The Hills (come alive)

Maria had known the first night she met him that Captain Georg Von Trapp was broken, and like a shard of something broken, had a side that could cut. She'd sensed that he could be harsh, could be violent, could be ruthless.

Would you? Would you marry me?

She hadn't fully expected that he would be cruel.

Somehow, the Captain had made a mockery of a past he hadn't even known existed, for she had never told him – had never told anyone – that she had once come weeks from marriage. Pierre had said nearly those exact words to her, when she'd agreed to stay, agreed to be the mother of his son, agreed to follow him wherever he went. He'd asked her multiple times, checking that she was sure. He had been both sincere and grateful. Pierre had never threatened her. Pierre had never even raised his voice at her. Pierre had never shaken her to her core – perhaps had never known she had that kind of depth.

But Captain Von Trapp had. The sheer intensity and desperation of him, which had overwhelmed her all the more because she'd let him get that close, had dropped her vigilance in favour of the fragile spell that had been woven between them that night, had left her trembling and unable to sleep until almost daybreak.

But how could she be angry with him? He'd saved her from the drunken sailors who'd tried to assault her, and saved her from wallowing in the aftermath. He'd shown a gentle, considerate side that night. He'd made her breakfast.

How could she be angry, when she knew exactly what had caused him to lose control?

Maria could see him now, and he was a lot like her. It wasn't merely grief – grief was something that could be overcome, the pain of loss becoming more tolerable with time. Maria had known grief, too. But she also knew about regret. Guilt. Helplessness. Living life skirting around something that ate at you from within, a sort of emptiness that was impossible to avoid falling into, from time to time.

She wasn't yet clear on exactly what circumstances had forced Captain Von Trapp to send away his children, forcing him dangerously close to the edge, but what was clear to her was that he was still fighting, refusing to submit despite what he himself believed, and wanted her to believe. He was too… passionate, for someone who had given up.

It was what made her feel she could reveal her own unconventional history to him. And Captain Von Trapp had understood, as she had known he would.

He'd reacted with a kind of tenderness she never supposed he had, and it connected them in a way that being Austrian in a little Greek town couldn't. They had left the little cemetery by the church together. She had offered him a tea at her apartment. Midway through, he'd confessed he never much liked tea, and she'd laughed and promised not to judge. They'd talked of lighter topics, like how Captain Von Trapp had spent the week functioning – or malfunctioning, as it were – with his broken hand, or how she'd agreed to help Cayenne dye her hair, and then couldn't get the bright colouring out of her scalp. It was nearly lunchtime when Maria walked him down the stairs and they'd parted ways. Maria had watched as he whistled under his breath and gave Alex, who was sitting on the steps in front of his apartment, a little wave. It was the first time they'd parted where she could be sure she'd see him again – the Captain had asked if he might come up again tomorrow (citing the fresh air), and she'd said yes. For some reason, the simple exchange had made her blush, to her infuriation and his amusement.

As Captain Von Trapp disappeared down the hill and around a corner, Alex came to stand by her side.

"He speaks German."

Maria smiled. Austrian German.

"You said you never expected to speak German again." Alex kept a straight face, but she could hear the chuckle in his voice.

"It didn't seem very promising at the time," Maria allowed. That had not been a happy time, those early days when she'd found herself alone on the island, unable to understand even those who'd tried to help her. Alexander, who had known and worked with Pierre, had taken her under his wing and given her a place to stay, even when at first she couldn't pay. He'd fussed over her like a mother hen – though it seemed absurd for a man who'd once fought pirates – and taught her most of the Greek she knew. Through her long convalescence after Pierre's death, he'd come to sit on the patio during his morning cleaning, and he'd talk to her until the words begun to make sense. Until she started talking back.

She found Alex outright grinning at her, eyes twinkling beneath his familiar straw hat.

"What?"

He shook his head at her. "Nothing. You are like a daughter in my eyes – it's just strange to see you with a boy."

Maria dissolved into giggles, wondering if anyone had ever dared call Captain Von Trapp a boy. She didn't think he'd react well at all. "Don't call him that to his face." She nudged his arm with hers. "You'll wound his pride."

Alex smiled sheepishly. "I am an old man." He patted her shoulder, making to return to his apartment. "You sound happy."

Maria returned his smile fondly. Of everyone on the island, he knew exactly the kind of road she'd taken to get back on her feet, had witnessed it firsthand and supported her in that quiet, encouraging way of his. Alex was right. She did feel… happy. Lighter. Like something had been lifted from her shoulders. And in a way, it had – Maria just never expected it would be a hardened retired Austrian naval captain that would end up sharing her burden.

