The House on the Hill (Reprise)

There was a storm that evening. It came on suddenly, brewing over the sea and sweeping toward the shore, a typical summer tempest for these parts. Dark, ominous clouds rolled in, blotting out the sky, fat droplets of rain already soaking the ground before lightning and thunder could catch up. This type of storm could last for minutes, or days.

Maria looked out the window of her small bedroom. Being angled more toward the street, it didn't offer the same view of the sea as the window in her main room. It was so angry outside she could hardly make out the building across the road, never mind the sliver of deep-blue water she could usually see, the view distorted by the streaks of rain pelting against the glass. Maria was cozied in bed with a book and a cup of tea, covers piled high around her as she listened to the rumble of thunder and felt the room vibrate. Thankfully she didn't have to work tonight. It was the first of her two nights off, which Stavros staggered amongst the girls every two weeks.

Maria was afraid of thunderstorms. At least at home, she could distract herself and indulge her fears with as much comfort as she could. At the Siren – well, Stavros knew what she was like when she had to weather a storm at the Siren, and even if he was inclined to take pity on her, he couldn't very well send her home during the middle of it.

Storms. One of those things she had once loved as a child, but now she could hardly stand it. Maria had vague recollections of jumping in puddles, splashing her father, her mother showing her a rain dance. But then they had died, and Maria stopped loving the rain. And when she was taken from her uncle and placed in the city's care… although she'd had a roof over her head and warm, sturdy clothes, nothing made her realize how alone she was more than dark clouds and pounding rain. And then, ever since the accident… it'd all become so much harder, something to be feared.

All these things Captain Georg Von Trapp knew nothing about. And yet there he was, lecturing her on life, and love! Oh, his intentions had been good, she knew – he was only trying to look out for her. But it'd stung. She didn't want to be just a barmaid to him. She didn't want him to pity her, to think less of her, to point out exactly how empty her life seemed. Captain Von Trapp, whose very name opened doors to opportunities, who only had to enter a room to command the attention of every woman within, who'd had the kind of family that one could only envy. Life hadn't been easy for him either, Maria knew – but he could never know what it was like, to have fight for every opportunity, to be overlooked based on pedigree. He would never understand the struggle to simply belong, that she had no time to think about ambition, about admiration… and the only time she thought she had found her place, knew what she wanted – she had been sent away and then ended up here.

So she'd made her life as a bargirl, a cabaret dancer on a small Greek island. It wasn't what she expected would happen. To be honest, it might have horrified her to imagine such a life at one time. But Maria had made her peace with it, and she didn't need an arrogant, ignorant sea Captain – laden with enough baggage himself to sink a ship – to snatch it all away from her. She shouldn't – couldn't – care what Georg Von Trapp thought of her.

The white walls of the small room flashed as lightning streaked across the window, followed almost immediately by a roar of thunder overhead. Maria felt the reverberation in her bones. She wanted to dive under the covers, and might have if it weren't for the cup of tea resting in her cupped hands. Instead, she huffed a breath of defiance. She had tricks she used to combat storms like these.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens

Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens

Brown paper packages tied up with string

These are a few of my favourite things…

The song started out slow, a little timid, as it always seemed to do these days.

Cream coloured ponies and crisp apple strudels

Doorbells and sleighbells and schnitzel with noodle (that had not been a favourite thing the last time she sang the song, but since her lunch on the terrace with Georg, seemed to worm its way in there)

Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wing

These are a few of my favourite things…

Maria had no sooner begun to get into the song, ready to set aside her teacup and let the itch in her feet swing her out of bed, than she heard a pounding on the door, audible even through the rain and wind.

She froze, heart lifting into her throat for the briefest instant as the sharp rapping came again, before she heard the voice of Captain Georg Von Trapp shouting her name.

Shocked into action, Maria sprang from the bed, hastily discarding the teacup and flying through her living room to the door. She wrenched it open to find a thoroughly drenched Captain on the doorstep.

"Oh!"

She stared.

This Georg could be a dream. An apparition. A figment of her imagination – a dark hero she'd conjured out of the nineteenth century novels she used to devour – dashing, dangerous, and a little bit insane.

