Chapter 6: Forbidden Reality

Georg walked into the house, carrying his bags in and leaving them by the door. He closed the door behind him and jiggled his keys nervously, wondering where Franz was. Then he chided himself. He should not be surprised that Franz was not waiting by the door; he had sent no advance notice of his return.

Home. He looked around, expecting it to look different somehow, but everything looked the same. Had it been only two weeks since he had left? While he had been away, time had seemed to move slowly. Now that he was back, it seemed that he had only just left.

He had spent the journey battling with himself, trying to subdue or at least balance the conflicting emotions that threatened to crush him. At some point he had given up the attempt; if he had failed to achieve such a balance over the past two weeks, he knew that another few hours were not going to make a difference. He had decided to focus on Louisa instead and hope for the best. This was her birthday; that's why he was here. He had repeated the sentence over and over in his head, using it like a mantra to try to chase away Maria's image from his mind. Not once had he succeeded.

It was the middle of the afternoon and the house was quiet. Where was everyone? Had they gone out for a birthday celebration? It seemed unlikely; it was not their tradition. They normally celebrated birthdays at home, with just the family present. He walked down the front steps and was heading for the sitting room when Franz emerged from the kitchen.

"Sir? I wasn't expecting you home today. I would have prepared for your return had I known."

"It's all right, Franz. Just take my bags upstairs, would you? And tell Frau Schmidt to have my room prepared. Where are the children? I expected them to be home celebrating Louisa's birthday."

"They're in the sitting room, sir. I believe Miss Louisa is opening her presents. Frau Schmidt is to bring in the cake in another fifteen minutes."

"Thank you, Franz. I'll join them there." He returned to his bags to pull out a present wrapped in green paper, tied with a white bow. He paused before making his way to join the celebration.

"Franz, is Fraulein Maria with the children?"

"Yes, sir."

Of course she would be with the children; where else would she be? He did not know what had made him ask the question. Perhaps it was a way to prepare himself before seeing her. Or maybe he had finally gone mad. If he had, it would almost be a relief.

'It's Louisa's birthday; that's why I'm here,' he repeated over and over in his head as he walked to the sitting room. It still didn't work. He opened the door to the room and stepped inside.

The excited voices and laughter stopped abruptly and every head turned toward him. He made a herculean effort to focus and searched for Louisa, spotting her at once when she stood up from the sofa. She set aside the cornflower blue dress she'd been holding and walked over to him, looking surprised to see him. When she was a few steps away, she hesitated.

Had he really become so unapproachable to his own children? As much as he regretted that he had, he was filled with determination to change the fact. He held a hand out to his daughter. She responded to the invitation and rushed to embrace him, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Happy birthday, Louisa."

"I…I thought you might have forgotten." He could hear the tears in her voice. It broke his heart that she thought him capable of forgetting her birthday, as if she had expected him to forget her.

"How could I have forgotten?" he asked, his own voice strained with emotion. "The day you were born was one of the happiest of my life." He lifted her head up, looking into her tear-stained face. He squeezed her nose gently, wiped the tears from under her eyes, and smiled at her. "My sweet Louisa."

Her smile eased the pain in his heart. He handed her his handkerchief so that she could finish wiping her tears. He looked up then; everyone was watching them. He was drawn instantly to pair of blue eyes that were looking at him with more warmth than he had ever seen in them. Maria. He tried to quench the joy he felt at seeing her, but it was impossible. Maria.

He might have stood there for the rest of the day, content just to look at her, but Louisa had other ideas. She pulled him into the room and sat him down next to her. He greeted the other children, most of whom were sitting on the floor. He kissed Gretl, who had run over to hug him. Although he did not look at Maria, he was aware of her and watched out of the corner of his eye as she settled herself in an armchair across from him.

"I've already opened all of my presents, Father. But Frau Schmidt should be bringing in the cake soon. It's a triple chocolate cake, our favorite!" Louisa shared his sweet tooth.

"Well, you haven't opened my present, Louisa. You didn't think I had shown up empty handed, did you?" He handed her the box he was holding.

Louisa opened it with abandon, tearing the paper. He almost rolled his eyes at her undisciplined eagerness but forgave it instantly. He was almost as eager to see her reaction to the gift he had chosen for her. He had spent hours the day before searching for the perfect present, exhausting all of his connections, and he had finally found it – a pair of toe shoes autographed by Anna Pavlova. Louisa idolized the ballerina who had died just a few years earlier.

"Oh, Father…" Louisa's eyes were huge, and it seemed that she was incapable of saying anything further. She threw herself into her father's arms, still clutching the shoes. "Thank you."

Georg was saved from having to speak past the sudden thickness in his throat when Frau Schmidt arrived with the cake, capturing the children's attention.

He knew Maria was still seated in the armchair. Her presence pulled at him. He tried not to, but now that the attention was no longer on him, he could not help looking at her. His breath caught when he saw that her eyes were already on him, watching him with that same intensely warm expression. Was that warmth really for him? He hardly dared to think so, but when she dropped her gaze, a pale flush infusing her cheeks, he could almost believe that it was so.