She could find a friend in Captain Von Trapp. They were practically kin, and now they were allies. Maria thought back to the first night they'd met – she'd allowed herself to be charmed by how he spoke her language, how he'd been more set on talking then getting her into his bed, how he'd treated her not as a sailor going after a barmaid, but a gentleman spending an evening with a lady. She'd remember the fleeting feeling of disappointment when she learned that to him, their kiss had been a mistake, an alcohol induced lapse in judgment. But he'd been right. He didn't need a mistress, and she didn't want to be yet another port call-girl. What they both needed was a friend – someone who understood, someone with whom they wouldn't have to pretend.

Things fell into a new rhythm over the next few days. Maria had always been a late riser, especially after working late hours at the Siren. The sun was usually high in the sky by the time she even left for the church on the hill. Captain Von Trapp, she was to learn, was quite the opposite. True to his word, he met her at her apartment the next day. When Maria returned from the cemetery, she found him waiting for her on the patio, having lemonade with Alex.

It was an odd sight; Captain Von Trapp, freshly shaven, white linen shirt-sleeves rolled to the elbows, sitting at her small iron-wrought table, sipping from a tall glass of pink lemonade and looking quite comfortable. He hated sweet drinks! Alex was talking – Maria wondered whether he was sharing stories from his pirate-fighting days, their love of the sea bringing the two men together.

Both men stood as she came over, and she wondered exactly what about the scene was causing her heart to somersault in her chest. Something about it felt so… homely. It persisted even as Alex excused himself so she could sit down at the small table, even as she raised her eyebrows at the Captain's drink, even as he smiled a little sheepishly and told her, "not bad, just a little too… uh, pink."

And the fluttering of her heart turned into a gallop when he handed her a small cardboard box. "I brought lunch."

Maria pulled it gingerly closer, a delectable smell wafting from the box before she even started to open it. "It smells like…" Maria peeked inside. "Schnitzel! And noodle! How did you…?"

"I made it. On the boat."

"You cooked this?"

"You really don't have any faith in my culinary abilities, do you?" His mouth turned down in a look of positive dismay, which made her laugh, and just like that, all was right between them. They were two friends, sharing a meal from home.

Over lunch, Captain Von Trapp told her of the places he'd seen on his voyages around the world. Afterward, Maria offered to show him around the island. There was only time enough for a short walk, before she had to return to the apartment to prepare for her shift at the Siren. And so, they made plans to meet again the next day. And the next. And the next.

In the days that followed, Maria found herself getting up earlier, making her trek to the cemetery earlier – but no matter how early she returned, Captain Von Trapp would be waiting for her at the small table on her balcony.

"What do you think about, when you are up there every day?" He asked her once as they relaxed on the patio.

Maria tugged thoughtfully on a fold of her skirt. Such a question would once have made her uncomfortable, but she knew the Captain well enough now that she could be honest. "Let's see… now? Or two years ago?"

"Let's start with two years ago."

"Well, I used to go up there and cry. At first I was sad. Then I was angry. I wanted to escape everything, hide from everyone. I'd speak to Pierre – to the cross – going on in German like a madwoman. I guess I felt that if I made enough noise, he and Johannes might feel sorry for me and come back."

"You were grieving - that's hardly being a madwoman," the Captain pointed out.

Maria shrugged, non-committal. "When Stavros hired me at the Siren… I started telling Pierre and Johannes – I always imagined them together, even though Johannes was alive and well in France – about my work, about the things I did during the day."

"I've done that – I frequently used to speak to Agathe's headstone." Their eyes met, and Maria felt something swell in her chest, a warmth she'd come to associate with him with they spoke openly like this.

"Then one day… well, I didn't think about them as much, anymore. And eventually, I was just going up there to think."

The Captain nodded. "And now?"

"Well, I still find it clears my head, being up there. And I pray a little," she confided. "When I'm at the top of the hill, I always feel like I'm a little closer to God."

"I see." His voice was thoughtful. "Were you this devout before you came to the island?"

Maria paused. She had learned that Captain Von Trapp remained largely silent on the topic of God, although he told her he used to attend church in Salzburg with his family. She had a feeling that somewhere amidst his tumultuous past, he and God had parted ways. Maria couldn't blame him. She had once wanted to give her life to God, and even still at times had trouble keeping faith, and yet –

"Oh yes, Captain. Much more, in fact," she replied impishly, and a surprised and rather blank look crossed his face.

