgiven her, and Wanda isn’t sure she’s done that yet.  

Natasha finishes removing her makeup and she grabs her bags and disappears from the dressing room.

The second the door closes behind her, Pepper puts her makeup wipe down and turns to Wanda with a disappointed expression. “Wanda,” she says.

“What?” Wanda asks exasperated.

“She’s trying,” Pepper says. “Can’t you, I don’t know, be a little less hostile?”

“I am being less hostile!” Wanda stands, the blood rushing back to her feet quickly. “If I were being hostile, I wouldn’t speak to her at all.”

Monica hangs up her costume gently. “I think you should apply to work at Vision’s school,” she says.

Wanda’s eyes get very big. “What?”

“Apply for Vision’s school,” Monica repeats. “I think you’d be a good teacher.”

“I’m sorry,” Wanda says, letting a sarcastic bite edge into her tone. “I have a career.”

“Yeah, and you’re miserable,” Monica says.

“I am not-,” Wanda can feel rage swimming around her eyes. “Miserable.”

“Your temper is short,” Monica is continuing as though she hasn’t spoken. “You’re barely alive in classes anymore.”

“And we know you’re hung up on Vision,” Pepper pipes up.

“Excuse me?” Wanda whirls on her.

To her credit, Pepper doesn’t shrink under Wanda’s murderous gaze.

“Oh, come on,” Monica groans. “Give us a little credit, Wand, you aren’t exactly subtle about it. Whenever his face appears anywhere, you look like you’ve been punched in the stomach.”

“I do not!” Wanda gasps.

“Face it,” Monica gives her a sad smile. “You need closure.”

“And you think working for Vision is the way to get that?”

“No,” Monica says patiently. “I think a career change in general is the way to get that.”

Wanda swallows very hard. “But this is all I’ve ever wanted.”

***

It turns out, Natasha hadn’t needed to tell Wanda that Vision was hiring for his new school because the next morning, every single dancer in the company gets an email from Vision. Or rather, Vision’s HR department giving them a chance to interview for a teaching position.

Wanda thinks Darcy is more than likely behind the email blast, but it does the job because it’s all anyone can talk about for two full days.

Vision is apparently offering an excellent starting rate, full benefits, plus holidays and paid time off.

As a group of people who have never gotten an actual holiday off, the entire company is salivating over the idea of a possible part time job, a bit of extra income in the pocket, and the chance to work for a newly lauded establishment in the industry.

Even Wanda has to admit, it sounds like a good gig.

However, Agnes is noticeably ticked off by the email blast. Rumors begin circling when her lawyers are seen exiting her office that she’s about to sue Vision for stealing her employees, even though no one from New York City Ballet has actually begun the interview process.

Two days after they all receive the invitation to work for Vision, Agnes storms into the company class, her hair perfectly slicked back, a dark purple cardigan snapping around her hips menacingly.

“May I have your attention please?” Agnes calls over the early morning chatter.

Immediately, the whole room goes silent.

“It has come to my attention that an email was sent out a few days ago, inviting experienced dancers to interview to be teachers for a new school in Brooklyn,” a few brave people nod as Agnes’s dark and unforgiving gaze rakes across the crowd. “So, it has fallen to me to remind you all that your contracts explicitly state that no dancers are allowed to moonlight at any other companies unless express permission is given. And I do not give it. Apply to Mr. Shade’s school at your own risk.”

With that she gives the room one last long look, her eyes flicking over the assembled crowd, and Wanda wonders if she’s imagining Agnes’s eyes lingering on her for an extra beat, before she exits.

The second Agnes is out of earshot, the studio erupts in chatter.

“Can she do that?”

“Is that legal?”

“It is if it’s in our contracts.”

“I don’t remember that!”

“Did you even read it when you signed it?”

“Of course not, I was seventeen!”

It’s not until Suki clears her throat loudly in the front of the studio that everyone quiets down. “Let’s begin,” she says, a look of regret burning in the depths of her eyes. “Places at the barre, pliés.”

Wanda isn’t sure when it happens, but she begins to feel a burning sense of rage deep in the recesses of her belly that only grows as the day continues.

How dare she?

How dare Agnes refuse to promote her, refuse to acknowledge her success when she gets a fucking New York Times review, and then tell her she’s not allowed to pursue other career avenues?

“I’m no one’s dancing monkey,” she mutters under her breath as she gobbles a granola bar before the show.

It’s really a wonder that she’s not putting her fist through the wall by the time she’s in her Coppélia costume, when her blood is boiling so hot that she’s ready for violence.

