My, my, my, when inspiration hit me, it hit me like a ton of bricks! I just had to get this one out while it was still fresh and good. And this isn't made of thin air, either – a lot of my information, settings, and stories come from real interviews and accounts. Sticking to my style of "It could've happened, it's not impossible," so wanted to put it in as realistic of a setting as possible. Enjoy!

I do not own The Sound of Music, or know any of the real people I portrayed in the story. I'm just writing a fan-fic I know none of them will ever read, despite the undying respect and admiration I have for them. : )

Uuuuuuuuumgggffffttt!

It was unavoidable this time, despite the fact that it was take number thirty. They just couldn't help it, not when their faces were so close together their noses were almost touching, and the infernal groans and raspberries just wouldn't, for the love of God, stop. One would think they would have gotten used to it by now, but it was just too funny of a sound and situation.

So Julie and Chris gave into their giggles again and collapsed against each other. Julie, her hands already gripping Chris's jacket, pulled him closer as she laughed into his chest uncontrollably. She laughed so hard that tears came to her eyes, and her frustrated laughter soon turned into frustrated sobs. Chris, in his turn, gripped her shoulders and laughed just as uncontrollably into her hair. But when he felt her shoulders quivering rather than shaking, his laughter sobered up and gently massaged her shoulders, trying to comfort her. He himself felt frustrated too, and he certainly wasn't helping matters.

Robert Wise, the director, yelled "Cut!" for what felt like the umpteenth time that day. Normally a patient man and always a gentleman, he was getting very agitated. He rubbed his fingers against his old-fashioned pocket watch, something he always did to find some sort of calmness. But he found none right now. This was getting ridiculous, and he had to think of some solution.

"All right," he said, his normally soft voice rising sternly so everyone could hear him. The two actors broke apart and faced him, instantly guilty. Julie quickly rubbed her face dry, trying to be discreet, but the director noticed. Feeling sympathy seep into his many emotions, he sighed. "All right, everyone, I think it's best if we break right now. Now I know these lights are being impossible but they're the best we have. So I think we'd better take a long, two-hour lunch in order to collect ourselves. We can't afford an extra day for shooting, so let's all make a better effort to finish this crucial scene. See you all at two!"

Julie felt shame and guilt boil inside her, and new tears pounded against the backs of her eyes. So she nodded, saying a barely audible, "Thank you Bob," and rushed off the set as discreetly as she could, keeping her face down.

As soon as she had left the studio and was inside the safety of her trailer, Julie took some very deep breaths to try and calm herself. Desperate for anything to calm her down, she took a Valium pill from her cabinet and swallowed it down with some water. Now she had two hours to herself to calm down, but how would she do that? She thought of going to see Emma, but it was her naptime. She would be just fine at the hotel with the nanny; no use going up there now. For a moment, she thought of Tony, and how strained their relationship had become. Julie hadn't counted on being so busy ever since they had become married, how could she have? But the fact of the matter was that they were spending much more time apart then together. He had a job of his own, creating sets and costumes for theatre productions in New York across the country. She had known Tony since her preteen days, was her dearest friend and a loving husband. But their lives were tearing apart on different paths and neither could stop it. If this wasn't meant to be . . .

Julie shoved these thoughts out of her head when her throat closed up with emotions. Their daughter was only eighteen months old, and she couldn't think about this possibility now. At least, not until the shooting was over and she was with him again. They would talk then.

Needing to get some fresh air, Julie remembered a little, isolated park near the studio. Bob had said to get lunch, but she had no appetite. So, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, Julie left her trailer and began the short walk to the park. She didn't think of changing out of her costume – the dress was beautiful and perfect for the weather that day.

She took slow, purposeful steps, repeating to herself, Focus, focus, focus. So far, the shooting of this film had been very smooth, both in Los Angeles and Austria. Robert Wise was the best director she had worked with so far – granted this was only her third film – and the people she worked with were all great. The children were all so precious and bright, they were a delight to work with. Now they were all done, and there was only this one scene left to do. This crucial scene that had to be done right: the love scene. And she had to hand it to the production and technical team: they couldn't have created a more idyllic setting for a romantic interlude. The gazebo was gorgeous, as was the set around it made to look like the grounds by a lake. The lighting was made to give the effect of moonlight, and it looked truly beautiful.

