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the-scarlet-witch-22 · 2 years ago

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Chaconne: Part Twelve (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Word Count: 4.1K

Summary: As the fall season progresses, and as tensions rise, Y/N decides on what to do about her relationship with Agatha Harkness and goes to an audition for Natasha Romanov

Link: Here is a link to the Chaconne playlist I made on Spotify :) I’ve posted the pieces mentioned in this chapter (Vivaldi, Paganini, and Wieniawski) and add in other songs as well

A/N: Hello Chaconne readers! It’s been a minute. I hope you’re all doing well. I apologize for the delay in updating, life has been very busy but I am determined to finish the first arc of Chaconne. I wanted to do a quick little note to address a musician who is listed in the story. It was brought to my attention that some of you may think Hilary Hahn is a fictional person I made up but she is real! Please google her. I love her. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. We’re nearing the end! I think I’ve updated my tag list but if I left anyone off please remind me- I apologize if I did! As always thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave comments & my inbox is always open for messaging, it always makes my day to hear from y’all ❤️

Tag List: @anxiousgoldengirl @celasteria @danvers97 @imthedoctorlove @mcfriggingonagall @meowsaidmissy @scarletmeltstheice @shinkomiii @sxfwap @thestrangeundoing @upsidedowndanvers @venticalooks @vintagegoddess12 @thoroughly--confused @genderenvyeveryone @thewelshelk

Y/N POV

It had been twelve hours since the Times article had been published and you barely left your bedroom. A small part of you was aching to talk to Agatha, as you had grown accustomed to spending most of your waking hours in her presence. But those feelings of longing were outweighed by the heaviness you felt in your chest. You had so many questions, and you were unsure if getting answers would bring you out of this catatonic state.

Your brain replayed your last conversation with the conductor on a constant, agonizingly painful loop. It was pathetic really, but you couldn’t stop. Unfortunately those thoughts slowly transitioned to questioning every interaction you’d shared with Agatha and Wanda since starting your job. Every angry jab Agatha would throw in when the pianist was mentioned. How jealous she appeared whenever Wanda was in close proximity to you. All this time you had assumed the strange behavior was driven by her hatred of Wanda, and she didn’t want you associating with the pianist because of it. Now you were beginning to wonder if it was all some elaborate ruse to cover up an alleged affair.

Finally you couldn’t take your own self pity anymore; you needed to get out of your apartment. Fresh air would surely do you some good. Fall was in full swing in New York, and the cooler air sent a rush of adrenaline through your veins as you weaved through the crowds. You need to be somewhere calm to clear your head, which could be challenging while living in one of the busiest cities in the world. The most obvious choice would be to walk through Chelsea Market for coffee before taking a walk along the High Line. The mere thought of the park usually made you feel better, but instead you felt your chest ache at the memory of your most recent visit with Agatha.

Agatha throwing a fit as you insisted on taking the subway, and how you all but dragged her down the stairs of the station. Agatha, arrogant as ever, insisting on standing on the train and ultimately falling on your lap. Agatha holding your hand, intertwining your fingers as you strolled through The High Line. Agatha being carefree and the closest to happy you had ever seen. Agatha inviting you to her home. Agatha being domestic and cooking you dinner. Agatha humming under her breath, producing the most beautiful melody. Agatha watching you eat and admitting how much she enjoyed your company. Agatha, Agatha, Agatha. Always Agatha.

Your brain swirled with thoughts of the conductor until you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to go somewhere to sort out your feelings, and clearly The High Line was the last place you should visit. But still, you needed to be outdoors. Racking your brain, you thought of one place you hadn’t ventured to in a while. It was a bit of a trek to get there, but today you seemed to have nothing but time on your hands.

The subway was unusually quiet this morning, once again reminding you of your time on the train with Agatha. No, you thought quietly, you needed to stop. Attempting to distract yourself, you began sorting through your purse, yet as the train made its first stop your mind once again wandered to the conductor. How she scrunched her nose at your suggestion to sit down, and how hard it was for you to reign in your laughter when she fell on your lap. A smile played at your lips before you remembered your current situation, and felt a familiar tug at your heart. You missed her. How was that even possible? You had spent the majority of your life without Agatha Harkness, yet only after a few months in her presence she was all you could think of. Thankfully you reached your stop before you could remind yourself of the painful reason why the conductor was always on your mind.

