Revised: year and a half later and I just now realized how bad my grammar is, as well as some poorly done lines. Fixed up! (more or less)
"Odette?"
She looked up from her cleaning to see Mérante striding into the deserted practice room.
"I'm surprised to see you in here so soon—class just finished."
"I know," she replied, pulling herself up with her cane and patting down her skirt. "An annoying little redhead was bothering me and mentioned some of the dancers kept slipping, so I figured I'd come and take care of it now rather than later."
"Well… yes. That was—that was good of you."
"Just doing my job," she said, and couldn't help but smile as she met his gaze.
She picked up the bucket, the dirty rag perched on the edge and with a slight bob of her head towards Mérante before walking past him to the door.
Only… she hesitated, hand on the handle as she debated if she should even mention-
"Yes, Odette?" Mérante questioned in his familiar, probing way.
Her hand fell as she turned to face him, unsure if she was overstepping, even as she set down the pail and walked toward him in the large room. Things had been, well… she didn't know what was between them ever since the Nutcracker performance. He was still her employer, or at least something like a manager, but certainly there was more to it than that. At least, she thought so. That kiss…
She cleared her throat, more to distract herself than anything else.
"You might have the girls carry their arms just a little higher in the raised fifth position. Just a touch so they're almost past their center—it'll help their breathing, and their posture."
Mérante looked taken aback, and Odette could almost feel herself shrink, chiding herself for trying to lecture a Maître de ballet when she herself hadn't danced for over ten years.
An apology was on her tongue but before the first word was out, Mérante stretched his arms before him and took the first position- hands and legs elegant, posture perfect. He switched to second, then third- precise, sharp. It was nearly odd to watch such a stern man doing a dancer's positions, and yet, as he smoothly swept in fourth, she was struck by how little he had changed from his days as danseur at the Opéra Le Peletier.
He finished in fifth, arms raised over his head, held it for a moment then pulled his arms just a touch more back and closed his eyes, feeling the weight of it.
"I see." Eyes still closed, he took a deep breath standing in fifth that Odette found herself mirroring, squaring back her shoulders instinctually and standing straighter. It'd been so long since she'd done those steps herself, she was surprised how easily the old feelings resurfaced.
"That's good advice." He gently brought his hands down, his feet stepping out of the parallel. "Thank you Odette."
"Of course," she said, for a moment relaxing in the comfort of the room, the warmth of his presence. But, she reminded herself, this wasn't her world anymore. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I should get back to my cleaning."
She turned away, feeling more clumsy and stiff than usual, her cane clunking beside her.
"Odette, wait…"
She paused, tilted her head back.
"Will you dance with me?"
Her breath hitched in her throat. She clutched the handle of her cane with a shaking hand.
"Please?" he asked in a low voice.
She heard slow steps approach, but was too scared to face him. She hadn't danced since… since…
"I…" I don't think I can.
She could feel him standing there behind her, just out of reach.
"We would take it slow. I'd be with you the whole time, you won't fall. And… and if wished to stop you need only say so." He paused, breath high and anxious, a strange vulnerability she wasn't used to. He waited and still she couldn't find the words.
She looked over her shoulder, one foot turning slightly, and made up her mind. With a soft sigh she walked to the door, gripped her cane hard to steady herself and, breathing out, left it against the wall. Praying she would not make a fool of herself, especially in front of him, she carefully turned and faced him, keenly aware of her damaged legs, her unresponsive feet.
Summoning all those memories of dancing, of floating, she took two careful steps towards him, hand outstretched. He met her half way and took her hand with a practiced grace.
She pulled her shoulders back, head high, and reached forward and planted her foot, tilting her other leg up and felt a slight wobble. Her balance was shoddy; as was her footwork and she knew not all of it was because of her old wounds- the deep burns, soft bones. Missing a week of practice was abhorrent in a dancer—she had neglected it for over ten years.
She lowered her leg and faced him. "I might be rusty," she admitted, ready to pull away at any moment.
Instead, he responded with a slight squeeze of her hand, before she felt his other hand on her waist.
"I'm sure you still have it in you."
It wasn't any pas de deux she'd danced before, nor seen. She improvised each turn and bend and sweep, and Mérante was always there to steady her, guide her when she felt unsure. She felt her body shift, as if it were young and whole again. The practiced turn of the wrist as she rose from a dip, sinking into a demi-plié and leaning into an arabesque, arms and leg outstretched, balanced and steady with Mérante. They went slow, each movement long, deliberate—an adagio without preamble or coda.
As they danced her nerves gave way to an incredible joy that filled her like sunshine. How she had missed this. It was like coming up for air after drowning for years, like balm after a burn. And all the while, Mérante's hand was steady at her waist.
She lost herself in the dance, it was like a dream.
A slight movement caught her eye, jolting her back to reality as she saw a row of heads peaking over the stairwell, watching them.
She gasped and would have lost her balance without Mérante being there. He spun around to find what had distracted her and saw the girls watching them and she heard at least one gasp and tuck out of sight.
"Wha—class was dismissed! All of you, go! Allez!" He called out, throwing out his arm and was rewarded with embarrassed giggles.
Odette looked to the door and saw flashes of red and gold just slip out of view before it shut, and a glance upwards confirmed her suspicions—they were even hiding in the balcony.
Mérante turned back to her, looking flustered and unsure of what to say.
"I should get going," she said, leaning back and letting her feet find steady ground.
"Ah… of course." He looked at her hand, still clasped in his. Their eyes met for a moment before he walked her to the door. She didn't mind—she wasn't ready to let go yet, either.
He took care giving her the cane, and she wished she didn't need to take it. But their moment had been fleeting and now it was gone, and she was back to being just a broken old woman.
Still…
She leaned up and kissed him softly on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.
He look briefly stunned before collecting himself and put a hand on her elbow.
"Thank you."
Opening the door she wasn't surprised to see two familiar faces still in their leotards. A shocked Camille stood perched behind Félicie who had her mouth wide open, as if trying to get enough air to ask the many, many… many questions she had.
Odette put a finger under her chin and snapped it shut, silencing her before she was able to make more than a high pitched peep.
"You'll catch flies like that," Odette said.
"But… but that- what was that?"
"If you'll excuse me, ladies. I have a lot of work to do," she said, unable to keep the smile off her face. "And I believe you two have training," she called out over her shoulder.
She felt like she could fly again.
A/N:
Exciting to be a part of this fledgling fandom! I've bee desperate to read more about these two, which meant I needed to write it. Hope you enjoy.
And just gonna throw this out… I just started out a tumblr for the fandom, in case you'd like to see more .. /blog/ballerina-leap