A/N: This grew from a drabble request made by chemicalcrush.
A/N #2: Thanks to Ro for being an amazing beta, and to Maeve, for always being so encouraging.
A/N #3: I am in NO way an expert on ballet or music/orchestral life. I'm an expert on NONE of the careers mentioned - with the exception of Wufei's, and even then I fully acknowledge he is way too young to have that job - so please just know I'm relying on the internet. If you have any suggestions or expertise to offer, I welcome it.
A/N #4: If you're ever curious about what these people's homes look like, check out "Pas de Trois Locations" on my tumblr page, where I have links to actual apartments that are for sale! In case you have several million dollars laying around. In which case, we should talk.
A/N #5: I know, it's been FOREVER. But I was feeling inspired and actually this is going to take a SLIGHTLY different turn. It's definitely still going to be a 2x3xR endgame, but there will be more complications than I had initially foreseen.
Warnings: language, angst, sexy times
Pairings: 2x3xR, 3x5, 3x13, 1x4, 1x6, DxC others will be added as necessary
Pas de Trois
Chapter Nine
Dance companies thrived on pain, drama and gossip. Usually, the three were intimately connected.
The world of dance was surprisingly small, especially when you considered the fact that the ten most elite dance companies in the world traded choreographers, dancers and tour engagements. Even smaller, though, was the world of the company itself. Between the principals, soloists, corps and apprentices, there were nearly ninety dancers in the ABT company. Add in the instructors, costumers, administrative staff, choreographers and trainers, and you had another twenty or thirty.
It was a small army, a village that lived and breathed together, and it was damn near impossible to keep anything a secret.
Idle gossip - which dancer was sleeping with whom this week, which dancer was still wrapping their leg after that fall three months ago, which dancer had been wearing sweat pants for almost a month and had definitely put on weight - all of that sort of thing was rampant within the company. It was impossible to avoid, and harmless enough, compared to other topics.
I was used to it, had spent literally my entire life around dancers, listening to them as an outsider for years before becoming a source of gossip myself.
Being used to it, however, was very different from being immune to it.
Word of the Sunday evening command performance spread through the company overnight - likely most of the company had known about it beforehand, but simply had had more interesting things to gossip about.
On Monday morning, Heero and I - and, I noticed, Meilin as well - were greeted with arched eyebrows, whispers and derisive sniffs.
It was enough to make me roll my eyes, and beside me, Heero looked a little smug as he stretched. We were used to our fellow dancers looking down their noses at us, at being affronted by our very existence and our rapid rise from corps to soloists.
None of that bothered me.
Not even when the looks and whispers continued through the week.
It wasn't until Wednesday morning's class, when Treize walked into the room with Kevin McKenzie and the two men sat in folding chairs near the accompanist, however, that I started to find it difficult to focus.
What the hell were they doing in this class? Why was Treize here at all?
McKenzie sat in every once in awhile, and it always put the dancers on edge, always led to nerves and sloppiness and an entire day of anxious dancers ready to snap each other's heads off.
But Treize, who should be buried in his NYC Ballet rehearsals for their upcoming show, had never sat in on a class before.
It wasn't just that he sat there, face and eyes as cold and emotionless as a statue, but his entire focus, for the entire class, was on me.
I didn't like his lingering presence, didn't like the interruption of the sanctuary that was class and barre work, and even more, I didn't like the way a majority of the dancers stared at me as well. I had his icy glare to contend with from one direction, and the array of company irritation from every other angle. It was agonizing.
I could feel their stares, their ire and anxiety and jealousy like pinpricks along my neck and face, and I knew I was flushed with embarrassment, knew that my fight against my trembling muscles had to be obvious.
I could feel my heart pounding against my sternum, could feel my throat constrict, and at one point, as I took my place to do a grande allegro combination with two other dancers, I had to close my eyes and take a moment to just breathe.
Why was he still here?
I had thought, had hoped, had really, really wanted to put Treize from my mind for the next few months - to simply forget he existed until it came time to cast Le Spectre.
