Warning:This is a seriously idiotic idea for a fic. I realize this, but I just couldn’t bleedin’ help myself after seeing Willow in her Butterfly outfit. I come from opera-geek infested roots, what can I say? But again: It’s a totally naff idea. You have been warned
Title: Butterfly
Author: Reallybigpineapple (spongebathmoose@yahoo.co.uk)
Distribution: Yeah, really likely… But, sure, whatever.
Rating: NC-17, baby… Smut is queen. I’m really sorry about all that pesky plot that comes before the smut. I honestly didn’t mean to, it just happened. I apologize… But fear not! There shall be smut eventually!
Disclaimer: BtVS belongs to the Evil Angst Monster that took possession of the person formerly known as Joss Whedon, making him our own Mutant Enemy, somewhere during the hiatus between season five and season sux. Actually, I think it should be a criminal offence to have Amber Benson under contract and then do you-know-what. What one should do with Benson/Hannigan under contract? Four words: Constant Gratuitous Nude Scene… I’m ready to go to court on that, so sue me. Make my day. I have nothing to declare, not even a genius.
Summary: AU with bells on. No monsters, unless you count humans…
The Scoobies are famous or semi-famous international opera singers at the Royal Opera House in London. I know, stupid-arse idea…
Notes: It’s set in London simply because I know what it looks like there and I enjoy authenticity. The Royal Opera House is my old haunt, so I felt comfy, yah know?
If you’re wondering why the hell some of the characters are no longer American, the simple explanation is that it wouldn’t be realistic. At an international opera house you will at any given moment have at least fifteen different nationalities, so some of the Scoobies are from other countries, but will hopefully still be the same. Tara is Scottish simply because Amber can do a fairly credible Scottish accent. The characters are somewhat older than in the series, say 25 and above? Otherwise they wouldn’t be where they are career wise, since it takes a hell of a long time to learn to sing. They also curse and drink alcohol more frequently than in the series. I think they might if they were older and lived somewhere else than Sunnydale, but maybe that’s just me… Anyways, just so you know.
There will be angst. I didn’t think there would be, but that also just happened. Huge surprise, but it turns out that angst is quite fun to write. Sorry about that. Since I am not the Evil Angst Monster there will also be a revoltingly, diabetes-inducingly happy ending. Apart from our favourite girls, the other pairings will be X/A and B/S. The latter because my lovely friend and Spuffy-maniac Evil Olive would simply drink my blood if I didn’t include it. They won’t steal much time form W/T, I promise. Sorry about all the fluff as well.
Notes 2: This is the first thing like this I’ve written. No need to be gentle, but if you thought it sucked, I’d really love to know why. Feedback would be great. If you like it, there are more chapters. English is not my first language, so feel free to bitch about grammar and such, I’d love to get better.





Butterfly

– Why, why, WHY did I agree to do this STUPID OPERA!? Didn’t exactly have your “Bright Ideas”-hat on when you signed this contract, did you?
Willow Rosenberg was muttering to herself under her breath, sitting in a taxi headed for The Royal Opera House. Despite the comet-like nature of her career and her sudden fame as a consequence, she was nervous as if she were on her way to her first audition.
Musically, she feared only one thing:
– Madame Goddamn Butterfly! She mumbled under her breath.
She had been a star at the Royal College of Music opera school. Her teachers had expected great things from her. At her graduation concert, she had done two of Butterfly’s arias, because everyone had thought that the role would be so great for Willow Rosenberg. Everyone except Willow Rosenberg, that was…
The rehearsals of the arias had gone badly, and she still remembered her sense of panic… The nights before the concert she had terrible nightmares about losing her voice in the middle of the first act aria Un bel di, vedremo
The first part of the concert went splendidly, if one didn’t count Willow’s extremely acidy stomach and feeling of impending doom. Rather like the one she had just now in fact… The second part seemed to go well up until Butterfly. To her own dismay, her voice did indeed crack slightly in the beginning and it was down hill from there. It wasn’t terrible, but it was definitely not good. Willow Rosenberg had never been able to handle doing anything badly, least of all when it came to music. The reviews all mentioned it. “A concert that could have been perfect”. That headline from Opera magazine still haunted her dreams…
She had vowed to herself that same day never to come near Madame Butterfly again. Unfortunately, her mentor, the great conductor Sir Rupert Giles, had other plans. During a dinner at his house many months ago, he had started to talk about Willow needing “a challenge”. Damn it, she never could say no to that man… Giles had originally been Buffy’s mentor and the man who had discovered her unusual talent, but he sort of “adopted” Willow gradually during their years at the Royal College of Music. She loved him to bits, and before the evening was over she had agreed to do the part. “You’re Willow Rosenberg! There’s no Puccini that you can’t manage, I refuse to believe it. You’ve done much more difficult things than that!” he had stated emphatically and Buffy and Sandro had agreed with him. So here she was, feeling like a musical deer caught in the headlights of an operatic lorry. The only light at the end of the tunnel was that she would get to work with the great mezzo soprano Diana Montague, who was “luxury cast” as Butterfly’s servant, Suzuki.
– Please make me not embarrass myself in front of Montague! Willow thought for the umpteenth time.
The taxi arrived at the opera house.
– Time to face the music? The taxi driver punned annoyingly when Willow paid the fare.
The man might have been the only remaining cockney cab driver in London and had done his best to talk her head to pieces for the first part of the journey.
– God, do I need mocha. Or maybe a large gin and tonic to num the pain… she thought to herself as she waved and flashed a smile at the security guard at the entrance to the stage door.
She was just savouring her first sip of sugary caffeine goodness when the second variety of London accent of the day resounded behind her, accompanied by the slight creaking of leather.
– Well, well, if it isn’t my Butterfly… How‘re ya doin’ Red?
– William Bloodsworth… Annoying as always, she answered tartly.
Bloodsworth was one of the most controversial producers in Europe and very trying to work with, since he demanded blood, sweat and tears and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was also sort of a genius and though Willow hated to admit it, she didn’t totally dislike working with him. Buffy did, though. She hated his guts. Willow smiled to herself. When Buffy hated something, or loved something, she did so with a vengeance.
– Love the little lilac number… he leered and wiggled his eyebrows.
– Thanks, she said spontaneously. She stopped to think.
– Actually, scratch that and stop staring! She said with equal parts annoyance and
amusement and pulled her fuzzy pink cardigan closer around her lilac top.

She made her way into the rehearsal room. The rest of the cast and crew sat gathered to listen to the run through of the production plans by the producer and set designer. On the walls there were pictures of the costume designs by Gloria van Neederwelt. Van Neederwelt was originally a fashion designer and sometimes seemed to have no idea at all that the singers actually had to both move and sing in her costumes. To her, the opera house was just a catwalk. Willow noted with contentment that her somewhat more glamorous and modern version of traditional Japanese garb looked quite nice on the sketched picture. Van Neederwelt’s costumes were often, well…kinda skanky, in her opinion.
– Seems you’re off the hook this time, costume wise… said a polished British voice behind her.
– Giles! She turned around and hugged her mentor; nearly causing him to drop the big leather bound score he carried under his arm.
– How could I let you talk me into doing this stupid part? she whispered only half jokingly into his ear.
– Now, now, Willow, it’s not stupid, he said with a slight note of reproach in his voice.
Music was never stupid, or to be taken lightly, to Rupert Giles.
– Is Montague here yet? Willow almost jumped with excitement at the prospect of meeting her.
– Eh…actually… Giles got an iffy look on his face. He put the score down and started to polish his glasses as a sure sign of discomfort.
– Giles… What…?
– Well, actually, erm, Montague has been taken ill and won’t be able to do the part… Giles looked down on his now undoubtedly clean glasses, but kept rubbing them with his handkerchief.
– Nooo… That was the light at the end of my tunnel, Giles, she whined, feeling her last chance to feel good about this project being put in an early grave.
– OK, spill the beans, who’s replacing her? Anyone I know?
– Probably not, actually… She’s from the Young Artists program at the Scottish Opera…
– Young Artists!? Oh, great, they replace Montague with a virtual amateur! Woohooo… Willow heard how bitter she sounded, but the disappointment was just overwhelming.
– The Scottish Opera is a great ensemble. They would hardly accept an “amateur” into their Young Artists program, Giles berated her.
– I suppose… Willow said glumly.
– Anyway, we shall all know this afternoon, when she arrives. She wasn’t notified until this morning, so she’ll be here as soon as she can.
With heavy steps Willow made her way to sit down for the run through. Strong arms enfolded her from behind and lifted her feet of the ground. A big smile formed on her face. Maybe the day was about to get better…
– Sandro! How have you been? Save me from my sucky day!
Willow exclaimed as she turned to hug her old friend, the Italian baritone Alessandro Harroni. The Italian was Willow’s best friend since they had been music undergraduates together. Pleased didn’t suffice to describe how she felt about him being in this production with her.
She knew she should be listening carefully to Bloodsworth’s explanation of his artistic visions (Bloodsworth was very large with his “visions”, usually focusing on sex and violence) for the production, but her thoughts kept wandering and her discomfort grew. When the glowering set designer Liam Brody had finished his glum analysis of the symbolic meaning of the cherry trees and the blood in the opera, Willow had no idea what he was on about. She felt relieved when lunchtime came.
– Let’s find Buffy and take her to lunch, she suggested.
They found her rehearsing the third act of “Die Walküre”, with the Swedish soprano Anja Johnsson. Brünnhilde was Buffy’s finest role. She made up for being so tiny with a formidable stage presence that made it no wonder that the dead heroes trembled at the sight of the warrior maiden. Anja played her sister Sieglinde. In the guise of Anja Johnsson, it seemed totally believable that this abused housewife would rebel against her violent husband and run off with a stranger after slipping her husband a mickey. She was a brilliant singer, but personally, Willow found the blunt and loud Swede extremely annoying. She and the baritone listened in silence as the gorgeous voices blended and rose to the ceiling. Willow closed her eyes and relaxed.
The singers finished and Buffy came and hugged her friends
– Can we NOT invite Anja to lunch? Willow whispered into her ear.
– It’s tempting, but since I’m trying to be a good colleague I probably should… Buffy whispered back
Lunch was uneventful, apart from Anja's tendency to swear loudly in several languages and flirting heavily with Sandro, who was equal parts flattered by the attention and terrified by her aggressive come on. Willow suspected that Anja would have her evil way with him, since she usually got what she wanted. Anja her self often attributed her eccentric behaviour to the difference in cultures, claming that the Swedes were more liberal and straight forward but Willow has always suspected that she just plain enjoyed acting outrageous.
– Swedish, yeah, right… More like just rude, she thought to herself as Anja loudly was telling an anecdote about getting drunk with Richard Wagner’s grandson Wolfgang during the Wagner-festival at Bayreuth and streaking her colleague Jane Eaglen outside her hotel room.
Buffy was her own perky and ungrammatical self, but Willow suspected it was mostly a façade. She had seen the harrowed look on Buffy’s face when she glanced at her ex-lover Liam Brody. The baggage she carried from that relationship still weighed heavily on Buffy’s shoulders, her friend was certain.
After returning to the opera house she was on her way towards her dressing room when she stopped dead in her tracks. Someone was singing. This was to be expected, of course, being in an opera house, but this voice… Someone was singing Mon Coeur s’ouvra a ta Voix from Samson and Dalila. It was a siren call.
She followed the sound to its source on instinct. Normally the main stage wouldn’t be used for early rehearsals, but the sound definitely came from there. She entered the theatre and positioned herself out of sight behind a pillar so she wouldn’t disturb. Willow closed her eyes and let the sound wash over her like a great wave.
She had heard many great voices in her life, but once in a blue moon there would be someone who took you further; who made you tremble and not being able to breathe. But this… This was possibly the most wonderful voice she had ever heard. The warm, lush sound that travelled towards her took physical form and caressed her skin, wearing velvet gloves. When the mezzo on the stage reached Dalila’s plea: respond to my tenderness, she felt the tears start running down her cheek. For a moment she forgot everything about her own fears. This woman sang Dalila's words completely unrestrained like the great seduction they were and, oh man, was she believable.
Pleasedontstopsingingpleasecontinuepleasedontstop her mind screamed when singer had finished the aria. Her heart sank when she realised that the deafening silence didn’t go away.
- My heart has opened up like a flower to your voice… Willow silently translated the opening lines of the aria in her head and sensed how true this was.
She made herself open her moist eyes and look up at the performer. Who was she? She had certainly never heard her before, because she would have remembered, she was sure.
Up on the big stage the “siren” looked small and childlike. Because of the confident, haunting sensuality of the voice she was thrown by the insecurity of the singer’s behaviour. She was picking nervously at the hem of her top and hiding half her face behind a curtain of brownish-blonde hair. Suddenly she looked up and seemingly gazed directly at Willow.
– Surely she can’t see me here behind this pillar? Willow thought in surprise, finding it inexplicably difficult to breathe.
– Well it shouldn’t matter anyway. With a voice like hers, she should just get used to eavesdroppers, she muttered to herself, slightly embarrassed.
– Eh, erm, that was very good, miss eh…
– M-Maclay, came the quiet answer from the stage.
– She has a stutter? She sings like that and she has a stutter?
Willow realised that it was Giles who had been listening in to the girl’s performance. She could tell from his sudden slight speech impediment and his body language that her mentor had loved the performance as much as she had. Giles always tried to conceal his passionate nature, but wasn’t particularly successful, in Willows opinion. She smiled fondly to herself.
– This will be a very good choice for the concert. Erm, thank you very much then, miss Maclay, and I’m looking forward to our rehearsals this afternoon.
– I’m really honoured to be working with you, Mr Giles, sir, came the subdued answer from the stage.
– Oh, call me Rupert…See you later then, erm…
– Tara. The blonde volunteered.
– Right, then, Tara it is… Giles hurried of and Willow ran after him and caught up.
– Giles! Giles, wait up! She caught the end of his sleeve, almost knocking him off his feet.
– Willow! Steady on. It’s not allowed to kill the conductor until after the performance, you know, he said in a slightly peeved tone of voice.
– Giles, that mezzo, you said this afternoon, is she in with us, what’s she doing? Please tell me I get to do it with her!
Giles looked at her dumbfounded. Willow realised that she had been babbling again, and apparently loosing all semblance of meaning.
She calmed herself and concentrated on breathing.
– OK, right, calm now; Giles, that mezzo who just sang Dalila, that was the most BEAUTIFUL voice I have ever heard, so please, PLEASE tell me that you said “see you this afternoon” because she’s rehearsing with us and that she’s my Suzuki?
Giles smiled softly.
– She was rather marvellous, wasn’t she? I must say I was a little apprehensive when I first met her that she would be entirely suited to sing Dalila at the benefit concert, but I’d say she was quite ideal, wouldn’t you? And the answer to your question is, yes, she is indeed our Suzuki, and I think we should consider ourselves lucky. Still think the Scottish Opera sent us an amateur?
– Oh, Giles, that’s so great! Willow bounced in her place as a great Cheshire cat-smile spread on her face.
– You can mock me all you want, because I was wrong, wrong, wrong! Willow did a little war dance.
– Eh, I don’t want to spoil your fun, but why are you here and not at your own rehearsal?
– Oh, CRAP!
She ran down the corridor acutely embarrassed. Willow Rosenberg was a person known for her punctuality. She was never, ever late. Ever. Now she would be, and she wasn’t even properly sung up. What would they think of her? Still, she couldn’t help the smile returning to her face as she raced to one of the smaller rehearsal rooms.
– She’s my Suzuki, she’s my Suzuki! The words repeated themselves in her brain as a mantra.
She almost hit the wall instead of the door from running too fast.
– Hey, where’s the fire? Sandro looked up as she rushed in.
– There must at least be a fire if the Wilster is late! Whoa, want us to hose you down? Sandro had managed to learn a large amount of sillyAmerican expressions from socialising with Buffy and Willow.
– Soo sorry I’m late! It won’t happen again, it really won’t! I was just sidetracked, which was really unprofessional, and I’m not usually this much of a spaz, I just heard this voice, and…
– Speaking of voices, Miss Rosenberg, would you like to start your rehearsal? The repetiteur said in rather a condescending voice.
Even though the pianist’s tone annoyed her, she sent a smile and a nod in the direction of Simon Keenlyside, who was playing the marriage broker Sharpless. They were rehearsing the scene where Sharpless tries to persuade Butterfly to marry prince Yamadori, who was played by Sandro. Sandro had always been so cavalier about practising and showing up at rehearsals that Willow feared he would never move beyond small supporting roles, despite his good voice. His lax attitude towards work was also the reason he had never made in into the opera school with her and Buffy. Buffy wasn’t exactly so large with the hard work either, but she made up for it with instinct and pure talent.
Willow walked up the piano and realised to her horror that aside from being late, she had also left her score in her dressing room. This day was quickly reverting to badness again. The insufferable repetiteur gave her an incredibly snooty look when she had to share a score with Sandro. The musical cold shower that was Butterfly poured over her, and she realised that the time had come to face her fears. The rehearsal didn’t exactly go badly, but, well, not exactly great either. She felt grumpy and restless.
After a short coffee break of twenty minutes, the schedule had the names Willow Rosenberg/ Tara Maclay written on it under the heading of “Music rehearsal”.
Willow stood outside the room chatting idly to Sandro and having her second mocha of the day. She hadn’t told Sandro about Tara’s audition earlier in the day or her own reaction to it. She didn’t know why, but she just had this instinctive feeling that she wanted to keep the experience to herself. She was also worried that Tara might not like her voice as much as she had liked the mezzo’s. She wasn’t at her best by any means today and the critics had made rather a fuss about her in earlier productions, so maybe she would have really high expectations and then think that Willow was overrated?
– Right, have to go… Sandro was also rehearsing for another production simultaneously, since he had quite a small part in Butterfly. She had a sudden flash of panic at being left alone with her “Butterfly phobia”.
– You’ll be fine, Will. You’re the talented one, you can do everything… Sandro gave her a brief hug and sauntered off down the corridor.
Willow went into the rehearsal rooms and opened her score to the right place to avoid getting the snippy from the repetiteur again. She started humming gently to get her voice going again. She decided she needed a glass of water and turned around to go out to the water fountain to get it. When she went out the door something walked right into her. Or someone, rather. Caught totally off her guard, she found herself sitting on the floor without a clue how she got there. She looked up into a pair of big blue eyes and a brow furrowed with worry.
– Oh, I-I’m such a total idiot; I’m so s-sorry, are you ok? Willow felt a wave of compassion towards the girl’s discomfort, even though being knocked of her feet wasn’t normally her favourite part of her day. She caught herself staring. Could this girl be the sultry seductress from before?
– Ok, still big with the surprises, today. She’s MY age. Yeah, because hello, YOUNG artist’s program, not OLD artist’s program, but still… No way she’s older than 25…
– Are you Tara Maclay? I’m Willow Rosenberg, she said out loud, stopping her inner monologue.
– I know… I was at your recital in Edinburgh in M-March. It was wonderful… I’m so looking forward to working with you, Tara said, hiding half of her face behind her hair like she had done when Willow saw her talking to Giles earlier.
Willow’s brain registered two things at the same time: Tara had a soft musical highland accent and she was very pretty. Or maybe pretty wasn’t exactly the word… Willow didn’t know what to call it, but she just knew that this girl was special, somehow. They looked at each other.
- How very blue her eyes are…
TBC

