Notes: Happy (belated, now) birthday, Sunny (rowenaravenklaw) who requested an orchestra AU! I hope you enjoy it! And many, many thanks to the wonderful, patient Ella (emma-said-i-love-you) for beta-ing the story for me.

Required listening: The concerto featured in this story is Khachaturian's concerto for violin/flute, specifically the third movement. It's a hoot, even if you're not into classical music.

For people who aren't classical musicians: There's a link on my blog to a (brief) reference post with some info about concerto competitions that you might find helpful. There's also a link to the concerto!

"He's such a drama queen," Tink said under her breath as Killian Jones, Concertmaster Extraordinaire, swaggered his way into the rehearsal hall.

"I've never had to give that many additional As during a concert before," Mary Margaret said irritably, referring to the winter concert last month, and the last time the orchestra had met before winter break. Emma nodded, remembering how embarrassed Mr. Gold, their conductor, had been. The strings hadn't been that out of tune, and asking for additional As had made the orchestra look unprepared and unprofessional.

"At least you're not in the string section," Tink said bitterly. "He's even bossier with the rest of us."

"It's true," Robin said wearily; as Killian's standmate, it was a miracle he didn't complain more. "But after a while, you just sort of tune him out. He's full of hot air. Should have considered putting that particular talent of his to good work as a trumpet player."

"Hey!" Leroy, first chair of the trumpet section, had been within earshot.

"Sorry, Leroy."

"Yeah, you'd better be," he muttered, before grabbing his case and stomping into the hall.

"Guess we'd better head in," Emma said, picking up her bag as well.

She took her place in the flute section, next to Anton. "How was your week?" she asked as she set up her instrument stands and started piecing together her flute.

"It was all right. Same old. How was yours?"

"Same old," she replied with a smile. Flutists had a terrible, generally well-deserved reputation as overly competitive backstabbers, so it was refreshing to play with flutists like Anton who were relaxed and friendly. He got what it was all about: they were here to enjoy themselves and make music together. It didn't always have to be about perfection. Yes, they were one of the best youth orchestras in the country, and the majority of musicians in the group went on to Rice or Eastman or NEC or Julliard. But Emma could be talented and still have fun.

She was putting her piccolo together when Regina arrived. "Anton," she said curtly in greeting. "Swan."

"Hey, Regina," Emma replied.

"How was your week?" Anton asked.

"Fine. Got lots of practicing done. Gold's going to announce the winner of the concerto competition today."

Emma's heart sank. She'd auditioned for it on the recommendation of her teacher, Ingrid, who suggested that it might be a great way to challenge herself. She knew that she didn't stand a chance at winning, but her stomach still turned in anticipation. She'd spent several nights, lying awake in bed, trying in vain not to think about what it would feel like to win.

"Oh yeah." Anton turned to her. "Emma, didn't you audition for that?"

"Yeah," she said quickly before lifting up her picc to start warming up. Anton took the hint and engaged Regina in conversation until Ruby, the other first flutist, arrived and sat between them.

Soon enough, Gold arrived. His son Neal, reed already in his mouth, wormed his way back to the clarinet section, trying to disturb as few stands as he did so. He nodded at Emma as he passed her, by way of greeting, not wanting to interrupt his dad. She was glad that they were still on good terms after their break-up, even if Gold hadn't gotten the memo.

"Good morning, all," Gold said. His tone was impossible to interpret from the short sentence, which meant that either he was in a great mood and rehearsal would be enjoyable, or that he was in a terrible mood, and god help anyone who made any obvious mistakes. It was one of the downsides to playing piccolo; if she messed up, there was no way to hide.

"I'm sure you're all very interested in the results of this year's concerto competition," he said. "I was hoping to wait until the end of rehearsal to announce the winner, but since the music for it is involved and complex, we'll be handing out parts now so we can get started this very rehearsal. I know that means you'll be sight-reading, but since sight-reading was a component of all of your auditions for this illustrious orchestra, I assume that will not be an issue."

Crap. So, not a good mood. But at least she hadn't won, she reasoned. If they were getting started today, that meant the soloist had no time to prepare, and there were few people in the group that Gold might spring this sort of surprise on. Killian, of course, and probably Regina. But not her.

