A/N: Thank you for your reviews and sweet messages asking about an update. Partly I forgot to take into account that I was going to be away on vacation last week. Also, I was way too ambitious with my plans for this next chapter, or maybe I just need an editor to curb my wordiness, but what was supposed to be a short journey has become quite a long and steamy one. So I will be publishing three or four (!) shorter updates in this part of the saga. Stick with me, because I WILL finish this story, and I hope you don't find M&G's next ten days too boring! Remember this is your review holiday, so please keep reading even if you can't review. I don't own TSOM, it's all for love.

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Chapter 17: TEN DAYS, Part One

They were in the forest for ten days.

When, exactly, did it happen? It was impossible to know.

There was no single moment of truth. It happened gradually, the way spring changes to summer, or day turns to night, or a boy becomes a man. It happened imperceptibly, in the blink of an eye, a single breath, the beat of a heart.

ONE

On that first night, they crept down the beach, moving away from the hotel until the town was behind them and they could avoid being seen crossing the road. Standing at the bottom of the sea cliffs that hung over the coast, Georg thought back to yesterday's precarious and winding descent in Leo's cart. Now they would have to make the return upward climb more directly, and on foot.

"Ready, Fraulein?"

"Ready, Captain."

Overhead, a thin sliver of moon did little to light the way. Nor was there any path, so he picked his way carefully up the steep slope, peering into the shadows for firmly rooted saplings to pull himself upward on, or jutting rocks to cling to. At first, he could hear her behind him, her shoes skittering on rocks and roots, but after a few minutes, he was dragging air into his chest in deep, noisy gasps, and his heart pounded so loudly in his ears that he had to look over his shoulder to be certain she was still there.

It was slow going, a grueling hour's climb. There was nowhere the terrain leveled out enough to allow for a rest, and he began to worry about his companion. But every time he looked back, she was right there, matching him step for step, until they reached the top at last and collapsed, coiled together, gulping great lungfuls of air.

Suddenly and self-consciously aware of the way they lay, in the casual embrace of long-standing lovers, Georg scrambled to his feet and busied himself stripping off his jacket and wiping the sweat from his face. She remained silent, and when he glanced in her direction, it was impossible to tell what was going on beneath her golden curls, which were about all he could make out in the darkness.

Now that they had successfully made their initial escape, he had a moment to bask in simple gratitude that Maria had come back to him, but relief was very quickly overcome by an urgent craving for more: after one night together, he'd gotten just enough of her to sharpen the edge of his desire, and nowhere near enough to satisfy it. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her arms, blot out every sound but her voice, sink into her consoling warmth and forget the ordeal that lay ahead for them.

But in repayment for her return, he owed Maria something more than that. After the dressing-down she'd given him before they fled the hotel, it was plain that she was furious at him, hurt, humiliated and skittish about further contact. So, on top of the challenges posed by their escape over the next few days, he was going to have to sort out what had brought them to this impasse, and why he was apparently unable to accept what she wanted to give him.

In the meanwhile, he couldn't bear the idea of causing her further heartache. No matter how difficult it might be, Georg promised himself that from this point forward, he would keep his hands off her, striving to maintain a sort of neutral zone between them.

"We'll rest here until daybreak," he told her. "In the morning, I'll be able to show you our route on the map, and you'll see that for the first couple of days, we've got to follow the coast. So no lanterns, and no fires. Too easy to spot us from down there. When we come upon some old railroad tracks, we'll turn inland, and the terrain will level out too. Things will get easier then."

In the darkness, he felt, more than saw, her quiet nod of assent. Georg felt an uncharacteristic need to fill the air between them with conversation.

"Ehrm – Fraulein Maria. About the climb up here. You were remarkable. I really am very much impressed."

"Thank you," she said quietly, but it wasn't hard to imagine what she was probably thinking.

"And another thing, Fraulein. There's something I want you to know. You don't have to worry about – I mean, I'm not going to try to – ehrm-"

"Tup me?"

"What?"

"Swive me? Fu-"

In a panic, he reached out and tried to clap a hand over her mouth, although it landed in her soft hair instead. He snatched his hand back as though he'd been burned.

"Where did you learn to talk like that? Nonnberg Abbey?"

"I learned those words from you. In the cave. They're other words for-"

"I know what those words mean."

"Well, what do you want me to call it? You didn't like when I called it lovemak-."

"You don't need to call it anything, because we're not going to be doing it."

