Musician!Steve/Opera diva!Tony
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“Everything good over here?”
Steve looked up from fiddling with his oboe, reed clamped between his lips as he disassembled the instrument, and nodded to conductor Fury. It was his first season at the Metropolitan Opera, having somehow ace’d the audition when the previous Principal oboe player retired due to a torn rotator cuff, and he was still trying to get used to the eclectic mixture of musicians that now surrounded him as co-workers.
The tall man gave him a once over with his single eye before nodding in understanding. “I know that the Met is a little...different from other orchestras,” Fury began, lifting his gaze to the stage behind the musicians, watching a set being modified for Carmen directly next to the whimsical chandelier being raised for The Merry Widow, “But we work damn hard to make sure the singers sound good and that the music sounds even better.”
Nearby, Steve could hear the squawk of Clint Barton, solo harpist for this practice, failing in his attempts to woo concertmaster Coulson.
Fury sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose, ignoring his second in command as he tried to stab the other musician with his bow. “At least, during rehearsals and performances, we have the best music.” They both chose to ignore Barton’s whimpers from nearby or the soft chuckles that were coming from the redhead who was closing her miniscule piccolo case. “Afterwards, when you all scamper the moment the union says you can, I can wash my hands of you disasters until the next rehersal.”
Steve was about to ask what Fury exactly meant by his turn of phrase, famous orchestras weren't often called 'disasters' by their conductors so early in the season, but the man was already stomping off to the violin section towards an unsuspecting Billy Kaplan, a second violin hired around the same time as Steve, who had the bad habit of not following the bow strokes of everyone around him.
Fumbling with his reed as he placed the top half of his instrument snugly into its lined case, Steve bit back a curse when everything almost fell onto the floor. Carefully gripping the cork end and making sure there wasn’t any damage and that he hadn’t nicked the cane by accident, he slid the redd into the small storage case and then looked up into a pair of massive thighs. He had only been practicing with the full orchestra for a couple months, and thus didn’t know everyone On the roster, but the timpani player was very difficult to miss.
“Oh, uh, hey, Thor,” He said, closing his case and looking for his nearby backpack to shove it in. Since this was a normal rehearsal he didn’t have to worry about rumpling his suit and could go for the more casual backpack instead of modified briefcase. “What’s going on?”
The blinding smile sent his way floored Steve. “Good Steven,” Thor began, catching the attention of some musicians still loitering nearby, “It would be my greatest honor to invite you to join my companions and I on a journey to obtain sustenance?”
Well, you couldn’t say no to a request like that. Once Steve figured out what exactly the other blond was asking.
Which is how Steve found himself at Big Nick’s a couple blocks up, wedged into a booth with people from other sections, eating sub-par food at 2am on a Sunday night, and listening to orchestra gossip (which everyone knows is the best gossip).
“Oh, oh! You’ll love this!” Natasha gave a feral grin from behind her beer, taking a quick sip before continuing, “I heard Stark is coming back.”
The table, which had been filled with boisterous laughter and fart noises only seconds before, faded to a disturbing quiet. Steve squirmed from where he was pressed against the wall by Carol Danvers, an extremely talented english horn player, and shot a confused look at Thor who was gleefully bouncing across from him.
“Ah! It seems like our new friend doesn’t know about the delights about to rain onto our fine opera house this coming season!”
Everyone laughed as if they had just heard the greatest joke but Steve was still missing the punchline.
“Tony’s great; awesome tenor. It’s just that sometimes he’s a little bit of a loose cannon.” Clint said, scarfing down another piece of pizza and avoiding Natasha’s elbow in his side by almost straddling Thor.
Jessica Drew, not to be confused with Jessica Jones who also played clarinet but who was always leaving rehearsal barely after the last note to take care of her baby, gushed, “The man sings beautifully, oh my god, you should hear his Lensky, but Tony Stark is what Fury like to call a ticking time bomb.” Her fingers plucked at her long, dark hair, twisting it absentmindedly into a loose braid. “I mean, he once sang completely drunk while on stage, and the audience loved it! Unnecessary grace notes everywhere! EVERYWHERE. And his notes were running worse than a kid’s nose during flu season! It's one of the reasons he was politely 'asked' to skip last season to the horror of the subscribers.”
Steve looked across Carol as Peter, the sole bass clarinet in the orchestra who sometimes shared a stand with one of the Jessicas, chimed in to continue the story when Jessica took a bite of her salad, gleefully filling in the blanks, “We’re lucky that Pepper-uh, you probably know her as the famous Ms. Virginia Potts, stepped up her game that night and covered his butt with her own coloratura, but Fury was so angry with the other conductor for letting Stark steal the stage like that. It’s the first time I ever saw the vein in Fury’s forehead almost pop! I was so sure it was going to!” Peter hissed, his hands clenching frantically at the empty air in front of him.
“Stark’s gonna be heartbroken when he finds out you’re taking over for Yinsen,” Clint gestured at Steve with his drink, “I’ve heard from some of the guys in Europe that Stark has been acting like the man has died, even though he’ll technically be back to playing oboe in around a year. Might even be fighting Steve for his old position again,” he said while flailing his arm across the table at Steve.
Natasha shrugged, searching for her purse to settle the bill that just landed on the table, “He’ll be your problem in a little bit. We’ll make sure to keep you up to date on his movements so you aren’t surprised.”
“What does that mean?” Steve said as he looked over from watching Peter layering two slices of pizza to eat as one mega-slice, blinking in confusion when he noticed nobody was currently paying attention to him.
Carol sighed, “Well, Steve, Stark likes having a lot of private practices. Actually needs them due to his crazy schedule teaching master courses and trying to juggle that with his other responsibilities. Since it kept him out of Fury’s nonexistent hair, and Yinsen actually liked the man for some reason, the oboe was volunteered for the special honor of helping Tony Stark practice his scales and work on his pacing, the man is always rushing his arpeggios.”
Steve sighed, already regretting leaving his nice position at the Eastman Opera orchestra, “So, what exactly does that mean for me?”
“It means you get to be locked in a room with Tony Stark, lovable fool of the opera, and try to keep him entertained for a couple hours twice a week if he’s not performing.”
“And how do I do that?”
Carol shrugged, “Either bring your oboe and go over his arias, making sure he knows his shit, which he totally will, or show up with no shirt. Either way, try to keep him in the room and sober so he won’t stumble onto stage until the dress rehearsal with the right cast.”
“I vote for the no shirt.” Jessica said, smiling at Steve’s dumbfounded expression as she shoved a steak fry into her mouth. “It’ll at least keep the rest of the orchestra entertained when he swans in.”
“This is going to be a disaster.” Steve moaned, slumping on the sticky tabletop.
“This is going to be great.” Clint crowed.
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