AKA working title "someone who needs me desperately" ;)

Why did you just get a notification about this old thing?!

Hi again, SOM family! It's been a few years! But I haven't been *completely* idle - I have a bunch of ideas and snippets I've been working on as inspiration strikes. Most of them revisit stories and worlds I've already written about, little fragments that don't really fit here nor there, but I thought it might still be fun to share the ones that are a little more coherent. (Some of these seem to be shaping into sequels, so there's hope for me yet!)

You might not remember much of this old story (in which case might I tempt you to revisit it again? ;) Back when I finished it, I had a spin-off in mind for a certain good doctor. I ultimately decided I was more interested in writing and reading about M/G... but let's just say some things have a way of coming full circle. ;) So I thought I'd put this out there - bonus content, if you will. ;)

Without further ado, my first foray back in a long while! (Fair warning: references to M and G only)

The Wedding Banquet

Her voice was low and textured. The sound of a woman who smoked regularly, gossiped gaily, and knew perfectly well the effect it had on men.

"The most anticipated social event of the decade, and you look like you are positively dying to get back to the operating room."

It shook him out of his own mind, and Karl chuckled sheepishly. His thoughts had drifted to a particularly difficult neck dissection he had recently presided over. He was certain the patient would do well, but he couldn't help the hypotheticals. Could he have done anything differently to have given her better outcome? Karl did this often – it was precisely these conjectures that made him a better physician, and a terrible party guest – but his dear friend's wedding, of course, was not the time nor the place.

It had been a beautiful wedding. Maria looked radiant, and Georg more buoyant than Karl had ever seen him. Karl was wholeheartedly delighted for the happy couple – the wedding banquet was just very… long. He'd enjoyed the dancing, indulged in the champagne, and endured Max's insistent pressure at his elbow as the man made his rounds. Karl had been introduced to everyone he could possibly be introduced to. But this voice he was certain he did not know.

He looked up at the stranger. "Am I that obvious?"

"Your reputation precedes you, Dr. Bonnetsmuller." She slid into the empty seat next to his with an airy laugh, exquisite gold dress and luxurious platinum hair. A woman who owned the stage and moved like she knew it.

"In present company, the pleasure is all mine." She gave him a gloved hand, and he raised it to his lips. "You flatter me. I never imagined I had any reputation, unless you are referring to the elite circle who have the misfortune of developing vocal cord polyps."

Another tinkling laugh. "Opera singers?" She signalled the waiter to bring her a drink and settled back into her chair.

He ducked his head in acknowledgement. "Yes, by a wide margin."

"Especially sopranos, naturally."

He chuckled again. He might have expected this glamorous socialite to be aloof and conceited, and was slightly and pleasantly surprised to find she was playful.

"I am bound by confidentiality not to name names, but there is a prima donna who went on to headline Carmen at the Palais Garnier." Karl raised an impish eyebrow.

Her eyes gleamed conspiratorially. "Victoria de Los Angeles?"

He grinned, pressing his lips together as if to seal them and shook his head.

"Minnie Hauk?"

He made a key and lock gesture and mimicked throwing away the key.

She pursed her lips. "Give me a clue. Maria Callas?"

He shook his head again and held up his hands, laughing. "I will have no choice but to surrender if you keep accosting me, and my license will be in jeopardy for breaking patient confidentiality. Who will I have to blame then?"

She met his gaze. Her limpid gray eyes caught the glow of the chandeliers overhead as her voice pitched even lower. "Elsa. Elsa Schraeder."

Elsa Schraeder?

He managed to contain his surprise. Karl did not know Elsa Schraeder. He'd never met her before. But he knew of Elsa Schraeder. This was the woman Georg had nearly married. The woman who had convinced him to send his children to a boarding school in Switzerland, just outside the town where he worked as surgeon. This was the woman who Karl himself had once disparaged when he saw how completely it had broken Georg.

In Georg's narrative, perhaps Elsa Schraeder was the villain, but she had also been the victim in the mess that followed. The waves of Georg's scandalous behaviour had reached him even in Lausanne. Karl had pitied her, in a way.

He inclined his head. "Baroness Schraeder."

She studied him like he'd said something profound. Perhaps he had, in his tone, which he'd thought he'd kept neutral. "Is my reputation known to you?"

He smiled easily. The fringe benefit of being a known academic was not having to pretend. "I'm afraid I'm not very well connected in Viennese circles."

