A/N: The only thing I have to say for myself is... I'm not terribly late with this chapter!

I think we have all been waiting for this chapter since... I don't even remember when. I hope it brings a little bit of happiness to your day. xx

The Gazebo

Father said he was going down to the courtyard. He said he wanted to take a walk.

Once upon a time, in another lifetime now, on the faraway island of Milos, her friends Jenny and Netta had pushed her out the doors of the Siren, down to the docks where Georg's yacht had docked after his long absence. They'd told her to find him, to seek him out face to face.

It'd been a warm Mediterranean night then. It was a cold wintry day now. Instead of sand, there was snow.

Jenny and Netta had asked if she loved him. She couldn't answer then. She could, now.

Maria drew in a long breath, releasing it slowly, making swirls in the chilly winter air.

A captain in the gardens, what's so fearsome about that?

She would not be afraid. She would not be a coward.

Perhaps she did love him. Perhaps she'd loved him then, too. Perhaps she couldn't help it, loving him. But there was also a choice. Georg had shown her that. He'd come back to the island for her even when he believed there could never be anything between them.

Surely, if he were getting married now, he'd made his choice. And she would be happy for him.

After all, as Karl said, men and women could simply be good friends.

And bit by bit, it wouldn't hurt quite so much. She could bear it. She'd done it before. And if he left an ache in her heart she'd have to carry for the rest of her days… then so be it. Maria should be used to it by now.

The courtyard was deserted at this time of year, patients and staff alike put off by the cold weather and wilted, scraggly gardenscape. But Maria had always liked it. The pathways were quiet and serene, the garden statues old friends, and there was something about the gurgling fountains that reminded her of home.

She spotted him some distance away, standing underneath an open-sided gazebo in the middle of the courtyard. Maria watched him for a moment, not even aware she had stopped walking. He idled causally by the gazebo's edge, dark hair feathered with snowflakes, cutting a distinguished figure in pressed trousers and fine traveling coat. He was turned away from her, but she would know him anywhere. She knew the windswept Georg as well as she knew him with coiffed hair, knew the Georg brined in the salty air as she knew him in the fresh mountain breeze. She knew Georg rough, clean-shaven, drunk, sober, casual, fervent. Knew him by the sea. Knew him under the stars. Knew him at home in the mountains.

Something in her throat tightened as she watched him – just a little bit longer – making it impossible to speak. Just as well, she didn't know what to say anyway, so she approached silently, sliding into the gazebo next to him just as he was turning her way.

He stopped. Blinked, once, twice, taking her in. No matter that she couldn't speak, he read her with his eyes. His expression softened, a smile touching his lips. She recalled a time he wasn't so quick to smile. "Hello. I was hoping I might just find you here."

Had he come out to look for her? Maria, in her agitation, hadn't even considered why he was pacing the lonely December gardens in the first place.

She cleared her throat. "Therapy," she croaked.

He suppressed a chuckle. "Have they been working you too hard?"

Maria tried again. "My last day is tomorrow." She swallowed. And then –

Georg nodded, paused shortly like he wanted to say something, before changing his mind. He turned to look out from their shelter into the garden beyond. "Did you know, there is a gazebo very like this one on my grounds."

Maria did know. He'd told her once Brigitta had fallen asleep there all night. It was where Liesl had once met a boy behind her father's back. It was where the little ones liked to play make-believe fairy castle. Georg's gazebo, she knew, was made of glass. It was magical, it was romantic, and it was destined to remain in her imagination.

Maria knotted her hands together. "The children tell me you have opened the villa."

"Yes." He turned back to her, his voice suddenly full of inexplicable warmth. "And while I was doing that, you've met my children."

Their eyes met. She knew Georg. Had known him wounded. Now she saw him whole, unburdened, happy. There was nothing funny in what he said, and yet she heard laughter.

It was her turn to nod. She'd wondered what she would say to Georg about the children when they saw each other, how she would explain their chance meeting and the affection that had sprung between them. "Yes."

"In the hour I was with them, I don't think I heard one sentence that didn't have your name in it." He huffed a soft laugh. "And to think, you even taught them a song to sing for their father when he came calling."

She managed a grin. "Are you surprised?"

"Was I very much impressed, you mean? Yes. But I already knew you were a miracle worker, so no, I was not surprised." Georg smiled. "I stopped at Karl's before I came here, and heard the story from Karl – who, for a change, was home."

"Friedrich's leg – "

"Seems like it's healing just fine. I spoke to the surgeon on my way in."