Ok, excellent. First of all, you obviously know alot about the subject matter of opera, which is A.) very cool and B.) incredibly helpful.

I am really going to enjoy this. The only suggestions I will make at this point is that you start framing your dialogue with quotation marks so that it appears like this:

"Hi, my name is Sam," she said.

Instead of this:

--Hi, my name is Sam...she said.

This will help for ease of reading. If you need help with the rules of punctuation, drop me a PM and I'll be glad to help as much as I can.

My other suggestion is that you break it up with paragraphs. Right now things are running together, and again, it makes for a difficult read. If you need help with paragraph structure, let me know.

Otherwise, I am loving this premise!

Cheers
DW

_________________
Check out some of my most popular works: Special ... Leave It to Giles ... The Inimitable Giles ... Giles at Christmas

Challenge Fics!: You Could Be Her ... Glasses ... Graffiti ... Pizza Day

Forbidden Fics?: Check out the Litterbox!

Oops, I made a mythtake... wt4ever

Great start to your fic! I love the Opera and you are lucky to know it so well. Good luck and keep em coming.

_________________
Jackie

"Are you going to introduce me to your - Oh my God you're Willow."

Notes:
In real life, it would probably the other way around, voice-wise, but that wouldn't work, plot-wise.
Amber would definitely be a soprano if she studied classical song. She's got a splendid raw material already, actually. If my genius singing teacher got her hands on her ( No smut intended, she an older, married lady she could be singing decent Mozart and Handel in a year.

As for Alyson... Well... Oh, never mind, she's adorable and thats's plenty

The "plot" of this story is supposed to be a parallell to the series, which will became evident in this chapter. The hand scene is a quote not only from the series, but also from the Puccini Opera La Bohéme. Very convenient.

Thank you for reading.


Chapter 2
Che gelida manina

“Ladies, shall we? Time is music, music is time…”The pianist with the bad attitude looked down his nose at them, unnecessarily tapping his watch to prove his pointWillow realised she wouldn’t have time to tell Tara how wonderful she had been earlier.

“I need to tell you something later, but we better get on with it, because that one thinks he’s the king of the world”, Willow huffed as they went into the rehersal room. The singers went up to the grand piano and started to get ready for the first scene from the second act.

“I thought we might also take the opportunity to rehearse the first act aria properly, Miss Rosenberg”, since this was suggested by Mr Giles.

Willow felt her stomach clenching and suddenly had a bad taste in her mouth.

“Yes of course, if he thinks so, she stated with a chill to her voice. She tensely tried to smooth out the creases on her brow with her fingers. Tension was always bad for singing.

“Are you ok? Willow turned to meet Tara’s concerned gaze.

“Yes, of course! She realised that she had snapped at her, so she bent over and whispered: “Truth is, I hate that aria and it gives me the creeps. Please don’t tell anyone… She flashed Tara a self deprecating smile.

“Your secret is safe with me. I’m like that with the Seguidilla from Carmen, Tara whispered back conspiratorially.

They both smiled. Willow looked into Tara’s kind blue eyes and felt suddenly calm.

“Oh, my, she is large with the looks, isn’t she…” the soprano thought to herself.

“Sandro is surely going to fall for this one…If Anja doesn’t catch him first, that is!” she thought ruefully.

She suddenly realised with surprise that she didn’t like the idea of Sandro hitting on Tara. Could she still have feelings left forhim even though their short fling, and her crush on him, had been over long ago? She shook the thought and decided that the best policy right now was to make sure that she didn’t panic in the middle of Un bel di.

She almost missed her first entry, being so wrapped up in the gorgeous sound of Tara’s voice close to her ear. She wished intensely that she wouldn’t have to sing herself. She just wanted to stand here for hours and listen. Her singing teacher had sometimes let her lean her head on her back when she was singing, to demonstrate how the sound should both feel and sound on the inside. She wished that she could have snuggled up to Tara in that way. She wanted to get as close to this voice as possible. So close that she would be able to feel it in her own body…

Snapping back into reality, she tried to concentrate on her own part. It went better that she had dared to hope for. She noticed with contentment that their voices blended perfectly together.

She was just starting to relax as the accompanist suggestedthey’d move on to the big aria. With a sinking feeling, she realised that she hadn’t sung it with anyone but her singing teacher since her infamous graduation concert. She breathed deeply and tried to block everything out but her own voice.The first part went ok. Tara stood by listening, quiet as a mouse.
Willow couldn’t even hear her breathe. As she came closer to the place where she always failed, she temporarily lost control of her breathing and felt the quality of her voice drop.

“Stop, please”, she told the accompanist curtly. “I need to do this part from the beginning”.

She started over, but again felt the nervousness get the better of her. To her utter amazement, she suddenly felt a soft touch.When she looked down in confusion, her fingers were being entwined with the white, elegant digits of Tara Maclay. The mezzo looked up at her with an expressionless face, but her hand squeezed Willows firmly and encouragingly. It felt
wonderful. Willow had no idea that she had needed reassurance this badly. She pulled herself together and regained control of her breathing again. When she neared the feared crescendo she tightened her grip on Tara’s hand almost to the point of pain, but the other singer didn’t seem to mind. She just looked attentively at her. Willow sang the notes clearly and brilliantly, making the top resound with a crystal clear radiance.

When she had stopped singing, she couldn’t bring herself to let go of Tara’s hand. She knew that she ought to, but she felt so safe and warm holding it. Not just that, she could feel her whole body tingling with physical awareness. Tara didn’t seem to want to let go either. They looked at each other and then down on their joined hands, but neither spoke. They rehearsed a few more things from the first act, and Willow sang better than she had for a very long time. Tara’s mezzo surrounded her body like a warm, comforting cloak, making her feel slightly light-headed, as if tipsy fromthe sound. All through this, they kept holding hands. Willow knew in her head that this was strange and should feel awkward, but it just didn’t. For once, her inner voice didn’t send out any alarm signals. After the rehearsal was over and the reluctant letting go of joined hands, they sat down on the little sofa in Willows dressing room and talked.

“My first singing teacher used to do that when I was little”, Tara explained about the handholding.

“She used to pretend that she could transfer her knowledge to me by doing it whenever something seemed difficult. Silly, I know, but I thought it was kind of comforting. I hope you don’t mind”.

“Of course not! You saved my day… How old were you when you started singing?”

“I’ve always been singing. My mother was a singer and she taught me. Well, she wasn’t a professional singer, she just sang in the kirk at home, but she was very good, almost as good as you. I think she was better than me, but she never had a chance to sing for real.”

“Tara, frankly, I don’t think anyone could be better than you”, Willow said earnestly.

“That’s very n-nice of you… But Mr Giles didn’t seem too impressed”, Tara said, hanging her head.

“Are you mad? He absolutely adored you”, Willow said emphatically.

“Very good” he said. That’s code for ‘barely adequate’, isn’t it”, the mezzo said resignedly.

“No…” Willow said soothingly and put a hand on Tara’s knee.

“Very good” is Gilestalk for ‘Totally, utterly, frickin’ brilliant”! Willow assured her.

“Trust me; I’ve known him for years! Anyways, since I heard it too, I can only swear to you that it was the best Dalila ever…”

“You listened?” Tara looked up from behind her hair and met Willows eyes. Willow looked into the little lakes of azure and started when she realised she was supposed to give an answer.

“Eh, well, eavesdropped, actually. Not in a creepy-stalkery-gonna-boil-yourrabbity- kind of way, though, you know…Well, you just have to suit yourself for singing so well”, she said with a feigned pout. Tara tried to hold back a giggle.

“I saw the shadow of someone skulking behind a pillar. Good thing I didn’t know it was you or I would have been even more nervous… Did you really like it?”