The dressing room is deathly silent, as though Wanda’s mood is bleeding across the rest of the group, her grim, set jaw and flashing eyes keeping anyone from trying to start a conversation with her.

The show is fine; easy and boring. Wanda spends most of it with her mouth pulled in a dull smile, hitting each step without any thrill, her thighs and calves shaking by the end of the night.

She sees Agnes herself backstage as she exits, a surprise as Agnes is rarely even in the theater during performances unless something is wrong. Wanda unintentionally makes eye contact as she walks to her dressing room, Agnes’s eyes are cold and she raises a challenging eyebrow.

Wanda feels her rage swell in her chest as though being stoked by enormous bellows. She sets her face into a neutral mask, hoping none of her emotions bubbling below the surface show in her expression, and she pushes open the door while maintaining eye contact.

In the dressing room, Pepper is racing around, removing her makeup at lightning speed and shimmying into a soft pink sweater dress with low heeled boots. “Tony’s going to be here in like five minutes,” she babbles as she runs around. “The show ran longer than I was expecting.”

“Relax,” Monica tells her. “He can wait a few minutes.”

“He’d wait through a hurricane for you,” Natasha says.

Pepper’s cheeks stain pink, but her movements don’t slow and after a couple of minutes, she grabs her bags, gives them all air kisses and shoots out of the dressing room.

Natasha follows her much slower, giving Monica and Wanda tentative smiles before leaving herself, a pack of Marlboros clutched in her hand.

Monica is last to leave, she’s gathering her shoes and jacket as Wanda is peeling off her eyelashes and running a wipe over her face.

“See you tomorrow?” she says.

“Yep,” Wanda tries to smile at her in the mirror.

Monica leaves, the door swinging shut behind her and silence descends on the dressing room.

Wanda gathers her makeup together gently, lining up her bottles by size, takes off her costume, and is smoothing her sweatshirt over her thighs when the door to the dressing room opens.

“Did you forget-,” Wanda stops because it’s not Monica in the doorway, but Agnes. “Oh.”

“Hello, Miss Maximoff,” Agnes smiles. “I was wondering if we could talk.”

Wanda swallows, feeling the age-old tingle of fear at being around this woman race up her spine before she squares her shoulders. “Okay,” she answers. “You don’t mind if I keep cleaning up, do you?”

“Of course not,” Agnes waves her hand benevolently at her. “Please continue.”

Wanda gives her a half smile, knowing Agnes can see the insincerity in her eyes. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Oh, you, I suppose,” Agnes perches against the counter, placing her hands on either side of her hips.

Wanda blinks. “What about me?”

“I can’t help but notice you’ve been a bit distracted lately,” Agnes says. “I know a lot has been going on, but I wanted to make sure you were hanging in there.”

Wanda snorts, she can’t help it. “I’m sorry,” she covers her mouth. “You wanted to make sure I was okay?”

Agnes’s brows pull together. “Is that funny?”

“Frankly, yes.”

“Why?” Agnes wants to know.

“Oh,” Wanda drops her pointe shoes into her bag and faces Agnes with her hands on her hips. Her anger is seeping out of her pores, licking up the sides of her face, and for once, she doesn’t hold her tongue. “Let’s think. You’ve treated me horribly all year, shamed me into dieting, refused to acknowledge all the good I do for this company, and tried to intentionally turn me against one of my best friends.”

Agnes barks out a laugh. “You really think a lot about yourself, don’t you?”

“What do you want from me?” Wanda is proud of her bored drawl, though inside, she’s shaking from adrenaline.  

Angry flashes through Agnes’s eyes. “I want you to promise me that you won’t be interviewing for Mr. Shade’s company.”

The rage that has been slowly building in Wanda’s chest froths up her throat gleefully. “You’ve already told us we can’t.”

“Don’t play innocent with me,” Agnes snaps at her. “I’m well aware of your feelings for Vision Shade. I want you to promise me you won’t go work for him.”

“Why?” Wanda challenges. “You aren’t planning to promote me, why shouldn’t I start over?”

“You have no idea what I’m planning to do or not do,” Agnes snaps at her.

“Oh?” Wanda raises an eyebrow, though her traitorous heartrate accelerates. “So, you are planning on promoting me?”

“If you keep up the hard work and refocus your attention to what matters,” Agnes answers.

Wanda laughs. High and humorless. “You’ve been telling me that for five years, Agnes.”

“And for five years you’ve floundered,” Agnes snaps.

