Please feel free to skip the very long A/N if I annoy you. But beware.
A/N: Alright, a bit of explanation: At Vanessa's lovely SoM forums there's a great deal of speculation about where Maria gets the famous Blue Dress, so I thought I'd supply my own theory in this fic. I thought I'd just throw it in there, as I wanted a few things for Georg, Maria, and the children to do before we got to the puppet show and what comes after. However, I decided that if I just casually mentioned the Getting of the Dress it would be weird, so I decided to make a chapter of it. It still seemed weird, so I did a kind of lead up. Then there was more lead up, and all of a sudden, this travesty occurred.
Now, suddenly, there are three chapters that don't have quite as much Maria/Georg interaction as I meant them to, and in fact have certain other perfidious interactions. In fact, Emilyn just said on the forum that she could never imagine this happening, but here I had it, already written. Forgive me.
I did consider cutting this chapter and the two chapter continuation of it (all in the name of explaining the Blue Dress Wonder!) that seemed to spring like Athena from my head, but in the end, I decided to keep them. I think they show a more natural progression of the Captain's feelings than a lot more immediate Maria/Georg interaction (like we all want :o) would have, and there are many nice moments for that couple—just more gradually than I had planned, with a lot of missed moments and willing denials and certain somethings with another person to stave off unwanted thoughts. However, as I have said before, I can see how all of this could become quite tedious. If you get bored, as always, please tell me, and I'll look at the next two chapters and see if I can tone them down a bit.
However, this chapter ends on a good note for our happy couple, so don't get so disgusted by the first part that you don't go on :o) Please keep an open mind, and do realize one important fact: Captain von Trapp is a man. Heh :o)
Also, just wanted to say that all of you are very kind to review, and that knowing people want to see the next part helped me out in posting this sacrilegious chapter (it's not that bad. Really). So please, don't be afraid to tell me what you think.
*
Chapter 6
"Where is that other child of yours, Georg?" Elsa murmured, tapping her cigarette on the balustrade of the terrace. It was a gloomy morning, but the Captain did so enjoy his grounds, and as such, Elsa naturally enjoyed them too.
"My dear? Which one?" he replied absently, forearms resting on the banister, looking thoughtfully out toward the river.
"I meant Max, darling," Elsa said, teasing reproof in her voice for his lack of perception.
Georg chuckled and shifted his complete focus to the woman beside him. "You know Max, Elsa. He always has some business or other he imagines needs tending."
Elsa laughed heartily. "Max? Work? Tell me you're joking."
"I don't know," Georg said, laughing as well. "Every once in a while I get a glimmer of the idea that Max is his own man."
"Really, darling. He admitted it himself; he's only a very comfortable sponge. A barnacle on your bathtub. Tremendous fun, I'm sure, but—"
"Elsa, my dear," he interrupted, teasing. "Can it be that you miss him?"
Suddenly Elsa looked away, tilting her head at that exquisite angle that exposed her neck to him. "No. No, Georg, I can't say that I miss him, today."
He understood her change in tone immediately, as he had also understood her meaning when she had looked up into his eyes and told him she was 'searching' too. He had laughed and ignored it, because she had misinterpreted his own meaning, or manipulated it to her convenience. He was not looking for a spouse, per se. He was looking for that element in his life that was dead or missing—and so much of that had to do with his family, he'd realized since.
But Elsa had a part in it too. He was simply trying to figure out in his mind where she fit in, how she fit in, what her stake was in this game of making himself whole. He had to try to place her here, in his home, with his family—in Agathe's place. "It could be dangerous," he quipped, regarding her sardonically. "You, me, alone—"
Elsa laughed. "In your backyard," she added, "with your seven children inside, probably peering out the windows."
"My children do not spy," he said solemnly. "We're not interesting enough." Elsa looked away again, and Georg studied her. Perhaps she took his words more than a little to heart. They'd had very little chance to be intimate in these past weeks. He had spent with his children, laughing at their choices of things to do when it was each of their turns, and promptly going out of his way to accommodate those choices.