Exiting the station, you enjoyed the cool breeze that left you feeling comfortable enough in your light coat. There was nothing quite like fall in New York City. The crimson and carnelian leaves rustling in the wind around you seemed to bring Vivaldi’s Autumn to life. While you always looked forward to fall and winter, your violin did not feel the same. You were already dreading the extra time it would take you to tune, as the colder weather could cause the stringed instrument to go flat.

Luckily this was perfect walking weather, and you could already feel your brain fog clearing as you reached your destination; The Met Cloisters. As a child you always enjoyed your family trips to The Met, but adored the rare trip to The Cloisters even more. Nestled in Fort Tryon Park, it felt as if you had traveled through time. The Met Cloisters housed relics from the Middle Ages and it was unlike anything you’d experienced.

As much as you adored strolling through the various galleries and admiring the medieval art, or taking a walk through one of the gardens, there was one spot you were longing to visit; The West Terrace. It was your hidden oasis, and was one of the only spots in New York that sometimes made you forget you were in such a crowded and occasionally overwhelming city. Situated on the hill, it overlooked the Hudson River and often provided you a quiet space for thinking. During the fall it was a brilliant swirl of gold and red hues, which produced a stunning backdrop. The terrace was relatively vacant at this time of day, and you were thankful for the peace and quiet. For the first time all week, you felt better.

Finally turning on your phone, your heart sank at the number of messages from Agatha. As upset as you were, you knew you needed to at least tell her you were okay. You sent a quick text back, and you considered calling her when a different notification caught your eye and almost caused you to drop your phone. You had received an email from Natasha Romanov asking if you were available to meet later this evening for an audition.

Natasha Romanov was perhaps the greatest violinist you had ever seen live…well besides Hilary Hahn. With the stature and grace of a ballerina, she made every flourish of her bow and run up and down the fingerboard look elegant. You had followed her since the start of her career, and she became more popular as the years went on. Soon, you had seen news of her headlining every major orchestra. You religiously watched any recording of her performances you could find and even followed her on Instagram. The chance to audition for Natasha Romanov was one in a million, and you couldn’t believe how lucky you were.

But were you ready for that pressure? Performing for Natasha Romanov was quite a step up from being Agatha’s assistant, and were you ready for it? Sighing, you realized you were wasting precious time and it was almost noon. You would need at least an hour to get back to your apartment, and would need an additional hour to practice and prepare. It wouldn’t hurt to meet with Natasha. Surely the worst thing that could happen would be being rejected from her group, and you could handle that. Replying to Natasha’s email, you hurriedly left the museum to get ready.

Which is how you found yourself standing in the doorway of Natasha’s studio. Natasha Romanov was even more breathtaking in person. Her red hair was pulled back in a braid, and she was rehearsing what sounded like one of Paganini’s 24 Caprices. You watched her perform, eyes closed as she let her fingers guide her through the passages. It took you a moment to clock it as No. 4 in C Minor. While you often struggled to hit every double stop accurately and have your notes be in tune, Natasha made it look as easy as breathing. She moved from passage to passage with such ease and unwavering stamina, never relenting in intensity.

She eventually noticed you hovering in the doorway and stopped practicing. “Y/N?” Natasha asked, and you paused for a moment before nodding.

Natasha approached you and held out her hand, and you shook it and offered her a small smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Romanov, thank you for this audition.”

“Well Wanda’s told me a lot about you,” Natasha continued as you fidgeted with your violin case as you unpacked, putting a generous amount of rosin on your bow. “She seems to feel you have too much talent to be wasting away as someone’s assistant.”

Despite your conflicted feelings regarding Agatha, you still felt anger at the violinist’s words. “I’m not wasting away, and I happen to love my job.”

