aid and abet (verb, idiom): to assist another in the commission of a crime by performing some overt act or by giving advice and encouragement


Time stood still once again. Man and woman stared at each other, thousands upon thousands of realizations swarming between them, their tenuous foundation of civility and fraternity seeming to crumble to dust in that very instant.

"I… what…can't believe—" he blustered, furiously working his mouth and trying to find words. "I—I've never had a suicidal governess to run after, before!" the Captain finally roared.

At this declaration, Maria burst out laughing, gripped with the insanity of it all. "Suicidal?" she choked out. "Dear Captain, if you want to continue to claim to read me well, you would know that I spend many evenings sitting on the banks of the Salzach, and never with the intent to cause myself harm. I simply like to hear the sound of water, like the smell, and love the view. It helps me think."

"Then what in the bloody hell is so important that you had to take flight in secret, simply to think?"

Drawing a deep breath, Maria glared at him and stood taller, squaring her shoulders. "I can't say."

"I think you can, and just won't," Georg said savagely. "You're a coward, and like a coward, you run away instead of facing your problems!"

Affronted, Maria raised an accusatory finger to the man in front of her and cried, "How dare you! You're the worst of them all! You abandoned your children when they were left without a mother! You shut them out and all but lived in Vienna!"

"Grief makes you mad!" Georg shouted back, stepping closer. "When you love someone so deeply that they're your beginning and your end, and then they're gone, never to return, it makes you mad! You do unthinkable things! Unforgivable things!"

He was breathing hard following this tirade, practically heaving, and could not seem to be able to figure out what to do with himself. Maria stared at him as he drew ragged breaths, studying his shaking hands and tense, knotted shoulders, the straining muscles in his neck obvious…and then, his face. Those piercing blue eyes.

She had seen them when she looked at the cabbie and her heart had stopped, though it was just a vision and far from real. But if what she had felt then had caused her fear and longing, it was nothing to what she felt now, with him right in front of her, Brigitta's words echoing in her head: her face flushed, her limbs turned to jelly, and her stomach dropped. There was a glint in those eyes, something she had seen before, something she recognized. Something she wanted. He stilled just as she came to this realization, and he was now gazing straight into her eyes, a questioning expression slowly forming across his face.

Maria could feel the panic rising in her chest. He had seen it. He had seen her plain desire, and now, there was no escape.

Dazed, the world moving in slow motion, she tried to back away, but her feet did not seem to want to move, and then suddenly, his arms were around her and he was crushing her to himself, kissing her as though his very life depended on it, and in that moment when his lips met hers, Maria found that she was kissing him back.

If his touch mere hours ago had caused shivers to rush through her body and herself to falter in confusion as he led her into the Ländler, it was nothing to the fire lit now, sustaining her and crippling her all at once. Oh, if this could only last forever—

"No!" she spat, breaking away with a shove. "No! No. I'm not that kind of woman. I won't be that kind of woman, Captain, and I could never be the one you need."

The Captain was staring at her, now, agog, shaking his head slowly. "What are you so afraid of?" He gestured to himself. "Is it me?"

To her horror, Maria could feel tears welling in her eyes, and try as she might, she couldn't stop them from falling, so as she stood across from this man, this man that made her finally understand what passion meant, she dashed away the tears and felt her heart break in half. "No, no, it's not. It never could be you. I'm the fool, it's like he said. I'm a fool in love."

Cocking his head to one side, Georg asked, "What's that?"

"It's nothing important," Maria mumbled. "Just something that cabbie said to me while I was muttering to myself. Something about Shakespeare."

"No," Georg shook his head. "Not that. The other thing. What you said. About being a fool in love. Is it… someone else?"

"Oh, that," Maria said. She could feel her chin quivering, and she did not think that there was a way this could possibly get any more embarrassing than it already was. She met his gaze, and that glint, that hunger, had gone, to be replaced by—could it be? Could it truly be triumph she saw in those eyes?

"Maria…" he trailed, reaching out to the scared young woman.

