BANK SHOT

"Come on, Max. You're going to have to try harder than that."

"I'm afraid billiards is simply not my game, Georg. Why not let me trounce you at cards?"

"Maybe later. Not in the mood for cards," Georg grumbled, watching as Max replaced his cue stick in the rack and disappeared down the stairs with a cheerful salute.

No, cards wouldn't do at all. He needed something more physical, something to distract him from the restlessness that had plagued him ever since that night: one week ago, to be exact. The night he'd held a guitar in his arms and sung, for the first time in four years.

It must have been the music that affected him so deeply, because there certainly hadn't been anything else remarkable about that evening. The children had put on a puppet show. The little governess had maneuvered him into singing. Somehow, he'd gotten sidetracked, until he found himself agreeing to Elsa's plan for a grand and glorious party, an agreement he soon regretted. Now Elsa had gone back to Vienna for a few days, claiming that it was impossible for her to find the right dress anywhere in Salzburg.

Yes, that was it. Without Elsa to keep him in line, and the memory of the music burning his fingertips, no wonder he was on edge. As though he were spoiling for trouble of any sort. He hadn't felt so wound up in years, in fact; the last time he'd been so tempted to make mischief, his parents had sent him to the Naval Academy.

"Captain von Trapp?"

The little governess was standing in the doorway, a mixture of dread and resolve written plainly across her face.

"Fraulein Maria? What brings you all the way up here?"

Maria looked around curiously. Though she'd been at the villa for nearly two months, she'd never had a reason to visit the snug glass cupola that perched high on top of the villa. It was another one of those "strictly off limits" spaces she'd learned about, and now she saw why: it was a masculine sort of lair, with deep leather couches, dark red walls, a curving bar topped by an enormous radio, and a large billiards table.

"Frau Schmidt told me you might be up here, Captain, and I am sorry to disturb you, but-"

"But you're not sorry, are you?" he interrupted crossly. 'You're not sorry at all, because you've come to harass me. To demand that I revisit my decision with regard to Liesl."

How did he do that, anyway? This wasn't the first time the Captain had demonstrated an uncanny, and disturbing, ability to read her mind. Maria hoped that this mysterious power of his was limited to times when they were in the same room. It would be unbearably humiliating if he knew how often her thoughts strayed in his direction, especially when she was alone at night, without the children to occupy her.

"I am sorry if I'm disturbing you, Captain, and I certainly do not want to make a pest of myself. But, with all due respect, sir, I do believe you've made a mistake in this case. You are a very devoted father, admirably so. Perhaps it's simply an excess of caution on your part, but I wish you would reconsider and let Liesl attend the party."

"No," he said firmly, arms crossed against his chest as if to underscore his decision. "Absolutely out of the question."

"But why, Captain? I don't understand your objection. The children have attended other parties, after all."

"For one thing, it's not a party, with cake and games, or at least not the kind of games I want my daughter playing. It's a debutante ball, a lavish affair, with dancing and champagne, and it's simply not suitable for a young girl, Fraulein."

"But that's just it, Captain. Liesl is not a young girl, not any more. She is a young woman. Put too many unreasonable restrictions on her, and you'll have a mutiny on your hands," he said with a flourish, proud at having found the correct naval term. "If she thinks you don't trust her, she'll take every opportunity to flout your authority when your back is turned. Young women get into a lot of mischief that way."

"How would you know?" he chuckled.

"It wasn't so very long ago that I was her age, Captain."

"O-ho! As though you went to parties, Fraulein? And I don't suppose you made any mischief."

It lasted only a moment or two, but Georg knew that the challenging look she gave him in response - the tilt of her head, the lift of her shoulder, her blue eyes shining through a dark fringe of lashes – would keep him up half the night. If one forgot that she'd come from Nonnberg Abbey – and it was all too easy to do that – he could definitely imagine her as just the sort of troublemaker he'd adored as a young man.

"I wasn't born at Nonnberg Abbey, Captain. I went to parties! Not debutante balls, of course, but wonderful parties where I danced, and laughed, and wore lovely dresses. And had a marvelous time. Just like any girl."

The playful look was gone now, in its place a soft, yearning expression as she stared off into space, and presumably back into her past.

"Well," he said, more irritably than he'd intended, "it hasn't been that many years for me, you know. I spent far too many evenings cutting up at debutante balls. And that, Fraulein, is why I know better than to let Liesl loose in that kind of environment, even if you don't. Bachelor dandies. Roués. Cads. Fellows all in a line," he griped.

