DISCLAIMER: The Sound of Music and Hummingbird aren't mine!

The leaves rustled softly as the wind blew gently—the scent of summer, clean, fragrant, wafted to his nose. He took in a deep breath as he leaned on the balcony railing. Hand clutching warm metal until his knuckles turned white. He closed his eyes, reveling in the peace and quiet of the evening—so unlike the endless screaming in his mind.

This was all too much, he thought to himself. Especially dinner, he thought grimly. Dinner.

It wasn't as if dinner had been such a terrible affair, no. But it was tense—perhaps ten times worse than it had been the other night. Elsa with her perfectly-painted smile. The children, uneasy in her presence. The fraulein, uneasy in his presence. And Max, trying to liven things up and distract everyone from the situation that seemed to glom upon them but seemingly unsuccessful. And him—him feeling as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest and then wrung endlessly. The entire ordeal pained him—the gazing and the glaring at the table—everything. And he knew—all this had been his fault. His alone. If things had not gone down the way it had—if he hadn't—

Exhale.

(It was not as if he would allow anyone but himself to carry the blame anyways.)

Perhaps things could have been different. Perhaps things would have been different.

It was as if the universe or even God, he thought, had decided to punish him for making such a mess of his life, he thought. The dream he had last night had been nothing short of haunting—filled with longing and what-ifs. Of things he cannot attain. Of things he cannot—

Lavender scented, tinted brightest of blues—the colour of aquamarine jewels, rarest of the rare, encased in flashes of golden glow. Warmed smiles, under the light of the sun, and tinkling laughs. Darkness—dressed carefully, drenched in silvered light. Dancing silhouettes and checkered blankets, parcels wrapped carefully in brown paper and linen cloth. Green flowers, and snow-coloured ones, softly floating on blue-coloured waters, waves crashing gently against the shore. Hand in his—soft and dainty, perfect fit. Strains of Rachmaninoff's second symphony floating in his mind whilst they twirled around the gold-gilded ballroom.

He felt as if all had been within his grasp, then, as light filtered through his windows, it faded, and faded, and faded. The more he attempted to grasp more of it, the faster it disappeared and stayed beyond his reach. The more he closed his eyes, wanting to return to sleep to return to its embrace, wanting to go through it just once more, it faded into no more than a misty-coloured memory. He sighed as he softly, subtly mourned it.

I want you to stay.

I ask you to stay.

You are here to stay?

Please let me go

Please don't make this any harder than it already is.

It was so curious how they had gotten here, he thought woefully—how two points could come so close to the other, closer, and closer, and closer—side by side, hand in hand, eyes interlocked. Yet by some cruel hand, bounce away farther than they had ever been—drifting away. Away, away, away. Barred by circumstance. Barred by the choices they had made. The choices they had chosen to stand by.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

From his seat in the study, he could hear the faint strains of laughter streaming through his open windows. He snuck a peek—smiling as he looked over to the gardens, spotting her on the grass, seated together with the children. Standing in front of them were Friedrich and Louisa, in what it seemed to be a lesson. With Friedrich's growing interest in biology, Louisa's strong penchant for animals, and the number of tadpoles and frogs by the lake, there was no doubt the lesson was about frogs, he thought, somewhat amusedly. Then he saw Louisa hold a slimy frog in her hands, smiling widely as the younger ones grimaced and moved away. Yes, he grinned, frogs it is.

He sighed, tearing his eyes from the window.

Then came the light strains of her tinkling laugh and the soft sound of her voice—captivating, soft, warm, mingling with that of the children's—loud, joyous.

She had sounded so happy earlier in the afternoon, and she looked it, too. She was happy, wasn't she? She was happy… with them—the children, he meant. She sounded as if… looked as if she belonged with them. And she did—she belonged here, with them. With the children around her, with flowers threaded in her cropped hair. They loved her—with all their might. They loved her, and with her, they were happy. Happier than they'll ever be with—

He frowned. He wouldn't pretend that his own words hadn't stung himself the moment it had passed from his lips. We will all be very happy, he had said then. Looks of disbelief passed his children's eyes, and upon looking into Liesl's eyes, he found… disappointment. Sadness. Anguish. Anger? No, that had been Louisa. Little Gretl had been confused, and Marta subdued. Friedrich respectful, Kurt… apprehensive. Brigitta… well—

Brigitta saw right through him.

Brigitta could tell you about him. She notices everything.