Releasing a gasp, shoulders shuddering as she did so, she said, "It's no use, don't you see? You'll marry the Baroness, who will be perfect for you, the children will have a mother again, and I…"

"You… what?"

"I don't know," she said hollowly, shaking. "I belong neither here nor there."

"Come back with me, Maria," the Captain coaxed. "Please, we can talk about this."

"I don't want to talk about it," Maria said. "There's nothing to talk about."

Georg bit back the urge to swear again. Hadn't she understood the kiss? What it had cost him, what control she had caused him to relinquish in order to give it? The agony of believing she was gone for good, lost to them? How much richer she made his life, just by being there? Then, he would just have to say it. The realization that had come to him when she froze time with that simple statement: You called me Maria.

"I won't let you go, not that easily," he said firmly. "I love you, Maria."

She gazed at him dolefully, and simply shook her head. "You only think you do."

"If you believe that, truly believe it, then why are you still standing here?"

Why? Because she was finished being the one to stand on the outside looking in. She was finished making herself believe she could have things that were never hers to have. She was finished chasing foolishness. It was time to find herself something that wasn't absurd, something that wasn't a dream, something that wasn't a nightmare. Something ordinary.

"I wanted one last glance through the looking glass," she said. "One last chance to behold the fairytale. I see now it was a mistake."

"Grant me this," Georg said forcefully. "Just this one thing: why do you not believe my words?"

"I told you, I can't—"

"Then I tell you again, you're a coward," he cut over her coldly. "The woman I know could not bear to live with the bitter disdain of the children she had come to love, of the motherless children who had come to love her, because she abandoned them."

"Why do you say such cruel things?" Maria questioned, fists balling unconsciously at her side. "Why? You have no right! I am not your wife, I am not yours, and I don't belong to you," she spat.

"Because as surely as you love my children, I speak the truth in love to you now. And, what's more—you're miserable, and somebody ought to show you why!"

"You presume to know me yet again, and yet again… you are wrong."

"No," Georg said, his voice dangerously low. "I don't think I am. But, I forget myself. I did not come here to interrogate my governess as to her miscreant behaviour, but rather to compliment and help her in her endeavours to flee to Paris. Do you know French? You really should, if you're to live there. I could teach you."

Startled by his casual shift back to light and helpful curiosity, Maria's voice shook as she said, "Why should I trust you? Nobody from your world expects to give anything without receiving something in return."

"We could work out a deal," he shrugged. Tilted his head carelessly, as if to indicate just how secondary this was to the primary priority: helping Maria.

Maria looked him up and down, considered his words. Remembered the kiss. And what's more, the dance. She did not think she could bear to be so close to a man who said he claimed to love her and yet was able to turn that aside so cavalierly, as if it was a joke. She began to shake again, wracked with the sorrow and injustice of it all.

"Why did you kiss me?" she demanded. "What honorable aristocrat and military hero follows his governess into the night and when he finds her, kisses her, as though she is something to claim, a dirty secret to keep? Why not kiss me there on the terrace, in front of the children, in front of your guests? In front of your intended?"

"Last I was aware, aside from being wholly unattached from anyone," Georg said coolly, "my governess wasn't behaving so damned peculiarly. When I learned that she was, I realized some things."

He was close to her. No more than two feet separated them, and her skin was practically humming with desire. Desire for him to touch her, desire for him to hold her, desire for him to take her in his arms and dance with her, and yes, even to kiss her. Could he feel it, too? Could he feel the hum of desire from her, did he also feel it in the core of his very soul, just as she did? It was unearthly, unyielding, crushing.

And then he stepped up to her again and took her in his embrace, and was once more kissing her, and she was responding, arms drawing around him, toes pushing up so that she could meet his height more fully, lips parting as their tongues met and they breathed, her heart pounding in her ears at an echoing, steady beat. He was so steady, so firm, so strong. So devilishly attractive, so infuriatingly righteous, so incredibly… real.

Maria opened her eyes.