Devout with an unholy love of provoking the Captain.

Maria and Captain Von Trapp spent most of their days roaming the hills, from one end of the island to the other. There was a sense of familiarity to them, although they were nothing like the mountains of Austria. The Alps were green and alive and snow-capped. The hills of Milos were acrid and rocky. The air in the Alps was clear, filled with birdsong and tumbling waterfalls. Here, salt and brine clung to the breeze, carrying with it the eternal rumble of the sea.

But the brisk wind on the slopes and the sheer sense of wilderness remained the same, and Maria always seemed to respond to it. She wore her homemade dirndl dresses, and more often then not he sported a trachten jacket over his shirt to ward against the wind – for all they knew they could have been rambling across the Untersberg. Instead, she led the Captain up dusty pathways that ended in alien landscapes of white rock, explored old stone ruins, and twirled down to meet fine golden sand beaches and turquoise waters. It was nothing like home, and yet something still felt the same. Captain Von Trapp must have felt it too, for Maria found herself listening to stories of the Captain's family – stories of a happier time, and an unburdened Captain. He trekked through the hills, ever the stern, reserved, sometimes recalcitrant Captain, but she'd begun to see that he hadn't always been that way.

The first time it happened, Captain Von Trapp was halfway through his tale before Maria dared believe he was speaking about his children. He was telling a story of how he'd taken the family into the mountains shortly after Marta's birth. She was his sixth child, and had been a spring baby. It was the first nice day of the year, and the older ones were clamouring to get away. They'd had a lovely day and a picnic, and on their way back had all boarded the train and left the little station before they realized they had left their son Kurt behind.

Maria burst into laughter, from the sheer delight of hearing him speak about the children, and from the fact that she herself had missed that same train on a number of occasions – leaving herself behind, she told the Captain.

He smiled, a little self-consciously. She knew it pained him to think of the children in their current state, but she saw no reason for him to forget he loved them and that they were his children. Maria started asking him about the children. The queries were a little tentative at first, the responses a little reserved, sprinkled through their conversation. He told her how Liesl, his eldest girl, had been accepted to a prestigious university in Germany for the following year, how the older boy Friedrich had won a medal on a Swiss sailing team, and the younger boy Kurt had taken up golf. Maria secretly wondered how much if their school life the Captain really knew – but he seemed proud of them all the same. He told her stories. Maria heard how Brigitta had once stayed out overnight in a gazebo behind the house reading a book, and nobody had noticed until she wasn't at breakfast the next day. She heard about the pranks the children – particularly tomboy Louisa – played on their governesses, and about the lively visits from the Captain's old friend Uncle Max, who plied the younger ones generously with candy. They compared notes on Salzburg locales – arguing over which gardens were the best for playing hide and seek, or which platz had the grumpiest regulars, who'd frown pointedly at children playing around the fountain (or in Maria's case, herself).

"You are just as bad as the children!" The Captain would say in exasperation, when Maria defended their antics one after another.

She couldn't help it, she felt like she knew his children. They reminded her of herself – all scrapes and torn clothes and having a marvelous time. If she met them, she knew she would like them.

Maria wasn't naïve. She knew this new routine could only be temporary. The Captain was a sailor. He'd escaped Austria to wander, and he'd as much as told her he was merely waiting for his hand to heal before sailing out. She knew he appreciated her companionship – and was very good company besides, when he wanted to be – but expected nothing else, wanted nothing else, really. Perhaps no longer had the capacity for anything else. And she didn't think she did, either.

Perhaps that was why she didn't think too much about it, letting whatever they had between them grow unchecked, knowing nothing would come of it.

She let him brush her windswept hair from her face, turning into the warmth of his hand when she felt him linger. She found herself reaching out to fix his collar, somehow much closer to him than she needed to be. And when she showed him the site where Venus of Milos had been discovered, she found him staring at her, eyes dark and burning, and she felt herself unable to look away.

She gave him her hand to hold as they slipped along rocky shorelines. And she didn't hesitate when he held out his arms to help her down a drop to a quiet strip of beach. She slid into them, and let him steady her within the circle of his arms.

"Thank you, Cap – " Her voice caught. The address felt silly when they were mere inches apart. And then all of a sudden, because of some miniscule shift in position, the way their hips aligned, the way her cheek grazed the stubble of his jaw… she felt the shock of it directly to her core. It was a warmth, a heaviness, and then she couldn't breathe at all.

The arm around her tightened. "My name, Maria." His laugh was low and breathless, the command a rumble in his chest. "Have you forgotten?"

