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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.

Chapter Text

Come Monday Nathalie stood outside the rehearsal studio with her bag slung over her shoulder, running her finger over the table of dancers’ schedules. It was a familiar routine before morning warm-up, but one she hadn’t practiced in four entire years. 

Ah, there was hers. Morning class; rehearsal; break; rehearsal; break; work with the other lead roles: Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Papillon, played by the enigmatic choreographer. She and Gabriel were barely more than passing acquaintances, but information in the company was never hard to obtain. According to those who had worked with him before, he was detail-oriented, driven, and tough to please, and his tendency for sharpness had gotten worse after his wife’s death. And now Nathalie was dancing his wife’s role in his ballet. She couldn’t deny the thought made her a little bit nervous.

Why had she accepted? When she had left she had never intended to return and settled into her role as a teacher. And she was good at it. She loved her students under her strict instructor’s mask, and they loved her back. 

But part of her watched their progress and was reminded of herself: a young dancer enchanted with the glamour of ballet, with a fierce desire to rise to the top. She shouldn’t have taken this role. But the idea of performing again was too thrilling to refuse. 

The sound of footsteps caught her attention. A girl with a blonde bob wearing sunglasses and a trendy black-and-white coat strode towards the board to check her own schedule. Nathalie couldn’t recall who she was, but she didn’t look pleased. She pushed up her shades and twirled her keys in her fingers as she scanned the paper, glancing sideways at Nathalie as she went to head into class. 

Glanced, then looked again and stared. Hard. Nathalie blinked, confused, as hot red swelled in the girl’s cheeks and her eyes narrowed.

“ You,” she seethed. 

“...I’m sorry? I don’t think we’ve met,” Nathalie offered. The girl’s mouth tightened as she looked back to the board and found what she was looking for. She ripped off the casting list and shoved it in Nathalie’s face. At the very top, it read: 

Paon:

Nathalie Sancoeur

(Understudy: Audrey Bourgeois)

Nathalie guessed the unfamiliar name went with the unfamiliar--and very angry--face. 

“There’s a rumor going around that Monsieur Agreste pulled you out of retirement because nobody who auditioned was good enough for him.” Her voice was tight. “ I was supposed to get that role. I flew halfway across the world so I could get that role!” Nathalie wasn’t sure what to say. Audrey’s hand dropped to her side, and she leaned in close to Nathalie’s face, the paper crinkling in her fist. “From now on, you and I are sworn enemies, ” she spat. “And when you fail, I’m coming for MY spot.” 

Nathalie shrugged coolly. “Sure. See you at rehearsal, I guess.” She turned and opened the studio door to Audrey’s furious gasp, leaving her trembling with rage in the middle of the hallway. 

Competition wasn’t new. Nor was intimidation. Dancers needed thick skin because someone was always vying to fill your spot. Nathalie was a seasoned professional and knew how to wear the mask of cool indifference. However, she couldn’t deny that Audrey’s insistence she would fail made something prickle hot and indignant inside. Who did this green little twentysomething think she was? 

She chose a corner to sit in and started removing her outerwear. It was a chilly early spring, so layers helped keep her muscles as warm as possible on her walk to work. She flexed her feet, rolling through her toes to point them and noting how her body felt as she started her stretch routine, taking particular care with her right side like always.

Dancers filtered in ones and twos in coats and scarves. Nathalie was an early bird even of early birds, and on Day One it meant she garnered attention. She heard the younger dancers’ mindless chatter and tried to shut it out, determined to ignore the whispers she knew were there.  

“...but I just wanna know, why did he cast Mme. Sancoeur? Like, everybody knows what happened. Well, most people.” 

“Yeah, people don’t just bounce back from something like that.” 

Nathalie breathed in a pike stretch*. Let it go. It will be fine, she thought, and let herself fall into the comfortable, mindless rhythm of her exercises. 

Soon, a sulking Audrey entered the room followed by Gabriel Agreste himself, wearing dance sneakers and fitted track pants. Rehearsal was starting. Nathalie breathed again as she stood up to quell the feeling of deja vu from inhabiting the studio again as a dancer, not a teacher.  

To her immense relief, she danced excellently. You can take the woman out of ballet, but you can’t take the ballet out of the woman. 

“Ugh. I’m so sore from yesterday.” 

“Tell me about it! Look at this massive blister. ‘Means I need to break in a new pair of shoes. These are practically dead.” 

“Yeah, my knee hasn’t stopped clicking since last season. I need to set up a PT appointment. I hope it’s nothing serious. But I’d dance on it anyway. Because, you know, gotta eat!”  

The three ballerinas laughed in their circle. Ballet is pain, Nathalie thought from the barre, stretching her own aching muscles. 

“Oh, hi, you’re Audrey from New York, right?” 

Nathalie half-listened as Audrey joined the conversation. She didn’t mean to but rationalized it by saying she wanted to keep tabs on Audrey. Something about the girl’s intense reaction to losing the lead role was worrying. 

It made Nathalie feel lonely because there they were warming up together, sitting on each other’s feet, sharing foam rollers and pointe shoe hacks, while she was over here by herself. She supposed, as she descended into a gentle grand plie*, that it could be the age difference. They were probably somewhere around seven or eight years her junior, having joined the company either after she’d started solo work, or after she had left. 