Gold's assistant conductor Archie began handing out the parts as Gold continued. "The piece we will be playing is by Aram Khachaturian, and I'm sure that most of you are familiar with his famed 'Sabre Dance' from the ballet Gayane. We will be performing a movement from his popular violin concerto." He looked toward the violin section. "Judging by the looks of astonishment and fear on your faces, I can see that most of you are familiar with the level of skill this piece requires of its soloist."

Emma let out a shaky sigh. She'd auditioned with the third movement of that concerto; the composer had allowed the piece to be transcribed for flute, and it was one of her favorite pieces of music. She shouldn't have been surprised that one of the violinists had auditioned with that concerto as well. She couldn't see the look on Killian Jones' face, but she would bet anything that he'd won. Of course he'd won. Smug bastard.

The sheet music had reached her section, but Regina was flipping through the pages, confused. She turned to Ruby, Anton, and Emma and shrugged. "What?" Emma mouthed, but whatever was wrong, it was too difficult for Regina to mime an answer. It would have to wait until Gold was done speaking. Regina shook her head, took her part off the top of the stack, and whispered something to Ruby, who whispered something to Anton, who whispered to Emma: "There are only three sets of music."

Huh?

Typically, there were two or three parts for their section: first flute, second flute, and occasionally piccolo. If there were two parts, it was easy to double up: Ruby joined Regina on first flute, and Emma joined Anton on second, sitting out if the dynamic was less than mezzoforte, or if there was a solo. If there was a piccolo part, that was Emma's duty, and Ruby would double either first or second depending on where she was needed for balance.

Regina held up her stack of music for first flute and pointed at herself. She then picked up another stack and pointed to Ruby before handing it to her. The final stack, though, she shrugged and passed it to Anton. It was the piccolo part, but at the top was written, in Archie's nearly illegible scrawl: ANTON.

Why would Anton have the piccolo part? And where was her part?

Gold continued, inadvertently answering her questions. "What many of you do not know, though, is that in the nineteen-sixties, Jean-Pierre Rampal, one of the world's greatest and most celebrated flautists, asked Khachaturian to write a flute concerto. The composer declined, but gave Rampal permission to transcribe the violin concerto for flute. The resulting concerto is even more challenging than the original, given the fact that the music was written for an instrument that did not require pauses for breathing."

In an instant, everything shifted. Killian Jones turned to face the flute section in horror.

"And so, let us congratulate Ms Emma Swan, who will be performing the third movement of this demanding but beautiful concerto, in our spring concert."

She was so stunned that she barely registered the fact that the clapping and cheering from the wind section was genuinely enthusiastic. She'd won? How?

Oh shit. She'd won. In four months, she was going to have to perform a ten minute movement from the most difficult concerto she'd ever played in her life, and she was going to have to do it from memory in front of an audience.

And judging from some of the glares she was getting, she knew that there were going to be people in the orchestra who would be experiencing some serious schadenfreude every time she made a mistake.

Especially the concertmaster, whose glare was particularly piercing. Shit.

Killian knew that rocking the proverbial boat with Gold was typically a mistake. The man preferred his orchestra to operate as smoothly as possible without him having to intervene. But it wasn't just that the concerto competition would be an invaluable addition to his conservatory applications.

He didn't know the winner—Emma Swan—very well, but she was the piccolo player. Not only did that mean that he could always hear every little mistake she made (and she made plenty!), but it also meant that she was not the most talented flutist in the ensemble. Losing to the principal flutist, Regina Mills, would have been one thing. But that wasn't what happened.

He, Killian Jones, Concertmaster Extraordinaire, had been bested by the piccolo player. And she had auditioned with the same piece of music he had. The same movement, even!

Gold didn't even bother looking up from his scores as Killian approached. "I'm not sure what you hope to gain from this interaction, Mr Jones."

"She's the piccolo player," Killian stressed. "If you'd picked Regina, maybe I could understand."

"Ms Mills played very well in her audition," Gold commented. "Ms Swan played just as well. But given the level of difficulty inherent in the piece she selected, her performance was more impressive." He glanced up at Killian, his expression slightly mirthful. "I don't need to tell you how difficult that particular movement is."

"Then I have to wonder if there was any way I could have played that particular movement more perfectly," Killian said, clenching his fists. "You have to understand why I might be a little offended."

"Mr Jones, you played the movement very well." Gold was losing his patience. "But so did she. And, as I'm sure you recall from your audition a few weeks ago, I was not the only judge in the room. Perhaps I should direct you to the other faculty members who chose Ms Swan, and you can whinge all you'd like at them."

