A/N: Thanks so much for all the reviews and for sticking with me through this tale! Some really great points made in some of the reviews, one of my favourites being the observation that you can't force someone to recall lost memories just by asking them to try. Surely it takes more than that.. Something naturally occurring.. A trigger perhaps..
Anyway, enjoy!
It wasn't until she was forcing one foot in front of the other down the lane to the von Trapp villa that Maria truly began to feel sick with apprehension.
The Reverend Mother had told her that she couldn't shut out life's problems. She had to face them. The startling truth in her words - coupled with the comforting knowledge that God wanted her to find the life she was born to live - had filled her with a newfound and exhilarating determination. Until she had stepped off the bus and reality had truly set in.
She was going back. After only five days of much needed reflection behind the solace of the abbey walls, she was returning to discover her fate - willingly walking headfirst into the exquisite flames once again, the addictive pain, the bittersweet torment that his indifference evoked.
She no longer had the guilt of God's disapproval hanging over her but Georg's cold detachment - not to mention his recent engagement - were obstacles she had no idea how to overcome.
Wave after wave of adrenaline coursed through her veins as she preempted the moment she would see him again - the extraordinary riddle of a man who had captured her heart. The perfectly imperfect gentleman who had so much more to offer than he allowed himself to give. The complex individual who greeted the world with a chilly reserve while harbouring real and raw emotion underneath.
Far quicker than she had anticipated, the back gates of the villa came into view and the dreadful anticipation spread like electricity right down to her toes. What would he say when he realised she'd returned? Would he be angry as he always seemed to be these days? Would she be able to stand before him once again, knowing she may never find in his eyes what she so desperately wanted to see?
You won't find any of the answers by standing out here in the street, she reprimanded herself as she stared up at the iron gates, frozen to the spot as she took in their intimidating glory.
The only thing that willed her to finally grasp the wrought handle and step over the threshold was the thought of seeing the children again. The seven little souls that had been her anchor as much as she'd been theirs. She'd left them for her own selfish reasons and they'd been the biggest victims of this ugly mess, despite their innocence in its creation. She had no idea what to expect on her return but she knew one thing for certain. The children needed love now more than ever before and she prayed that they would welcome her back with open arms.
Georg was tired.
Not only was he physically exhausted after another two nights of troubled sleep, but Max's unexpected confrontation had left him feeling emotionally and mentally drained as well. For once in his meticulously strategised life, he was unsure of how to proceed.
The voice of his stubborn subconscious was willing him to continue on as planned, steering his ship in its predetermined direction and focusing his efforts on the exact future he'd picked out for himself.
But there was another voice. A voice that simply wouldn't allow him to rest. It was a voice that he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge, a voice that hadn't spoken to him in years, a voice he thought he'd buried a long time ago. The voice of reason, the voice of compromise. The voice of his Agathe.
You've lost your way, Georg my darling. It echoed around in his mind like an unwelcome taunt, creeping to the forefront whenever he convinced himself that remembering was a fruitless task.
The first time he'd heard it was the night after the Fraulein left, and it had been the very first time he'd truly wanted to remember. Instead of going to the ballroom that night as he sometimes did in his most troubled moments, he had found himself in the governess' room, unsure as to why his feet had led him there. He'd stood, numb, in the centre of the darkened space and closed his eyes - breathing in that familiar scent of lavender and rose. It had stirred him deeply, affecting him physically and emotionally with an unexpected force - and he'd soon taken flight back to his own room, angry and confused by the inappropriateness of his behaviour.
So much had been described to him about what had occurred during the timeframe that he'd blacked out, but it had all sounded like a distant dream, a fictitious anecdote, as if it were about somebody else's life. None of it had stirred any memories, none of it roused his curiosity - he'd been too confused and bitter to truly confront what might have come to pass during that time. He'd wanted to simply block it out, rather than admit that he'd lost his iron control.
He'd been so adamant to simply get on with his life that he'd refused to truly acknowledge what had happened to him - so much so, that the other members of the household now treated it as a taboo subject never to be mentioned in his presence. Only now, with the voice of his late wife ringing in his ears, did he discover that he actually wanted to know about that fateful incident.
