Of the catastrophe that had been breakfast, the real calamity was that it was far too early in the morning to have a drink.

Georg was an unseeing force as he threw open the door to his bedroom, pressing his weight behind it so that it shut firmly. He caught sight of himself in the mirror that stood tall in the corner, hair pushed aside by the frantic pull of his fingers and forehead gleaming with sweat. A man with half his control would have ripped the tie from where it strangled his throat and shed the useless second layer that was his jacket, but Georg knew better. Regardless of how he felt, he needed to remain focussed on whatever little self-control he had left.

He had considered his study, but it held too many small, breakable objects, too confined, the lakeside path leading to the gazebo far too overt. So he had fell back to his bedroom in all of its dark wood and rich tones. He was rarely in here midday, which made it an odd choice even to him. Although if he were being truthful, considering this day could benefit from some honesty, he knew why he had come here.

It reminded him of her.

No, not of the woman that had fled from him downstairs and since coerced the children into their studies by allowing them to do so sprawled out on the ballroom floor (She had not bothered to ask for his permission following breakfast). Not the woman that held equal parts intrigue and question for him. Rather, the woman that had come first, who had offered him solace and security through a war beneath the sea and through the endeavour that was tending to a marriage and a family. One who had selflessly provided him the stability to face any obstacle.

The woman who had come first, but should not be the last – when she had told him so, she had already been in and out of deliria, but there was no mistaking her intention. A mother for the children… still so young, so handsome… Even in her deterioration she was charming. Georg had waved it all away.

And now, what he wouldn't give. The list grew each day. What he wouldn't give to hear another note pulled by the bow of her violin. What he wouldn't give for her to see how much Louisa had grown in her resemblance. And then, what he wouldn't give to have asked her to elaborate, asked her how exactly he was to find someone else when all he had carried was her loss.

Find someone else. In the end, he had fretted for nothing. He had not so much as found her as she had appeared on her own, twirling in his ballroom uninvited, wearing an ugly dress and with a voice like birdsong.

At one point, he had thought he had been diligent in choosing Elsa. She would have been the right type of woman to have maintained his family's status among the elite, which would have undoubtedly benefited the children. The right type of second wife to have been a comfortable companion to him, one who understood loss and practicality.

But then, in addition to discovering his unexpected party guest and her invisible dance partner, there had been something else that had jolted him, shook him until the very idea of following through with a marriage to Elsa left him feeling grisly self-contempt. It had been the same guidance that he was seeking now, in this room where he had once begun each morning next to his very reason for waking day after day.

What would Agathe have him do if that someone else did not want him in return?

Bypassing the tidy bed that sat in the middle of the room, Georg wandered absentmindedly to the smooth, mahogany nightstand that stood adjacent, pulling at its one drawer. It slid open for him easily. There was no framed photo atop the small table, nor any Bible in his bedside compartment, but there was a wrapped box, small enough that it could sit comfortably in the palm of his hand.

Silly, silly man. Perhaps this was what his mother and sister had warned him of when he returned from the war with more medals than he could count, then the money that followed. The thoughtlessness of the rich, their desire to spend money without any real rhyme or reason to their decisions.

He had last seen this particular mistake sitting in a shop window in between meetings he had been taking in town, several days after the Baroness had left for Vienna and Maria had fell back into a comfortable routine with both the children and himself for the time being. Laughter and song during the day, conversation often lasting deep into the evening.

Upon entering the shop, a surprised look of recognition had passed over the keeper – "Captain von Trapp!" in a slightly accented German. "It's been too long!". Back in his day, Georg had purchased a piece or two from him for Agathe when they too had caught his attention walking by; emerald earrings one time, a simple gold bracelet another. The jeweler crafted some of the pieces himself and sourced other vintage finds from all over Austria, each one with an endearing story to tell. Elsa's engagement ring however, which he had insisted she keep to do with as she saw fit, had come from a Viennese boutique that she frequented.

He asked for the box that had been resting to the side of the display. He did not wish to see it any closer, just requested for it to be wrapped immediately and assured the shopkeeper that he could pay in full, not that there had been any doubt. Georg knew that any moment given to him, he would back out of – back out of what exactly?

While Georg had not asked, nor did the elderly man pry at all, he did offer the Captain this: "Only two ever made in this style – the same man bought them both, one for his sweetheart, the other he gave away, saying it would bring good luck to someone who was just as fortunate as he was to have found his match. They were married over fifty years."

Georg smiled wryly. The story sounded fictitious, but it did hold charm.

"May it bring you good luck, Captain."

So here it had sat since that afternoon in town, with or without luck. Tucked away as it was, Georg did not have any intention to move it out of the nightstand or even a woman who necessarily wanted it. He picked it up gingerly, as if the box itself was to blame for what had unravelled at breakfast. Untying the string, the brown paper fell unceremoniously to reveal a blue velvet interior. When he flipped it open with the same hand upon which it rested, he half expected the contents to have disappeared along with whatever blind hope that had led him into the jewellery shop that day.

Of course, this was not the case. There it still sat, haunting as ever, small fragments that made up the centre stone doing what they could to reflect what little light the bleak day had to offer through the window.

