Tête-à-Tête

1. Face to Face

After the farce of an audition that morning, Mérante was in a poor mood as he worked with the upper division class that followed, continually distracting himself with the thought of the two young dancers, Félicie and Camille. He'd had such high hopes for Félicie, but to think that she didn't even bother to train the day before- that was hardly someone with the mental fortitude and perseverance to play the leading role of Clara in the Nutcracker. And then there was Camille- technically strong, flawless technique, but there was no expressiveness, no passion but false smiles and superficial flourishes. Two girls with so much potential, but one lacking any discipline, the other as mechanical as a wind-up doll. Is that what the Paris Opera ballet was coming to? Would that be the next generation of dancers? In the end, he had to choose one of them, and he picked Camille, hoping he wouldn't come to regret it.

As the violinist played beside him and the older girls moved through their center lines of leaps and twirls his mind shifted to Odette. He had seen her on the balcony before the audition- their eyes had met once and he tried to wordlessly ask where Félicie was, but she had only shaken her head. How must she be feeling? It was his decision to dismiss Félicie from the Ballet School, he was the reason all of their time and effort had been for nothing. What would they she do now? Build her walls even higher and shut herself away from the world? To think she had been training Félicie in ballet, it was a near-miracle. With that gone, what would she do?

When the class finally- finally- finished Mérante was quick to excuse himself to search for her before the afternoon rehearsals. He wandered through the backstage maze, looked into the the salons and went down the great gilt hallway, quiet and empty that time of day. The longer he walked the more uneasy he became. He had to find her, but what would he say? What couldhe say? There were no words he had to console her, and he was still so full of bitter frustration that he feared he would be far from comforting. Perhaps she didn't want to see him either. In fact she almost certainly wouldn't. He had been the one to dismiss Félicie. Did she blame him?

By the time he finally spotted her he still didn't know an answer. She was washing the windows overlooking Rue Gluck, looking so small and subtle he wouldn't have seen her if he hadn't been looking. The weaker part of him thought about walking away, retreating to the bright, gilded world of the Ballet School and leave her in the dim light. Why was it so dim, he wondered, suddenly aware that it was as dark as dusk despite being almost midday. He looked out the window nearest him and saw churning grey clouds blocking out the sun, with only thin strands of sickly yellow light straining through. A storm was coming.

With a faint sigh he looked up at Odette again and caught her looking at him with a half-turn of her head. She quickly looked back towards the window but it was too late. If he turned back now he would be a coward, and if he waited any longer it would only be worse. With a small cough he walked over, feigning something like indifference.

"I wanted to come check on you. After what happened earlier."

"I'm fine." A lie, but he didn't press it.

"And Félicie?" He asked.

"Gone."

There was silence as he straightened. She refused to meet his eyes.

"Did you send her away?"

She didn't answer, and it was as good as a confession.

"Why?" He asked in disbelief. "After everything that you've both worked for? After all that and you just, just abandon her? Just like that? You didn't have to do that, not to her."

She said nothing, just kept her mouth shut in a thin line.

"I don't know why I expected anything else." Mérante said, furious at her disregard for him, for Félicie. "You manage to push away everyone else, why would she be any different."

"You have no idea-" She said sharply, then stopped and took a deep breath. "Fine. You're right. I did push her away. I couldn't... I couldn't help her. It doesn't matter now. I wouldn't be able to care for her. I can barely care for myself, without my job, my home, I can't even-"

She stopped, as if realizing what she was saying.

"What?" Mérante asked.

"Nothing."

"Did Le Haut dismiss you? I told her- I specifically told her that if she dismissed you-"

"Don't." She said, cutting him off. "Just... stop. You couldn't protect me forever. You've already chosen Camille for the role. What's done is done."

"I had no choice." Mérante said, annoyed- whether at her or at himself he wasn't sure. "Not only was Félicie late, she couldn't even finish the audition. She didn't bother to train, or show the slightest indication that she gave a damn about her future as a dancer. How could I possibly allow her to stay? I had to choose Camille. Although to be honest after her performance this morning I'm already considering choosing another girl."

