Natasha IV: Nutcracker

She had to do it before the new season began. The longer she put it off, the more difficult the conversation would be. Still, Natasha's stomach tied itself in knots on her way to the Red Room to talk to Uchitel. At this rate, she suspected she might cry, and she never cried in front of Uchitel. When she was little, she often wanted to, when the stern teacher asked her if she was even trying after not being on her leg for turns or landing a jump loudly enough to be heard. But she'd quickly gotten used to that degree of criticism and hardened to take it in stride and improve. She had no idea what to say in this situation.

Natasha didn't wear a wig, just one of the hats Mama made for her. Uchitel wouldn't approve of the unnatural dark red color. No girl at the studio had ever been allowed to dye their hair or cut it short enough that it didn't fit into a bun. Those were just the rules they had to abide by if they wanted to succeed in their training.

Walking into the studio filled her with the same nostalgia as walking into her house for the first time after coming home, only it was mixed with sorrow from the knowledge that she no longer belonged here. Natasha knew Uchitel's teaching schedule and had planned this accordingly. She arrived just in time to catch her dismissing a class of older girls and listen to the unmistakable clack of pointe shoes on the flooring as they walked out to the dressing room. Though Natasha recognized some of them, nobody acknowledged her. It was possible they didn't even recognize her.

Beside the front desk hung all of the pictures from last year's recital. Instinctively, Natasha found herself. It physically hurt, to see evidence of what she once was and could never be again. She used to hate her boring, straight blonde hair; now she'd give anything to have any hair at all. The transition had been so gradual that she hadn't really noticed it, but now it was glaringly obvious that she'd lost all the lithe muscle tone that hours of dance training had given her. Her time on steroids certainly hadn't helped in that department, but at least she didn't have to take such high doses anymore because of her destroyed bones.

"Natasha?" Uchitel's voice distracted her from her spiral of self-pity. Natasha turned to face the teacher she hadn't seen in over six months. "Welcome back."

"Oh." Natasha panicked and froze up. What was she supposed to say? "I, uh…I cannot stay." She felt herself start to slouch and immediately snapped her shoulders back, afraid that if she didn't fix it herself Uchitel would physically adjust her. Mama said she'd told Uchitel why Natasha wouldn't be in class for so long when she first left for America, but she hadn't talked to the instructor since they learned of the AVN. Natasha took a deep breath and just blurted it out: "I came here to tell you that I have to quit dance. Chemo destroyed my ankle bones and they're too weak."

Uchitel had never once expressed sadness in front of her. Natasha grew up thinking that the woman was only capable of two emotions: disappointment and tame satisfaction. But when she heard Natasha confess that, it was obvious that her heart sank. Whether she was sad for Natasha losing ballet or for her program losing a dancer, Natasha didn't know, but she was devastated. "I'm sorry to hear that. We will miss you."

"I'll miss it too," Natasha sighed. "I just needed to tell you that in person."

"You had a real gift and the drive to match it. It's a shame you won't be able to reach your fullest potential. But I know you will find something else to pour that determination of yours into." That was more sincerity than Natasha had ever heard from Uchitel. She left the Red Room with her ankles aching just a little more, but her heart a lot less. If Uchitel believed in her, Natasha had to believe in herself.

~0~

By the time she started school for the year, her hair had noticeably started to grow. Alas, it did not grow back red, but the same dirty blonde as before. Since it was still so short, it looked even lighter. The night before the first day of school, Natasha spent ages deliberating whether to wear her wig, one of Mama's hats, or nothing on her head. She didn't actually hate the short style. It looked like it could've been an intentional short cut instead of a grow-out. But she still missed being able to tie her hair up or braid it. It would be ages before it was long enough for that.

She didn't even know if the kids at school knew why she'd been gone for so long. Obviously Yelena knew she had leukemia, but she might be the only one. If Natasha showed up with short hair after missing nearly half of last year, would everyone harangue her with questions? Would it be more conspicuous to show up with a different color hair? Natasha talked to Clint about it, and he encouraged her just to go natural. Ultimately, Natasha decided to follow Clint's advice and just go with it.

