A/N: We're getting there slowly, I hope you enjoy this latest update! Please forgive me any historical inaccuracies.

Just a quick note - thank you to Emily for defending me (and herself) against the accusation that I self-review my own stories. It's simply not true, but I guess everyone's entitled to their opinion.

To those who've been far kinder with their words, thank you - I'm finishing this story because I hope you're still getting some enjoyment out of it.

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE LOOK

For the first time since checking in at the Bristol, Georg actually slept in the suite's four-poster bed. He awoke with the sun the next morning feeling rested and turned on the radio on the bedside table, stretching lazily across the sheets as the first of the day's light cast striped beams over the room. It was September 6, 1938 - a day he would never forget for the rest of his life. He listened to the presenter across the crackly wire as his heart turned to stone.

It was official. The Anschluss had come.

He waited for the despair to spread its poison through his veins, waited for his lungs to fill with tar. But instead, he felt only a vast emptiness - almost as though there wasn't enough of his heart left to hurt. He lay there motionless, numb. The rumours of an annexation had long since morphed into fact, becoming a case of when rather than if. Hitler had inflicted enough violence and manipulation throughout the country to enforce a union between Germany and Austria long before now. But even so, Georg had held out hope that his homeland would not fail it's people.

Hope, it seemed, had been futile in the end. His beautiful Austria, the country for which he'd fought so fiercely, the country in which he'd raised his seven children, the country for which he held the deepest patriotic love - this country was to be engulfed into the decimated cocoon of a madman's regime. He'd known it was inevitable, he'd known it would eventually happen - and yet he hadn't wanted to believe it.

Staring unseeingly into the fireplace, he found himself at a crossroads, torn between two fundamental choices. With the Anschluss came the possibility of being called upon for duty - and with that came an even more uncertain future for his broken family. Maria could very well have been right; he might be forced into their uniform after all. And he could choose to accept such a destiny, wallowing in self-pity with nothing but a half-empty bottle of cognac for comfort. Or, he could choose to take immediate action...

Within half a second he'd decided his own fate.

Scrambling from bed and dressing quickly, the sun barely having risen, he hurried downstairs and out to his car. Save for a few early risers, the roads were clear, silent, peaceful - as if it was just any other ordinary day. As if there was no imminent threat of warfare. When he finally got to the villa, all was quiet - and he was grateful that it was Frau Schmidt, rather than Franz, who opened the door for him.

"Captain!" the housekeeper greeted in surprise, clearly not expecting him at this early hour. Nevertheless she stepped aside instantly to let him in, "the children aren't yet out of bed I'm afraid.."

"Not to worry Frau Schmidt, I wouldn't want to disturb them just yet anyhow," he replied in hushed tones, stepping across the threshold and drinking in the sight of his home. Everything was exactly as he'd left it - and yet so much had changed.

"Is the baroness.. uhh.. " he cleared his throat uncomfortably, "the Fraulein .. available?"

The housekeeper regarded him curiously but her expression remained warm as she gave him a sympathetic smile, "I'll enquire after her sir."

"Thank you... " he nodded gratefully, "I'll be waiting in the study."

He turned to leave but she called after him.

"Sir?"

"Yes Frau Schmidt?"

With the pensive eyes of a mother, the woman regarded him for long seconds, "I do hope you're well," she offered meaningfully, "If you'll forgive me for saying so."

Moved by her sincerity, he gave her a wistful smile and placed an affectionate hand on her shoulder, "thank you Brigitte. Truly."

Nodding kindly, the housekeeper hurried off in the direction of the stairs while Georg made his way to the study. His sanctuary hadn't changed much either, save for a few of his papers and other belongings having been tidied away. Casting his eyes about the room wistfully, he realised he hadn't missed it one bit. It was rather cold and dark in retrospect - a place he'd spent many a lonely hour locked away from his family with nothing but blueprints to distract him. Hardly a sanctuary at all...