One of them she recognized, though. The redhead; the one with the clicking knee. What was her name? Caline. She had been new to the corps when Nathalie was a principal, so they had danced together before. The girl fiddled with a necklace as she laughed, a pair of minuscule ballet slippers on a delicate chain. She would have to remove it every day so as not to hurt anyone, so it must be special if she bothered to put it on before rehearsal.

The door banged open and Gabriel strode in alongside the current Ballet Master*, and class began. 

They started with group warmup, followed by choreography work. Nathalie felt every muscle in her body working in tandem, from her toes to the tips of her fingers. Dance was pain, but it was a good kind of pain because it meant you were doing what you loved. 

Gabriel’s choreography was tough. It mixed classical technique and unconventional modern* forms with Balanchine’s athleticism, making for a set Nathalie could imagine would look incredible on stage. But they had to learn it first. Today was halfway through day two, and she was already tired. She stood, watching Gabriel’s movements, and copied them, reviewed them, practiced them. She became so wrapped up in her own head that it startled her when she stumbled. 

She stepped out of it awkwardly, on her right side. Alarm screamed in her head, eclipsing a few snickers. This was not the good pain. Breathing hard, she turned and limped to the side of the studio, away from a gaggle of ballerinas led by Audrey who were doubtless whispering that she was too old for this. She thought she caught a flash of concern in Caline’s eyes, but the redhead hastily looked away. 

Past injuries were a bitch. Post recovery, her body built a hyperawareness to anything skirting too close to that experience, and in ballet, that potential was everywhere. 

Nathalie’s heart rate would accelerate; her stomach would rise into her throat. Her body remembered what she wanted to forget. 

Nathalie grasped the barre at the side of the room and massaged her right hip with the heel of her hand. The momentary twinge had faded. Good. She loosely swung her leg a few times to help it relax. One, two, three, four. Breathe in. Out. 

Rehearsal continued on around her. Dancers worked individually or in groups on the choreography, helping and critiquing one another. Nathalie grabbed her water bottle and sat against the wall, legs stretched out and hand resting on her hip. She wouldn’t be missed for one minute. She closed her eyes. 

Breathe in. Out. 

“Are you all, right, Mme. Sancoeur?” Gabriel’s voice came from somewhere above her, and she snapped to attention. 

“I’m fine, sir.” She cleared her throat. His brow showed the barest glimmer of concern, yet it was more than she’d previously witnessed as he ran his dancers ragged with his difficult steps. 

“All right, then.” He straightened, any softness hidden under strict professionalism. “Up you go, and let's run it again. One, two!” He turned to the rest of the room and clapped his hands together. He didn’t reach to help her up. She could do that herself. 

They would have three weeks to rehearse before Miraculous opened. Such a quick turnaround meant ten- and twelve-hour days weren’t unusual, but it helped that many of the company already knew their roles from the past three springs. It would be harder on Nathalie since she had never danced hers, but she had done such feats before in her career, many times over. She could do it again.  

She was amazed at how many habits were easy to reshoulder as a comfortable jacket. Health had to be a priority in a profession where one’s entire workday depended on the body’s ability to perform, so she stocked up on her vitamins. She made sure to train flexibility on her right. Every morning, she clumsily threw her protesting body into a bathtub of hot water and Epsom salt. Every evening, she rolled out her muscles. She kept a watch on the ever-present checklist of pain: what hurt, where, how bad, what was new. Mostly in her feet, her lower back, and her right hip. 

There was also the routine of customizing her pointe shoes. Breaking the shank*, sewing on the ribbons correctly, adding an elastic for extra security. Her hands did everything automatically. With the increased amount of dancing, each pair would only last her three days before they could no longer support her feet and the cycle started again. 

The routine of mentally steeling herself was another quick to return. As a teacher, she doled out firm, gentle feedback to her students every day, but she was no longer accustomed to receiving it. Luckily, Gabriel was direct, but not brutal. The real problem was Audrey and her posse and the nasty things they would say about her. Except Caline, who seemed to waver at the edges and not join in. Nathalie had gotten to her teaching studio early one day that week to find “old hag” written on every single mirror in red lipstick. She laughed, but it still stung. She was barely thirty-three. The kids didn’t need to see that, though, so she got to work with a tissue and glass cleaner and by the time the first student crossed the threshold, the mirror was swiped as sparkling clean as the face she presented to the world. 

Tolerating pain and letting things roll off her back was something Nathalie Sanceour was good at. Which was why she wouldn’t be letting Gabriel Agreste down.

Rehearsal had let out early for her today, so she decided to head to the gym to help rebuild her stamina. She thought back over her career as she walked. Student at a small but excellent ballet school in southern France; admitted to the Paris Opera Ballet corps at eighteen; worked her way from quadrille* all the way to danseuse étoile in a shockingly short four years. Retired at twenty-nine. And now she’s back when she really shouldn’t be. 

What an occupation she had chosen. She wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and bent her head against the wind. 

She was so lost in thought she didn’t register the yipping of a small dog and the jangling of a leash, which was too suddenly ensnaring her ankles, and she yelped as she felt herself pitch forward. 

A yank and a man’s voice and the excited barking of the dog and she was no longer falling because his hand was gripping her upper arm. The leash was still around her ankles, so it took both of them a minute while sorting through the chaos of the treacherous restraint to realize that they already knew each other. 