I had wanted - I frankly needed - to have some time away from his cool, assessing gaze. He looked at me as if he possessed me, as if I was incapable of pleasing him and yet existed merely for him.
As I opened my eyes and prepared to travel across the floor in the series of leaps and assembles, I realized that I would end up kneeling in front of him, one hand extended to him in invitation.
Of course.
Part of me considered just stepping out of the line and skipping my turn. But I knew that, even if it saved me from bending a knee to Treize, it would still inspire more gossip from my peers.
So, I drew in a deep breath, internally counted along with the music, and threw myself into the combination.
I managed it, though it certainly wasn't my best, certainly didn't demonstrate my 'maddening extension' as Treize put it, but I ended it with a graceful sweep of my arm, my hand inches away from Treize's crossed legs, staring right into his face.
I tried to bury my desperation as I looked into his eyes, but I know I failed, know it was there on my face and in the deep, shuddering breath I drew.
He simply sneered at me, a small, cruel curl of his lips that made it clear just how little he thought of the performance.
At the end of class, the two men left without a word - not even stopping to speak with Zechs before leaving - and the room practically exploded into speculative chattering.
I grabbed my bag and fled the room, not even waiting for Heero.
He caught up with me before I had managed to leave the building, however, and grabbed my arm.
"What the hell was that?"
"I don't know," I growled, and jerked free.
He stared at me, brow furrowed, studying my face.
"I don't know," I repeated, frustrated that my best friend didn't believe me. "I don't know why Treize was there or-"
"That's not what I was asking about."
I frowned, confused.
"Then what-?"
"You were… flustered." Heero frowned as he said the word, clearly not happy with it. "I've never seen you that close to dancing badly."
That startled a bitter laugh out of me.
I had danced horribly loads of times, had been so far from perfect, so far from good - so far from my father or Heero or any of the dancers that I admired. Having Heero say that just made the entire morning even worse.
I adjusted my bag and continued out of the building, intent on going to the gym and trying to drown out my anxiety in the pool.
"Trowa. What's going on?"
Heero, the stubborn asshole, wasn't going to let this go.
"I don't know," I repeated. "I just-"
I just what, though? I just needed Treize to stop looking at me? To stop reminding me that I could dance better, and yet, I wasn't? I just needed his approval?
I wasn't even sure what I wanted, what I felt, when I looked into his cold face anymore.
I had been so irritated by the way he handled me on Sunday night, after the performance, showing me off to the room full of ABT donors and balletomanes who had lavished praise on the both of us. I had been irritated, but even so, looking back, I had to admit - Treize had coaxed an amazing performance from me. His cruel negligence, his constant sneer and disappointment, his challenge to dance like I fucked - it had all somehow coalesced to show me the dancer I could be. The dancer I wanted to be.
And on Monday and Tuesday, I had simply returned to being Trowa, returned to class and rehearsal and felt the gnawing reminder of Treize's challenge but, largely, had been able to set it aside.
But with him there - I couldn't.
I couldn't do anything but think about what I should be doing.
"I don't want to talk about it," I finished, lamely.
Heero continued to look at me, continued to try to figure out just what was affecting me so deeply, but he didn't try to get me to speak again.
He fell into step beside me, and silently, we made our way to the gym.
-o-
The day almost got better.
Sylvia opened that night. As Orion, I would dance in both the A and B companies, and the technical and dress rehearsals on Monday and Tuesday had been long and exhausting. I was looking forward to going home after our workout and actually napping for an hour before heading over to Lincoln Center.
Instead, when I checked my phone after showering and shaving, I saw that I had a missed call and a voicemail from ABT.
Frowning, I checked it while I waited for Heero to finish dressing.
"Trowa, this is May from Kevin's office. He would like to see you this afternoon before you head over to Lincoln Center. I've got you on his schedule for 3:30."
That… was unusual.
And worrisome, especially after this morning.
I had only ever been called into McKenzie's office twice - once, during my time as an apprentice to promote me to the corps, and then again when I returned from Paris and he summarily promoted me to soloist.
I seriously doubted I was in line for another promotion.