Moving closer to the desk, a small piece of paper suddenly caught his eye atop the rich mahogany and upon closer inspection, he realised it was a telegram. Suspicion coiling his stomach, he snatched the note up hurriedly, scanning the words with frantic eyes before Maria could catch him in the act.

Mauthausen-Gusen Linzerstraße. Meeting 09.00. 06.11.38.

The next sentence stopped his heart cold.

The Final Solution.

Surely it couldn't be...

Hands trembling, he wasted no time in jumping to action. Darting around the desk, he wrenched the phone off the hook, booming his request at rapid speed for the bewildered operator on the other end of the line. He knew John Whitehead's number off by heart - whether the man would pick up however, was another matter entirely. Time seemed to stretch past at a glacial pace, the monotonous chirp of the ringtone in his ear threatening to send him out of his mind. Eventually, to his utter relief, there was the sound of someone picking up at the other end.

"Whitehead residence?" he recognised the demure British tone instantly as belonging to the Whitehead's housekeeper.

"Charlotte, it's Captain von Trapp!" he fired in perfect English, no time for formalities, "I need to speak to Lord Whitehead, it's a matter of urgency."

"I do apologise Captain but the master isn't home," Charlotte revealed, somewhat alarmed.

Georg squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, "do you know where he might be?"

There was silence at the end of the line as the housekeeper hesitated.

"It's an emergency."

Eventually she conceded, "I believe he's out of the country sir. I'm afraid that's all I know. Should I fetch Lady White-?"

"No, no," he interrupted hastily. The last thing he wanted was to involve Agathe's mother in all of this, "I'll try again later in the week. Thank you Charlotte."

"Very well sir."

Slamming the phone down, he paced the room restlessly, his mind working at a million miles a minute. The telegram mentioned Mauthausen - a small town about an hour outside of Salzburg. It was also one of the geographical locations he'd found scrawled on the documents in Landa's suite. What the telegram was doing in Maria's possession however, remained a mystery to him. Either she was involved in Landa's Nazi plot, or it was a set of allusive instructions from John. The former possibility was too disturbing to contemplate and the latter... well the latter sent flames of fury erupting in his chest, for it would mean that his father-in-law was responsible for everything.

Frantically, he read the telegram over again.

Meeting 09.00. 06.11.38.

If there was a meeting of great significance due to take place at Mauthausen-Gusen Linzerstraße on the very same morning as the Anschluss, John would surely know about it, Georg reasoned. Was his father-in-law planning on sending Maria into the lion's den to extract information? Or was it Landa who had summoned her to Mauthausen? With no possibility of tracking down John, there was little hope of uncovering the truth. Unless of course, he chose to confront...

As though his thoughts had summoned her, Maria appeared in the doorway quite without warning - and Georg stuffed the telegram hastily into his pocket before she could catch him in the act. His wife... ex-wife - he wasn't even sure how to refer to her anymore - eyed him curiously, hesitant and poised in her demeanour, as though she thought he might pounce at any moment.

"Hello Georg."

"So it's Georg again now is it?" He replied quietly.

"When we're not in polite company, yes."

"I would hardly call him polite," he muttered, unable at that particular moment to voice Landa's name.

The rest of the breath in Maria's lungs seemed to leave her body in a sigh of defeat.

"If you came here to pick a fight with me I'm afraid I just don't have the strength-"

"You're right.. I'm sorry," he hastened to offer, not wanting to get into all that when there were more pressing matters to attend to.

She pardoned him with a brief nod, and then wasted no time in getting to the point, "you told me yesterday you have something important you wish to talk to me about?"

Eyeing her warily, he made a snap decision not to mention the plans he'd found in Landa's suite. Not yet. Instead, he chose a different subject, though one that was still just as pressing.

"I uh.. I've been making plans for what to do in the event of an annexation," he explained, fingers twitching, "And now, as I'm sure you know, the Anschluss has come."