Gabriel stood up from where he had squatted down to untangle Nathalie’s legs, taking the dog with him, and half-smiled. He was wearing glasses, she noticed. Perhaps that’s why she had overlooked him.

“Madame Sancoeur. My apologies; I didn’t recognize you with your layers. Duusu, hush ,” he implored to the yapping ball of fury that was tucked under his arm. It was one of those dogs without much hair on its fuzzy grey body save for some white fluffy ears and an untameable tail. It wore a tiny blue sweater. Nathalie reached out hesitantly to pet it on the head, and it stopped barking and quivered at her touch.

She smiled. “It’s all right. Is she yours?” 

Gabriel let out a long and tortured sigh. “No, I’m pet-sitting for a friend. I wouldn’t normally, but they’re a very good friend. It’s just their dog is so...strange.” 

“I think she’s cute.” 

“You and only you, apparently.” He rolled his eyes. “Her name is Duusu, but I said to Germain, what kind of a name is that?” The dog licked Nathalie’s fingers, and she smiled and retracted her hand to replace it in her warm coat pocket. Duusu started struggling again, upset with the lack of petting. 

Gabriel shushed her and adjusted her sweater. “Anyway, where are you headed? I suppose now that I’ve interrupted your stroll I might as well escort you to your destination.” 

Nathalie paused. She didn’t know Gabriel Agreste, not really. But he seemed more relaxed outside the rehearsal studio. The glasses softened the hard edges in his face. 

“To the gym up the block, actually,” she said, evenly. His face set, and she recognized the shift to professionalism. 

“What for? I ask as your choreographer,” he stated at Nathalie’s raised eyebrow.

“Strength training. I haven’t exactly been doing this level of exercise for the past four years.” 

He nodded, satisfied. “I’ll walk you there, then,” Duusu whined in protest as he set her down. “ Mon Dieu, you terrible creature. Make up your mind,” he groused, but it was a lighthearted one, a marked return to informality. She could tell despite appearances he was begrudgingly fond of the dog.

They walked in awkward silence for a few minutes, the only sounds being the city’s ambient noise and Duusu’s skittering paws. Nathalie still thought the dog was cute.

“So...what’s wrong with her? What annoys you, I mean.” 

“Besides looking like a rat with a mullet? Well, they get allergies. And they need sunscreen for their skin.” He scoffed. “I can’t begin to tell you my reaction when my friend told me I’d have to put sunscreen on his dog before I took her for a walk. I mean, it’s winter, and cloudy.” Nathalie stifled a snort. 

Their conversation stalled again as they neared their destination until Nathalie turned to him.

“Thank you for walking with me, Monsieur Agreste.” 

He looked mildly pained. “Please...just call me Gabriel, outside the studio.”

She nodded. “Then it’s Nathalie, to you.” 

He nodded. “See you at rehearsal, Nathalie.” He turned and walked away with his ridiculous dog that wasn’t actually his trotting beside him, and as Nathalie watched his form recede--his legs looked especially long in jeans, she mused--she realized she had never seen Gabriel Agreste act like anything other than a cold, logical assessor of his choreography. Until now. 

She found she liked it. 

However, when Gabriel arrived for rehearsal the next day it was as if nothing had changed. He certainly knew how to make an entrance, Nathalie thought drily as he flung open the door. It helped that he was very tall and shockingly blonde, and as significantly muscular as his profession required. But the company was full of young, beautiful people. This wouldn’t be cause for anything at all. She wondered if she would ever get to see the personable side of him again. 

Today’s was a solo rehearsal, meaning it would be just them. Them, and Audrey Bourgeois. Nathalie had internally groaned when the girl arrived some minutes after herself, determinedly ignoring Nathalie as she set her bag down with a pouting frown. She wouldn’t be able to keep that up forever, Nathalie thought as she stretched her splits. As the understudy, Audrey still had to work with her to learn the role.

And work they did, side by side facing the long mirror with some distance and Gabriel in between, talking and moving and demonstrating. Bodies strained and sweat and bent panting in the precious moments in between.

“Think of the sun on your skin. The water. Hands like this,” he said, demonstrating with his own. “Now, with the music. One, two.” Nathalie did the step and did it again. It wasn’t quite right. She heard Audrey snort from a few feet away, throwing her a side-eye and muttering something about her battements.* She prickled. 

Gabriel pursed his lips. “You need to keep your hips square.” 

That did it. She stepped out of relevé * and crossed her arms. “Don’t you think I know that? I teach for a world-renowned ballet company, for heaven’s sake.” 

“Right.” He ran his fingers through his hair, slightly unseated. 

“Sorry. I had a rough morning.” 

“I can see that. Mademoiselle Bourgeois, keep your comments to yourself,” he said to Audrey’s opening mouth, which she promptly shut. 

Rehearsal continued, and he backed off. Which was fine. She wasn’t one of the timid eighteen-year-olds he was used to dealing with.

She watched Audrey in the mirror. The girl was good. She had power in her jumps and electricity in her turns, and her extensions were arguably better than Nathalie’s. But she knew she had more experience.

After that, she had company rehearsal with the rest of the cast. Nathalie’s energy slowly drained as she put every ounce of effort she had into her dancing, and by the time the clock struck nine PM her hip was bothering her again. She could feel Gabriel’s eyes on her as she limped over to where she had deposited her things to don her layers.

