A/N: Don't hate me!

Yes. He knew that handwriting all too well.

"Excuse me Elsa, children.." Georg muttered distractedly as he rose from his seat, never taking his eyes off the letter clasped in his hand. It occurred to him briefly that perhaps he was drawing a little too much attention to himself by leaving the table before lunch was over. In fact he could feel his wife's eyes burning into the back of his head as he left the room, and he knew he would probably have to endure her questions later. But in truth, he didn't think he could wait a moment longer before finding out the contents of the envelope etched with that familiar scrawl.

Rounding a corner, crossing the great hall and finally taking refuge in his study, he closed the door behind him and marched across the room, sinking into the leather chair at his desk. Much to his frustration, his heart began a bizarre gallop in his chest and he could do little else than stare at the envelope between his fingers for interminable seconds, suddenly overcome with apprehension.

What could she possibly have to say to him, after all this time? She'd looked absolutely mortified by his presence at the luncheon - as though she'd do anything to never have to face him again. And yet he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the letter was from her. An awkward lump forming in his throat, he reached slowly for the top drawer of his desk, opened it, and took out the only other letter he'd ever received from Fraulein Maria. The page was creased, as though it'd been read many times - and Georg didn't need to scour the contents to remember word for word what it said. He knew it all by heart..

What are you doing! He cursed himself suddenly for his ridiculous behaviour, thrusting the note back in the top drawer impatiently. Why was he allowing himself to become so affected? He thought that time might've healed old wounds, that the passing months might've allowed him to forget... but he ought to have known better.

Without further hesitation, he ripped into the sealed envelope and unfolded the paper within, trying to ignore the thundering of his pulse as he began to read.

Dear Captain,

I know that I may be the last person on earth you wish to hear from at the present moment. I certainly wouldn't fault you for such sentiments - it would be no less than I deserve. But I beg of you not to think upon me too harshly, for you must know that I have never forgiven myself for leaving your family without a proper farewell.

Not a day goes by when I don't think of my time at 53 Aigen. Every evening I pray for the children and wonder how they are all faring. Whether Gretl still loves bunny rabbits and Kurt still eats you out of house and home. Whether Louisa still has a penchant for insects and Friedrich for military history. Whether Brigitta is still buried in her books and Marta still adores pink. Whether Liesl is enjoying being seventeen going on eighteen. And, of course, whether you still sing with them all from time to time.

Please know sir, that my departure had absolutely nothing to do with the children. They were wonderful charges from the moment I met them, despite one or two initial hiccups in the very beginning -

The pine cone, Georg remembered with a wistful chuckle, despite himself.

- and they are never too far from my thoughts.

I understand it must've been a shock for you to see me again under such circumstances. I admit myself that you were the last person I expected to walk through the door when Alfred told me we'd be meeting an acquaintance of his. If I had known, I would perhaps have spared us both the discomfort and made myself scarce.

It may be ten months overdue, Captain, but I owe you an apology and an explanation. I never intended to cause any anguish and it fills me with remorse to know that I have done exactly that. It is with this notion in mind that I ask you to please join me in the lounge of The Goldener on Tuesday afternoon at 6pm, so that I might have the opportunity to explain myself, once and for all.

Yours faithfully,

Maria R.

Georg stared at the signature until his eyes blurred, slumping back against the leather chair and running a hand over his jaw. The bizarre lump in his throat had intensified and he felt a sudden and alarming surge of longing that he didn't dare confront.

He had to admit that despite it all, he was impressed by her bravery. The lost and scared young woman who'd fled his home the previous year wouldn't have had the nerve to see him again, let alone be the one to demand it - and he was forced to consider once more just how much she'd matured since her departure. She'd always been bold, courageous, headstrong and wilful - their argument by the lake and her fierce defence of her faith had demonstrated a confidence beyond her years that he'd later admired. But, just as he'd observed at the restaurant, he could detect a new self-assurance in the words marked on the page, an awareness and poise that wasn't there before. And he knew now, that if he agreed to her request, they would be meeting not as captain and governess, not as employer and employee, but as equals.

It would be an uncomfortable situation, he knew - he wasn't sure if he was ready to hear what had come to pass since her flight from 53 Aigen, nor the part that lieutenant Norden had played in her life thus far. But he also knew that he'd drive himself to madness if he didn't get answers. And if he was honest with himself, he needed to express his own regret for speaking to her the way he had at the restaurant.

He would go, he decided firmly. He would hear what she had to say, he would say his own piece, and then perhaps he would finally be rid of the uneasy feeling that had tormented him since the previous summer. The uneasy feeling that he still couldn't quite put his finger on.