“Yet you wanted to meet me,” Natasha pointed out. “Which must mean some part of you is considering a change in careers.”

“I guess I might be reconsidering a few things,” you admitted, and felt a small pang of guilt at the admission.

Natasha let out a low hum. “You’re a violinist, Y/N, not someone’s secretary. There’s no shame in wanting to perform, is there?”

Despite the churning in your stomach, you knew Natasha had a point. This is what you’d dreamed for as long as you could remember; to be on stage with your violin. For all of the hours you chose to practice instead of going out with your friends. The strenuous lessons with passive aggressive professors that made you want to bash your head against a wall. Countless hours spent crying in practicing rooms after lessons with said professors. Recital preparation that required your undivided attention as you attempted to memorize and perfect every last bar. You had sacrificed everything for this. This was the life of a musician. Nothing came before the music.

After taking a few moments to tune your strings, you remained silent, stewing in your thoughts. It appeared Natasha noticed a change in your attitude. “What have you prepared for me?”

The most obvious answer would be Chaconne. It would be the safer choice, as it was the primary piece you’d been working on with Agatha. But you’d recently started a new concerto, one you’d been dying to play for years; and it happened to be one you knew Natasha was fond of.

“The first movement of Wieniawski’s Violin Concerto No. 2.”

That appeared to capture Natasha’s attention, as you watched the violinist lean against the grand piano with a curious expression on her face. “Interesting choice. I last played that with the-”

“The LA Philharmonic last November,” you blurted out, and Natasha stared at you, perplexed. “I went to the concert. You were incredible.”

Natasha hummed again, before nodding. “Thank you. It’s a rigorous piece, are you sure you can handle it?”

Normally you would have let your inner voice chime in with your unrelenting self-doubt, but you were reminded of a particularly grueling lesson with Agatha. There were three things Agatha loathed (in no particular order); Wanda Maximoff (although you wondered how true that was), TikTok, and cowardice.

It was a rather late evening in the symphony hall, and Agatha had just finished attempting to fix the way you held your bow, bringing up the importance of how to curve your fingers just so. Unfortunately, each time the conductor did this, she was standing right behind you, one hand on your waist, the other on the hand holding your bow. You swore she moved closer with every word of the dangers of holding the bow with an unbent thumb, and your brain practically short circuited as she whispered in your ear to “relax.”

As soon as she stepped back, you could all but feel her burning gaze, thankful she wasn’t able to see the burning in your cheeks. Clapping her hands together, she went to leave the stage in her usual flourish. “Now, dear, just as we practiced. When you position your bow on the string keep your posture relaxed enough to ensure your bow hand fingers will be able to bend,” Agatha instructed, and you nodded. You could do that, right?

Gently raising your violin to rest on your shoulder, you rolled your shoulders back and placed your bow on the string. Taking a quick glance at your bow hand, you internally panicked as you felt yourself tense up. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and tried to relax, just as Agatha had whispered in your ear mere moments ago. But the more you urged yourself to relax, you became more tense. Finally you shook your head and placed your violin under your arm as you looked out to Agatha.

“I can’t do it.”

The conductor sat in the front row, hands folded neatly and legs crossed. There was a curious expression on her face, not quite annoyed but not amused either. She stared at you for a bit of time, the silence growing through the vastly empty hall until she let out a low hum.

“Then get out,” she said simply, motioning to the door. “And come back when you’re ready to work.”

Giving her an incredulous look, you shook your head again. “But I am working. I’m doing everything you’re telling me, and I’m telling you that I can’t do this.”

You had struggled with your bow hold for as long as you could remember. Various teachers had fixed it to their liking, and unfortunately different teachers had different methods they swore by. Your undergraduate professor thought you to be an anomaly. He couldn’t fathom how you were able to keep your left hand relaxed enough to move up and down the fingerboard with ease, but struggled to keep your bow hand relaxed.

“There’s a difference between being unable to do something and being afraid to do it,” Agatha remarked. The same curious expression was on her face, but this time she made no attempt to join you on stage. “What are you afraid of?”

