Author's Notes: Thank you guys so much for the reviews, follows and favourites!
Sorry for the late update. My school organised a super boring camp in some wild place with no wifi access. Sorry.
In this chapter Clint and Natasha rehearsed for Swan Lake, and I just picked a scene I liked. I am no choreographer and can't say I understand the ballet any better than a normal audience, but I've tried I really hope you'll like it because it cost me quiet some time to watch and rewatch the video and write this…
Also I feel that I should say the French words in the first chapter were quoted from Salome [Oscar Wilde]. And this story starts with the plot of Swan Lake, but it isn't about that only. I feel like going through several produces.
Natasha's debut in her new company in due in September and I plan to make the story's timeline as close to reality as possible. So each month I'll post about three chapters
Again if you have any insight of a ballet dancer's life please comment and let me know, thank you.
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'She looks like a Giselle girl.'
'No way! Besides Sawn Lake, I think she likes Jewels more. The poetry could really fit her.'
'You've always liked Balanchine. She might be a surprise to us all.'
Clint sat by the wooden bar in Steve's bakery, a sandwich in his hand. Since Natasha had told him that the bakery was pretty close to her apartment, he thought he might as well bring her here to sit awhile after work. The bakery didn't really provide dinner and Clint wouldn't eat a lot as it was late, but Steve had a lovely taste for interior design. Clint enjoyed the dim lighting and different hues of blue in the shop. He had hoped Natasha would like these, too.
When Clint had introduced her to Steve about half an hour earlier, the taller man had offered to make her a small dessert. After a 15-minute walk filled with Clint chattering about how good the food made by Steve tasted and looked, and how healthy it was, she had made up her mind to break her diet for an hour and order something. After offering Steve her greeting, she asked if she could just have a pavlova, and insisted that he should go chat with Steve while she was eating her food. Some offtime would nice after a long day.
Now that Steve had finished preparing the material for tomorrow, he was writing something on his notebook.
'Maybe next time I shall keep some strawberry tarts. She seems to like those berries.' Steve said quietly after observing Natasha popping all the strawberries into her mouth and started to draw on the cream frosting with no intention of eating it later.
'I had been so sure she would ask for a cuppa or something like that, if she wanted anything at all. She eats so little that I was worried about her having apositia. Yet right here right now our great Russian ballerina has finally decided not to faint in class and rehearsals and is now having creamy dessert.'
'She looks way too skinny. Some cream will do her good you know?'
'I'm not judging her…it's just I've never seen a ballerina who would have dessert this late. You're right. She is going to be one hell of a surprise.' Clint himself absolutely had nothing against swallowing down a whole chocolate pie anytime of the day. He shook his head but couldn't help smiling fondly at Natasha.
'Is there anything we know about her?'
What? Clint raised his eyebrow.
'Last time you came here Natasha Romanoff was the mysterious badass ballerina you hardly know, but now this is kinda…like a date.' Steve said with a smirk, looking expectantly at Clint.
'Me sitting here and talking with you and her being in the sofa over there and eating her close-to-nothing snack is nowhere near a date, Rogers. And I've never imagined chatting with you about a girl, to be honest.'
'Whatever you say. Did you find out more about her?'
'Why are you even asking? What do you expect me to know after talking to her for, like, ten minutes?' He tilted his eyebrow.
'Let me guess. Ten minutes is longer than the total time of everybody else has spent talking with her since she arrived.'
Okay, okay. 'Good news for you. She gets up as early as I do. Or earlier, since every time I got to the theatre she was there, too.'
'Does that mean I'm going to gain one more regular customer?'
'Judge from her expression right now, yes.' Clint said after eyeing the Russian and sensing the pleasant atmosphere around her that indicates 'good food, good mood'. Skinny and foodie at the same time, very well.
'Great. What else? What do you think of her? ' Steve continued.
Clint rolled his eyes. Next time he'll simply ask Natasha to sit with them and Rogers can play his 20 Questions instead of being so curious about him and her.