“Like isn’t the word, Tara. I loved it”. She realised she still had her hand on Tara’s knee and removed it with a slight sense of confusion. The atmosphere seemed to thicken somehow. They were quiet for a few moments.

“Maybe we can start a mutual fan club, then, since your recital in Edinburgh was the best concert I’ve ever been to”, Tara said, and the tense moment was gone.

“Only if I get to be president”, Willow answered promptly.

“You can be president of the Tara Maclay branch. I’m president of the Willow Rosenberg branch”, Tara said in a mock serious tone of voice, with a feigned upper class 'accent.

“And what about that repetiteur! What’s his problem, you think? Oedipus complex and bed wetting issues?” Willow suggested wickedly. Tara laughed happily at Willow’s bad joke.

As they left the opera house together, Willow suddenly realised that everything just might be ok. Butterfly might be ok. And just maybe life would be as well. For the first time since Oz left, she felt that life might be ok. She stopped abruptly, closed her eyes and turned her face up towards the blazing August sun. She felt her spirit rise like a fiery angel into the sky and up through the atmosphere. She thought to herself that if she opened her eyes, she would see the world beneath her as the tiny defenceless globe it really was, but she herself would be gigantic and awesome. She heard the faint movement of wings behind her. The universe was in her hand, all because a Scottish mezzo had decided that she needed her hand held during Un bel di…She turned to Tara and embraced her tightly.

“Thank you!” She said earnestly.

“For what?” Tara said, puzzled.

“Everything!” Willow said happily. She couldn’t very well tell the truth, now could she? She held Tara close for a little longer than what was strictly polite, but she couldn’t seem to care.

Notes:
In real life, it would probably the other way around, voice-wise, but that wouldn't work, plot-wise.
Amber would definitely be a soprano if she studied classical song.
She's got a splendid raw material already, actually. If my genius singing teacher got her hands on her ( No smut intended, she an older, married lady ) she could be singing decent Mozart and Handel in a year.

As for Alyson... Well... Oh, never mind, she's adorable and thats's plenty

The "plot" of this story is supposed to be a parallell to the series, which will became evident in this chapter. The hand scene is a quote not only from the series, but also from the Puccini Opera La Bohéme. Very convenient.

TBC

Thank you for reading.


Chapter 2
Che gelida manina

“Ladies, shall we? Time is music, music is time…”

The pianist with the bad attitude looked down his nose at them, unnecessarily tapping his watch to prove his point.
Willow realised she wouldn’t have time to tell Tara how wonderful she had been earlier.

“I need to tell you something later, but we better get on with it, because that one thinks he’s the king of the world”,
Willow huffed as they went into the rehearsal room.
The singers went up to the grand piano and started to get ready for the first scene from the second act.

“I thought we might also take the opportunity to rehearse the first act aria properly, Miss Rosenberg”, since this was suggested by Mr Giles.
Willow felt her stomach clenching and suddenly had a bad taste in her mouth.

“Yes of course, if he thinks so", she stated with a chill to her voice.

She tensely tried to smooth out the creases on her brow with her fingers. Tension was always bad for singing.

“Are you ok?" Willow turned to meet Tara’s concerned gaze.

“Yes, of course!" She realised that she had snapped at her, so she bent over and whispered:

“Truth is, I hate that aria and it gives me the creeps. Please don’t tell anyone…" She flashed Tara a self deprecating smile.

“Your secret is safe with me. I’m like that with the Seguidilla from Carmen", she whispered back conspiratorially.

They both smiled. Willow looked into Tara’s kind blue eyes and felt suddenly calm.

“Oh, my, she is large with the looks, isn’t she…” the soprano thought to herself.

“Sandro is surely going to fall for this one…If Anja doesn’t catch him first, that is!” she thought ruefully.

She suddenly realised with surprise that she didn’t like the idea of Sandro hitting on Tara. Could she still have feelings left for him even though their short fling, and her crush on him, had been over long ago? She shook the thought and decided that the best policy right now was to make sure that she didn’t panic in the middle of Un bel di.

She almost missed her first entry, being so wrapped up in the gorgeous sound of Tara’s voice close to her ear. She wished intensely that she wouldn’t have to sing herself. She just wanted to stand here for hours and listen. Her singing teacher had sometimes let her lean her head on her back when she was singing, to demonstrate how the sound should both feel and sound on the inside. She wished that she could have snuggled up to Tara in that way. She wanted to get as close to this voice as possible. So close that she would be able to feel it in her own body…

Snapping back into reality, she tried to concentrate on her own part. It went better that she had dared to hope for. She noticed with contentment that their voices blended perfectly together.

She was just starting to relax as the accompanist suggested they’d move on to the big aria. With a sinking feeling, she realised that she hadn’t sung it with anyone but her singing teacher since her infamous graduation concert. She breathed deeply and tried to block everything out but her own voice.
The first part went ok. Tara stood by listening, quiet as a mouse. Willow couldn’t even hear her breathe. As she came closer to the place where she always failed, she temporarily lost control of her breathing and felt the quality of her voice drop.

“Stop, please”, she told the accompanist curtly. “I need to do this part from the beginning”.

She started over, but again felt the nervousness get the better of her.
To her utter amazement, she suddenly felt a soft touch. When she looked down in confusion, her fingers were being entwined with the white, elegant digits of Tara Maclay. The mezzo looked up at her with an expressionless face, but her hand squeezed Willows firmly and encouragingly. It felt wonderful. Willow had no idea that she had needed reassurance this badly. She pulled herself together and regained control of her breathing again. When she neared the feared crescendo she tightened her grip on Tara’s hand almost to the point of pain, but the other singer didn’t seem to mind. She just looked attentively at her. Willow sang the notes clearly and brilliantly, making the top resound with a crystal clear radiance.

When she had stopped singing, she couldn’t bring herself to let go of Tara’s hand. She knew that she ought to, but she felt so safe and warm holding it. Not just that, she could feel her whole body tingling with physical awareness. Tara didn’t seem to want to let go either. They looked at each other and then down on their joined hands, but neither spoke. They rehearsed a few more things from the first act, and Willow sang better than she had for a very long time. Tara’s mezzo surrounded her body like a warm, comforting cloak, making her feel slightly light-headed, as if tipsy from the sound. All through this, they kept holding hands. Willow knew in her head that this was strange and should feel awkward, but it just didn’t. For once, her inner voice didn’t send out any alarm signals. After the rehearsal was over and the reluctant letting go of joined hands, they sat down on the little sofa in Willows dressing room and talked.

“My first singing teacher used to do that when I was little”, Tara explained about the handholding.

“She used to pretend that she could transfer her knowledge to me by doing it whenever something seemed difficult. Silly, I know, but I thought it was kind of comforting. I hope you don’t mind”.

“Of course not! You saved my day… How old were you when you started singing?”

“I’ve always been singing. My mother was a singer and she taught me. Well, she wasn’t a professional singer, she just sang in the kirk at home, but she was very good, almost as good as you. I think she was better than me, but she never had a chance to sing for real.”

“Tara, frankly, I don’t think anyone could be better than you”, Willow said earnestly.

“That’s very n-nice of you… But Mr Giles didn’t seem too impressed”, Tara said, hanging her head.

“Are you mad? He absolutely adored you”, Willow said emphatically.

“Very good” he said. That’s code for ‘barely adequate’, isn’t it”, the mezzo said resignedly.

“No…” Willow said soothingly and put a hand on Tara’s knee.

“Very good” is Gilestalk for ‘Totally, utterly, frickin’ brilliant”! Willow assured her.

“Trust me; I’ve known him for years! Anyways, since I heard it too, I can only swear to you that it was the best Dalila ever…”

“You listened?”

Tara looked up from behind her hair and met Willows eyes. Willow looked into the little lakes of azure and started when she realised she was supposed to give an answer.

“Eh, well, eavesdropped, actually. Not in a creepy-stalkery-gonna-boil-your rabbity- kind of way, though, you know…Well, you just have to suit yourself for singing so well”, she said with a feigned pout.

Tara tried to hold back a giggle.

“I saw the shadow of someone skulking behind a pillar. Good thing I didn’t know it was you or I would have been even more nervous… Did you really like it?”

“Like isn’t the word, Tara. I loved it”.

She realised she still had her hand on Tara’s knee and removed it with a slight sense of confusion. The atmosphere seemed to thicken somehow. They were quiet for a few moments.

“Maybe we can start a mutual fan club, then, since your recital in Edinburgh was the best concert I’ve ever been to”, Tara said, and the tense moment was gone.

“Only if I get to be president”, Willow answered promptly.

“You can be president of the Tara Maclay branch. I’m president of the Willow Rosenberg branch”, Tara said in a mock serious tone of voice, with a feigned upper class accent.

“And what about that repetiteur! What’s his problem, you think? Oedipus complex and bed wetting issues?” Willow suggested wickedly. Tara laughed happily at Willow’s bad joke.

As they left the opera house together, Willow suddenly realised that everything just might be ok. Butterfly might be ok. And just maybe life would be as well. For the first time since Oz left, she felt that life might be ok. She stopped abruptly, closed her eyes and turned her face up towards the blazing august sun. She felt her spirit rise like a fiery angel into the sky and up through the atmosphere. She thought to herself that if she opened her eyes, she would see the world beneath her as the tiny defenceless globe it really was, but she herself would be gigantic and awesome. She heard the faint movement of wings behind her. The universe was in her hand, all because a Scottish mezzo had decided that she needed her hand held during Un bel di…She turned to Tara and embraced her tightly.

“Thank you!” She said earnestly.

“For what?” Tara said, puzzled.

“Everything!” Willow said happily.

She couldn’t very well tell the truth, now could she? She held Tara close for a little longer than what was strictly polite, but she couldn’t seem to care.

I was introduced to the Opera during my grad school years by a good friend of mine who, much like you, had opera-infested roots and have enjoyed Opera ever since. So, I don't find your premise for the story idiotic at all. I am enjoying the story a great deal, and I totally look forward to reading more.

Safuega

I like the premise as well. Having seen Wagner's Ring the idea of Buffy as Brunnhilde is funny but certainly plausible. I like the idea of an international cast. If they can be amazons and super spys, they can certainly be Scottish and Italian. Great start!

Hello.
Darkwiccan:
Thank you! I was a bit afraid that people would think I was totally mental for writing an opera version of Buffy... Well, I suppose Joss made a musical...
Your tips on format have been very helpful!

jkmack77: Excellent! I'm not so sure that lucky's the word Perhaps "misspent youth" is more like it Thanks for reading!

Safuega: Thank you very much, and so you shall, for I am a requests ho'!

Sam7777: I did agonize slightly over who was to be Brünnhilde: Anya or Buffy? Maybe Anya's personality is more Valkyrielike, but Buffy is the slayer, after all, just like Brünnhilde... I have a friend who sings Brünnhilde who's fairly tiny as well, so it sort of computed in my brain.
I sort of liked the idea of an international cast since I thought one could use the different nationalities to emphasize everyone's character traits. Here's hoping that one works out
Thanks for the compliment and for reading!



Notes:
If you're wondering what the hell all the talk about Tara playing a boy is all about, the role of Octavian in Rosenkavalier is a "trouser role", that is a young boy written for a female voice. Rosenkavalier is a very gay opera...The composer of Rosenkavalier hated tenors, so he made the male hero a girlie, even though it's a 20th century opera and trouser roles are kinda a 18th century thang... He kinda had that in common with the Kittens, I suppose... Preferring girlies
Stein Winge is the worst opera producer in the world. All of his productions suck horsie testicle, as my friend would have put it. He is also know for having particularly crappy costumes in his productions. My friend had to wear a corset made out of a whale skeleton singing in one of his productions in Paris. I rest my case...

Chapter 3 Duettino

Willow didn’t bother to go home to the flat she shared with Buffy to see if she was home. She almost never was nowadays. She would probably be out having dinner with Riley, her kind but wooden banker boyfriend. Buffy was going through a phase, or at least Willow hoped it was just a phase, where she was trying to be “normal”.

Since she had been a wunderkind singer from early childhood, she hadn’t really had much in the way of normal life so far. Riley was a sweetie, but he had no clue about who Buffy really was, in Willows opinion. He genuinely seemed not to realise that Buffy was uniquely talented and possibly one of the greatest singers of her generation, and god only knew that heroic sopranos where hard enough to come by these days. He also didn’t realise that Buffy was quite famous, since he had the same surprised expression on his face whenever a fan asked her for an autograph.

“Poor Riley, he’s not going to last”. Willow thought to herself on the train to Lewes, where she was going to have dinner at her singing teacher’s house.

She didn’t like to waste time. She would always bring a score or a book and spend the train ride studying.
But not today… Today she just closed her eyes, emptied her mind of impressions and thought of the feeling of Tara’s silken, reassuringly warm hand in her own and the sound of her voice flowing through the great halls of the opera house like a promise and a prayer. Had she ever experienced something so soft in her life? And that went for both the hand and the voice. She couldn’t stop smiling.

“My ears are in love” she thought to herself.


“You seem cheerful today, dear! Her singing teacher said sounding amused at Willow’s elated babble.

“Oh, yes, Laura, I am! Willow beamed at the old lady.

“Despite of Butterfly?”

“Because of Butterfly, Laura!” Willow said emphatically and took the other woman’s hand in hers.

“Excellent! We will celebrate with some grappa with dessert!”


The following day was the day of the first drama rehearsal.
Willow entered the larger rehearsal room with a yawn. She hadn’t left her teacher’s home until late and had made it home even later. Her body felt heavy and she hadn’t made it far enough into her mocha to feel awake yet. Tara was already there, sitting alone in one of the seats almost at the end of the row. She turned as the soprano walked in and gave her a half-smile, which was just about the most contagious thing Willow had ever seen, and an exited little wave. Willow answered with a huge grin and suddenly looked immensely forward to the day’s rehearsal. Her view of Tara’s smile was suddenly blocked by William Bloodsworth.