“Monsieur Agreste! Monsieur!” She heard Audrey’s voice calling over the hubbub of dancers leaving for home. “May I say, Monsieur, I love the pas de deux you wrote for Act 2, scene three?” 

Ah, so she was trying flattery. Nathalie allowed herself a peek as she tied her scarf. Audrey was leaning close and looking up at Gabriel with batting eyelashes, and he looked visibly uncomfortable. 

“I suppose you may, Mademoiselle Bourgeois, since you already have. If you’ll please excuse me.” 

Nathalie chuckled to herself as she shouldered her bag to leave. As she reached the door, a long-fingered hand pushed it open for her. 

“Monsieur Agreste. I trust everything is satisfactory?” She turned to him as they stepped out into the hall.

He sighed. “Would you...be offended if I offered to drive you home? I need my étoile in top condition, and, well…” The peppering of informality from their chance meeting was back.

So he had noticed her change in gait. It seemed a thin excuse, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he also desired an excuse to escape the Blonde Bitch. Speaking of her, it appeared steam was ready to plume from her ears at the sight of them talking. 

“I guess that would be nice.” Her hand ghosted her hip. If she wasn’t so exhausted, she would have refused.

They spent the ride in not-entirely-uncomfortable silence, and he walked her to her door. This first time, she didn’t invite him in.

Chapter Text

Nathalie approached the rehearsal studio in her leg warmers and booties* and hesitated at the door. They were to work on the duet today, and she was late. 

Intense cello music pounded from the studio speakers. She could see Gabriel dancing within. He was improvising, completely in his own head as he flew around the room with incredible grace and power. And then he would pause, breathing hard, and tap his lips and go over to the laptop on the piano to write something down.

Male dancers’ careers were usually shorter due to the harder demand on their bodies from lifts and high impact jumps, so it made sense he had turned to choreography. However, Nathalie could tell he had been a principal first, as he moved with that easy sureness that comes from dancing through childhood into maturity. Gone were his loose track pants, replaced by a fitted t-shirt and skintight leggings with one leg rolled up. 

She silently opened the door when his back was turned and made for her customary corner. Choreographing was a difficult mental exercise, with many moving parts to keep track of, and she wished not to interrupt. Plus, she hadn’t yet seen him dance full-out, and was quite content to sneak glances as she warmed up her body. It was interesting to watch his creative mind while he thought, nodded, and wrote. 

Until he spotted her movement in his laptop camera and whipped around to see her laying on the floor with her leg over her head. 

“Madame Sancoeur,” he gasped, eyes darting to and fro, “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

“My apologies. My physio appointment ran late,” she said from the floor. His face snapped to hardarse choreographer, narrowing his eyes and clasping his hands behind his back.

“Appointment? What for?” 

“That’s my personal business, thank you.” 

“Does it have to do with yesterday’s limp? I’ll remind you that as your choreographer, it makes it my business.” 

Nathalie switched legs, relishing the delicious feeling of a good stretch. Of course, he’d bring up yesterday. He seemed irritable. 

“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.” His lips pressed together, but he said nothing more as he made to shut down his laptop so they could begin.

Nathalie released her leg and sat up. This duality of Gabriel Agreste. It was curious.

But she needed to focus. The last time she had worked duets had been four years ago, ending after a partnering fail went horribly wrong. She couldn’t help but feel nervous to pick it up again with this man, and the residual tension that hung in the air side-by-side with the dancing cello. 

Different dancers responded to feedback in different ways. Some had to be pushed for them to work to their full potential. Some were sensitive, while others could take anything. The more he worked with Nathalie and learned who she was, the more Gabriel got the feeling she was one of those you could push until she broke. 

He loved having someone like that. 

He was finding tenuous creative delight in having a new dancer do the part. He could adapt it for her, show off what she did best, switch the leg on the arabesque to her better one. Choosing the right artist was an important step to making that shining golden vision in his head into reality, and he could see as she learned the role that he had chosen well. 

Nathalie was as precise a dancer as she was a person. Her movements were perfectly in time; her positions were effortlessly ingrained into her being down to the tips of her fingers. When she danced, she flew. Her years at such a high position in the industry were a major asset to her artistry, and the more he stopped trying to direct her every action like he would a less-experienced dancer, the more he found her choices strikingly similar to his original vision. 

Not like Emilie’s. She was not his wife.

He found creative delight, but not personal. He couldn’t shake the feeling that by changing things he was betraying the woman who had originated the role. Her memory sat in the corner of the room like a dark, heavy cloud, interrupting his focus every time his mind remembered it.

Nathalie’s body in his hands felt different than hers. She was a different height, had a different center of gravity, different balance points. It was a new language to learn, and success in partnering was all about knowing each other’s vocabulary. 

They moved across the floor in unison, two complementary forms. Running, leaping, straining that looked effortless. She gave off a perfect birdlike elegance on her toes, with relaxed wrists and hips in line with her ankles as she let him take her weight. He felt her ribcage and the fabric of her leotard under his fingertips as he guided her pirouettes. The sounds of the hard tips of her shoes on the floor were just another part of the music. He felt her breathe and he breathed with her as they worked and he learned how to guide her body through every sequence. The sheen of intense focus was evident in her eyes, remembering steps, anticipating hard sections. Emilie didn’t move like this.