"Only through Georg." It was not a question. He had tried to spare her, and she hadn't taken it.

"Yes." He acknowledged the significance and let it pass. The least he could do was offer her the courtesy of being acquainted on her merits, and not her relationship through Georg. "And Max." He grinned. "And, of course, the aforementioned vocal cord polyp sufferers."

She laughed obligingly and looked around. "Where has Max disappeared to?"

"Into a keg, most likely, after his month of chaperone duties." Karl felt very little sympathy for the number of letters he had received begging him to arrive sooner, well before the wedding.

Elsa cocked her head. "Max, as a chaperone for Georg?"

She leaned forward, intrigued by the titillating bit of information, finally acting like the gossiping socialite he had expected.

Karl went a bit wicked. The Baroness had proved herself an unexpected conversationalist. "Are you more surprised by Max acting as chaperone or that Georg needed one?"

"Now now, Dr. Bonnetsmuller," she chided. "I can speak from experience that Max is an excellent chaperone, but it would hardly be polite for me to speak to the latter in present company. We're barely acquainted."

He throttled a full-bellied laugh. Elsa Schraeder did not disappoint.

"Karl, please." He settled on a warm chuckle.

"Karl. The same sentiment stands." She pulled back a bit, putting decorous space between them, but he recognized a fencer who had lunged for a point.

He made no apologies. Karl knew he did not faze her. Impropriety was not a concern for Elsa Schraeder. Having spent so much of his life in a role where he strove not to offend, her brazenness was refreshing.

It took such a woman to navigate the fallout from Georg's behaviour and still be standing by his side at his wedding.

"Have I surprised you into speechlessness, my good doctor?"

He huffed a laugh. "If I can be frank, I was admiring you, dear Baroness."

Elsa preened. "I had this gown designed by Gainsberger before he left for sabbatical. All I needed was the opportunity to wear it, so I must thank Georg and his new wife for that."

Karl had never heard of Gainsberger. He inferred she was speaking about her couturier - likely Vienna's most sought-after, if this woman had retained his services. "The gown is exquisite, even more lovely on you, but rather I was admiring your grace in being present today."

"Oh, how unromantic," Elsa pouted, but he could tell she was pleased.

"On the contrary, I think magnanimity is very attractive."

This time, it was he who seemed to render her speechless. He watched in amusement as she flushed a rosy pink.

"Well, I suppose some could call it generosity." Elsa shrugged elegantly, then took a sip, more of a swig, really, of her cocktail. "I don't hate Georg. In fact, very much the opposite. He is a friend, and I wish him every happiness."

She sounded sincere, and he couldn't help but be touched.

"It is a little galling I've ever only known him at his worst," she admitted.

Karl smiled, recognizing the bit of vulnerability she allowed for him. "I imagine after his return, you were one of the first to know."

"Yes, Georg did come to see me, in Vienna."

"That was Georg, at his best."

She exhaled, the sound between an agreement and a scoff. "I cannot take any credit for that, I'm afraid."

As if they were of one mind, both turned to the dance floor, where the object of their conversation was still surrounded by a boisterous crowd of well-wishers. He stood tall and proud, in full military regalia, an easy smile on his lips and a softness in his gaze. Even the lines that usually creased his brow had smoothed. There was no remnant of the destructive force that had held him for so many years. Even though Karl had witnessed firsthand the changed man Georg had become, it still surprised him at times to see his friend this way.

I cannot take any credit for that.

As one of Georg's self-proclaimed closest friends, Karl had admitted the same to himself, wryly, perhaps a little disparagingly. But – as his eyes shifted to the glowing bride at Georg's side – the overarching emotion was nonetheless one of awe, and gratitude.

"Maria is something extraordinary," he said, almost to himself.

"I understand you are acquainted with her." The Baroness looked curious, as he was sure many in her circle was. If Georg had been a mystery, the woman who tamed him was even more so.

The new Baroness von Trapp had changed from her formal wedding attire into a soft, flowing gown. It was more practical for dancing, Karl supposed, but it was also more fashionable. Maria had struck the perfect chord between demure and stylish, befitting her new status.

"Maria was a patient of mine," he explained. Georg had brought Maria to him in hopes of correcting her voice. In the end, it had been Georg that Maria had needed – not surgical intervention. "She is very easy to like." He let the rest go unsaid. Give her a chance.

