A/N (1): Update in record breaking time! Thank you to all who continue to follow along and read, like, and review, especially to the guest reviewers I wasn't able to thank personally! Hope you enjoy this lighthearted chapter - a bit of extra creative license applied on the POV here, but I promise it does eventually work itself out at the end... xx

The Ward

Outside, golden-brown leaves danced across the sky on gusts of brisk mountain wind, carpeting the ground in colours that were beginning to fade from rich to tired. Passersby had started donning hats, scarves, and warm coats. Inside the hospital on ward 3C, a lovely young woman had settled into room 12. The nurses couldn't categorically say she was a good patient; she was frequently late coming in from the gardens, reluctant to take medications – even regular painkillers following an initial rocky start to therapy, and she was a little clumsy, once accidentally knocking over the lunch cart on her way down the hall. But all the staff liked her. She was cheerful and enthusiastic, her sunny presence lighting up the floor. She was a musician, and although not strictly allowed, the staff took pity on her and let her play her guitar in the afternoons. Sometimes, during visiting hours, she would go from room to room and play for those who hankered after a little music to brighten their long days. After a few weeks, they could hardly imagine the place without her.

The young woman was unaccompanied. The only visitor she had was the doctor, but she didn't seem to mind. Dr. Bonnetsmueller said the young woman was the friend of a good friend. He visited her daily, as he did all his inpatients, but sometimes more than once a day. Not infrequently, he would join her for a meal after his day was done, treating her to food packaged carefully in cardboard boxes brought from home. The doctor was a jovial man, but the nurses had never heard him laugh as much as when he was with her. They talked, too – the curious nurses who popped in to check on their patient when he was in the room overheard stories of a young wartime doctor and a cabaret dancer on a small Greek island.

There was hushed talk a romance had sprung between Dr. Bonnetsmueller – still very much single despite his staff's best efforts to find him a wife – and his young German patient. But despite plenty of speculation, none of the staff were ever able to find more evidence for it besides a genuine pleasure in each other's company. A week into her stay, a large bouquet of yellow roses arrived for her with a nameless card. Did the woman already have a sweetheart, perhaps? Was there any other reason to sleep with the card under her pillow, and blush each time she read it for a week straight?

The young woman had therapy two to three times a day, and the speech therapists were impressed by her diligence and her effort at each session. She was making good progress, they told the doctor, her voice clearer and range starting to expand.

Almost a month after her arrival, Dr. Bonnetsmueller left for a medical summit in Belgium. They made tentative plans for her throat surgery after his return.

A few days after that, a boy – a young man, really, well into his teens – was brought onto the unit and into the unoccupied bed in room 12. He had thick blond hair, a strong, straight nose, and a mouth that at any other time would be turned up in a mischievous grin. He had been brought up from the operating room, where the orthopedist had reduced and fixed a broken leg, and he was still heavily sedated. The story circulated up to the floor the boy had been in a fight at school, and an unlucky push had led to him tumbling down a ravine.

The boy spent the first day alone, groggy from the effects of morphine, a thin curtain separating him from Dr. Bonnetsmueller's patient next to him. The nurses checked on him often, murmuring sympathetically over the cherubic, blue-eyed young man. Where was this poor boy's mother? His father?

The following day a girl, perhaps a year or two younger than the boy, came to visit him. She wore the uniform of plain blouse and pleated skirt of the prestigious boarding school not far away, her long blond hair tied neatly in two braids down her back. Her prim French had a noticeable German accent as she introduced herself as the boy's sister and asked for directions to his room. The clerk pointed out the way. As she did, she seemed unable to contain herself, asking the girl whether their parents would be coming.

"My parents?" The girl repeated, looking confused.

"Don't they want to see how your brother is after his accident?"

The clerk was matronly, and her voice was kind, but the girl didn't take kindly to it. She glared at the clerk, and the staff behind the desk all trying very hard not to listen in on the conversation. "We go to boarding school," she said finally, somehow still managing to keep her manners intact, "our parents are not here."

She gave them a scornful look that sent the staff whispering after she left the desk. The boy's sister seemed rather stuck up, and Holy Heavens, was she ever touchy. Surely any parent who could afford to send their children to that school could afford to travel to visit their injured son.