Not only was it ludicrous for a twenty-five year old to become a principal, it was also completely irrational to think that McKenzie would ever promote me after such a sloppy performance that morning.
Additionally, the fall season didn't begin until August - now just wasn't the time when dancers were promoted.
So, if it wasn't for anything good, it had to be for something very, very bad.
Dancers' egos were notoriously fickle, and while it often felt like the management really didn't care about them, I knew that I wouldn't be called into the Artistic Director's office on the afternoon before a major ballet opening to be dressed down unless I really needed to be dressed down.
Which begged the question: what the fuck had I done?
Had I really been that bad in class this morning? Bad enough that I was being pulled and my understudy put into Sylvia tonight?
Thirty-two year old Ted, who had had four solos in the four years I had danced for ABT, who was six years older than me and would likely never make soloist. If I was pulled and Ted performed on opening night, I honestly didn't think I would be able to live it down.
This - this was what my father had always warned me about.
"Trowa."
I pulled myself out of the nightmare and focused on Heero's voice. It was clear, from the look on his face, that he had been talking to me, had said more than just my name.
"Sorry," I mumbled, and put my phone away, glancing at the time first.
2:54.
"You look like shit."
I glanced in the mirror, and he was right. My face was pale, and I could feel the cold prickle of sweat on the back of my neck and my palms.
"I'm fine."
Heero wasn't buying it.
"I have to go back by the studio," I told him as we stepped outside of the gym and he started towards Murray Hill, the opposite direction from the ABT rehearsal studios.
Heero arched an eyebrow.
"Why?"
I had to roll my eyes. There were times when it would be nice to have a best friend who was just a little oblivious.
I thought about lying - it was going to be bad enough having to face down the entire company after Ted performed my role. I didn't want to see Heero's reaction.
Then again, I didn't want him to find out from someone else.
""McKenzie wants to see me. I have a 3:30 meeting with him."
Heero's eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened.
I had no doubt that he was doing the same mental calculations I had done after checking the message.
"Call me," he said, his voice very, very neutral. "After."
I nodded.
I wished he sounded anything but resigned. Wished he had come up with something positive, or at least mildly optimistic, as the reason for me being called into McKenzie's office. But it was clear from his tone - or rather, lack of tone - and expression that he had come up with the same very negative possibilities as I had.
So I hefted my bag again and turned to walk to what I was sure was my impending doom.
The waiting area outside of McKenzie's office was in the main thoroughfare of the rehearsal studio, on the second floor, just down the hall from the main rehearsal studio.
It was, I well knew, in full view of everyone.
I had seen dancers waiting on the stiff-backed chairs before, had heard company members whisper and question why someone sat there, speculating on a dancer being fired, on being sent to the nutritionist, on being removed from a show.
And now - now I was the one on display, the one ripe for whispers.
More whispers. After the debacle of class that morning, it wasn't as if anyone in the company needed more reasons to gossip about me.
And yet, as I sat there, as I watched the clock on the wall above May's desk creep past 3:30 and work its way towards 4:00, I saw dancer after dancer walk past, do a double-take when they recognized me, and scurry away, heads bowed together.
Perfect.
At 4:15, after an hour of waiting, I had been subjected to not just the stares of the company members, but the incredulous looks of the students, the teenagers who took classes and usually looked at me with near worship.
But even they knew that sitting outside of McKenzie's office wasn't a good thing.
And then, because of course my day needed to get even more painful, Treize walked by.
He barely glanced at me, instead walking right up to May's desk and tapping on it impatiently.
The look she shot him was one of pure malice, and I had a very faint, very brief feeling of pleasure at that.
May picked up her phone and spoke into it, her voice too low for me to hear. After a moment, she placed the receiver down and looked past Treize, to me.
"Trowa, he's ready for you now." She cast an indifferent look at Treize. "And you as well."
Treize was going to be in the meeting?
What the hell had I possibly done to fuck up so badly that he needed to be here?
I picked my bag up, numb and confused and dreading this even more, and silently followed Treize into McKenzie's office.
"So glad you could make it," the elegant man said as he rose from behind his desk.
