Welcome to the start of what I hope to be my *first* long (and hopefully eventually completed) story. Inspired by a (2016!) TSOM forum prompt - write a 'meet cute'. My inability to write this as a one-shot eventually led to the exploration of the idea that sometimes, love is not a kindling that blazes into flame, but a slow, smouldering burn.

Warning: Basically just a very long meet-cute. And lots - LOTS - of talking. Might be boring.

Disclaimer: Meet-cute inspired by the Anne of Green Gables scene displayed in the cover art- As a result, lots of homage paid to Anne along the way.

Would love any and all feedback (and encouragement/gentle harassment to keep going!)

Prologue

He wasn't sure which of them had made the suggestion of boarding school. It had been a long, sweltering summer month in Vienna where he had drunk more than he cared to admit and socialized much less than Elsa wanted or deserved.

He couldn't remember whether Elsa had offered the suggestion to be helpful, or if he had come up with it himself out of desperation.

Not that it had mattered, because in the end, it was still he – their father – who had agreed to send the children to boarding school (the most prestigious in Europe, Elsa had assured him). He, Georg Von Trapp, who had once upon a different time promised himself and his wife never to send the children away.

He, Georg Von Trapp, who had laughed at his wife as she joyously and carefully planned each of her children's days. He, Georg Von Trapp, for whom home had always been a haven, an embrace, a sanction at the end of his battles. He, Georg Von Trapp, who had happily exchanged his fruitful naval career to change nappies and read bedtime stories; and when the day was done, retreat to the master suite with his beautiful wife beside him, content to be both commander and follower in his own little domain.

And here he was, five years later, leagues away from Aigen, surrounding himself with strangers, entertaining the idea of sending his children to boarding school.

Shouldn't he want to be home?

Shouldn't he miss his children?

Georg had had plenty of time over the summer to reflect on what a terrible father he had been. He told himself he loved his children. But his heart added that love was now accompanied by pain and marred with grief. A simple walk around the house could evoke the most bittersweet of memories. The daily, domestic life he had happily retired into suddenly became a minefield to navigate.

To his children, he had become sharp, angry, unreasonable. Even though Georg had been around – at times – he had held them at arms length. For all his presence accomplished, he might as well have been off at sea.

He had depended for years on unreliable governesses and barely making it through the summers, hoping the routine and discipline of the school year would sort his children out.

Except that it hadn't.

This year had been an unqualified disaster, culminating with a phone call from the school principal to personally inform him just how poorly his children were doing in meeting scholastic standards (except for Friedrich, although the principal had strongly hinted this was more a result of smarts than effort – a snide remark that left Georg more than a little smug). His caller had been a snarky little thing, whose oily pleasantness seemed to take delight in finding fault with every one of his children.

Marta was always asking questions she already knows the answers to.

Friedrich never completes his assignments.

Brigitta had to be implored to stop reading long enough to pay attention in class, and her brother Kurt was always daydreaming.

Not only had Louisa failed several subjects, but nobody could go near her with a ten-foot pole without getting an angry reply. Her sister Liesl was just the opposite, having gained an unwelcome reputation as the class flirt. (Georg had turned a speechless, blotchy purple after that particular observation, and almost missed the principal tutting his disproval that young Miss Gretl refuses to speak when spoken to.)

Georg had politely tried to cut the man off on several occasions. His control slipped at the nonchalant remarks over his eldest daughter, his anger unleashing itself in a few cutting words aimed at the school's rubbish curriculum and utter lack of teachers able to enforce discipline.

He had hung up before the principal could voice his opinion that the Captain was as outrageous as his children. He'd never actually met the man, despite the many years his children had gone to school in Salzburg. He paced the study all the afternoon, bristled with anger in defense of his children. How could any child be prevailed to excel under the tutelage of a man like that? Honestly! Finding fault with a five-year old who didn't want to speak out loud in class?

Georg had left for Vienna the next morning with the idea of having the principal removed from his post upon his return, and perhaps one or two more trusted members added to the board who could be prevailed upon to make dependable decisions. The children, he was convinced, would do just fine with a new set of instructors.

But even extravagant luncheons and dances under crystal chandeliers and evenings spent in Elsa's luxury penthouse couldn't distract him from the uneasy sense of dread every time he thought about the children.