As if on cue, Maria laughed merrily at something a guest had said. She seemed at ease amongst Georg's glittering circle of acquaintances – more so than he was, and he was certain she knew less of them than he did. She was delightful, charming and optimistic, a breath of fresh air. But Karl knew the real Maria. She had snuck away from the reception to where he and Max were entertaining the children on the terrace. Karl admired this Maria all the more, couldn't help but be inspired by this woman who spoke her mind and followed her heart. Georg had found her there, had teasingly accused her of hiding at their wedding, but stayed to laugh and dance with the children far longer than was appropriate for the host of the decade's most anticipated social event.

The orchestra struck up a slow waltz, and Karl watched as Georg swept Maria onto the dance floor, cutting a wide swarth as guests moved aside for the bride and groom. They were a graceful pair. If he didn't know them as he did, he would have missed the moment Maria improvised a small misstep with masterful fluidity, no doubt from her years as a cabaret dancer. He could almost feel, rather than hear, Georg's low chuckle, Maria's answering murmur.

He saw the way Georg adjusted his grip, brought her in closer. Not in a way that might keep her from stumbling, but like he might be in danger of drowning.

At his side, Baroness Schraeder exhaled, and Karl knew her perceptive gaze had caught the exchange too. "They make a lovely couple," she said at last.

The words were cursory, perhaps, but Karl understood the sentiment. There was part resignation, part admiration, part wonder. Neither he nor Elsa Schraeder, with all their connections and all their abilities, had been able to rescue a drowning man, and not for lack of trying. Georg had gone sailing to the ends of the earth, when all had been lost, only to run into Maria on a remote Greek island. And somehow, they were just what the other needed.

The entire thing was both impossible, and inspiring. A stroke of luck, divine intervention, a joke of cosmic proportions.

Fate, if a cynical scientist believed in such things.

The dance ended, and Georg leaned in to kiss his wife. Karl looked away, giving the couple some privacy. As the orchestra started up a new waltz – a fast, merry tune, he turned instead to the woman beside him. A most unconventional socialite, an amusing guest at a long wedding banquet, an unexpected comrade in arms. Even if Karl Bonnetsmuller believed in fate, it was hardly a higher order that brought two of Georg's old friends to his own wedding, but nonetheless, there was no reason he should not enjoy the company. "Baroness?" He held out his hand.

She looked at it. "If we are on first name terms, you must call me Elsa."

"Elsa." Her name was both elegant and sultry. He offered his hand again, and this time, she took it.

She allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. Her lips lifted as she took her position across from him, her smile audacious. "To the happy couple."

He inclined his head and stepped into her space. "To new beginnings."

"To old friends." He chuckled at this, and her hand slid into his.

He brought her in against him as the music swelled. Elsa smelled faintly of lilies and honey. "To the things that cannot be explained."

And thereafter

She invited him to attend the opening show of Carmen at the Vienna Opera House. The invitation came on thick cotton paper with scalloped edges and impeccable calligraphy. Karl accepted, even though he had a conference across the border the following day, because he knew she was referencing their first conversation at Georg's wedding. She wore a luxurious deep-red gown that draped artfully at the shoulders, with diamonds glittering at her earlobes and a veritable rope of them around her neck. They'd dined out later that evening at the opulent Hotel Imperial, before his late-night train to Berlin. The following week, she mailed him a clipping of their names in the gossip column and a photo of them together – the angle of his curls against her carefully arranged coifs making it appear as though they were doing something more than simply having dinner.

He chuckled. Elsa Schraeder had a reputation, and she owned it without apology.

Elsa loved beautiful and expensive things. She loved culture and sophistication. She did not love children. Elsa was definitely not the right woman for Georg - she was possibly the furthest. (Karl might have been baffled at how neither recognized it sooner, but in his line of work, he was not unfamiliar with how hope could make fools of them all.)

A couple of weeks later, she showed up to his symposium on dysphonia in children at the Universite de Lausanne, dressed in a smartly tailored business suit. Karl knew the right question was to ask this socialite what she was doing there. Instead, he asked her to spend the night. She exclaimed appropriately over his villa overlooking Lake Geneva - how could he leave such a lovely place as often as he did? For dinner she put on a dress that far outshone the muted tones of his dining room. Later that night, he peeled it off her.

Karl Bonnetsmuller was not a man in need of rescuing – prided himself on the fact. But he was surprised to find that he wanted this woman. Needed her. Quite desperately, in fact.