A/N Thank you so much for the amazing response to this story - you guys rock! I'm sorry I haven't been able to reply to any review personally as is not letting me for some weird reason but oh well. The third part should be posted relatively soon. Also, any AU ideas/prompts people have, please let me know as I'm always on the lookout for new inspiration. Enjoy! xxx


Reykjavik to JFK, 2590 miles, 5 hours and 24 minutes.


Dear Maria,

Found this on the way to the hotel in New York – hope you like it. You said that one day you'd love to see the City that Never Sleeps but right now part of me wants it to just shut up. It won't though – I've been here enough to know that! I'm about to try and sleep off my jetlag. Nothing much interesting going on.

Hope you're well and that you've arrived back to the convent safely.

Georg.


Dear Georg,

I thought I should reciprocate with a postcard even though you've obviously seen the hills around Salzburg plenty of times with your own eyes. I'm pleased you arrived safely, and I'm so jealous – even though you sound fed-up, I can imagine how amazing it is – the lights, the constant noise – is everything the way it is in the movies?

I am well thank you. Enjoy New York for me.

Maria.


Dear Maria,

Depends what you define as 'in the movies.' It's just another city, really, noisy, smelly, and placeless. I'm in a jazz club at the moment trying to ignore the screeching from the stage – honestly, I could be anywhere. Speaking of place…if you could go anywhere where would it be?

Yours

Georg.


Dear Georg,

I have absolutely no idea. I want to see the world, but I think I'd adore going back to Iceland. I'd climb Eyjafjallajokull and Katla, obviously when they weren't erupting, and trawl around Reykjavik a bit more. It's just the most beautiful country, don't you think? Where's the best place you've ever been to?

In other news, I managed to completely miss Mass the other day – I was up in the hills taking pictures and singing and I completely lost track of the time – the Mistress of Postulants is less than impressed when I try to explain that I'm sure God loves his children to worship him outside church as well as in!

Maria


Dear Maria,

Are you sure you're quite cut out for being a nun? Just because you're devoted to God doesn't mean you have to shut yourself away in an abbey for the rest of your life. When I think of you, it's always outside in the open rather than shut away.

I'd never been out of Reykjavik until you dragged me, but I agree, it is very beautiful. I'm not sure if I ever thanked you properly for making me leave the hotel. As to places…well, in the war, the landscape was very striking. The sunsets were glorious, light flooding over a sea of sand – I always used to watch them at night before we headed back into base. Sometimes I wish I'd taken pictures of them, but it's all in the past now and that's where it needs to stay.

I'm flying out to LA tomorrow, and I've enclosed the address of my new hotel.

Yours

Georg.


JFK to LAX, 2472 miles, 5 hours and 11 minutes.


Dear Georg,

I don't know. As you know, they're my only family and well…if I don't become a nun what on earth else could I do? Sister Berthe (that's the Mistress of Postulants who doesn't like me very much) talks about how I'd make a lovely teacher or midwife or something, but the thought doesn't really fill me with joy like a vocation ought to. I just feel a little bit like I'm floating through life not really knowing what to do with myself. Sorry to burden you with all of this – it's the first time I've ever really told someone all of these things, the little worries that you never ever notice until it's far too late.

You've never talked about your time in the war, and I completely respect that but if you ever need a listening ear, I'm right here. You know, if you want to. You don't have to if you don't.

Yours

Maria.


Sometimes she lies awake in her little cell at night and thinks about what it would've been like that day at the airport, to kiss him properly, soft and sweet and gentle. How his hands would have felt around her waist, and his hair against her skin. Under her covers, she drowns in the thoughts and lets her fingers wander and knows how wrong it is.

She can't bring herself to care, anymore.


Dear Maria,

You're right, like you always are. What is it with the women in my life? I just…it weighs on me, even after all these years, even though all I did was do my job. Why me? Why am I a hero when other men did things just as brave and all they got for their efforts were white graves under a scorching sun?

I'm better than I used to be. I'll tell you that now. The year or so after Agathe's death was the worst – my nightmares of blood and screams and explosions had me up and drinking until the early hours in an effort to erase it from my brain, but it didn't work. Let me tell you this now, alcohol never does. Look at me, I'm turning into a sentimental old fool.

