I don't own SOM. I'm taking some artistic license here with history, so humor me.
Max was curled up in a tight ball, his bones shivering like an earthquake as he laid in his cot in the dim barracks. The other prisoners were coughing and suffering in their sleep, but Max tried to ignore them, for he resented them. He had to work, like all the others, alongside the Communists and the Jews. Yes, the dirt and the filth, they surrounded him. The Jews were faceless, gray and melting. The grime grew into them. Max never had time to learn their names, it was an endless stream of living corpses.
Georg's latest letter was clutched to Max's thin chest, the grainy surface warm against his chilled fingers. Maria had had the baby, and Georg sent a picture. A small, wonderful little boy. He had Maria's nose, but Georg's eyes. And those eyes were so familiar, so pure and bright. Like Georg had once been.
Maximilian von Trapp. Max reread those words in the letter again and again. Maria likes the name, she wants to keep you close to our family, Georg wrote. So do I.
Max looked deep into those young eyes, and remembered when Georg's eyes were like that.
July, 1914
"Herr Detweiller!" The throaty, hoarse voice called.
Max rubbed his eyes, the smoke of his cigarette making his eyes sting. Tossing the dying cigarette onto the ground, crushing it with his beaten shoes, he turned to Frau von Spaun. Her wrinkled face looked strange against the glittering fabric of her dress. Her old, loose flesh was barely contained in the gown, obviously made for someone much younger and prettier.
"Yes, Frau von Spaun?" He replied, trying his best to keep just the right amount of annoyance in his voice. "Can I help you?"
"Tell Herr Beiler to pull the car around front." The lady of the house said, her nose wrinkled in distaste. "The Admiral is almost ready."
"Of course, Frau von Spaun." He bowed, keeping his eyes on her, totally ruining the point of bowing. Just to let her know that he bowed because he had to, that he bowed knowing one day she would bow to him.
Max ambled as quickly as he liked to the garage where Ernil Beiler stayed with the shiny cars and privacy. The elegant orange house sat low against the view of the austere mountains. Tonight, at Hofburg Palace, some of the heads of the military would have a celebratory ball before shipping out to war. To Max, the entire idea seemed ridiculous, but he wasn't the one in charge. No, he definitely wasn't. Max pushed his way into the dark and secluded garage.
"Beiler!" He shouted into the stuffy air. "Get off your ass! They're ready."
The sandy brown head of the driver shot up from inside the car. He yawned impressively, rubbing his nicely trimmed mustache. "Alright, alright. I'm up."
"At your leisure, Herr Beiler." Max said sarcastically, as the driver slowly opened up the main garage door. The sunset of Vienna was only tainted the sky along the edges with orange. It was a lovely sight to see, but nothing like the countryside. Yes, there, where Max had once lived, the sky danced with reds and golds. Yes, the one thing the country could do better than Vienna.
Back inside, Max made his way up the gilded staircase of the mansion, the last dead puffs of smoke spoiling the taste in his mouth. Down the long hallway, Max's footsteps were muted against the expensive carpet. Opening the door to the Admiral's quarters, Max peeked into the plush room.
"Admiral von Spaun?" He said, civility dripping from his words.
"Ah, yes, Herr Detweiller." The short, rotund Admiral turned to the door, struggling to button his waistcoat. "If you wouldn't mind-"
"Of course not." Max replied, feigning a smile. Max came close to the Admiral and helped button the white waistcoat, made for a much younger man. Then came the coat and the hat and the rose boutonniere. The Admiral was a full man, with sparkling eyes and a bushy beard that was trimmed neatly, quite different from its usual tangled mess. The smell of old tobacco hung around the man's heavy figure. After about an hour, the Admiral was all dressed and Max was helping him down the stairs. Frau von Spaun, all painted up like a barn, waited for them at the foot of the stairs. Max opened the grand door, where the glimmering Chevrolet Baby Grand sat for them, with Beiler sitting patiently for them.