Her question was slightly probing, and it caught you off guard, yet you replied without even thinking. “Failure.”

“Then don’t fail,” Agatha countered, finally standing up. The click-clacking of her heels echoed throughout the hall as she walked onstage, standing across from you. “If this is what you want, you need to tune out any sense of self doubt. Out of all those people that will fill those seats,” she motioned to the empty hall in front of you, “there is going to be one person holding their breath, thinking that you’ll find a way to fuck up. Don’t let that person be you.”

Agatha wasn’t a very open person, but her words seemed oddly personal, causing you to wonder if she told herself the same thing before performances. It seemed the conductor realized she was being too vulnerable as she cleared her throat. “From the top.”

Coming back to reality, you shrugged as you fixed your shoulder rest. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

That earned you a smirk. “Well I see you’ve certainly spent enough time with Harkness.” Taking a seat at the table, Natasha nodded towards you. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Wieniawski’s concertos have always been a favorite of yours. As with most pieces composed during the romantic era, there were many lush and colorful passages, starting with the opening theme from the orchestra complete with thick cords and furious runs. Wieniawski’s Concerto No. 2 in D Minor was no different. The opening was around 2 minutes long before you came in. However since you were playing unaccompanied, you mentally hummed the last few bars the orchestra played before your entrance.

The main theme reminded you of the sweetest pain you could experience. It was the sort of yearning you felt when you had a broken heart. The swirling and moody passages went from fast runs up and down the fingerboard to sweet melodies as your violin sang its grief. Playing Wieniawski wasn’t for the faint of heart, as the late composer was considered to be one of the greatest violin virtuosos of all time. The first movement was filled with difficult double stops, arpeggios, and chromatic glissandos that left your fingers all but aching by the end.

Just as you finished a particularly challenging passage complete with double stops, Natasha raised a hand to stop you. “I’ll be in touch in a few days,” Natasha offered, and you had heard that line enough times to know what it meant. It was usually followed by a polite but curt email informing you they decided to ‘go in a different direction.’

Thanking the violinist, you left the studio with a clear destination in your mind. It was late, and you knew the smart choice would be to go home and sleep. But you never made the best decisions. Which is how you ended up on Agatha’s doorstep, violin case still in hand. After debating on whether to ring the doorbell or just go home, you decided you were being ridiculous and rang the doorbell.

A few moments later the door opened to reveal Agatha looking more exhausted than you’d ever seen. The dark circles under her eyes made you silently wonder if the conductor had gotten any sleep. You waited for something, anything. For her to yell at you for completely ignoring all her calls and messages. Or for her to slam the door in your face. Yet instead you got… nothing. Only Agatha staring at you as if she had seen a ghost.

You broke the awkward silence first. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late. I probably should’ve called.”

The conductor remained silent, and you wondered if you made the right choice in coming by unannounced. “Agatha…” Trailing off, you tried to find the right words to say. You knew you had needed the time to gather your thoughts, to know what you wanted to ask her. But somehow seeing her standing in front of you, looking as though she thought she’d never see you again, words failed you.

Clearing her throat, the conductor looked you up and down with a disapproving glance. “You look freezing, Y/N. Why aren’t you wearing a coat?” Gently reaching for your arm, she coaxed you inside, and you felt shivers from her touch. “You’re going to catch a cold, you need to be more careful.”

You were barely aware of anything else besides Agatha’s arm wrapped around your shoulders as she led you to her sitting room. She was quietly mumbling to herself, but you weren’t focusing enough to hear what she was saying. Motioning for you to sit on the couch she grabbed a blanket to wrap around you.

Señor Scratchy was on the armchair across from you, and Agatha gently picked him up, stroking his fur. “Would you like some tea?”

Feeling your stomach doing flip flops, you figured drinking anything might not be the best idea. “I’m alright, thank you.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as Agatha took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, still holding Señor Scratchy. Despite the conductor being closer to you in what felt like days, you felt further apart from her than ever. There was so much you wanted to say, but you didn’t know where to begin.