"He thought you would be furious if you found out."

Georg was quiet for a moment. "At one time, I might have been. Definitely would have been." He shook his head. "Did you know, when I was his age and studying at the naval academy, we were fooling around during shooting practice, and I got hit in the leg by a stray bullet? It sliced straight through the belly of my calf, and I was hospitalized for almost two months."

About the same duration as Friedrich. "Did you tell him?"

"I didn't get a chance to." Georg chuckled ruefully. "All they wanted to talk about was the villa."

Maria hesitated, and looked out at the courtyard. "Is that why you stayed so long?"

"Among other things." Maria could see Georg glance her way, saw his arm move at his side, as though he wanted to pull her back toward him. She kept her gaze on the gardens. "I had some affairs that needed attention in Vienna. I took the opportunity to serve myself a slice of humble pie and mended some feuds, like someone once suggested I should."

Maria nodded. She had once suggested that. When she had been in his arms, when they had slept together under the stars. She swallowed. She didn't need her own words to remind her the significance of reconciliation with Baroness Schraeder. "Did that go well?"

"Very well."

She steeled herself. Finally, she brought herself to look at him. "The children also tell me you are to be married."

He was looking at her. His gaze was steady, his voice light. "I don't think I quite used those words. They asked if they would have another governess, and I believe I said, "I'm hoping I might be married". Once the villa is open, that is."

"That sounds full of uncertainty."

"It is," he agreed blithely.

Was he trying to spare her feelings? Georg had always been direct with her. "You don't have to be."

"I do." He sounded amused. "She hasn't agreed to it yet."

"Oh." Maria looked away. Was the Baroness Schraeder still angry at how he'd treated her? Did Georg need her help somehow? "I'm sure once – "

"Maria." This time, he did reach over to take hold of her arm, a gentle tug bringing her right back to him. "I haven't asked."

He was holding back a smile. Was this version of Georg so buoyant he might just explode?

"Oh." She said again, realizing after she'd said it how flat it sounded. She paused. "The children say they are behind you. They told me you were waiting to ask them."

"There's someone else I should ask first, isn't there?" She couldn't be sure if he'd stepped forward, or leaned in, but suddenly, they were very close. He was no longer smiling.

Oh.

"Maria." And this time, her name was a whisper and a plea.

"Yes?" She could hardly breathe.

"Marry me."

She was shaking. "What?"

"Marry me," he whispered again. "I want you to marry me. I want you as my wife."

She stared.

Did she know this Georg, burning with need, eyes dark pools of fire that ignited something in her very depth? Yes, yes she did. She had come to know him most of all.

He held her gaze. His voice was low and urgent. "I know this isn't the most romantic location, or the most romantic proposal, and you deserve all of that and more. But damn if I can wait a second longer. My entire time away, all I could think about was you. For nights, I wandered the grounds, standing under a gazebo just like this one, wanting you. I saw you everywhere, at the villa. I took so long, because I hoped I could make myself worthy of you."

Her heart clenched. "Oh Georg," she whispered, titling up to him. "That was never the question."

"But it was, my darling, it was." His hands cupped her head, fingers in her hair. His eyes were lidded, and he fought to control his voice. "I've wanted you since the beginning, and I know there were times you wanted me too."

Mutely, Maria nodded. "Yes."

He stared at her. She could see how her admission affected him. "I never had anything to give you," he said hoarsely. "I didn't even have myself to give you. But now I do. I know who I am – and I am a man who has everything, because of you. You told me once the real question I needed to ask was if I wanted anyone to marry me. I do. I want you. And I can promise you this time, Maria, that I will give you a home. I will be a good husband. I will never hurt you."

He did not seem unsure at all. He seemed very sure.

Maria could only stare at him in awe. "You returned to Austria. You repaired the past. You restored the villa."

He nodded. "Everything I had been running from, including the children. You told me that, too."

"Georg, I didn't… I would never had asked you for – "

"No, Maria. I didn't do it for you. I did it because of you. I needed to become a devoted father. A respectable man. A proud Austrian. I never expected to ask you to marry me."

"You didn't?"

He shook his head. His hands slipped down her shoulders, along her arms, and slid to encircle her waist. "I never planned for this. In fact, when I returned to Milos to tell you about Karl, I vowed to leave you be. God, that week on the boat with you, that night in the hotel with you… I was in constant danger of breaking that promise. You were on your way to a fresh start. I didn't want to saddle you with an old man and seven children, without ever getting the chance to find out how your voice recovered, and what you could do with it."