And with a man as handsome as Chris, with that setting and that story, it seemed so easy to be her character. If only those damn spotlights would stop squeaking! The carbons in the very old spotlights had to rub together to create this beautiful moonlight, but they also made these awful groaning sounds that would just pop in when you least expected it. They almost seemed to be making a comment on her performance, for just as Chris would say the most lovely line, everyone heard one of the spotlights teasing them. Plus, she and Chris were being shot in extreme close-up, which meant that they had to stand very close together. Apparently, all of this looked great on screen, but do actually do it was another matter. He was almost out of focus, they were that close. Even more than that, as experienced a singer as she was, she had never, ever done a song so close to somebody in her life! It was the strangest experience. And when one of the spotlights just added their comments, what else could they do but laugh hysterically?

Julie came to an isolated park bench under a hazel tree, and sat down heavily. What must everyone think of her? That laughing had been so unprofessional. She was an actress, and it was her job to tell these stories even under worse conditions. Her tears caught up with her and she wept into her hands. She didn't think anybody was near so she didn't bother trying to be quiet.

But someone was near, and soon she felt someone sit down beside her on the park bench, making Julie freeze. When she felt a warm hand resting between her shoulder-blades, somehow she knew exactly who it was.

"It's going be all right," said Chris soothingly. That voice of his, thought Julie, is enough to make any woman fall for him, just like his looks. She was always in awe of him; he had that presence about him. When he'd been confirmed for the role, Julie had been told that he was a distant and cold man. But once she'd met him, she knew they'd been wrong: Chris was only introverted and observant. From the moment he'd met her, he'd been nothing but the perfect gentleman, and genuine too. Very soon they'd found an unspoken ease with each other that allowed both of them to loosen up and tease each other even. She remembered when they and some other people had eaten out, and Chris had dared her to try some hot peppers. Sure enough, her throat had burned and her face had turned red. Looking at Chris, she had seen a mischievous glint in his eyes and he said, "Because you sing so well and I don't, this is my little revenge."

She sighed, and allowed herself to be comforted. "Damn those lights."

She heard Chris's soft laugh. "Damn them to hell. Perhaps we should just shoot in the dark."

Both laughed and then became silent. Julie raised her head to look at him, and was again entranced by the intensity of his blue eyes. On screen and off, she could never deny to herself how captivating they could be. Whether he intended them to be or not, she did not know. But with intensity was sympathy and compassion, so she managed to relax. A little. He reached into the pocket of his coat and handed her a hankerchief.

"Thank you," she murmured, and wiped her face. Looking at him again, she suddenly felt extremely foolish. What must he think of her? "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

He narrowed his eyes in confusion, and he had a small, rueful smile on his face. "Whatever for, Jools?"

"I must seem so unprofessional," she started saying, almost blabbering. "I swear, I'm doing my best, and with all of your experience I must seem pretty juvenile and immature. These lights are just –"

She would have gone on, but he laughed a huge, full laugh, leaning back and smiling. When he managed to stop, he looked at her with compassionate amusement. "You're apologizing to me? Are you forgetting that I laughed just as much as you? I certainly didn't help. And everyone else was laughing, too, even Bob. I caught him at it a few times."

This made Julie feel quite a bit better. After a moment of silence, Chris looked at her curiously. "What do you mean by 'my experience'?"

He said it in a tone and with a twinkle in his eye that almost made her blush. "Well, you've done so many great plays and Shakespeare, and worked with and met so many great stars, I must look like some . . . ordinary musical song-stress in comparison."

Chris just looked at her with a strange expression on his face for a long minute, as if he were thinking, She's doesn't really mean this does she? Then he spoke, "You don't really think that people who do the more classical or serious plays behave any better than you vaudevillians?" Julie couldn't help but giggle a little, then she shrugged. He continued: "I have some stories that would make you not only blush but be ashamed to be a show-person. When I was a young and arrogant, I was doing a play back home. After one show, I went out and got rip-roaring drunk for fun. I showed up late, hungover and still smelling of alcohol. We had a matinee performance that day, and I felt anything but ready. The lady who ran the theater came to my dressing room and told me quite plainly that if I did not give a perfect performance I would be fired from the company."

Julie gasped, enraptured by the story. "What happened?"