"Hmm." Did she need to respond in words? She couldn't remember. He was looking at her, she could tell, and she was staring at his mouth. The heady smell of him made it hard to think – that masculine scent mixed with the sea that ran through his veins.

This was Captain Georg Von Trapp.

And there could be nothing between them.

And so, Maria drew even closer, a hair width away. "Thank you, Georg," she whispered… and kissed him on the tip of his nose.

The moment broken, he'd chased her along that narrow strip of sand.

Later, working at the Siren, Maria was glad they had not given in to a moment's temptation. She remembered the warmth, the tenderness, the curious tension between them. She'd wanted to kiss him, wanted to slide her arms around his neck, wanted to hold him like he held her… she'd wanted it more than she'd wanted anything. She'd been ready to lose herself in that moment.

It would have been a foolish move. How could she continue to function, if she lost herself? Spending time with the Captain – with Georg – in the mountains was a welcome reprieve; like a child at play, following her whims, chasing happiness and merriment.

But Maria was not a child.

Already, the nights at the Siren seemed harder. Both Maria and Georg were there in the evenings, but it was an entirely different beast. Though they never discussed it, Maria stayed away from him. She never spoke to him, never so much as looked at him, never served him. Maria could not be a cabernet girl for him, could not bring herself to play that role for him. She couldn't imagine how he would react if she did. Maria wondered if it was because she had seen so much more light these days, that working here felt so much darker.

She couldn't hide behind her guitar – when she tried, sitting there on the stage by herself, she felt naked, exposed, her music suddenly seeming out of place. Instead, Maria asked Stavros if she could dance. And even though he gave her a strange, assessing look, he let her. And so Maria danced, and she mixed drinks, and she flirted with men.

And Georg Von Trapp drank, eyes dark and unreadable, and watched her.

Georg saw who she really was.

A carefree young woman who loved natured, who laughed often, and sang constantly – why did she never sing down at the Siren? Here on the hills, she seemed to burst into song as though she couldn't help it, and her voice was sweet and evocative.

She hugged trees and coddled wildlife, and wasn't afraid to get dirty or wet.

It was only by seeing her out here that Georg saw how reserved she was at the Siren – she was not a siren at all, but a shadow. The real Maria was an open book, at the Siren she was guarded. The real Maria was impulsive, frank, and a little mischievous. Siren Maria was gregarious but hollow. The real Maria allowed herself to feel something besides carefully plastered exuberance – she was by turns wistful, and lonely, and homesick. Siren Maria would never have shoved an ice cream in his face when he called her a chicken for refusing to wade into the sea. The real Maria was vulnerable, and tough as nails.

Georg could see quite plainly what kind of family she'd create, what kind of children she'd have. The image turned into a feeling – a wholesome, joyous thing. It tugged at him, but he ignored it just as persistently. Georg didn't want to dwell on her future, and he couldn't be bothered to figure out why he felt so damn possessive about it.

He wasn't a family man – that much was obvious. He was a vagabond, killing time, waiting for a broken hand to heal. He liked women, and he liked Maria, although he obviously wasn't out to seduce a young innocent like her, despite what his dreams persisted in telling him. It didn't help that roaming about the hills all day had brought back a vitality he'd forgotten he had.

Georg couldn't deny that he did care about her. She'd told him she'd grown up an orphan; about how she'd lived with a neglectful uncle until she showed up to school one wintry Salzburg day in a threadbare sweater, and the authorities had intervened. And clearly, she'd known so little love that she would willingly give herself to a marriage devoid of it, only to lose the little bit of family she had. Surely she deserved a little happiness. Like a weed, she had survived a miserable childhood, a miserable youth – but Maria was more like a sunflower, turning toward the slightest bit of light. And Georg, old, bitter, cynical man that he was, found himself giving in to her enthusiasm. Found himself feeling… hopeful.

It could only be temporary. He would be gone within weeks, and she would go back to playing her guitar and dancing at the Siren. Georg had no stake in her future.

But one day, as he sat stretched out on the beach – what a strange beach it was, carved from giant sheets of greyish white rock that seemed to ebb and flow and reach upward into the sky like the waves themselves – and watched Maria pick her way along the shore, he found himself unable to ignore it.

"The hills are alive, with the sound of music…"

Her song floated to him. It was a song Georg knew, an old Austrian earworm when he hadn't been opposed to belting out a tune now and then in days of yore. He found himself humming along with her, tenor to her lovely soprano. Georg thought suddenly how absurd it seemed, that she was singing of laughing brooks and warbling larks, hidden away on this tiny Greek island. The song was intended for the majestic backdrop of the Austrian Alps… and Maria herself was surely meant for a more majestic backdrop anywhere, really.

