A/N: A quick note before we begin - I hemmed and hawwed over the use of the words Austrian German/German/Austrian to describe the language - "Austrian German" was so unwieldy, "German" too impersonal to the scenes, and "Austrian" technically not a language at all... so I sort of pick and choose as I go along. ;)
The Siren
The bar was named the Siren.
It was, Georg supposed begrudgingly, a fitting name, since he'd been unable to banish the thoughts of the young woman and her haunting music all day, despite a long swim in the still cool Aegean sea. And now he found himself, the sun only just beginning to set, making his way from the pier up the baking road and back to the doorstep of the wretched place.
The difference was that he was not drunk this time, nor did he plan to be. He had behaved abominably enough last night.
The inside of the Siren was cozier than he remembered, with worn wooden tables that looked to be driftwood and groupings of mix-matched stools and chairs. Even the private booths tucked away at the back of the room were bathed in warm, afternoon sun. A smoky tang clung to the sea breeze drifting through the open windows.
It was not yet evening, but the room was already half full, boisterously loud with folks grateful for a cold beverage in the grilling heat. The Siren clearly saw a good amount of traffic – if there was another bar or restaurant tucked along some scorching alleyway further up the street, he suspected that like him, visitors were in no mood to find out.
The bar's owner – seeing him again did nothing to help Georg remember his name – waved cheerfully to him from across the room with a hollered "Yassou, Captain! Kalos orises piso!" Welcome back. He wasn't entire happy to be recognized, but he supposed he had made enough a fool of himself the night before to be recognizable.
He watched the owner as he sipped a cool beer, making sure to eat as well this time. Somehow, Stavros/Nico had acquired a menacing countenance in his mind, but in reality, seemed an energetic, hardworking chap. So hardworking, perhaps, that he didn't mind thrusting reluctant young women into the arms of old debaucherous men.
The thought made him scowl, whether of the owner as the former or himself as the latter.
Perhaps it was his dark expression that had owner and fellow patrons alike steering clear of him, but by the time the cabaret started, Georg was still sitting alone. It was dark now – he'd watched silently as the sky outside the windows turned a fiery orange and then an ever deepening purple. The bar had filled to capacity, a cacophony of sounds each louder than the next. He'd had a few tumblers, but a full meal and several glasses of water gave him a clear head as he turned his attention to the stage.
He watched the showgirls enter in a line to cheers and a few whistles. They started their number, and Georg found himself growing disinterested, waiting in anticipation for a break in the show. For the little guitar player to appear on stage. The girls were talented enough, but the show was clearly designed not to showcase skill, but to appeal to men's… other faculties. Skin and red feathers floated everywhere. Sirens indeed. He scanned the girls – and almost choked on his water.
The guitarist had become a dancer, today.
She was dressed like the others, in a feathered pin up skirt and sleeveless top with a revealing sweetheart neckline, a ridiculous boa draped loosely around her shoulders. Her features were made up and exaggerated, and she had pulled her short hair away from her face to give it more definition. He was both fascinated and disconcerted to see she moved just as elegantly, bounced just as energetically, kicked her legs just as high as the other girls. She was one of them, blending in so well he wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been paying attention.
Georg stared, riveted at the change in her – he was sure the young woman he'd met yesterday was this same one. The girls had come to the end of their act, and were blowing kisses into the crowd. He could see the difference now. Compared to her fellow dancers, her movements seemed more subtle, more restrained. Her smile, while radiant, was bland, offering nothing. While the other girls made eyes with sailors and blew kisses at men who cheered louder, hers flitted about the room, as though hoping if she noticed nobody, no one would notice her.
Georg half expected her to come back on after the girls had filed off the stage, with her guitar and perhaps wearing another dress that looked as though it could be home spun. When she did not – when a young man with a mandolin sat in the lone chair to provide the night's background music – he found himself oddly disappointed.
A commotion near the opposite side of the room heralded the dancing girls' return to the bar to mingle with the crowd. He watched as they percolated toward his direction, slowly dispersing amongst the crowd. He saw the way their eyes wandered, selecting targets that might have more to offer them. A drink, a tip, a night of fun.
He had been amongst them, last night. A magnet for several of them, if he remembered correctly. Georg looked away, fighting a sense of revulsion that always seemed to prevail whenever he examined things too closely. This was just another kind of performance, he told himself, another way to earn a living.