He'd been caught in the rain, obviously – although he should know better than anyone how to read signs of a brewing storm. But for some reason, Georg had stayed out in the hills long after they'd parted ways instead of going back down to his boat.

He stood before her, half in shadow, half thrown into relief by the light of the room behind her. Rain darkened his hair, rivulets chiseling his features, carving paths down his neck, and vanishing under a very sodden, transparent white shirt. It clung to his torso like a fine carving by an expert artist. He managed to look at ease, although she could tell he was taunt against the buffeting wind – as though, like some sea god, the hurricane beyond her door was meant for him.

Maria flushed, face burning. It was absurd, like she was the one presenting half-decently on the doorstep.

The faintest look of amusement crossed his features, as though he'd read her mind. He seemed content to stand there, impervious to rain and wind, and watch her stare at him, eyes bright in the night.

The wind was blowing pellets of rain through the open door, and before long, her hair and the front of her dress were damp. And yet, she didn't feel it at all – didn't feel anything besides the intense gaze pining her to the spot.

A slow smile appeared on Captain Von Trapp's face, and he said drily, "I'm soaked to the skin."

Maria almost gasped as she came out of her daze, springing aside to let him in. "Oh – oh Captain… Georg, come out of the rain. At once."

And then he was standing in her small living room, tall enough that the top of his head almost scraped the ceiling, dripping wet with puddles of rainwater pooling at his feet.

He looked around slowly, like he was reacquainting himself with a long lost cherished haunt, not seeming nearly as shaken as she felt.

"Um – " Maria fumbled, her eyes darting anywhere but at him. "Let me get you a towel – "

She turned into her bedroom to fetch the spare towels she usually kept in her small closet. Maria stopped for a moment to gather herself, pressing her forehead tightly against the cool wooden door. What had gotten into her? It was only Georg, as unexpected as his presence here tonight was. The poor man was soaked and in need of shelter. There was no need for alarm… or – or…

Maria left the thought unfinished as she headed back to the main room. Georg was standing at the kitchenette, a rag in hand.

"Here, dry off – "

"Don't worry, I'll clean this up – " He gestured toward the trail of water on the floor.

She handed over her towels and he nodded his thanks. "What were you doing out…" Maria trailed off as she watched Georg dry his face and hair, the rest of her thought disappearing in a shaky exhale. His dark hair looked tousled in a way she never imagined Captain Von Trapp's hair looking. He looked… undone, and it was… "Erhm – "

Georg gave her a sheepish grin as he half-heartedly patted down his shirt and pants.

"Your clothes…"

It was like mopping up a pond with a small sponge. She hesitated, and Georg gave a small huff of exasperation and muttered an expletive under his breath. He turned to the kitchen, and set the towel down on the counter. In one swift motion, he removed his shirt, and proceeded to wring it out in the sink.

Maria froze. If she thought his wet shirt left little to the imagination, she had been wrong. She swallowed. He was just drying off – surely she should turn away, give him a little privacy… and yet she couldn't seem to avert her eyes. From the powerful lift of his shoulders, to the way his muscles tensed rhythmically as he wrung out his shirt, she traced the smooth planes until they tapered at the small of his back… She felt a sudden rush of white-hot heat that caused her chest, her belly, her legs – everything to tense.

"Are you planning to put that back on?" She squeaked, before realizing the words were out of her mouth. She flushed, mortified.

She saw his hands pause over the sink. He straightened slowly, and the air in the entire room seemed to still. He turned to her, an infuriating, knowing smirk on his face. "Yes," he said simply, shaking out the shirt and slipping it back over his head. It was no longer dripping, at least.

In the end, she gave Georg some of Pierre's old things. The rain didn't seem about to let up anytime soon, and she couldn't imagine Captain Von Trapp trying to wring out his pants in her sink. Maria had sent most of Pierre's clothes away with Johannes, to the woman who had nearly become her mother-in-law. Maria felt for her, despite what had befallen her own life. The poor mother had so little left of her son. She'd only kept a few rag-tag items she didn't think held any sentimental value.

