A/N New fandom! This is based on ITV's lovely live version of the Sound of Music that aired on Sunday, hence the change in song in the thunderstorm scene.
It really shouldn't have been a surprise, that when the lightning forked through the inky sky and the thunder split the heavens apart that the children ended up in their room. It's Gretl first, clambering onto the bed. Maria pulls the little girl onto her lap, and smiles down at her husband who is blearily blinking the sleep from his eyes.
"What's all this?" he mumbles.
"The children don't like thunderstorms," Maria says. He stares at her, at the way she so matter-of-factly cuddles their youngest and presses a kiss to the soft curling down of Gretl's hair, his beautiful wife of a month in her nightgown with her brown braid tumbling down her back. "Just wait. They'll all be here in a moment."
He pushes himself upright against the bed-pillows. Thunder crashes again, breaking and rolling over the house like the sea. There's a squawk from outside, and all of a sudden, Marta, Brigitta and Louisa are spilling through the door with Liesl after them, piling onto the bed. Marta wraps her arms around his waist and buries her face in his shoulder. "I thought you'd grown out of all of this," he says.
Liesl perches on the end of the bed and draws her feet up to her chest. "American thunderstorms are bigger. And you were always in Vienna when they struck back home."
He feels the guilt rising in his chest. He wasn't here when they needed him – what a sorry excuse for a father he used to be! Maria looks over at him, and he sees her brown eyes sparkle. Leave it behind, is what she'd say, if they were alone. Let the past be the past. It's another country and we did things differently back then. He puts an arm over Marta's trembling shoulders and meets Maria's wry smile with an exaggerated sigh.
"I suppose the boys are still asleep."
"Oh no," Gretl pipes up. "They get scared too."
"Oh really?" He can't remember being frightened of thunderstorms at fifteen. Or even at ten. But this one, he supposes, is the loudest he's heard for many years; it's almost as if the sky is at war with itself. If he closes his eyes, he could almost be back aboard his submarine with the torpedoes exploding into fire and death and shockwaves just above their heads.
The third thunderclap brings the boys running, and suddenly he feels all too stifled with the entire family crammed onto a bed for two. Surely he and Agathe never allowed this, and he would have been roundly disciplined if he'd ever dared to attempt anything of the kind with his own parents. Maria is making him go soft.
"I know what we'll do," she says, after another growl from the sky sends the younger children burying their heads into whatever is closest – his leg, the blankets, Maria's pillow. "Do you remember the song I taught you in that first thunderstorm?"
"The one about goatherd?" Liesl asks.
"You were in Vienna," Maria says, catching the puzzlement on his face. "And we had a storm – shall we show Father?"
The enthusiasm this brings almost rivals the noise outside, and quietly, Maria begins, "High on the hills was a lonely goatherd, lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo…"
"Loud was the voice of the lonely goatherd, lay ee odl lay ee odl loo," Liesl catches on. Within seconds, the children have all joined in and he watches as they get up and start to dance around, acting out the ridiculous lyrics with glorious smiles and laughter at Maria's impersonation of the goatherd.
He catches her eye across the room, and feels the happiness swell against his ribs. It's been so long, a new country, a new home, but he knows that as long as they are all together, everything will be alright.
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