They came upon a section with a lift that involved Nathalie flying high over his head and paused to discuss. 

“How are you, so far? Are you comfortable to move forward?” 

She stretched her foot against the floor, inspecting her shoe, and bit her lip. “I’m fine.” 

Like he’d thought. She wouldn’t tell him if not. 

“All right, then. Let’s run it.” 

They did, and as Nathalie went up he was blindsided with a flash of memory and all he could see was his golden-haired Emilie as Paon, in her dark feathered tutu, soaring like a bird-

-he started, and faltered. 

“ Gabriel!!!” Came Nathalie’s cry, and the memory broke into shards and rained down with her as she fell, falling in a way that wasn’t normal. He lunged and caught her messily, laser-intent on not letting her head hit the floor. They froze in a very inelegant tangle of grasping limbs, stunned and full of adrenaline before she shoved him away and stood with her back to him. She shuddered, her cry of alarm still reverberating in his skull. The note of pure panic was...not like her. 

Emilie was still in his head. A year had passed with him clinging to her everywhere he went, and now it almost caused someone to get hurt. 

He looked at the someone, seemingly smaller than she normally presented, hands hugging her bare arms and eyeing him warily over her shoulder, and he was struck with uncharacteristic guilt. Partners didn’t do that to one another.

He turned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I just- well, the last time, this scene…” he struggled.

“I’m sorry about your wife.” 

His head jerked up. He hadn’t known she knew, but then again, it was general company knowledge. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.” 

Their eyes met, and hers were solemn. “The last time you did this was with your wife. I could understand if it’s hard to do it with someone else.” 

“Still, that’s not fair to you.” He looked at her. In this moment of vulnerability, she truly seemed as young as she was. “I have to put it aside, for sake of the show. We have to keep going.” He extended a hand. “You can trust me.” 

She hesitated.

“I promise.” She took it, and the air felt instantly clearer. They re-ran the sequence. 

They failed, but it was a safe catch, and Nathalie let out a nervous laugh. Everything was easier post airing their words. It became a pleasurable experience to start afresh, to dance with someone who thought like them. In a few tries, the lift was nearly flawless. Gabriel felt like she was made to dance this role, and he to dance it with her. 

After their rehearsal, Nathalie sat and rolled out her legs. Gabriel found his eyes flicking back to her as he gathered his things, watching and trying not to simultaneously. Her hand rested unconsciously on her hip as she sipped water and stared off into space. He wondered again why she had quit because if she was thirty-three now, she would have been shockingly young when she retired. She should have been able to go to at least thirty-five if not forty. He thought about how it was her right leg that she favored, and wondered what had happened. Injuries were an occupational hazard, after all. 

“I’m going to drive you home again.”

She looked up, startled from her reverie. “But-”

“I insist.” 

When they arrived she paused at her apartment door with the key in the lock and looked at him almost shyly. “Would you like to come in, since you’ve now brought me home twice? It would be cold of me not to.” 

“Of course, if you’re offering.”

“What are you doing in my bag?” 

Audrey looked up, her mouth round in faux surprise. “Oh! My mistake. I thought it was mine! Sorry, Nath.” Her tone was simperingly apologetic as she backed away, but her eyes were full of cold mischief.

Immediately suspicious, Nathalie knelt and began to root through the duffel to check for anything missing. Her fingers brushed a small, cool piece of metal she knew she didn’t own, and in confusion, she brought it out.

It was a pair of silver ballet slippers on a beautiful fine chain.

At the same time, she heard a ballerina cry out. Audrey was standing next to a worried-looking Caline, whose hand fluttered at her throat. The necklace she normally wore was absent...because it was in Nathalie’s hand. 

“Look!” Audrey was pointing at her, eyes wide. “Nathalie has it.” 

Nathalie fought the urge to roll her eyes as Caline rushed over. Trying to frame her for stealing? How incredibly juvenile.  

“Oh, thank goodness!” Caline was breathlessly relieved, but not without distrust as Nathalie returned the necklace. 

“Here you go. It seems Audrey put it in my duffel.” 

“I did not!” 

Nathalie mustered every ounce of willpower she possessed to calm the angry serpent in her stomach and took a deep breath through her nose. Luckily, Caline’s suspicion was now directed at Audrey, who stood with her hands on her hips, looking offended. 

“Now that I think about it, I did see you near her bag,” Caline said slowly.

“How do you know it wasn’t mine?!”

“Yours has an ‘A’ embroidered on the side? And it’s over there.” She pointed, and Audrey’s face flushed red, knowing she’d been caught. 

“Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous!” she muttered, clenching her fists and leaving the two of them alone. 

Caline gave Nathalie an apologetic smile and closed the necklace in her hand. “I’m sorry about her. She’s just jealous. But everything she’s doing, talking about you and such, it’s not really fair.” 

“Thank you, though.” 

“No, thank you. I’ve been waiting for an excuse to get away from her, but I was worried about what she would say about me.” 

They shared a smile, and Caline went to deposit the necklace in its rightful place as Gabriel entered and called for places. 

At least this came with a silver lining , Nathalie thought to herself as she danced through the first scene. She now had an ally. But her anger stayed with her.

