A/N: sorry for the delay in getting this up but work has been manic! Hopefully this ties up all those loose ends
EPILOGUE: THE LETTER
They'd married - again - in Switzerland, not long after crossing the border, much to the delight of their children. The best man however, had been more than a little disgruntled at the lack of readily available champagne, but they'd made do with the little provisions they'd had at the time. The tenuous journey that'd followed was not one he liked to dwell on too often, but they had eventually ended up in America - Stowe, to be precise - where he'd happened upon a farm for sale that, while rough around the edges, was perfect for his family.
Uncle Max had bunked with them for a couple of weeks until he'd finally found himself a small flat not far from the farm - and in truth, Georg had been glad to be rid of him. He wagered he'd had enough of the impresario's chaperoning to last him a lifetime.
After living in hotel rooms and - in some cases, in the back of disused barns, exhausted and emotionally fraught - moving into their new home had felt like being reborn again. And on that very first night in their new lodgings, he had indeed come alive, tangled in the comfort of his wife's loving arms.
And that's exactly where Georg Von Trapp found himself now, several weeks later, the rare opportunity for intimacy too urgent to ignore. The children had left a short while ago on an outing with their uncle Max, somewhere in the vast outdoors of Vermont, leaving the house free for a delectable amount of mischief. Struck by a sudden and violent need for his wife, Georg had decided that the pantry - where he'd discovered Maria busying herself with various canned goods on the shelves - was an excellent place to start.
Ambushing her from behind, he wasted no time in clamping his lips to the back of her neck and snaking his palms up her rib cage, until-
"Georg!" She startled, whirling around to face him with a witless laugh, "you scared me!"
What should've frightened her more, however - or at least would have frightened her, had she been new to the intimacies of marriage - was the raw hunger she discovered in her husband's gaze upon looking at him. Wordlessly, the smile faded from her face, replaced instead by a hot flush of anticipation. She knew that look in his eye only too well, had witnessed it many a time - beginning with the Laendler and ending in a fiercely satisfying and breathless six weeks in Paris.
During their first two years of marriage, she'd learnt that he could rob the air from her lungs with such a look, as though he was already making love to her without a single touch having passed between them. But since the whirlwind of their divorce and subsequent escape, they'd barely had any time alone together at all. In fact, she vaguely recalled, the last time he'd looked at her like that was the night he'd climbed the trellis back in Aigen, when he'd left her desperate and gasping on the drawing room floor. She'd almost forgotten the sheer power behind that half-starved gaze...
And that was her last articulate thought before he pulled her into his arms, crushing his mouth to hers in a demanding kiss that robbed her of oxygen. Her head spun, and she'd scarcely drawn breath before his tongue descended upon her jaw, her neck...
"Darling.." she gasped mindlessly, gripping at the breadth of his shoulders, "the children.."
"Out," he grunted against her thrumming pulse, the skin raw and hot and delicious beneath his teeth, "with Max."
She didn't need any further convincing. With a moan of relief her body melted instantly into his affections, wrapping around him like a vine. The encouragement apparently only fuelled his craving, because it wasn't long before his fingers were parting the material of her blouse, shoving it aside so that his mouth could find her breasts.
"Here?" She rasped, shocked at his boldness - the pantry of all places! But she was incandescent all the same, as his tongue discovered a taught nipple.
"Yes," came his rough command, his mouth full of her. He left no room for argument, "right here."
"But-" The children might be out, she reasoned, but they could be back at any moment...
"Maria," he choked urgently, pulling back to look at her - and if she hadn't known any better she might've thought he was begging, "I need to be inside you. I need it badly. And I need it now."
Even if she'd wanted to protest, the burning desire in his eyes left her speechless - and before she knew it, he had found his way under her skirts, wrenching her underwear aside and claiming the arousal beneath with his fingertips. Her lids fluttered closed in pleasure then, her head fell back at his featherlight touch, relieving the pulsing ache that had begun to blossom there. But just as she was letting herself become lost in the blissful sensation, his fingers were suddenly gone from her body, leaving her bereft - and her eyes snapped open in objection.
The impatient censure was waiting on her lips, but he shocked her into scandalised and aroused silence when he drew the very same fingertips into his mouth, curling his tongue around them with a groan of approval.
She stared at her husband in fervent awe, her cheeks flaming.
"You taste the most exquisite when you're this ready for me," he murmured darkly, his eyes holding her captive. Impatiently, he made short work of his belt buckle and buttons, "did you know that?"
She could only moan by way of response - and then he was covering her mouth with his own again, hot and wet and demanding, anchoring arms of steel beneath her and lifting her off her feet. Skirts bunching at her waist and legs winding their way instinctively around his hips, she found herself hopelessly pinned between his solid body and the stacked shelves behind her. Any reservations she might've had simply flew from her head however, when he began easing her down onto the painful evidence of his need. Their adventurous position meant that she sheathed him entirely without a moment's delay, and they shared a groan of mutual relief over the heady sensation.