When she finally collapsed beside him, winded and smiling, the words said themselves. "Maria. You shouldn't be here."

She turned toward him, still breathless and coming down from her high of twirling along the sea. Her hair, unbound today, blew across her face. "What?"

"You're… unhappy."

Maria frowned slightly, bewildered, as though he was suddenly speaking a different language. "But I am happy…Georg."

It still caught him off guard to hear her call him by name. Georg recalled the moment when he'd asked her to. When she'd slid straight into his arms like she belonged there, and his mind and body suddenly remembered what it was like to kiss her, and he could only think he wanted to do it again. He cleared his throat. He shouldn't have mentioned anything at all. But now Maria was looking at him curiously, a spark brewing in the depth of her blue eyes.

"Not here," he gestured to the beach around them. "Here." He swept his arms in a bigger, more encompassing gesture. "On the island. Working at the Siren."

Maria stared at him, open-mouthed. Then she blinked, and something in her expression shuttered. He felt it, like clouds passing in front of the sun. "I'm fine," she said, the same moment that he added, "I wish you didn't have to keep going there."

The fire in her eyes grew. "I'm fine," Maria said again, emphatically. "I have to work. I have to stay alive somehow." He saw her hands tremble as she hid them in her skirts. "You of all people – you should understand."

He knew she wasn't talking about her work, but her need to keep moving, her determination to keep going. He did understand.

Their eyes met. "I don't want to talk about the Siren," she said quietly.

And she would spend her days, blindly forging ahead, without ever charting due north. It made him want to shake her.

"But you've got to! Maria, look at you! You spend your days playing and dancing for a bunch of drunks when you could be a performer on the biggest stages in the world!"

She looked away, looking out at the sea so a curtain of hair hid her face. "You have no idea what I can and cannot do." The words were punctuated like stones plunking into water.

Was this woman determined to ignore who she was? "You should be looking for your life! Looking for – for love, instead of pandering to scoundrels." Maria flinched, like he had hit her. She moved away from him, pushing herself to her knees, and then to standing.

Georg stood with her, and made his voice softer. "You're hiding, Maria. I know life hasn't been easy for you alone on the island, but it doesn't mean you have to just accept it."

Her voice was furious. "Accept it? Captain – " he didn't miss the way she reverted to his address, " – two years ago, I had nothing. No vows, no family, no husband, no way to support myself. I had lost the only person I loved. But now, I am surviving. I am making something of myself." You, Captain, on the other hand – you have everything, and you spend your days running from it. All of it!"

Georg paused, caught off guard by the venom in her voice.

They glared at each other, both breathing heavily. Maria's words were almost a gasp. "Who are you, to tell me what to do?"

Georg inhaled sharply, then threw up his hands and said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Maria. I care! Unfortunately, so it seems, it appears I've grown to care." His hand balled into fists at his sides. "And – oh, for God's sake –I worry about you. I'm afraid for what will happen to you if you stay. That one day, you'll be forced to do something you don't want to do!"

There was a moment of silence, as she opened her mouth but didn't seem to know what to say. Then, Maria wheeled on her heels, and stalked away from him. "Where are you going?"

"To the apartment! I need space!"

Abruptly, just like that, Georg's exasperation vanished, and to his surprise he found himself fighting back a chuckle. Perhaps she couldn't know it, but it sounded like they'd been married for decades.

He watched her retreat, and then saw her steps falter. She swiveled around just enough so she could look at him. "For what it's worth… I don't want you to go there either. I don't want you to keep drinking like that." Her yell trembled from either breathlessness or emotion, he couldn't tell. She looked down, and even from this distance, he could see her swallow. "I'm afraid for you, too."

Before he could get a word in edgewise, Maria had turned back around, stomping directly between two giant monolithic white columns of rock, and disappeared.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and the glimpses of Milos' fabulous scenery. Once upon a time (pre-kids) we'd spent a number of weeks in Greece, and Milos was definitely one of our favourites. Yes, Venus of Milos was actually discovered in Milos, and yes, it did use to be a pirates lair. The last scene with the white rock describes Sarakiniko - the landscape is really out of this world!

I had a great - and challenging - time with this dreamier and more whimsical sequence (M and G are so resistant to it!) Thank you all for reading - would love to hear your thoughts! xx