"Well, I had no choice but to perform, and it was the most painful performance of my life. I felt like I barely made it through. After the performance, I wanted nothing more than to go back to my flat and sleep. On my way out, a lady-friend of my boss stopped me and said, 'Oh, Christopher, what a fantastic performance that was!' I was too shocked to say anything but a slurred 'Thankyou,' and turning around, I saw my boss watching us from a distance. She said nothing but gave me a knowing glance and smirk, and gave me a thumbs-up."

Julie exhaled in relief and disbelief. "Wow," she said. "The fates really were in your favor that day!"

Chris gave a self-conscious chuckle and scratched the back of his neck with his forefinger. "I couldn't agree more. Shortly thereafter, I joined the company at Stratford and played the role of Henry the fifth, and after that . . . well, it's history."

Julie looked at him in awe and shook her head. "You know, when I found out that you were being considered for this part, I almost got down on my knees and prayed for it to happen. You would care that this film wouldn't become too sugary or saccrine, and I was really concerned about that. I think you've given the role and the film the strong glue that it really needed."

Chris looked down at his lap, a small smile playing his face while he shook his head slightly. One thing that they had in common: compliments embarrassed them as well as flattered them. His hands fidgeted in his lap; she had noticed that his hands could always say what his emotions were even when he made sure his face didn't. A moment of silence passed before she spoke again in a timid voice. "Chris?"

"Yes?" he replied, looking at her again.

"Please don't think I'm being rude in any way when I ask this, I just want to know: Why did you accept this role? It's not really something people would expect from you; it certainly wasn't expected for Bob to consider you." Her tone was gentle, a little scared she may offend him.

But Chris took no offense at all. He even smiled as he answered. "Ever curious, I see. First, don't tell too many people, but I want to do a musical on Broadway someday. Just because I don't do musicals doesn't mean I hate them: it means I can't sing very well and I find some musicals to be saccrine. Second, dear Bob Wise is very good at arguing and ultimately convincing. Thirdly, because he told me that you would be my leading lady."

Julie's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. He had wanted to work with her? There were hundreds of actors and artists that she would put ahead of herself. "What? But why?"

"Well, you should know that I very nearly worked with you twice," said Chris. Seeing her confusion, he explained, feeling like a schoolboy explaining to a pretty girl that it had been him who had sent her flowers. "Well, for some strange reason, Alan Jay Lerner always seemed to like my work, and twice he tried to put me in a show of his. The first time, he wanted to replace me with dear old Rex Harrison in My Fair Lady on Broadway, and then do the national tour. He brought me in and I sang my version of "I've Grown Accustomed to her Face" as best I could. But, in the end, they realized that, being twenty-six, I was a bit young."

Julie nodded in understanding, amazed at this story. "I never heard about this. You would have been great in the role, if you had been the right age."

"The second time, Lerner asked me to try out for the part of Lancelot du Lac in Camelot, and you can easily understand why I didn't get it. When you compare the singing voice of myself and Robert Goulet, it is an easy battle to loose."

Julie laughed and nodded. "I can understand that. But, my goodness! You did come close! And I can see why Alan likes you. But . . . you still haven't answered my question."

Chris smiled self-consciously again, and looked at his hands as he answered. "I saw you in both shows, Jools. In Camelot you were as fresh as the English rose you are, and in My Fair Lady . . . it was a magical moment in the theater when I watched you sing 'I Could Have Danced All Night' alone on that stage. You were so vulnerable and yet so strong. It was captivating."

Maria felt her heart warm at this sincere praise, for it was sincere. This classically trained actor, who could tackle material that frightened her to death, thought she had been captivating onstage?

Chris looked at her again, shy but sincere. "So now you know I was greatly looking forward to meeting you and working with you, and it's been a relief to me that you are so easy to get on with. Look, I know I've been a handful during these months of shooting, especially in Austria, and that's probably why you asked why I agreed to do this movie. This story isn't my cup of tea, I'll admit; the stage show was the very definition of saccrine, in my opinion. But you are so natural in it, in every way possible! I've watched you shooting, and it still amazes me how much charm and life you give to it. I have a feeling this musical will be a big success, and that will be because of you. And when that happens, even if I'm pidgeon-holed with this forever, I'll be honored to be associated with someone as extraordinary as you. You amaze me, Julie. I wouldn't have done this movie without you."