But Fraulein Maria, staring off into space, had no response for him. First she'd invaded his sanctuary, and now it was as though she were alone with her memories and had forgotten about him entirely. There was something rather unseemly, wasn't there, a postulant from Nonnberg Abbey mooning about in such a fashion? Georg was seized by the completely childish desire to regain her attention, to call her back from whatever girlish romantic notions had distracted her.

The night she'd cajoled him into singing, he'd given in, not because she'd brandished the guitar at him as though it were some sort of weapon, but on account of a single, winsome word. "Please," she had said, the kind of "please" that a man simply had to respond to. Anyway, she had done a great deal for him and his family; perhaps he ought to reconsider?

"All right," he heard himself saying. "I'll tell you what. If you want it so badly, for Liesl to attend the ball, you can put yourself on the line."

He had regained her attention now. Frowning warily, she asked, "How so, Captain?"

"In the form of a wager." He nodded toward the table. "Billiards. If you win, Liesl goes to the ball, and if I win, she doesn't."

Fraulein Maria gave a little huff of annoyance. "You aren't doing me or Liesl any favors. I don't know how to play billiards," she said, her tone implying that he'd suggested that she set the house on fire, or drink poison.

There was a dangerous twinkle in his eyes. "I'll help you. And you can have a handicap. Come now, Fraulein. You're not afraid, are you?" he said slyly.

He'd thrown down the gauntlet, how could she run away now? "Of course not!" Maria said bravely, striving to convey a confident air despite her misgivings. The Captain was standing before a rack that held long, tapered cues that stood almost as tall as she did. She turned toward the massive table, with its dark gleaming wood, soft green felt, and brightly colored balls displayed.

"Does the one who has the most balls win?"

"Of course, doesn't he always?" Georg cackled, and then whirled to face her, his face a stricken mask of horror. 'I mean no! No!"

"All right," she startled, wondering what, exactly, she'd done to elicit such a reaction from him. "Why don't you explain it to me, then? The object of the game, I mean."

He took a deep breath. "Of course. You'll take the stripes and I'll take the solids. The white one – you use it to knock the others into the corner pockets. You get a point for every one you pot, and you lose a point if you accidentally pot one of mine. The person shooting continues until he misses a shot. When the table is clear, the person with the most points, wins."

"Would you mind showing me how it's done?" Fraulein Maria asked, and he was halfway around the table, ready to nestle close up behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist, when he thought of Nonnberg Abbey and its onion-shaped dome and reconsidered. Instead, he lined up a shot for himself and demonstrated.

"Like this. You see? To make it fair to you, I'll only give myself points for bank shots."

"Bank shots?"

"When there is no way to pot the ball directly, you have to get at it indirectly, by bouncing it off one of the cushions. Like this," he demonstrated again. "Now you try," he encouraged her, handing the cue to her. "Go ahead and take a practice shot."

Feeling awkward, Maria approached the table. "Where should I put my hands? High up on the shaft, or lower, like this?" The Captain made an odd, strangled sort of noise, but he didn't reply. So she did her best to imitate his movements, but when she poked at the white ball, it bobbled vigorously across the green felt and stopped before hitting anything.

"Don't poke at it," he suggested. "Nice and even." Her knuckles were white with effort. "And loosen your grip, Fraulein, but not too loose. Pretend you're holding a bird, or a small animal."

"Nice, even strokes," she mumbled to herself, lining up another shot. "Hold it firmly. But not too tight. Like a living thing."

Georg winced. He might be an aristocrat, a national hero, a man with a keen mind and a severe demeanor, but at that moment, he might as well have been a mischievous twelve-year-old boy in knee pants. There was no denying that talking about balls, shafts, strokes, and pockets would be entertaining for those of lewd mind, but it wasn't normally his sort of thing. He was all at once mortified and vastly amused to find himself affected by the suggestive language coming from the innocent lips of his governess, even if the double-entendres were unintentional.

She tried again, a credible effort that brought one of her balls close to the pocket.

"Very good! Shall we treat this as the start of our game, then?" he offered, and stepped back to watch her. She studied the table carefully, chewing her lip.

Georg could no longer overcome the impulse for mischief. He blamed his unsettled mood, and really, what was the harm in it? She wouldn't know the difference. This was getting to be a lot of fun.

"When you're this close, Fraulein," he said casually, "you barely want to stroke it. More like a kiss."

Sure enough, her ball rolled easily into the pocket.

"That's better!" she crowed. Her face glowed with pride and pleasure.