"What happened the night of the party.."
Elsa's head snapped up from the book she'd been engrossed in, alarmed by his unexpected question as it pierced the comfortable silence they'd been enjoying in the drawing room.
"Georg.. I.. ," she stumbled over her words uncharacteristically, eventually closing the book and resting her hands in her lap, "I'm not really sure where to begin.."
"Just anything you can remember," he replied quietly, staring into the fireplace.
Elsa took in his slightly bloodshot eyes and distracted demeanour. She wasn't entirely sure she liked where this conversation was going and she contemplated how much she should give away. Since his recovery, she'd been gradually plying him with false memories, harmless little anecdotes about conversations and exchanges between the two of them that hadn't quite taken place in the way she described. Before his attack, he'd changed in a way that hadn't quite worked in her favour and she'd convinced herself it wasn't in her best interests for him to remember what had really come to pass during that time. What harm was there in telling a few white lies to more firmly anchor their future together?
"Well," Elsa began, regaining her composure, "we were halfway through digestifs when you left the room in rather a hurry.. you seemed somewhat.. Distracted."
When Georg said nothing and didn't meet her eye, she continued, "after an hour or so you hadn't returned and I couldn't find you anywhere. I think the champagne had gone to my head as I started to suffer a headache and so I retired a little early. It wasn't until the next morning that Max told me you'd been beaten."
She decided to leave out the fact that it was her jealousy, rather than the champagne, that had caused her headache.
"And what did Max tell you?" Georg pressed, a slight frown creasing his features as he willed himself to piece the puzzle together.
"He said that Zeller and three of his men had found you outside and attempted to teach you a lesson.. You know Georg, I really don't know what you expected when you go around voicing your opinion so -"
"What was I doing outside?" Georg interrupted forcefully, anger licking at his insides in response to her insinuations.
"I have no idea Georg," Elsa retorted a little too passionately, knowing full well the little governess had been witness to the entire incident, "as I said, I couldn't find you anywhere."
Georg got to his feet and leant over the fireplace pensively, staring into the empty grate.
"Georg," Elsa soothed after a charged silence, coming up behind him and gripping his shoulders with delicate hands, "you really must do your best to try and get along with these people - Zeller is a powerful man, he has important connections.. It's foolish to provoke him.."
Her words scratched at his insides like white hot pokers and her hands on his shoulders - meant as a source of comfort - felt more like heavy weights suffocating him. Still he said nothing as he willed his anger to subside.
"I'm sure it was just a big misunderstanding.. After we hold the most lavish social event of the year it'll all be forgotten darling," Elsa trilled, waving a hand dismissively and causing the blood to heat in his veins. Was she actually insinuating that Zeller would be on the guest list?
"You know he's actually quite a charming man," she breezed when he didn't respond, "I think you just.. Got on the wrong side of him. You men," she chuckled, oblivious to his fury, "one too many drinks and it always ends in a brawl!"
Georg could feel his fists clenching as he gritted his teeth to stop the profanities spilling from his lips. Had he heard her right? Did she really believe he'd provoked his own beating by being too vocal about his principles? The very principles on the basis of which he had fought for his homeland? The woman he'd agreed to marry, the woman he would be sharing his life with - was asking him to sympathise with his Nazi attacker? It made him feel sick to his stomach.
As if saved from the inevitable argument that was about to ensue, Georg was halted in his dangerous thoughts by a deafening caterwauling of ecstatic children coming from outside.
Still in a silent rage from Elsa's disturbing admissions, he left her without so much as a backward glance and marched furiously toward the source of the noise, ready for battle. He was in no mood for this insufferable din and whoever was causing it was about to meet his wrath.
As he rounded the corner hellbent on silencing the godforsaken ruckus, he almost missed the sight of Fredrich running up the stairs gleefully in the direction of the governess' room, a dusty old carpet bag in one hand and a guitar case in the other.
He froze on the spot, his legs turning to lead.
Surely not. It couldn't be.
The sound of his children's excitement seemed muffled in his ears all of a sudden, as if his head was filled with cotton wool, and the floor seemed to cave in around him. He couldn't do this, not now. It was all too much. He couldn't think straight, he couldn't determine up from down, he couldn't decide which voice to listen to.
