A/N: I'd like to thank each and every one of you (not for the precious gift you left in my pocket) but for your lovely reviews! I've noticed they've dropped off a bit though, which is absolutely fine as long as you're all still enjoying the story! I promise it is going somewhere, please do let me know if it's losing it's interest a little bit as I welcome all types of feedback. Anyway, enough of my babbling, I hope you like enjoy this next chapter.

Christmas had been a wonderful affair, an occasion that gave Maria a glimpse of what life might've been like as Baroness von Trapp if the world had never gone to war. She had no family of her own, Georg's parents had long since passed and the children had always spent the festive season with their grandparents on their mother's side. So Maria had come to the logical conclusion, whenever she'd daydreamed of what could've been, that they would've spent every Christmas with the Whiteheads had peace still existed in Europe.

Georg and Robert had both been granted leave to spend the holiday at home and the children had been over the moon with excitement upon their surprise return on Christmas Eve. Most uncharacteristically, Georg had made their arrival known by bursting through the drawing room door where the family had been sat playing charades, a huge grin plastered on his face and a Santa hat perched crookedly on his head, a jovial 'Ho Ho Ho!' bursting from his lips and an amused Robert shaking his head incredulously behind him.

Her husband's eyes had locked with hers instantly from across the room then - a knowing look, an adoring look that was meant only for her and spoke volumes, causing her pulse to quicken at her throat as it always seemed to in his presence. Even after months of marriage, his smouldering gaze and boyish grin left her burning all over, reminding her all too well of the way he'd looked at her when they'd danced the Ländler.

"Father! Grandpa!" Maria had never seen the children move so fast, but it was little Thomas who managed to scramble up first and launch himself into Georg's open arms. Soon enough her husband had been bombarded by the full gaggle of their brood and amongst the din, Robert had been able to slip past to mutter something in Maria's ear.

"He may or may not have had a little Christmas tipple on the way home.." the Baron had chuckled.

"And why not?!" Georg had cried happily, having overheard him, "though you must know that the sole reason behind my excitement is not the 'tipple' of which Robert speaks, but the presence of nine impossible children on Christmas Eve!" He had teased, causing a giggle to spread around the room.

"Our beautiful children," he'd crooned, suddenly wistful, looking upon the group before cupping Marta's cheek and stroking a hand through Thomas' hair.

Maria's breath had caught at the sight but she had also been confronted with an unpleasant sense of unease when she'd seen the way the little boy stared at Georg with complete adoration, an affection that was reflected in Georg's own eyes. The little boy and the big man.

She'd seen Georg looking at Lucy just as affectionately and while it was a beautiful thing to behold, she was worried about how attached they were all becoming as a family. Lucy and Thomas had parents of their own after all, and Maria had partnered with Margaret in an attempt to track them down and invite them to the festivities, but with no success. London was still in chaos, and the couple were too poor to own a telephone - it had been difficult to determine where they might be and the telegram they'd sent to their last known address had gone unanswered.

And soon enough, when the time came, the von Trapps would be leaving little Lucy and Thomas for America. The thought had left a lump forming in Maria's throat but she'd instantly dismissed it in favour of celebrating her husband's safe return with the children and it hadn't been long before Georg scooped her into his arms and greeted her with a thorough kiss, much to the evident disgust of their young audience.

He'd bought them each a little gift to open on Christmas Day, despite times being so difficult - a quaint English doll each for Gretl, Lucy and Marta, the little cotton companions sewn lovingly together with straggly spaghetti hair and buttons for eyes - not a scratch on the kind of fine china dolls the two von Trapp girls had owned in Aigen, but far more beautiful than anything Lucy had ever been gifted with, Maria was certain. All three pairs of eyes had lit up as though they'd been given the world.

For Brigitta, The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling, in English of course - not that the girl would struggle at all when it came to using her second language. She was so fluent that she'd managed to teach Maria the basics of everyday conversation, enough that she was able to communicate confidently with the Whiteheads as well as Lucy and Thomas, both of whom had taken mischievous delight in trying to trip her up.

