I don't own SOM.

Again, this is just some brain vomit I have, nothing serious.

Don't worry about it.

Loving, leaving, it's too late for this now

Such esteem for each has gone

Has time driven our season away?

In a world of the speech that is new

I'll be back again to stay

Again to stay

- "Winter Song" by the Head and the Heart

Georg Von Trapp looked over the letter stiffly, the slanted, quick handwriting so familiar to him. He was sitting in the family's rented apartment. Maria and the kids were out singing, earning what little money they could. The great Von Trapp fortune was very precious to Georg, and he did his best to conserve it. That meant very little spending money. Maria had asked him to come with her, but he simply couldn't reveal himself like that. Singing... Singing was something he kept close to his heart.

Georg touched the last paragraph. The summer of '19. Oh yes, he remembered that well. Agathe was away in Paris; they were only dating at that time. Oh, what a time it was.

June, 1919

"Georg," Max panted tiredly. "I am fully in favor of stopping. Now."

"Come on!" Georg looked over his shoulder with a smile. Max was kneeling over, his hands on his knees. His orange sweater vest was stained with sweat, his bow tie slightly off kilter. "I told you to dress for a hike." Georg shifted their bags from his left shoulder to his right. He had done his best to carry the majority of their supplies, but it seemed even the light load was too much physical exertion for Max.

"Seeing as I've never experienced any form of physical activity in my life, I'm not sure how you could trust me with that job." Georg stepped towards him, offering him his hand. Max looked at it for a moment, smiled, and took it heartily.

"How will you survive hiking the others?"

"Why in the world would I hike any other mountain ever?" Max asked, incredulous.

"For fun." Georg supplied. Max could only chortle at that.

"Can I at least have a smoke?" Max asked. Not waiting for an answer, he took out his pack and put a cigarette between his lips.

As he searches for his lighter, Georg reached over and plucks the cigarette from Max's lips, putting it in his own. "You know," He said, the words squished around the tube of the cigarette. "Smoking won't make this hike any better."

"No, but it'll make it much more enjoyable." Max, lighter in hand, snatched the cigarette back and lights it defiantly. Puffing out silky clouds of smoke, he asked, "How much further?"

"Another mile or so." Georg looked up at the mountain, holding his hand up to block out the fierce summer sun. "We'll get there in an hour." Hopefully, he thought, gazing at Max, who had just stopped panting. "Come, we have to hurry."

"I know the chances are slim, Georg, but could you by any chance carry me?"

By some miracle, they made it to the mountain top before the sun burnt out and the world ended. The cabin, owned by some old friend of Georg's, who believed Georg was going on a little boys' night out trip (which was partly true), was quite quaint. The wood was stout and strong. The cabin itself had two thin beds, a stove, a table with two chairs, and a few cabinets. Though nice, it held a smell of dirt and leaves that was pleasing to Georg, but foreign to Max.

With the stove burning a nice, sweet orange flame, Max sat with his back against the bed, a watery brandy in one hand, a book in the other. He was dressed only in an open-necked shirt and pants, painfully casual for him. The romantic light danced across his page, dazzling his barely inebriated eyes.

"What are you reading?" Georg asked, casually looking over from his seat by the window. The night sky was extravagant and he hated to miss the midnight-turned mountains.

"Night and Day." Max declared. "Virginia Woolf. Quite interesting."

"Isn't that a feminist novel?" Georg asked, his nose slightly wrinkled.

"Your point?"

"You never cease to amaze me, Max." Georg responded, shaking his head.

"I should hope so." Max replied with a smile. "The day I stop amazing you is the day you can kick me out."

"I'll never kick you out." Georg whispered under his breath, turning back to the window and the night sky.

"I know." Max muttered. But he left the conversation alone, because it would lead to an argument, and they argued too much already. Agathe was already a little peeved at Georg at "wasting" his fortune on his friend. Max was confident that, once he developed a good list of contacts and friends in the government, he would make good money. But that day was yet to come.

It was hard for them, being unflinchingly honorable and totally self-centered. They both were aware that they totally hated each other sometimes (most of the time), but the past they shared was too deep and wide for them to forget it.

They sat in silence for a while, only the warm crackle of the fire lifting the heavy quiet. After an hour or so, Georg searched through his belongings and dug out his guitar. Strumming it softly, he sat next to Max, their legs touching softly. And then, Georg began to sing. Soft and quiet, but with such beauty and gentleness that it made Max put his cigarette down, his heart in his throat.

"What is that?" He asked softly.

"An old folk song." Georg replied. "The music of the mountain."

"It's the most beautiful thing in the world." Max decided. He moved to sit criss-cross, facing Georg fully. Playing slowly, he sang the song again, Max trying his best to keep up. It was about a flower, an edelweiss. Max's voice, competent but not nearly as lovely as Georg's, was hushed and in awe.

"You must sing more, Georg." Max told him.

"No." He responded sharply. "Singing is from the heart. It's what I give to the people I love."

Well, that made Max's heart soar, higher than every mountain he could dream of. But then a question soured his mind. "Do you sing it for Agathe?"

Georg's face instantly went cold and distant: his Captain face. His Baron face. Yes, it was familiar. "Max-"

"Please, I'm sorry, Georg. Please, let's not argue." Max tried to appease him.

"You know I love Agathe."

"Of course." Mac conceded, but then, he couldn't help it. "You just would need a quick shag with me every once in a while." Georg jumped to his feet, guitar in hand and face boiling. Oh, he was angry now.

"I don't need to defend myself to you." Georg turned away from Max, putting the guitar away.

"No," Max retaliated. "I'm just your weekend whore, Georg, I-" Georg was on top of Max instantly, grabbing him by the shirt collar and tackling him to the ground. Max felt the air shoot out of his lungs as Georg crashed on top of him.

Georg's fists were heavy and sure. The first one busted Max's eye, bruising six layers at once: yellow, purple, black. Delicate layers of pain. The second: his nose. Bloody gushed out quite satisfyingly. When Georg went for the third punch, Max managed to struggle to the side and Georg just punched the wooden floor.

The pain was instant and Georg cursed vehemently. Taking his chance, Max struck Georg across the jaw. The feeling of hurting Georg was wonderful and Max kept going, another hit and another. It was a new experience for Georg, he was too stunned for a moment to do anything. Then, Georg broke from his stupor and grabbed Max's arms, pinning him back down against the floor. In a panting, angry moment, they looked into each other's furious eyes. They held it, and of course, Max cracked a smile. The tension bled out of the room and Georg collapsed on top of Max, suddenly tired and sore.

"Get off me, you big oaf." Max said, pushing Georg's sturdy body away. Max reached for his brandy glass, a few chips of ice still floating in the bottom, and pressed it to his eye. Then his nose. "Well, that was a riot."

"I'll say." Georg looked up and took the glass, holding it to his jaw, where an impressive bruise was already burgeoning. Then, he took a long swig of the brandy.

"We're a mess." Max said quietly, looking into the dying fire of the stove. "A bloody mess."

Georg looked into the fire as well, and saw the warmth of it all. Looking away, his eyes were still shining with the light. Sitting up, Georg wiped the blood from Max's face. "Damn it all, Max, but I love you."

And this led to other things, which led to longer things.

Long story short, they never really got around to hiking the mountains.