A panted breath, a clash of tongues, and then a possessive hand was leaving one thigh to curl around the nape of her neck, holding her close so that he could kiss her without restraint. And then, finally, he began to move. Slow, deep, insistent nudges that sparked fire in the depths of her body and made it difficult to breathe. Her husband too was clearly affected - perhaps more so than he'd anticipated - for his mouth fell slack with pleasure at the first hint of friction, followed by the lowest of vulnerable whimpers.
"The way you grip me.." she felt him shudder violently through his own words, "...so tight!"
His voice was so low it was almost inaudible - but she heard. By God, she heard. And she knew it must be true, because he was filling every inch of her with solid flames, to the point that she didn't think she had anything left to give him. They fit together so perfectly, so effortlessly, that she could hardly believe she'd once thought of dedicating herself to a life of higher purpose, a life in which she would never have known a man's touch, a life in which her only true joy would've been song.
Ohh but she was singing now, her voice raised in a series of high, sharp cries duetted with the desperate moans of his deep baritone, backed by the steady beat of their movement against the shelves. And just as with music, she found herself lost to the whims of her body, gripped by the tempo and rhythm and melodious harmony of their love-making. It raged and flowed and churned like the eye of a storm inside her, fighting to burst forth like the notes of a song she couldn't contain.
The tumultuous energy grew louder, more insistent, more urgent - threatening to consumer her, threatening to drive her to the brink of sanity. Until finally, his tenor gave way to a feral growl and the rhythm broke as he surged wildly upward, drawing from them both a climactic crescendo worthy of the Vienna Philharmonic itself.
It was some time later that they finally came back down to earth, both visibly shaken from the intensity of their encounter, hearts thundering in synchronisation.
"I love you," he rasped, kissing her deeply - almost as though he was afraid he'd scared her. But she put his mind at ease with a conspiratorial smile, repeating the sentiment back to him.
"Come on.." she offered suddenly, taking his hand and pulling him from the pantry once they'd righted their clothing, "I'll make you some brunch."
Following her happily, he helped her around the kitchen for a while, talking of everything and nothing all at once, sharing smiles over the secret liaison they'd just encountered. Absentmindedly, he picked up the morning's post on the table and rifled through the various envelopes - until one in particular caught his eye. It was hand written, though it wasn't addressed to anyone specifically - it had only their home address on the front, etched in a heavy scrawl that he swear he recognised...
"You know," Maria giggled from somewhere behind him, oblivious to his discovery, "it feels just like our honeymoon all over again, Georg. Like no one knows we're here!"
"Well, not quite," he quipped with a chuckle, turning to face her and holding up the letter for her to see, "it looks like someone knows we're here after all."
Maria's brow knitted in a confused frown, "who's it from?"
Shrugging, Georg turned the envelope over in his hands, "in all honesty it was probably meant for the previous tenant."
"Well," she implored, "open it."
Doing as she asked, he tore the letter open and scanned its contents with intrigue. It turned out it was for him after all...
Dear G
Where I am, the hills are still alive
Though everything seems a little more still
We stay strong in the face of our foes
And fall not into hysteria
But we live in dangerous times
And to fail is our biggest phobia
Let us not wallow in grief
But hold our heads above the surface
Cowards will hide in the dark of the night
and you might hear their desperate plea
But we must tread this perilous track
Until one day we might go free
Across the world, across the Pacific
Find our courage in every stanza
For we will not be forced to cower
We'll fight like the wave of a restless see
Yours sincerely,
Your kidnapper
Georg stared at the final word of the bizarre poem suspiciously. 'Sea' was misspelt... deliberately? Or purely by coincidence? His heart began to pound as his eyes frantically scanned the note again, the ink coming into sharper focus. Your kidnapper...
"It doesn't make any sense.." Maria interrupted his reverie.
"Yes.." he whispered to himself, dumbstruck - and then louder, so she could hear, "yes, it does!"
Rushing over to her, he shoved the piece of paper into her hands excitedly and ran his index finger down the final words of each line, as though that might enlighten her somehow. But her face remained blank.
"I don't understand."
"Look closer," he instructed with a triumphant grin, "look at the final letter of each sentence. It's a message!"
Maria leaned closer, squinting at the words under his pointing fingertip. And sure enough, there it was: a vertical message hidden within the final letters of each sentence, jumping out at her from the page.
Where I am, the hills are still alive
Though everything seems a little more still
We stay strong in the face of our foes
And fall not into hysteria
But we live in dangerous times
And to fail is our biggest phobia
Let us not wallow in grief
But hold our heads above the surface
Cowards will hide in the dark of the night
and you might hear their desperate plea
But we must tread this perilous track
Until one day we might go free
Across the world, across the Pacific
Find our courage in every stanza
For we will not be forced to cower
We'll fight like the wave of a restless see
Comprehension dawned, and her hand instantly flew to her mouth.
