DISCLAIMER: Sound of Music isn't mine!

FIVE: CALAMITY

The evening had been full of laughter and memories—singing and dancing together ("You see, Fraulein Maria, apparently, we did become the Von Trapp Family Dancers," Kurt laughed as he spun her around the drawing room). It was as if five years really had melted away, and times were back to how they were before. She took in a sharp breath when they presented her with a small notebook—cream-coloured pages filled with vibrant drawings and stolen moments—candid photographs and pressed flowers, poems and quotes and—

"Oh, this—I—I don't know what to say," she pursed her trembling lips as she pressed the notebook to her chest. Brigitta had made the first move, and then Marta, and then Kurt, then Liesl and—all of them were huddled together in a tight embrace.

He merely stood in the room, a smile on his face—drinking in the beauty and warmth of the sight before him. They looked like a—they looked like a family. In fact, the entire evening made him feel as if…

Dare he say or think it?

Perhaps this was a cut from a film—an unfinished film—abandoned and unproduced. Vision never fully coming into fruition. Perhaps it was a tiny crack in the wall—a small glimpse into the world that could have been.

The world that could have been.

o0o0o0o0o0o

The dimmed lights perfectly guised the silvery tears that rolled down her cheek as she stroked Marta's hair. She watched as a small smile graced the girl's face (preteen now, she reminded herself firmly), and suddenly, five years had returned—reality coming down to crash on her.

And now she couldn't help but feel… oh, there were times that she felt like she had abandoned these children. How she loved them but why—

Why had she left with nothing else but a single—

"If you're wondering if any of us are holding a grudge, it's a no," a voice came from behind her, and turning around, she found a half-smiling Brigitta standing by the doorway. "We all understood why you left," Brigitta walked over to the bed and sat down beside her.

"Did you, really?" Maria wiped a tear from her cheek. Brigitta only nodded, placing a hand on her fraulein's shoulder.

"You loved him, didn't you?"

"I—"

"I thought as much," Brigitta smiled warmly, and a blush couldn't help but make its way to her face. "And fraulein—this was his idea, you know?"

"What is?"

"The scrapbook journal," Brigitta's finger tilted the notebook a little, and Maria watched, mesmerized, as the silver accents caught moonlight—gleaming brightly. "It's his way of remembering, I suppose. And fraulein," the young woman said quietly, but her voice trailed off, and Brigitta shook her head slightly. "I know i'm not supposed to be telling you this but though you've moved forward the past five years, he hasn't. He's stuck in a sepia-coloured film—reliving things past. And—"

Maria felt her heart being crushed.

"—And I believe only you can help him move forward," the young woman cast her head down. "I don't think he can make it without you."

Brigitta could tell you about him. She notices everything.

o0o0o0o0o0o

The first few dulcet notes of a familiar song reached Georg's ears as he walked through the empty ballroom. It smelled musty, having not been used since—

It was curious, you see, that he could still see everything from that night—the people he didn't care about, the waiters with trays of champagne, the orchestra, the way his children looked then, and—an unwelcome image entered his mind—the image of her in that ugly dress that the poor didn't want, dancing with a ghost. He shook his head to rid it of that thought, instead, staring out the open windows, watching as the moonlight steadily streamed into the lonely room.

The golds of the ballroom had long since faded, he observed, layered with a thick layer of dust. It no longer gleamed as brightly as it did then. The paintings no longer seemed as vibrant, looking dark and grim. Georg looked around once more, couldn't help but notice that it all seemed… dead, and most of all, haunted by ghosts—especially ghosts that he didn't want to face.

He walked further, stopping at the slightly-opened doors leading him outside. Glancing behind him once, twice, feeling as if someone were watching him, Georg took a deep breath and pushed the doors open.

The music was growing louder, and each note that was being played seemed to echo louder than the last. Together with it, he could hear his children's laughter—Kurt's specifically. And he could hear her voice and—

"I thought I just might find you here."

He turned around immediately, eyebrows raised as he found the owner of the voice by the entrance of the ballroom. She walked towards him as her soft voice echoed around the room, mingling with the sound of her heels hitting marble, ringing in his ears.

"Was there something you wanted?"

"No," she said carefully. "I just wanted to say my goodbyes. I've said them to the children, and I found it proper to say it to you, too. And—erhm—it's been mentioned to me that..."

"Yes?"

"That the scrapbook had been your idea, and it would be foolish and unappreciative of me if I hadn't expressed my gratitude to you," she gave him a small smile.

"It was all the children's work," he claimed as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I was also told that some of the drawings and poems are by you," she raised an eyebrow, and she watched as he took a deep breath. "I—well—oh—can we walk?"

There was a silence that overcame them as they began to walk slowly. Thoughts raced in Maria's head—of him, of Aigen, of—

Everything was the same as she had left it.

It felt like watching a reel from an old movie.

"Captain," she called out softly and waited for him to look at her. "Captain, I—I wanted to apologize."

"Whatever for?"

"For everything, I suppose," she fidgeted with her fingers as she spoke. "I had been terribly unfair to you for the past years—and I hadn't wished to inconvenience your family in any way, and I do not wish to defend my actions, still. Running off as I did was something that I still regret—"

"You have apologized regarding the matter, Fraulein."