Friedrich had wanted to go fishing, which had made Liesl protest and Gretl wrinkle her nose, but Georg had taken his two sons out alone to the very best spots that his own father had taught him when he was Kurt's age—which had made the five girls protest, even the ones who'd been originally appalled by the idea, because they wanted to spend all day with their father also. Gretl had wanted to go to a fair; Brigitta had wanted to go riding; Louisa each and every time chose the exact same thing—a picnic outdoors, 'with everyone,' she'd add, pointedly looking at her father.
There were days, Georg now thought, when Elsa probably regretted coming at all—getting dragged about here and there, having to listen to seven children laugh and squeal and cry—and sing, always singing. But Elsa, truly, never seemed to mind it. As always, she handled everything gracefully—right down to Kurt's demand for a food fight, which nominally, Georg hadn't approved of, but had let go on so long as he and Elsa were far from it in another room, leaving their Fräulein Maria to attempt to put a halt to it.
He had been neglecting Elsa sorely, he realized, looking down at her. His love for her was different than it had been for Agathe, but he knew that was as it should be—and, in his own way, he did love Elsa. He loved what she had given him; he loved her with a gratitude that bordered on a greater depth he longed for.
And he wanted to be with Elsa. He wanted to want her. Thinking this, Georg looked down at the woman before him. In fact, wanting her—that cool, calm poise, that sexy distribution of curves before him—that wasn't difficult at all. When she was this close, her sophisticated femininity made it easy to believe that her 'place' may very well be as he sometimes imagined it—beside him, married to him, his wife. "Let's spend the day alone together, for once," he proposed, his hand wandering to her temple, her neck, fingers idling with a stray curl she had let dangle over her nape.
"Alone? With me, Georg?" she asked, her tone teasing as she feigned innocence. He didn't answer, his hand instead seeking her hip, resting there in a sort of casual possession. "You don't need to take time out for me, Georg," she told him seriously, voice gentling. "It's not your responsibility to keep me entertained."
He might have laughed. He might have teased her, told her how ladies of the well-bred, decadent sort needed to be entertained, lest their minds begin to wander—but, looking at her in this way, his thoughts were not bent on humor. His thoughts, in fact, were converging on something that tended toward incoherency the more he let himself think about it. He tightened his hand on her hip, drawing her closer. "I want," he said, breathing into her lips, "to take time out for you."
Then his mouth was on hers, covering hers, and she was responding passionately, eagerly, drawing him to her. It changed the course of his thoughts, startling him. How long, he wondered, had she been waiting for this? He had kissed her before, naturally, but theirs had been a casual courtship—the sort that could go on for years as they dallied here and there, dancing around each other with a knowing awareness—and at the same time the sort that could end in engagement any moment. For his own sanity, he rarely let himself get carried away, and even his thinking was monitored in that respect. And for propriety's sake, those moments of intimacy he had allowed had been short, innocent, and relatively rare. He'd never touched her before in a way that hinted at a declaration—but this, what they were doing now, bordered on one.
Thinking this, and hearing a sudden uproar beginning in the house, he pulled away. Her lips clung to his for a moment, and then she pressed them together, retreating in a way that was a preservation of her dignity. As much as she had wanted him in that moment, she knew that in some ways he was still uncertain of her, guarding them against a future commitment they might regret. Still, for once in her life, Elsa Schraeder felt more than a little unsettled. She laughed a little breathily and lit up another cigarette, the first one have gone out, forgotten, on the balustrade. "My my," she said finally, mustering up amusement, changing the subject as if they had only just been speaking of the weather. "What is all that racket?"
Georg took measure of her for a moment, thinking. He didn't know any more than he had when he first brought her here, he realized, whether he was ready to ask her to marry him. The question made him uneasy; desire made him restless. Slowly, almost visibly shaking himself, he focused on the noise coming from the house. "Shall we darling?" Georg proposed, holding out his arm to her, so that they could re-enter the house and find out what the children were making such a din about.