She had knocked weakly at his study door that night—the same day he had announced his engagement, that night she had returned. Brigitta had snuck down when everyone else was in bed. She had probably been unable to sleep, too, he thought, for she had a few books in her arms—all of them, the books she had read more times than he can count. Comfort books. She was uneasy, he thought to himself. Gently, she sat on the seat opposite her father's and set down the books. Giving him a small apologetic smile, she said softly, "Father, I'm sorry if it seemed like I hadn't been happier for you. I love you dearly and… I just want you to be happy."

The words had been ringing in his mind for an entire day now, stealing into his every thought.

I just want you to be happy.

And now, he wondered.

Was he happy?

Casting his eyes down, he pursed his lips. Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out. In. Out.

What did make him happy?

He had known unhappiness for so long, dwelled in it, finding comfort in its darkness—it was so familiar to him, somewhere to turn to when things went wrong. He knew what made him unhappy—he could make a list of it. Enumerate them all. Write it down on paper, etch it down in stone, list it all in his mind, recite it to the wind at this very moment. Yet—

Did he know what made him happy?

What did make him happy?

Was he happy?

The Things That Make Me Happy.

This is absurd, he thought to himself, shaking his head, feeling absolutely silly—feeling as if he were a child. Yet even a child, who with the most simplistic view of the world, knew what made themselves happy. To them, it was clear. Not at all muddled. A simple case of black and white. Without such a deep, philosophical understanding of the world before them—without the taints of pain and age and everything else, they understood the world so deeply, knew deep in their hearts what made them happy. So, he asked himself, how could one—with a life such as his—possibly not know what made himself happy?

His grip tightened on the metal—hands shaking. He closed his eyes, and began to feel— Taking a deep breath, he carried on.

The Things That Make Me Happy.

Well, his family—of course, that was a given, he thought with a small smile. He remembered when each of his children were merely babies. Liesl clasping his thumb with her entire hand—eliciting a little giggle from the little one, which made Agathe smile so. Friedrich playing with his tiny toy boat in the bath. Louisa, who wouldn't settle until Agathe sang to her, or until he played a small lullabye for her on the piano. Kurt who seemed to smile all the time—especially when it was meal time. Agathe reading to tiny Brigitta, her small giggles filling his ears whenever Agathe did different voices for each character. Marta, sweet Marta, inseparable from her dear Mr. Snuffles. And tiny Gretl, who stole everyone's hearts, charming everyone, wrapping them all around her finger the minute she opened her eyes.

That did make him happy, he thought—and now that they're all grown up, he couldn't help but feel a little stab of pride. They've all grown so well, he thought. But—

The sea—he smiled to himself as the thought crossed his mind. Also a given, he supposed. He no longer had the thrill of being on the sea, but he had a lake right here. It could never hold a candle to the sea, but he supposed it was the next best thing. He smiled at memories of swimming with the children when they were younger, and boat rides with Agathe. Picnics by the lake, and—

Boat tipping. The children laughing merrily—the happiest he had seen them since—

And—

Deep breath.

What else made him happy? Oh, yes—

The night sky made him happy. The sight of the stars, dazzling on the black, velvet sky, never ceased to amaze him and make him smile. And the moon, shining brightly, bestowing whatever it touches with an ethereal glow. The wonder and secrets of the night sky never failed to amaze him so. Alright, proceed.

And—

He could hear the children coming up from the staircase, the patter of footsteps, soft and somehow comforting. All of them were laughing and humming. The tune they were humming, well, now singing, was familiar—he heard it many times over the summer. He had heard it on her first day as the governess, and he had heard it just last night, as she and Marta whispered it into the air. The children often sang it when they felt down, he noticed—and in the two weeks that Fraulein Maria hadn't been here, he had heard it everywhere he went. And now—

Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens. Bright copper kettles, and warm woolen mittens. Brown paper packages tied up with string, these are a few of my favourite things—

The children had returned to their rooms, the sound gone, but in his mind, it carried on.

Cream-coloured ponies and crisp apple strudel? Was it apple strudel? He thought. Ah, yes, of course it was. Fraulein Maria adored apple strudel, he thought to himself. He had been caught so off-guard the first time he had seen her eat it—remembering so vividly how her eyes had lit up at the sight of Frau Brunner's apple strudel on the table. Lip catching between her teeth as she looked at the portion on her plate with anticipation and sparkling joy—impatience clearly written in them as she waited for someone to start before she did. Finally taking her first bite. Eyes shut close as she savoured the medley of apples and cinnamon and butter on her tongue—a contented smile resting on her face.

Emotions so simple, so clear, so sincere written on her face—happiness so uncomplicated. Happiness so real, it radiated off her. It made him feel as if he could grasp it in his hands. Feel it on his fingers. Hold it. And hold it. And hold it. And not let go.

"Did you like it, Fraulein Maria?"

