I do not own Power Rangers: Jungle Fury

Dom and Fran are adorbs.

Places in Books

Maria Von Trapp and the Lonely Goatherd


They've crossed over into Austria.

Salzburg, to be exact.

And Frances Faye Fugleman . . .

"Oh my gosh, there's a Sound of Music Tour!"

. . . is in absolute heaven.

Oh, I wonder if we get to see the gazebo.

Then she remembers she's currently traveling with an actual guy.

"I mean, . . ."

And tries to temper her sudden surge of Julie Andrews' inspired . . .

". . . you know . . ."

. . . mania.

". . . maybe sometime . . ."

Dom, on the other hand, is of different thought process.

"Sure! Sounds great. What do you think, tomorrow?"

And Fran finds herself furtively backtracking.

"I mean, I don't know, it's just a movie. It's, you know, singing and silly, I know . . ."

She trails off, unable to say anymore negative things about her beloved classic.

As Dom . . .

"Excuse me, are you daring to insult my undying devotion to Fraulein Maria . . ."

. . . cuts in to allow no such language . . .

". . . and Captain Von Trapp?"

. . . in his presence.

And Frances Faye Fugleman . . .

What?

. . . stares at him . . .

Are you serious?

. . . bewilderment.

"Doe, a deer, a female deer . . ."

As Dominic Marcus Hargan begins to softly and unabashedly sing.

". . . ray, a drop of golden sun . . ."

And encourage her to sing . . .

". . . me, a name I call myself . . ."

. . . as well.

". . . fa . . . a long, long way to run . . ."

Even if it is . . .

". . . sew, a needle pulling thread . . ."

. . . a little timid.

". . . La, a note to follow Sew . . ."

And . . .

". . . Tea, a drink with jam and bread . . ."

. . . somewhat shaky.

". . . that will bring us back to doe . . ."


And yes, they do the tour.

A collection of eager tourists climbing off and on the Sound of Music blazened bus.

Sticking out like a sore thumb and subsequently ignored by the locals.

Who couldn't care less about the award-winning musical.

Tour guide, a heavyset older woman with a thick Austrian accent.

". . . Bell Garden and Pegasus Fountain, filming location of the infamous "Do-Re-Mi" . . ."

And it . . .

". . . Palace, location of the infamous lake scenes . . ."

. . . is . . .

". . . Leopoldskron, now a luxury hotel . . ."

. . . awesome.

". . . -zebo, site of several romantic interludes during the movie . . ."

Oh my gosh-

And she just . . .

". . . Abbey, where Maria practiced as a novice . . ."

. . . could . . .

". . . -brun Palace, . . ."

. . . not . . .

". . . Mondsee, location of Captain Vonn Trapp and Maria's wedding . . ."

. . . be . . .

". . . actually filmed in Hollywood, California . . ."

. . . happier.

At that moment anyway.


She may be going crazy.

"Mmmh, mmmh, mmmh . . ."

But she could swear . . .

". . . lonely goatherd . . ."

. . . Dom's been humming and half-singing under his breath . . .

". . . remote heard . . ."

. . . The Lonely Goatherd from The Sound of Music . . .

". . . mmmh, mmmh, mmmh . . ."

. . . for half of the day.

Until finally . . .

"High on a hill was a lonely goatherd . . ."

. . . she drums up her courage.

". . . lay odl lay odl lay hee hoo . . ."

Only to be rewarded . . .

"Loud was the voice of the lonely goatherd . . ."

. . . with a grinning, singing Dom . . .

". . . lay odl lay odl loo . . ."

. . . in response.

"It's my favorite song from the movie," he owns up through his casual shrug.

"You know all the words?"

He crinkles his eyebrows, shakes his head.

"No, no, I could never keep up. Do you?"

And she grins.

"Oh, um, in theory?"

She chuckles self-depreciatingly.

"My tongue can't quite keep up."

And Dom grins and chuckles back.

"Your tongue is absolutely fine, Fran."

It is?

And then he's turning away . . .

Wait, . . .

And Fran's just trying . . .

. . . what?

. . . to keep up.


Every evening/early morning/god-knows-when as their day comes to a close, as soon as Fran's head hits her pillow, she's asleep.

And it doesn't even have to be her pillow.

At this point, with all of the excitement and new experiences every day brings, it literally could be anywhere.

And once again, on a slow, lazy train trip, she's done it again.

Fallen asleep.

Wherever she has been.

And now . . .

Arglfluff-

. . . awakening slowly.

Realizing she's moving.

Or being moved.

A train, she murmurs in her mind.

I'm on a train, though I've forgotten exactly where to.

Probably someplace European.

And she's right.

She is on a train.

A train headed west.

Toward Switzerland.

And she's not got her head down on the seat, or cradled in bent arms on a table or even laid back propped up against the headrest though she has managed to fall asleep and wake up in all of those different positions.

No, her head lays against much more personal and intimate.

Dominic Hargan's chest.

They've slumped down, somehow together. Nearly laying down across the train car seat.

And one of his arms is wrapped around her, cradling her to his warm side.

And her head is lying on his chest.

Cotton covered t-shirt and plaid over shirt.

Thinly muscled, not bugling muscles like a wrestler.

Wiry. Trim.

Lean.

And, . . .

Oh. I like this.

. . . she can hear his heart beating.

Slow, steady thumps that reverberates in her ear pressed to his upper torso.

She can feel them, the thumps.

She felt it, his heart, as well as hear it.

Healthy and steady and . . .

I like this.

. . . strong.

And she could definitely stay there just like that all day.

Except her fingers are curled on his flat belly.

And she must've twitched them, tickled him . . .

"Mmph-"

. . . because he stirs . . .

"Oh, . . ."

. . . just the slightest bit.

". . . hey, Fran."

And she bursts into self conscious embarrassment.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to . . ."

That Dom doesn't exhibit in the least bit.

"No. It was warm and comfortable. Come back if you want. We've still got a ways to go, I think."

Sleepily gesturing her back, eyes barely open, mouth working in that way where you don't quite know where you are.

"Oh, um, really?"

"Mm-hm."

And so, very very carefully, . . .

"Um, okay."

. . . she eases herself back down.

And they resume their impromptu . . .

"Mmm, that's nice, Fran. Thank you.

Yeah, it is.

. . . nap.


I don't know why I write a lot about sleep.Except people are not on their guard so much when they're sleeping. So you get more honesty from them.Or maybe I just like sleep. ;)Thanks for reading!