For a moment, I thought he was speaking to me - the dancer who had been waiting an hour - but then I saw his gaze and tight smile were on Treize.
The blond haired man offered up a careless shrug.
"I was detained."
Treize didn't offer any other explanation, and McKenzie gestured for us to sit.
Gingerly, I set my bag down and sat on one of the chairs across from the desk.
Treize, however, lounged on the settee against one wall, bonelessly graceful and casual, sneer in place and cold eyes looking at me with amusement.
"Your performance on Sunday evening was something else," McKenzie said.
I looked away from Treize and at McKenzie.
"You were there?" I hadn't noticed him. Then again, I had been entirely focused on trying to find Duo and Relena.
He inclined his head.
"I was. As were some of ABT's most dedicated patrons. In addition to the Winners, there were a dozen or so other members of our Chairman's Council level donors in attendance."
The Chairman's Council was the highest circle of donors for ABT; you had to give at least $25,000 annually, and most of the members gave considerably more than that.
"And you were all anyone wanted to talk about afterwards," Treize added, eyes narrowing a little. "Even after you disappeared, your many fans waited for the chance to meet you."
I flushed at the admonition and derision in his voice, but remained silent. It wasn't as if saying I ran away from you to go find the two people I abandoned after a one-night stand would earn me any points.
"In any case," McKenzie cut in, "you made quite the impression, Trowa. As did your work, Treize. Obviously."
"Obviously," Treize echoed.
"We haven't announced the fall season yet," McKenzie continued. "The board has been deliberating over a few pieces. The political climate being what it is, we want to make sure that ABT remains relevant and inclusive for all of our members."
I had to arch an eyebrow. That was a fine line to walk. We were, of course, in New York City, and most of the ballet's largest donors were likely to be as liberal as most of the company members themselves. But not all of the donors were, and not all of the ballet's patrons were.
"Sunday evening was not only a chance to celebrate an important event for one of our most prolific donors, but it was a chance for Treize and I to discuss a new piece with several board members and other donors."
"A new piece?" I echoed, intrigued.
"Mm. A new full-length ballet. Choreographed by Treize. It's something he and I have been discussing for years, but the timing hasn't been quite right, and we've been waiting for the right time, for the right dancer."
They were both looking at me, Treize still with that bored sneer on his face, McKenzie with faint amusement.
It took me a moment.
"Me?"
McKenzie actually chuckled.
"Yes. You."
I looked between them, convinced I was living in some alternate reality.
"But - you saw me this morning. I was awful."
"On the contrary, while your technique wasn't up to your usual standards, I don't think I've ever seen you perform with that much emotion - onstage or in a rehearsal," McKenzie said. He crossed his arms and considered me. "On Sunday, you were remarkable - I had my doubts, before then, but Treize was insistent and he was right. And this morning removed all of my doubts."
I had to look at Treize. None of this was making sense.
He simply arched an eyebrow at me.
"You want me for your ballet." I had to say it, had to try to wrap my head around it.
"Yes," Treize sighed. "That is the entire point of this meeting. Of course, we won't start rehearsals until late August, after your break ends, but we thought it best to inform you now."
"Why?" I had to ask. The fall season would be announced in a month, at the opening night gala for Le Corsaire. There didn't seem to be any point in telling me about this new piece so far in advance. Even if Treize did want me to star in it.
Treize smirked.
"Because you need to learn how to dance en pointe."
I had been baffled before.
Now, however, I was convinced this was some cruel joke.
As a general rule, male dancers never danced en pointe. It had always been the purview of ballerinas to master that tortuous art. Aside from the arguments that male dancers were simply too heavy to balance their weight above their toes, pointe choreography tended to emphasize the feminine. The few times when male dancers did perform with pointe shoes, they were typically dancing female parts.
I thought back to McKenzie's statement about remaining relevant.
"What is the ballet?" I finally thought to ask. It seemed the most subtle way of asking if I was going to be dancing a female role.
Treize's lips quirked, and some of his disdain melted away as he sat forward.