Hear what she has to say, Georg.
In his panic, he shook Agathe's voice from his mind and did the only thing he knew how to do. He buried his feelings deep within. Armed with this strategy as his only means of defence, he gathered his composure behind a formidable facade and - exuding a nonchalant confidence he didn't feel - he strode towards the sound of happy chatter.
Max had somewhat reluctantly agreed to Elsa's request for some time alone with Georg. He wasn't too sure what kind of game she was playing but she'd been rather insistent and it had seemed like a reasonable enough request now that they were engaged. So he'd acquiesced and had spent the better part of an hour nursing a drink on the veranda and watching the melancholy faces of the children as they moped around on the grass - an uneasy reminder of his previous failings.
Feeling troubled again by their gloominess, he was about to take comfort in his third strudel when he was jolted out of his reverie by an eruption of enthusiastic cries and shouts. Pausing with the pastry midway to his mouth, his eyes followed the source of the excitement and he subsequently dropped the treat in surprise when he was greeted by the sight of the Fraulein.
He watched the touching scene, frozen to his chair, as she ran across the grass towards the excited von Trapp stampede - and the din only grew louder when they all collided in a series of fierce embraces.
This was most definitely an unforeseen development. He tugged at his moustache absentmindedly as he contemplated the series of events that was likely to occur now that she'd return. Elsa would be livid. But Georg.. Georg was unpredictable these days. During their midnight conversation a few nights ago Max had felt as though he'd managed to get through to his friend somewhat, if only a little. He doubted however, that Georg was anywhere near ready to handle this unexpected twist of fate. It entirely contracted his fastidious plans.
"Uncle Max, look!" came a little voice, rousing him from his thoughts, "it's Fraulein Maria!"
Of course, where were his manners? He jumped to his feet and came down to the steps to greet her - the poor girl must've already been doubting whether or not she was welcome.
"It's wonderful to see you back Fraulein," he smiled, grasping her dainty hand as the happy children buzzed around them, "just wonderful." And he realised he truly meant it. Whether the sentiment was shared by the raging bull of a man who'd just come into view on the veranda, was an entirely different story.
Georg had lathered himself up into defensive rage and had planned to shout the lot of them into submission the moment he exited the house. But the sight of her made him stop short once he reached the grass. The familiar heat unfurled deep in his stomach and his heart began to pound unwelcomely in his chest, the unshakable sense of deja vu filling him again as her painfully expressive eyes met his. Something significant between them had taken place out here, something he couldn't quite recall... It made him burn all over and he found that his previously rehearsed words were stuck in throat.
Only the gentle chirping of the birds could be heard now as everybody's eyes, bar the absent Friedrich's, fell on him apprehensively in the charged silence. Was it fear he saw in their eyes? Where normally it would've fed his rage, he was met instead with an unfamiliar sense of shame and he didn't like it. He desperately needed to regain control.
The tension was finally broken by the pounding of Freidrich's teenage feet as he bounded back out of the villa, only to stop in his tracks at the sight of his father, the grin faltering from his boyish features.
"Father.." He gulped cautiously, edging past him and joining his siblings on the grass, "Fraulein Maria's come back from the abbey.."
"Yes Georg," Max pressed, attempting to mediate the ticking time bomb, "isn't it wonderful?"
Maria's pulse thudded in her neck as she waited for him to say something, anything. He appeared to be opening and closing his mouth repeatedly, a confused frown etching his features as he battled inwardly with himself. She'd do anything to know what he was thinking.
After an age Georg forced himself to clear his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. He felt drained, defeated, vulnerable once again as he attempted to adopt a formal authority he didn't quite feel. He just wanted to hide with a bottle of scotch, where he wouldn't have to look at those bewitching eyes.
"I'm afraid Friedrich," he replied quietly, "that Fraulein Maria will have to go straight back to the abbey." There. He'd said it. He needed her gone. It was the only way.