Natasha was so nervous about her first day of school that her morning routine fell to shambles. Not until she walked through the front doors did she realize her fatal mistake. She forgot to take her oral chemo. In her rush to double check that everything was in order and her focus on how her peers would react to her return, she neglected to fish out her pill case and swallow the day's dose. Dr. Potts had warned her that skipping a day could mean the difference between her relapsing or not. Instead of heading to class, Natasha went straight to the nurse's office and asked to call her mother.

Natasha spent the next twenty minutes waiting anxiously for Mama to bring her medicine and cursing herself for forgetting something so important. She expected Mama to yell at her, but she just dropped off her pill case, thanked her for remembering, and kissed her on the head. Natasha took them with a gulp of water and heaved a sigh of relief. Only an hour late wasn't the end of the world. Still, it rattled her enough that she could barely focus the rest of the day. A lot of her classmates looked at her for much longer than necessary when they first saw her, but nobody said anything. Either they were too polite or too scared. Natasha didn't particularly care. At school, she usually focused on schoolwork and not socializing. After school, she usually walked to dance with Yelena, but of course she couldn't do that now. She sat with Yelena at lunch, but they had next to nothing to talk about, Yelena too uneasy to ask Natasha about anything cancer-related, and Natasha unwilling to ask about anything dance-related because she knew it would only make her sad. They spent pretty much the entire half an hour in silence.

Natasha couldn't help but wonder if, without dance, she and Yelena even had enough in common to be friends.

~0~

As the school year progressed, the two only grew more distant. They didn't spend nearly as much time together without shared hours at the Red Room, and while they still sat together at lunch, at this point it was more out of habit than an actual desire to be together. Natasha ached at the loss of her former best friend, but at least she still had her Gravesen friends. The time difference made things tricky, but she still kept in touch with all of them through the Avengers group chat. And Clint she talked to regularly. So it wasn't so bad.

When it came time for Natasha's first spinal chemo of maintenance, Mama came dangerously close to vetoing Natasha's desire to forego anesthesia. "I did it all the time at Gravesen," Natasha insisted.

"Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable asleep?"

"Yes, Mama, I'm sure. I recover faster when I'm not loopy."

Fortunately, Mama relented. Spinal chemo here was much the same as back at Gravesen; it didn't hurt after the initial numbing injection at the beginning, but the lumbar puncture headache lingered afterwards. Mama fussed over her the entire time they were at the hospital, to the point where Natasha actually missed Gravesen and the way all the nurses there treated her like she was more mature. During the hour lying flat after the infusion, she wondered how Happy's trip through Volgograd with Maria had gone. She hoped he enjoyed it.

The following day, her headache refused to quit, so she stayed home from school alternating between knitting and napping. By evening, she felt mostly right-side up again. When she returned to school the next day, it was clear nobody even noticed she was absent.

~0~

The end of autumn heralded the beginning of Natasha's favorite season. For as long as she could remember, she'd always loved winter. Not for the snow, the cozy fireplace in their living room, or the Christmas holidays. Natasha loved winter because winter meant Nutcracker season.

They auditioned for Nutcracker in mid-August and spent every Saturday at the Red Room between then and Christmas rehearsing. Around this time of year, things kicked into high gear, replacing some of the other classes with Nutcracker rehearsal and spending longer hours at the studio to ensure everything flowed seamlessly. Natasha always loved large group rehearsals, when she got to see the pieces come together before her very eyes. Dress rehearsal was even more fun. Some of her fondest memories consisted of her and Yelena helping each other with their hair and makeup in the dressing room. To this day, she still occasionally giggled out of the blue when she recalled a particularly ridiculous incident involving false eyelashes. Last year had been the greatest yet because Uchitel cast her as Clara. The role wasn't the most difficult soloist position—those were Sugar Plum Fairy or Snow Queen and always went to older dancers—but it was, plot-wise, the main character. She'd curled her hair into the most beautiful ringlets, danced holding the famous Nutcracker doll, and sat on the throne upstage with the prince to watch the entire second act. After their final performance, Uchitel showered her with praise, claiming that some of the ballet company directors in the audience had approached her after the show to congratulate her and often mentioned Clara as one of the highlights of the production. Natasha had never felt so accomplished.