The girl didn't stay long in room 12. The boy was still glassy-eyed from medication, and she had class that afternoon. Although she wasn't above skipping a class here and there every now and again, she certainly didn't make it a habit. There was a sharpness – a defensiveness – about her that softened as she carried on a mostly one-sided conversation with her brother. She told him she'd brought some of his clothes and books. The teachers expected he keep up with his studies. The composition teacher in particular had been plenty cross about it. She'd forgotten his toiletries, but she would be back with them tomorrow.

The next day the boy seemed much better, sitting up alertly, his leg still hanging outstretched in its traction sling. He sported a fading bruise on his left cheek and temple. He managed to keep down some of his food, and leafed a bit through one of his textbooks. Once or twice he caught the glance of the pretty lady in the adjacent bed through the break in the curtain panels, and they exchanged smiles – hers warm, his tentative. He always had excellent manners when he wasn't drugged to the nines.

After lunch his sister returned, this time with a young lady trailing in her wake. This new visitor might have been a few years older than the boy and girl, closer to twenty. She had glossy brown curls, and wore a stylish olive green traveling suit.

The boy made a strangled sound as he saw the new guest. "Liesl?!" He rounded on his sister. "You told her?"

The older girl – Liesl – made an exasperated sound without so much as a greeting. "Don't start Friedrich. Louisa did the right thing." Even though she didn't seem much older, she had a maternal quality about her.

"It's all very well for you," the girl Louisa scoffed, throwing herself into the only chair. Liesl perched at the edge of his bed. "You were sedated. Did you see how your leg looked, all bent in that funny way? And the doctor going on to me about how he was going to reset the bones, and you groaning away? I was scared."

All three of them looked warily at his leg, dangling midair in a thick bandage, thankfully straightened again.

"You didn't need to come," Friedrich muttered to Liesl. "I know you're busy with your studies."

"My professors were fine with it, and I brought my reading with me," Liesl said briskly. "And anyway, I'm your sister, so of course I needed to come."

There was a moment of silence. "You didn't call father, did you?"

The girls exchanged a glance. "The school tried," Louisa admitted, biting her lip. "They couldn't get a hold of him. They don't even know where he is to send a telegram." She shrugged. "I think they might have sent a letter… you know, to the house."

All three of them looked at each other. Friedrich looked relieved. "He'll never get that."

"Hopefully Uncle Max doesn't either," Liesl murmured, fretting.

Louisa snorted. "If he gets his head out of the wine cellar long enough to read the mail."

"He won't worry father over most things… but for this he might," Liesl mused. She turned to her brother. "Oh Friedrich, how could you? You know we have to stay out of trouble. Anything that happens to us, and the director will bother father with it."

The young man glanced down guiltily. "I know, I know."

Liesl bore down on him with her most parental expression. "Why did you have to get into a fight in the first place?"

Friedrich groaned. "I shouldn't have, I know. I was just minding my own business, honest to God… and then I overheard some guy – one of the sophomores – taunting Kurt. Calling him a sissy."

"And other awful names," Louisa put in. "I've heard him myself. I think it's got something to do with Kurt beating him out for the lead part in that play for drama class."

Liesl looked from one to the other, worrying her lip. She had never had a taste for boys fighting, but she would be the first to stand up for one of her siblings. "Well, just – be more careful about it, alright?"

He brightened, evidently expecting a more thorough grilling from his sister.

"What did the doctor say?"

Friedrich looked sheepish. "He said it was lucky it wasn't worse. He said I'll be able to start rehab in a few weeks and will be able to walk in a month or two."

"A month or two?!" Liesl cried in dismay. "What about school? Exams? What about the others?"

She reached for his arm, but he batted her hand away, looking as agitated as she sounded. "I don't know, alright? I didn't exactly plan out any of this!"

"The director says Friedrich can keep up with most of his work here in the hospital. Kurt's finished early in the afternoon most days – he can bring the class notes. Exams I'm sure he can postpone until the new year," Louisa finished practically. Despite her sharp exterior, she had clearly given careful thought to managing the crisis at hand. "And Brigitta and I can look after Marta and Gretl."

Liesl nodded thoughtfully. "I can only stay a few days, but my semester finishes early. I'll be able to come up for the holidays."

"I thought you were going to go with that chap – what's his name again? – to meet his family. You know, the one you and father had that row over last time?"

Liesl turned away from her brother, creamy cheeks flushing scarlet. Louisa glared at him.

"What?"

"That was before – " she gestured to his leg, " – all of this. And anyway, we're not together anymore," she finished in a mumble. Louisa slid over to the bed and put an arm around her. They exchanged a dark look.