"It's called Young God. It's an interpretation of some of the myths surrounding Orestes - his relationship with Pylades, his own madness and grief, his intolerable acts, his confusion and despair upon returning home from a decade of war. Essentially, it is the story of a broken man without an identity, searching for purpose and meaning."
Treize held my gaze as he spoke, his tone only a degree or two above his usual chilly attitude, but the difference was staggering. It was clear, so very, very clear, that Treize was passionate about this piece, about this story and, impossibly, me.
"And Orestes dances the entire piece en pointe?"
Treize shook his head.
"No, only the opening, then a pas de deux with Pylades, and the finale, when he dies. The pointe shoes, the change in movement, will demonstrate how disconnected Orestes is, how uneasy he is with society and how impossible it is for him to feel at home."
"It sounds…" It sounded exactly like I felt every day, and I had to wonder if Treize knew, if he had been able to decipher just how disconnected I was from my life. Is that why he wanted me? "It sounds incredible," I finished.
McKenzie nodded.
"It is - it will be. But you need to start working immediately with Sally Po to master en pointe."
Sally was one of the instructors for the JKO school, teaching the advanced students as they prepared to graduate and audition for professional companies. She was a few years older than my sister, and had danced with Cathy at the start of Cathy's career.
I nodded, feeling my toes reflexively curl. I was not looking forward to that, at all.
"Oh," Treize added. "You won't be dancing in Le Spectre for the gala, of course."
He said it entirely off-hand, as if it meant nothing, but the look in his eyes made it clear that he knew it meant a great deal more than nothing to me.
We stared at each other for a long, tense moment.
I forced myself to shrug.
"I imagine I would be too busy rehearsing Young God to bother with it, anyway."
McKenzie arched an eyebrow at that, but Treize chuckled and stood.
He brushed non-existent lint from his trousers.
"Most of my time will be spent with the New York City Ballet until August, but I will check in and keep abreast of your progress. After all, if you aren't capable of learning how to properly dance en pointe, then-"
"I'm more than capable. I can master the technique." I wasn't sure where this show of bravado came from, and I certainly wouldn't have spoken to any other choreographer in that tone, but Treize just smirked and nodded.
I had a sudden thought, as Treize started to leave the office.
"What about the B company? Who will dance Orestes in the B company?"
"We haven't decided yet. Treize wants to sit in on a few of Zechs's Le Corsaire rehearsals before he makes that decision. It goes without saying, I'm sure, that this is absolutely not a subject for you to discuss with any of the other company members. Sally knows, as does Zechs, of course, but I have zero patience for dancers gossiping about the casting for a ballet that won't premiere until November. Is that clear?"
McKenzie held my gaze, and I nodded.
It wasn't as if I was the type to sit around and gossip, in any case. Heero was my only real friend in the company, and while I got along with Meilin and Sylvia and a few of the corps members, I didn't really speak to them outside of rehearsals or parties.
But Heero…
I realized that, as much as he wouldn't spread any gossip around, he really didn't need to know about this.
First, he had been overlooked by Zechs for Conrad while I would perform in the A company, and now this.
I stood up and picked up my bag.
"They'll wonder why I'm working with Sally," I had to point out.
"Tell them you've been instructed to work on your technique. After this morning, I doubt it will be a challenging lie to sell," Treize offered.
I wanted to glare at him, but he was right. I had been sloppy. Not as sloppy as some of the dancers, but sloppy enough.
I accepted the criticism with a nod.
"Congratulations," McKenzie said to me as he gestured towards the door. "And don't vanish quite so quickly tonight after the performance - some of those same donors want to meet you, to see just what they are investing in."
I nodded, accepting the reprimand.
Treize walked out of McKenzie's office, and I followed, still trying to absorb just what had happened - and just how very differently I had anticipated the meeting going.
"We'll have dinner next week," Treize said, pulling me out of my thoughts, "and I can tell you more about the piece."
I frowned, trying to think of a way to say no, but it had not been a request.
And as much as I absolutely did not want to spend time with Treize, I couldn't help but enjoy the thrill of anticipation.
A new ballet.
For me.