Georg dressed in her tiny closet of a bathroom, while she waited anxiously, wedged against the far corner of the sofa, as though intent on putting as much distance between them as possible. He'd been at her apartment often in the last few weeks, almost always outside on the patio. She couldn't put her finger on what had thrown her off balance… whether it was him barging in at a time when she'd least expected visitors, or seeing him when her emotions were running wild from the storm and from the words he'd said to her that very afternoon. Or the way he looked, tousled and – she kept coming back to the word – undone, that'd made her feel like rather than letting him in during a storm, she was seeing him first thing in the morning. Or the way she was now imagining him moving about her room, where she slept, where she bathed, where she dressed… moving as though he belonged there. She'd left her teacup in the bedroom, but instead of going to retrieve it, Maria made herself another cup. After a moment's hesitation, she made one for Georg as well.

She settled back on the couch, stretching her legs lengthwise and hoping the tea would soothe the tension she was feeling, but it was Georg himself who did. When he reappeared, wearing an old shirt and trousers in hunter green, pant legs ending at the ankles – they were of the same build, but Georg was evidentially several inches taller – Maria couldn't help but smile.

"They'll do," he said, pointedly ignoring Maria as she giggled, and came over to join her on the sofa. The tips of her toes brushed his leg as he sat, and she almost gasped at the touch, even though it had been but a whisper of contact. Self-conscious, Maria tucked her feet in under her. Georg appeared not to notice, instead peering at his legs, where the cuffs had pulled even higher as he sat. His lips thinned, a look that might have been haughty were it not for the complete bewilderment on his face. "The material is not stretchy," he explained, looking quite put out as Maria pressed a hand against her mouth to hide her widening grin.

"Yes I know," she told him. "I made them."

"You did?" Distracted, Georg turned to look at her, startled but impressed. She supposed all the women he knew ordered their clothing from renowned couturiers.

"Mm-hmm…" Maria started mischievously, "from the drapes that used to hang in my bedroom."

He made a small noise at the back of his throat, his eyebrows travelling up his forehead in disbelief. "Drapes?"

"Yes Captain," Maria demurred. There was something very endearing about this usually stern and cynical man when he became childishly affronted. "Pierre was a bit of a stickler for furnishings, being in his line of work. He swapped out the curtains when we first moved into our old rental, but they still had plenty of wear left."

"Do you mean to tell me, Fraulein, that you have me sitting here, at this table, dressed in nothing but some old drapes?"

"Mm-hmm." A broad grin lit her face as Georg blanched. Dear well-dressed, aristocratic Baron Von Trapp.

"I'd made a set for Johannes, you see," Maria said, when it seemed Georg was temporarily robbed of speech. "He went everywhere on the island in them. Sometimes, Pierre would join us, and all he had were these ridiculous business suits. It's not easy to buy fabric on the island. He wasn't offended when I made these for him."

"I'm sure they fitted him better," Georg muttered, frowning. Maria could tell he was trying very hard not to look offended, and decided by a narrow margin to take pity on him.

"There, there," she soothed innocently, pushing the second cup of tea on the small coffee table toward him. Mollified – and dry – Georg reached for it and readily took a sip. For someone who claimed not to be fond of tea, it certainly seemed to be growing on him. The thought was oddly comforting, especially when Maria knew Captain Von Trapp's alternative choice of drink.

For a minute the room was quiet, broken by the lashing of rain against its walls. Maria watched the pendant lamp hanging above them. It's light trembled and flickered as thunder pressed overhead – and yet she felt relaxed. This felt familiar. This felt cozy, felt warm. She could sense his presence even without looking; could hear his breathes, feel him looking at her, could tell by how still he sat that he was turning something over intently in his mind. That she now knew this small detail about him made her smile internally.

For the first time in years, Maria didn't feel afraid.

"You were right," Georg said abruptly. The admission took her by surprise. Maria looked up to search his face. He looked calm, and yet there was something urgent and desperate in his voice that she gave a little murmur of sympathy. The words tumbled from him like he'd been thinking it for hours. Had he? Had he spent the afternoon torturing himself? Dragging himself through his past, doling out harsh verdicts?

Maria thoughts back to the way she had lost her temper, and regretted it. Georg had been through enough.

"I did have everything." His words were almost a sigh. "And my wife would have agreed with you. To her, the children were everything. As they should have been. But after she died… I'd convinced myself I had lost it all."

