DISCLAIMER: Sound of Music isn't mine!

Elsa Schraeder prided herself for being one of the most famous actresses in the country, and perhaps, even the world. Flipping through a small pocket album she always carried with her, she smiled at the memory of all the films and galas she had attended before—the blinding lights and vibrant colors, the laughs and the deafening click of cameras, the people. She lived off it, she loved it—yet as she uncharacteristically flopped onto the armchair in the guest room, she sighed as she remembered a time when she wanted to leave it all.

She was only twenty-two that time, soaring higher and higher—her third film having been a success. Robert had just proposed to her that time. They hadn't really sat down and talked about their future before, just taking it one day at a time. But visions of little girls with ribbons in their hair running around in a small, quaint home, and a little boy bundled up in her arms, with Robert's arm around her shoulder filled her dreams at night. She loved children—she really did, and she did want to settle in a small house just outside of town, with a huge garden or a lavender field where she could run and lie and watch the stars at night.

But—

Before there was such a chance to decide she had wanted to at least semi-retire from show business, a contract was placed in her face, and she had no choice but to honor it. Robert had been more than supportive, promising her that one day, they will have a chance at the lifestyle they had wanted. They had moved through Austria, and London, and then to New York, going back and forth—schedules filled with tapings and interviews and shows, and it was impossible to keep track of it all, but at the end of the day, they had each other, and that was what mattered to them.

Until—

As fast as she could blink, he was gone.

She had received a phone call one summer afternoon, in the middle of taping, asking her to kindly rush to the emergency room of a hospital near their flat in Vienna. She had tried to get off the set early, begging them to allow her to be at her husband's side.

But—

It was no use.

Two hours more on set, and another two more hours on the way to the hospital. The minute she had gotten there, her husband had been dead for three hours.

Like Georg, she had thrown herself at her work—somewhat out of spite, but also as a distraction.

Acting, playing different roles, pretending to be someone else for months on end kept her from truly feeling the intensity of her grief. And she had realized that all this time, she had just been a fraud—putting on a mask, facing the world with dazzling smiles and melodious laughter, climbing the heights and standing on top.

But now that she was on top, she found herself repeating the same questions over and over: who was she?

In the midst of playing a part—a role—to perfection, capturing the essence of being someone else entirely, living someone else's dreams, speaking of someone else's hopes, she had forgotten herself. She had forgotten her dreams, she had forgotten her hopes. She laid at night, thinking—she had what many people clamored for in their lifetime. She had youth—she was barely thirty when her husband died, she had overwhelming wealth, and she had fame, but what was she do with all that?

In the three houses they had owned, she found herself standing alone, her steps echoing deafeningly around her—she had no husband, none of the children she longed for, barely any real friends, dreams of the tiny little house with the large garden-slash-field had abandoned her. She had only herself.

Until—

She found herself clutching onto a sheet of music with lyrics that spoke to her soul, the notes melancholic and heavenly, and against her agent's wishes, she found herself auditioning for a musical after eleven years. She chewed on her lip as she waited for her turn, and taking a deep breath, she put on a mask and walked gracefully to the stage—where she came face to face with a dear old friend, Max Detweiler.

She believed that she would forever be in Max's debt. He had saved her, brought her back to the land of the living—helped her reconnect with a few old friends, and of course, helped her stand up again. Then there had been Georg and Agathe, with whom she had reconnected with. They were immensely supportive, caring for her as if no time had passed at all—as if she had never drifted away, stuck in the whirlwind that she had trapped herself into.

At first, it had hurt her to constantly witness a love so true in the embodiment of Georg and Agathe—she felt as if they were sent to torture her, as if it were some painful reminder of the days gone past, or of the days she had missed, of the days that would never be. Yet it gave her joy, too, somehow. She watched as they weathered through storms together, and watched as they welcomed more children into the world (and she remembered constantly teasing them for it). She watched their family grow, eyes blazing with love and adoration for each other, and though there was a sense of longing for something like that, she allowed herself to smile and be happy for them. They weren't just friends anymore, they were family.

Until—

Agathe had died, and she couldn't make it, having been in between press conferences and meetings, and whatever it was, halfway across the world. When she returned to Austria, the services were over, and Agathe was buried in the cemetery, and she had gone from being Aunt Elsa to merely Mrs. Schraeder.