“Looking worn there, Red! Hard night with the boyfriend?”

“None of your business what I do on my spare time”, Willow said coolly, her bad morning temper returning.

“Actually, it is”, he said with an annoying smirk on his face.

“I expect my performers to be on good form for my rehearsals. I pay to have you here in ship shape, love”.

“Actually, you don’t pay me at all, Bloodsworth. The Royal Opera House pays me, and they don’t really care what I do at night.”

She turned her eyes back to Tara, but she was busy studying her score and had stopped looking in Willow’s direction.

“Will!”

Sandro patted the seat next to him. Willow had been looking forward to sitting with Tara, but she saw that Giles was beating her to it. With a sense of disproportionate disappointment she sat down next to Sandro.
Giles was chatting pleasantly to Tara about her previous career, but Willow felt a little concerned when she heard the mezzo soprano stutter when she answered him.

“I have to remember to tell her what a sweetheart Giles is. She shouldn’t have to feel nervous around him”. She suddenly realised that Sandro was looking questioningly at her.

“Boyfriend? Have you been holding out on me, Will?”

“NO! She said emphatically. It’s just Bloodsworth being as annoying as possible… Maybe he should be marrying Anja. They could be irritating and produce hell spawn together.”

“Come on Will, Anja’s not bad once you get to know her!”

“Yeah, right”, Willow said rolling her eyes.

Suddenly, she noticed in the corner of her eye that Tara was looking at her, with a huge, enchanting smile like a burst of sunshine on her face. Willow turned to her and mouthed “what?” curiously. The smile vanished and she just shook her head, looked down and wouldn’t face her again.

When they started to rehearse the first act, Willow and Sandro had all the trouble in the world not to laugh out loud when Liam Brody started to pontificate on how his sets were a “post-structuralist statement”.
Willow started to feel a little of the old panic coming back at the thought of singing Un bel di in front of all these people without Tara’s comforting hand to hold. She was infinitely pleased that that Suzuki and Butterfly was on stage together during that scene. Bloodsworth was pacing the rehearsal room, gesturing with his trademark big motions and as always wearing his perpetual leather coat, although the room was quite warm.

“Ok, after telling her to listen, I want you to walk to the front of the stage for the aria and look towards the horizon, as if searching with your eyes for the ship. For the second verse, I want you on your knees, like you’re broken and don’t quite believe in what you’re singing. I want Suzuki to the back of the stage, kneeling from the start, looking uncomfortable and troubled. I want you very still, almost frozen, like you’re chocked by Butterfly’s behaviour. I want you to actually half-hide behind the grey screen.”

“I think that’s a bad idea.”

William Bloodsworth stared at Willow with eyebrows almost touching his hairline. She was known for not having even a hint of the diva about her, and he was rather taken aback by her blunt contradiction.

“Excuse me?”

“Walking to the front of the stage? Isn’t that a little too conservative for your style?”

Willow knew that it was very rude to question him like this in front of all the others, but it was her peace of mind or his. She knew she could get through this if she could be close to Tara, but she just hated the idea of standing on her own at the edge of the stage. Besides, it was rather antiquated, she thought, trying to justify her actions to herself. She knew she had pushed the right button. Bloodsworth despised nothing as much as he did the old style of opera production.

“Eh, actually, I think she’s right…”

Tara looked intensely uncomfortable as all eyes landed on her, but she bravely met Bloodsworth’s annoyed look. Willow’s heart swelled with gratitude towards her. Her new colleague was really taking a chance speaking up like this on her first day of rehearsals. The soprano suddenly felt terribly guilty.

“This is all because of my stupid paranoia. She shouldn’t have to suffer because of me. I’m going to find a way to make it up to her, she promised herself.

“Since Suzuki actually repeats Butterfly’s words back to her at the end, shouldn’t they, you know, interact instead?”

“Ok, then Newbie, let’s see what you’ve got then. Sell it too me…”

Bloodsworth sat down behind his table and made a big show of looking bored.

“Thank you!” Willow whispered, looking into Tara’s eyes.

Tara flashed a beautiful half-smile at her.
Butterfly started on the aria, looking at Suzuki all the time, telling her chambermaid how she imagined the return of the American husband who had left her:

One fine day, we shall see a thread of smoke rising, over the horizon…

Tara looked comfortingly into her eyes, listening intently, as she was hearing these well known words for the first time. Willows hands sought out hers and entwined her fingers with the mezzo’s, almost unconsciously. She felt her nerves break and her voice soar into the glittering perfection that she was known for. During the second part, they both knelt down at the front of the stage, perfectly synchronised. This was the first of many times Willow would marvel at the synchronisation that seemed to occur naturally when they performed together. She sang the entire aria with the same brilliance she had during yesterday’s rehearsal. She drew a deep breath of relief when she was finished. A great weight had left her shoulders…

“Aah, that was sweet, Red… Maybe Butterfly should have married Suzuki instead?”

Bloodsworth smirked at her, but she could tell that he had liked the way they did it, despite him yawning demonstratively.
She and Tara were still holding hands.

“Butterfly, the politically correct version? Hardly, we’d have to do Strauss for that!” She said haughtily, but let him poke fun at her.

She reluctantly let go of Tara’s hand and whispered:

“Ignore him. He’s got a reputation as a bastard to maintain…”

Tara nodded, but looked uncomfortable. Willow felt a little concerned about this. She really hoped Tara would learn not to take Bloodsworth seriously.


An hour and a half of hard work later, the demon producer gave them a twenty minute coffee break.

“What plans do you have for the rest of the week?” Willow asked Tara as they leisurely made their way to get coffee.

“Nothing, really…” Tara looked at her expectantly.’

“Do you want to rehearse a little on our own?”

“Need your hand held again?” Tara said, teasingly. She suddenly stopped and turned to Willow.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I s-said that, it was totally mean, I don’t really think you sing better just because I’m there or anything, and…”

“It’s ok”, Willow gently interrupted.

“You are well within your rights. You do make me sing better, and yes, I will probably need to have my hand held again”, she said chuckling softly.

She slid her own arm through Tara’s to emphasize that she wasn’t upset and gently nudged her along. She noticed that the skin on Tara’s arm was just as soft as her hand…

“I’ve been thinking…You know the benefit concert, where you’re doing the Dalila? I have two spots to fill and I haven’t quite decided on what to do yet, and I was wondering… How would you feel about doing something together? A duet? Maybe the Flower duet from Lakmé?”

“T-together? I’d love to!”

Tara once again graced her with a beautiful smile.

“Eh, Willow?”

“Yeah?”

“How would you feel about the presentation of the rose from Rosenkavalier?”

“The love duet, you mean”, Willow said thoughtfully.

“Not just the, erm… eh love duet, but the whole scene?” Tara continued.

“Hmmm, it’s quite difficult… I’ve never sung Sophie before…”

She noticed the disappointed look on Tara’s face and realised that the mezzo had assumed that her thinking out loud was a rejection of the idea.

“Actually, I think it’s a great idea! I’ll just need a few days to go over the music”, she said decisively.

“How large are you with the butch?” She continued in a mock serious tone.

“Eh, not very, but I hardly think that whole silver getup that my character wears for the second act is very butch, do you?” Tara chuckled and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“Not so much, so you’re probably in the clear!” Willow agreed happily.

Tara’s voice would be great for the part of the young lover Octavian in Rosenkavalier, Willow was sure, but she couldn’t help being amused at the thought of this the most feminine of creatures playing a boy. Everything about Tara was soft and fair.

“Next week? It will give me enough time to go through the music?” She said out loudly. Tara nodded her assent contentedly.

Willow couldn’t remember the last time she enjoyed her singing this much. Actually, she couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed anything this much…

They rounded a corner and almost walked straight into Gloria van Neederwelt, shivering with rage.

“I am so not wearing this!!”

The French soprano Cordelié LaChasse looked with distaste at a costume sketch for her next performance.

“It just totally covers up all of my cleavage.”

“Well, duh, YEAH! You’re in dull-as-dirt Dialogues of the Carmelites!”

“You’re playing a nun, Miss Oups-did-I-overuse-my-lip-contour-pen-again!”
“ What did you expect, a dominatrix outfit!?” Van Neederwelt snarled at the soprano.

“Eh, hello, yes! That’s what I wore last year for the Stein Winge production at the Opera Bastille.”

“Well, I could crap a better costume than that! Ok, so let’s talk about my problems for a while, if that’s ok with you, like why ALL OPERA SINGERS ARE IDIOTS, ESPECIALLY THE FRENCH!! Who would want to look at your scrawny cleavage anyway?”

“Hey, who are you calling scrawny, brillo-pad-peroxide-hair queen!? Hello!? There’s such a thing as conditioning treatment for split ends, you know!!”

“Oh yeah? Well, your recording of Lascia chio pianga sounded like Sara Brightman!!”

Silently, LaChasse got a lip stick out of her hand bag and drew a long red line down the front of Van Neederwelts pink dress.

“THAT’S A PRADA!!’
“Mmmhm. LAST SEASONS PRADA!!”

“Eh, hi there… Did I come in the middle of something?” The Italian coloratura Harmonia Biondi had just turned the corner and looked on the scene in confusion.

“I just wanted to talk to you about my costume? It’s, like, a bit last season, if you know what I mean?”

Willow and Tara ducked in perfect synchronisation as Van Neederwelt picked up a small bust of Dame Eva Turner and threw it at LaChasse and Biondi, who also ducked in synchronisation. It whistled past the right ear of LaChasse, leaving a Dame Eva Turner-shaped dent in the door of Anja Johnssons dressing room.

Willow and Tara kept their heads down and ran around the corner.

This is wonderful!

I have to be honest, I tried reading the first chapter and found the layout difficult to stick with, but since you made those changes, it's very reader-friendly.

Okay, there are so many things that I love about this! The internationalism, all the different accents and Cordelia LaChasse (love it!) and Tara's Scottish accent. I love all the Italian thrown in, and the musical terms. This is such an original and interesting setting and you clearly know it very well; you make me feel like I'm there watching the rehearsals and exploring the Opera House.

Tara holding her hand during the creepy bit was adorable, as was Tara relating that she had her own scary moment (Carmen) was sweet and believable.

I can't wait to read more!

Such an educational story this is I've NEVER been to the opera so all the non-Buffy stuff in there is new to me. Lots of interesting new things to look into, got to at least see if the parts you've assigned to certain people fit

Nifty quotes from chapter-2:

I recognized Cordelia without reading her name, easily actually I'll have to get myself some opera-encyclopedia or something, than I can judge if the part indeed calls for a dull costume. Hmm... now why would Cordy be in such a part??

Aaaanyway, I can see Giles' reserved way of acting being somewhat intimidating to a young lass from the Scottish Highlands. Willlow has to have a bit of a talk with both Tara and Giles 'bout that. To Giles that he shouldn't hide the praise that much and to Tara to learn ignore certain people and be less shy Oh, she'll talk to Tara alright.

Which reminds me, have to lookup that Lovers-duet thing they're doing next week. I wonder if I can find a version with a blonde a redhead, heh

Xander is easily recognizable as comforting friend to Willow. Haven't seen much of Anya or Buffy yet so we'll see later on how they behave...oh dear.. Buffy had a relation with Liam, thats not from the Buffy story-line, at least not in that order.. oh well, we'll see what happens there.

I don't know much about operas so everything they do on stage will be a surprise to me as well as of-stage.

P.S. It's NOT an idiotic idea for a fic, don't know why you wrote that
Grimmy

_________________
"You hurt Tara," Willow said too calmly. "The last one who tried that was a god. I made her regret it."
-- Unexpected Consequences by Lisa of Nine

Great update, I'm loving the names you have given to the characters starting with Sandro, Cordelia has to be LaChasse, and your latest naming genius: Harmonia Biondi! Does this mean that Signorina Biondi is going to honor her name and be just as dumb, and silly as our beloved Harmony?

I can't wait for the next part and the duet! Thanks for sharing.

Safuega

Heyo,

Just thought I'd drop you a line and say that im really injoying your fic,
I love that is set opera style, a wicked concept!
and I love the way Willow is discovering the glory that is another woman....Tara as a woman to be more specific,

Go hard dude, looking forward to reading more,

sare,

_________________
I'm getting a wrinkle above my eyebrow because I just can't stop lifting it, and I love that you know..
Angelina Jolie

Vix84:
Thanks a bunch! Feedback like this just warms one's geeky heart up and makes it worth while to go on, ya know!
First chapter? Yeah, tell me about it, it totally sucked... I hadn't yet realised that it wouldn't like same when it was posted... Great stamina for sticking with it. Good show.
As for Cordelia, she just felt French, ...
The Royal Opera House is one of the most beautiful places ever, so I rather enjoy the "trip" back myself.
Tara's scary moment is also my scary moment... I tend to get stuck somewhere in the middle of the Seguedilla every darn time...
Thanks again for reading!