"John!" She cried, with a joyful laugh of disbelief, "oh he's brilliant! How on earth did he know we were here!"
Georg shrugged with a baffled chuckle, "That's John for you!" he said simply, shaking his head, "he really does have connections everywhere."
"And Elsa's safe..?" Maria murmured wistfully, looking over the note again, "I can hardly believe it! Oh I'm so relieved.."
Naturally it would be years before they heard the full story from their children's maternal grandfather - but after their flight from Nonnberg, John Whitehead had staged a rescue worthy of historical legacy. On that fateful day, Georg had informed John of Elsa's arrangement with the Reverend Mother just before he and Max had fled the villa. He'd wanted to warn his father-in-law that they would be leaving Austria for good and taking the children with them. Little had he known though, that John was already keeping tabs on Elsa...
After hunting down those responsible at the Secret Service and giving them a piece of his mind, John had discovered that the Viennese socialite was in as much trouble with the British as she was with the Nazis. She'd apparently abandoned protocol when helping the Von Trapps and the Secret Service didn't take kindly to folly. Since that disturbing but undoubtedly revealing conversation, John had watched Elsa's every move. Not to catch her out, but rather, to protect her. She had, after all, kept his grandchildren safe - despite her somewhat questionable methods.
Following her every movement right up to the gates of Nonnberg Abbey with a dutiful Fischer and Müller beside him, he'd known Elsa had succeeded in her escape plans when he'd seen the caretaker's car bolting away from the convent at lightning speed. What he hadn't expected to see however, were the Nazi vehicles parked outside the abbey walls. Though they needn't have worried, because two nuns had suddenly appeared as if from nowhere, tampering with the vehicles' engines.
Chuckling to himself, he'd been about to leave, satisfied that the escape had gone according to plan - when suddenly Zeller and his men had spilled out onto the street, escorting a bound and cuffed Baroness Shraeder along with them. Alarmed, John had watched helplessly, mind ticking with options, as Elsa was shoved into the nearest car. It hadn't taken long for the soldiers to realise the vehicles were faulty - and Zeller had begun barking orders left, right and centre - until his men had scattered in various directions in order to find a solution to the issue. Only four Nazis had remained behind.
It was then that John had spotted his chance. With Müller and Fischer quick at his heels, they'd staged a vicious ambush, taking Zeller completely by surprise. They'd received a knock or two of their own in the resulting scuffle, but it'd been worth it, for they'd succeeded in retrieving a shaken Elsa from the car and getting her quickly to safety. Where she was now however, remained a mystery - even to the likes of John Whitehead. But rumour had it she'd finally treated herself to that lovely trip around the world she'd always meant to plan. As for SS colonel Hans Landa, he'd unfortunately survived his head injuries but was deemed unfit for active duty. Rendered useless in the Fuhrer's regime, he'd been cast aside, forced into menial labour in support of the war effort.
"I hope one day we see Elsa again," Maria admitted woefully, scanning the letter one more time, "John too."
"I know.." Georg murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "maybe one day when this wretched war is over, we'll see them both again. Until then," he looked around the room fondly, "I've found contentment in the life we've discovered here," he turned to his wife again then, his eyes piercing with devotion, "Nothing is more important to me than my family, Maria. Nothing."
He'd said it to her the day she'd asked for the divorce and the meaning as he repeated the words wasn't lost on her. She'd always known it to be true in the deepest recesses of her heart. Georg Von Trapp was many things - a decorated war hero, a widower, a leader, a patriot, a baron, a father, and now, a farmer - but above all else, he was her husband. Her partner. Her entire world. Europe might be in turmoil, the future might be uncertain, but in the comfort of her family's embrace she would always find her peace.
Yes, she thought gratefully, clutching the precious letter tighter. All was well.
THE END
A/N: Ta-da! Well I hope you liked the finale, and thank you ever so much for reading my story.
I'm unsure as to what I'll be writing next - but I had a little project idea I'd love your opinion on. I thought about starting a series of T and M-rated vignettes of G&M in various romantic scenarios (pre-marriage, post-marriage, honeymoon etc) all at the request of the readers. So basically, you'd tell me a particular scenario between M&G that you'd like to read about and I'd do my best to put it into words. Each chapter would be unrelated to the last, but would be written based on each of your requests.
Not sure if this has been done before so apologies if so, but would that be of interest to anyone? I always find myself wishing there were fics that covered X,Y or Z scenario and so I thought you might like it if I put the vote down to the readers? Just a thought!
Anyway, thanks again for all your kind words.