She understood where the children were coming from—she had abandoned them in their time of need, only coming home three weeks after their mother, one of her greatest friends, was buried. Louisa cried that she never wanted to see her again, and Liesl had given her the silent treatment, Friedrich was civil and polite, and Kurt always scrunched up his eyebrows in front of her. Brigitta cried whenever she saw her, little Marta had just wanted her mother to sing her to sleep, and baby Gretl knew nothing. The only person that would talk to her was Georg—and days and months and years of comforting led one thing to another, and their friendship evolved, adding benefits to the list. There had been hints of courtship from him from time to time, but she had turned them down. She wouldn't.

It wasn't that Georg meant nothing to her—no. In fact, he meant a great deal to her, but he hadn't meant that to her. She didn't love him in the way that he deserved, and deep in her heart, she knew that it was his loneliness doing all the talking on his part. She only hoped that one day, if he had indeed wanted to marry someone, it was because he had felt deeply for that person, and that person would love him just as equally in return.

And being with Georg and the children here in Aigen, she couldn't help but notice the shift in the air. It was true, what she had told Georg—he seemed natural in his, well, as he put it, his "natural habitat," but there was something different about him now. He seemed, well, much more unbuttoned, more casual, more daring, if she could. He smiled more often, he started laughing genuinely, more carefree again, he started singing again, and the sparkle had returned to his eyes.

And truth be told, she was the happiest of the happiest for her friend. If only he knew, she shook her head.

Watching as he sprinted to his car, a paper bag cradled in his arms, Elsa allowed herself to smile. Turning to a disgruntled Max Detweiler, who had only sat down, she whispered, "do you think he knows?"

Max looked at her disbelievingly, shoving a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth, shaking his head at the appearance of the mischievous glint in her eyes.

"What are you plotting to do, Madame Machiavelli?"

"I haven't gotten the slightest idea of whatever you're talking about!" She grinned widely, and Max had to give out a full-bellied laugh.

"What's so funny, Uncle Max?" Brigitta cocked her head to the side.

"Well, kiddos, I was thinking," he stroked his mustache.

"But you rarely think!" Brigitta deadpanned, earning a loud laugh from all the other children, and a snicker from Elsa (which was immediately silenced by a look from Max that clearly said "do not dare add that to Georg's points).

"Exactly, my dear! Which means this is important. Well, how about we play a game?" Max rubbed his hands together as the children cheered wildly. He looked over to Elsa, who was cutting a piece of her chicken, a smile on her face.

The wheels are already turning.

"Well, you can ask any person in the table a question of your choosing, but it must be answered by a fact and only a fact, alright?"

Elsa hadn't really paid much attention to the game, simply enjoying the laughs and loud "OOOOOOOHs" of the children. Of course, with the addition of Maria Rainer, who had started to become a good friend, at the dining table every weekday, she had seen them all laugh and sing and be happy, much more than they have been the past few years, but it felt different, now that only she and Max were with them. She snapped back into reality, though, when the table went silent, and eight pairs of eyes were trained on her.

What in the—

"Friedrich asked you a question, Aunt Elsa," she heard little Gretl, who was all the way in the other end of the table, say softly.

"I'm sorry, darling, what was it?"

"The question is: What is Newton's first law of motion?"

Elsa merely clacked her tongue and smiled, answering effortlessly, "an object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force."

The table went silent for a second, and everyone was staring at her with wide eyes, then everyone cheered loudly, congratulating her. Apparently, Friedrich had asked four questions in total, and she was the only one who got any question correctly, so that called for a celebration.

She glanced at Max, who looked thoroughly confused.

An object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.

Max's eyes lit up in understanding. There's no stopping Elsa Schraeder in motion.

She will really do whatever it takes to see those around her happy. She will stop at nothing.

That much was sure.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Maria woke up with the afternoon sun filling her room with golden sunshine, and a blanket wrapped around her body. Groggily, she rubbed her eyes and sat up. When had she fallen asleep? Judging from the position of the sun, it was about three to five in the afternoon, which meant—

Getting up from the bed and throwing off the covers from her body, Maria sighed and slowly walked out of the bedroom. She was partially dreading what was going to happen next, but confidently walked out of her room anyways.

Her confidence was now leaving her with every step she took, and she gulped with the fear that—

Yep, looking to her left, there he was on the armchair, with a book on his chest. He must've dozed off, she thought, and she couldn't help but notice how peaceful he looked while sleeping. A curl had flopped over his forehead and—

Maria caught herself staring, and thinking and she felt a blush start to creep up her neck, and tint her cheeks a bright scarlet. Gulping down the lump on her throat, she—

Did arguing with me really make him that tired? She began to wonder. The both of them did try to talk things over, especially that bit that they argued about earlier that morning, but somehow things had gotten off-track, and they ended up arguing about other things too (ehem, for example, the children and what they wear). She didn't know why he just didn't leave, though. She didn't understand why he would stay. She didn't understand why he would just—

Wait, if he's holding a book, then he's seen the bookshelf?