'She's got beauty. And muscles,' he added with a sigh. 'Long, intoxicating muscles.'
'And really deep and clear green eyes. I heard that one on the first day she popped up at your early morning class. Remember that you spent a good half an hour talking about how you adored Phil for making you two partners. Next.'
He did remember, and was still sure the decision to talk the artistic director into the idea of Natasha and Clint was the wisest his instructor had ever made. 'And she was really quiet. Like, deadly quiet.'
'Since chatty girls don't sit alone in the corner of a bar, or in this case, a bakery…Yup, that too.'
Clint shrugged. Steve saw confusion clouding his friend's mind.
'Now I see there is something new. Tell me?'
'I'm not even sure.'
'You are both dancers. You share quite a lot of things, don't you?'
'Hmm, okay. You may be right on this one.'
'Like…something from your past, or something that shaped who you are.' Steve threw his hands in the air to make commas and watched Clint roll his eyes for the second time tonight.
'Cliché. You know she graduated from Vaganova, which is amazing, and I dunno if she got this habit in Russia…she talks so little and it's hard to actually get to know her.' He sighed hearing his own answer. He had no idea what it was or what was going to happen next. He tried his best to feel something that could be put into words but hell there was a reason why feelings were called feelings. You just feel them.
'You know my mum used to joke that if she ever got married again, she'd find someone who understood all her strange gestures and expressions without her having to spend half an hour explaining them.' Steve offered.
'Yeah. That's not very exact, I mean, but yeah.' He wished to be there for her, too.
'It feels great to know someone gets the idea, isn't it?' Steve nodded understandingly before slipping back to his curious mode. 'Are you going to ask her out or not?'
'I'm not sure about that either.' Clint shrugged his shoulders, hoping he would still be friends with Natasha the next morning. 'I had a nice early morning session with the girl today but this is going to be a long, long way…Wait. Why are you giving me relationship advice? When your only date is likely to be a cookie cutter?'
'Tell me you have a better idea.'
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Next day, Clint arrived at the theatre early as usual. He changed and went to the rehearsal room he had met Natasha the day before. She was there in the same outfit.
'What time exactly do you get here?'
'Earlier than you.'
'Then you are probably the only one who gets here earlier than I do. Breakfast?' Actually he had already heard complaints about how some grapefruit satisfied her stomach when he went by Steve's bakery this morning. Steve, as careful as he always was, had wrapped some flourless chocolate pancakes and asked him to give them to her. ('I'm good at taking care of people, haha. Now ice queen needs to eat, too.')
Tap, tap, tap.
Ouch, okay. Breakfast is a more private subject than family, then.
Clint waved the pack at her as she pulled out her stretching tape from her dance bag. Her lips parted a little as if she wanted to say something and then shut together quickly. She turned to the mirror and laid out the mat to start her stretching routine.
Natasha spread her legs to her sides and began to lower her upper body with her hands supporting the weight until her stomach touched with the floor. She bent her arms so that her forehead was resting on her arms, her face towards the floor. Her nose almost touched the mat and her arms seemed to block out the rest of the world so Clint couldn't see or read her expressions.
Those pancakes? It wasn't that she didn't like pancakes, especially those chocolaty, raspberry-filled ones she saw Steve preparing when she stopped by to have her breakfast earlier; it was just that the gesture reminded her of her life in Russia. Maria was the only friend she'd ever had and that begun back when she was a schoolgirl in England. Natasha Romanoff, star student in Vaganova for five full years and yet hadn't managed to make one single friend, she thought bitterly to herself. In her sixteen years in Russia, few people called her Natasha. She had been okay getting along with her teachers and classmates, but she had never really fit in. Maria was the girl who would call her real name and chat about just everything in the letters, while her only poor little friendship-like relationship in was with a girl named Yelena.
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-Flashback-
'Hi.' Natasha listened to her own voice and it sounded strange. The younger girl sitting across her stared up from her food plate and fixed her eyes on the redhead.