"You love me," she whispered, a hand trailing up his chest so that her fingers could wonderingly trace at his lips, his face, his skin. "You're real." She framed his face with both hands, and pulled him lower to kiss him chastely on the lips. She withdrew slowly, as though she was using the time she gave herself to memorize every little thing about this moment so that she could keep it always.

"I do, and I am," Georg breathed, gathering her hands into his and kissing her knuckles.

It could be lovely, she knew. An entire future sprawled out before her, filled with laughter and passion and things far greater than stolen kisses and emotion-laden declarations. He would treat her well, he would treasure her... and she would treasure him.

"I told you, already, Captain… I'm a fool in love, but I'm not that kind of woman. I could never—"

"Kiss me," Georg cut in. "Go on. Once more, with feeling, Maria. Really kiss me, and then tell me you don't love me and I will go away from you and it will be as if this never happened."

"But it did happen," she countered. "But it did."

"Kiss me," he said firmly.

The thoughts, the arguments, everything that could ever be said to the contrary, ceased their mad swirling inside Maria's head, and once more, she was aware of the silence of the night. Of the water falling from the fountain behind them. Of them, breathing.

Her gaze flitted across his face, and came to rest on his lips. She bit down on her own, torn with indecision. He hadn't offered to correct anything she'd said thus far, and she wasn't fool enough to think that he would actually marry her. Then, he would be the fool. If this is what it would take to turn him away, no matter what the cost to herself, then she would grant it.

Dropping her shoulders, she breathed out slowly, steadying herself, relaxing. Never removing her eyes from his lips, she reached out to cup his face, tilted her head, and kissed him. As she kissed him, she thought to herself a love song, and she did her best to convey that, something lurching within her soul the second he began to respond in turn. It was wonderful, and she pushed up on her toes once again, but this time did not tear away. Her stomach had erupted in a whirl of butterflies, and everything fell away. The loneliness, the dark night, the chill of the air, the square, the fountain, the water. Only time continued to tick slowly past, but if Maria tried hard enough, she could hear the melodies of her song speaking to her, pushing her, surrounding her.

His hands had come to rest on her forearms, but now she realized, nipping at his lip and beginning again, the scent of his cologne, that spicy, musky aroma, tying itself into her awareness, that his hands had grasped at her waist, and he was holding her steady, holding her up, holding her close.

The music in her head reached a crescendo as he wrapped his arms fully around her and cradled her, his breath lighting over the skin of her neck as he broke the kiss and pressed his lips to a spot just below her ear, to which she shivered and gave a little gasp.

Counting slowly, not trusting herself to remain steady although the Captain was quite literally supporting her, Maria opened her eyes and leaned away, peering up at the man that had, in turns, so infuriated her and yet had so thoroughly endeared himself to her. Over and over and over again.

"It started with that silly whistle," she rasped.

The Captain released her and stepped away, cocking his head expectantly. "Well?" he prompted.

Gathering herself, Maria met his gaze, prepared to say the words to release him. I don't love you. So simple, so few. So stark. So destructive. Truly, this was so much worse than having run off into the night without a word. It was so much worse than having looked up to find him standing there. So much worse than the shouting and the insults. So much worse than the truth.

But just as her feet had refused to move, her tongue refused to unstick itself from the roof of her mouth. She shook her head, despairing, and raised folded hands to cover her mouth, her eyes closing as tears leaked from them and she tried her utmost best to contain the sob rising in her throat. She could not allow him to see how much this hurt her. He'd already seen the truth she would not say, and she would not level yet another blow at him. Not like this.

Georg von Trapp had rarely found himself locked in a losing battle, but when he had, time and again he had fought to hard, pushed to hard, to empty means and so much unfathomable loss. He watched the woman standing before him, and knew in that instant, that he could not keep doing this to himself. Surely, he was no longer on a naval ship commanding a fleet of men whose lives were tied to his direction, but this was really not very different.

He saw the shake of the head, the refusal, the tears. She had not said the words, not yet, but he knew she wanted to, even though they were not the truth.

She was right. It wasn't fair. Not any of it. And if she truly did not want this, want him, well… he was finished, then. It was not worth the anguish that they would both face as a result.