It was with a guilty conscience that Maria kissed Alfred goodbye on Tuesday evening in the foyer of the Goldener, wishing him a pleasant dinner and promising that she would join him for a drink later in the hotel's lounge. He was due to meet another British officer who was in the area on business and Maria had been relieved that the invitation hadn't been extended to wives and partners. It wasn't that she didn't like attending Alfred's social obligations - it was just that his absence would most definitely make things easier when it came to her meeting with the Captain. She despised lying, especially to Alfred - but she hadn't told him about her plans to meet with his naval associate. How could she even begin to explain the circumstances to him? She didn't even understand them herself.

By the time the grandfather clock in the hotel's lounge pointed to 5.55pm, Maria was settled at a table in the far corner by the window. Decidedly nervous but altogether composed, her eyes remained glued to the doorway, waiting for a man she knew could never be late for anything. And then sure enough, just as the clock struck 6pm, there he was. Tall, arresting, larger than life in a dark navy suit. Devastating, she had to admit. He hadn't spotted her yet, and she was glad for it - for suddenly she was undeniably short of breath.

She watched him as his eyes scanned the room, a small frown marring his brow, and she knew it was only a matter of time before he caught sight of her. Willing her heart to stop hammering, she permitted herself the small transgression of admiring him from afar, before he would inevitably notice her gaze. She'd been too shocked at the luncheon to really take the opportunity to study him, and now that she did, she noticed he hadn't changed, not one bit...

Suddenly, and quite without warning, his eyes locked with hers across the room and the remaining oxygen was instantly knocked from her lungs. He didn't move, only gazed at her for interminable seconds, his eyes softening until she felt as though she was the only person in the room. Her first instinct was to look away before he caught her in an unguarded moment, but he held her gaze mercilessly, to the point that she was entirely unable to avert her eyes. She was certain he'd seen her thoughts written on her face, for she hadn't had time to mask them - and she felt suddenly angry that he still had the power to fluster her.

No! She thought determinedly, she would never allow him to see just how much he had once affected her. She would get through this talk with her dignity still intact. Taking a deep breath, she broke the unbearable tension with an awkward wave. Her acknowledgment of his arrival seemed to awaken him from some sort of trance - and his eyes hardened once again before he began to move across the room towards her.

Georg hadn't meant to stare, but he also hadn't expected her to look so... so... He couldn't deny it. She looked radiant. It was that air of confidence again, that aura about her that seemed to fill a room. And suddenly his chest ached, his throat tightened, his fingers twitched with unrelenting anxiety.

"Good evening Captain," she greeted him a little breathlessly as he pulled out a chair and settled into it.

"Good evening.."

It took almighty strength, but he forced himself to look at her. Not past her, not through her, but at her - and he was impressed and altogether floored to discover that instead of cowering away from him, she was looking him straight in the eye in return, her head held high. She was breathtaking.

"So..." he cleared his throat awkwardly, hoping to at least come across as amiable this time around, "the Goldener? It must make a change from your postulant's cell."

She smiled fondly, as though lost in pleasant memories, and his chest constricted.

"Yes," she laughed, "it does seem another lifetime ago now! Thank you for agreeing to meet with me at such short notice."

"Of course.." he muttered, before silence enveloped them again.

"I… I asked you here because I thought there were some things I ought to explain," she reasoned, "For the children's sake."

"Yes, the children..."

When he said little else - only watched her expectantly - she floundered a little under his scrutiny, but soon recovered again, "W-well I suppose I'd better start at the very beginning."

"A very good place to start..." he quipped with a meek smile, and she rewarded him with another radiant one in return. And then, all he could do was listen, his stomach churning, as she took a deep breath and offered him her story.

"I made the decision to leave Nonnberg Abbey last September, shortly after returning. I think everybody knew that I wasn't made for the noviciate - that is, everybody except me! The Reverend Mother, kind as she is, agreed to find a new position for me - and she did. An opportunity came up in London for another governess position and I took it without hesitation. For the first time, I travelled out of Austria and took a ferry from Calais to Dover - oh captain, I remember thinking it was no wonder you love the sea so much! The views of the open water from the deck were just magnificent.."

He could just picture her now, stood at the bough of a ship, watching the movement of the waves below her with open fascination. The image soothed him, filling him with affection.

"When I arrived in London to take up my post, I became responsible for two wonderful children, Jane and Michael Banks," she continued, "Though their father wasn't quite so wonderful - a haughty banker from the city who couldn't see past the end of his own nose."

The similarities were almost too comical, Georg had to admit. Had she won the hearts of this family as well? She hadn't mentioned a Mrs Banks... but then of course, there was the lieutenant.

"It was some time in mid-autumn when I met Alfred Norden. We would run into each other at the same coffee shop from time to time and we eventually became better acquainted. He knows all about my time at the abbey, but not... "

She trailed off hopelessly then, the colour draining a little from her face, and she averted her eyes for the first time since their conversation began.

Why? Georg wondered desperately. Why had she omitted that part of her past? The part that involved him?