"What happened?" Friedrich was frowning, looking from one sister to the other. "What did he do to you?" He sat up a little straighter, as much as his immobilized leg would allow, hands balling into fists. Never mind he was only in high school, never mind his broken leg – he was going to rip anyone hurting Liesl to smithereens.

"Nothing! Not like that." Liesl avoided looking at him. "Father was right, is all. I shouldn't fall for the first guy in my path."

Friedrich snorted, but he reached over to pat her hand. "He'll be delighted to hear you say that, when you tell him next time."

"I wonder if he'll be here for Christmas," Louisa mused. "He did say he would be."

"It'll only have been a few months since the last time," Friedrich pointed out. "He might still be at sea. At any rate, we should get a tree set up this year. Remember how Marta cried last Christmas because we didn't have one?"

"She cheered up when we exchanged presents though." Louisa smiled at the memory. "And even father sent presents."

"I think he'll come," Liesl said, brown eyes bright. "He was so… different, the last time. I remember him that way from – well, from when I was Marta's age. I feel sure he'll come."

Her siblings nodded. "He really was," Louisa agreed. "He was here here. I had fun."

Friedrich nodded. "That was the best week."

They launched into a string of happy reminisces. From the way they talked, rapid fire one after another, it was clear they had done this a number of times since the visit.

"Remember how he sang that silly song about the unicorn for the girls?"

"That he sang at all?"

"That night we went hunting for baked goods?"

"And went for ice cream!"

"Remember when we went biking along the lake?"

"Remember when Kurt's kite got caught on a tree branch and he had to climb the tree to get it?"

Then – "I wonder what changed him."

The siblings looked at each other. They paused, each having wondered but never voiced out loud. "Time, probably," Friedrich offered wisely, but then followed more seriously. "I noticed he was drinking hardly at all."

"Or maybe he got into a huge fight with Baroness Schraeder. That would be enough to put anyone in a good mood."

"Louisa," Liesl scolded, but couldn't help a giggle.

"See? It's funny."

"Maybe he's met somebody."

"Maybe he's fallen in love."

They looked at each other again. Each of the children would have cheerfully endured boarding school if it would have made father happy, even if the Baroness had been the one to suggest it. But they knew it had not. Baroness Schraeder had not. For all they were children, they knew father had never loved Baroness Schraeder.

In that moment, a cheerful tune filled the room.

It came from the other side of the curtains that separated the two beds in the room. It was an old folk song they knew growing up in Austria, lively and upbeat, and they all wondered simultaneously whether it was meant for them.

The siblings glanced at each other, bewildered. Friedrich shrugged, remembering the young woman who occupied the bed next to him. Carefully, Liesl peeled back a curtain panel, and the three of them peeked around the other side. Liesl tried to convince herself she wasn't invading anybody's privacy – after all, why play if you didn't want to be heard?

A woman, perhaps in her late twenties, was strumming away on her guitar. She had short blond hair, an ugly nightdress, and glanced at them with bright blue eyes when she saw them looking. They could only stare.

"Oh, don't mind me," she said pleasantly in German.

They stared even harder.

She finished her song, then set aside her guitar. She turned to them with a friendly smile, looking each of them over in turn, like they were old friends of hers she hadn't seen in years.

"My name is Maria," she introduced herself at last. "And you… are the Von Trapp children."

She heard Liesl's gasp of shock, saw Friedrich's mouth fall open and Louisa's eyebrows travel up her forehead, and wondered uneasily whether she should have chosen a gentler introduction.

Maria was not really in the habit of eavesdropping, much, but it was difficult not to overhear when all that separated you and the family reunion happening one bed over was a thin curtain divider.

She had guessed, based on the children's names – and such lovely names, even more so when matched to faces – who they were, although even then it seemed too much of a coincidence. But she was sure, when she heard the way they talked about their father.

How protective they were of him!

These were Georg's children.

They think he's fallen in love!

How could it be?

Maria saw bits of him in Liesl's thick, luxurious hair, in Friedrich's straight, proud nose. Louisa had his quick wit and quick temper. They all had his eyes, a few shades lighter, a few shades darker – eyes currently staring at her in bewilderment.

She looked back at then with innocently wide eyes, taking a deep, internal breath to steel herself. "You… are the Von Trapp children?"