"You were grieving," Maria murmured. He'd said those exact words to her before. It's okay – I understand.

"I... neglected the children. Dreadfully. I wasn't there when they needed a father. Let them run rampant with one governess after another."

"But you stayed. For them."

"I stayed because I could not leave them without a caregiver," he said brusquely. He stood, tense. She watched silently as he turned away, toward the window and the darkness beyond. Slowly, he forced himself to turn back, as though determined to lay bare his past before her. "Staying in that house was torture. I couldn't face the empty rooms, couldn't face the memories. Couldn't face her. How would I explain to Agathe what happened to the children? I escaped where I could."

Escaped into the mountains. Escaped into alcohol-induced oblivion. Escaped into the bedrooms of other women so he wouldn't have to think about his wife.

Maria swallowed.

He took a step toward her, so quickly it seemed involuntary. "No, never that." His voice was almost harsh. "I couldn't even consider it. For many years, I was as celibate as a priest."

She blushed, wondering what on her face has given away her thoughts so easily. And Georg – she knew he'd sought out women, as any sailor would when they came to shore. She didn't blame him for it. Didn't let herself think too much about it.

Didn't know it'd affected her until now, as he stood before her, open and vulnerable.

"But there was no doubt I drank my way through Austria. Vienna was the worst – the most expensive booze and the prettiest distractions," Georg spat out bitterly. "If Elsa hadn't found me, I would have self-destructed eventually."

Clearly agitated, he turned away again, this time to start pacing the length before her couch.

"Elsa…?" Maria prompted, feeling both shy and curious. She hadn't known there was another woman in his life, besides his wife.

"Baroness Elsa Schraeder. The widow of an old business acquaintance of mine. He'd left her the fortune when he died, but she had the grace… and the wits." He paused his pacing to glance at her, almost entreating, and Maria saw his face had softened. She smiled back encouraging. How could she think ill of this woman, who had been the one to bring some semblance of meaning back to his life? He continued. "Elsa was the crown jewel amongst her already glittering circle of friends. She gave the gayest parties in all of Vienna, bragged about having the finest couturier in Vienna, and held the attention of the most eligible bachelors in Vienna. I can't imagine why, but she took pity on me when I became inconsolably drunk at one of her parties."

Georg's expression had darkened, and Maria knew she would never hear the story of what exactly had occurred between the two of them in that moment. Perhaps Georg himself couldn't even describe it. He cleared his throat. "She lost her husband over a decade ago – she knew what I needed. She was patient. She was good company… an intelligent woman, despite all the social gallivanting I could hardly stand. She didn't ask anything of me I wasn't capable of giving." He chuckled ruefully. "We made Vienna's most perfect widow and widower couple."

"Why doesn't that sound happy?" Maria couldn't stop herself wondering out loud, although she knew. Perhaps Georg and this Baroness Schraeder had been compatible, had been comfortable together, perhaps he had even loved her, in his way – but she sensed Georg had not been in a good place. Her heart ached for the poor, grieving man of two years ago, who had forfeited the idea that he deserved happiness.

Georg gave another little bitter chuckle, looking at her indulgently. "Because the story doesn't end well, that's why. I invited her to Aigen, and we became engaged weeks later."

"Oh!" Maria inhaled, shocked that he had once entertained the idea of a second marriage. Was that, then, why he had exploded at her offhanded suggestion of marrying to give the children a mother? Because it had been exactly what he had tried to do?

Georg didn't answer right away, coming to a stop beside the window, as though he could peer outside into the darkness, could see through time and space to Aigen, two years ago. From her seat, Maria could see his reflection, could make out the faint outline of his face, drawn and stern.

"Elsa was happy enough at the villa, although I had no doubt her heart remained in Vienna. But she was not fond of children. It didn't help the day she met them they'd escaped their governess and gone rowing about the lake. They were dripping wet and dirty by the time they came home." Georg shook his head in exasperation, although Maria saw his shoulders relax when he heard her giggle at his back. "You would have found it endearing, Maria. I thought Elsa was going to recoil in horror, those little heathens. But she told it in stride. She was gracious, and she did have their best interests at heart, when she saw how wild they were. She was the one who suggested we consider boarding school."