Gabriel sat comfortably on Nathalie’s couch, a steaming mug of tea in hand, watching her pace back and forth across her living room floor. With only a few days left until the performance, he had become a regular visitor to her apartment after she had told him about Audrey’s abuse during one of their rides home. He seemed content to stay and listen, though she couldn’t fathom the reason.

It was getting worse. Audrey had tried to trip her in rehearsal more than once. Today she “accidentally” spilled a coffee on her, forcing Nathalie to change. Audrey knew time was ticking to force Nathalie to quit so she could be Paon, but what she didn’t know was Gabriel’s awareness of every single action.

“She makes me so mad,” Nathalie growled, fingers tangling in her hair as she paced. “This isn’t how you treat your fellow company members! We’re a team! And she’s turned everyone against me. People that I know . I just….” she stopped.

Gabriel sat up at her abrupt change in tone and trajectory and watched incredulously as she covered her face in her hands and dissolved into exhausted tears. 

It threw a wrench in his heart. The ever-so-successful Nathalie No-Heart, famous for her unaffectedness, was losing her composure in front of him. He recalled wanting to see what would happen if he pushed her to her limits, but now he sorely wished he could take that back. 

He leaped up behind her to offer some semblance of comfort but found he didn’t know how. Hands that had been so sure and impartial on her body just hours prior twittered at the idea of even touching her shoulder in another context. It felt different. It meant something different. They finally fell to her waist, a familiar-yet-alien placement outside rehearsal in casual clothing. She didn’t respond except to take a deep, shuddering breath, and he felt the expansion of her torso in his hands.

She leaned backward slightly, letting her head touch the crook of his shoulder, and he breathed in fireworks. 

“I feel like I have to prove myself. All over again.” 

“You don’t. I knew you were perfect from the moment I saw you.” 

She wiped her eyes and stepped away, struggling to set her performers’ mask. “Did I ever tell you the exact circumstances of my departure?” 

“I’m afraid I wasn’t privy to the details.” 

She retrieved her own long-abandoned mug and sank into the couch. He did the same at the other end, a professional distance because his heart was beating much too fast. She held the cup in both hands, her eyes very far away. 

“It was a partnering accident. We were new at working together, and something went wrong; either he wasn’t paying attention, or I was off...I don’t remember. Point is, he missed me on the way down. I took it all on one side and dislocated my hip.” 

Gabriel winced in sympathy. It explained her uncharacteristic reaction to the incident from their first solo rehearsal, which sounded like a frighteningly similar situation. Such grievous consequences were uncommon, but they happened. 

She continued. “I was out of commission, instantly, for months. I had surgery, and I was told I might not dance again. The director of the Ballet pulled me into their office and said, in the most sickeningly pitiful voice, that I should retire, try modern instead….” She wrinkled her nose. “But I beat the odds. The doctors were astounded by how fast I recovered. I took a teaching position because I couldn’t leave the company behind. It was my entire life. It is my entire life.” 

Gabriel swallowed. “I didn’t know...if I had, I wouldn’t have asked. If it’s too much, if you need to drop, I understand. I’ll put Audrey in. Though you’re still my first choice.” 

Her eyes flashed; her voice sharpened. “No. I’m already in too deep. You’ve changed details for me. They’ve made my costume. And honestly, it’s been easier than I expected.” She sighed, and the edges dulled. “I wish Audrey would stop being a bitch, though. I wish everyone would stop treating me with pity. The failed prima ballerina. History is in the past, you know.” 

Gabriel nodded, but inwardly he thought: history repeats itself. He wasn’t sure how far Nathalie would push, but this new information gave him a disturbing inkling it could prove very dangerous.

Chapter Text

Two hours before the show, Nathalie pushed open the doors to the Opera Garnier. 

Down the hallowed halls she walked, the building whispering memories that filled her soul. She wasn’t nervous; not yet. Yesterday’s dress rehearsal had gone off without a hitch, save for Audrey’s following Gabriel around like a puppy underfoot. Gabriel ignored her as best he could, providing only stiff, straight answers and Nathalie could tell just how done he was with the entire affair. 

She leaned on the door to the rehearsal room and made for her favorite corner. It was full of chatter and dancers stretching: some at the barre, some laying on the floor with eyes closed and headphones in. She noticed Audrey was nowhere to be seen. Without her--though perhaps it was just nerves--the corps girls were considerably nicer, and for the first time, she found herself part of one of their circles. They wished her luck and made light conversation over warmups. 

Nathalie smiled and tuned out the frivolity as she dug in her bag for her shoes, but the beautiful performance pair in dark blue satin was distressingly absent. 

I must have left them in the dressing room yesterday, she mused, cursing her carelessness. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave the tentative camaraderie of the circle to retrieve them, so she drew out a practice pair instead. She’d switch them later. 

At one hour to curtain, her feet carried her through the familiar corridors. They wanted to pause at her old dressing room, but she continued past it. Bodies have memory, she thought to herself as she reminisced on the past few weeks. Technical movements had returned with unanticipated ease, though she still had to fight the mild tickle of alarm every time she stretched that hip. 

The smell of hairspray and powder on warm vanity lights wafted to her nose as she entered her room. Two male dancers across the hall were getting pumped singing to some popular song as they did their eye makeup, the sound spilling across the hallway. 

Tucked into the corner by the mirror were her shoes. She sighed in relief as she replaced the ones she was wearing. Her hands wrapped the ribbons with practiced ease--snug, but not too tight-- before retrieving her costume from its protective plastic. 