He leaned back against the table, and watched her line up another shot. It wasn't the first time he'd admired her figure, slender and willowy, but only now did it occur to him that he'd been dreaming about golden-haired sylphs for weeks. Now that she'd relaxed a bit, she had a natural grace that drew the eye. Alas, her form was swathed in a dowdy brown dress she'd made for herself. He ought to order her some more suitable material. He'd like to know what she would look like in more flattering garments. Even more, he would like to see her in no garments at all.

Unfortunately, despite her best efforts, Maria's next shot was not successful; the white ball slid across the table, knocking several balls askew but potting none of them. Shrugging, she turned toward the Captain, only to find him glaring at her – no, not glaring, not exactly, but watching her like a predator just before the pounce. The same way he'd looked at her just after the puppet show, his blue eyes gleaming, like he was about to devour her. She hadn't slept a wink that night on account of that avid gaze.

Although it was supposed to be his turn, it seemed like an awfully long time before the Captain looked away from her, leaned over the table and lined up his shot. He moved with lazy grace, and even with his tie knotted and jacket buttoned tightly, there was an impression of broad shoulders and powerful arms that affected her more deeply than she wanted to admit. Before she knew what was happening, he had effortlessly made two successful bank shots.

Maria gave a little moan of despair. "This game will be over before it's begun!"

"No, no," he said reassuringly. "You're doing very well, for a beginner! The way you potted that ball? Very capable."

She felt absurdly pleased at the praise. While he arranged his next shot, she admitted, "There was something quite magical about it. When you find just the right spot, and brush against it just so, it slides right into the pocket, doesn't it?"

Suddenly, the cue flew from the Captain's hands and clattered onto the table, balls rolling everywhere.

He bit back a groan. "Your turn, Fraulein."

And so the game proceeded. To his amusement, Fraulein Maria played like an enthusiastic child, scowling when she missed a shot, flushing with satisfaction when she made one. In between turns, she focused on the table, avoiding his eyes, and running her fingers through her hair until it surrounded her face like a halo of golden silk.

He had planned all along to let her win, of course, curious to see how she'd express her gratitude to him. And she made it easy, because in her exuberance, she proved just as likely to pot his balls as her own. But not that easy, because of her continual, almost comically if inadvertently inappropriate, commentary:

"Why are you thrusting at the ball so forcefully, Captain? With such a powerful stroke, how can you keep control of yourself? I thought you told me softer is better!"

His hands were slippery with sweat. "I prefer harder," he gritted, missing an inexcusably easy shot.

Maria had forgotten all about Liesl's party, and for that matter, all about Nonnberg Abbey. She tried to focus on the game, forcing herself to concentrate and follow the Captain's instructions carefully. But as the game went on, despite her best efforts, she couldn't ignore the remarkable transformation in the Captain's demeanor. His jacket and tie lay discarded on the floor, his hair fell over his eyes, and there was something completely distracting about the bright-white of his rolled up sleeves against his darker skin.

The game was nearly over now, with the score tied. Georg studied the table, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his palms dry. This time, he wouldn't let her distract him. Instead, before approaching the table, he simply waited for her conversational torpedo, and sure enough:

"Oh, Captain, for Liesl's sake, I do hope I end up on top when we finish."

If you only knew, Fraulein, he thought with a wicked smile, and then his shot bounced showily off three separate cushions before slowing to a stop in the exact center of the table.

"I won?" she asked, turning to him disbelievingly. "I won!"

"You've still got to pot that one," he pointed out, but just then they were interrupted by the inconvenient Max Detweiler.

"What the…Fraulein Maria? What a brave girl you are!" he said admiringly.

"Oh, I'm more lucky than br – what do you mean, brave, Herr Detweiler?" she asked.

"Taking Captain Georg von Trapp on at billiards? The man's a master. No one controls the table the way he does! Why, did you know that back when he played for money, he earned passage back from New York for the both of us in just three hours' time?"

Chuckling at the memory, Herr Detweiler crossed the room to pour himself a drink.

Maria frowned. Turning to the Captain, she hissed, "You were going to let me win."

"N-no. Not exactly. Not entirely," he began to explain.

"You were going to let me win," she repeated. "Why? If you wanted Liesl to go to the ball, you could simply have-"

"Because it pleased me," he said curtly. "You've got your wish now, Fraulein Maria. Are you happy?"

"Y-yes," Maria said, but she felt disoriented and vaguely dissatisfied, somehow, as though she'd missed out on something. She'd be up all night again, this time to puzzle over what had just happened, and why he had gone to the trouble of challenging her to win something he was obviously willing to give her. Why the indirect approach? "She'll be so pleased when I tell her she can go."

