Tristan und Isolde
by Maureen S. O'Brien

Rating: PG, probably
Category: S, R (Mac/Harm, Mac/Chegs)
Summary: Who says opera isn't relevant? Not Mac, that's for sure.

Disclaimer: 
(ttto "Donna E Mobile". Freely.)
Don Bellisario
He owns this little show
With CBS and Paramount
And Belisarius Productions.
I don't own the characters.
I used them anyway.
Please do not sue me now;
I did it all in play....
			 
Author's Note: It's been a while since I last heard Wagner's little
opera, so I might have mixed in stuff from other Tristan legends
and stories. If I did, just assume that the characters brought this
stuff in on purpose.... And before you ask, I am not advocating 
that solution! 

===================================================================
She was a Marine. She could do anything. She could even score four 
tickets to _Tristan_. Just not four together.

But maybe that was just as well.

She slipped through the milling crowds of intermission, climbing down
the tiers of seats towards Bud and Harriet's. She did feel a certain 
amount of satisfaction with her black and white dress. She'd been 
right to check out the evening gown clearance sales her first year 
in Washington. Nobody who had seen her at the ball for the Romanian 
princess or any of the other formal occasions she'd been stuck with 
was going to guess it had cost her all of fifty dollars, but the 
thought gave her a secret satisfaction. And she was certainly getting 
some wear out of it. 

She wasn't sure if she was equally pleased with her hair. She went
from cut to cut, never quite satisfied. And it always turned messy
right when she needed to look neat. So on formal occasions, she
tended to slick her hair back, stick it down with as much hair spray
as possible, and _dare_ her hair to try to escape. Okay, maybe it
wasn't the most flattering look for her, but it worked.

Bud and Harriet were standing up, looking back up the seats. Two 
seats together she'd been able to handle. Bud spotted her first, and 
Mac could see him think of calling in her direction. But he didn't.

Bud's not a kid anymore, she reminded herself. He's even getting 
married soon. Anyway, this is an opera house, not a funeral parlor.

She looked up and behind her. Way back in the nosebleed seats, there
were even people in leather jackets and jeans. They weren't here to 
dress up. They were here for the music, spending the intermission 
discussing whether the soprano sounded a little hoarse on this aria
or how the acting had gone on that scene. She wondered how many of
the people in the front row were doing that. Probably not many.
But maybe she was just being a reverse snob. Harriet came from a 
wealthy family, and she hadn't turned off her brain.

The row of seats directly behind Bud and Harriet had been deserted,
so Mac made her way through it. "Enjoying the opera?" she asked.

"Yes, I am," Bud said, sounding almost surprised. "Those surtitles on
the screen over the stage really helped me to follow along. I mean, 
I always thought all they'd be singing was 'I love you, I love you, 
I hate you, I hate you,' but there was a lot more than that. Once I 
knew what they were saying, everything made a lot more sense."

"Opera doesn't have to make sense, Bud. It just has to sound good."
Enter Harm, stage left. "Mac, can you change seats with me?"

"Sure. Why? You're not behind a pillar or something, are you?" She 
thought she'd gotten everyone a decent view, and now she was worried.

"Nothing like that, Mac...It's just...you know that sword that 
Tristan lays down between him and Isolde?"

"Yeah?"

"There's a woman sitting next to me who doesn't take 'red light' for 
an answer," he said reluctantly. "If I had _my_ sword with me, you 
better believe it would have been on the armrest." He looked at her 
as if afraid she'd laugh.

Mac didn't laugh. "I'll trade with you. And the opera will be much
more interesting for her after intermission." She said it blandly,
but their eyes met with shared amusement.

"Just don't stain the carpets or upset the ushers."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Part of this dress is white."

"I noticed. Getting fond of wearing naval colors?"

"You keep thinking that, squid boy."

Harriet grinned and stage-whispered to Bud, "I think they've 
forgotten we're here."

Mac blushed a little. But Harm was in the middle of describing what
the woman had been doing, and she was having too much fun to care.
And as long as Bud and Harriet were around, she could enjoy the 
luxury of a good banter with Harm. 

She didn't trust herself otherwise.

"That sword thing," Bud broke in nervously. "I didn't understand that
part."

"What part didn't you understand?" asked Harriet.

Harm and Mac grinned at each other and turned to hear Bud's latest 
view of the world. This should be fun.

"Why did he do it? I mean, he'd already run off with Isolde, and she
wasn't really married to King Mark anyway. So why didn't they just...
you know?"

"Honor, Bud," Harm said quietly. "He'd sworn to his cousin that he'd
deliver Isolde to him, and that he wouldn't touch her. So they had to
keep their promise. The sword was just a reminder. And a sign to Mark,
if he ever saw them."

He looked at Bud as he said it, but Mac felt the implications of his
studiously calm words. But even Bud could tell there was something
else being said here. He looked puzzled.

"Oh, look!" Harriet said brightly. "There's the Admiral!"

Mac followed her glance. Sure enough. Admiral Chegwidden sat in
lonely glory, taking in the opera from the front row. He must have 
felt eyes on his back, because he turned and saw them. Saw her.