She had just gotten it on and was fussing with the feathers when there came a knock at her dressing room door. 

“Coming,” she called and opened it. 

In the frame stood Gabriel, beautiful purple costume impeccably adjusted and hair and makeup set. He wore his track pants to keep his muscles warm, though she could see the purple tights peeking out from the bottoms. 

“I came to wish you luck,” he said solemnly, fidgeting with the butterfly brooch at his throat. “You look...very nice.” 

“And you,” she replied, noticing how his eyes trailed her costume. She supposed that’s what it was, because it was particularly beautiful, with all the indigo feathers expertly stitched on extra-strong. Her hand went to her hair to check that the peacock brooch was still snug in her bun. 

An awkward moment sat between them, during which he flexed his foot on the floor and something cracked. Her hand flew to her mouth because for some reason it was funny. 

“I’m old,” he groused but smiled.

“You’re not, though.” 

He looked thoughtful, then smirked. “I suppose I can still do the splits. It makes the guys at the gym cringe and hold their balls.” 

She had to turn away to hide her laughter, and he disappeared. That was okay. She didn’t need this distraction. 

“Thirty minutes,” came the voice over the intercom. Nathalie returned to the rehearsal room, her mind gearing up for the performance. Guests would be arriving, buying drinks, getting seated in the house. The orchestra would be filtering into the pit one by one. Perhaps it was just her hyperaware state but as she rolled up through her feet to pointe she couldn’t shake the feeling that her shoes felt different. She had just broken them in yesterday, though. There was no reason they should fail her.

“Ten minutes until places, dancers.” A chorus of thank you ten ’s echoed around the room. A rush flooded Nathalie’s body as she headed for the wings. 

She caught a glimpse of Audrey scurrying down the hall, and the girl shot Nathalie a dirty look over her shoulder. Good to see her. Nathalie was getting worried. But not even Audrey Bourgeois could ruin this. She was finally back. 

She stood in the dimness, tinged blue from the backstage lights, and breathed. 

In. 

Out. 

Little mischievous whispers of ‘merde’* were exchanged between figures in white rustling tutus, a dancer’s customary way of wishing luck. She listened to the orchestra tuning, the musicians in a not-altogether discordant hum of low strings, warbling flutes, tinkling chimes. She heard the pianist practicing her solo music. The air felt charged with electricity, and she was overflowing with excitement.

The voice came over the intercom a final time. “Show starts in one minute. Merde, everybody.” 

“Thank you one,” she whispered as the house lights dimmed and the crowd hushed into expectant silence. 

A pause. Then with the roll of a drum and a sweet swell of the mighty orchestra that made her heart soar, the show began.

The best performances were ones Nathalie didn’t remember. It was like she existed outside her body once the curtain went up. Dancing a ballet melted everything away until it was just her, the stage, and the other bodies occupying it. No future, no past, just the smell of sweat, the heat of the lights warming her face under her foundation, and the hard tok’s of dancers’ shoes. 

Dance was air. It was a burning sun on one’s shoulders. It was an art form that stirred with the audience in a way nothing else could. It was magic. She didn’t know what she would do without it. 

A whirlwind of faces and lighting changes and swirling costumes flooded her senses as she worked her way through Gabriel’s choreography. One, two, three, tendu;* there was that tricky part, cross the stage; stare longingly at Papillon and float away... 

She danced through the solo, then the pas de deux with Gabriel, only lightly aware of applause as she curtsied graciously and flitted offstage at the end of Act II. Once hidden by the curtain, she bent over panting. Time didn’t exist in the confines of the stage lights, but weariness did. 

One thing was for certain. Something was definitely wrong with her shoes. They felt softer in the shank, the ribbons looser than they should have been. She sat and relaced them, cursing under her breath when she noticed a corner of her neat stitching was separating from the shoe. She didn’t have time to break another pair, but she might be able to fix this one. But she would have to be fast.  

Nathalie flew through the backstage and burst through her dressing room door. Her bag wasn’t on the counter. Had she not put it there? Where was her mind? She growled and turned to go check the rehearsal room, frighteningly conscious of the ticking seconds, and collided with a red-haired dancer who had just entered. Blue feathers met white as they crashed together and stumbled apart. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Caline,” She said, inspecting her tutu for damage. 

“No, don’t be! Listen,” She gripped Nathalie’s arms. “Audrey’s up to something. I can feel it,” she gasped out. Her eyes were bright with worry.

“What do you mean?” 

“She was talking to herself in her dressing room, and she sounded angry, and I swear I heard your name.” 

Nathalie pressed her lips together. “That’s the standard, I’m afraid,” 

“No! She said she had--”

Nathalie’s ears caught a distant musical phrase that meant her time was almost gone. She broke Caline’s grasp. 

“I’m so sorry, but that’s my cue, I need to go! Tell me later,” she said and tossed a smile over her shoulder as she ran. 

Dammit. Now she had to deal with Audrey and the shoes.

Gabriel existed in his own meditative performance state, but even there he couldn’t help but notice how incredible Nathalie was. With every passing scene, he was increasingly sure he had chosen the right étoile. Her timing was perfect, her expressions captivating: heartrendingly sad or joyful when the moment called. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t noticed her smile before. It might have been a stage smile, but it was lovely, and he wished to see it more. For the first time in a long time, he was thinking forward instead of back, of a woman with dark hair instead of blonde. 