He spotted her in the crowd; the showgirl he couldn't think of as anything but a guitarist. She had also come out, and was chatting with a table of men. Georg called for the waiter to bring him another drink, and watched her. He noticed she remained standing, keeping the table between herself and the men. Yet she was talking animatedly, throwing herself wholeheartedly into the story she was telling. And as if on cue, all four men at the table burst into laughter. Her eyes sparkled and laughed with them. Then, she started tracing something across the table, and the men laughed again. But the next moment, she was straightening abruptly as she saw one of the men ogling her as she leaned forward. Minutes later, the same man had gotten one of his arms around her waist, pulling her close. Her body remained relaxed and pliable, a willing participant, but Georg was watching her face and saw something in her eyes shutter.
He scowled, feeling a powerful urge to yank her away from the men and knock them all on their assess.
A move that would undoubtedly get him kicked out of the bar.
But even as he fought the sudden violent impulse, she was sliding out of the man's grasp, still smiling sweetly. He saw her mouth form words, saw all four men nod. Georg looked on covertly as she moved away from the table to behind the bar, where she proceeded to line up four glasses and mix four different drinks, pouring so expertly not one drop spilled. He didn't know why he should feel so surprised that she was a decent mixologist – she did work at a bar, after all.
She placed the drinks onto a serving tray, and held it aloft with one hand as she navigated the crowd back to her table, an easy sway to her hips. Her slim profile was half turned from him, but he thought he could see her slight sag of relief as she spotted one of her dancer comrades had joined the table. She distributed the drinks, which were met with drunken exclamations of appreciation. Between the beverages and her coworker, the men were sufficiently distracted. Georg watched as she made her way back to the bar, watched her slip behind the counter again, and stay there for good.
She continued mixing drinks for other customers, her smiles cheerful and hands moving expertly. There was none of the vulnerability and strange melancholy he'd noticed about her yesterday. And yet yesterday she had felt so real. She'd had a rawness that had drawn him to her, and held him there.
It wasn't that he wasn't drawn to her tonight – in fact, it was just the opposite. Georg was fascinated by how confidently she moved, how easily she flirted with men, how deftly she deflected unwanted attention. Hell, he was even mesmerized by the unfaltering way she tended to the bar. It was like watching a skilled actor carry out an intricately crafted script. If he didn't have the collection of memories of how she had appeared to him last night, would he have noticed anything about her? The sudden pallor of her face when she'd felt cornered? The way her lids shuttered every so often, as thought she had something to hide? Would he have noticed that her bright smile never reached her eyes? That her voice was a pitch higher than it had been yesterday?
Georg wondered how she could seem so practiced yet so uncomfortable working in a place like this.
What kind of place would make a woman like her comfortable?
The thought came to him before he'd even finished the question – an image of mountains and trees and fresh air.
His breath came as a hiss between his lips. He put his drink down onto the table, choosing instead his glass of water, and walked over to the bar. He waited until she had finished serving the last of the line up, and had turned away to tidy the ingredients.
"Hello."
She whirled around at the sound of his voice, almost dropping the glass she'd been wiping down.
Her heart jumped into her throat. The Captain had returned for a second night in a row. She didn't know if she would see him again - didn't know if she wanted to see him again - and she hadn't wanted to ask.
He was leaning against the counter, wearing what seemed to be his trademark white linen shirt, collar loosened and top two buttons undone. He looked enviously cool, and his head of thick, dark hair seemed immune to the humidity that turned hers into a permanent halo of frizz. He said 'hello' in Austrian German, like he had yesterday. It may have been the only thing that kept her from turning and fleeing that shadowy booth last night.
She stood before him, eyeing him warily. He was tall and tanned, older than the usual sailor that came through the Siren, young men wandering the world looking for adventure. He had chiseled features like a marble statue, with a very human look of tight discipline. Not to be crossed. The look was strangely incongruous with the drink-induced haze in his eyes. He sat in the booth slouched against the seat, arms draped comfortably against the cushions, as though he didn't have a care in the world. Alcohol did that – she'd seen enough to know.
"How did you know I'm Austrian?" She stammered, confused at the smooth way the word issued from his lips, so unlike the stuttering enunciation she'd grown used to during her time here, if people tried to speak her language at all.