Their eyes met across the length of the theater.

Admiral Chegwidden, Mac told herself. Your C.O. and Harm's. And Harm 
is watching. Don't go pale.

But something must have betrayed her, because suddenly Harm went from 
truly relaxed to deliberately so -- the calm of combat or an argument 
in court. She reached for that calm herself. It was too bad Harm 
could read her so well; it made this whole situation more difficult.

The Admiral's eyes released her. He nodded and turned back around,
looking harried and unhappy. 

Mac felt the sudden need to swear.

"I'm sorry I interrupted," Harriet said apologetically. "You were
saying?"

"I'd said my piece," Harm said. Evenly.

Harriet turned to her fiancee. "What about you, Bud?"

"Well, I was also wondering about Isolde. She didn't seem like the
most straightforward character. I mean, that whole bit where she
disguised her maid and sent her to Mark on their wedding night. If
she'd just told Mark she wanted to marry Tristan instead, the whole
problem would have been solved."

"And the opera would have been over in five minutes," Mac grinned.
"But what could she do? She was a princess of Ireland, marrying 
the king of Cornwall. Her people were relying on her. Refusing to
marry Mark would have been practically an act of war. 

"And marrying his younger cousin?  Mark wouldn't have been thinking, 
'Tristan plays harp and fights dragons better than I do, so it's 
natural she should fall in love with him, love potion or no love 
potion.'" 

And boy, legend had really stacked the deck in Tristan's 
favor. Real life was never that clear-cut. Surely there was 
something to say for King Mark? 

"Falling in love with Isolde was practically treason. Mark could 
only think Tristan wanted his throne."

"Yeah, but Mark ended up thinking so anyway. And being jealous."

"I didn't say Isolde used good strategy. I just said she had a 
difficult tactical position." Mac sighed. "It's power, I guess, to
have two men wanting you. But it's not a very useful power. There's
no way to resolve the situation without hurting someone."

She didn't look at Harm. But she could feel him suddenly relax
again. She smiled.

Bud laughed. "You should read some of my sister's fantasy novels.
There's this one author who drove Winnie crazy. The book set up 
this love triangle, see, and there was all kinds of angst and 
jealousy. But at the end they decided the logical solution was...
um." He looked embarrassed. 

Mac grinned wider. Just remembered that Harriet and I are women,
she diagnosed. 

Harriet looked impatient. "Finish the story, Bud."

"Well, they all got together. So to speak."

Harm's eyes widened. "A menage a trois? Bud, does your mother know
what kind of books your sister's reading?"

Mac lost it. She covered her mouth and laughed helplessly. Harm in
parental mode. Too cute. 

Harriet just shook her head and smiled, obviously not sure whether 
to be amused or exasperated. But the expression in her eyes as she
looked at Bud was tender. 

Mac looked away, embarrassed and envious. If only she could be
so free to feel....

"It was a fantasy novel, sir!" Bud was continuing to explain. 
"They're not supposed to have stuff like that in them. Winnie was 
really mad. She called me up just to complain about the ending."

Harm still looked disapproving, and Mac felt laughter bubbling up in 
her again. "People should know better than to write stuff like that,"
Harm pronounced. "Especially if teenagers are reading these fantasy 
novels."

"Fantasy is right," Mac snickered. "If the characters are jealous
of each other the whole novel, how would they suddenly stop hating 
each other enough to...." She started laughing again. "But it would
certainly change the opera!"

"Speaking of which," Harriet interrupted, "the intermission's almost
over."

"Oh," Mac said, looking around. Somehow, almost all the seats around
them had filled up without them noticing. "We'd better trade tickets,
Harm."

He pulled his wallet from his pocket and pulled out his ticket stub.
She got hers out of her stupid little handbag and offered it to him.
He pulled it out of her fingers, careful not to let their hands touch,
then gave her his.

Very casually done. No problem. As long as Bud and Harriet stood
watching.

"You know where you're going, Mac?"

"I saw where you were sitting." Of course I did.

"And vice versa." He didn't look at her. 

He did look over at Bud and Harriet. "You guys want to go to Denny's 
afterward?"

Bud shrugged. "Harriet?"

"That sounds nice," she said casually. "Liebestod, eggs, and 
coffee."

A little more time with him. A few more smiles from him. Bless you, 
Harriet. In real life, there were no easy answers -- but there were 
24 hour restaurants.

"Then we'll all meet here at the end of the show?" asked Mac.

They all agreed.

They went to their places not a moment too soon. The lights began to 
dim just as Mac reached her new seat. The woman next to her glared.

Mac smiled sweetly and sat back, ready to have her heart torn by
sorrow and uplifted by the beauty of the music. A little catharsis
would do her good, since she found it hard to let her feelings show.
And the opera was bound to cheer her up, because no matter what 
happened, things could never get this bad. 

Not as long as she could depend on their honor and her own.

==================================================================
Maureen S. O'Brien   mobrien@dnaco.net
http://www.dnaco.net/~mobrien/fanfic/
http://www.dnaco.net/~mobrien/filk/media/jagfilk.html