He searched her face, looking for any indication of what she might be thinking, but she offered no reaction.

"You understand I'll be called to serve," he added gruffly, the words locking in his throat, "in a matter of weeks - a month at most. There will undoubtedly be a war.."

She said nothing, only nodding again by way of response, her eyes downcast.

"I told you before I would never fight alongside them," he reminded her, "To join them would be unthinkable. But to refuse them will be.. fatal. Not just to me, but to the children as well."

"You're going to leave," She murmured matter-of-factly. It was a statement, not a question, "leave Salzburg. Leave Austria."

"Yes," he rasped, before delivering his final blow - the thing he'd dreaded telling her the most, "And the children are coming with me."

He waited for the shock, the outrage, the horror to cloud over her face, waited for the furious protest to tear from her throat - but instead she remained quiet, staring unseeingly at the carpet. Her despondency unnerved him greatly, and he tried to fill the deafening silence with something.. anything.. that would illicit a reaction in her.

"Their safety has to come first, Maria..."

Her head snapped up at the sound of her name, as if she'd only just remembered he was there, "Yes of course," she swallowed, struggling to keep her voice even, "of course. I understand. They can't stay here. Not if you.. not when you're.."

She trailed off hopelessly and he found himself suddenly torn between wanting to comfort her and wanting to confront her. The telegram and Landa's sketches were burning a hole in his pocket, the interrogation was waiting on his lips: are you working for John? Are you working for Landa?! But for some reason his tongue remained glued to the roof of his mouth. Until he knew more, until he'd had a chance to question his father-in-law, he trusted no one - least of all this woman, whom he barely recognised. There was only one thing for it, he knew. With John missing in action, he would have to go to Mauthausen himself and see with his own eyes what the telegram meant.

"When will you leave?" Maria asked, her voice so unlike her own.

"I'm not sure," he murmured, "soon. I don't have long."

She nodded solemnly, no more words forthcoming.

"What will you do?" He eventually asked, almost dreading the answer.

"Me?" She startled, the question clearly taking her by surprise, "well, I um.. I've actually been meaning to tell you," she fiddled nervously with her skirts, "I've found a teaching position in the city. I'll be moving out in two weeks' time," she offered him a sad smile, "You can have your home back."

It ought to have been good news, he realised - but Georg felt only an empty despair. He didn't give a damn about the villa. She was staying. Of course she was.

"Congratulations," he whispered.

"Thank you..."

Silence engulfed them once again, both of them lost to their own thoughts, until eventually he broke the quietude.

"I'd like to see the children before I go back to the hotel.."

"Yes.." she trailed, her mind elsewhere, "yes, of course."

The youngest ones were still sound asleep when he made his way into the nursery, but he stroked the hair from their faces nonetheless, crouching beside their beds and murmuring words of love against their brows as Maria watched from the doorway. Kurt and Friedrich snored contentedly in their shared room, though their faces were marked with worry lines - as though even in sleep they carried the weight of the world on their shoulders. Also lost to peaceful slumbers, Brigitta and Louisa didn't stir upon his arrival - but Leisl's eyes fluttered open the second she felt his touch.

"Father?"

"Shhh," he soothed, "go back to sleep, darling."

"I don't want to," Leisl protested, pushing up onto her elbows, "not now that you're here."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug that made him want to weep. His beautiful first-born.

"Does this mean... " She pulled back and looked him in the eye, before her gaze flickered to her mother standing in the doorway, "are you coming home?"

Clearly his daughter was oblivious to her mother's new relationship - or at least, she was oblivious to the extent of the relationship. And Georg was somewhat grateful that Maria had at least had the sense to keep Landa separate from his children.

"No darling," he choked, "I'm just visiting."

"Oh," she couldn't mask her disappointment, "I suppose soon enough, it won't even be our home anymore will it," she murmured, "The Anschluss..."

"I don't want you to worry about any of that," he interrupted fiercely, "do you understand? I'll take care of you. All of you."