Maria's heart sank as seven little voices were raised in outrage and before she knew it her legs were carrying her towards the house as she fled the scene in an attempt to hide the tears that threatened to fall. Hurrying past his haughty figure, she raced up the stairs in the direction of her old bedroom to gather her belongings. She needed to leave as quickly as was humanly possible. How could she have misjudged the situation so badly? She'd been such a fool yet again.
Georg watched silently as chaos ensued, each one of his children attempting to shout their protests louder than the rest until his skull threatened to crack from the sheer noise.
"Enough!" He shouted, noting the look of utter disapproval in Max's eyes as everyone fell silent. Unable to bear the scrutiny emitted from eight pairs of saddened eyes, he turned on his heels, ready to take flight to his study.
It was only when he reached the veranda steps that he heard a shaky little voice begin to sing.
Fury erupted in his chest as he whirled around to silence whoever dared to defy him, his eyes falling on his youngest son. Kurt had taken a step forward bravely, his boyish chin pointed in determination as he sang the distantly familiar lyrics of a melancholy tune.
"What are you doing boy!" Georg bellowed, charging towards him, unable to bear the emotion the solemn sound evoked -but his son didn't falter, ignoring his father's aggressive outburst and continuing his solo resolutely.
"Kurt!" Max hissed, gripping the boy's shoulder in warning as he noted Georg's face clouding over with a thunderous glare.
"No!" Kurt shouted mid-lyric wriggling free of Max's grasp, his face red with emotion and his little fists bunched at his sides, "mother would've wanted us to sing!"
And with that he continued louder, more defiantly, and Max watched the furious bewilderment crease his friend's face as, one by one, each von Trapp child joined their brother in song, until the wistful lyrics of The Sound of Music rang clear and true in the air around them. Max couldn't help but fix the raging man in front of him with a satisfied smirk as he cottoned on to what the children were doing. Unable to defy their father with rhetoric, they'd instead found their ultimate act of rebellion in the form of song.
"I've heard quite enough!" Georg shouted, the wind having been knocked out of him by the mention of their mother. When they didn't stop their musical assault, he took several strides forward to intimidate them into silence but to his utter horror, he was met with a knowing glare from Max who suddenly joined them in their mutinous performance.
He wanted to grab the traitor by the scruff of his neck and slam his body up against the tree behind him - the very same tree where he'd stumbled across Maria's delectable ankle all those weeks ago.
The sudden and unfamiliar memory stopped him dead in his tracks. Maria's ankle... The tree...hide and seek..
The flashback was suddenly clear as day in his subconscious, as if he were watching a reel play out in front of him. His heart began to race as the puzzle piece slowly slotted into place. He had stood in this very spot right before discovering his governess in her hiding place.. he'd spent the afternoon hidden up in the tree with her..
His children's soulful voices still echoed around him and his blood ran cold as he began to remember why their song was so familiar... They'd sung this for Elsa on their return from Vienna.. Right after their boat had capsized.. It had reminded him of Agathe...
With the lyrics still ringing in his ears, he'd barely been able to catch his breath before a flood of repressed memories began to flash through his head like snapshots through time. His heated argument with the Fraulein by the lake, his children's performance in the drawing room, his humbled apology, his rendition of Edelweiss when she'd worn that captivating blue dress, the joyful innocence of the puppet show, the glitz and glamour of the party, the heat of her body pressed against him during the Laendler, his declaration of love before everything went black...
Music, laughter, passion, joy, heartache, it all came rushing back to him with a burst of tenderness so forceful he thought he might sink to his knees.
"My God," he whispered. Was it too late?..
Without so much as a second thought, he frantically grabbed a bewildered Kurt's face between his hands and placed a grateful kiss on top of the startled boy's head. His son. His courageous, clever, incorrigible son!
"Don't go away!" He begged his beautiful children, hurriedly stroking each of their perplexed faces before turning on his heels and sprinting towards the house.
A/N: I'm sorry to stop it here but it seemed like a natural place to break the story! Bless sweet little Kurt for standing up to his formidable father - I hope you didn't think it too far fetched or romanticised but I think Georg needed some sort of emotional trigger to finally remind him - and what better trigger than the sound of his children's voices raised in song, ey? Next update just as quickly I promise!