'Hmm I'm Natasha, in case you're wondering who I am,'she continued speaking in Russian. She had got used to eating alone and was comfortable because she knew she could take care of herself. Nevertheless, when she saw the blonde who seemed a Year 1 sitting alone, she couldn't help feeling sad. She looked at the girl's plate.
'You should be eating more. A piece of bread and a cup of tea? You'll faint in class.' She was way too familiar with the hunger at one a.m. and it was another hour before lunch. Maria was always sitting in the room, drawing pictures of ladies in fancy costumes, and Natasha once complained that she had no idea how exhausting it was to dance all day.
'I know about you. You're already famous in my year. I'm Yelena. And if I eat more, I'll grow fat.' The blonde girl shrugged after a while of silence.
'No you won't. You should really eat more. Do you want a chocolate bar or something? A nice, occasional bite won't hurt anything. Frankly it cheers you up so you have more energy this afternoon to perform better in class.' Natasha showed her a chocolate bar she received from Maria as a Christmas gift.
'I wonder if you even have a chocolate bar, and no. Thanks, though.' Yelena shook her head.
And after that she noticed the other girl in the cafeteria and corridors from time to time and they chatted as they walked to the hall together, but that girl still looked too thin, even for a ballerina. They shared stories about their own classes and Natasha tried persuading her to eat more. But eventually, she didn't eat much, or talk much, and Natasha understood. She guessed the younger girl might have some sort of eating disorder and she just hoped the blonde would learn to care for herself before she enrolled to the higher levels.
-Flashback ends-
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'Natasha? You alright?'
She tilted her head up, alarmed at the sudden noise.
'Yeah. Nothing. I was just thinking about my days as a student.' She said calmly and carefully let out just a tiny bit of nostalgia. Clint nodded.
'You want some chocolate? Chocolate cheers one up!'
Of course chocolate cheers one up. 'Later.'
'What were you thinking? The coming season? You looked worried but you shouldn't, really.'
'Since when am I worried about performances?' Natasha quickly wiped off whatever-was-on-her-face and felt like her technique had just been questioned. 'Better leave those thoughts to rehearsals. Why are you so sappy this morning? Are you worrying about the Season?'
'Then what was it? Family or friends? I don't know you've got friends.' Clint ignored the sarcasm and replied in a faked surprised tone. Natasha inhaled and lowered her upper body, burying her face between her arms again. Clint regretted what he said immediately.
'Alright alright I'm sorry but you know what you don't exactly talk to people here.' He said softly and tried to figure out what was she thinking right now.
'There wasn't much to talk about.'
'Neither do I have many friends. I mean when I said everybody needed someone I meant it. I get along with everyone in school and in the company pretty muck okay, but Steve is the only friend I can complain and chatter about all kinds of stuff to. And before that I was doing well on my own, so I probably get your feeling, just maybe.' Clint shrugged. Sometimes if he wished to get to know about others, he needed to share his own story first.
'In my school they were strict. There was a girl who ate too little and I offered her a chocolate bar, but she wouldn't take it. She always needed to see a doctor.'
'How is she now?' Clint asked with concern in his voice.
'I don't know. She made it to Year 7 and graduated. But she was too skinny and that didn't do any good to her spirit.' She recalled.
'You eat very little, too.' He pointed out.
'No I eat everything I want!' She protested. 'That pavlova cake, now also chocolate pancakes. Salads and soups are healthier, which is why I choose them most of the time.'
'How comes you stay so disciplined every second? Never mind. That'll help when I need to hold you over my head. Not talking probably saves energy, too, aha.'
'Like I've said, I love Odile. She's wonderful. I don't know how much attention a male dancer pays to the 48 fouettes, but since you like her too, you can probably feel that. When it's done properly, all clean and not sloppy, it's god's work.' She explained as confusion began to form on Clint's face. 'My life has to be neat and not sloppy, but I think you understand that a long time ago.'