She'd slept for twelve hours straight after that last show. At the time, she'd assumed that the more involved nature of the role caused the excessive exhaustion. Looking back, Natasha realized she'd probably already been suffering the symptoms of leukemia. She was diagnosed not even a month after that. It also explained the near-disaster that had occurred when her nose started to bleed during a dress rehearsal. She'd come dangerously close to staining her white costume, but Yelena saved her by pointing it out just in time.

Natasha wished she'd known it would be her last Nutcracker.

All those happy memories bled blue when she recalled them now.

~0~

"Come on Yelena! If we go now we can catch the end of it," Natasha urged, tugging her friend by the wrist.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Yelena grumbled and followed reluctantly. The two of them had just gotten out of a two-hour rehearsal and had a short break before their technique class. Natasha always leapt at the chance to observe the older dancers, and the rehearsal schedule aligned just right for her to watch the Sugar Plum Fairy run her solo a few times.

They hurried down the hallway to the window of the smallest room in the studio. One of the senior dancers, under Uchitel's stern observation, performed the steps that Natasha almost knew by heart despite never learning them from a teacher. Every year she watched Sugar Plum Fairy with wide-eyed admiration, awaiting the day when maybe she would don the beautiful tutu and get to perform this solo and the pas de deux with one of the few boys at the studio.

Just listening to the music had her feet moving where she stood. Yelena glanced at her and smiled. "In a few years, some other little girls are going to be watching you in there," she said.

Natasha waved her off. "I don't know. I hope so, but there are so many girls our age."

"Yeah. And you're better than all of them."

Natasha blushed. She didn't see herself as anything special among all the other dancers here, but Yelena never missed an opportunity to remind her of her talent. The girl, Irina was her name—Natasha knew the names of all the dancers here, especially the ones she looked up to—finished her solo and stood in fifth to await Uchitel's criticism. She nodded politely as she listened, then scurried out of the studio when Uchitel waved her off. Natasha and Yelena stepped aside as she exited, expecting her to head to the dressing room without a second glance at them as most of the older girls did, but she didn't. She stopped and smiled at them.

"That was amazing," Natasha said without thinking. She clamped her mouth shut as soon as the phrase left her mouth and felt her cheeks turn bright pink.

"Thank you," Irina said genuinely. "But I can't wait to watch you as Clara. You dance beautifully."

Natasha's mouth nearly fell open again. "Th—thank you," she managed. Never before had she received such high praise from a senior dancer. Irina dashed off to the dressing room, and Yelena elbowed Natasha in the side.

"See? I told you so."

"I can't believe she just said that."

"When will you get it through your thick skull that you're actually good?"

"I don't know," Natasha sighed. That compliment from Irina had certainly helped, though. She worked extra hard during technique that day, daydreaming about dancing on stage before an adoring crowd.

~0~

Yelena came to school every day raving about yesterday's classes and rehearsal. She'd be dancing the part of Clara this year, and Natasha couldn't quench the sparks of jealousy that fizzed within her every time Yelena brought it up. They used to talk about dance together, but nowadays Natasha just listened, having nothing to reciprocate with. Stories about knitting just weren't as exciting.

"Are you going to come and watch?" Yelena asked eagerly. It was the first time she'd sounded genuinely excited about anything since Natasha's return.

The question took Natasha by surprise. She'd never considered watching the performance as an audience member, because she'd always been on stage. "I haven't thought about it," she admitted.