What did they need? He knew they were bright – he had seen how their little talents had blossomed under Agathe's guidance. He knew they could be kind – he saw enough to know they banded together, looking after one another. The observations of the children's flaws disturbed him. They seemed like such inconsequential things; little quirks of each child's personality he might have understood if he knew them better, coalescing to magnify an issue he couldn't quite identify.

The day Frau Schmidt phoned his hotel to give report that the children had chased away the first governess of the summer with something she had seen Louisa digging up by the pond, Georg had felt a sudden rush of anger. The unbidden thought flashed through his mind that perhaps if the girl spent more time studying and less time playing pranks, she might have passed.

What did they need? He thought angrily and a little desperately, as he gave his consent for his housekeeper to move down the list of names he had provided her at the start of summer.

A tutor fluent in the deportment of etiquette?

He didn't know if his anger was directed at the school, his children, or himself. He was filled with a sense of failure, but he wasn't sure who had failed whom. He didn't know what it was his children needed, or how to give it to them.

Georg caught himself wondering once or twice over the summer whether he ought to invite Elsa back to Aigen. He knew Elsa was keen to see where he lived and how he spent his time, and only refrained from speaking of it out of respect for him. Georg thought that he himself was beginning to come around to the idea. But it came as a shock to realize that he thought about inviting her, not from his own selfish desire, but from the unspeakable fraud that he was hoping her aristocratic finesse would set an example for the children.

Or that having failed governesses and teachers alike, his children would turn out better if they had a mother.

The thought filled him with a sense of horror and embarrassment, and he avoided Elsa for almost a week. It was in this dark mood that she found him, and somehow led to the topic of boarding school.

A terrible father. And now a terrible sort of gentleman. Desperately, Georg had started the applications for boarding school, deluding himself into thinking he may be able to salvage some of it to give everybody involved a future.

And then he thought of Agathe.

Not the way he had always thought of Agathe over these past few years. Not of the sparkling, brilliant, kind wife he had lost and never let go of and grieved for. Instead, he thought about the promises he had made her. His promise at the altar to make their family's happiness a priority. His promise at the side of Liesl's crib that wherever he was, he would be thinking of them all. His promise at the side of Marta's crib just after he retired that now he would BE there for them all. His promise at his beloved wife's deathbed as with her last words she pleaded for him to keep the children close.

Unable to complete another word of the applications, overwhelmed with terror and guilt and sadness, Georg had fled to the only escape he could think of.

Maximillan Detweiler, frequent patron of what seemed like all bars in Vienna, had found him hunched over a booth in a cheap saloon. Max, who for once probably had been minding his own business, had been rightfully and unpleasantly surprised to find his old friend drinking himself into oblivion. He thought those days were behind him. Certainly these days Georg seemed equal to any of Elsa's wit and social graces. And yet here he was, tie undone, brow furrowed, eyes unforced, with Elsa nowhere to be seen.

The waitress arrived with yet another drink, glancing at Max before her gaze rested curiously for a moment on Georg. Tall, handsome, brooding – must be every woman's dream, Max mused, disgruntled. He slid into the booth across from his friend.

Georg had lost count of how many drinks he'd had by then.

He had no recollection of how long he and Max had sat there, or the fact at some point Max had stealthily switched his liquor for water. He didn't remember Max dragging him out of the saloon, or know how Max could have possibly gotten him back to his hotel without causing a scene. His first clear recollection of that night was waking up alone on the couch, head pounding as he staggered toward the toilet, cursing like a sailor.

But somewhere in all that mess, he must have confessed something. Everything. For Max showed up (promptly and disgustingly early) two days later, suitcase at his feet, drawing two train tickets from his breast pocket with the show of revealing a winning poker hand and wearing a conspirator's smile.

Very much sober and in control again, Georg had barricaded Max in the doorway and demanded to know what was going on. He was shocked to learn that sometime during the night, he had agreed the best way forward was to return to the villa for a time and take a more avid interest in his children's upbringing.

"I don't know Max," he mumbled, ashamed at the confession his old friend must have forced from him. "I need to consider this."

"Georg," Max shook his head, helping himself to the hotel's bar cart. Georg winced – just looking at the bar cart still gave him a headache. "You're probably the only person I'd say this about, but you make better decisions when you're drunk then when you're sober."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"It's true. You think too much. You overthink too much."

Georg stared silently at him. Now that he was sober, the very thought of returning to Aigen for any fixed period of time had his every nerve standing on edge. A panicked sort of static filled his mind at the idea of resuming his once cherished daily routine, even though he knew it was indeed a practical solution. Back on the battlefield if you want to win the war.