'Yep. And nothing can go wrong with that on stage. You'll make it through all the turns and more. Be my friend, Natasha! Just so everything goes smoothly offstage, too.' He answered cheerfully.
'Why do you want to be friends with me? I ain't no fun.' She said drily. He had beautiful techniques and was expressive, and she thought it was okay to like him, but sometime things could get…annoying.
'But you are the best.' He exclaimed. 'And I like you, dancer and otherwise. Don't you want to be friends with me? I'm charming you know!' He flashed a cheeky grin at her and walk to the barre. For heaven's sake he'd love to spend the day just watching her stretch her beautiful arms and legs, but he needed some good stretching, too. After yesterday he was sure the silence wouldn't feel weird anymore and he now knew both of them are good at dealing with it.
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'Seriously you're not nervous? I got a bit of that every time I work with a new partner for the first time.' Clint asked her as he watched her circling the pale peach-coloured ribbons around her left ankle—on boy did she have sexy ankles—and tying a tiny knot before tucking it inside the ribbon.
'If anything goes wrong, we'll do it again. Or else it's you to blame. Are you trying to hint that I should be worried?' She snapped. The performance on 19, September was going to be her debut at Lincoln Centre as a company member instead of a guest dancer, and of course she was nervous. A full theatre of audience would be staring at her for an hour and a half, and her colleagues back in Russia were waiting to either congratulate her or laugh their asses off. She finally decided to be honest with herself and stopped whispering 'it's any normal rehearsal' inside her head because it was not. She had to do her best and she had to go through everything smoothly from the very beginning.
'Nope if there is any difficulty it'll be no one's fault. Blame the fact I have never danced with you before. Blame the company directors for arranging you a different partner last time you got here.' Even though there was a slightly uncomfortable feeling when she almost implied that she didn't trust her, he didn't show it. After all, it was almost. Instead, he decided to overlook her impatience and shook his head, 'no need to worry, Tasha.'
'Wait no you can't just call me Tasha—hey!' Natasha was left shocked as he went off to have some words with their instructor. Jacqueline Delune was well-respected in the company and in the ballet world. Natasha got up and walked to the other end of the room to greet the smiling old lady and pianist.
Both of them were way too familiar with the story and choreography, and understand what kind of emotion they should feel at each state, so there wasn't a long prep conversation and they started almost immediately. When Clint hold the metal 'bow' in his hands, turned around and took a deep breath before walking to the central part of the rehearsal room, Natasha's face was filled with a mixture of sorrow and uncertainty already.
The emotions rushed to her face as if she was Odette herself, and the dancer needn't another second to think about them. Her torso moved the way she remembered and practised the day before and all the days before that, all those days she spent dreaming about becoming the swan princess, or more precisely, getting the part so she could be Odile, too. In this scene, the Prince went hunting and met Odette. It wasn't a renowned one like the black swan pas de deux, the pas de quatre in Act II, or the dying swan scene, and she played Odette in it, but it was lovely. Natasha liked it because the audience got to meet Odette for the first time, which meant it was really important to play well so that the audience got the first impression right. It was extra essential this time, of course, since people would greet and assess her as the new prima ballerina of the company.
Natasha often thought Odette was the boring one of the twins—the dark one was always the interesting one, especially in a story with a fine line between fair and evil, like this one she was performing right now—but even then she really felt for the girl. She tried to imagine a helpless girl who got hit by fortune and it was none of her fault. Like, a little bit heavier than the teachers desired wasn't a fault, but a dancer was gotta pay for it. Being struck by a magic spell was not the princess' fault, but she was gotta suffer from it. Natasha was not only a ballerina, but a swan as well. Her arms were her wings. Odette was alone and she was in pain, and there she walked onto the stage.
Clint walked till he was right behind her. Secretly he admired the delicate tiny muscles on her back when she waved her arms and thought about how similar this was to the plot—he was attracted by her, just as the Prince was attracted by Odette. The difference, however, was that he already knew her, or at least a part of her, and he was attracted to not just her beauty, but all of her. And because of that, he knew this would go well.