Leisl cast another hesitant look in Maria's direction before leaning in to hug her father again. Lips pressed to his ear conspiratorially, she whispered something that made his heart slam in a steady gallop against his ribs. Pulling back, he stared at her, utterly bewildered by her words - but her eyes blazed with determined certainty.

Before he had time to question his eldest daughter further however, the clock on the wall struck 7am and reluctantly, he rose to his feet. He'd need to leave imminently if he was going to have any chance of making it to Mauthausen in time for the meeting. Giving Leisl a final kiss goodbye, he made his way back downstairs, his daughter's whispered words ringing repeatedly in his ears.

"Mother still loves you. She cries every day..."

Mulling the startling declaration over in his mind, he hardly noticed when Maria opened the front door for him. Robotically, he made to cross the threshold - only to immediately change his mind, spinning around on the spot to face her.

"Georg?" She questioned, eyes blown wide.

Heart racing, he said nothing, simply staring at her - searching her face for any sign that Leisl might be right: sadness, guilt, desire, fear... anything. For twenty years of his career, he'd perfected the skill of extracting information from people with nought but a few words. When Maria had first barrelled into his life, she'd unknowingly worn her heart on her sleeve for him to see. Her every thought and feeling had been obvious in every fleeting glance, in every smile, in every accidental gesture - shining through like a beacon of unwavering light.

It wasn't until they'd danced the Laendler that she'd realised he could read the deepest secrets of her soul through her eyes. After that, she'd tried to veil herself - to close that window to her innermost thoughts, to hide what she felt for him - but it'd been no use. No matter how hard she'd tried, he'd been able to see every one of her truths in the deep blue of her irises. Now however, she seemed to have perfected the art of concealment, for she was looking him dead in the eye while giving nothing away.

His heart sank, ready to give up on her entirely - when suddenly he saw it. The tiniest flicker. The smallest flash of something he recognised but hardly dared to believe. He'd seen it once before - on the day that'd changed their lives forever. The day she'd been brave enough to come back. The day she'd stood at the bottom of the steps surrounded by his children, gazing up at him with that look in her eye. The look of longing.

Blood pounding through his veins, he raised his hand on impulse, brushing his fingertips along the curve of her collarbone. He felt, rather than heard her sharp intake of breath - but it wasn't enough to stop him, not when he hadn't touched her in so long that it hurt. His fingers turning hot at the feel of her satin skin, he grazed a featherlight trail from her collarbone up to her neck, and felt the erratic thundering of her pulse, watched the unmistakable shudder that gripped her body. Her eyelids threatened to flutter closed as she melted into his touch in a moment of weakness, but he took her chin in his hand and held her gaze firmly.

"This is not the life you were born to live," he rasped, his voice betraying his need, "And you are not who you pretend to be. I know it. You know it. I can see it in your eyes just as I could see it the day you came back to me," his thumb brushed the length of her lower lip, "You can say what you will, you can do what you will - but after everything we've been through my darling, your eyes will always reveal the truth to me."

With that, he let her go, putting some much-needed distance between them before he lost his mind and pulled her into his arms. Unable to bear the sight of her - chest heaving, lips parted, eyes burning with untold turmoil - he turned on his heel and stalked to the car, sending gravel flying in all directions when he sped away from her haunting image.

For the entire journey to Mauthausen, he failed to shake the encounter from his mind - and by the time he arrived in the small town he was hopelessly torn between desire, confusion, and regret at having so hastily signed the divorce papers before uncovering the truth. But with any luck, all would soon become clear - Landa's meeting would help shed some light on the events of the past month and also give Georg the means to expose the colonel for who he truly was.

It seemed however, that luck was not on his side - for the second he stepped out of his car he felt an arm, solid as an iron bar, wrap around his chest from behind while a large hand smothered his nose and mouth with a heavy cloth. He struggled and kicked against his attacker in vain - until his head began to swim, and everything eventually went black.