"It's delightful," she said softly, smiling at Gretl, wiping the little one's mouth with a napkin.

"We told Frau Brunner that it was one of your favourite things!" Marta piped up, and the rest of the children nodded merrily, smiles wide on their faces. Her eyes widened so.

"Oh, but—" She blushed red, eyes darting to Elsa and Max, then to each of the children.

"And we told her that maybe she could serve apple strudel every day!"

"But—"

"Well, she said she couldn't serve apple strudel every day, so we suggested she serve it every other day, but she still said no," Louisa said, frustration evident in her tone.

"That's nice of you, but—"

Her eyes landed upon him as the children talked animatedly amongst themselves about how often they must ask Frau Brunner to serve apple strudel. Her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes, soft, torn, embarrassed, amused, thankful, swirling madly in the blue of her eyes. She gave him a shy smile, as if asking—

"Children," he cleared his throat, and everything had stopped. He could see her sighing in relief, a small smile on her face—dare he say, for him. Cheeks tinting red as the children then argued with their father about apple strudel. He could see her eyes darting to Elsa and Max once more. Perhaps embarrassed that they must be subject to eating her favourite. They were, after all, guests. But she—

Well, she—

She was more than just the governess.

He shook his head lightly. Staying quiet, listening to the leaves rustling, feeling the breeze on his face. In the silence of the night, there was a loud thrumming in his heart that he wished to ignore. Yet the beating of his heart echoed louder than anything—his thoughts reduced to a whisper. He closed his eyes once more and slowly, he breathed. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. He attempted to keep himself back on track—to think about things that made him happy. Alright—

Fraulein Maria—

Fraulein Maria?

From the corner of his eye, he spotted her lithe figure—clad in the same blue chiffon she had been that fateful night. He watched her from afar—keeping his distance, ignoring the clawing in his chest. Eyes trained on her—watchful, curious. Her hands clasped behind her back. Figure floating down the terrace, to the walkway, settling herself by the gates to the lake. Posture stiff, shoulders tight—unease evident. Head turning slightly, firmly turning back towards the lake. Her hands clasped the metal of the gate tightly. Head slightly turning once more, dropping slightly.

And he wondered—

The heavy scent of perfume—thick and suffocating—filled his senses. Overpowering. Overbearing. Too much. He slightly grimaced, frowning sadly.

"There you are!" Elsa appeared beside him, her perfectly-painted lips curved up to a smile. He jumped slightly, giving her a small smile in return, yet— His fingers tapped on the metal—briskly, impatiently, anxiously. As he watched the blue figure by the lake leave, the summer breeze blowing on her dress, blowing on her hair.

He watched her from afar—keeping his distance, ignoring the clawing in his chest. He watched her go. Eyes still trained on where she had been—still seeing her there. Still seeing her—

"I must speak to cook about the schnitzel—it is entirely too delicious for my figure," Elsa said suddenly, waking him from his stupor, and he attempted a smile. It seemed to convince her, he thought to himself. "And it makes you much too quiet at the dinner table," he knew that she was now raising a perfectly-arched eyebrow as he leaned onto the railing, eyes still on the lake—eyes still seeing her silhouette. Eyes still seeing how she had almost looked at him. Eyes still seeing— "Or was it the wine?"

I just want you to be happy.

"Oh, undoubtedly the wine," he said—nonchalantly, as if it hadn't mattered that he had been quiet. He had been much too quiet before—brooding, untouchable in her presence. Why is now that she cared? Of course, she cared. Of course, she cared. Of course, she cared.

I just want you to be happy.

Seconds pass.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

"You have no idea the trouble I'm having—trying to decide on a wedding present for you," he could hear the smile in her voice, yet— "Oh, I know. I'm enough," she laughed lightly.

I want you to be happy.

"But I do want you to have some little trifle for the occasion. At first I thought of a fountain pen… but you've already got one."

And that was what this charade is about—looking good on paper. Buying the other presents—material. Immediate gratification. Everything for show.

"Then I thought perhaps a villa in the south of France, but they are so difficult to gift-wrap."

Oh, how wonderful they would look in the glitz and glamour of Vienna—of Paris, or wherever they would go. They'd be elite. They'd be wanted. Perfect society match.

"Oh, Georg, how do you feel about yachts? A long, sleek one for the Mediterranean, or a tiny one for your bathtub, huh?"

But was he happy with her right beside him?

"Elsa—"

"Where to go on our honeymoon? Now, that's a real problem! A trip around the world would be lovely. And then I said—oh, Elsa, there must be someplace better to go. But don't worry, darling, I—"

"Elsa," he said. Firmly. Sadly. Apologetically.