He walked to the front. Natasha looked at him in shock and backed off, her arms, or rather her wings, moving swiftly and shaky.
Oh no, don't be afraid of me.
Natasha shook her head and turned away, her eyes large with fear.
You have a bow! You're a hunter, aren't you? Don't hurt me please!
Clint felt his heart clench at the sight of the heartbroken expressions Natasha was wearing. It was strange, because as hard as he'd tried to be Siegfried and fall in love with the princess at first sight, he had never feel the need to like the dancer who played Odette. He had been teamed up with some very good female dancers and grown fond of them through rehearsals, while he'd also had partners who made him kept their communication time minimum once off stage. The classicals were all pair work. Despite that Clint knew how to get along with others well enough to work well, he had never messed up the line between acting and private life. Some people just liked to sort stuff into career-related and personal piles.
There wasn't time to think it all over. This moment he was on stage, and he was Prince Siegfried. Everything Natasha-related needed to wait until later. His eyes chased her as she fled towards the other side of the rehearsal room, her eyes whispering, who are you? What do you want?
His body followed a second later. Hey dear, I'm not going to hurt you. Be reassured, please.
Natasha moved to the music and Clint wasn't sure if he really saw that quick flash of confusion in her green eyes. Please don't come close. Leave me alone. Please.
He moved with her, around her, placing his hand on her waist every now and then as she turned rounds across the stage. No, I'm not letting you go.
It was the first scene and their characters barely knew each other, and there wouldn't be much physical intimacy throughout the whole performance, but he couldn't help thinking about the feeling of his hand on her waist. It was normal and he'd done it a million times before, but at that moment the girl in front of him wasn't Odette, but Natasha. And at that moment he wasn't at lost. He knew what exactly he wanted to do. He just wanted to pull her a tiny bit closer. Stay professional, Clint Barton.
Prince Siegfried was still worried and stunning by the beauty in front of him, so Clint only allowed a little fond smile in his heart. That woman came to rehearse for the white swan in black leotard. It was either the snow white stiff tutu was enough to help her get into the role, or she didn't need corresponding costumes to create the mood at all. Wow.
A group of arabesques, and he gently grabbed her wrist and guided her to the centre of the room.
My fair lady, I have no idea who you are or where you are from, but one thing remains true, that my heart belongs to you—
Just leave me alone. I have stories and secrets that are too sad to tell…
Do tell, my lady.
Clint watched as Natasha danced in that delicate, plaintive way of hers, telling her destiny to the man in front of her.
Tell me about you, Natasha. Tell me just about anything. I want to know about you, Tasha.
Just a bit would be nice.
'Cause I'm not letting you go either.
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Clint nodded at Mme. Delune as the music slowly stopped. The instructor approached to exchange her thoughts with them. A bit more explanation of the emotions and some adjustments of the movements to better express them, and the lady called an end to the class, leaving the two alone to ponder on their own. Natasha said see-you-tomorrow to the pianist, and took a while to think about the improvements, before turning to Clint and asked if he was ready for another trial.
'Actually I was thinking about doing that second dance again. You look great in the first one.' He offered whole-heartedly. He had known that working with a world renowned ballerina would be a pleasant experience, but he hadn't expected that Natasha Romanoff was this amazing.
'Thanks.' The corner of her mouth tilted up a bit just like every time people praised her performance. 'I've got the music on my phone and a mini speaker in my bag. Good?'
'Great.' Clint watched Natasha go to her dance bag beside the piano and pull out the speaker and phone. He took a deep breath since what he was going to do could really make their partnership awkward. 'You're not a hugger, are you?'
'No,' she fixed her eyes on the phone screen and muttered. 'It's funny how I have no problem with the trust-falls when you can feel my problem with hugs.'
'I noticed you were a teeny tiny bit stiff when I hugged you when rehearsing for that dance, the second one. It's intimate, I understand.'