Grimlock72:
Schplendid, Puschy, as Sean Connery would have put it!
No need to get a book, though. There are loads of good opera web sites/online dictionaries. The best one used to be www.operabase.com. Haven't been in a while, but if it doesn't work, just google operabase.
The reason Dialogues of the Carmelites requires a dull costume is that almost all the characters are carmelite nuns and carmelites wear some seriously heavy-duty habits... The reason Cordelia plays Sister Blanche in Carmelites is that Blanche is kind of a rich, spoiled brat and a really whiny nun... Se my drift? Besides, I thought it would be funny seeing Cordelia in a nun's outfit... Harmony is supposed to play Sister Constance, who's Blanche's sidekick. Constance is a really silly bimbo, so again, it seemed to fit...
Liam Brody is actually supposed to be Angel, so a little flashback to earlier seasons there...
I kinda made Tara stutter because of her chock at hearing about Willow's "boyfriend" rather than being nervous around Giles, but yeah, Giles can be a little too subtle with the praise in the series as well...
Thanks for reading!

Safuega:
Thank you, you are totally welcome!
Bien sur, LaChasse if of course Cordelia! I would love to have known what would have happened if Cordy and Glory ever met in the series, so I humbly (ehem) decided to do it myself. I'm not sure if Cordy and Harmony are going to be in this much, since I kinda threw them in on a last minute whim just before posting... But I am open to requests, being a requests ho'!

sarejester: Thanks!
We'd probably all be able to appriciate that kind of glory, if yah know what I mean I mean nobody can be so straight that they wouldn't appreciate Tara... That's my theory, anyway...




Chapter 4: Nocturne

That afternoon, Willow felt really tired. All the tension and its subsequent release were catching up with her. She was really looking forward to spending the night with just Buffy and Sandro at their old favourite pub. They tried to go there and catch up at least once a month. She and Buffy hadn’t talked properly for days. Frankly, she was a little worried that they were drifting apart, and she would just hate for that to happen. Buffy’s friendship and support had played a huge role in getting her to where she was today and she wouldn’t want to be without her for anything. The three of them always had such a great time when they were together on their own.

“Willow?”

Tara’s soft voice called out to her as she was leaving the rehearsal room.

“Mmm?”

Tara seemed slightly uncomfortable somehow. She fidgeted nervously as she continued.

“If you don’t have any plans tonight, do you want to, erm, you know, go grab some food or something?”

Willow noticed how hopeful she looked and she felt really bad about turning her down like this. But it was always just the three of them at these gatherings. Besides, she told herself, it was silly to feel such an obligation to Tara. They had only just met, hadn’t they?

“Eh, actually, I do have plans, and I would offer you to come, I really would, but it’s kind of a regular thing with old friends, and we’d just go on about old times, so you might be really bored you know..?”

Tara just nodded, looking embarrassed. Her arms folded defensively over her chest.

“Right, that’s totally ok, no problem. I’ll just see you tomorrow then”

She hurried off down the corridor with a downcast head.
Willow’s heart started to ache for no apparent reason. She wanted to call Tara back, but stopped herself. She hadn’t done anything wrong, had she? She had been perfectly polite. Then why did she feel like a bitch?

As she got ready to leave, Anja came and stood next to her with bright smile.

“So Sandro said he’s going to take me to the pub near the Royal Collage of Music where you used to go. I think he said that you were coming too?”

“Coming? I’m not coming! I was the one who was going in the first place. You’re the other one!”

Anja looked at her with a puzzled expression. Willow didn’t bother to clarify. She was just going to be grumpy for the rest of the evening, she decided. It was supposed to be just the three of them. If Sandro was going to bring Anja of all people, she could have brought Tara. Although she wasn’t so sure she wanted to share Tara with them…

"Share Tara? What kind of thinking is that? She might know no-one in London, and I decide I don’t want to “share” her? Yeah, that’s charitable!" She scolded herself.
Sandro came walking out of his dressing room.

“Why did you have to ask Anja to come? I thought it was going to be just us tonight”, she whispered to him as they walked toward the entrance.

“She asked to come", he whispered back.

“Well, actually it was more like a declaration than a question, come to think of it…”

“Anyway, what was I supposed to do? Say no? That would have been rude…”

He avoided looking her in the eyes.

"I think he’s thinking with another body part than his brain again", she grouched to herself.

“So where’s Buffy then?” She asked.

“She and Riley are joining us there.”

“Riley? Buffy’s taking Riley? Again I’d like to point out that it was supposed to be just us tonight.”

“I’m really looking forward to seeing your old haunt and meeting your friends”, Anja said cheerfully and put her arm possessively through Sandro’s.

In the corner of her eye, Willow noticed that that the door to Tara’s dressing room was open. She was still in there, getting her things. She closed the door and quickly walked towards the exit. Willow caught a glimpse of her face in the reflecting glass doors. She looked sad and hurt. She had obviously heard Anja’s comment…
“Great, now she thinks she’s uninvited exclusively,” Willow thought bitterly to herself.

This evening hadn’t even begun and it already sucked in a major way… Her stomach received yet another visit from the tiny acid demon with the fork of guilty conscience.

The evening went from poor to worse. Anja held an incomprehensible monologue about the differences between Finnish and Swedish saunas while Sandro kept grinning manically, undoubtedly thinking of large numbers of female breasts covered in steam. Or without steam, as was obviously the case in one of the instances, since only one type of sauna actually had steam it would appear. Willow was still huge with not caring, sticking to her earlier decision to be grumpy. Time went by, and no Buffy. Willow started to worry that Tara spent her nights sitting in her hotel room all alone and miserable. Why hadn’t she even bothered to check if the other singer knew anyone else than her in London? What if she didn’t have a single friend down here?

Finally, at a quarter to ten Buffy rolled in. Unfortunately, so did Riley and a cluster of his banker friends. Buffy added to the grief of being two hours late by declaring that she had to leave almost immediately to join Riley at some dull corporate affair that required his presence.
“Boy, is Buffy trying too hard at this whole “being ordinary”-thing", Willow thought to herself, rolling her eyes. Soon Anja and Sandro followed suit and left. Willow decided to walk part of the way home. Strolling glumly down the street she thought about how things hadn’t been the same with Buffy lately.

Suddenly, she stopped dead in her tracks. She should go and see Tara. She knew what hotel she was in. It was late, but not ridiculously so. She had to make Tara understand that she would have loved to spend the evening with her. Make her understand…Well, what exactly? Willow wasn’t sure… She realized that it bordered on weird to just show up at her hotel room, but she was damn well going to do it anyway. She hailed a taxi.

At the hotel, however, her resolve started to wear thin by a flat refusal to let her in by the tidy, uptight woman at the front desk.

“We have to guarantee our guests at least a modicum of privacy, ma’am. We can’t just give out room numbers to unidentified individuals”, she said condescendingly in her clipped voice.

“I am NOT unidentified! I mean I know her and I can show ID, in the name of… the deity of your choice”, Willow said in exasperation.

“OH MY GOD, it’s Willow Rosenberg!”

“See? Willow said triumphantly, I am not unidentified!”

It turned out that the voice belonged to the camp door man, who did an extremely poor job in keeping his excitement hidden. He gushingly told her that he was a big opera aficionado and knew everything that went on at the Covent Garden. Apparently, he was also a big fan of Willow’s. She hadn’t quite gotten used to the combined treat and punishment of having fans yet, so she enthusiastically signed her autograph and tried not to blush at the man’s extravagant compliments.
“Look here… Eh, George, she read off his name badge, I’m here to see Tara Maclay. She’s in the production with me, and I think I might have hurt her feelings today during rehearsal and I just don’t think I can sleep if I don’t get to straighten things out with her, you know?”

“Oh, my god, I didn’t realise she’s the one who’s replacing Montague! And she’s living in my little hotel”, he understated, considering the hugeness of the building.

“Is she any good?”

“No, she’s not, George.” The doorman let out a disappointed little noise.

“She’s not good, she’s the best”, Willow said, a proud smile on her face.

“I’ll get you a ticket if you want to come and see us”, she said, pretty convinced that she wouldn’t get no for an answer.

George catcalled and hugged her. The receptionist frowned, clearly not happy with Georges out-going personality.

“Miss Rosenberg, this is just bigger than life”, the doorman said.

“No, it isn’t. This is AS BIG AS life. Opera is the only thing that’s as big as life”, Willow said, convinced she was right.

“Hear, hear!”, George said.

“Now, can I please go talk to Tara?” Willow said wearing her best sad puppy face.

“You go, girlfriend.”

Willow strode purposefully towards the lifts. Then she surprised herself by turning to the door man again.

“And George?”

“Mmmhmm?”

“Take good care of her for me?”

He didn’t seem to find the request weird. He just bowed and swung his hat with a flourish.

“I’ll take care of your mezzo, ma’am.”


As she stood alone in the mirror walled lift on her way to Tara’s room, she nervously put some lip gloss on and ran a comb through her hair. Suddenly, she felt intensely silly.
“It’s a visit to a friend, not a beauty pageant. It doesn’t matter what I look like.
To her own surprise she found that she did care. She started to regret coming here, but it was too late for second thoughts as the lift’s motion smoothly drew to a halt.She walked hesitantly towards room nr 99. Feeling like a prize idiot, she drew a deep breath and knocked on the door. Tara opened the door with a questioning look on her face. Willow panicked a little when she saw that she was in her sleeping gear.

“Eh, hi, you must think that I’m a total weirdo for just showing up like this, especially after saying I had other plans and all, and with you obviously ready for bed and I guess it is kinda late, I don’t always think about time, since I’m sort of a night owl myself, which can obviously happen in our line of work, ya know? But it obviously hasn’t happened to you and I just turn up and ruin your quality time in bed, eh, sleeping related quality time obviously, I’m going to stop talking and then go away…”

“C-Come in. I’ll put the kettle on”. Tara opened the door with a huge smile on her face.

“This is what I usually wear in the evening when I’m not going out. I wasn’t really on my way to bed”, she said reassuringly as Willow ran her eyes over her flannel pajama bottoms and tank top.

“Stop staring, weirdo!” Willow scolded herself.

“Did you have a nice evening with the others?” Tara asked neutrally as she made them tea and poured it in the pretentiously elegant cups provided by the hotel.

“No, not particularly…”

Willow noticed that her colleague was listening to the direct broadcast of The Faerie Queen from the English national opera.

“I love this piece…”

Willow closed her eyes and felt the music enter her mind.

“So do I.” The mezzo said and handed her the hot cup.

She sat down next to Willow with her back to the bed’s headboard.

“It kind of makes me think of you…” she confessed a little awkwardly and looked down on the duvet cover.

“Me…?” Willow said, bewildered.

“How come?”

“You’re how I always imagined the Fairy Queen would look like, had she existed. Totally ridiculous, since there’s no such thing and so on…”

Tara went quiet and sipped her hot tea.

“It’s not ridiculous…” Willow said softly.

“It’s very flattering… It’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me, I think…”

Willow stared wide eyed at Tara’s downcast head and marveled at the fact that someone would think she was like the Fairy Queen. Suddenly she felt emotionally unstable, like she was going to cry.

“Now, if I were a man I would probably have been a bit suspicious about being called both a fairy and a queen”, she joked clumsily to cover up her reaction.

Tara giggled graciously at the bad joke. It relieved the tension and made Willow able to swallow the lump in her throat.

“So, does William Bloodsworth always eat totally disgusting things for lunch?” Tara asked companionably.

“Totally!” Willow answered with feeling.’

“Yesterday it was liver and bacon and today blood sausage sandwich. And can I just add a big “EW” to that sentence?” She said, rolling her eyes.

They sat like that for hours, talking about everything between heaven and earth. Willow found herself hanging on to every word that Tara said and filed them in the newly opened “Tara-file” in her head. More things were added every moment;
The way her hair shimmered in the lamp light as she leant down to pour more tea in her cup. They way she smoothed it back behind her ear on one side of her face, but usually left it down on the other side. Her proud roman profile as she turned to look out the window; Willow spent several minutes secretly studying the beautiful arch from her nose to her pale eyebrows. The way you could see her pulse rapidly flickering at the side of her neck as she leant her head back onto the head board; That the skin on her bare feet was almost transparent. The way she laughed with perfectly pitched, like she was unable to do something unmusical. The way her scent lingered in the room when she went to the bathroom. The unknown meaning of the tiny toy leopard sitting on her night stand. And of the photograph which lay face down next to it.
As the mezzo talked animatedly about her passions and peeves, Willow wondered why she had ever thought that this woman was shy…

As the hours wondered by and the moon started to shine its light through yonder window, Willow knew she ought to be getting home. They had rehearsals tomorrow and she had burst in uninvited after all.

“I suppose we should go to bed. Eh, I should be getting home, I mean”, she quickly corrected herself.

“Stay? This is closer to the opera house than your flat… and you can sleep in one of my shirts. This is a huge bed, and there are extra towels and even a toothbrush and everything…”
Tara looked down and hid part of her face behind a curtain of hair, but her voice was steady and calm. No stutter now.

“I would love to”, Willow said simply.

Tara looked at her as strong emotions drifted across her features. Willow didn’t know her well enough to know what they were, but she promised herself to find out.
Tara leant Willow a Scottish Opera T-shirt and a pair of flannel boxer shorts which were mysteriously decorated with Paddington Bear. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t feel a little weird sleeping in the same bed as Tara, but if the simple truth was to be told, she wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Tara made her feel liked, appreciated and all warm inside. It was all the things that she had missed about being with Oz, but at the same time totally different.

“Well obviously, since she’s not my boyfriend…

Tara looked younger when she had washed her make-up of. Willow thought she was absolutely beautiful in the moonlight with her cheeks rosy from the cool water. As she got in to bed next to her, the soprano could feel how the mezzo’s body practically radiated heat.

“Are you cold?” Tara asked, since Willow was so deep down under the covers that only her face was showing.

“Me? Always”, she answered resignedly.

“I’ve been cold all my life.”

Tara took her hands from under the duvet and rubbed them with her own.