"Do what you want. But leave me out of it."

"I'm only trying to help." He bit out through gritted teeth. He'd forgotten how irritating she could be.

"You shouldn't be." She said with an angry, desperate twinge to her voice that he hated. "I betrayed you, the director, the ballet school. I knew Félicie was impersonating Camille Le Haut. I encouraged her, taught her, all the while knowing it was a lie. The last thing you should be doing is helping me. If anything, you should let me go. You know"

She stood before him, challenging him, daring him to cast her away. Of course she had a point, but now wasn't the time to acknowledge that.

"You knowI won't do that. After everything we've been through, you think I could just dismiss you like that!"

"We barely knew each other." She said. As soon as the words left her lips she shut her eyes and turned away.

If she had slapped him it would have stung less.

"Is that really what you think?" He said after a long moment. In the hollow silence he was faintly aware of the sound of rain pattering against the windows.

She shook her head, slow and weary. "It was a long time ago."

Still she refused to look at him.

"Maybe you're right." Mérante said, fighting back the hurt those words caused. "But it doesn't matter. I want to help, if you would only let me."

"Why? Why are you still trying to help? What is it? Just what do you want from me?" She demanded, anger and frustration and desperation coursing through her words.

"How- when have I ever asked anything of you? I am not- you know that's not why I am doing this. After everything, you would really accuse me of that?"

She flinched, a tiny flick of movement but enough for Mérante to stop, to step away, aware of how much he'd raised his voice.

"I didn't mean..."
"No, you're right. You never did ask anything of me." She said quietly, and it sounded like she actually believed it. But it was a lie and she knew it, he thought with a sharp stab of guilt.

"You're wrong." He said, not daring to even look at her. "There was... once. One time. The one time I asked something of you and... and that"

A stunning silence followed and he mentally swore at himself. What was he thinking? He knew better than to bring that up.

"Odette, I didn-"

"...What?" She said in a breathless whisper. The genuine, utter shock in her voice startled him. "Mérante, that... that wasn't-" She stopped mid-sentence, distracted by something behind him. He turned and saw a young dancer half-running to them.

"Pardon me, M. Mérante?" She said in a high, breathless voice, barely coming to a rest before rolling back on her heels. "M. Vaucorbeil asked that you go meet him in the Grand Escalier, if you please."

"Thank you." He said, his mind reeling to re-orient himself. "I'll be with him in a moment."

With her message delivered the little girl hurried off, leaving them alone in the grey-lit corridor. In the silence he turned back at Odette as she gazed out the high window as if seeing something far off in the distance, lost beneath the shadows of those dark clouds. Quite suddenly, she felt far away. An odd shudder ran through him as he thought that as she stood there, close enough to touch, she was out of his reach. Maybe it had always been that way, he'd just refused to see it.

"I should leave you to your work."

She nodded, a shaky sigh escaping her lips. As he stepped away he wondered, was he abandoning her? Again?

A sharp streak of white-gold caught his eye and he turned in time to see lightning crack over Montmartre in the distance through the gray rain. When he turned to catch one more glimpse of her, she was still staring out the window, almost in tears.

What had he done?

As he walked through the grand hallways of the theater, his mind churned and roiled like the dark clouds outside.

We barely knew each other...

Maybe there was some truth in it. Technically they had never been more than choreographer and dancer; teacher and student. Really, it had only been that short time, that one year.

It was a long time ago...

Had it been that long? They had been friends once, that much was true. Was he just clinging to old memories? Was Odette as he knew her, the bright, engaging, incredible dancer, the times they had shared... was it really all just in the past. Was he looking for someone who no longer existed?

His mind went to that flicker of light over Montmartre- they had once stood on that craggy hill years ago, back when they were happy. An old, sweet memory of a warm, spring day.

Maybe that's all that was left- memories.

If only he didn't have this ache in his heart...

~~~

I wrote this just after the movie came out and posted to Ao3, and honestly completely forgot to post it here until someone commented on my original Ballerina/Leap fic (Pas de Deux) and figured I'd toss this one up here as well.

If there's interest I might also add my fic about Felicie and Camille, whoo!