She took another shaky breath and continued before he had the chance to ask.

"My post at the Banks' came to an end earlier this month and I agreed to show Alfred around Salzburg. He's never been before, and I suppose he wanted to see more of where I come from. We're here for just a few weeks and-"

"It's serious then..." Georg interjected before he could stop himself. The resulting surprise in her eyes was only fleeting but it was enough for him to know that the personal question had thrown her. He had no business asking it, he knew. Nevertheless, much to his dismay, she nodded.

"He's a good man, captain," she smiled warmly, "You'll like working with him very much.."

But do you love him?! He wanted to scream. Do you blush in his arms when you dance? Does he render you breathless when you look at each other? But instead he said, "I wish you every happiness, Fraulein."

Her shoulders seemed to sag with relief.

"Thank you Captain. Truly."

The silence that followed was far less traumatic than it had been at the luncheon, but the mood between them was still somewhat strained with the lingering awareness of words left unspoken. He studied her openly from across the table, his eyes moving over her expressive face - no longer caring whether he was being transparent. And as the seconds ticked by, neither of them willing or able to look away from one another, Georg felt the atmosphere thicken with something dangerous and familiar. Could she feel it too, he wondered - could she feel the electricity?

"You left without.. saying goodbye.." he murmured wistfully, as though to himself, "even to the children.."

The sudden anguish in her eyes was irrefutable.

"It was wrong of me, forgive me.."

Forgive her? He would forgive her anything.

"Why did you?"

She stiffened at the question, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you've told me what you've done since leaving," he said softly, as though coaxing a startled lamb, "but not why you left in the first place. Your note said you missed the abb-"

"Please don't ask me," she interrupted suddenly, her face etched with torment and her voice shaking.

"But-"

"Please, Captain.."

And it was in that moment that he suddenly realised. He didn't have to ask her. The look she was sharing with him told him everything he'd ever needed to know - an agonised look of longing and heartache that was so transparent, so beautifully earnest, that it lay bare the secrets of her heart for him to see. She had left because of him. And suddenly it was so painfully obvious, so startling clear, so tragically bittersweet, that the truth hit him like a torpedo to the chest.

At some point during the previous summer, they had fallen in love.

The realisation ought to have shocked him, but as it was he felt only a deep and empty despair. He'd always known, deep down, that he had wanted her, that he had needed her - that they had needed each other. And yet he'd used her vocation as an excuse to do nothing. Would he have acted differently, he wondered, if he'd known about her departure from Nonnberg? He liked to think that he might've done. Somehow. But the past could not be rewritten. It was too late. And he only had himself to blame.

"The children have missed you terribly, you know.." his voice cracked unexpectedly under the strain, and he cleared his throat to mask the vulnerable sound. If she noticed his sudden anguish she didn't show it.

"I've missed them too," she smiled sadly, "Have they been behaving themselves?"

He gave a careless shrug, "As well as can be expected of seven children with a penchant for toads and snakes..."

She laughed then, a joyous genuine sound that warmed him from the inside - and before long they were reminiscing nostalgically about the children's various foibles the previous summer. Despite the enjoyable topic of conversation though, Georg grew more desolate with every word exchanged. She had cared so much for his family and he had taken her entirely for granted. But she was happy now with someone else, someone who cared for her, someone who hadn't hesitated in making her feel special. And as crestfallen as it made him feel - as much of a mess as he'd made of things - he was genuinely glad that she was happy. All he'd ever truly wanted was her happiness.

It wasn't until the clock read 7.30pm that Georg realised just how long they'd been sat there, talking of everything and nothing all at once. An aristocratic upbringing had taught him how to veil his emotions with effective precision, and he played the part of polite but detached acquaintance remarkably well. Inside though, his heart was breaking - and he wasn't sure how much longer he could endure her presence without making his feelings known. He needed to escape...

"You know, I really ought to be getting back," he concluded gravely with a glance at his watch, "the children will never forgive me if I'm late for dinner."

Momentary disappointment flitted across her face, but it disappeared so quickly that he wondered if he'd simply imagined it.

"I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me this evening," he forced a smile, rising from his chair and extending his hand for her to shake. A truce. She didn't immediately take it, instead hesitating as though she had something she wanted to say. But whatever it was, she must've thought better of it - for she only smiled warmly in return before placing her hand in his.

It was the first time they'd ever touched skin to skin, he realised - and the effect on his emotional state was immediate, shocking, devastating. So much so that after a few seconds he wrenched his hand away as though he'd been burned. He felt, rather than heard her sharp intake of breath, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Not without taking her into his arms.

"Take care, Fraulein."

A/N: ohhhh despair! And did you like my cheeky Mary Poppins reference? Again, who do you feel more sorry for in this chapter? I'd love to know your thoughts!