Maria knew this as sure as she knew her own name, but she wanted to get the children talking again.

"Y – yes. I'm Liesl," the eldest Von Trapp said uncertainly, "and this is Louisa." She nudged her sister, who was looking at Maria with eyes full of suspicion.

"And I'm Friedrich, fraulein," said Georg's oldest son, with impeccable manners.

"How do you know us?"

"Oh Louisa, I know your father. And he talked about you… some of the time." Not at first, maybe – but eventually. And even then, Maria managed to check what she'd been about to say on her tongue. These children would never believe their father talked about them all of the time.

The three shared a glance, the second part of what she'd said perhaps more startling than the first. "How do you know father?"

"Louisa!" Friedrich hissed, "you shouldn't ask that!"

"Why not?" She glared at her brother, but deigned to whisper. "Don't you want to know?"

"Well of course, but maybe it's not our business."

"Oh it's perfectly alright – " Maria cut in, swallowing the word children with difficulty. Both she and Georg had referred to them as children, but it didn't seem right, somehow – these three were hardly children. They were all in their late teens and had grown up much too quickly. "I wouldn't have introduced myself if I didn't want to meet you."

Maria had spent the past half hour behind the curtain in increasing astonishment. How could this Liesl and Friedrich and Louisa be Georg's children? How could they be here, of all places? Had the Higher Powers at work brought them together when Georg himself – or Maria, for that matter – had no intention of doing so?

Her confusion had slowly morphed into a feeling of increasing awkwardness as the conversation between the children went on. She could smile and befriend the poor youth with the broken leg before she knew who he was, but there was no way she could pretend she did not know now that she did know.

She could ignore them, leave them be for the duration of her stay – but that wasn't her way. She liked children. Even if she did not already have a soft spot for the Von Trapp children, her heart would have gone out to these three dears who loved their father fiercely and were trying so hard to raise themselves.

She could mention nothing of Georg, or that she knew of the children at all – but Maria wasn't that good an actress.

And plus, she was curious. She wanted to meet them. Wanted to get to know them.

She worried her bottom lip as the children talked next to her. How should she tell them she knew their father?

"We met on the Greek islands earlier this year," she started now. "I was working and your father was passing through."

"He did say he was in Greece this summer!" Liesl said eagerly.

"Was he there long?"

Maria needn't have worried over how the children would react to her knowing Georg. They listened raptly, even Louisa, hungry for any story that concerned their father, and what he did when he was absent for most of the year.

"He was there for several months."

"Several months!" Louisa echoed in disbelief.

"Your father had injured his hand, you see, and it took a few weeks to heal. He couldn't sail." That was the explanation she always gave herself whenever she wondered why Georg had stayed as long as he did. Maria hesitated briefly. "We learned we were both from Salzburg, and could speak to each other in German, and became friends."

It seemed like the simplest explanation.

"You're from Salzburg too?" Liesl was fairly bouncing with excitement.

Louisa hesitated. "Father usually doesn't like to talk about …home."

Maria wavered. She could not tell this young innocent that Georg had been exceedingly drunk that night, or what distractions he had been seeking when he had gone to the Siren in the first place. In any case, while that fateful night at the Siren had drawn them together, they had not become… close, until much later. Maria decided to tell them the truth.

"Your father learned I had lost someone very close to me. We were in an accident." She took a steadying breath, then said slowly, "I think it helped us understand each other a little more."

Maria saw the moment each child's expression cleared. Each understood perfectly how grief, perhaps someone as broken as he was, would have appealed to their father.

Liesl tilted her head, considering. "Did father hear you play guitar? He used to play too. That's something else you have in common!"

Maria smiled. "Yes Liesl. Playing the guitar was a part of my job where I worked." Among other things.

"What about horseback riding?" Friedrich said eagerly. "He used to love that too."

She looked at the hopeful faces in front of her, as though they were counting on her to bring back bits of the man Georg had once been. The man who loved his family more than anything.

"And swimming?" Louisa asked, before she could answer. "Surely you must have done that on the island."

"Well children," Maria started, feeling comfortable enough with them to try out the endearment. They didn't seem to mind. "Let me see… we didn't have horses, but we did go biking one time. My landlord had some bicycles he let us borrow. Only the paths were so narrow and uneven your father's wheel got caught in a divot, and he took a bit of a tumble…"

She hoped she hadn't bruised Georg's dignity too much, but it would have been worth it to hear the children's laughter.