“Mmm…”

Willow made a contented sound as she felt the blood starting to flow faster through them. She loved Tara’s hands…She yawned widely.

“Right. No more talking. Sleepy time”, Tara decided and ran the back of her warm hand along Willows cheek. The gesture took Willow by surprise, but she managed not to flinch away from it. Tara put the light out and rolled over on her back.

Even though she was tired, Willow couldn’t sleep. Tara’s breaths were slow and even, but Willow couldn’t decide if she was sleeping or not. She wanted more. She wanted to be kept warm all over. She wanted to be closer to Tara.

She decided to play it dirty. She made some pretend contented sleeping noises and turned over onto her side, facing Tara. The other girl didn’t move. After a few minutes had passed, she pretended to move in her sleep and inched closer, with butterflies in her stomach. Tara still breathed peacefully, so Willow decided she might get away with it. She had the whole advantage, since the mezzo had no clue that Willow usually slept completely still in the same position all night. For all she knew, this could be the standard Willow Rosenberg sleeping behaviour. She inched even closer, and not daring to breathe, put her head close to Tara’s on her pillow and very gingerly a hand on her stomach. She faked a few half-snores in case Tara would wake up.

“Mmm, that’s better…

She inhaled the scent of the mezzo’s skin next to her nose. It was wonderful; gentle but rich. It made Willow feel comfortable and disturbed at the same time. Slightly guiltily she moved a little closer. She was so close that she could feel the other woman’s body heat all along her front. She started to drift off to sleep after getting used to Tara’s warm skin against her own and daring to breathe again.

Suddenly, she was wide awake when the mezzo moved underneath her. Would she wake up and wonder why the hell Willow was using her as a human pillow without asking for permission? Her heart stopped racing in her chest when Tara snuggled closer and put her own arm on top of Willow’s on her stomach. The soprano couldn’t suppress a sleepy smile on top of her new friend’s shoulder as she drifted off, warm and safe.

This is just adorable! I love the opera premise, then again I could be considered biased since I adore theatre and musical theatre...hehehe. Not complaints here at all! I love the time you've spent creating all of our Scoobys their own opera-friendly personalities and I think you're right about the multi-cultural aspect. I also like the parallels you've drawn from canon episodes; the entwining of hands, the failed best-friend time which turns into an impromptu visit to Tara. Nice, very nice.
Keep it all up I say! I'm enjoying the cultural education.

Michaela

_________________
Don't rain on my parade...

I like the way you incorporated this bit from 4th season. I always loved Willow going to see Tara after blowing her foff for "firend" time not too mention her possesiveness.

Hey there:

I really like how you are incorporating canon storylines into this story. I got a kick out of Riley as a banker and it made me wonder, how on earth does an opera singer end up with a banker boyfriend? This match made in heaven is so not going to last.

I like your Tara; she is true to the Tara we know and love, shy and unassuming but with lots of inner strength. I got a sense from the hotel room interaction with Willow that Tara may be shy but she is not naive or weak. I also got a sense that she's got a well-rounded background, perhaps one not so tragic as canon. I would assume that someone as shy and the Tara from canon would not remain so in the world of opera. I would imagine that the world of opera thickens your skin a bit (if not a lot) and a different personality emerges that helps you cope with the pressure and expectations. I don't know if this makes sense, but here you go!

Oh yeah, my last point if indeed I have any is, who is in the photo that Tara has face down in her hotel room? her mother? an ex girlfriend? I guess that it would be her mother, but why turn it down if that's the case? Now, if it is another girl then there is plenty of cloth from which to cut a nice, semi-angsty story, don't you think?

Okay I lied, this is really my last point. Thanks for including the explanations about the world of opera and the operas at the beginning of the following update. I enjoy opera but don't know nearly enough to follow some of the lovely details of your story, so the explanations at the beginning are quite helpful. They help me to thoroughly enjoy and appreciate the story. OK, now I'm done.

More soon, please.

Safuega

_________________
In darkness there can be light
In misery there can be beauty
In death there can be life -El laberinto del fauno-

Tarasgirl:
Why, much obliged, ma'am. (Tips hat)
Biased is good. I'm very biased myself, so I can relate
I really enjoy canon parallell stories myself, so I intend to... Oups, always gave away all the plot there, or what passes for a plot in this story. But anyway, the parallells are intentional.
Thanks for saying "Cultural education" and not "pretentious name-dropping"
Thank you also for reading and your kind words!

sam7777:
I've always loved that scene myself! I wanted to include some guilty conscience on Willow's part, since I didn't think she handled it too well in the series. "You might feel out of place"... Gee, thanks! It's not like it was a Fyarl-demon convention or anything... Not Willow's fault, but the writers, but still... I also really like that Tara doesn't sulk about it and just does her "Tara-smile-that-makes-one-want-to-swoon-like-a-silly- turn-of-the-century-bint-and-ask for your-smelling-salts" and kinda just opens the door and goes "Yeah baby, I know you want it, so come and get it". That's my interpretation anyway
Thanks!

Safuega:
Thank you so much for your kind words about my Tara. I was a bit worried about that. Since Tara has very few lines in the beginning, one kind of has to try to make sense of her through her actions instead, which I suppose is just what Aristotle said you should do, the old wanker...
As for the well-rounded background... Well, not giving away what passes for a plot, I might have to disappoint you a little, there... More on this later!
Many famous opera singers are actually surprisingly shy. I've sort of based Tara's persona as an opera singer on the dutch soprano Juliane Banse, who's so shy she'll do the Tara-esque thing and hide behind her hair for most of the conversation. She will also put her self down constantly (and I don't get the impression that it's at all affected) even thought she's singing in all the great concert halls of the world. Then on stage, she's completely different. Focused, confident and never, ever, makes a mistake.
Yes, I suspect it does thicken your skin, but the greatest singers are the one's that this doesn't happen to. The successful ones seem to have been able to hold on to both their sense and sensibility, so to speak The thick skinned ones usually become divas, which makes their performance suffer sometimes.
As for the photograph... Well, see chapter 10, or something along those lines. If I haven't bored you to death with this enormous reply before that, that is...
Lastly, if you ever feel that these explanations ever turn in to pretentious name-dropping and rambling, do let me know. I'm a pretentious bitch and probably deserve it
Thanks for leaving such great feedback!

Agent Pineapple Bunny


Notes: Sorry there's no smut yet. I didn't realise that these pre-smut chapters were so long... But fear not, there will be smut, if I have to lie, steal cheat or kill! As god is my witness!

Chapter 5: Welcome glorious morn
Willow drifted slowly back to consciousness by the feeling of something soft moving against her. Her body felt heavy and hot. The memory of an incredibly erotic dream lingered fragmented in her brain, but she couldn’t quite make out what it had been about. If the remaining fire in her body was anything to go by, it had been seriously exciting stuff, though. With a drowsy start she realised that Tara was spooning her, and that they obviously had spent the night like that, considering the slight stiffness in her joints. The white arm resting on her stomach flexed its fingers.

Had Tara done this voluntarily or subconsciously? Willow wondered. Would she be embarrassed when she woke up?
She knew that she ought to feel awkward herself, with her back and her bottom pressed into Tara like this. The other times she had shared a bed with her girlfriends, like she and Buffy had done a few times, she obviously hadn’t used her as a teddy bear, the way she had done with Tara during the night. Just as the thought had entered her head, Tara woke up.

“Willow?” She said with a hint of panic in her voice and sat straight up.

“Great, she’s freaked…”

Willow’s good morning spirits sank. Her back was cold, missing the contact with Tara’s warm body.

“Yes…?” She answered warily.

“We are going to be SO late! We forgot the alarm; we have to be there in half an hour!”

Now Willow was the one who sat straight up.

“Oh no!” She said, panic voice in place.

“Actually, scratch that! OH CRAP!”

She jumped out of bed like lightning had struck. She turned to Tara. Yup, panic face there too… The she just stopped in the middle of the floor.

“But what a lovely panic face, she thought as she took in Tara’s tousled hair and rosy cheeks.

“What?” The mezzo looked at her quizzically.

“It’s not really fair that you should be so pretty first thing in the morning”,
Willow said in mock disgruntlement.

She felt a little self conscious right after the words left her mouth.

“Was that a weird thing to say?

Tara looked up at her with a strange smile on her face. Her eyes had an expression in them Willow couldn’t quite interpret. She had to look away. Her stomach felt funny all of a sudden and her chest too tight for her expanding lungs.

“Right! Clothes!” She tried to regain focus.

Her clothes were piled on top of Tara’s in one of the armchairs. They started to messily try to divide the garments between them. Willow didn’t really want to take her borrowed T-shirt off. It smelt nice, like Tara did.

“Willow-size”, Tara said, holding Willow’s top in her hand.

Willow arched an eyebrow.

“This is certainly not mine”, she said, holding Tara’s white lace bra, with its more generous cup size, in her hand.

“Hey!” Tara snatched it out of her hand in mock indignation and shoved her playfully.

Willow tickled Tara until she almost fell over laughing. Tara tried to answer with the same. They ended up in a sloppy embrace and stopped moving. For a few seconds, they stood absolutely still.

“This won’t do”, Willow finally concluded and let go. She felt flushed and hot.

“The superstars of the next generation need to maintain a professional façade at all times”, she continued cheerfully and started to climb out of Tara’s boxer shorts.

The mezzo politely turned her back and started to undress as well.

“I hardly think I’m a superstar of the next generation”, Tara said in a doubtful voice over her shoulder.

“You just totally will be, on the account of being complete awesome”, Willow said happily, hopping on one leg, trying to put her trousers on.

“You do an excellent job as chairwoman of the Tara Maclay fan club”, Tara said softly as she was putting her shirt back on.

“That I do!”

“I hate it when I don’t get to be sung up properly in the morning”, the mezzo said with a shudder.

Willow caught her face in the mirror and realised that a wide smile belied the statement.

“What vocal exercises do you do?” The soprano said curiously.

Tara gave an example and soon their voices mingled beautifully in the room, still filled with the gentle scent of sleep warm bodies.

As they left the hotel, a weary George was finishing the night shift.

“Way to go, girlfriend!” He whispered with a suggestive leer as the two singers walked past him shoulder to shoulder, still humming together.

"George! " Willow blushed and threw him an offended look.

His suggestive smile just grew wider.
Tara gave Willow a puzzled look.

“Eh, an old acquaintance of mine”, Willow answered her silent question, hoping that she hadn’t heard what he said, and then quickly changed the subject.

She tentatively reached out for Tara’s hand. It immediately snuck into hers. She stole a glance at the mezzo, who had turned her face up into the radiant morning sun.

Before they entered the opera house, Tara tugged at the sleeve of Willow’s jacket and made her stop.

“You look wonderful in the morning…” she whispered quietly under her breath, so that no one else would hear them.

The strange feeling returned to Willow’s stomach when they went through the door together. She wasn’t sure if her skin felt hot or cold. But mostly, she was just happy…

She and Tara had separate rehearsals all morning and Willow found it difficult to concentrate. The mezzo come up to her at lunchtime and Willow was just about to suggest that the go somewhere outside for lunch, when Tara shattered those plans with a

“So, I’ll see you Friday then?”

She leant in for a hug, but Willow stepped away in confusion.

“What do you mean? Are you… Are you going somewhere?”

She realised that she sounded disproportionately upset, but she was just so surprised by the statement.

“Y-Yes, I’m going back to Scotland. Didn’t I tell you? We have a recital with the Young Artists program in Edinburgh. It has been scheduled for months, so Sir Giles agreed that I could come back to do the concert when they asked me to do Suzuki.”

“You so totally didn’t tell me! I would have remembered… I’m going to be so bored at rehearsals now…” Willow realised that she sounded like a whiny child, but she just didn’t want Tara to go.

“I’m sorry; I really thought I had told you…”

Willow heard the apologetic tone of her voice and felt guilty about her childishness. Why was she acting like Tara had offended her in some way?

“So what are you singing?” She said, trying to sound cheerful.

“Old faithful. Cherubino, the staple of any mezzos repertoire”, she smiled.

“I could come with you and be the Countess”, Willow said wistfully.

“Or I could just make notes. I am the chairwoman of the Fan club after all…”

Tara leant in to hug her and Willow stepped into the embrace. They just stood there for a few seconds, and then Willow hugged her closer. The palm of Tara’s hand moved slowly along her back. When they let go, Willow felt cold and disgruntled.

When the mezzo turned and walked out of the opera house Willow decided that this day had officially turned to crap. Four days without her... But she couldn’t stop a silly grin returning at the thought of the night spent in Tara’s bed and the long hours of talking that had come before it.

Going back to the rehearsal room she saw Tara’s cardigan forgotten on the back of a chair. With a vague feeling of guilt, she knelt down next to it and inhaled its scent. Breathing in with long, deep breaths she felt the essence of Tara filling up her mind and her senses. Tara had a distinctive scent that you could feel lingering in a room for minutes after she had left.
Willow slipped both her arms into the soft sweater and hugged herself, again inhaling. The scent of Tara was strongest just around the neckline, where the soft lamb’s wool usually rested directly on her skin. It made her feel slightly intoxicated, like she had just had a few glasses of champagne. She realised that her behaviour was a little weird, but she made a deal with her mind not to think about it. She took the material in her hands and buried her face in it. Then she walked out of the room still wearing it, deciding that she wouldn’t take it off until the mezzo came back. She would simply refuse to.

“It that new?”

Her fashion conscious friend never missed as much as a new pair of socks.

“Mmhmmh.” Willow shook her head.

“It’s Tara’s.”

“Tara? Is that the mezzo from Scottish Opera who’s in Butterfly with you?” Buffy said with a slight frown.