She too, found herself shaking her head. "I didn't – I couldn't… did Karl tell you? I decided not to have the surgery."

"I know. He told me. And he'll tell you one day that he may have seen me shed 20 years on the spot."

"I'm very grateful to Karl, to the speech therapy team and everyone on the ward and all they've done. They all say I've made good progress. But having the surgery… it wouldn't have given me anything I wanted."

His eyes had darkened to a fathomless blue, the blue of the night sky with the light of countless stars. "What do you want, Maria?" His voice was a caress against her skin.

Maria had told Karl she might want to teach, to work with children in developing a love of music. She could even work in an orphanage, or a poorhouse, or an institution for the mentally ill. There were many places that could use a little light, a little music. Karl must have seen that she hadn't quite known what she would do, what she wanted, but he'd given her his unfailing support in not pursuing surgery. She would consider the rest later.

Looking up at Georg, she knew. She had known then, too. Had known for a long time.

"I want to be yours."

His eyes closed. "Maria…" Her name fell helplessly, reverently, from his lips.

His hand rose to cup her face, thumb brushing across her cheek. Maria leaned into his touch. "If you're asking, then yes," she whispered into his palm, "I want to be your wife."

She felt him exhale into her hair. Felt him pull her closer. Felt him tremble against her.

Maria titled her face toward his, their eyes catching. "If they will allow…" Maria swallowed as he dropped light kisses on her eyebrow, her eyelids, the contour of her jaw. "I want to be a mother, and a friend, to the children."

She felt his breath catch, saw his eyes blaze, felt the involuntary flex of his body as his lips eased over hers. She felt his restraint, for the kiss was gentle, lingering, full of yearning, full of promise.

When he pulled away, Maria stopped him with a bold tug of his lapels. "If God wills it…" she mumbled against his mouth, "I want to give you children."

"Maria!" He looked at her, astonished.

She blinked innocent lashes. "You are not the only one who can make promises, Georg Von Trapp."

The sound she tore from him was between a groan and a growl. His mouth captured hers in answer, his tongue sweeping across her bottom lip a hint of the kind of promises Georg Von Trapp had to offer. She let herself melt into him, let herself be swept off her feet. For now there was nothing to hold back, nothing to fear.

When they finally parted, flushed and breathless, Maria smiled up at him. His arm tightened around her. "What?"

Her smile widened. "I always told Stavros no sailor on earth could tempt me. I guess I was wrong."

His chuckle was a warm exhale against her hair. "Hmm. Now, was it a sailor who tempted you, or a siren who tempted me?"

She let him land a kiss on her nose, and told him, "Well, I think I started loving you the moment you first said 'hello' in Austrian."

"Mmm." He stole another kiss. "And I started loving you from the moment I saw you on stage playing Edelweiss in that awful bar."

"Georg!" Maria felt his laugh rumble through his chest. "The Siren was not an 'awful bar'."

"No, it wasn't," he conceded. "But it was another lifetime for me. I've lost all my taste for seedy port taverns and sultry siren performances…" his hand ran lightly, possessively, up her thigh, "… save one."

"Hmm." The effect of her scoff was offset by the shiver that ran through her at his touch. "I quite miss it. Perhaps one day I'll want to go back and visit. Would you come with me?"

"I would go anywhere with you." He captured her hands in his, and brought them to his lips. "You, Maria," he kissed each finger in turn, "are my north star."

She gave in as her drew her against him. Tease as she might, Maria had no desire to visit the Siren, just now. Although one day, perhaps they would. Perhaps Georg would take her sailing around the entire Mediterranean, or the entire world. Or perhaps they would stay in Aigen, go for horse rides in the morning and dine under crystal chandeliers at night. It didn't matter. For here with Georg, anywhere with Georg, she was home.

Epilogue

Maria opened sleepy eyes to a sky full of stars. She was lying on the familiar cushions of the yacht's deck, a cozy blanket warding off the night breeze.

She turned to find Georg stretched out next to her, propped against a pillow. He had a book in his hands, although there was a softness in his eyes that made her suspect he'd been looking at her, and had been for quite some time. "Where are we?" She asked, sitting up. It was dark, the sound of the sea all around them.