During one particular breakfast they'd managed to confuse her so thoroughly about the correct words for 'salt' and 'sugar' that she'd accidentally asked for the wrong one and added three teaspoons of the former to her tea, only to spray the liquid in all directions after the first sip. The culprits had been obvious, given Lucy and Thomas' squeals of merciless laughter - but Maria had been entirely unable to scold them, reminded all too well of the very first time she'd met seven other impossibly mischievous children.

For Louisa, Georg had managed to find an encyclopaedia of creepy crawlies, much to the fiendish delight of the tomboy.

"Strictly for educational purposes only," Georg had smirked across the dinner table, raising a mock disciplinary finger that looked simply ridiculous given his bright red Christmas hat.

"Of course father," Louisa's grave response juxtaposed with the evil gleam in her eye had indicated she was entirely intent on mischief.

Leisl's eyes had welled with tears when she'd been presented with her gift. A stunning dress of pale green that had belonged to her mother, a garment the Whiteheads had kept with them in England since her passing. Georg had been eternally grateful to discover they'd stored not only her jewels and the family's fortune, but smaller, less expensive items that were worth very little in gold but all the world in sentimental value. He'd known instantly he would gift something of Agathe's to her eldest daughter.

"Oh father," the girl had murmured, lost for words.

"She wore that dress the day I met her," Georg had smiled wistfully, "the day she christened my u-boat. She looked like an angel," The whole room had fallen silent then, as though some kind of spell had befallen the table and the children had listened in awe to the tale of their mother and father's meeting, "That very evening I asked permission to court her. Her father was not best pleased," he threw a bashful Robert an amused glance, "but I soon won the family over with my irresistible charm," Margaret had snorted with derision then, much to Georg's chagrin.

"I'm sure, Leisl darling, you'll do the garment equal justice."

Kurt had received an old photo album from the Whitehead's collection, which showed grainy old photographs of Agathe as a girl right the way through to each of the children's births. The boy had shown a keen interest in the family's history ever since they'd arrived in England and he'd asked to hear the story of his mother and the boat. The photo album had thrilled him and before long the children had been huddled around their brother at the table, peering over his shoulder and laughing and chattering away without a care in the world.

For Friedrich, a tie that Georg had managed to buy in town - the garment transforming the blond haired boy into a young man so suddenly that Maria had had to stifle a gasp. He'd puffed his chest and held his shoulders back proudly when wearing it, a spitting image of his brooding darker haired father. He wants to be a man like you but there's no one to show him how. Maria remembered the words all too clearly and was overcome with pride that Georg was now doing everything in his power to raise honourable young men.

"What about me?!" Thomas had crowed, jumping down from his chair and stamping a bossy foot, placing his little hands on his hips as the rest of his siblings had stifled a giggle at the sight of him in his green Christmas hat and woolly jumper.

"Are you sure he isn't one of yours from a previous life, Georg?" Max had quipped with a smirk, "I'm absolutely positive I've seen that exact same scowl before.."

"Max..." Georg had warned, his eyes narrowing, none too pleased by the impresario's idea of a joke.

"There was that one other English rose... way back in the day.." The impresario had drawled over his scotch, entirely ignoring his friend's death stare, "you remember the one Georg..."

"Well I never!" Margaret exclaimed breathlessly, entirely scandalised as she dropped her fork against her plate with a loud clink that seemed to shatter Georg's eardrums.

"Max!"

"A rose?" Maria had asked curiously, unfamiliar with the English term.

"A rose indeed!" Max chirped, as a rosy cheeked Robert guffawed in the background, much to Georg's horror.

"What have roses got to do with Thomas?" Brigitta had asked in innocent confusion, as Friedrich choked uncouthly on his broccoli and a blushing Leisl pounded him on the back, avoiding her father's mortified gaze.

As he'd stuttered desperately for an adequate response he'd noticed dawning apprehension on Maria's face and had been relieved to see that she seemed amused by the brief insight into his rakish youth, rather than displeased. A knowing twinkle had glimmered in her eye and it had given him the means to move past Max's unwelcome revelation and concentrate on the little boy in front of him, the little boy who was still stamping his feet impatiently in an effort to obtain all the attention. Georg could've kissed him for diverting everyone's attention.

"For you, my little man," Georg had chuckled, tapping his saviour on the nose, "something I myself received when I was around your age."