Agatha appeared to be lost as well. She was more stoic than you ever remembered her being, and you wondered if the backlash from the article was making its way around the board; more specifically if Hayward was trying to cause problems. As hard as you tried to read the conductor it appeared she put every wall you managed to knock down back up, essentially locking you out.

“I’m sorry for running out yesterday,” You said quietly, trying to get Agatha to look at you. “I should’ve stayed and let you explain. I didn’t know what to do.”

The conductor let out a low hum, as she appeared to be gathering her thoughts. “I can’t say I blame you.” Agatha finally looked up, and met your eyes. “I was hoping to tell you before the article was published but there was no time.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at her words. “You knew they were releasing it?”

“Only the night before,” Agatha explained gently, and you wondered if she was speaking this calmly for you or herself. “That's why I canceled the rehearsal. I have a friend who’s a reporter at The Times and they gave me a heads up.” She scoffed. “Although I’m not sure how much of a heads up it really was.”

“So you left to try and kill the story?” You guessed, realizing that explained the conductor’s strange behavior that night.

Agatha nodded. “As you can see I was quite unsuccessful.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry for not warning you.”

You wanted to say it was okay, and while you understood she had to have been under a tremendous amount of stress, you still had a few unanswered questions. “So it’s true?”

Agatha chuckled, and you wondered if you should’ve stayed quiet. “It’s true, but I haven’t talked to Wanda, much less seen her since Greece.” She noticed your downcast expression and sighed. “Y/N, it’s not what you think.”

You scoffed, attempting to stay calm. “So you didn’t have an affair with Wanda?”

Agatha arched an eyebrow at your tone, but continued on. “It was an indiscretion, and a mistake I believe I will regret for the rest of my life.” You stayed silent, stewing over her words, so she kept going. “It was over at the end of that summer. Wanda broke it off, and that’s that.”

“That’s that?” You asked quietly. “So you don’t…” trailing off, you quickly decided you didn’t want to know the answer to the question you were most worried about.

Agatha gently set Señor Scratchy down next to her before turning to look at you. “You have nothing to worry about, Y/N. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but there is absolutely nothing there.”

“You’re sure?”

“Wanda is incredibly infuriating and I am looking forward to being done with this concert series.” Agatha said, reaching across to grab your hand. “Do you trust me?”

That was an excellent question. Did you trust Agatha? On the outside the conductor appeared moody and stand-offish to the world. She had incredibly high standards, and was extremely demanding. You watched her make people cry in every MSO rehearsal, and had sent countless interns running for the hills. On paper Agatha should be the last person you trust.

But then there was the Agatha you knew. The brooding conductor who made sure you ate when you were stressed, and offered you rides home when leaving work too late. Agatha pushing you against the piano and kissing you. Agatha making you dinner and showing you her home. Agatha who made your insides feel like they were being filled with rays of sunshine every time she looked at you. You trusted Agatha. You loved her.

“I trust you,” you confirmed. “No more secrets?”

Agatha smirked. “What’s life without secrets darling?”

You wondered if you should bring up the audition you had with Natasha, when the beeping of your phone grabbed your attention, and you excused yourself as Agatha went to make tea. Going through your voicemail, you had one message from a number you didn’t recognize.

“Y/N, sorry to be calling so late. I know I said you’d hear from me in a few days, but I don’t see any point in delaying this. I want you to join my group in Vienna. I’ll have an official offer sent over in the morning. Take a few days to think it over.” There was a pause before Natasha added: “But this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Let me know whatever you decide.”

“Y/N?” Agatha’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Have you eaten anything?”

Unfortunately you barely registered Agatha’s question as you replayed the voicemail; making sure you heard Natasha correctly. You made it in. You did it. The happiness and joy you felt was quickly replaced by looming dread. What were you going to tell Agatha?

“Y/N?” Agatha’s voice was growing closer. “Is everything alright?”

Agatha’s eyes searched yours, and you nodded, placing your phone in your back pocket. “Yeah, everything’s great.”

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha wandavision #agatha harkness x you #wandavision au #agatha harkness fanfiction #marvel au #Spotify

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