She remembered sitting on the deck as Georg guided the boat out from the harbor, watching the beautiful Cannes shoreline receding, the lights along Boulevard de la Croisette twinkling merrily, still a lively flurry of activity well into the night. They'd had a lovely day in Cannes. It'd started with a walk along the lush beachfront and ended with dinner at one of the town's new luxury hotels, dancing to a jazz quartet so alluring they had stayed song after song until Maria's feet ached and she could hardly stand. Georg had carried her back to the yacht. And then she must have been so tired she'd fallen asleep. She was still wearing her evening gown, a silvery, satiny thing of beauty.

Georg put his book down, and slipped an arm around her. "Somewhere along the southern tip of France."

"Hmm." She sighed contently. Georg had been right to bring her here. The Cote D'Azur had been a string of wondrous days – strolls hand-in-hand through quaint seaside towns, swims in crystal clear water, secluded beach walks. The beautiful Mediterranean coast offered everything she and Georg had when they'd once explored Milos, with an added old-world charm and romance that came from honeymooning as husband and wife. Maria, who never swam on Milos, allowed Georg to coax her into the water, although she didn't need much persuasion when she found herself even more sensitive to Georg's touch in the coolness of the sea. And how easily meanders along the beach turned into trysts of quite another kind…

"What time is it?" She asked.

"Just after midnight." His hand moved in long, luxurious strokes down her side.

She twisted to peer at him. "You don't even have a watch on."

He chuckled, the sound low in his chest. He lifted his hand just long enough to gesture skyward.

"Oh." Maria exhaled. She'd forgotten that particular skill of Georg's. She relaxed into him, looking up at the sky, feeling his touch along her sides, across her belly, down her hips. Since their trip began, they'd spent all their nights on the yacht, and Maria wouldn't have it any other way.

After their wedding in the new year, Maria hadn't been in any hurry to leave Aigen, or the children. She and Georg spent their honeymoon over the long winter weeks turning the villa into a home, joining the children as they became reacquainted with their favourite haunts in Salzburg. They received guests – not very many – preferring to spend their time quietly as a family, although it was doubtful how much quiet they had when all seven of the children were home at once. Then there was Max, who, in his own words, was basically a child. He and Maria took to each other right away. With his stewarding duties lessened, he developed an interest in managing musical troops – and Maria had a very good idea of which dancers she wanted to recommend for him. As winter turned to spring turned to summer, Georg had tempted her with lush visions of the French Riviera, peaceful sailing days and nights under their blanket of stars. He'd stolen kisses and tortured her with tantalizing touches in between their busy days with the children, reminding her just what could be hers if they were alone.

She heard him inhale, and realized the tension in her body had changed. His touch along her body became less soothing, more urgent. Maria felt herself respond.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he murmured, and somehow the softness of his command shot straight to her core.

She tried to laugh, although it was more breathless than she intended. "What makes you think I'm thinking anything at all?"

His responding laugh was hot against her ear. "You're like a drawn bowstring…" He nuzzled her neck, "arched…" He drew a finger down her chest, between her breasts, "taunt…" He trailed the finger lower, stopping just above the apex of her thighs… "quivering." Shifting for better access, he whispered straight into the shell of her ear, "and you're panting."

And she was. Maria took a few slow breaths, trying to control her traitorous body.

He trailed kisses along her collarbone, to her neck. "In your thoughts… was I doing any of that?"

Even if she hadn't started out thinking about him, he certainly had her attention now. But determinedly she bit her lip. "Aren't you being quite presumptive, Captain?"

He feigned surprise, even as his fingers tangled through her hair. "Were you not? What else could have made you delirious with desire, darling?" He tugged gently on her hair, tipping her head back toward him, and she swallowed a moan in her throat. "The dancing? The opulence of the Hotel Martinez?" His lips grazed the soft spot just under her ear. "Oh, I know… you must have been thinking about that soprano's superb encore we heard during dinner, then?"

Maria had forgotten all about her, although she had been exquisite, decked in jewels with a crystal clear voice to match. She managed to ground out, "oh yes… wasn't she lovely?"

He drew his hands along her shoulders, pushing the thin straps of her gown further down her arms. "Had you wanted, that could have been you. You could have been prima donna. You could have headlined the top luxury hotels in the Cote D'Azur." His fingers traced the top of her dress.

She shivered, and closed her eyes. "I didn't want it."

"You could have been in the company of famous actors and performers, touring all over the world." He splayed both hands flat against her, one on her belly, the other on her thighs, pulling her flush against him.

She whimpered. She could feel him, his hardness against her back. "Georg," she protested hoarsely.