Despite knowing the outcome, Maria felt her heart constrict in dread as Georg paused. "I had not been much of a father. I thought it would be for the best."

Maria held very still in the silence that followed. She did not see how sending the children away would ever make things better. It was obvious Georg needed them. And the children needed their father. If she had been there, if she had known Georg then – known his children – perhaps she would have fought for them.

But she didn't say it. The decision had wiped him out, leaving a mere shadow of the man he'd once been, if the glimpses she'd seen on the hills these past few weeks were anything to go by. It'd broken him, filled him with so much self-loathing he'd had to flee, overcome at last, not with grief, but with guilt. In a sense, he had lost everything, and Maria found herself desperately wishing otherwise.

On impulse, she stood, so she could see her reflection in the window as well as his. Georg's eyes flickered toward the movement, and she knew he was also seeing the both of them.

He sighed, and she realized he was speaking again. "They did not want to go," he confessed to her reflection. "And I missed them… after they were gone."

Slowly, Maria approached him, and they both watched the window as she drew closer. She paused when she was still a little behind him, their images overlapping at the edges. Heartbroken at the heaviness in his words, Maria could only stand in mute sympathy. Georg turned his head a little toward her, his nose touching her head in the window.

"As for Elsa and I…" Georg sighed in resignation.

" – you don't need to tell me," Maria told him quickly. He didn't have to relive it. She didn't need him to tell her that things hadn't worked out with Baroness Schraeder. If Georg had claimed he was self-destructive before he'd sent the children away… Maria could only imagine what had happened afterward. "I'm sorry," she added on impulse, feeling sad on his behalf.

"You shouldn't be." His voice was a growl. He whirled to her, a very real force she could reach out and touch. It was as if all of a sudden, he had brought the storm inside, just like he had the first time he'd been here – but unlike then, Maria was not afraid. She knew him, now.

"I wronged her. I started drinking. Picked fights when I didn't have to. Flirted scandalously with her friends." Georg paused, passing a hand across his eyes as though he could unsee it all, and Maria felt faintly sick. "I treated her abominably. She didn't deserve it."

It wasn't your fault, she wanted to tell him. But at the same time, it was. Georg wanted to hurt, wanted to punish himself for what he'd done. And he'd taken a hammer to his relationship with as much force as he could manage, breaking himself and this woman whose only error was that she hadn't figured out what his children needed. What he needed.

His laugh was bitter. "Vienna welcomed me with open arms. A bibulous Don Giovanni. The next Casanova." He held out his own arms. "Not the kind of man you thought I was, am I?"

Maria stared at him, at his open arms, wondering suddenly how he would react if she stepped right into them. Would they pretend it was her place to embrace him, to soothe the very depth of him, to fill the void that had been left by a deceased wife, the absence of seven children, and a botched relationship? The thought was fleeting. Maria was long past the days when she did things on impulse. She sighed. "If you're fishing for compliments, I don't think I can help you." She hesitated, then reached out, taking hold of both his arms.

He looked startled, bringing his arms in, but didn't pull away. "God forsaken creature that I am," he finished, sighing in return. Maria wondered if Baroness Schraeder had said those words to him. Gently, she slide her hands down his arms, clad in those awful drapes, and he only looked at her. She stopped just above his wrists. "I don't believe you're the sort of man you think you are," she told him softly. Despite everything, she couldn't believe he was truly depraved at heart.

Georg exhaled, long and slow, and it seemed to her the entire room shuddered, deflating as the tension dissipated between them. He flipped his palms over so her hands slid into his.

How different this was from the first time.

When he spoke his voice was softer, contemplative. "I used to drink to forget the past… and now I'm trying to forget the present. You are right, Maria, I am a coward. And I don't know what it is I hope to do."

He blinked, as if the admission surprised even himself.

Maria remained silent. She knew. She should tell him that eventually, he would have to face it. Would have to face the children. Would have to make things right with Baroness Schraeder.

But she couldn't. Not tonight. Not when he was here, in front of her, like this.

His gave a little shrug. "So here I am. I've been abroad for the last two years. I see the children once or twice a year at their school in Switzerland." He sounded almost wistful, and reflexively, Maria nudged his hands with hers. His eyes flashed to meet hers, suddenly focused, as something in his voice changed. "There's nothing for me in Austria. So why not run. Sail. Drink. Look for distractions on small Greek islands..."