"You should come, so you can cheer me on."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You'll get to enjoy the show without having to do any of the hard work."

She knew Yelena was trying to make her feel better, but that comment had the opposite effect. Natasha enjoyed putting in the hard work. To her, nothing was more redeeming than endless hours of practice culminating in a perfect performance. Sitting through the show once wouldn't be nearly as fulfilling as hours and hours of preparation. Still, she felt obligated to go because Yelena asked her to. If their roles were reversed, she knew Yelena would come to watch her.

"Can we go see Nutcracker?" she asked Mama after school while they worked on their knitting together.

"I was hoping you'd ask that," Mama said with a smile. "I always looked forward to watching you every year."

"Well, I won't be in it this time." She tried not to let her dejection bleed too much into her voice. However, she did drop a stitch in her distraction. Fortunately, she noticed it right away and was able to put it right back on the needle and continue.

"I know. And I'll miss you. But we'll get to see Yelena and all the other girls. And besides, it's a gorgeous ballet regardless of who's dancing it."

"Yeah." Natasha tried to reframe it, thinking about watching the show like she used to watch the older dancers through the windows. It hurt a little less, but by now she recognized that no matter what she did Nutcracker season would suck. That night before she went to bed, she stood before her closet and stared at the years of old dance costumes that had accumulated in there. She and Mama used to joke that she'd need a second closet before long. Not anymore. It was hard to believe that she'd truly never add another costume to the collection. Natasha closed the door before she could start crying. When she fell asleep, she dreamed about the dance of the Sugar Plum fairy. Her ankles started to hurt less than a third of the way through the routine, throbbing in time to the music. She tried to push through like Uchitel taught her, but the pain proved too immense. Natasha snapped awake, panting, her ankles hurting worse than usual. Sitting up, she took one in each hand and tried to massage the ache away. After a few minutes, it worked enough for her to fall back asleep. This time she dreamed of operating tables and cruel hands holding her down, a thick blanket of fear smothering everything.

~0~

Sitting in the audience before the show, Natasha read the entire program cover to cover. Her name was nowhere to be found. Of course, she knew it wouldn't be there, but it still felt strange. Mama had always saved her a program from shows and drawn little hearts next to her name. Natasha kept them all in a box under her bed. She stared at Yelena's name next to the part of Clara for far longer than she should have, with a bitter taste in her mouth. The closed curtain taunted her. Natasha imagined she could hear the hustle and bustle backstage of last-minute costume adjustments, stretching, and setting props and quick changes. Pre-show energy was infectious among dancers, but it didn't pervade all the way to the audience.

After so many years performing different roles, Natasha knew the story of the ballet by heart. The main entertainment she found as a spectator was observing and critiquing people's technique. All of the younger dancers needed to work on their alignment, and one had turnout so atrocious Natasha was surprised Uchitel hadn't already eviscerated her enough to make her quit. Even Yelena bobbled some during Clara's solo with the nutcracker doll. She recovered from it well, but Natasha's keen eye still caught her. As much as she'd dreaded coming here to watch instead of dance, Natasha hadn't prepared for the sickening churning in her gut that appeared watching Yelena dance her part. She knew she'd done it better. Everywhere she would have critiqued Yelena was somewhere Uchitel had praised her last year.

"You alright?" Mama whispered to her, placing her hand on top of Natasha's, which had unknowingly crumpled the program.

Natasha clenched her jaw and nodded, fighting back tears. During intermission, she washed her face in the bathroom and mentally smacked some sense into herself. "You still have a life without dance." She repeated that phrase over and over in her head, knowing she should be grateful to even be alive considering all that she'd gone through. It was selfish to bemoan the loss of a hobby when so many had lost their lives.