"Right."

Georg strained to hear a tone behind that single syllable. Relief? Disappointment?

"I apologize, Fraulein. For having lost my temper in the cave. You had a perfectly good word for it. I just – I didn't think of the other women in my life that way."

He winced, waiting for the question – do you think of me that way? But she was silent. He waited for you promised to tell me about them. But all she did was yawn audibly.

"Let's get some rest, Fraulein. Here, you take the bedroll."

"I'll be all right, Captain. I've got this jacket, you know."

"Take the bedroll," he said. "You'll need your strength for tomorrow."

The climb had been exhausting for Maria, a strain on muscles already sore in new places from her night in his bed. But despite that, and his admonition, she stayed awake for a while, sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, staring up into the night sky. No matter how long she turned their last confusing exchange over in her mind, she could make no sense of the Captain's newly reserved demeanor.

Having thrown in her lot with him, and having resolved to love him in the only way he knew, it was more than a little disconcerting to learn that they would no longer be lovers. Could it be that, after just one night together, he was already tired of her? After all, she hadn't had any clue about what was expected of her in bed, while the other women he'd been with must have known all sorts of secret methods and techniques she couldn't even imagine.

But then Maria remembered his kiss, urgent and claiming.

She searched the shadows until her eyes could make out his solid, reassuring bulk stretched out nearby. Surely, she told herself, the sun would come out tomorrow. It always did.

When, exactly, did it happen? It was impossible to know.

TWO

They were up at sunrise, sharing bread, sausage, and an apple from the knapsack before setting out. Always keeping the shoreline below in sight, they slogged their way through the forest for hours, pushing thickly curtained vines aside, climbing over boulders and fallen trees. They spoke very little, stopping only so Georg could check the map, or to drink deeply when they came upon any kind of creek or spring.

At day's end, when the light waned and the forest colors faded into darkness, they set up camp and shared another simple meal. They hadn't spoken more than a few sentences all day, yet the air between them seemed peaceful and untroubled, his companion's demeanor more pensive and resolved than anything else. He made her take the bedroll again, but accepted in trade her golden jacket as a pillow for his head.

Through the lacy canopy of bare trees overhead, it was just barely possible to glimpse the slivered moon and a handful of stars. The night chill needled its way under his jacket. Georg thought longingly of warming himself against her skin, soft and rosy. As his thoughts began to wander in an unseemly direction, he cast about for a distraction.

"Fraulein Maria?"

"Hm?"

"I was thinking, and I was wondering. Why you entered Nonnberg Abbey in the first place. Why did you? Just knowing you for a few months, it seems so unlikely."

Her voice floated back to him in the darkness.

"Oh! Well. I did want to serve God, you know. And like I told you, my aunt and uncle put me off marriage. They argued all the time, and they didn't seem to love each other. And of course, I had no idea about – ehrm – about what the rest of it was like."

He could practically hear her blush.

"And anyway, I suppose I wanted to be part of something bigger. Something important. I still want to serve God," she said wistfully, "but I just don't seem to know what's expected of me. At Nonnberg, they tell you knew exactly what to do, when to pray, what to wear, even what to think about!"

Georg burst out laughing.

"You ought to have joined the Navy! A chance to be part of something bigger than you are, and enough rules for anyone."

She laughed along with him, but then her voice grew serious.

"It's easy for you. You are always the same, everywhere you go. Salzburg Captain, forest Captain, even when you are in the middle of – ehrm – well, no matter where you are, or what you're doing, you know who you are and what you ought to say or do. While I don't seem to be able to stop saying whatever I think or feel. And lately, some of the things I've done, well-"

Georg nearly choked on his guilt and shame.

"I should never have taken advantage of you that way. It was my fault, my responsibility, as a man, and one of mature years."

"But I'm not ashamed of it. What I did. What we did. Are – are you?"

"No!" he said sharply. "I could never be ashamed of anything about you. And remember what I promised. No matter what happens because I – ehrm – well, I won't abandon you."

"See? That's just the kind of thing you would do, being such an honorable man and all. While I behaved as no honorable girl ever would, and what's more, I'm not even sure that I regret it."

Something flickered deep inside, a spark that Georg resolutely chose to ignore.

"What I did was hardly honorable," he muttered.

"Tell me, Captain. Did you," and now there was a smile in her voice, "did you really think I was the kind of girl who wanted to drink champagne in jazz clubs?"

"Maybe you don't think of yourself that way," he told her, "but I do."