As to what you can do – I've just had an email of resignation from my children's nanny – something about glue on a toothbrush. Would it be at all possible for you to stay with them whilst I finish this tour? I've only got three more weeks and then I'll be home. Also, never be scared about telling me things – you've helped me more than you can know in the last month, and I'm damned if I'm not going to give you something in return.

Yours.

Georg.


Dear Georg,

I've asked the Reverend Mother, and she thinks it should be alright. I'm going up tomorrow morning and I can stay however long you need me to. I'll be honest, I'm a little bit nervous but I know I can muster up enough confidence to deal with seven children especially since I'm sure you're much scarier and I stayed in a hotel room with you for a week!

It's no wonder you can't forget – I have the deepest admiration for people who go to war and come back at all sane. I couldn't imagine it and I don't think I want to. I never understand why people think they have to fight over everything and kill everyone and cause so much pain and hurt and suffering. I know I'm naïve, but it doesn't make much sense. Hope LA isn't too awful.

Yours.

Maria.

P.S. I don't think you're a sentimental old fool ;)


Dear Maria,

Was that a winky-face? You haven't even met my children yet and they're rubbing off on you. They're completely obsessed with…what are they called…smileys? It's ridiculous. I know you're probably there already, but remember – bedtime is to be strictly observed, I expect them to do all their holiday homework and go for lots of walks. Don't let them be on their devices all day – I don't know why I ever let their Uncle Max pester me into buying those for them.

Well, I'm pleased you don't find me scary. It's almost as annoying as the complete veteran obsession they have over here – what do I need to do to get them to leave me alone? LA is so strange – I ended up talking to this Austrian baroness whose family migrated over here before WW2 and it was all juice cleanses and good energy and plastic surgery – I just don't understand these people. It's ridiculous.

Don't let the children bully you – tell them I'll be cross with them if they do.

Yours.

Georg.


"Hello?"

"Georg." Maria's voice is significantly cooler than the tone of her last letter, and Georg immediately tries to think back to what he'd written, hoping he hadn't crossed any lines.

"What's the matter? It's nearly five in the morning and I'm only halfway through my whiskey…"

"Oh god, sorry, I completely forgot about time zones!" There's some sniggering in the back of the line and he feels a laugh bubbling up in his throat.

"It's alright. Sleep hasn't really been happening lately."

"Oh no, are you alright?"

"Just a certain time of year."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I get through it every year."

"Alright."

"So…any particular reason you are phoning me at such a late hour?"

"Well, I'm a little bit annoyed with you."

"Only a little bit?"

"Very, actually. But it can wait, if you've had a bad night."

"Maria, I'm drunk. I don't quite care either way."

"Fine." She seems a bit stung, and regret flashes through his head for a brief second. "I'm cross with you because of the children."

"What have they done?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all! Look, tell me this, when did you last see them?"

"Three months ago, I suppose?"

"Exactly!"

"What, exactly?"

"They miss you so much! There's a reason they put glue on their last governesses toothbrush and run wild…Marta and Gretl are so scared of thunderstorms and you've missed having to threaten Liesl's first boyfriend and all Friedrich and Kurt want are to be more like you but you're never ever here!"

"Maria, this is my job! What do you expect me to do about it?"

"Quit it or something or take a break, I don't know. You're perfectly rich enough not to work for a while but you're getting very close to never being able to mend things with your kids and I don't want to see that happening."

"Maria, I don't need this right now."

"Do you think your wife would've wanted you to do this?"

Pained, awful silence falls across the phone line and he considers throwing the whiskey bottle at the wall. How dare she? How dare she bring up Agathe when she knows absolutely nothing of the pain he's been through, of how he had to give up his beautiful, lively wife into the grasping arms of bone and dust and death without a fight because what fight is there to be had against terminal cancer?

"Don't," he says shortly, and hangs up.

The sound of glass shattering and sobbing fills the room, and blood and whiskey splatter down the wall like the remains of a siege.


In the morning he has a text. I'm not sorry. You have to try.


.To be Concluded.