Suddenly everything seemed so perfect. For that moment he could almost let himself believe that they were a family in reality, that she was his wife and these were their children, that this was their home. He knew he would pay a price later in the loss he would feel, but he didn't care. For now, he chose to believe that the fantasy was reality.

Maria got up to help Frau Schmidt hand out slices of cake. He watched her, all of his senses on alert, hoping to see another sign from her, but she did not look in his direction. Finally, though, she was standing in front of him, handing him a piece of cake. His eyes never left her face, but still she did not look at him. He reached for the cake.

"Captain, what's happened to your hands?" Maria exclaimed, her voice filled with concern. The wounds. He had forgotten again about the wounds in his palms.

She had used almost exactly the same words that Elsa had two days earlier, but coming from her, they sounded completely different. He could feel her concern wrap around him like a favorite blanket.

Maria put the cake down and took his hand in hers. He watched helplessly as she gently probed the skin around one of the wounds that had become inflamed. He could care less about the wound; he was too preoccupied with the fact that she had touched him for the first time of her own will, even if it was because of a wound.

For a wild moment, he let himself pretend that she was touching him for other reasons, and that she wouldn't stop. They would finish celebrating with the children, and later they would have their own private celebration behind closed doors. She would examine his body carefully for non-existent wounds, kissing them better. And he would lick her non-existent wounds until she begged for more.

"This needs to be attended to immediately, Captain. It looks like the beginning of an infection. There's a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in the bathroom. I can attend to the wound if you'll come with me."

She looked at him, a question in her eyes. He looked away, knowing that the only answer she would see in his eyes was a look of unadulterated lust. He must not have looked away quickly enough, though, because he felt her hand stiffen around his before she released it, almost tearing her hand away from his.

The rush of bitter disappointment stole away the brief hope he had allowed himself to feel, shattering the fantasy. The weeks away from her had made him realize why she affected him so powerfully, why he could not control his reactions to her, why he kept imagining a life with her. He was in love with her. But even though he knew she was attracted to him, she had never shown signs that she might love him in return. For a brief, delirious moment he had thought the warmth and concern she had shown him that afternoon might be a sign of more. But no matter how much he might wish for it, he could not transform warmth and concern into something more than it was. He had let himself pretend long enough.

"Yes, of course. Children, will you excuse us for a moment? We shall return shortly." He stood and Maria led the way out of the room quickly, not looking back to see if he was following. He had to rush to keep up with her.

They walked in an uncomfortable silence. He kicked himself mentally, cursed himself for his stupidity. His idiotic fantasizing had probably ruined any chance for normalcy, but he felt compelled to try to make up for his recklessness. She deserved better. She deserved peace of mind at the very least. He did his best to clear his head.

"I don't remember there being hydrogen peroxide in the bathroom."

Maria glanced anxiously at him before replying.

"The children always seem to be scraping knees and elbows. I asked Frau Schmidt to stock all of the bathrooms with first aid supplies. I prefer to have easier access to the supplies in case they're needed. I hope you don't mind." She seemed uneasy about his reaction.

"No, not at all. I think it's a sound idea. Very practical." He was inordinately pleased at what she had done. It made it seem like she was gradually taking charge of the house. But he dampened the emotion when he realized he was once again interpreting her actions to fit his desired version of reality. He warned himself to reign in his thoughts.

"How have the children been? They seem well."

"Yes, they've been well." Maria visibly relaxed. She was always more at ease when discussing the children. "Brigitta lost a molar. She wiggled it for two days before she finally lost her patience and ripped it out."

Georg smiled at that. Brigitta had never been fearful of pulling out her teeth. She often offered to do the same for the younger girls and for Kurt, but they always refused her.

"The children have continued studying in the mornings, and we've spent most of our afternoons exploring the city, playing in the parks and on the mountain."

"Still wearing the drapes?"

Maria laughed. He was immensely delighted to have caused it.

"Yes, still wearing the drapes. They make excellent play clothes."

"And Marta, has she had any more nightmares?"

"Thankfully, no. She's slept peacefully since…since that night." Almost instantly, Maria seemed to withdraw into herself again, obviously recalling what had happened outside her door that night.

Georg was frustrated with himself. It seemed there was no way to avoid one landmine or another in any conversation with her, no matter how hard he tried. Every topic seemed to raise a memory that she apparently regretted and wanted to forget. He had tried unsuccessfully to forget those memories too, but he only regretted how those moments may have caused her anxiety. He could no longer bring himself to regret how she made him feel, even if nothing could ever come of it.

They were standing outside of the bathroom, had in fact been standing there for some time without either one registering the fact that they had arrived, until Maria finally seemed to come to herself.

"If you'll wait here, Captain, I'll get the hydrogen peroxide and a bandage." She spent only a few moments gathering the supplies and quickly emerged from the bathroom. She put them down on a table just outside the bathroom.

"Your hand, Captain." She seemed clinical, almost cold in her manner as she tended the wound, moving quickly. The peroxide stung and he winced. She must have noticed; she looked at him, an apology in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but it won't take much longer. I'll try to be gentler."