His smirk told her he'd anticipated her reaction. "I thought you wanted people to know," he continued in Austrian, his words slightly slurred from drink.
"What?"
He jerked his head carelessly back toward the direction of the stage. "You were playing Edelweiss. You were practically sitting up there waving an Austrian flag."
She ducked her head, feeling exposed – more so standing in front of this one man than she had the whole evening playing for a packed bar. She tried not to fidget, tried not to let her uneasiness show.
"Didn't expect anyone to recognize it?" He leaned forward against the table to look at her with an intensity she didn't think anyone with blood that was probably over half whiskey could muster. His words fell somewhere between a scoff and a sneer, as though he were both reprimanding her and laughing at her at the same time.
"I wasn't thinking about it at all," she admitted defensively. "I just... played it."
He relaxed again, leaning back into the cushions. His eyes seemed to soften. "And I just... heard it."
She swallowed. That had been only the beginning of a very strange night. It turned out to be nothing like she feared, and yet... she was scared all the same. She'd tried not to think about it, tried to file the memories away for when the days were hardest. Memories of a pleasant conversation. Of being allowed to just be herself. Of the man who had given her what could only be what they called butterflies. Of the inexplicable moonlight kiss that had been nothing like anything she had ever felt. It was as though for one night, she had stopped being herself and turned into someone else.
But it had taken such a long time to make peace with who she was, what she had. To see him standing in front of her again, pinning her with that gaze of his - well, she wasn't sure if she was happy to see him. Don't show them how you really feel, Stavros had counseled. You, darling, are an actress.
"Good evening, Captain."
His eyebrows drew together. "Didn't we introduce ourselves yesterday?"
She almost snorted, quickly trying to wipe the incredulous look off her face. "Yes, we did. You asked me to call you Captain."
She was gratified to see that he looked somewhat sheepish. "I did?"
"Yes."
"Well, that was rude of me. It must have been the whiskey talking." He waved around his glass of water in emphasis. "Could we try that bit again?"
She knew his style from the night before. The man could be sarcastically caustic one moment and deceptively charming the next – a man used to saying what he thought and getting his way. Nonetheless, she accepted his gesture of goodwill.
"Good evening, Captain."
He inclined his head. "Thank you, Fraulein..."
"Maria," she supplied.
"Fraulein Maria." He repeated her name almost carefully, trying it out – as though he hadn't been calling her that all the previous night like they were intimately acquainted.
"Um." It was her turn. She scrolled through her mental scripts. "I'm afraid I don't know your name, Captain," she said, the coquettish inflection almost by habit, although she'd never said it before in Austrian.
He frowned. "Fraulein, you don't need to use that tone with me."
She bit her lip. He was scolding her, but he didn't seem to be angry. Maria didn't bother telling him this was who she was at the Siren, and it was hard to step away from the role. He knew that she could – had witnessed it for himself.
"And it's Von Trapp. Georg Von Trapp."
"Captain Georg Von Trapp," she echoed, and couldn't help a smile. The playfulness wasn't forced, this time. His name sounded so... so grand. Of course, Maria remembered, he was an aristocrat. A sailor and an aristocrat. What a strange combination.
"Actually, it's more like Captain Georg Johannes Ritter von Trapp." He grimaced, as if reading her thoughts.
Maria tried unsuccessfully to choke back a laugh. A spark lit deep in his eyes as his lips twitched. It made him look... different from the brooding, volatile sailor she had met yesterday.
He was studying her. That was something she'd noticed last night – he spent more time staring at her than he did talking. Maria felt strange, meeting him again when he knew next to nothing about her, yet she now knew quite a bit about him.
"No guitar tonight," he commented at last.
She looked down at her costume, suddenly remembering she was wearing it. "No, not tonight, unfortunately. I had to fill in for one of the girls."
"Unfortunately?"
Realizing her lapse too late – the Captain was so... quick – Maria gestured a hand at her dress, then gave a little shrug, resisting the urge to also roll her eyes. She never felt sillier than when she wore these get ups. She couldn't imagine men falling for women prancing across a room dressed like a feather duster – and yet they did, night after night.
He seemed to read in her eyes the things she couldn't say. "You don't like to be noticed." It wasn't a question. Maria was on the verge of shaking her head – after all, she'd made it through two years here – when he added, "you'd rather be the girl from last night, tucked away behind your guitar, letting the music speak for you."