There was a long silence, broken by Maria's heartfelt sigh.

"Who knows? All I ever wanted was to be one of the sisters, to be a part of their world, and now it's like it never even existed. I've left Nonnberg behind. I've left Austria behind. And with everything else that's happened – I feel like my whole life has been swept away, leaving nothing I recognize. Not even myself. I just don't understand who I am anymore, and I don't know – oh, it's hard to explain."

"Oh, but I know exactly what you mean," he said, surprising himself with the way the words tumbled eagerly from his mouth. "In Sicily, years ago, I saw a – a tidal wave, I think you'd call it, but it's really got a Japanese name, a tsunami. It's a wall of water, many stories high, that builds up at sea and when it hits land, it simply wipes away everything around it. I was up in the mountains watching when it hit. The devastation – I never again heard or saw anything like it."

"Not even at war?"

"No. When you're in battle, you see, there's the sense that you have some control over your fate. The power to change the outcome. A responsibility to your country and your men to try, at least. The tidal wave, it was – to watch it, yet be unable to do anything about it-"

"I suppose that when you are used to being in charge of everything, you feel responsible for everything, too," she mused. "It must be hard to be the sort of person who thinks he should be able to keep everyone and everything around him safe."

"Y-yes," Georg hesitated. "I suppose that's true. Look – how old are you, anyway?"

"I'm twenty-three. Why?"

"I'm forty-six," he said heavily. "Twice your age. You know, you're awfully young to be so wise."

"I was quite young when I was orphaned, Captain. Still at the age where someone ought to have been taking care of me. So I know the feeling. You wake up one morning, and all around you, people have patched things up so they look the same, and the world goes on from there but-"

"It is not ever the same, is it?" He felt his voice thicken with emotion. "And the worst of it? Is when you realize you've accepted it. That the world you knew has disappeared, and yet you are at peace."

They had been talking of the tsunami, but somehow, they weren't anymore.

Georg had dreamed of the tsunami frequently at first, but then the war had crowded out the horrific memory with its own nightmares. That horrible day in Sicily had resurfaced in his dreams just after Agathe's death, when its images of total devastation were apt, but then the memories had faded again, until the evening he had lured the little governess into his cave.

For hours after Maria ran from him that night, he could think of nothing but the tsunami. It was at that moment that he had had his first inkling that, after many false starts, the escape from Austria in the company of the little governess had carried him away from the past and toward a very different future. Confronting this hard reality had simply been too much for him to bear. He pictured himself clinging fruitlessly to Agathe, being torn from her arms and swept into a tidal wave that had deposited him on a distant and unfamiliar shore.

When he'd stumbled out of the cave, and into the sunlight, he'd immediately sought Maria out, but, understandably frightened and humiliated, she'd turned her back on his initial apology. John Whitehead's urgent summons further delayed matters. After the children were safely dispatched, he'd intended to lay it all out for Maria before asking her to lie with him, but then he'd taken the coward's way out, thinking she'd be more inclined toward sympathy once their intimacy was established. Afterward, he had promised himself he wouldn't take her to Paris without clarifying things, but then Leo's visit had intervened, and her escapade in the train station, and the Germans on his tail– he cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, Maria. Fraulein. We were speaking of your life after Nonnberg, and I turned the conversation toward myself."

"It's all right. Can I ask you a question, Captain?"

"Hm?"

"What was she like?"

Georg squirmed uncomfortably at the question, but he could hardly pretend he missed her meaning.

"Agathe? Well," he cleared his throat, "she was a little bit of a thing, and very delicate. Dainty. And very kind, a much kinder and patient person than I deserved. She loved music, although her tastes ran more to the romantic than mine. Agathe - she wasn't complicated, not really. She loved having babies, and running the household, and taking care of me, and that was it. She was always busy – whenever I picture her, it's with a baby in her lap and a bit of knitting in her hands. She loved to knit."

He fell silent, while Maria tried very hard not to draw comparisons, but did so anyway. I am kind!, she thought to herself. Although I am anything but patient. Or delicate or dainty. And I don't think I could run such a grand household. Although perhaps I could, if I tried. I like music! I don't knit. But I can make my own clothes!

And then, what am I thinking?

"Maria," his voice was gentle. "I do not want to replace her. Just to learn how to live without her. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"I think so, yes, Captain."

"Then good night, Fraulein."

When, exactly, did it happen? It was impossible to know.

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