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no.

Just as she turned around to compose herself and make herself a fresh cup of tea, she heard a little bit of paper rustling and a loud thud, followed by another loud thud, and she couldn't help but wonder what was happening. Turning around, she needed to stifle a laugh because she found him, the almighty, usually-dignified Georg von Trapp, on the floor, holding a worn Mitch Albom book in one hand and cradling the back of his head with the other.

Two, she thought to herself as she attempted to suppress the laugh that threatened to come out of her mouth. Two times today.

The sound of someone clearing their throat immediately pulled her out of her thoughts, and suddenly, she felt so small under the scrutiny of his eyes. She could feel them burn through her, and she could feel her cheeks start to redden again, and she wanted to curse herself for not being able to control herself for blushing time and time again.

"Yes?" She crossed her arms across her chest, lifted her chin slightly, and gave him a supposedly-stern look, maybe to feel like she had control over the situation. Yet despite all this, he couldn't really take her seriously. She was wearing leggings with cat cartoons drawn all over them, for goodness' sake! If he had to admit, she did look kind of c—shut up!

"What?" He asked.

"You just—"

"I just what?"

"You—oh whatever," she tightened her jaw, and then turned around and stalked off to her small kitchen.

"What in the world are you doing?" He asked her, a very amused smile spreading across his face.

"I'm making tea for myself!" She huffed as she grabbed the kettle from the counter and started filling it with water.

"You should be resting."

"I think I won't be getting more sick if I made myself some tea. On the contrary, I think it would make me feel better to drink something warm and do something productive," she snapped back.

"Then why don't you let me make the tea?"

"Out of the question," she rolled her eyes. "Besides, what type of person would give their intruder tea?"

"Intruder? You let me in!"

"Should not have done that," she looked over her shoulder for a second, only to see a slightly-bewildered expression on his face, the smile that was once there was completely wiped. She could not help but feel slightly victorious, for some reason. At least that shut him up for a second, she thought.

They continued bickering, Maria with a teapot in her hand, and a large mug with the other, and Georg with the Mitch Albom book still clutched in his hand, unknowing that somewhere, fifteen minutes away, two people doing the same thing, but treated it in an opposite manner, sitting on the sofa, laughing over a few drinks that were definitely too early to be drunk.

"What do you suppose is happening over there right now?" Elsa said as she took another sip.

"Probably bickering like an old couple, like they usually do," Max rolled his eyes as he refilled his glass.

"But we both know that at the end of the day, they'll end up making up, and still be the most oblivious people in the world."

"Hmm, agreed. Well, as much as I hate to say it, we can only find out what happens when Georg gets home."

Just as Elsa was setting down her glass, she and Max heard humming coming through the front door.

"Well, speak of the devil," Max murmured, then set down his drink.

Looking at each other briefly, they immediately made their way to the sitting room entrance, and watched as Georg ascended the steps with a new, well, erhm, bounce to his step. Max glanced over to Elsa, whose lips were pursed together in an attempt to hide the smile that was, no doubt, spreading across her face.

"Why do you stare at him like that?"

"Well because, my darling Max, remember when I asked you if there's got to be an easier way?"

"Yes," he nodded cautiously.

"Well, it seems to be," she paused dramatically, and then tossed her hair back, "that we're now in the easier way."

A/N

Yeet, here's another update for you! We're like... half there, I think? Yay!

This was fun to write! I hope Elsa wasn't too OOC, or at least, I hope that I was able to retain enough Elsa characteristics HAHAHA.

Sorry for being away for so long, too. My projects have been taking most of my creative juices and I've been super angsty lately, and definitely not matching the mood of this story.

Anyways, I don't know if I mentioned it here or in exile, but I haven't been checking FF a lot lately either, so I was kind of shook to see your reviews, faves, and follows. It warms me and it really makes my day brighter, so thank YOU. You guys really don't know how much it means to me! I will try to respond to your reviews and DMs as soon as I'm free (I swear, I have a lot of catching up to do)! If anyone is still reading this and you like it, please do give it a review/fave/follow (or all)! I'd love to hear what you think :)

Love lots,
-Hope-