He refused to let her go, his gaze stern, until Maria was forced to acknowledge the truth. It wasn't quite the truth – she never cared to be noticed, she supposed, but she never feared it before. Until she came here. "I've always been able to lose myself in the music," she allowed herself to say instead. "That has gotten me into trouble a number of times in my past." It had also, in a twisted sense, saved her – but she wasn't about to get into that with a stranger.
"Fraulein Maria..." Captain Von Trapp paused, frowning. "About, uh... last night – I behaved badly. I apologize."
"You have nothing to apologize for, Captain." It was the truth.
"I was unacceptably drunk and remember inexcusably little of it." Maria had assumed as much, and felt rather relieved. She didn't want an evening that had meant something to her to be yet another night in an endless string of meaningless nights for him. She didn't want to be one of those girls, one of his many conquests at one of his many ports. In her two years at the Siren, she had learned something of sailors.
He waited until she met his gaze. "I ask you to forgive anything untoward I might have said or done."
Maria looked at the floor, feeling her cheeks heat. Untoward. Was that what he called it?
"Take a seat." He gestured the cushion next to him, moving his arm to make room for her.
"Relax," he told her when she hesitated, "I haven't got fangs." He flashed a smile – too perfect to be a real smile – revealing even pearly teeth.
Cautiously, Maria obeyed, sliding into the booth to sit beside him. They were not touching, but she could feel his warmth, could smell his masculine scent mixed with the tang of whiskey and something distinctly sailor, which spoke of endless skies and white-capped seas. Her legs and arms aligned with his, hers shorter, his long and roped with muscle, obvious even through his white shirt and long trousers. Not bulky, but more made for stealth and speed. Like that of a predator stalking its prey. She stiffened.
He noticed. "Fraulein. You don't need to be afraid."
But it hadn't been fear. Not exactly.
She cleared her throat. "What I said still stands." When he looked at her skeptically, she added, "given that of the two of us, I'm the only one who remembers, you really should take my word."
To her surprise, the Captain snorted, but the sound ended in a deep sigh. That was something else she'd noticed about him. Captain Von Trapp was troubled. She wondered if he'd ever had a moment when his conscious felt clear, when he permitted himself to just enjoy the moment.
"I do remember some of it," he protested. "I remember sitting together. And I remember having a rather lengthy conversation…"
"In which you told me your life story?" Maria went a bit wicked – after all, he had been extraordinarily intoxicated.
He blanched. "I hope there wasn't anything particularly unpalatable."
In which he really meant he hoped he hadn't divulged the darkest parts of his past. Maria had born witness to it often these past few years working at the Siren, the secrets men revealed under the protection of alcohol and the presence of a harmless young lady with sympathetic eyes. She'd heard some truly dreadful things, foolish things, bad decisions… but Captain Von Trapp? She supposed his greatest guilt was grief.
He'd surprised her by talking about Edelweiss. Of all the questions he could have asked, the Captain asked if she liked Edelweiss.
"I love it," she answered honestly, taken aback by his abrupt segue, "but more for… all it represents."
He nodded slowly, as though the answer had been more profound than it had. "It should be blooming right about now, in the mountains." He sounded positively morose. "I loved it very much. My wife used to take the early morning train up in the summer to pick great armfuls of it for me, trailing it all about the house after she came back before she could find vases big enough to hold all of it. It got to the point where our housekeeper suggested she just call a florist. 'But what would be the fun in that?'" He gave a very bitter ring to what Maria was sure had been a very merry remark.
Maria didn't dare ask what had happened to his wife. He was speaking as though an invisible valve had been released, and the result was a pressured string of thoughts that had escaped. The alcohol had turned him into an observer of his own memories, had turned the unbearable ones into ones he could now examine and speak about freely.
"That was a very very long time ago, Maria. For years, I continued going up to the mountains, whenever I needed an escape." He shrugged, the gesture bleak. "But it wasn't enough." He didn't say what he was escaping from, either then or now. He lapsed into a vehement silence.
Touched by the Captain's sorrow, she offered something herself, leaning in to gain his attention. "I was born near the Untersberg. In Salzburg. The mountains were my home. And even after I'd moved to Vienna… and later here, they are still my mountains."
He turned toward her. His eyes glittered. "I too, hail from Salzburg."