The feeling of her, her body above him, beside him, infused all his senses. His muscles strained as he held her and felt the thwip as he caught her safely in his arms; then she flew away across the stage where she was accosted by the dancers playing Ladybug and Chat Noir. 

Was it just his eyes, or did she stumble? It must have been him, for she let nothing show. No, there she was biting her lip. Was it her hip? Did he need to put Audrey in? 

They were nearing the final scene. The echoes of her words through all their rehearsals reverberated in his skull. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. She was tough. She would be. He had to trust her.

The final scene saw Paon jumping in the throes of death as Papillon struggled to protect her. The epitome of ballet drama ensued as Ladybug and Chat Noir did everything in their power to see him defeated. He burst from their dramatic hold to join her where she melted tragically into his arms, and on that final jump as she came down he heard something snap. 

The audience, if they heard, would think it another tap of her shoe, think the grimace on her face outstanding acting as he held her draped in their final pose. The applause swelled as the curtain began to lower, but Gabriel knew from the ragged rise and fall of her ribs under his fingertips and the trembling of her body that this was different from practice because as soon as the curtain kissed the stage he realized she couldn’t stand.

The roar of the audience faded to a dull pulse in his ears as her performer’s mask slipped from her face, and suddenly she was heaving and crying as he gently let her down to the floor.

“Where does it hurt? Where? ” he pleaded with her, and she gestured to her foot. A tittering crowd of ballerinas in rustling tutus had gathered in the wings, and he barked at someone to get help and shooed them away. 

On the other side of the curtain the house lights came up, and sounds of the crowd were replaced with satisfied murmurs and the sounds of theater seats. The show finale was a dim irony unbeknownst to them, for in the cool backstage blue the death of Paon was the death of a dancer’s career. 

He sat there holding her, helpless, in the dim middle of a huge empty stage as Nathalie sobbed heartbroken into the shoulder of his beautiful costume like a child, for in her heart she knew she might never dance again. 

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe Audrey sabotaged your pointe shoes.” 

“So you’ve told me. Five times in the last two hours.” 

“Okay. But I still can’t believe it.” 

Nathalie chuckled from where she sat reclined on her couch, scrolling through her phone as Gabriel fixed a plate of dinner. Her leg was propped up on a pillow, wrapped in a cast starting below her knee. As it turned out, the force of her jump in her damaged shoes had split the ribbons and she had completely snapped her Achilles. The curtain call had been cancelled. Gabriel had hobbled her offstage and carried her to his car, driven her to the hospital still in their costumes as searing pain was replaced with a dull, nasty ache. She had been put through surgery and was assured she would be walking in six weeks.

Nothing had been said about dancing. What she would be able to do remained to be seen. Even though it was a less grievous injury than that of her hip, the emotional pain was again fresh. She would still teach, but she was beginning to think this was her body’s telling her it was time to hang up her professional shoes for good. 

Gabriel hadn’t left her apartment since he had brought her back from the hospital, insisting she would need someone to take care of her, to which she couldn’t exactly refuse. But the better she felt, the more she realized she didn’t want him to leave, and that perhaps he didn’t want to go.

The doorbell rang, and Gabriel went to answer it. A bouquet of flowers and a card lay on the step, the faint sound of young laughter echoing down the hall.

“For you, mon étoile,” he said, placing them in her arms, wearing the softer persona she loved. He was wearing his glasses again. She smirked.

“You don’t need to call me that, anymore. And I know they’re not from you, you bastard, Adrien and Marinette signed the card.” She flicked a rose petal at him, which he dodged.

“Paon. The only prima ballerina for me,” he purred, placing a kiss on her hair and retrieving the dinner plates.

Her living room was a garden of flowers from the show, but her students’ would occupy a prized place on her coffee table. She grinned to herself at Gabriel’s act of casual intimacy. He didn’t have to be here, doting on her. However, it made it easier than her last recovery. She knew he wouldn’t be returning as a dancer either, but putting more effort into choreography. She watched him as he chewed and allowed herself to wonder if there could be more to life than just ballet.

“What will we do with all this time?” 

He wrinkled his nose. “I suppose we’ll have to get real jobs,” he replied. “Dog-sitting for Germain just isn’t going to pay the bills.” 

“Honestly, I’d take anything that didn’t require me to massage my entire body for hours every day.”

“Don’t forget the blisters.” 

“And the blisters. But if not for this, I would have never met you.” 

He nodded. “True. I count it particularly lucky I hated Audrey from the start.” 

She paused at that. Upon learning of what Audrey had done, Gabriel had gotten the girl blacklisted from every company he could. 

“On an unrelated thought. Can we get a dog?” 

Gabriel swallowed and turned to her, his eyes full of fear. “On one request. Please. Please let the dog have hair.” 

Nathalie snorted. “No, we will get a hairless dog, and I will knit it sweaters while I am an invalid, and we will call it--”

“ No-”

“-something equally dumb, like… Nooroo.” He choked on a mouthful of food, and Nathalie laughed at him for real this time. 

They spent the rest of their evening in companionable existence, and she had the distinct sense that while this chapter of their lives was drawing to a close, they would soon be starting a new one, together. 

For that was life. C’est le ballet.