"Alright," he breathed. "I see. Good-bye, Fräulein Maria. I wish you well."

Maria's eyes opened, and in a flash, she saw he had turned from her and was walking away. The loneliness that had hung over her head for the past hours whooshed in and grasped onto the panicked realization that he was walking away from her, and with desperation, she reached out.

"No!" she cried, "Wait, please wait!"

The Captain had stopped at her first word, but did not turn around to look at her.

"Forgive me, Captain, but I am not brave," Maria called out, her voice cracking with pain. "But if I were to tell you the words that are in my heart, I fear that I could never turn back from them. What would it mean? Please, I need to know."

Slowly turning his head to look over his shoulder, Georg studied the pale, long face that was now streaked with tears. He thought of how her eyes crinkled when she laughed, how the sunlight illuminated the freckles that sprinkled her young face, of how her countenance was sunshine itself, and yet here… she was everything but, a display of brokenness and fear.

"I'm afraid that very much depends on what you have to say," he said.

"It shouldn't," Maria said. "I don't believe that."

Turning around to face her again, Georg shook his head. "Fräulein, I have had too many occasions in my life in which I have had to make very hard decisions with very limited information. I hoped that tonight would not be one of them, but if you cannot find it within you to be transparent with me after I have been so transparent with you, then we are finished here, and there is simply nothing left to say. It can be as you say, and we will become strangers once again."

"But I don't want that," she said mournfully.

"After everything I've said to you tonight—and yet you still remain unconvinced—the fact remains that I do. Love should not be a hostage situation, you see, and I have no intention of using force on a woman who won't have me. I never have, and I never will."

"But what does that mean?" Maria cried, her voice rising to a shrill. "Are you to take me into your bed, make me your lover? Are you to send me away to meet in secret? Would you marry me? Because, Captain, of all the scenarios, surely that is most absurd of them all!"

"Why should it be so absurd to marry you?" Georg asked incredulously, advancing toward her.

"I have no title," she whispered, "even your wife was from the noble class. I know, because the children told me. I have no money, no finesse, I am not a graceful person. I could never navigate your world, Captain. You saw how Franz looked at Max tonight when he said to set a place for me at the dinner table, it was insane! And the Baroness said—"

Here, Maria broke off, as if she realized she had said too much. She turned her face downward, refusing to look him in the eye.

Georg's eyes widened and flashed. "What did she say, Maria? Did Elsa do something to you?"

"She was trying to help," Maria said in a whisper. "Help us both."

Drawing in a sharp breath, Georg said levelly, "Judging from the fact that we are both standing here right now instead of where we should be, I somehow very much doubt that. Please, Maria. I beg you, please tell me."

She was gazing at him with wariness once again, and if he looked carefully enough, he could just make out that she had flushed, perhaps with embarrassment, or… heaven forbid, shame?

"She said you were infatuated with me, and that you would get over it 'soon enough,'" Maria obliged, at last. "But… I didn't believe it. The way you look at me—the way you looked," she corrected herself, "even as we danced. I blushed. I reacted, and it wasn't appropriate, not in the least!"

"I have known Elsa for a very long time," Georg said. "She is very familiar with the games that we aristocrats play, and she is familiar with me. But," he swallowed, "in this instance, she is wrong. She is not wrong generally speaking, no, but, you see… she is a good friend to me, but I don't love her." Even as he said these words, however, Georg realized what it was in seeing the attraction between the governess and the sea captain that had motivated Elsa to speak to Maria at all. She had been willing to accept a loveless marriage, but had tried to defend what she did have.

Maria was looking at him with a scrutinizing expression once again. "I'm not sure that I understand," she said slowly.

Georg reached out, offering her his hand. "Come. Let's take a walk along the river, and I'll explain."

For a long, painful moment, Georg was afraid that Maria would turn away the offer, for her face was unreadable, completely blank. But just as he was about to drop his arm to his side, she stepped forward and grasped his hand, and he felt a warmth flood through him as a voice inside his head whispered that maybe, just maybe, this night would turn out to be grand and glorious after all.