"Like a captain without a sea," he muttered to himself, chuckling darkly at how apt it really was.

At that moment, there was a small knock-knock at the door. The precise rap, accompanied by the reactionary snap of his hand closing the box haphazardly shook Georg from his reverie. His heart leapt a moment as if he were a boy of Kurt's age – had the Fräulein come back? Hastily rearranging the drawer, he took a quick glimpse in the mirror and was glad that he had not removed his suit and tie.

"Come in." Damn his voice for shaking.

The door slid open a crack, and Georg strained to see who it was. When his caller did peer around the corner though, it was a head of brown instead of blond that poked out from behind the door, chin barely exceeding the height of the doorknob.

"Marta?"

"Father." Marta addressed him timidly. When Fräulein Maria would knock on his study occasionally and not bother waiting for his response, he would often teasingly remind her that even his youngest children knew their formalities.

"Come."

Swallowing her apprehension, Marta pushed the remainder of the door open and hurried to her father, who met her halfway at the foot of the bed. He sat and pulled her onto his lap where she had the chance to take in her surroundings, partly amazed at the moody decor that was so unlike the creams and pale yellows of her own nursery. It had been a long while since the children had paid him a visit in this room since it had become a space for one instead of two.

Georg shifted his daughter slightly on his knee so that he could survey her curiously. Where were the rest of them? Where was Maria? He would have voiced his queries, but for the moment he was too grateful for her distraction, grateful for the consistency of his children even when he had been anything but in between Agathe, Elsa, and now… and now what?

Looking down, deep brown eyes met Georg's, a shade that was nearly foreign to him he realized. While Agathe and Louisa had a crystalline green gaze, not dissimilar to his and Liesl's translucent blue (the Fräulein had blue eyes as well, but why was that relevant right now…), Marta's were reminiscent of firewood lit aglow and handknit wool blankets. Most often they were full of laughter, entirely like her mother, but Georg saw himself in how observant they became when something bothered the little girl. She would pull back, seeking the injustice. This is what he saw now.

"Fräulein Maria thinks I went to get a drink of water." Marta spoke first, answering one of his unspoken questions. It was both a confession and a proud admission.

"I'm certain she does," the Captain chuckled. He was no longer surprised by any of his children's cunning. He figured at the very least this gave her more time to develop greater tact than Friedrich.

Marta nodded solemnly. "I didn't like to lie to her though," she added, before pausing. "Especially not today."

"And why not today?"

The girl sighed. "Not when she's so… sad."

Fräulein Maria evoked many an emotion from the Captain, often within the span of a single exchange, but hearing that this morning had affected her so greatly that she wasn't even able to conceal it from the children only left him feeling… depleted. As if he were afforded one breath above water and he had just released it from his lungs.

"Perhaps the seven of you have simply exhausted your Fräulein. All that singing," the Captain teased, trying to lighten the mood. It was not fair for Marta to have to bear the weight caused by his incapacity for – well, for honesty. He bounced his knee once, her braids ricocheting off her shoulders. Marta allowed herself a giggle; despite the worries still on her mind, she was pleased to have found the courage to have come to her father's bedroom despite what Liesl always warned her of, and that she had not been sent away at the door. However, her somber expression returned once his knee stilled.

"I don't know if she's sad," she conceded, never a prideful child. "But she's far away. I wish I could bring her back."

Another precious breath, another exhale come too soon. Georg nodded to let his daughter know that he thought he understood. If it were Gretl, she would have expected, already been demanding, a solution from her father, for him to ask Frau Schmidt to prepare Fräulein Maria a cup of tea or for him to help her pick out one of her plush toys to offer her governess as consolation. But Georg saw enough of himself in Marta to know that she was not seeking a hasty solution. And perhaps he saw enough of his own lament in what Marta reported of Fräulein Maria's composure today as well to begin to admit that children's salves would not bring the governess comfort either.

The two of them sat there for a moment amidst the tap-tap of the rain, a father and daughter both partial to quiet thinking. Marta spoke first a second time.

"Father?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Do you make Fräulein Maria happy?"

Georg leaned back once more, Marta lifting her head from his chest. What had she just asked him?

"Pardon me?"

The openness in the girl's eyes flashed a moment, the fear that she had finally overstepped her father's patience plain to see. Georg tried to soften the brusque surprise that had probably swept over his face to give her the permission to continue. She did so bravely, repeating herself simply (had she learned this from him as well?): "Do you make Fräulein Maria happy?"

Through the effort of his concerted composure, Georg tried to consider this with impartiality. In light of their morning, it would nearly be humorous to respond with anything other than a resounding absolutely not. But he pressed his daughter instead.

"Well… I… Why do you ask?"

Marta huffed once; as discerning as she was for a seven-year-old, her patience was still a work in progress and she did not understand why things were not working out the way she had expected. Last night, Fräulein Maria had been silent as to whether she would have been her father's queen, even if she wanted to. And now her father would not even answer her a simple question.