“No,” Wanda shakes her head. “For five years I’ve treaded water and I’m exhausted at the effort it takes to keep my head above the surface.”

“Promise me,” Agnes folds her arms.

“No,” Wanda says.

“No?” Agnes lifts an eyebrow, her signature terrifying look, but it doesn’t scare Wanda now.

“You heard me,” Wanda turns back to packing up her things. “You aren’t in charge of what I do outside of these walls, Agnes.”

“Your contract states otherwise,” Agnes reminds her.

“Why the fuck do you even care?” Wanda wonders. “If I’m such a disappointment, why not fire me?” Agnes opens her mouth, but Wanda beats her to the punch. “Is it a pride thing? Did Vision hurt your self-esteem when he cut ties and now you’re trying to keep me from leaving with him?” At Agnes’s surprised face, Wanda cracks a smile. “That’s right, he told me what he said to you.”

“And did he tell you he’s back?” Agnes hisses.

Wanda blinks blankly.

“Oh, he didn’t?” Agnes cackles. “Yes, he made a deal with me. He’ll be back next fall to choreograph a full-length ballet for us. The price he paid to keep your friend employed here.”

Wanda sways and has to grab the counter with her hands.

Will I never stop owing that man?

Agnes smirks. “Clearly you’re not in touch as much as I thought,” she shrugs. “No matter, my original request still stands.”

“Oh, we’re calling it a request?” Wanda asks, her voice only slightly breathless.

“What would you call it?”

“An order?”

Agnes laughs. “Whatever makes you happiest, dear. Just give me your word and we’ll move along with our lives.”

“Like you dangling a promotion in front of my eyes until I’ve wasted away into nothing?” Wanda sets her jaw. “No thanks.” She attempts to push past Agnes, her dance bag slung over her shoulder.

Agnes grabs her upper arm, her nails digging into Wanda’s biceps. “I need your word,” she hisses.

Wanda meets her eyes, green on brown. “I will not now and never will make any kind of promise like that,” she answers, her voice strong and sure. “Let me go.”

Agnes thankfully releases her, but Wanda can still feel the phantom pinch of her grip. “You’re making a mistake.”

“I don’t think I am,” Wanda feels a wondrous giddiness filling her veins. “Thank you very much for the last few years, Agnes. But it’s time for me to leave.”

Agnes’s mouth drops open. “You’re quitting?”

“Effective immediately,” Wanda agrees and can’t stop the giggle that bursts from her lips.

Agnes takes an enormous step away from her, outrage playing across her face, and Wanda practically bounces to the dressing room door. But before she can open it, she turns back around. “Oh, you’re wrong, you know.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m stronger than you think.”

“Perhaps,” Agnes snorts. “It won’t mean Vision will hire you though.”

“I don’t care,” Wanda says. “Maybe I need to be unemployed for a bit. Maybe I’ll go back to school. You know,” she looks at Agnes wonderingly. “I’ve never traveled outside of New York City since I moved here eight years ago?” she lets out a disbelieving laugh. “I’ve spent every night living my dream and yet, right now, I’ve never felt more free.”

With that, she turns on her heel and leaves the dressing room, only slamming the door a little bit behind her.

***

The next day, Wanda sleeps in until ten thirty.

Her buoyancy has lasted all the way through the night and she wakes with a smile on her face. She has a list of emails from the company’s HR department, telling her that she’ll be receiving her final pay check with the next pay period and she needs to clear out her spot in the dressing room by five thirty that day, so Wanda lazily gets up, makes coffee and eats a full bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar and banana slices before she dresses in a pair of old jeans and a leather jacket, the late March air still just a little too cold for her summerier wardrobe.

The commute is slow and monotonous, and Wanda sits by the window of the train, her eyes following the rails as they zip from stop to stop.

There is the looming question of what to do now, she knows she won’t be able to go long without a job, but for the moment, she’s just riding the high of telling off her boss for the first and last time in her career.

The theater is quiet and she makes it to the dressing room without running into anyone. She’s brought a couple of large canvas totes and begins to load all of her things in: makeup, old pointe shoes, programs from various shows, tights, character shoes, old polaroid pictures, a pair of dusty headphones, and a couple of emergency leotards.

Her slobbishness feels delightful today and she finds herself humming as she packs up her bags.

“So, it’s true.”

Wanda’s head snaps around to see Natasha standing in the doorway, watching her load her stuff into the bags. “What’s true?” she asks as she examines a couple of old tights.

“You’ve quit,” Natasha answers. “There are rumors flying everywhere.”