"I have, but… I wish to let you know why," she gulped as he stopped immediately. "I had told you that the reason no longer exists—yet it still does. And I wish to tell you because—" she took in a deep breath. "I want to tell you because I wish to tie loose ends and… and I wish to give you peace."

"Peace?" He scoffed.

"Please listen to me—"

Silence. She closed her eyes.

"I left for the abbey because I was frightened," she could feel hot tears slip down her cheek. "I was frightened of this intense, all-consuming feeling that burned within me. I was frightened of the way you looked at me, or the way that you smiled at me, because every single time that you did, I felt something that I felt I shouldn't have," she breathed. "I was here on God's errand. To have asked for your love would be… wrong—improper. And you—you were courting the Baroness, but you confused me—and you danced with me, and you made me feel…"

"Feel what?" He said in a low voice.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she found herself a few inches away from him. She gazed into his eyes, and she saw—

"Safe, wanted, desired… loved. And… and... "

There were hardly any words that could string together in her mind as—

She had no idea who had made the first move—but the rain had started to pour madly, and they sprinted, hand in hand into the gazebo, which felt like miles away. Now inside, their chests heaving, they were soaking—and she couldn't help but notice the way he had held her hand, and how she had gripped his and—

Their lips met frantically—raindrops, teardrops mingling, hands clawing—passion dancing, fire raging. Bodies pulled flush, her mind reeling. It was dizzying—intoxicating. She felt like she couldn't have enough.

He touched his forehead to hers as they breathed heavily, and she reveled in the feeling of his arms around her, keeping her safe.

"The Reverend Mother told me that I had to tell you," she breathed. "That's why I came back in the first place, but—but I had wanted you to be happy, and I wanted to let you live your life the way that you had planned it."

He held her tighter.

"But I loved you, Georg. My heart was yours, and my soul had felt shattered when I left—I felt this hole in my chest once I was gone. I had left my heart here with you and I was completely, wholeheartedly yours from the moment you blew that silly whistle."

"And I was yours the minute that you sat on that pinecone," he whispered in her ear, eliciting a laugh from her. "And perhaps I fell a little more in love with you everyday—your passion and heart, your laugh and your smile—your golden sunshine and vibrant colours, and I see you with the children and I couldn't help but think how much you belonged here—with them… and with… me."

They stood in the middle of the gazebo, foreheads still touching, her hand on his chest, feeling every rise and fall, feeling every heartbeat. He listened to her breathing, pulling her tighter against him.

"Sometimes, do you wish that things could have gone differently?" He asked.

"Perhaps, but there's no use. It's not as if we can turn back the clock," she whispered. "Things have changed too much, and there comes a time when—"

"When?"

"We have to stop escaping into our dreams, imagining how things could have turned out. We have to stop living in fantasies in our mind and just… make do with what we have."

You must let me go, she whispered.

o0o0o0o0o0o

She stood by the open windows of the room, the cream-coloured curtains billowing around her as the summer breeze whipped against her face. She pulled her shawl tighter around her as she looked forward, gazing at the lake, glittering and sparkling under the moonlight. To an outsider, she would have looked the same as she did five years ago, but she knew—she knew that lines had started to crease her skin ever-so-slightly, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

No one knew she was still here—for everyone thought that she would be in Vienna. She had lied—acting out a scene, playing in the charade. She had wanted to give them an evening alone.

She had gotten in their way once. She will not do so again.

Her eyes travelled down, and watched as rain began to pour and two figures entered the gazebo. She knew those figures well. Her heart couldn't help but break a little as she watched the woman wind her arms around the man's neck, and the man pull the woman a little closer to him. Her heart couldn't help but break a little as their foreheads touched.

"I'm sorry, Maria," she whispered.

A single tear made its way down her cheek—dark and inky. She knew it would leave a dark stain on her skin, but she wouldn't brush it away.

She watched as the woman slowly unwound her arms from the man's neck and gently placed her hands on his shoulders and push him away. The man tried to stop her from leaving, fingers around her wrist, but she placed a hand on his cheek, and he let go.

She watched the woman leave the man alone in the gazebo in shatters—his heart wrenched and crushed, thrown and trampled on. The man stood still—crestfallen, defeated.

"I'm so sorry, Maria," she whispered once more. "Goodbye."

The music had come to its rightful end, and the chatter had died down, she was in his arms no more, his children weren't eyeing him and their governess anymore, the ghosts were gone, the ballroom was empty, and just as dead as when he had found it.

He was all alone.

Now I'm in exile, seeing you out.

Hello!

I'll admit that I had thoughts of never updating this... ever, but I felt the *angst* and I thought that maybe I should give this one more try, so I cracked my fingers and got to work! It turned out angstier than I had expected, and I may have shed a few tears over their misfortune :')

Anyways, that's the last chapter! I know it's... far from ideal, but I think it was a good place to end. Should you want a different ending, you could always read illicit affairs hihi. I'll be posting the epilogue soon, though, so stay tuned for that :)

Stay safe,

Hope