"Really?" The sudden leap of kinship she felt was dampened by how close he was – dark, imposing, and dangerous. Instead, she studied him curiously, trying to match his imperious presence with a location she might know.
"Aigen, actually," he clarified helpfully.
The riddle fell immediately into place. Aigen, the beautiful strip of countryside between the mountains and the lake, each walled estate so huge your closest neighbor might be miles away. Maria had always loved that little bit of country – would sometimes take the bus there just for the sense of freedom she felt at how expansive, how unrestrained everything was, on the days when she didn't quite want the wilderness of the mountainside.
"Why did you leave it?"
His face shuttered and he pulled back abruptly. "I was a Captain in the navy during the war. I was and will always be a sailor. My home is at sea now." The words lashed like a whip. Maria nodded sycophantically and bit her lip to stay silent.
Diffuse diffuse diffuse, she chanted to herself, the way Stavros used to admonish her when she hadn't learned to bite her tongue.
So he says, she thought to herself, instead. He might be a sailor, but Maria could clearly picture him in Aigen, hosting grand parties in his grand house, riding in the countryside at dawn, rowing about the lake in the evening.
The images of him in his hometown were so vivid she'd suddenly felt herself blush. She felt as though she had stepped into his private life without being invited. Surely he must have done those things once – was it all because of his wife that he no longer did? Maria didn't pry. It wasn't in her job description to pry.
Realizing she'd let the silence go on for a moment too long, and Captain Von Trapp was likely thinking the worst, she decided to put him out of his misery.
"You told me you came from Salzburg – from Aigen. You told me you were in the navy. And that you had a – that you were married once," Maria fumbled, fearing the word "wife" might open unnecessary wounds. As it was, she glanced at him, worried about his reaction.
But to her surprise, his expression cleared. "Is that all?" His voice sounded more blithe than she'd heard all evening. "Yes – that was a long time ago." The Captain shrugged nonchalantly, as though he'd moved past it. He'd said similar last night, in a very different tone. He addressed her cheerfully. "If you know Aigen, you must be from the mountains as well."
She decided to let it go. Not her place, she reminded herself. "I grew up in Salzburg. I think our conversation lasted as long as it did because of our mutual love of the Untersberg."
He huffed a soft laugh. "So what lured you away from them?" Then, before she could answer, added almost apologetically, "if you didn't tell me already."
She had, but she was happy to oblige. Maria had not forgotten that she had enjoyed talking to Captain Von Trapp. Sure, the Captain might have been drunk, churlish and petulant by turns – although she wasn't sure if that was the alcohol or just him – but he'd spoken to her in Austrian German. He'd let her bask in the one thing she'd never thought she'd do again – have a pleasant conversation with someone from home.
Plus, being seen with the Captain kept the other men at bay, and Stavros should be happy that she was keeping someone entertained.
"It was a job, I suppose," she answered lightly, now.
And she found him looking at her the same way she'd looked at him the night before, trying to place her – wondering what sort of vocation would have fit a girl like her.
"I worked as a governess."
The questioning glance vanished as his eyebrows furrowed. Trying to imagine her in any position so dignified as a governess, Maria supposed. If only he knew what sort of life she'd lead before. But, "go on," was all he said.
She shrugged. "There's not much. I was sent on contract to a widower who wanted a governess for his son, Johannes. It was only to be for the summer he was in Vienna – but, well, he really needed someone to care for his son, I suppose. He was a land developer, and traveled quite a bit. That's how I ended up here."
Captain Von Trapp nodded, slowly. "But not as a governess."
"No." Although it was obvious, it was not an observation the Captain had followed through on yesterday. Maria wasn't in the habit of talking about herself much at all to patrons at the Siren, much less about something that still hurt so much. But she also didn't want to lie. She took a breath. "The father died… in an accident. Two years ago. The son was returned to his grandmother."
The Captain was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said softly.
"Thank you," she whispered. He couldn't know all she grieved for, but Maria appreciated his heartfelt gesture all the same.
He caught her eye.
There's not much?
She blushed, shaking her head, the words as obvious as if he'd spoken them.
Not much you want to talk about, you mean.
Maria shrugged. Captain Von Trapp raised his eyebrows, but said instead, "tell me about your life in Salzburg. Before you became a governess."