Her expression was so sincere, so open. It made him want to gather her up in his arms. But he reminded himself that she was just being kind, as she was with everyone. Still, he was drawn to the empathy he felt from her. He had no defense against it.

"No one could be gentler or more capable than you. Don't worry about me. I couldn't be in better hands." The words spilled out of him before he had thought them through. He should not have said them; there was too much truth in them.

"I…" Maria seemed undecided as to how to respond. The words seemed to mean something to her as well. She looked confused, almost vulnerable. "I would never hurt you, not if I can help it." Her cheeks flushed and she lowered her eyes. She went back to treating the wound.

He was afraid to move, even to breathe. After having just convinced himself that she did not feel as he did, he was afraid of doing anything that might sever the gossamer strand he now felt connecting them, of doing anything that might jeopardize the tenuous possibility that she might feel more than warmth and concern.

She no longer seemed clinical or cold. Her touch was light, slow and tender. Even the way she supported his hand felt warmer. He could almost believe that she cared for him. He was probably reading too much into her touch, into her words, but the way she had looked at him…

What if it was real? Why couldn't the fantasy be a reality?

He was in danger and he knew it. He should just back away from her now and finish treating the wound himself. He could feel the attraction pulling at him, even more powerfully than before because he felt so much more, wanted so much more with her.

It would be madness to keep falling into the same quagmire over and over again. It would be madness to give in to his feelings and reach out to her again when he had no right, when it only seemed to distress her. But he was tired of dreaming and pretending, and there she was standing in front of him, feeling something for him. He didn't know what she felt, but it was something.

She stood close enough for him to breathe in the scent of her hair. He remembered how soft it felt. He wanted to run his hands through it, tilt her head back, bring her face to his. He wanted it all to be real.

She finished treating the wound and bandaged it. Did her hand linger on his after she secured the bandage or was he just imagining it? He really feared he was going insane. He had to back away.

"It should be fine now," she said, keeping her head down. "Just remember to keep it clean and to change the bandage once a day, more often if it gets wet."

She let go of his hand and took a step back from him, and he knew the time had come to stop this insanity. He had to walk away, in every way.

He could not do it. He took a step toward her, unable to endure even the slight separation between them, incapable of breaking the connection he felt. He could not let her go. She looked up, startled.

"Captain, what are you…"

"I've missed you." He had not known that he would say those words until they came out of his mouth. But he could not have stopped them if he'd tried.

Maria looked stunned, as though she had not expected to hear what he had said.

"Captain…"

He touched his fingers to her mouth, stopping her words. He stared at her lips and thought of the many times he had already kissed them in his dreams. He wanted to know them now in reality, but not yet, not yet. He had more to say first, more to savor.

He combed his fingers through her hair, luxuriating in its softness, tucking it behind her ear. Her lashes fluttered and she went utterly still, as if she was holding her breath. He held her with his eyes.

"Every moment of every day, I've missed you." He could not hold back the words. They came out in a rasp; they felt coarse on his tongue. The words refused to remain unspoken. And his hands refused to remain still.

He drew his fingers lightly down the side of her neck and felt her pulse racing. His own pulse jumped, more than matching hers. He stroked the side of her neck until he felt her shiver. Her eyes were darkening, heating up. The mounting passion he saw in them made his heart skip a beat before it resumed slamming against his chest.

It was the same as it always was with her, like a furnace igniting in him, an explosion of heat, flames flickering all over his skin until they burned inside him and reached for her.

Why couldn't it all be real? Why not? He wanted it so badly, wanted her so badly he could taste it.

"I thought of you every day and dreamed of you every night." His voice was hoarse, the flames drying out his throat and leaving him parched for her. When she closed her eyes and gripped the table, her knuckles white, he felt the flames burn hotter.

He brushed the hair from her forehead and leaned down to drag his lips across it, all the while stroking her neck, his fingers following her collarbone down to the hollow of her throat. He kissed her temple, her cheek. When he kissed her behind her ear, he opened his mouth to taste her for the first time. The sound of her moan nearly undid him. He could feel the hot breath from her mouth on his neck. His own breath was labored, loud in his own ears. The flames were rising, threatening to consume him.

He stepped closer to her and let his hands feel their way around her shoulders and slowly down her spine, wanting to discover every intimate curve of her back. Each sound she uttered, the way she arched toward him as his hands moved toward her lower back stoked the fire even more and he was lost, unable to think anymore, just filled with want and need and insatiable hunger.

She was trembling now and all he wanted was to feel her trembling against his body. He started pulling her toward him, closer, closer, when suddenly through the haze of passion he felt her hands on his chest, pushing against him.

"Don't." She said it so softly it was barely audible, but to him it was like a scream. He stopped pulling her toward him and dropped his arms. He felt dazed, mangled, ripped apart.

He looked into her eyes and saw desire. And he saw agony.

"I can't do this." She moved out of his embrace and backed away from him, shaking her head. "I can't do this." She fled upstairs.

* * * * *

Where are you going?

She fades, slips from his fingers.

So cold, cold as ice.

His hands are empty.

She's gone.

* * * * *

A/N: I know it looks bad right now, but trust me, it will all work out in the end!

Is there anyone who doesn't know by now that I love reviews? :)