"And I don't swim much. But your father went for a swim in the Aegean nearly every morning." They hung on to her words, and sympathetic, she gave in to the hunger in their eyes. Anything about their father. "There were a lot of beaches for walking, though. A great white stone beach – your father said he'd never seen anything like it. We went wading a bit. And once we were having ice cream on the beach and I may have lobbed some into your father's face…"

Louisa clapped her hands together and Friedrich hooted gleefully. Maria, wary of feeding them too much, was touched to find they didn't seem jealous at all. They only wanted to hear the stories, happy to learn that he had been happy.

"Did he take you sailing?" Maria knew by the small catch in her voice Liesl understood what taking someone onto his boat would mean to her father.

Hurriedly, Maria shook her head. "Only to come here," she told them. "The accident – it damaged my voice. When your father learned of it, he helped connect me to a doctor here who might be able to help."

"Wait a minute, remember father did say he went to see a friend of his when he was here last? He was a doctor!" Friedrich said.

"A throat doctor, that's right!" Louisa suddenly recalled. The children looked at each other excitedly, as though they were putting together a puzzle that was suddenly falling into place.

Liesl smiled broadly at Maria. "I'm so glad father had that connection, Fraulein Maria! He knows everybody, doesn't he?" Her smiled faltered. "He used to, anyway."

Maria returned the smile warmly. The children didn't seem inclined to press her further. They seemed content to know their father had been able to help her, that they were friends, and she was here. Louisa, she could tell, would still be a little reserved, but as least she didn't look as mistrusting as she did at first.

"Do you know if he'll be here to visit for the holidays?" Friedrich, on the other hand, had decided to trust her completely.

Maria hesitated. Georg hadn't told her whether he'd planned on dropping in to see the children. How would Georg react, if he could see Maria together with them in the hospital? He didn't even know his son had been hospitalized! What would he do when he learned they had met the woman he never intended for them to meet? Mentally, she shook her head. It would be a surprise, certainly, but there was nothing else to it.

"Oh, do tell us Fraulein Maria!" Liesl had caught on to her hesitation.

"Sooner than that, I hope." Entirely for their sake, she hoped it was the case.

Liesl clasped her hands together, and Friedrich and Louisa shared an excited grin. "You really think so?"

"I do."

"We shouldn't tell the others, though. Just in case." They had had too many instances of getting their hopes up in the past, Maria gathered.

"You're right Friedrich. But we can bring them to visit, right?" Louisa's eyes sparkled. "To meet Fraulein Maria? They'll love hearing the stories about father!"

"And oh, you'll play for them, won't you Fraulein Maria?" Friedrich asked. "That song you were playing for us?"

"Oh, Marta and Gretl won't know what that is," Louisa argued. "Better nursery songs for them."

"The Do-re-mi," Friedrich suggested. "That's what mother taught us when we were first learning."

The two teens bickered back and forth about which songs Maria should play for when their siblings came. Liesl smiled indulgently, before sliding over to sit with Maria. "And you'll stay if father comes?" Liesl's eyes were earnest. "You love him very much, I can tell you do."

Maria's eyes flew wide, hearing Georg's daughter say the words she hadn't dared think. She glanced hurriedly at the others, who were too absorbed in their debate to pay them any attention. Her gaze returned to Liesl. She was halfway to a denial – not only what was between her and Georg too complex for words, Maria did not want to disappoint Liesl by giving her false hope – when she realized it would be useless. The girl might have been looking at her, but she wasn't seeing Maria, her dreamy eyes thinking of something far away.

Maria sighed. She would have to have a gentle talk with Liesl some other time. Georg's eldest daughter was more woman than girl, with still starry-eyed ideals of love. Long starved for love, really. Could she really fault Liesl for seeing it everywhere? But despite Maria's best intentions, for a moment she allowed her mind to repeat those words. Allowed it to – however briefly – believe it. Allowed it to even, perhaps a little treacherously, add,

Very much.

A/N(2): I love writing about the children and was so glad I was able to introduce them back into the story. This chapter basically wrote itself, as over the last year of writing this story all the ideas I had about the children's various idiosyncrasies wove themselves into this chapter. Alas, there was no Georg... Would love to know your thoughts!

*Edit - also, a little lighthearted secret from the ER (at Friedrich's expense): 'minding my own business' is a very dangerous pastime... and frequently evolves into an incident concerning "some guy". :D