“Mmmh…” Willow nodded and smiled to herself.

“Why are you wearing her clothes?”

“It’s comfy. I like it”, Willow answered defensively.

“It doesn’t go with the outfit though. Here, I’ll lend you my red fuzzy one instead”.

Willow crossed her arms over her chest.

“Thanks Buffy, but I’m going to wear this”.

“Honestly Will, I really like your quirky outfits, but that colour with bright red? That’s sort of beyond quirky…”

“I can dress myself, actually, Buff. I’m not always in need of your infinite wisdom”, Willow snapped and left the room.

She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t bring herself to take Tara’s sweater off. Buffy was right, it did clash awfully with her outfit. But for some reason Willow felt really good about herself wearing it. She felt… well, sexy, almost. It made her think of when Tara compared her to the Fairy Queen and the way her hair had smelt when it had tickled Willow’s nose in bed. But mostly it made her think of how Tara had looked wearing it on the way to the opera house that morning. How the different shades of sea greens in the sweater had brought out her eyes as she smilingly squinted at the overly bright sunlight and gently snuck her hand into Willow’s when she had reached out for her.

She compromised by changing the rest of her clothes, but keeping the sweater on. The rest of the evening was spent being kind to Buffy to make up for snapping at her earlier.

They went back to the opera house to listen to Händel’s endless and wonderful opera Julius Caesar. Willow was learning the role of Cleopatra herself and hoped to sing it soon on stage. Normally, she was an attentive, overly critical listener, who would get a concerned frown on her brow whenever her perfect pitch would be offended by the odd off note. Buffy used to joke that had it been allowed, Willow would have taken her lap top to the theatre to record the sound so that she could analyze it in 3D graphics. Tonight, however she seemed unable to even concentrate on the plot. She just sat there and let the beautiful sound wash over her and Tara’s scent fill her senses. For once, her inner critic remained silent.

After the performance, she and Buffy went to the Crusting Pipe and shared a ridiculously expensive and fattening chocolate truffle torte and had red port to go with it. Willow thought as they ate, that next week she would take Tara out to dinner with Buffy and Sandro. Maybe… Or just take her to dinner on her own…

As they were walking home, slightly tipsy from the port, they laughed and joked like they used too. Willow was relieved at Buffy’s good humour, since she had seen the pained looks that Buffy had given her ex-lover Liam Brody for the last few days. It really wasn’t good for Buffy to work in the same house as him, she thought.

“But Blondie-Bear, I still love you! And I know you love me too…I’m still your big tartufo of love!” They heard Harmonia Biondi’s voice from far down the street. In front of her walked a looming figure with long strides, smoking agitatedly.

“In was just sodding SEX, Harmonia!! When are you going to get that into your head!? Now, gerrof me!!”

“You used to say that kissing my lips were like eating tiramisu with a soup spoon! And what about that time when I wore the Brünnhilde costume and you made me call you the demon producer? And Brünnhilde's not even in my repertoire! Isn’t that love? I could do that thing with the leek and the rain coat that you like, baby?”

“For the last time Harm, we’re through, so sod off before I get a restraining order!”

The bizarre procession continued down the street while Willow and Buffy hid in a small alley. Buffy was laughing silently, tears of mirth running down her cheeks.

“I’m going to call Bloodsworth Blondie-Bear until the day he dies!” She whimpered into Willow’s ear.

They talked about the incident all the way home, laughing and re-living it, over and over. Willow was very happy to see her friend so care free, since that hadn’t happened in a long time. Although it did disturb her in some way that she couldn’t quite define, that Bloodsworth made Biondi dress up as Brünnhilde…

“Here’s hoping she didn’t borrow my costume”, Buffy giggled. They both fell silent as some disturbing images entered their heads and then quickly changed the subject.

When they got home, Willow spent a while looking at the moon leaning out of her window. She thought about how it had filled Tara’s hotel room with its silvery light and smiled.

As she went to bed, she put Tara’s cardigan next to her own head on the pillow and rested her cheek in the place where Tara’s shoulder would have been if she had actually been in the sweater instead of in Edinburgh…

She woke up in exactly the same position the following morning thinking for a brief moment that she was back in Tara’s hotel room.

The rest of the weekend was spent learning the music of the love duet from Rosenkavalier. It was a little more difficult than she had expected, but she felt happy rehearsing it, imagining how great their voices would sound as they blended. She wore Tara’s sweater all Sunday, when she visited her singing teacher in Lewes, and again to bed on the Sunday evening. By Monday morning, there was just the slightest hint of Tara’s scent left. It was replaced by something else that Willow supposed was her own scent. She couldn’t quite understand why she would miss Tara so much, having known her for only a few weeks.

Well, it doesn’t matter, because she’ll be back tomorrow and I can give it to her to be recharged with Tara scent…she thought happily.

TBC

The sweater thing was so sweet and so characteristic of new and young love. I recall doing the same thing with a certain green jacket of my ex girlfriend when I was a bit younger. And yes, I did wear it for days too just because it smelled like her!

Nice way to move the plot forward so that we can get closer to Ch. 10 where I'm told my photo question will be answered.

Last thing before I hit the bed, nope, not coming across as pretentious at all. I'm going to go with bubbly and wacky instead.

More soon!

Safuega

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In darkness there can be light
In misery there can be beauty
In death there can be life -El laberinto del fauno-

I think that one line has been my favorate lines yet,its so sublte and unassuming yet its sooo something i can see myself doing, this is a fantastic fic, I love that it is based around opera, i love that the girls both sing, and i love how clueless Willow is,

such a loverly story and im so enjoying,

thanks
Sare.

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I'm getting a wrinkle above my eyebrow because I just can't stop lifting it, and I love that you know..
Angelina Jolie

Awww. That was just so cute with Willow and the sweater.

That was just hilarious. Also sweet and ver romantic. I can't wait to see them sing together particularily with Tara in a trouser role and Willow pondering that.

Awww... this was so sweet:

Willow seems to have forgiven Buffy already for being so awfull late at their old-friends-meeting which brought some not-so-old friends as well, grmbl. Would have like if Buffy had at least had the sense to apologize for that.

Ah well, Willow did meet up with Tara that night eventually. The scene in the hotel trying to get in was fun. "See, I'm not unidentified" made me remember a scene from _Pretty Woman_ for some very odd reason... which I'm still figuring out

Harmoni can be clingy indeed...

Tara's almost back, I wonder how Willow intends to celebrate that. How long will her current show be at the Royal Opera btw? Because after that Tara will be gone again, unless Willow intends to go sing for the Scottish Opera (hmm.. she just might).

Grimmy

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"You hurt Tara," Willow said too calmly. "The last one who tried that was a god. I made her regret it."
-- Unexpected Consequences by Lisa of Nine

Awww, even though this update doesn't have enough W/T lovin' I still adored it. I think my favourite line was the last one, about Tara recharging it with her scent. What a cute and typical Willow line!

This fic is great fun to read. I really enjoy any Opera detail and description of the Opera House and behind the scenes that you give us. It leaves me wanting more!

Bring on the pretentious name-dropping I say! For the opera-uneducated like myself, it doesn't come across as pretentious, rather informative! I have never been to the opera - one of the many sad facts of my life - but I would love to go, just to experience the opulence of such a lush world. Your name-dropping merely assists in allowing me to understand how it all works.
Our two girls in bed together was again, adorable (I have decided to officially adopt this as my word for describing your story). There is nothing cuter than seeing someone you like as they wake up for the very first time. Something that becomes so mundane later on is always a memorable first. The clashing clothes was also very Willow, as was Buffy's notice of this fashion no-no! I wonder if she'll wash the top before returning it...cos that would ruin the whole cuteness of Tara discovering how deliciously Willowy her top now smells...and also the extra fun of her wondering exactly why it does! Hee hee, I'm imagining all sorts of gorgeous scenarios where Willow's guilty little secret is revealed. *Clapping my hands* Bring it on I say again!
Oh and I love how you've kept the hilarity that remains Spike and Harmony (or William and Harmonia, hehe). Wonder when Buffy will twig that it's her he's secretly lusting after?
Oh so much fun to be had!
Thanks again for the story, I'm loving it!

Michaela

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Don't rain on my parade...

hey rbp, i'm really enjoying this fic, glad i stumbled upon it. i think at first i saw the title and had some mariah carey fear or something, but i should've known to put it in a buffy context.
this is so not a dumb idea for a fic. it doesn't matter how crazy the idea is anyway if you can execute it, and you are executing this beautifully! even more impressive that this is your first fic, and that english is not your first language, your writing doesn't give either of those facts away at all. the internationalizing of your cast is perfect, it fits your setting so well and brings out the many familiar traits of these characters in a fresh way.
you're hitting so many beats with this story, both the grandness of the opera and the mundain aspect of the work side of it, along with the budding attraction between w/t. i was confused about one thing, tara said "see you friday" but it looks like she's getting back sooner?. that's tiny though. looking forward to much more of this fic, awesome start! ~mary

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you toyed with my heart like it was a toy heart ~ lisa simpson

Notes: Sorry about the fluff again...

Safuega:
I know what you mean...And thus doth love make fools of us all...
I don't really know what to do about your obession with the photograph, girlfriend ... It puts all kinds of pressure on me to be interesting, and I'm not sure I'm up to that I was gonna settle for boring, but ah, the pressure, the pressure. But seriously, you're going to find it pretty boring probably, compared to a lot of other imaginative suggestions.
So now I have probably persuaded you to finally give up on this story...
Bubbly and wacky? I can live with that. Makes a nice change from my friends usual assessment of "Bitter and twisted"
Thanks for reading and more you shall indeed have!!

Sarejester::
A: Excellent!
B:Yeah, me too that's why I used it. Figured it works because it's not too unlikely.
C:Thank you very much!
D:Excellent!
E:Excellent!
F:Great!
G:Thank you very much!

Sam7777: It's great when people quote things at you, because it's often a line that I've never given a second though to and kind of just wrote in the middle of a flow. Gives one a whole new set of perfectives and ideas for coming chapters, so keep the quotes coming!
You want singing? Well, lucky for me, being a requests ho', this is exactly what's coming up! Thanks for feedback and kind words. Me be big fat feedback ho'...

Grimlock72:
Thank you! I thought that people would find this chapter boring because of the minimal interaction, but it seems like a lot of people can identify with the sweater-thing...
Ah, you know Buffy... She puts her foot in it sometimes, but she bounces back... She'll make it up to Willow, I promise.
I had never thought about Pretty Woman in connection with that scene, but I get your point! Good thing she had Tara waiting for her instead of Richard Gere, huh. Nobody would make her pay for sex, that's for sure. They might offer to pay her, but that's another story...
Thanks for reading!

Vix84: I know, not enough lovin' and interaction... Fortunately, the next chapter is nothin' but interaction!
I'm glad you thought that something was "typically Willow". I always find it frustrating when you're reading a good fic and the characters are just not like themselves, which make it not so good after all, yah know?
Good to know that I'm not completely off...
More? More you shall have!

Tarasgirl: Schplendid! Maybe we should get married, since any woman who uses a word like opulence in a sentence automatically becomes my girlfriend
Give us a call, I'll take you to the Covent Garden.
I can live with a adorable. Again, makes a nice change from "bitter and twisted".
She most certainly will not wash it! Other bits, perhaps, but no garments... Again with the pressure for me to be interesting with the returning of the top... I feel disappointment coming on...
I'm making valiant effort to include Harmonia in more scenes, since quite honestly she wasn't going to be in this at all, but, being a requests ho'...
Seriously, thank you for your incouraragement and I'm looking forward to hearing your impressions of the next chapter.

meretricioous: OK, admit that you're impressed with the quick response... I just got your feedback as I was updating...
Well, what can I say other than: Thanks a bunch for your kind words!
But just don't say Mariah Carey like that... It makes my stomach all acidy...
My genereal response to your feedback can be summoned up as YEEEEEES!!!!!

As for the time aspect, what can I say? I suck at times and dates and the works... I've probably forgotten to make a change somewhere in the text. Good, just keep me on my toes, I need it! Here be update.
Thanks for reading!

Agent Pineapple Bunny


Chapter 6: Vissi d’Arte

On impulse, Willow bought a red rose Tuesday morning from one of the flower sellers in the Covent Garden square, so that the Chevalier of the Rose would have something to actually deliver when they rehearsed. She felt silly almost right away for doing it and hid the flower in her dressing room.
She stood outside in the bright sunlight at lunchtime waiting for Tara, feeling oddly nervous. She paced restlessly to and fro until she plucked up the courage to ask Giles, who assured her that her flight was delayed and Tara had called ahead to warn them that she would be very late for rehearsals. Willow felt weak in the knees with relief.

“Is there something the matter with Tara, since you were worried?” Giles scanned her face with a frown.

“No, nothing, as far as I know”, Willow said honestly, since she had literally no idea why she had been worried.

Later that afternoon, Willow was on stage rehearsing the love duet from the first act of Butterfly. She briefly glanced out into the auditorium and saw Tara standing behind a pillar. The contrast between the blood red velvet curtain in the background, the white of the pillar and the colours of Tara made her look unreal. She was standing just beneath one of the auditoriums mock old fashioned light sources. A golden beam of light falling on half of her face made the texture of her skin and the elegance of her bone structure hurt Willow’s eyes with their beauty. A strand of honey coloured hair contrasted with the bright sapphire gleam of her gaze directed at Willow. The soprano felt a wave of something indefinable wash over her. A sudden emptiness, a craving, an urge. Her eyes needed to rest on Tara because they had missed her so… She could make out the crooked grin on the mezzo's face

She’s getting back at me for eavesdropping on her…

She gave her a little wave, but her stalker didn’t come out from the shadows.
She found it hard to concentrate. As soon as they took a break, she left the stage and sought her out.