He'd left his seat and sunk to his haunches, presenting Thomas with a humbly wrapped gift that the boy had torn into with greedy abandon. The paper had fallen away to reveal a box containing the pieces of a little model boat and the child's face had furrowed in confusion before understanding dawned and he gave a triumphant roar of excitement.

"Can we build it together?!" He'd cried, flinging his little arms around Georg's neck.

"Of course," Georg had chuckled, "though all of these gifts are from your mother and grandparents too children."

Maria had been bewildered to find that Thomas had run to her then, wrapping her in a hug of her own and whispering under his breath "thank you mother." It had moved her deeply that the boy felt such affection for her, or perhaps he was merely copying the older children, but either way one thing was for certain - his desperate need for parental love in the absence of his own mother and father filled her with overwhelming sadness. She felt guilty for being unable to track their own parents down, guilty for becoming to attached to them. How she would miss the two English rascals when the time came to leave England.

Later that night, when the celebrations had quieted and a peaceful hush had finally befallen the house, Georg had closed their bedroom door behind him and leant against the wood, breathing a contented sigh of relief.

"Alone at last," he grinned playfully, closing the gap between himself and his wife before encasing her in a loving embrace, "I missed you my darling," he whispered vulnerably, nuzzling his face into her neck and peppering languid kisses behind her ear, across her cheek.

She let her eyes flutter closed against his breathtaking ministrations, every touch, every stroke, every whisper, burning her with a love she could hardly contain, "I can scarcely get near you with this big bump in the way," she muttered under her breath, evoking a low chuckle from her husband as he placed a loving hand against her growing stomach.

He pulled back to share a wry smile with her, "it'll get a lot bigger yet!" He said, "how have you been finding it?"

She shrugged, "Margaret has been really helpful, and I've been doing a lot of reading so I know what to expect. It's just a waiting game now really - though Spring seems a long way away yet."

"It will go very fast," he warned, "you'll wonder where the time went!"

She smiled on a sigh, "It does seem like only yesterday you proposed to me in that willow tree," she remembered wistfully, "in Davos."

"How could I forget!" He grinned, "Which reminds me..." He moved away from her to the bedside cabinet and just as she was beginning to mourn the loss of his touch, he pulled out a little wrapped gift that peaked her curiosity, "I haven't yet given you your Christmas present.."

He lifted her hand and pressed her fingertips to his lips before laying her palm flat and placing the little gift there for her to unwrap.

"Oh Georg, I thought we agreed we'd only get gifts for the children!"

"I know but I didn't buy it I promise. I just wanted to give you this especially," He smiled sheepishly, "Go on, open it."

She did as instructed and the paper fell away to reveal a little black velvet jewellery box. Attempting to conceal her childish eagerness, she snapped it open and gave a little gasp of surprise. There in the silken padding of the case, sat a white gold ring encrusted with little diamonds and a rich blue sapphire that adorned the centre of the band, glistening in the light of the bedside lamp so beautifully that she felt utterly entranced by it.

"Do you like it?"

"Georg! It's stunning!" She breathed, "I'm speechless."

"Well there's a first," was the quipped reply, "it was my grandmothers. I kept it in England along with some of the other valuable possessions I wanted to keep out of harm's way. I remember when I proposed to you in that willow tree that I told you I didn't have a ring. Well it wasn't strictly true," he took the box gently from her hand and extracted the ring, taking her fingers with his, "I had this ring in mind ever since I realised... I thought it was perfect for you, even when I had no idea you returned my feelings, I always thought of this ring. But I just couldn't give it to you until now. Please wear it always and know I love you."

She could only nod as he slipped the jewel onto her wedding finger, before bringing her hand to his lips again and holding it against his chest.

"I don't know what to say," she murmured, her chest constricting, "I never thought.. Oh it's silly."

"What?" His forehead furrowed in concern, though his voice was soft, "tell me."

"I never thought I'd ever be deserving of such love, such devotion.. " she trailed off, her eyes downcast, "But you make me feel as though I'm worthy of the whole world."

"And don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise!" he replied sternly, pulling her into his arms, "I simply won't have it!"

"Until I met you, I'd barely even been touched affectionately," she half laughed in wonder, "let alone told I was worthy of love.."