"Everyone would know your name." He held her like that, her body on fire, his a wall of heat behind her. She pressed back against him, and he groaned. "Maria."

She trembled. The game was over. She twisted to him. "But that's the only way I need to hear it."

With a triumphant growl, he captured her mouth with his. She moaned into the kiss, lips parting, allowing his tongue to sweep in. She felt his hand against her bottom, against her leg, finding the edge of her dress, slipping underneath. She felt the heat of his thumb along her thigh. She breathed against his mouth, "and I'd rather be here with you, somewhere along the southern tip of France, than anywhere else in the world."

His fingers found their mark. She cried out, and before she got completely lost in her senses, managed to whisper brokenly, "I already have everything I want."

And then she yielded, completely and thoroughly, to this man she loved, let him worship her, heard him fervently whisper her name. In their cocoon of darkness, starry sky overhead, he moved above her. The sea swallowed their cries, growing more unbearable, their rhythm outpacing even the wildest waves, until finally they spiraled straight into the crashing waves themselves, stars exploding around them.

They lay together under the blanket, their touch languid and limbs entwined. Maria felt her breathing slow, felt the rise and fall of his chest finally even. Sated, a little sleepy, she traced constellations in the sky – the only witnesses to their love, then, on that first trip out of Milos, and now. From a smoldering love neither could extinguish, to love lit aflame.

"Maria." She couldn't tell if he simply wanted to say her name.

"Maria," he murmured again.

"Hmm?" She curled into his side.

"You said earlier you have everything you want. Are you sure?"

She titled her head to look at him curiously. Hasn't she just shown him – shown him time and time again since their marriage – that she had given herself completely to him? "You, and the children. All I ever wanted was to have a family, to belong, to be loved. And – " she smiled, " – you love me every way I wish to be loved."

"Mmm." He laced his fingers through hers. "Perhaps I can think of something else you might want." Georg guided her hand until it came to rest across her lower belly, his hand warm over hers. "I do."

Suddenly alert, she stared at him. "You know?" She herself had only just begun to suspect.

"I was fairly sure." His voice was low and warm. "We've certainly put in the effort, haven't we?"

Feeling suddenly shy, Maria looked down, only to see both their hands protectively cradling where a tiny life might be growing.

Georg' gaze followed hers, and she felt him take a shuddering breath. But when he spoke, there was nothing but tenderness. "I wasn't sure you would know – I know this is very new for you."

"Are you happy?" She asked softly. "You've been through it all before."

Another shaky exhale. She saw his eyes, glazed with emotion, shutter closed. A breath. "More than anything, Maria." His eyes opened, his gaze finding hers. More steadily, he continued, "yes, we have seven wonderful children. But any child with you is a miracle, a testament to our love. To find it is stronger than darkness, stronger than despair, stronger than loss… I often still don't quite believe it, and when I look at you, at our family, and now our child… it's a happiness I've never known."

Maria felt warmth spreading through her at his words. He was right. This child she carried – it was the first time she said those words to herself, and she wondered if she would burst – it was not only a new life, but a new life for her, for him, for them. Against the odds, they had fought, they had prevailed, they had found each other. She turned into him, tucking her head under his chin. "How did you know?"

He chuckled. "You've been tired. You're never tired. And a few days ago you were sick when there was barely a wind." He traced her ear with his nose. "And when we're together… I can tell." His hand moved to her breasts, the top of her thighs, and back to rest against her belly, whispering exactly what he'd noticed about her that had her blushing crimson. They may well have made love yet again, were she not so darned tired.

Georg gathered her against him, stroking her tenderly. He kissed her wrists. Her shoulders. Her hips. He leaned down to kiss the spot his hand had been moments ago. Drowsily, she ran her hands through his hair.

"Little one," he whispered reverently against her skin, "hello".

A/N (2): There you have it! This chapter was a little bit cathartic - as though all the M/G fuzziness I've suppressed since I-don't-remember-when completely erupted across this finale. :P

A huge thank you to everyone who read, followed along with my plodding updates, and took time to leave reviews and encouragements to keep going along the way. Starting from Georg waking up disoriented on his yacht, and ending with Maria waking up disoriented... on his yacht (clever?), this story has been over a year in the making, spanned multiple of my favourite countries, and stretched my storytelling ability. Given the year we've had, there were moments I wanted to give up writing this, couldn't focus on what was going on, and probably would have put this story on hiatus if it wasn't for your support. I hope it was able to bring you a little bit of escapism, and a little bit of delight. xx