"Yes, Georg?"

"It's no use—you and I," he said softly—watching as the mask of hers she kept so firmly in place melted. "I'm being dishonest to both of us and utterly unfair to you." Dignity and pride still oozed from her, but he now saw melancholy, fear, dread—

"You see, when two people talk of marriage—"

Yet he did not expect—

"No, don't."

Acceptance.

His heart began to pound against his chest.

"Don't say another word, please," she said, softly, a small apologetic smile tugged on her lips. "You see, there are other things I've been thinking of… Fond as I am of you, I really don't think you're the right man for me."

What did he feel now, as he let go of her? Freed her from her chains?

"You're much too independent, and I need someone who needs me desperately. Or at least needs my money desperately."

He was supposed to marry this woman—vow to cherish her for the rest of their days. Why was it—why was it—why was it that he only felt relief flood through him? He felt remorse. He felt sadness, yet not the all-consuming pain of each claw. Each strike. Each word. Each move. It did not fill him with pain as it should. He did not—

"I've enjoyed every moment we've had together and I do thank you for that."

Her eyes twinkled under the moonlight, sparkling—genuine, smiling. Slightly apologetic, heart on her sleeve for the first time. He saw through her for once—she allowed him to. He gave her a small smile in return, hoping that she knew how grateful he was for her. Hoping that she knew that he enjoyed moments with her, too.

"Now, if you'll forgive me, I'll go inside, pack my little bags, and return to Vienna where I belong."

In the glitz and glamour of Vienna—of Paris, or wherever she would go—Elsa would belong. Amongst glittering salons and tinkling of glasses. Amongst the busy bustle of the city—the rush and excitement of it all. Elsa belonged.

She deserved more than he could ever give her. She deserved more. She deserved more. She deserved more.

"And somewhere out there… is a young lady who, I think, will never be a nun," she smiled—the familiar playful glint in her eye twinkling merrily. Yet, once more—it had been genuine. His eyes widened slightly, and the smile grew on her face, her head moving slightly, pointing to the direction of the lake, where she had been.

Where his mind's eye could still see her. Where—

She gave him a knowing smile.

"Auf Wiedersehen, darling."

As she kissed his cheek and gave him a small smile, he closed his eyes, listening to her footsteps. Softer and softer and softer.

Quiet.

The leaves rustled softly as the wind blew gently—the scent of summer, clean, fragrant, wafted to his nose. He took in a deep breath as he leaned on the balcony railing. Hand resting on the warm metal, his heart pounding against his chest faster and faster and faster. He took a deep breath of the night air—closing his eyes, reveling in the peace and quiet of the evening.

Gracious Elsa. Gracious, witty Elsa. Dearest Elsa, I stand by what I said that day—no matter that you had called it unromantic—it was never meant to be romantic. But I stand by it, nevertheless—you were—are my saviour. You have saved me once, when I was drowning. And you have saved me yet again.

Save me from myself
Far too many rules I had to break
I don't need no one else
The way that I need you, oh

His hand slipped into his pocket, as he pondered what would happen next—what he was to do next. A year of his life had crumbled before his very eyes—he had seen it coming, yes, but he found himself… without a plan. This had never been part of any plan, and he found himself—he found himself standing in the ruins of what he had worked for in the past year, a smile on his face. Happier than he had been. He breathed in, feeling a piece of paper brush his fingertips. Eyebrows slightly furrowed. Then suddenly lighting up as he remembered what it had been.

"Look, father, we found a book about folding paper into animals!" Gretl beamed widely as she brought the thick book to her father.

"And we made this for you!" Marta presented him with a blue-coloured piece of paper, folded meticulously into the shape of a bird.

"Oh, really, what is it?" He smiled, watching as his children covered the table with paper animals in various colours, shapes, and sizes.

"It's a hummingbird!"

"That's lovely," he smiled.

"Brigitta says that it symbolizes healing and luck, father! So you have to keep it with you always."

Now pulling the blue hummingbird from his pocket, he held it to the light. The small dot that served as the hummingbird's eye stared at him—looked right through him. Knew him, understood him wholly.

"Good luck," it seemed to say. As if it knew of his plan before he did. And it did, it seemed.

And it assured him—things will be alright.

And with a wide smile on his face, he walked briskly to the staircase—finally starting on his way to that one person who gave him yet another reason to be happy.

A/N

Okay, my apologies this took so long! I was having some troubles with this chapter for the longest time, but as I continued writing, it eventually became much longer than I intended it to be. That said, there's just one more chapter left (final, I promise!), and I think you all know what will happen :)

Anyways, crossed fingers that you liked this chapter and that it made sense!

Sending love :)