The second act passed in a blur. Natasha only managed to focus when they arrived at the dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. When the familiar music began, she felt a familiar sense of awe and longing swell within her. Irina had graduated last year, so another girl, one Natasha didn't know, danced the part, but she was every bit as graceful and elegant as Irina had been. She looked like she floated across the stage, moving with such ease that it looked effortless. Natasha clapped more for her than she had for any scene the entire show. When it was over, she clapped politely and tried not to look too relieved.

She and her parents waited around in the lobby so they could congratulate Yelena. Natasha pulled her knit hat down farther over her ears nervously. Her hair still wasn't even long enough to stick out below the edge of the hat, and she felt self-conscious among all these girls with their long hair pulled back in immaculate buns. Natasha missed being able to put her hair up. Mama struck up a conversation with a friend of hers who also had a daughter who danced at the Red Room, though she was much younger than Natasha and they didn't see each other often. Papa left to go to the bathroom.

An old woman Natasha didn't recognize approached her. She figured it was probably the grandmother of some dancer here, though she didn't know why she wanted to talk to her. The woman scrutinized her face for a few seconds and Natasha tried not to make it awkward and reciprocate eye contact. "It is you," the woman declared. Natasha froze, unsure if she should be afraid or not. "You danced as Clara last Christmas," she continued. "Oh, I just loved watching you. You dance more beautifully than most of the girls here."

"Thank you," Natasha stammered. She'd never been complimented by a complete stranger like this before.

"I kept looking for you on stage today, but I couldn't find you."

"Oh…yeah. I'm not dancing." Natasha hadn't had to declare it out loud since she talked to Yelena and Uchitel about her condition. It still stung.

"What a shame. When can we expect to see you up there again?" the woman asked innocently.

Natasha clenched her fist and dug her fingernails into her palm to center herself. She knew this woman didn't mean to upset her, and that she had no way of knowing Natasha's situation, but she wanted to scream at this cruel reminder. Natasha gulped. "Never, I'm afraid," she said.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry to hear that. Ballet is a tough path, not for the faint of heart. I just thought with your natural talent you'd be one of the ones to stick with it."

Now Natasha was just plain angry. This woman clearly assumed she'd quit because it was too hard. Natasha never quit, and the assumption offended her. "Not by choice," she amended, voice hardened with muted rage. She took off her hat and crossed her arms. "Chemotherapy killed my bones and I can't dance anymore."

The woman balked, her face instantly awash with pity and regret. "I'm so sorry, milaya. To lose an art is to lose a part of one's soul."

Natasha replaced her hat. That comment resonated deeply with her. It described exactly how she'd felt since returning from Gravesen. In losing dance she'd lost an integral part of herself that she'd been scrambling to reclaim. So far, she hadn't found it. But that didn't mean she never would. The woman offered her a wise smile before departing. Natasha stood aimlessly until Papa returned from the bathroom and Mama drifted back from where her friend stood. Yelena popped over to see them not long after. Natasha plastered on a smile and told her, "You were amazing."

"Thank you." Yelena was positively beaming.

"What did Uchitel say?"

"That I need to work on my extensions." She rolled her eyes, but her smiled never faded. Natasha knew that feeling, the post-performance buzz that lingered for hours. Yelena looked Natasha in the eye and said, "Thank you for coming."

"You're welcome. It was a wonderful show." She refused to let on that the experience had been at all painful for her. Since her return, things between her and Yelena had been somewhat awkward. Without dance in common they had less to talk about. Their conversations nowadays weren't really conversations so much as bland exchanges of information. She could tell Yelena felt bad that she missed out and hadn't the faintest idea what to do about it.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Yelena said.

"You were wonderful," Mama added.

"Thank you Mrs. Romanoff." She glanced over her should as if someone called her name, though Natasha heard nothing. "I must be going now." Between the forced formality of her exit line and the lack of evidence someone was calling her, Natasha guessed she'd invented an excuse to duck out of this awkward situation. And she didn't blame her.

"You were a better Clara," Mama whispered in her ear.

"Thanks," Natasha uttered, though the compliment failed to make her feel any better.