His thumbs brushed across her knuckles, and Maria almost trembled. How quickly the steady touch of comfort became a burn, a flame.

And like a moth to flame, she came willingly. "Are you calling me a distraction?"

She felt him slide his hands along her arms to her elbows, bringing them closer still. "Oh, I'd hardly call you a mere distraction, Maria."

She smiled, tilting up to him. Her hands felt warm nestled against his sides. "Then what would you call me, Georg?"

"Hmm." He pulled slightly away to look at her, even as his hold tightened. "Tenacious. Hardworking. An inspiration. A fighter. Everything I should have said this afternoon instead of being an ass."

Maria looked down, touched. She ducked her head, peeking at him and feeling inexplicably shy. "Well, you're forgiven."

Georg let go of her arm, lifting his hand to lightly take her chin between his fingers, tipping it upward so she was looking at him. His eyes were dark and searing. "I'd be an ungrateful wrench if I didn't tell you at least once…" And then he paused, and she saw his throat lift, as though either the words had caught, or he was swallowing the rest of them, and Maria would always wonder what he had been about to say. Instead, he drew her face to him, dipped his head toward her… and tenderly, helplessly, and ever so carefully, grazed his lips against hers.

She could hardly breathe.

He murmured against them. Thank you. A reverent breath against her mouth.

Slowly, he let his hand fall away, and he pulled back slightly. His eyes were molten, softer than she'd ever seen him look.

Maria trembled. She didn't know why it felt as if he were saying goodbye. There was something final, something regretful, something filled with yearning in that touch. The moment was inevitable – if not now, than later, and something in her chest ached at the thought. She looked into his eyes of liquid fire, but he made no move to touch her again. She didn't want to say that he was slipping away, because he'd never been hers to hold.

Somehow, after all these years, all the men she'd served… she was suddenly finding it hard to remember.

She sighed, pulling her hands reluctantly away from where they rested at his sides. Georg stepped back, giving her space, still looking at her with that gaze that was both intense and tender. Maria had a sudden, unbidden, and given the circumstances, not entirely welcome thought. As a lover, he would be equally gentle, equally considerate, and just as passionate.

She swallowed, batting aside the intrusive image. "It's still raining. You'd better stay the night."

His reply was warm, giving no indication he found her abrupt segue odd. "Are you trying to send me off to bed? You know, there was a cuckoo clock in my children's nursery that used to do that. Cuckoo, cuckoo," he mimicked in a singsong voice that made her huff in amusement.

"Absurd little bird." Maria gave his arm a playful swat, knowing well enough she was simply looking for a reason to touch him. "I never had a cuckoo clock. It was the steeple bells that told me when to go to bed."

They both glanced toward the clock that hung over her kitchenette. "It is late," Georg murmured, and she didn't miss the reluctant catch in his voice.

Could they have stood there all night?

Finally, Maria stepped back. Georg gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He backed up several resolute steps, freeing her. Maria went to fetch him a throw and a pillow – the same one she offered him all those days ago.

He met her just outside her bedroom door and she handed them over. Their fingers brushed, and just like that, they were staring at each other, standing too close.

"Auf wiedersehen, Captain." She tried to lift her voice to above a whisper. It would have been too intimate, and she reminded herself that they had to say goodbye, after all.

"Adieu, Fraulein." He was as nonchalant as she was.

And yet they lingered.

"So long."

"Farewell."

"Au revior."

He held her with his eyes, and she committed him to memory that way – Georg, with his dark green shirt and trousers several inches too short, hair tousled and head bent close to her, the air thick with things they did not dare say.

"Goodnight, Maria." The words were a low rumble in his chest. He looked almost like he wanted to reach out and touch her cheek. He didn't – but she felt the phantom touch and couldn't help a small sigh.

"Goodnight."

A/N: Thank you for putting up with my delayed updates! This chapter took extra long, because it never existed in my plot sketch - it was merely a short, passing scene of Maria in the storm... but then somehow a very wet Georg barged in, started taking off his clothes, and then the chapter unfolded from there... ;)

Would love to know what you think about this one!