She'd meant the recollection to be lighthearted but Georg was overcome with a sudden and striking sadness. She'd barely been touched before him? He knew she'd had a wicked and lonely childhood, he knew she'd never been so much as near a man in adulthood, but to hear so bluntly that she'd been entirely starved of affection her whole life - it left him feeling raw with a sudden, burning need to remedy her loneliness, to protect her from the sadness of her past. How could somebody so neglected, so overlooked, grow to become such a stirring, wonderful, selfless human being? She entirely floored him with her joyful innocence and fierce, tender compassion. She had saved his family when she'd gone her entire life without anyone to save her, and yet not once had she ever succumbed to self-pity. She was a goddess, a blessing, a miracle.

Before long his sadness gave way to overwhelming need, a need to be close to his goddess in a way that only he was permitted.

"I will gladly spend a lifetime making sure you are compensated," he growled wickedly before descending on her neck, her girlish squeals the last coherent sound that was heard before he carried her to the bed and made good on his promise.

Georg had been right, the proceeding months passed in a blur of bustle and activity. Winter had melted into early spring, both Friedrich and Briggita had celebrated birthdays, Robert and Georg had made several more trips to the base and come home each time, mostly unscathed. The Blitz had continued to rage in the capital, though daily reports on the radio about explosions, devastation, death and destruction had almost become old news.

Maria's stomach had grown so large she felt she might pop like an overinflated balloon, though her heavy pregnancy hadn't yet hindered her desire to be as active as possible. She and the children spent long, golden afternoons in the grounds of the country home when the weather was tranquil, the nine of them watching the lambs dance in the adjoining fields or playing a game while Maria observed from the shade of a nearby tree.

She was sitting under that very same tree now, watching her brood in their latest endeavours as they frolicked in the sun. She'd often wander down to this spot at the crack of dawn for a moment to herself, whenever Georg was absent and sleep evaded her. She'd breathe in the cool morning air and drink in the sight of the dew sparkling against the blades of grass as they were kissed by the sunrise and she'd be filled with a deep sense of calm, as though the house and everyone in it were protected by an impenetrable bubble.

Once or twice she'd thought about carving their initials into the very tree she was currently leaning against, but it hadn't seemed fitting somehow - leaving their mark in a place that belonged to the Whitehead family, a place that their daughter had never lived to see and yet still held her memory like an old photograph - she was there in the way the children's eyes sparkled with laughter, there in her parents wistful smiles, there in the quintessential stillness of the English countryside surrounding them. Amidst the memories shared, the photographs discovered and the stories told about Agathe in the months since they'd arrived in England, Maria felt as though she'd grown to known this woman more than ever before. She couldn't quite explain it to anyone, least of all Georg, but she felt as though she shared a unique bond with the former baroness Von Trapp, a bond whose basis lay in their mutual love for a stubborn sea captain and seven unruly children.

"Mother!" Louisa whined from across the grass as though on cue, "Friedrich won't give the ball back!"

"You stole it first!" Lucy shouted over the din, coming to Friedrich's aid.

Maria sighed, hauling herself to her feet with a knowing smile on her face, ready to quell the imminent mutiny. But she was abruptly halted in her tracks by the sight of a flustered Baroness Whitehead emerging from the house and rushing across the grass in a flurry of skirts and worry. Maria's heart stopped dead in her chest, the look on Margaret's contorted face leaving her feeling suddenly suspended in time and space. Everything seemed to churn in slow motion then, the world turned on its axis, the children's squabbling became muffled against the blood pounding in her ears, the lambs in the adjacent field seemed to freeze. It seemed to take Margaret an age to finally get to her.

"What is it?" Maria choked as the elderly woman neared. She grabbed at the tree trunk blindly to steady herself against the sudden pounding of her heart.

"Inside.." Margaret murmured, throwing an anguished sideways glance towards the children, who'd dropped their ball to watch the scene with avid curiosity.

Maria nodded wordlessly, attempting to remain passive as she forced one heavy foot in front of the other, her mind racing with a million sickening possibilities all too painful to bear.

Only one thing was certain. Their impenetrable bubble was about to burst.

A/N: the last two chapters have been a little slower paced but I'm thinking it's about time to ramp it up again! hope you're all still with me!