She smiled. More than his condolences, she was grateful that he respected her privacy. She supposed that he too, had wounds he didn't want prodded. "Now now Captain. You're getting greedy."
He shook his head, pretending to sound hurt. "You said I told you my whole life story!"
"Yes, but I am not drunk."
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Touché, Fraulein."
Maria's breath caught at the sound. She'd heard it yesterday. They must have been talking for over an hour by that point, cloistered in the wood paneled booth at the back of the Siren, and strangely, she found she wasn't in a hurry for the night to end. Their banter had lightened considerably by that point. He'd ordered her a drink, choosing fruit juice with a splash of curacao and insisting the resultant shade of turquoise reminded him of her dress. They had moved from their respective prickly pasts to music and performing – the Captain, as it turned out, was himself an accomplished musician, and once even played the zither for the archduke. Then he'd regaled her with antics of the Viennese elite, painting his involvement with them in deprecating, atrocious brushstrokes that sent her giggling. The Captain was obviously an aristocrat, but Maria secretly wondered why all his stories about Vienna seemed to frequently slip from self-deprecating to self-loathing.
She'd just finished telling him a handful of bad jokes told to her by drunken men – men who could hardly string two words together, much less a joke about a sea gull and a bay gull – when the Captain ordered another scotch.
"You're drinking the wrong drink, Captain," she told him, eyeing the tumbler of amber liquid pooling between glistening rocks of ice.
"Excuse me?"
"Whiskey isn't a hot climate drink."
"Says who, Fraulein Maria?"
"Says everyone in Milos in the summer. Here, you should try this one…"
"I'll have one if you have one."
She laughed, shaking her head, and ordered him an Ouzito - a strong anise-based liquor mixed with a splash of lemon and mint, and a generous sprinkle of sugar. The Captain frowned at the little circle of lime garnished on the lip of his glass. He made a face as it tried it, whether at the overwhelming taste of licorice or the sweetness of the concoction, she couldn't tell.
He replaced the glass on the table with a frown. "People drink this infernal thing?"
In answer, she'd pulled his glass toward her, and sipped from it. When she finished, ice cubes tinkling together at the bottom, she looked up to find him staring at her.
Oh goodness, Maria thought now, flushing at the memory. She had finished his drink. Could that count as – how had he put it? Untoward? But it hadn't ended there. Immediately after that, she'd ordered something else for him.
His eyebrows travelled up his forehead as he took a tentative sip.
"Maria." His eyes sought hers in disbelief. "Did you or did you not just order me a water?"
"Yes, Captain."
He stared at her again for another moment, then chuckled suddenly, a low helpless sound. "You Fraulein, are trouble."
The words had been a drunker purr. Maria had been called trouble in the past, frequently at that, but never did she imagine that being called trouble in this tone could send a curious shiver that shot all the way to her toes. Surely that counted as untoward?
Maria gave herself a shake, offering the Captain another smile. She could tell that something about her body language had changed, for the way he looked at her seemed to change – a deeper, more thorough gaze. Even his eyes seemed to darken.
She was saved from having to redirect this rather dangerous path she could see they were barreling toward by Stavros' shout of delight as he descended upon them. He had a habit of making rounds around the room to see how the customers fared.
"Captain! Happy to see you choose us again!" His words were a tumble of Greek and German. "How did you find the entertainment tonight?"
Captain Von Trapp had pulled away, turning toward the owner with a polite nod. "Very nice," he managed to acquiesce in basic Greek, lips twitching as he met her eyes.
"Maria," Stavros turned to her, "for Pete's sake make this poor man a drink!"
"He hasn't told me what he wanted," she returned, too used to working with her employer to be perturbed. He was a little unruly, but his heart was in the right place… most of the time.
"A drink on the house, Captain?"
Captain Von Trapp shook his head, indicating his glass of water.
"Very fine, you must have come for the company!" The owner's voice was a triumphant crow, and there was no mistaking the obvious glance he sent in her way.
Oh for the love of all that is holy, Maria groaned inwardly, staring blandly back at him.
The Captain looked as though he were having some trouble following the Greek, looking between the two of them with a frown.
"Treat her well – Maria is one of my best, and I want her back." After you're done with her. She flushed.
Captain Von Trapp's eyes had narrowed in understanding, but instead of laughing along with Stavros' crude humour as most men did, she noticed his hands had clenched in anger.
Diffuse, diffuse, diffuse.