"With you, of course." the Captain said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Surely you didn't intend to let her go unchaperoned? No, you will accompany her, and keep an eye on things. I'm placing you in command."

"But Captain! I can't possibly – I can't go to a debutante ball! For one thing, I wouldn't be suitably dressed!"

He paused to give her a long appraising look. "Yes, you will. You can wear that-" his long fingers fluttered expressively, "-that blue dress you wore the other night."

"But that's not appropriate."

"It's perfectly appropriate for you," he said quietly. His eyes grew darker, and his face was unreadable. "Unless you prefer I buy you another one. Something more, ehrm-"

"No, no," she said hastily. "The blue one will do fine, I'm sure."

"I'm sure you'll have a marvelous time," he said, and his voice was balanced just on the line between mockery and something else she couldn't quite name.

Suddenly, Maria needed to escape, to get away from this infuriating, mystifying, difficult man. "Well, Captain, I mean, I'll just be lingering on the edges of things, you know." And she fled down the stairs to the sound of his laughter.

Georg turned away to find Max, eyebrows raised, studying him contemplatively.

"Don't," he warned Max. "Don't say a word."

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"You look beautiful, Liesl! And the dress is lovely," Maria said wearily, for perhaps the hundredth time in the last few days. The girl wasn't quite resigned to Maria's choice of dress for her: white, with a broad yellow sash and a flaring skirt. "You can wear it for your father's party as well. It's perfect for you. You are not the debutante, Liesl, sweetheart. You're only sixteen, and-"

"Going on seventeen," Liesl sighed. "I know. And I am grateful to you, Fraulein Maria, for talking father into this."

There was the sound of a horn honking in the courtyard below.

"Oh! Franz is ready!" the girl exclaimed.

Maria followed Liesl out of her bedroom, but not before stealing a glance at herself in the mirror. Not that her appearance mattered, she reminded herself: she was a chaperon, a governess, and a postulant from Nonnberg Abbey on top of it. She wouldn't be dancing tonight, or flirting, or drinking champagne. She would, however, be standing for hours, and so she told herself she'd been sensible to wear her everyday low heeled shoes. They were the only shoes she owned, anyway, besides her black boots.

Her eyes were still on her shoes as she followed Liesl down the stairs to the foyer, so she didn't look up until she heard the girl gasp.

"Father!"

Maria looked up to see Captain von Trapp standing at the bottom of the stairs. But this was an unbearably handsome Captain she would never have been able to conjure in her dreams: he was elegant in severe black evening clothes and gleaming pumps. A scarlet ribbon, bright against his snowy shirt, held his Maria Theresien medal. Although he was impatiently tapping his folded white gloves against his open palm, when her eyes found his, he was – smiling.

"Good evening, Fraulein."

"Good evening, Captain," Maria managed in return. So he would be escorting Liesl to the party. That was a relief, Maria had to admit, although then why all that fuss about the dress, why hadn't he told her? If he'd intended to escort Liesl all along, why hadn't he said so? The Captain was nothing if not infuriating.

"Oh, Father," Liesl glowed. "I didn't know you were going to escort me! Fraulein Maria said-"

The Captain raised an eyebrow. "Fraulein Maria seemed uncertain as to her ability to fulfill her duties as chaperon, which in turn made me uncertain about leaving you in her care."

"I was no such thing!" Maria gasped in outrage.

But the Captain merely smiled again. This time, it was the chilly, dangerous smile of a tiger. He extended his right arm to Liesl. "Shall we?"

As Liesl took his arm, her brothers and sisters, dangling over the railings from the upstairs gallery, hooted with glee. There was another impatient car-horn honk from the courtyard. Maria turned to climb back upstairs to her younger charges.

"Fraulein Maria," he said sharply.

When she turned back toward them, the Captain was staring down at his free arm, as though it had just appeared there and had no connection to the rest of him. And then, slowly, he extended it to her.

"You, too."

"But-"

"You're not getting out of this that easily," he said grimly, steering his companions up the stairs and through the doorway to where Franz waited by the open car doors.

Maria watched as he handed Liesl into the car, and then turned to her.

"Come on," the Captain beckoned, and then his voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't worry, Fraulein. I'm quite certain you'll have a marvelous time. In fact, I'll make sure of it."

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Written for the Proboards holiday calendar. Happy new year everyone! Thank you mucwriter for organizing a magical experience for us! Don't own TSOM or anything about it. Do you get the title?