Chapter Text
Gabriel dreaded auditions.
The prospect used to be exciting, but it now came upon him with curdling anxiety as he walked through the opulent halls of the Palais Garnier* to the auditions room. The feeling was familiar, but performing was not the reason for his nerves. This week marked a year since Emilie had died, and today was the day her role would be replaced.
The passages of the opera were familiar. He had grown up here, dancing as a boy in the Paris Opera Ballet School, fighting his way up to the role of principal dancer, or étoile. Star. He had met Emilie in the company in a whirlwind romance before stepping down to choreograph his first ballet, Miraculous , with her as his lead.
It had been an instant sensation in the dance world. Electric; modern; yet classically reminiscent. A story of two pairs of loves at odds fated never to be together so long as they were locked in struggle.
Ballet was his life, but with Emilie’s absence, it had lost some of its magic. He couldn’t go back. And he couldn’t move forward, because the life they had shared in these halls assaulted him at every turn. So he put his head down and worked, refusing to acknowledge the stunningly intricate columns and painted ceilings that formed this fairytale of a building, because she wasn’t with him anymore.
But the spring season was looming, the fourth year in a row the company would be performing Miraculous, and the show couldn’t continue without a star.
His footsteps echoed on the marble as he passed a studio full of students rehearsing, the sounds of music and movement and their teacher’s voice filtering into his faraway thoughts.
“ Un, deux, trois* ...Marinette, get that leg up! Un-and-deux, trois, quatre …” She clapped her hands in time to the music. “And Up! Turn! That’s it, very good...” The music and the voice faded as he turned the corner.
He arrived at the auditions room and took his place next to the director of the Ballet at the long table where the adjudicators sat, and upon his nod, the first ballerina was shown into the room. Shiny blonde hair made his stomach knot at the initial resemblance to his wife, but it was short instead of long, her eyes a smirking icy blue. Not green.
He kept his face impassive. “Your name?”
“Audrey Bourgeois, from the New York City Ballet*,” she replied with a wink. He sighed. This was going to be a long few hours.
The music came on, and she began to dance.
Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose as he left auditions late that evening. Ballerina after ballerina twirled behind his eyelids as his brain feverishly worked to assemble a cast, but nobody fit the principal role. Nobody could replace his Emilie.
That Audrey girl might work. She had the technique. But her dancing felt brazen and powerful, while Paon had to be sensual, free. Artistically, it didn’t fit.
He groaned as he doggedly retraced his earlier steps, feeling the beginnings of a headache. He could always pull someone from the corps, or keep Audrey, he guessed, even though something about her bothered him. He was not excited for this season’s showing.
Distant strains of music met his ears. He was so engrossed in his casting puzzle that he had let himself wander, and his feet had carried him instinctively towards it. He found himself in front of the studio he had passed earlier, the one for the children. It was getting to be quite late and all the students had gone home, but there was still someone inside. Presumably their instructor. What was her name? Sancoeur? That sounded right.
It appeared to his choreographer’s eye that she was adapting part of ‘Dance of the Little Swans,*’ from Swan Lake , for her older students. She talked to herself, watching critically in the mirror and nodding or pausing as she worked the sequence, oblivious to where he stood stock still in the hallway. He knew he should leave, but for some reason, his feet wouldn’t move.
The music paused, changing to another part from the same iconic ballet. He saw her smile as she recognized it, and she began to dance.
Really dance. Gabriel took in an involuntary breath, because there, in the dimly-lit studio wearing leg warmers and a shawl with her dark hair pulled into a low bun, was his star. She had the exact artistry he needed, and her lines were lovely, though he saw she had a higher extension in one leg than the other. She danced now purely for enjoyment, laughing lightly at minor mistakes. He was transfixed. His mind’s eye overlaid Paon’s beautiful costume over her practice clothes; saw her under the stage lights, imagined dancing with her. A tentative excitement lit up his clouded mind.
He recalled suddenly she had been hailed as a talented principal. They had never worked together, as she had left before Miraculous had hit the stage. He wondered why she’d stopped performing, and whether he could get her to come back.
The music swelled louder to Gabriel’s ears as he softly opened the door and removed his shoes, padding into the space in his sock feet. This dance was technically a pas de deux, a dance of two, and while the Swan danced the majority solo, it ended together. He had danced the role of the prince in his time. Conscious of his cold muscles but knowing the dance was almost finished, he stepped in close as she pushed into her final pirouette*, arms long to the sky, and his hand brushed her waist as the music swelled to its spectacular conclusion.
She shrieked and jerked away, and he yanked his head back to narrowly avoid an elbow to the face. The music hit its final grandiose chord as they stood eyeing one another. He witnessed her imperious shock at his presence and the defensive lines of her body before she forced her composure in the way only a true performer could.
The music stopped. He stepped toward her, and she looked up into his face with more than a little bit of a challenge.
“Gabriel Agreste,” she said, flatly. “What are you doing in my studio?”
He took her hand, like the prince in the final moment of the dance, except without kneeling at her feet. Though he might as well be, with what he was about to ask her to do.
“You’re the one.”
“I’m sorry?”
“For the ballet. You’re my étoile; my Paon.” He narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, what have you danced of Balanchine?* What roles did you play as principal? Can you do the thirty-two fouettes* for Odette/Odile?”* The technical questions spilled from his mouth and she stepped back, removing her hand and giving him a look.
“I did what was required of me when I was a principal. Giselle*, Carmen*, Jewels*…And yes; Fouettes used to be my specialty.” His brain caught on ‘used to’, but he was too internally pleased to pay it much mind.
“I’ll take it.”
She paused, the implications of his request hanging in the air between them. “Are you aware of why I stepped down?” she queried.
“I’ve heard rumors.”
“And you’re asking me anyway?”
He shifted and set his face. “Yes. It’s unprecedented, I know. But I’ve been in auditions all day, and nobody else suits the role.” She looked away, and he stepped in front of her gaze. He wanted her to say yes. He needed her to say yes. “Please, Madame. For the success of the show.”
She blinked. Something shifted, and she met his eyes again. Hers were blue but without the coldness of Audrey’s. More like a summer’s sky.
“It’s Nathalie. Nathalie Sancoeur. And I will.” A rush coursed through him, but he only inclined his head and snapped his tone back to businesslike.
“Very well. Rehearsals begin Monday, ten AM sharp. I shall see you then.” He turned to leave, retrieving his shoes from where he had discarded them with a renewed fervor kindling in his veins he hadn’t felt in a long time.