"Stavros!" She lay a hand delicately on the Captain's arm, taking a small step in between them. "You know gentlemen never kiss and tell! Go work your charms somewhere else."
"Very fine, very fine!" He accepted her nudging. "You enjoy yourselves!" He saluted them, moving on to the table behind them who greeted him with raised mugs.
Maria turned back to the Captain, who was still standing rigidly against the counter, eyes points of hard granite.
"Sorry," she murmured, giving his arm a small awkward squeeze to draw his attention. The Captain, she sensed, had a tightly leashed violence about him, and she wondered what it would take for it to snap.
"Fraulein – why are you…" He took a deep breath. "That scoundrel is a – "
"He doesn't mean any harm," Maria interrupted. "Truly, Captain. It's just the way he talks. I think the sailors rub off on him."
His glower was clear disagreement with her assessment, but he took a long, slow sip of water. To buy him time, Maria fetched herself a glass of water, too. When he finally sighed, the sound was heavy and troubled. He met her gaze, looking drained. Haunted. "Yesterday… did I do anything that hurt you?"
"No – no!" She hastened. Throughout the night, he had made no move to touch her. Had not suggested anything that could be misconstrued as an innuendo. He might have been intoxicated, but still he had been a gentleman. She tried to tell him as much, and that she'd appreciated it.
"We left together, didn't we?"
They had. And the night had… unfurled from there, but it wasn't what he was thinking, didn't happen the way he seemed to have reconstructed in his mind.
It had started innocently enough – a good-natured argument. He insisted he walk her home, worried about her safety. Maria had protested, arguing if anything, she should be walking him back, for he might just walk straight off the pier in his state. It wouldn't be the first time.
Perhaps, Maria allowed, there had been some reluctance there, on both their parts, to part ways.
They had left the Siren together, their pace leisurely. The Captain held his liquor remarkably well, his erect posture and measured strides giving no indication he'd been drinking at all.
Maria's apartment was up on the hill, and his boat was down by the water. They'd never reached an agreement on who was walking whom, but somehow, both started down the path as though drawn by the easy lull of waves splashing in the night. The Captain had given her a sidelong glance and a small sheepish smile of surrender. The air had been cool, the cicadas loud. The low, whitewashed buildings along the road gleamed with moonlight. The walk had felt too short – before she knew it they were standing together on the pier, admiring his yacht, a beautiful sleek shape that seemed to glow in the darkness.
And then they were turning to each other.
And then – oh, she couldn't remember what happened – she'd had a drink or two, but she definitely wasn't drunk. Yet she'd felt as though she were spinning, felt the world spiraling away from her, felt the steadfastness in his eyes like an anchor in the night.
And then he was kissing her, or she was kissing him. His lips were soft against hers, his hand coming to rest at the nape of her neck in the slightest of pressures.
Maria had been kissed before – forgettable kisses as a girl in Salzburg, perfunctory kisses once or twice before she came to the island, drunken kisses when she couldn't extract herself fast enough from the situation…
But this… this couldn't be kissing. This was the heat of fire and the crash of ten-foot waves that swept the ground from under her feet.
And she realized she didn't want to redirect this. Didn't want the night to end. Didn't want to say farewell, for good. She trembled against him.
And then he was stepping away from her. He took her in, his eyes tortured, regretful. "Goodnight, Maria." The words were a hoarse whisper in the night.
And she couldn't remember which of them had fled first.
Maria looked up to find Captain Von Trapp watching her, as though he had seen what she was seeing. Had he also felt what she had felt?
"Um – " She started, the words an awkward tumble, unsure if she was rejoining a conversation or a thought, "last night – "
"I remember that bit," he told her quietly, his voice a hard edge. "I'm sorry."
Maria stopped. Captain Von Trapp had only seen the darkness, but none of the light. He hadn't felt what she had, after all. "Don't worry about it, Captain," she said, with a smile to match her dancer's outfit. "It was nothing."
A/N (again): Thank you so much for continuing this adventure with me, and all the lovely, thoughtful reviews for the last chapter!
I am having a ton of fun writing this story - it wasn't until I started that I realized how much I needed a change from Salzburg! And I'm having *particular fun* writing this version of Maria (I think I needed a change for her, too!)
I will be out of the country for the next few weeks, so please bear with me and my slow updates. xx