'It is. But I assure you it won't affect the final performance. That was our first rehearsal, you said that yourself.' She looked up at him and wasn't a bit surprised that he pointed it out, even though she'd tried her best to hide her own emotions while dancing. Some of her past partners and teachers had talked to her about that, too. All she could do is to wait for time to make things comfortable.
Clint's heart ached for those words. Everyone in this room this afternoon and everyone who had ever worked with Natasha should know how hard-working she was, yet her words made him feel like they were all pushing her a bit too much, and that was not right.
'Oh no, Tasha. That wasn't what I was trying to say. God knows I was extremely grateful when Phil said I was going to work with you, and he talked about spending time to know my partner. I mean no offense, but you are kinda the first introvert I've worked with, oddly, so I don't know a lot of things, and you should really talk more. Like, I like Tasha, but if you don't like it then Natasha's cute too.' He added after sensing her shift ever so slightly when he called that nickname.
If one thing was sure, it was that she was no longer nervous about the rehearsal itself. The name 'Natasha' itself was already a nickname for the Russian name 'Natalia'. A nickname for nickname left her a little stunned. 'In some way Tasha feels even more intimate than that dance, but I like it. Natalia Alianova is how many people call me. It's too complicated.'
'I like that name too. Long, but has its own elegance. But I guess I'll just call you Tasha, okay?'
Something suspiciously warm was pooling into her belly as he said her name. 'Yeah.'
'Is it okay that I hug you, as the Prince?'
'Yes. Stand behind me, and we'll do it as practice.'
Before he knew it Natasha was standing in front of him, her phone plugged onto the speaker sitting on the piano bench and her back merely an inch away from his chest. He loosely wrapped his arms around her tiny frame. She tilted her head up to look right into his eyes, her face filled with emotions again as the notes began to flow out of the device and fill in the room.
A few small steps and words exchanged using their torsos. The battements, pirouettes, arabesques, lifts and more. The arm movements and facial expressions. Then there was always separation before they came close again. She was in an attitude position with one of her legs lifting to the back and bent at the knee, and after that, for several beats she was held close to his chest and he rocked her gently—of course, the Prince and his lover. Right?
Arms, Natalia! You have beautiful legs and now what about your other body parts?
The voice of her old instructor rang in the back of her mind. Focus on the dance, not your daydreams, for Jesus' sake! She checked her neck and back, the turnout and extension, felt if muscles were doing their job in the right places and frankly she didn't have time to think of anything else other than that but damn, that was an intimate move. And Natasha didn't like intimacy. People assumed being physically close to others should no longer bother her after so many years of dancing and partnering, but the truth was, it did. Emotionally she had no idea. She'd carry that to hell, though.
His arms were draped around her, his chin almost resting over the top of her hair, and the faint scent of his shampoo unsettled her even more. She slowing inhaled, taking in his minty scent. They were going sort it out sooner or later if things kept going on like this, but now she just wanted to cherish the time when nothing was required except good performances. She finished her last few steps and turned to him. 'That's it for today, you think?'
'This time is better, if you ask me.' He tried to form the warmest smile ever so as to see her relaxed. 'You want me to wait for you at the door? It's dark outside and maybe it'll be safer if I can walk you to your apartment.'
It had been strange, to walk to a bakery with him after work.
It would be even stranger, to walk home tonight with him beside her. When was the last time she went home accompanied?
It just generally felt strange, to have someone caring for her. Is that what he's trying to do? She wasn't even sure.
'Thank you.' She nodded. Then just as he was walking to his dressing room, she called.
'Hey.'
'Yes?'
'Thank you.'
He didn't know what to say. In fact, he didn't see why he was thanked, at all. For giving her room? For not asking more? Those were not good enough reason for him to be thanked. Clint Barton the dancer was good at expressing and acting, but right now he hoped he wasn't. He wanted to tell her he understood personal space and the story was for later. Instead he sighed.
'No problem, Tasha.'