"Good evening, Admiral." Beiler said, his voice mirroring the falseness in Max's. "Frau von Spaun."
"Herr Beiler." The Admiral gave him a nod. Max opened the side door for the Admiral and his wife, then scrambled over to the passenger seat and jumped in. The car chugged off down the road, the rocks making the ride a bit bouncy. As they made their way into the city, more and more cars appeared, striding into the glittering city. The sun was fully set now, dimly lighting the mountains on fire. In the east, the sky was plunged into midnight wonders.
Beiler pulled up into the driveway of the long driveway of Hofburg Castle, the glittering lights reflecting off the washed white stone and the pale green of the roof. As Bieler pulled into the long line of cars, curling in front of the main door, Max looked at the greenish statue of Prince Eugene. The Emperor was still in Schobrunn, too old for unnecessary travel. Bored, Max lit another cigarette. As they got to the door, Max jumped out and opened up the car door for the Admiral and his wife.
"Thank you, Max." The Admiral said with a smile. Frau von Spaun pulled her mink stole closer to her shoulders. Max nodded and followed them into the grand foyer, a glittering hall of gold and light. Many other military figures, dressed in various degrees of regalia and splendor, meandered down the hall to the Redouten Wing, the ball room. Max followed the aged procession with as little contempt as he could manage.
The ball room itself was just as glorious as the rest of the palace: glowing stone and gypsum, a full orchestra playing a lite melody by the wall. Tables set up next to the tall windows. The heat, though borderline stuffy, was tolerable. Max stood alongside the wall, gazing out across the dancing, laughing couples with only a hint of animosity.
Hours seemed to drag by like a ball on a chain. Max went to the bathroom after a while, brandy in hand, and took a long drag on a fresh cigarette. The smoke curled up to the marble ceiling of the bathroom, utterly polluting the grand display of the palace. Leaning against the sink counter, Max gazed over his shoulder, into the impressive mirror. Alone, it probably cost more than his entire wages in a year. With a sneer, he took another drag off his cigarette.
One of the stalls opens up, revealing a tall, surprisingly decent-looking young man in a sailor's uniform. Without looking at Max, the man washed his hands and rubbed his jaw. Resting his heavy, dark gaze on Max finally, the man said, "Boy, get me a towel."
"Excuse me?" The rage was instant, but Max played it off with cold, utter contempt. "Excuse me?"
"Towel." The word was punched this time.
"I am not a bathroom assistant." The lie came to Max's mind immediately and easily. "I am the First Secretary of Roads and interior Development." Max, for one thing, had absolutely no idea if that Ministry was a real thing, but it sounded like an actual thing. The young man obviously was as ignorant as Max, as he only raised his eyebrows and nodded his head.
"I'm so sorry, sir." The man said, holding out his hand. "Von Trapp, sir."
"Hm." Max shook Von Trapp's hand, testing its heart strength. "Herr Detweiller. Now, Private-"
"Actually, sir, it's Captain."
"Oh?" Max dropped the Captain's hand. "If you don't mind me saying, you look a bit too young to be a captain."
Not missing a beat, the young Captain said, "If you don't mind me saying, sir, but you look a bit too young to be First Secretary."
Well, he's got you there, Max thought with a smile. Trying to divert attention from himself, Max said, "So, Von Trapp. Shipping out to blow up those Serbs?"
With the raise of an eyebrow, the Captain nodded slowly. Max opened his mouth to say something witty, just as the bathroom door opened and an inebriated Admiral strolled in, humming some symphony rather poorly.
"Ah, Max." The Admiral slurred, stumbling up against him. Max stiffened, a blush heating his cheeks violently. Though he didn't look over, Max could feel the Captain grinning. "Please, me and the Mrs. will only be a little while longer. Make sure Beiler is ready for us. Oh, and Max, when we get home, could you push all my appointments an hours later?"