“I bet,” Wanda drops the tights in her bag.

“Is it true you told Agnes off?”

“Where did you hear that one?” Wanda raises an eyebrow.

“Clint,” Natasha chews on her lip. “He was walking by and heard you yelling.”

“I didn’t yell,” Wanda answers delicately.

Natasha snorts and sinks into her chair by the door. “Why’d you do it?”

“Why do you think?”

Natasha sighs. “I hope he realizes how much you’ve thrown away for him.”

“What?” Wanda’s head snaps up. “I didn’t do it for Vision, Nat, I did it for me. This job was killing me.”

“If you say so,” Natasha’s mouth twists in a funny kind of way. “I’m going to miss you,” she admits.

Wanda sits back on her heels and looks up at Natasha. “Really?” she says. “I would have thought you would be popping the champagne.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Natasha says harshly. “Of course, I don’t want you to go. Even if you never spoke to me again.”  

“Nat,” Wanda sighs.

“Look,” Natasha cuts her off. “I guess since you’re leaving it’s a lot more dramatic, but I do want you to know that I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” Wanda says. “I just don’t know why you would do what you did.”  

“Why?” Natasha shrugs helplessly. “I think it was because of you.”

“Me?” Wanda stares at her shocked.

“I-,” Natasha takes a deep breath. “I think I’ve always been just a little bit jealous of you.”

“Why?”

“Because- I don’t know, because you’re so good and you don’t even know. Because it felt natural after almost eight years of being compared to you. Because you’d gotten Juliet, and I knew it was only a matter of time before you got promoted, especially with Vision Shade panting around your heels,” Natasha cuts her eyes to the right. “I think me becoming friends with Hank started as a means to spite you, but then I began to realize that I actually liked him. He was so charming and sweet and understood my career and didn’t call me insane if I called off a date because I wanted to practice or because I’d had too long of a day. He got me and I loved that. I don’t think I realized how lonely I was when you stopped talking to me. I wanted to show you that I could move on from our friendship too,” she takes an enormous breath and makes eye contact with Wanda. “But then I got in too deep. And that’s when he got me,” she shrugs helplessly. “The weaken and then attack move. I should have seen it coming. I would have seen it coming if it was anyone else but me.”

Wanda is sitting, her legs crossed in a basket, her face tilted towards Natasha’s with a look of astonishment.

“I know,” Natasha laughs hollowly. “It’s silly to talk about after all the shit I caused.”

Wanda swallows back a biting retort and merely gives a half nod.

“Anyway,” Natasha stands. “I’ll let you get back to it, thanks for listening to my side.”

It’s those words that surge Wanda from her spot on the floor, catching the door as Natasha moves to close it behind her. “Nat,” she says, ignoring Natasha’s startled eyes. “Are you sorry? For everything you did?”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Natasha asks. “Of course, I am. I think about what I’ve done and I feel sick to my stomach.”

Wanda twists her fingers carefully.

“I am so sorry,” Natasha’s voice catches on the word sorry, her eyes shiny. She looks away. “God, Wanda, I’m so sorry.”

And Wanda, carried by the buoyancy of her night and the lightness in her chest, propels forward to wrap her arms around Natasha and bury her face in her shoulder.

Natasha sniffles next to her neck, but Wanda only tightens her grip. “I’ve missed you,” she murmurs.

“I’ve missed you too,” Natasha answers and it’s another few moments before Wanda loosens her grip and steps back.

Natasha wipes her eyes. “So,” she says, and Wanda can feel her trying to steer the conversation back to calm water. “What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know,” Wanda answers honestly. “I’ve never not been a dancer, you know?”

“I do,” Natasha snorts. “I also know a certain blond choreographer who would hire you in less than a second.”

“Ugh, not you too!” Wanda grabs her canvas totes and clicks off the dressing room lights. “No one will leave me alone since that email went out.”

“It’s because we all know he loooovvveesss you,” Natasha sing-songs at Wanda as she hoists the bags to her shoulders.

“You’re lucky you know how to dance,” Wanda pokes her tongue out. “Because you can’t sing for shit.”

Natasha gasps dramatically and throws her hands over her heart. “I may never recover, Wanda Maximoff.”

“Oh, shut up,” Wanda says. “Are you on lunch?”

Natasha nods. “Until 1.”

“Great,” Wanda links arms with her. “Then you can buy me a sandwich and tell me all about these rumors that are circling about me.”

And as Wanda sits in the early afternoon sun, giggling over Natasha’s spot-on impression of Steve, she thinks everything might turn out all right after all.