*
There was a great deal of commotion in the foyer. Strangers were moving back and forth from outside the front door to the ballroom on the right. Georg could hear the children clamoring in there, and, for a moment, he frowned. He'd thought he'd told their Fräulein that that room was off limits. It hadn't been opened up since Agathe had died; he hadn't been in the mood, since then, to throw balls or parties.
"Max, you beast," Elsa was saying, hitting her friend lightly on the chest. "What were you thinking, leaving me alone with Georg? My honor could have been compromised."
Max seemed to be in the midst of all the traffic, and somehow the cause of it too. He was directing people carrying boxes this way and that, as Georg looked around him, scowling. Max made some reply to the Baroness, but Georg was already striding into the ballroom, miffed at the delivery boys, but heading straight to the source of all such mischief: the children and their little Fräulein.
The room was in chaos, but Georg stood still within it—slowly beginning to smile. There were open crates everywhere, packing straw littering the floor. His children were chattering excitedly, getting in the way of the delivery men, and their Fräulein Maria looked harried, as happy and excited as they were, but desperately trying to keep them under raps, as she herself helped them open boxes and set things up. In the middle of the room, most of the stage was already erected.
"Oh Captain!" Fräulein Maria exclaimed, at last catching sight of him as she straightened from looking into a big wooden crate. A bit of straw was in her hair, and she was beaming. And then suddenly she was flying toward him, and he half expected her to throw herself at him and wrap her arms around his neck. Instead she grabbed his hand and heartily began to shake it. "This is wonderful! Positively exquisite. The children will love—"
"Er—Fräulein," he reminded her, and she realized she was still pumping his hand.
She hastily dropped it, but her expression was still enthralled. "I didn't you'd listened. I didn't think you were going to get it."
"Oh you didn't, did you?" he replied dryly, regarding her with some amusement. His restlessness was melting away in sight of her honest enthusiasm—and in sight of his children, of course, fairly ripping apart the boxes and crates, discovering their contents. He was amused at the idea of a stage and puppets, straw and laughing, the dancing children—and their one, outrageous, beaming governess—replacing the memory of all the gaudy lords and ladies going through the motions of lackluster dance, as they once had in this old room. He should have opened it up for play long ago. He raised a brow at the governess. "You thought I'd miss the opportunity to spoil my children terribly, and buy them needless, useless presents?"
"I thought you'd forgotten, actually," she replied whimsically. She peered up at him, her gaze serious, but her smile remaining. "I never did doubt that you want what's best for them."
"Didn't you now, Fräulein? And that was your first thought, was it, when I so graciously showed you out of this room the morning you arrived?"
"Oh no," she replied, shaking her head earnestly, ignoring the fact that he was teasing her. "But that's what I was thinking a bit later, after you started blowing on that ludicrous whistle."
Georg's brows shot up. "Ludicrous, Fräulein?" She spoke far too freely for a little convent governess—and yet, he could not even begin to be anything but amused by her satisfied expression.
"Well, don't you think it was ludicrous, Captain?"
He regarded her for a moment, the innocent, challenging lift of her brows, the clear freshness of her blue eyes. The questions he had found himself asking earlier were forgotten in the back of his mind; unease was forgotten in the laughter Georg felt beginning somewhere deep inside of him. It was ludicrous; this was ludicrous; she was ludicrous, what did it matter, anyhow?
The children, finally having noticed his presence, were shouting at him to come see the thing in this box or that; Gretl was stumbling over because she had just scraped her elbow on a crate; Louisa and Kurt were climbing over the boxes and telling him to watch them jump. Georg remained looking at their Fräulein, for once, grinning openly. Her own bright blue eyes were dancing, pleased to share in his mirth, pleased with herself, perhaps, to be the elemental force behind this joyous chaos all around her. Mutely, gazing at her with laughing eyes, his hand lifted to pull the straw out of the children's governess' hair. Her smile was warm; her hair, soft. His fingers were brushing her temple when the Baroness walked in.
*