Through gritted teeth, Max said, "Yes, sir." The Admiral patted Max's shoulder and waddled into one of the stalls. Letting a thin breath out, Max turned to the Captain, who was now just standing there, eyebrow raised and grin gone.
"You lied."
"You believed that lie." Max countered with an apathetic smile. "And to be completely honest to myself, it wasn't a very good one. Secretary of Roads? Interior Development? If that even real?"
"Why would you lie?" The Captain asked.
"Why would you assume that I'm a towel boy?" The accusation was there in Max's voice, but with a smirk that took the edge off of it.
The Captain raised an eyebrow. "So. You're a- What? Houseboy?'
"Secretary." Max replied. "A... Personal secretary." Max relented. "But still. I bet you're not even a captain!"
"Actually." The Captain displayed the medals blazing his navy blue breast pocket. He didn't say any more, just displayed the shining crests and buttons and ribbons.
"These mean absolutely nothing to me." Max said, bored.
The Captain cleared his throat. "It proves that I- I am a Captain." He straightened up. "Captain Georg von Trapp."
"Von Trapp... Sounds... Old." And rich, Max thought cunningly.
"Yes. An old family." The Captain, Georg, nodded stiffly. "A proud family. Honest."
"Ugh." Max rolled his eyes, taking another puff off his cigarette. "Privilege. How charming."
"Excuse me?"
"Well, you're a Captain at your age... And rich. So..." Max shrugged.
"I earned my title." Georg said with a frown.
"I'm sure you earned some of it."
"Some?"
"Let's say... 45%?"
"I'd say at least 55%." Georg affirmed. But he tried to fight down a smile, a smile he didn't understand.
"Mhm." Max mused, starting towards the exit. "You just wait, Georg. One day all that influence and money and charm is going to run dry- And you'll be begging for a friend in government. And when that day comes," Max leaned against the door. "I'll be there."
When Max was gone, Georg was left with a bemused smile, the sound of the Admiral relieving himself, and the memory of how Max said his name. Strange.
As the war progressed, and the two men traveled down their paths, it seemed they needed each other, in some strange way. Max, in his free time, did some research into the strapping Captain. Very rich, very talented. Max kept tabs on him throughout the war, making sure he knew where Georg was. Georg, when he wasn't being shot at, managed to inform his contacts in higher places about the candid politician. Max was quickly promoted to Head Secretary of the Press. They shared a correspondence, teasing and light and easy. It was a nice friendship.
Somewhere along the way, there was something. Something. Georg would anticipate the delivery of letters on his ship. He would save the letters. Max worried about Georg, would think about his ship going into battle. He found himself praying. To whom, Max did not know. But he prayed, he prayed deeply for Georg.
After the war, with Austria fractured, Georg returned fractured as well. His pride was broken. And when he saw Max, his gleaming brown, smiling eyes, he fled. He did not see Max for months. And when he finally mustered the courage to return to Vienna, he had a sparkling young thing named Agathe on his arm. And this killed Max. But Max didn't know why.
It was not until the glittering 20s that Max began to understand. Till Georg realized everything. They began to understand, they got older, wiser, and the years went by.
And how they went.
Thanks for reading. I understand that Georg probably shipped out earlier in the war, and I might've gotten some ranking jazz wrong. Sorry.
Admiral von Spaun was actually the admiral at the time. Whether he had a personal secretary or not, who knows?
I also feel like I've gotten some of the years wrong, as far as getting the age right. But I don't actually care that much.
Also, I don't know the protocol in capitalizing "von", so I didn't. Sometimes. Whatever.
Some people have been telling me how this relationship isn't historically accurate. Really? Kinda like how:
Georg wasn't nearly as rich as the movie portrayed?
How none of the children in the movie were actually named the names they had in the movie?
How the Anschluss happened years earlier?
Or how Maximilian Detweiller DIDN'T ACTUALLY EXIST?
Kinda like that?
It's fanfiction, guys. Calm down.