The look Georg received from the little girl was a wariness beyond her years, her frustration evident. He thought to mention to her governess that Marta should not be spending so much time with Brigitta, but the thought was replaced by surprise at Marta's following revelation, delivered with an endearing simplicity that escaped most thrice her age.

"Because Fräulein Maria said last night she was happy. And today, she isn't."

And so there it was.

In all his time courting Elsa, all the chaperoned visits to Vienna with Max, all the Barons and Baronesses and the ever-widening social circle that Elsa kept, had anyone ever asked them if they made each other happy? Had they told each other once? There had surely been enough talk of their relationship: How stunning a couple the both of you make! The children's excitement must be uncontainable! If the gossips and socialites were bold, they may even have ventured as far as It's delightful to see that you have found companionship once more, Captain! But perhaps there had been no room for happiness in a partnership so full of reputation and appearances.

Fräulein Maria evoked many an emotion from the Captain, and he had spent many nights first trying to quell them and then trying to name them with equal measure. Admiration for the way she loved his children. Frustration that she could not see that the abbey was not right for her. He had even been as forthcoming as to acknowledge the lust he felt for the hollow of her throat or bend of her wrist. But there was something underscoring it all that he had not been able to place. Something so featherlight that he caught his skin singing when they brushed, that lifted his chest like a Montgolfier balloon, at once full of flame and breath.

Was it happiness? Is that what Agathe had wanted for him? Is that what had led him to the unassuming blue velvet box that now sat in the darkness of its drawer, mere inches away from where his head rested nightly?

"Marta?" The musicality of the voice calling from down the hall, somewhere near the nursery, was unmistakeable.

"I'm in here, Fräulein Maria!" Whether Marta had simply exhausted her ability to fool her governess for the day or she was more conniving than the Captain would have previously thought was beyond him. Regardless, he could not help but feel thankful that his daughter beckoned for Maria when he could not.

Before the footsteps became prominent outside the bedroom door, Marta slipped herself off the Captain's lap, lifting herself onto her knees atop the mattress so she could meet his eye and hug herself close around his neck once more.

"Will you try though, Father, please?" she whispered in a rush.

"Try what?" He knew what she was asking, but it seemed that all he could muster was a cowardly ignorance.

"To make Fräulein Maria happy!" she cried, her exasperation threatening the hushed tone of her voice.

Before Georg could answer his daughter, Maria appeared at the doorway, her short locks looking no more tame than his had just moments earlier.

"Oh! Captain! Forgive me," she fumbled, unable to disguise her surprise at where she found herself. She had never ventured past the children's rooms down this wing and could not distinguish between the many doors in her search for Marta. Desperately trying to look away from the Captain's bed, she thought of her own quarters down the hall, the femininity of it absent here. She had to admit that the Captain's bedroom did appear quite similar to how she had imagined it… Why had she imagined his bedroom?

The Captain stood, palming his thighs to smooth out his pant legs. Marta slid off the bed and bound toward her governess, slipping her hand inside Maria's.

"Not at all, Fräulein. My apologies for having borrowed one of your charges." He winked stealthily at his daughter now clinging to the young woman. Focus on Marta, focus on Marta.

Maria looked down at the second youngest von Trapp, brushing the girl's bangs away from her forehead absentmindedly, too bewildered to look at him or ask Marta why she had not gone to the kitchen for her glass of water. The memory of their exchange in the dining room bristled in the space between the entranceway and where the Captain stood by his bed.

"They're your children, Captain."

Georg watched the two of them, Maria's gaze cast downwards, refusing to meet his, and Marta looking expectantly between the two of them. Despite the wedge he had created between them at breakfast, he felt that same sensation pulling again at seeing Maria at his doorstep, her being back in his presence even if it were just to retrieve one of his children, – happiness, if he were to listen to a seven-year-old – at once a lightness and a grounding significance. Happiness and, perhaps, something more.

"Yes, well… Best to see to the rest of them then."

Maria nodded once, finally flashing her eyes up at him, her expression no more readable than when she was turned away. It was only a moment though before she placed her hand gently behind Marta's back to guide her out.

While the two of them retreated, backs already turned, Marta looked desperately over her shoulder one last time. Please, she mouthed.

Georg forced a reassuring smile. He raised his hand silently and crossed two of his fingers, showing her with a quick nod and grin that he hoped combined passed as confidence.

Once the pair were out of sight, the Captain let the mask and his unaffected air slip. He was left alone once more, and the room was just as silent as it had been before Marta's unexpected visit. Absentmindedly, he wandered back over to the window where, at the very least, the shifting light seemed to promise a reprieve for later that afternoon despite the steady downpour of rain that continued to fall.

While his earlier frustrations had dissipated, Georg now felt a boyish inquietude after having been momentarily reunited with Maria, only to have her part again so quickly. It was the dissatisfaction of something being abandoned before brought to completion, like the knowledge of a knot on one of his ships left slack. The fear of something escaping him.

Turning to the nightstand beneath the windowsill once more, he left the drawer closed this time, but allowed his fingers to drum steadily atop the smooth surface. Marta's request came to him once more.

Could he make Fräulein Maria happy? He thought he could try.