“Hey…” Willow said softly and smoothly walked straight into an embrace.

“So I guess I’m not as stealthy as you then”, Tara murmured against the fabric of Willows top as she was leaning her head on her shoulder.

“Nope, I’m a regular Miss Stealthy Pants when it comes to stalking people”, Willow mumbled contentedly, inhaling scent of Tara perfume from the mezzo’s hair.

“Willow, we need to run through the duet again! Where did you go?” Giles called out impatiently from the stage.

Willow felt annoyed with him. Why did he have to interrupt her all the time? Could he see that they were…

Well, doing what exactly? Willow asked herself, but found no answer. Wasn’t she just saying hi to a friend? But she didn’t want to let go; she had been hungry and now she was feeding.

“See you in two hours for a Rosenkavalier rehearsal?”

Tara nodded against her shoulder and Willow gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before she could regret it and walked back towards the stage. When she looked back she could see that Tara moved her fingers across her cheek in the place where Willow had just kissed her.

I hope she didn’t mind it and that she’s not just wiping off my saliva, Willow’s eternally worried mind said to itself.

As the rehearsal went on, the soprano never noticed how the other woman snuck back into auditorium and sat in the shadows next to the wall. Her whole posture signalled concentration as she listened with her body and soul, eyes never leaving Willow’s face.

Two hours later, it was finally time for the Chevalier of the Rose to make “his” entry with the silvery rose. The red rose was still hidden away in Willow’s dressing room. The soprano was early as was her wont. She paced the room restlessly.

“Hi…”

The mezzo came through the door on silent feet.

“How was the concert?” Willow asked.

“It was fine”, Tara answered neutrally.

“Just fine? That’s’ code for ‘it didn’t go very well’, right?”

“You’re right, it wasn’t ‘fine’. It was good, actually. Cherubino always feels like coming home”.

“So I guess that’s Taraspeak for I was awesome and just totally ruled?” Willow said teasingly.

Tara sighed in mock indignation and shook her head.

“So, you ready to get cracking? I think I’ve got most bits in place, but hey, who knows? Have you had enough time to rehearse it?” Willow realised she was heading for babble mode.

“Don’t need to. I did it just a couple of months ago in Edinburgh with another soprano, so it’s still in place”.

“Tara, you cheat! You have other Sophies in your life than me? And I thought I was the only one!”
Willow feigned a mock outrage and pretended to swoon onto the grand piano. Still, she felt a stitch of disappointment. Had Tara chosen this particular piece out of convenience rather than because she thought that they do it so very well together? Rather than because their voices just fit perfectly? Rather than because of the …well, chemistry between them, for lack of a better word?

“Aww, honey, I promise you’ll be the only Sophie in my life from now on…”

Tara suddenly turned around and started to unnecessarily rearrange her sheet music.

She called me honey…

“I would if I could choose, you know…” Her back was still turned to Willows.

“What?”

“Sing only with you…” Tara looked at her over her shoulder.

Willow felt a smile spread across her face.

“We sound great together don’t we?”

Tara just nodded and looked into her eyes. Willow felt very confused all of a sudden. There was a feeling in her body akin to pain. A sense of weakness… She had to look away.

She tried to stick to the tangible reality of the music and get her focus back.
Willow was well rehearsed for a person who had just learned the piece, but Tara… Octavian seemed like second nature to her. The part could have been written for her voice specifically. Perfection was the only word for the way the music flew over her lips and filled to whole room with passion. Willow went totally week in the knees at the sound. When she neared the more difficult places in Sophie’s part, again, there was Tara’s soft and strong hand in hers, making her feel safe and near the breaking point at the same time.

I’m not going to need the reassurance this time, but a great advantage here is that it will look totally natural when we hold hands while singing this. Octavian and Sophie will be lovers, after all, and lovers hold hands...

When they had tried the piece together for the first time, they looked at each other in wondrous amazement and smiled. This was going to be very special.
They started from the beginning to try and correct some of the small flaws in the first part.

“To me is fallen the honour of presenting to the highborn bride…”

As Willow was supposed to respond by accepting the rose and say it smelled like a rose from heaven, Tara caught her completely off guard by handing her a banana with a totally straight face. Willow burst out laughing and completely ruined her line.

“You’re evil!” She exclaimed in a mock outrage.

She usually took her music very seriously, but she just wasn’t able to be upset with Tara.

“Wait here!” She said and ran away to her dressing room to fetch the forgotten red rose.

She would use it as a counter strike if any more fruit turned up. When she returned, the offending snack was nowhere to be seen. She kept one hand behind her back to keep the rose hidden from Tara. She was going to turn the tables on the Rosenkavalier.

“Now be serious”, Willow said sternly with an exaggerated frown on her face.

A smile still played in the right corner of Tara’s mouth right before she started over on her first line. When it was time for Octavian to hand Sophie the rose, Tara obediently kept her hands idle. When Sophie sang about the scent of the flower, Willow pulled the wonderful rose out and smelled it gently. She gave the mezzo a teasing look.
She put the flower in Tara’s hand and closed the mezzo’s fingers on top of it. Then she stepped back with a bow and a flourish, changing the roles around. Tara looked at her with her impossibly deep blue eyes. The little lakes were suddenly very shiny. She remained still and expressionless for a few moments. Then she very slowly moved closer and brushed her lips across Willows cheek. The soprano closed her eyes and she could hear the sound of her own blood roaring through her ears.

When she opened them again, she realised disappointedly that that Tara had moved away from her.

“Thank you”, she said softly.

“Do you want to do it again?” Willow asked. For her own part, she wanted to do this duet over, and over and over for the rest of her natural life.

“Always…” Tara answered, still holding the rose to her chest.

The music flew through the room effortlessly, repeating the same phrases again and again. It was as if it had always lived there and they had been singing for ever, holding hands.


More than an hour later, Tara lent her head on the back of the coach along the rehearsal room wall, closed her eyes and sighed.

“Hmm, I’m tired”, she said in a happy voice.

Willow didn’t answer. She followed the line of Tara’s bared, slender neck down to her exposed collarbone as if mesmerized. She suddenly realised what word should be used to replace “pretty” to describe Tara.

The words were “Strikingly beautiful". Or more prosaically: Hot. Needing-a-cold-shower-type hot…"

Though those were of course several words, she thought unnecessarily to herself.

The weird, dull ache in her body intensified.

You want to kiss her, her mind stated matter-of-factly.

You want to kiss her right there, in that nameless place where her chin meets her neck and then her lips. You hunger for the taste of her and you feel like you’re starving because you can’t do anything about it. You have crossed your arms over your chest to stop yourself from running your hands through her hair while you kiss that soft, soft skin on her neck. And her lips…

When did this happen? She asked herself, honestly curious.

You’ve wanted to since you saw her up on that stage, or probably since before that, since when you heard the voice. You just didn’t want to believe it, so you tried to push it to the back of your head. But you’ve always called things by their right name, so you couldn’t hide it for long. After all, you’ve been singing with Buffy hundreds of times and never needed to hold her hand. You wouldn’t have held hands with Montague, would you? You’re in love, not to mention deaf and blind with desire. So she’s a woman, but that doesn’t change the facts. It is what it is and there’s nothing you can do.

But there’ll be nothing left of me when she leaves. This is a “Without Tara there is no nightingale”-type deal! I don’t think I’ll be able to cope.

Who said that you get to be able to cope? That’s not how this works.

But I don’t want this. It’s going to eat me up. What if it breaks my heart, like when he left? I just want to be in the music. I never want to be in love again.

To late for that isn’t it? You are totally without free will here. All you can hope for is that she doesn’t ask you to jump from the top of a tall building, since you know you would if she asked you. So just pray that she doesn’t ask...

That’s when panic struck. Willow realised that from this day on, nothing would ever be ok if she couldn’t have Tara. Have her in every sense of the word. Butterfly wouldn’t be ok, her life wouldn’t be ok. Nothing was FINE. She had brought Tara the red rose because she loved her.

WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO ABOUT THIS? She yelled mutely to herself.

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"You found the last known Urn of Osiris on E-bay...?

Awww... poor Willow is trying to protect herself from True Love but her subconsious is having none of that I do understand Willow's fear but ignoring how she feels for Tara wont work, besides she wouldn't ask her to jump of a high building... so it should be ok

Willow handing over the rose confused me a bit, since I thought that was exactly the wrong way around for the part she played? Tara handing over a banana ( ) indeed showed a weird sense of humor. Maybe it is needed to break up rehearsing with humor at times. Otherwise things might get boring

For some reason I feel I probably missed some jokes regarding the piece/roles and who is cast as what. THat's ok, I'll get there eventually, takes lotsa study though



Cuuuute.... and Willow is all confused over her feelings, aaaaawww... she'll figure it out. Eventually

Grimmy

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"You hurt Tara," Willow said too calmly. "The last one who tried that was a god. I made her regret it."
-- Unexpected Consequences by Lisa of Nine

Okay, okay, I'm laying off the photo thing. Far be it for me to pressure the auteur! Happy?

Now about this lovely update you have given us, Ms. Pineapple. I liked everything from the greeting to Willow's internal musings on the nature of her attraction to Tara. You hit so many lovely notes with this update that I must quote back to you the parts that I liked the most.



I really liked how you phrased Willow’s longing here. I think it captures well the wonder of desire, as well as the wonder of discovery.



This whole exchange felt so intimate and tender that it was easy to picture them both off to the side of the stage as whispering lovers savoring stolen moments.



This line was so endearing and so like Willow to want to be the only one.



This exchange I liked best. If you intended it to be a variation of the “I am yours” exchange in canon, then I am happy to report that it worked very well. If you didn’t intend it to be so, I am happy to report that it was still lovely and it works very well as the confession of sorts that it is intended to be.



Oh wow, what a wonderful description of how utterly wonderful and terrifying love can be.

Now as far as my thoughts on the duet are concerned, I have to confess that yours is the only fic that I do homework for, and read twice. I read as soon as you post to see how far along the two lovers have come, and to see what opera scenario I am in. Then, I go online hunting for the plot of the opera to put the action into context and then I return to read the update again. This is how I understood Willow and Tara’s ‘courtship’ via the Chevalier of the Rose.

After reading the plot of the opera, I thought that it would be Willow who would be Octavian and Tara would be Sophie given their canon personalities. But, the twist of Tara as Octavian worked very well and Tara handing over a banana in lieu of a rose fit very well with the tone of the opera and Tara’s quirky sense of humor. And Willow as a bold Sophie and giving Octavian-Tara the flower was really endearing. Well done.

I also really liked Willow’s matter of fact attitude to finding herself attracted to a woman. I would not expect anything less of someone as self aware and intelligent as Willow. I particularly liked this passage:



Funny how Willow’s mind tells her to accept the fact that she is in love again, but her heart, I assume, bruised from Oz’s departure is screaming for her to run for the hills. Let’s hope that Willow’s panic attack is short lived, shall we?

As for Willow’s last question, all I can say is: 'Well, for starters kiss the girl and find out!'

I seem to recall way back when that there will be angst in this fic? Would this be the turn in the road where we will encounter said angst?

Okay, I'll stop now. Thanks for sharing this wonderful 'interactive' story with us.

More soon!:p

Safuega

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In darkness there can be light
In misery there can be beauty
In death there can be life -El laberinto del fauno-

I loved Willow's internal dialogue:

on the last quesiton. Poor Willow has found herself head over heels and she's rather reluctant to go back down that road. I also like the tounarund of Tara spying on Willow. When they sing together there is such an obvious link between them that I'm suprised that sparks don't fly out for all to see. Great update!

I LOVE it...MORE MORE MORE MORE!!!! *jumps up and down, holding hands out...*
Im kinda addicted to this fic aye, I love the way your writing Tara and WIllow its so....man think of a bloody amazing word and insirt it here, what ever it is it will fit,

Kay im just going to stop by the real world and check im not needed and then Im comming back...my mental powers tell me an update is comming...

Sare

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I'm getting a wrinkle above my eyebrow because I just can't stop lifting it, and I love that you know..
Angelina Jolie

Forgive me for not getting here sooner

This is a great story, exactly the kind of thing I love about Uberfics - revisiting the Willow/Tara love, and discovering a whole new world at the same time. And you're giving us such a world, the opera in all its vivid detail - you really make it earn Willow's declaration that it's "the only thing as big as life".

I adore all the ubercharacters, especially how you've 'internationalised' them - Xander as an Italian (I can see that), Cordelié and Gloria going at it in their bitch-fest battle royale , Harmonia and the stuff she gets up to to keep her 'Blondie-Bear' happy (I'm not sure I want to think too much about the leek and the raincoat )...

...and of course, Willow and Tara. It's so fitting for this story that Willow's first 'look' at Tara was through her voice, through music. And I love how you've kept that up, the musical component to their relationship, and to how they think. Willow observing that Tara seems unable to do anything un-musical is a captivating image, and it's not alone in this story - Willow getting the rose, Tara's sweater, Tara taking Willow's hand, cuddling her in sleep... And on a completely different tack, Tara producing a banana in the middle of their love duet, that's priceless My love for goofy Tara knows no bounds

And while there may not be any NC-17-rated smut yet, the warmth and intimacy you've written into Willow and Tara's physical relationship, in such simple things as sleeping side by side, hugging, holding hands... you're a credit to the Ministry, Agent Pineapple Bunny

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Chris Cook

Through the Looking-glass - Every world needs a Willow and Tara.