Heartfelt confessions such as these were not something that Chris was used to doing out of the context of a character he was playing, but as he spoke, he found how true his words really were. This young woman was extraordinary and a real star, even if she couldn't see it herself.

Julie's heart froze then swelled rapidly. Hearing those words come from him, with that voice, that talent, those looks, his presence – everything that made him just as captivating to her – overwhelmed her for a moment. Fresh tears filled her eyes, and she found herself saying something while just discovering how true it was: "I couldn't have done this movie without you."

Both just looked at each other, each with their own sense of wonderment that the extraordinary person next to them had said these things to them. A tear spilled out of Julie's eye and traveled down her cheek. Chris reach up and tenderly brushed it away. He looked at her lips then back into her eyes. She leaned her head a little back, as if in surrender.

So he leaned forward and kissed her. She responded sweetly, and they sat there for long minutes, sharing heartfelt, languid kisses that weren't heated or hurried, but comforting, reassuring, and sweet. The few passerby who observed them merely thought what a lovely sight the couple was, for at that time, neither were as famous as their film together would make them. So they had chosen the safest time to admit their feelings in the truest way to each other.

It seemed the most natural thing for them to do. The fact that neither could explain why never troubled them; both were at the tail-ends of their marriages, and there was no feeling of guilt that came with something that felt so natural. And in later years, when either would look back on the kiss, there would be no guilt. They would never speak aloud of it to anybody or to themselves again, not because of shame or propriety but because it was their own private moment. Just something between them that nobody else needed to see.

When they finally pulled back and looked at each other, a silent understanding seemed to pass between them not to pursue this. Both knew that their paths in life were not the same, and that something would tear them apart if they tried to stay together in this way. And in the future, both would find partners that could fill that void and that they loved dearly in the way they should love, whose paths they were meant to share. But the paths of Chris and Julie were not meant to be traveled together – in that way. Theirs would be different. So the same argument was used for their kiss: why fight something when it is natural?

So, giving a quiet sigh, not sad but accepting, Julie put her head on Chris's shoulder and placed her hand in his. He, in turned, pressed his cheek to her hair and idly stroked her fingers. Eventually, he looked at his wrist-watch and gave his own sigh. Julie rightly took it as a sign that they needed to go back to the set. So, with a look of silent understanding, both stood up.

They walked back to the studio together, hand in hand, the same way they would walk onto the stage at the Oprah Winfrey show forty-five years later. When they came back, they immediately heard the lights making the same noise again, and their laughter announced their presence. Robert Wise, whose patience was reaching its end, came up with a compromise that would create the most beautiful shot of his film:

"All right, I'll tell you what, you two: Near the end of the scene, I'll pull you into a silhouette shot by the door, so your unprofessional, idiotic laughing – should you happen to do it again – will not be seen."

Both Julie and Chris liked the idea and nodded – then shared with each other the mischievous looks of two children whose parents have failed to catch their secret.

So they shot the entire scene again, and to the director and crew's surprise and relief, it went without a hitch. Watching the playback later, Robert Wise would marvel at how any couple onscreen could have such ease, chemistry, and genuine tenderness with each other. There was nothing false about it at all in his eyes, and that was beyond even his hopes.

When the shoot was over, and it came time for Julie and Chris to part ways, Julie said to Chris lightly but with a serious undertone: "You know, friendship may be one of the most underrated relationships in the modern world, when you really stop to think about what true friends do for each other?"

Chris thought about it, smiled, and said, "You know, you are absolutely right, Jools. And is that a promise?"

"It's a promise," she said, smiling. "Thank you, Chris, for everything."

"You talk as if we'll never see each other again," said Chris, knowing now that this was only the beginning. But still, he hugged her and said, "But thank you, too."

And they remained true, strong, and very good friends for the rest of their lives.

Julie was quite transparent. There was no way she could conceal the simple truth that she cared profoundly for her work and for everyone else around her. I think that beneath my partly assumed sarcasm and indifference she saw that I cared too. As two people who barely came to know each other throughout those long months of filming, we had somehow bonded. It was the beginning of a friendship - unspoken, but a friendship nonetheless.

- Christopher Plummer, In Spite of Myself.