"But this just isn't fair. She didn't even play well today!"

"I was disappointed in her performance today, yes," Gold agreed. "But unlike previous winners, she was not made aware of her win in advance and had no time to prepare."

"I would have been prepared."

"And if she fails to prepare adequately for future rehearsals, then perhaps I will reconsider who will be performing in May," Gold said firmly.

It took a moment for the comment to register. "I'm not sure I understand, sir."

Gold closed his scores and began fitting them into his briefcase. "I can trust that this conversation will remain between us?"

"Of course, sir."

"Very good. Then perhaps it wouldn't be unprofessional of me to inform you that the other two judges were quite taken with Ms Swan, and their only question was whether to award the victory to her, or to the guest pianist who had auditioned with Rhapsody in Blue. Rather than argue with them to try to sway them towards a more … deserving musician, it occurred to me that I might be able to take advantage of the fact that Ms Swan was not the only student to prepare the piece of music she'd selected."

He finished putting away his baton and writing utensils, and then met Killian's gaze purposefully. "That is to say, Mr Jones, that selecting Ms Swan as our soloist means that, if she is unable to perform to my satisfaction, I have the ability to replace her as soloist without requiring the ensemble to learn a new piece of music. Do you understand what I'm saying, Mr Jones?"

Killian nodded, his hands relaxing and heart thumping. "I understand, sir."

"Good. Now I'm leaving." He threw on his coat, grabbed his belongings, and began to exit the otherwise empty rehearsal hall before turning around. "Oh, and Mr Jones?"

"Sir?"

"Don't ever come whining to me ever again."

He wouldn't need to.

All he'd need to do was get into this flutist's head. And when he did, he'd be the one standing up at the front of the stage, playing that movement the way it was meant to be played. The question was: how would he go about doing it?

It was easier with other string players, because he had to admit, he didn't know the first thing about flute playing. It would be difficult to intimidate her musically if they played entirely different instruments.

But the fact that they were both intimately familiar with the concerto was definitely an advantage.

He got his opportunity the following week, as rehearsal ended. She had played reasonably well when they'd rehearsed the concerto, her mistakes seemingly due to nerves, but they had been rehearsing an easier portion of the movement. He got his chance immediately as rehearsal ended, before she could make her way back to her seat (the last flute seat … really, how had he lost to her?).

"Excuse me," he said quickly, grabbing her arm. "Swan, right?"

"Uh, yeah?" She seemed anxious rather than irritated.

"I'm Killian Jones."

"I know."

Of course she knew. He smiled. "I didn't get a chance to formally congratulate you," he said, infusing his words with as much sincerity as he could. "This is an incredibly difficult piece of music, so well done, love."

"Thanks."

The lass wasn't terribly effusive, was she? "I was thinking, it might be a tad easier for me to whip these lads and lasses into shape if I had a better idea of what to expect from you," he continued, referring to the responsibilities he had with the rest of the violin section. "That is, I think I could do my job as concertmaster better if perhaps you and I worked together a bit."

"I don't know," she said. "I'm not exactly swimming in free time."

"Neither am I," he replied truthfully. "But, you see, I also auditioned for the competition with this piece." She stiffened, but she didn't seem surprised; had someone told her? Or had she guessed? "And since I'm so familiar with it on the instrument for which it was originally intended, I might be able to give you some pointers and tips if we worked together."

She seemed to be considering the offer. "That might be helpful. My teacher hadn't even heard of the piece before I brought it to her, so I've been kind of coming at this completely blind. But when and where would we even do this?"

"Are you free before rehearsal perhaps?"

"I guess. I have my weekly flute lesson at nine, and I usually eat lunch and do homework before rehearsal."

It wouldn't be ideal. He typically arrived at ten and practiced until noon rehearsal. He'd have to arrive early to make up for it, which wasn't a very attractive option. But the reward? It would be worth it. "Why don't we grab lunch after your lesson, and then we can take over a practice room till rehearsal?"

"I have a lot of homework," she said, and his spirits dropped. He hated to suggest working together after rehearsal, but it seemed to be the only option. But before he could say so, she spoke up. "But I guess maybe we could give it a try. Trial basis. If I fall too behind in my schoolwork, though, I'll have to call it quits."

"I'm sure it won't be a problem." He grinned. "I'll see you next Saturday, Swan."

Now, all he needed to do was figure out the first plan of attack.

I hope the story is enjoyable so far! I'd love to know what you think!