But what good would it do when he already thought of his home as a battlefield?

"For your children, Georg." Max said quietly. He had been silently observing Georg's every expression. "They need help."

"Who told you that?" Georg snapped.

"You did. In fact, what you actually said was 'they need me', but that part remains to be seen."

Georg glared at the other man, who looked calmly back at him. Max was all too familiar with Georg's bark to feel the least bit ruffled.

"If it helps, you'll have the delightful pleasure of my company."

"Isn't it customary to wait for an invitation?" Georg growled.

Max was unfazed, smiling pleasantly at his whiskey as he waited.

Georg looked Max over in silent deliberation. Max was an astute man. Despite his poor gambling record, he had a knack for reading situations with uncanny accuracy. He had kept Georg out of trouble during his darkest years, and Georg trusted him.

"Come Georg," Max was now saying, "don't change your mind on me. I already got myself a position in Salzburg, don't you know?"

Chuckling at Georg's blank expression, he explained how he had already applied and been accepted as the new trustee on the Salzburg school board. "You yourself suggested it, you know," he added as Georg shook his head in disbelief.

Georg studied his friend through narrowed eyes, half bemused, half angry. When he had – however briefly – considered replacing members of the school board, Max had not been on his list of candidates. Even now, Georg had a hard time seeing Max sitting in the small Salzburg boardroom discussing anything as banal as student woes.

"You must be joking."

Max shook his head.

God, he must have been more intoxicated than he thought he'd been. "What's in this for you, Max?" He asked suspiciously.

"Besides your envious lifestyle, you mean?" Max held up his aperitif by way of explanation.

Unconvinced, Georg raised his eyebrows. "It can't be the money – being a trustee hardly pays what it's worth. Plus, you know I'd lend you whatever you need."

"Too right," Max rejoined unabashedly. He took a sip of his beverage and sighed heavily. "I knew you wouldn't make this easy for either of us. Georg."

Something in his tone made his friend look him in the eye.

"You told me you didn't deserve to live."

There was an uncomfortable silence before Georg chuckled, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture for him. "I was drunk, Max."

"You're more honest when you're drunk."

"That day was an exception. I had a… bad day."

Max snorted. "I'll say."

Georg sighed. "You know I'd never consider it. It's against everything I believe in. Plus, there are the children."

"Yes, children who – in your own words – haven't had a father for five years, whom you don't know at all and certainly don't know how to help. I worry, Georg."

"I'm touched. You needn't worry about me."

"I'm worried about your fortune if anything were to happen to you."

"Both are quite safe, I assure you."

"And I worry about those spirited, lively, youthful Von Trapps of yours. You're getting to be a rather miserable, cantankerous old man. "

Georg pursued his lips, surveying Max. The idea of being back in Aigen was growing on him. He was a military man, and it gave him a sense of relief and purpose to have a course of action in mind. But the heaviness of having to do what he was about to commit himself to doing without his beautiful Agathe was almost more than he could accept. Maybe it would be good to have Max around. For comic relief. Plus, he was touched.

"That still doesn't explain why you went and got yourself a job," Georg pointed out.

Max shrugged. "I'm beginning to think I need a change myself."

Sharp as a tack, Georg was onto him. "Is there trouble, again?"

"No, no, no – nothing like that. Nothing outrageous. Well, there are a few people I'm rather keen to avoid."

Georg snorted. At times, it felt like Max owed money to half of Vienna.

"I'm getting a little bit… bored. Restless. Looking for somewhere to be, things to do, you know – like the rest of you. I thought about getting into show business, but finding a suitable choir or singing group to manage isn't as easy as it sounds. Plus, I'd rather wanted to get away from all the commotion."

"Enough to take up a sensible, respectable post in the boring ol' town of Salzburg?" Georg goaded, but any venom long gone.

Max chuckled. "Technically, you invited me – whether you remember or not."

"Hm. I'm starting to see why you like me intoxicated."

"Ah yes, decisive, honest, and incredibly generous." Max held up his glass in a toast. "Well, it's settled then. Let's call it a trial run, shall we?"

"And if we fail?"

"Well, I will fall back on my natural talents as a charming sponge, and you – well, Georg, you never fail."

Georg was about to retort that the only reason he was even considering this arrangement was because of his earlier failures. His children deserved better.

He could give them that, couldn't he?