Where is this writing productivity coming from? :O

It's probably not a good idea to be writing a multi-chapter story while trying to write for the Proboards holiday Gift Exchange at the same time. :P But in my defence, this originally started as a one-shot, until I realized that Georg thinks a lot. A LOT. (And the good news - it's almost done!)

All feedback and suggestions welcome, as always!

Warning: A/U - well, A/love story. Same universe. I think.

Warning #2: May get significantly heavy.

Chapter One

Georg told himself he wouldn't worry. But – if the grandfather clock in the corner was any indication – it had been two hours since he'd closeted himself in his study, pacing occasionally with restlessness, and all he could think about was her.

He sighed, toying with a cigar. He hadn't smoked since his navy days, but found that having it in his hands had a calming effect. He didn't want to think of the suppertime conversation that had worried him – but Georg was nothing if not implacable, particularly toward himself. In his mind, he replayed the conversation over and over.

Georg had just slid into his seat at the dinner table, wine glass in one hand, a small bowl of nuts in the other. In these past weeks, he'd learned that such indulgences were necessary, because Fraulein Maria was almost always predictably late for mealtime. Sure enough, the seat across from him was empty.

He was too busy contemplating why this no longer bothered him – Georg hated wasted time – that he missed the unusually somber mood at the table. He didn't notice the way his children glanced furtively at each other. He didn't notice that when Louisa finally broke the silence, her voice was small and beseeching and most unlike her.

"Fraulein Maria says she won't be down for dinner, father."

It had amused Georg – who was still thinking about the breathless and slightly disheveled way Fraulein Maria usually appeared at the table – that all seven heads nodded empathically, coming to the defense of their governess. How far they'd come from the days of setting pinecones on her seat. He chuckled inwardly, recalling her squeal as her backside – but what was he doing even thinking about her backside? Georg shook his head, and smiled at his children, humoring them. "And tell me, what is your precious Fraulein up to now that has her skipping this delicious meal?"

"She's sick," Friedrich answered promptly, but Georg heard the question behind the bravado.

By some separate part of his mind, Georg knew surprise was an acceptable reaction – Fraulein Maria had seemed in excellent health at supper yesterday – but his reaction went far beyond surprise. It was visceral. A gut-wrenching, blinding sense of terror. His chest tightened and for a moment he fought to breathe. Through the roaring in his ears, he could only form one thought.

This, again.

It had started just this way, Georg – no, not 'remembered', because that day was as fresh in his mind now as it had been five years ago. That dreadful day when he arrived home from an overnight business trip to Vienna. His children, eerily subdued, clustered around him. Even now, he could feel Louisa's tight clutch on his hand as she whispered tremulously, 'mama's sick'.

How could he have missed the similar affect of his children, tonight?

Georg had to put down his wine glass.

He met the anxious eyes of his children. They were staring at him, waiting to gauge his reaction. Waiting for an answer.

"I see. Well, don't look so glum, children - I'm sure it's nothing. We'll just get started on supper, then."

Gretl's lower lip quivered. "We couldn't even sing this afternoon because Fraulein Maria's throat hurt. She sent us away."

"She only did that because she didn't want us to catch it," Kurt whispered, eyes quickly flickering between his youngest sister and his father.

When none of his children moved, Georg added, "she'll be fine in a day or two, Gretl darling, and you'll be able to sing all you want."

He had picked up his fork then – there was no one to say grace – making it very clear the conversation had ended. Slowly, the children followed suit, and there was no more talk of Fraulein Maria. But then, there was no more talk at all.

Now, alone in his study, Georg thought about that moment. He ran his fingers through his hair, ashamed and frustrated.

That wasn't what he had wanted to say to his children. He knew the older children had needed reassurance, and the younger ones comfort. He wanted to tell them he was worried – no, scared – too. But in the moment when they had turned to him, he had turned away. He had brushed them aside as he had done so often since his wife's death.

Georg sighed, and his thoughts returned to Fraulein Maria. His young governess would have known exactly what to say.

She had always known what to say, he admitted. Even that first day under his roof, she knew exactly how to push all his buttons. He had been taken aback – and a little bit in awe – at this wisp of a woman who started her employment by challenging his every method. He was furious, but mostly at himself, for something about her earnest outrage made him want to bait her. When he realized this, Georg spent the rest of the day staying out of her way, and gladly took his escape to Vienna.

It didn't take him long after his return to find that staying out of her way was impossible. With the swiftness of an ambush, Fraulein Maria had won over the children. Then she charmed the house-staff. It seemed he couldn't go anywhere in his own home or grounds without running into her. On the floor in the sitting room whispering secrets with the children. Sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging her slim legs and chatting with the cook. And Georg always knew when she was in the garden, for he could hear her clear voice through the window of his study and hear the children laugh in response.

The change that had swept through the villa was astounding – it was suddenly a brighter and lighter place. And it felt – this surprised Georg most of all – like a home. Bouquets of wildflowers popping up all over the place, cheerful housestaff, somebody could be counted upon to be singing at any given time… he had forgotten what that was like, and he had forgotten he enjoyed it. He didn't even entertain the possibility that any place could be 'home' after his Agathe's death, but here it was, brought about by this doe-eyed, quick-witted, effervescent governess.

Georg watched her, warily at first, then with growing admiration. He came to understand by observation that he and the Fraulein were not so different. She frequently acted on intuition, and he had relied enough upon his scarily accurate battle intuition throughout his navy career to know it was a gift. She was warm, gracious, optimistic, but not to be crossed (and certainly he hadn't tried since their shouting match by the lake) – for Fraulein Maria was all that, but she was firm. And she was usually right.

Doggedly, she built bridges to reconnect him with his children, and had given him a sharp shove across it that day by the lake. Georg grinned ruefully. He supposed he deserved that. But the Fraulein's subsequent attempts to draw him out of his shell had been gentle. He almost didn't notice when he began conceding to her whims – small things at first, a song or two for his children, new play clothes, an afternoon picnic. Then, he began seeking her out – for her opinion, for her reassurance, for the inexplicable sense of certainty he felt in her presence.

Up until now, he would have readily acknowledged that he approved of Fraulein Maria as his governess. He respected her. Admired her, even.

But tonight, under the shock of Friedrich's simple "she's sick", Georg suddenly understood that he cared for her. Deeply.

He understood the reason he watched her constantly and thought of her incessantly was not entirely because of her way with the children. He understood that the pleasure he experienced in her presence went beyond his role as a father. He ticked off items in his mind that he had unknowingly given her, although she had never asked anything for herself: his forgiveness at her perpetual tardiness, his sense of curiosity about her, his desire to measure up to her expectations, his full attention.

And it was this new knowledge that had kept Georg in his study all evening. He wanted to see her. He was worried about her (even as he learned from the maid her illness was mild). Of course, he could never recapture the all-consuming passion and the till-death-do-us-part love he had shared with Agathe, but Georg knew now that he wanted her, as wife and mother to his children. He wanted her to be a permanent part of their lives. He wanted to call her Maria.

Captain Von Trapp had always gotten what he wanted, and this made him reticent.

Finally, as the ninth chime of the grandfather clock faded away, Georg decided he was being ridiculous. It was perfectly appropriate to check on your employee when they were ill. He could be professional. He didn't have to let her know how he felt. He didn't need her to tell him it was wrong to feel this way about his governess – the young postulate who had promised herself to God.