October 1938

This time, she found him.

When he'd left her, she had been walking briskly up the staircase to talk to the children. She had tried not to show it, but he could tell she was terrified.

He had disappeared back into his study to ensure everything was in order so they could get away as easily as possible tonight. But there hadn't been much he could do. He'd been transferring money to a bank in England for some time now and there was no more to be done there. Everyone's travel documents were all in order. The only thing he could do was check the train schedules, but that only took five minutes. He'd succumbed to the scotch within a half hour.

"Georg."

He looked up at hearing her voice.

The golden skirt suit she had been wearing when they'd arrived home that matched her hair was gone. She was now wearing a high necked pink top, taupe skirt and fitted grey jacket. Given her outfit Georg knew she was packed and ready.

"Liesl's just helping the little ones finish packing," she announced solemnly, answering the question he hadn't even asked. "I told them one small bag each, and to only take the absolute necessities."

Just her voice heralded just how much she had changed; even since the night they had confessed their love, here in the gazebo. It was quieter; less impulsive and more confident.

Her actions were the same. When she returned home that day, the children had swarmed her with joyful voices and open, outstretched arms and she had responded in turn. Today she had walked out slowly and purposefully, her reserved demeanour still full of love for the children; her children.

He had never seen her this calm or collected before. When they first met he wouldn't have thought her capable of being this still, this thoughtful.

"You've been drinking," she stated.

And yet in some ways she hadn't changed. She was still as candid as ever.

Of course she could smell it. But she didn't seem as annoyed as he'd expected her to be. Certainly not as angry as she had the right to be.

"I didn't even talk to you about it."

When he had left his study to tell her about the telegram, his decision was made. Less than an hour after returning from their honeymoon; which they had had to cut short, he had announced to his wife that they had to leave the country.

"But you did," she answered.

'I'm with you. I'll be with you every step of the way.'

During their honeymoon, they had talked of the future. There had only been one conversation prior to their departure from Paris the day before, and it had been brief. Maria had made it crystal clear that she would support him no matter what, and Georg didn't want to dampen his or his bride's spirits, so they'd had no reason to discuss it again until the Anschluss had occurred.

"That still stands Georg," she promised. "Whatever you decide will be my decision."

But there had never been a decision and they both knew it.

As exciting as it would to have a ship under him again, Georg could not work with them. He would never forgive himself. He couldn't do it even if it meant that Maria and the children would be safe. There were other ways his family could be safe.

She didn't know the situation the way he did. He needed to be the strong one. He didn't want to break now. He couldn't.

But he'd never felt this vulnerable before in his life. Not even when Agathe had died. He'd felt angry and helpless, but this was different. For the first time ever, Georg felt lost.

'I don't how to do this.'

The look from his wife told him he had spoken aloud. Looking at her now, Georg realised how much he needed her. He'd never needed anything else the way he needed her right now.

"Please Maria," he pleaded softly. "Help me."

Wordlessly, she moved to sit beside him on the bench. But when she spoke, the words were the farthest thing from what Georg expected.

"Do you remember the first night of the honeymoon?" she asked him. "When I told you about running away from my uncle?"

Georg nodded slowly. Though he didn't know where Maria was going with this, he did know his wife. She wouldn't be mentioning it if it wasn't relevant.

"I knew I had to get away from him," she continued. "I wanted to get away from him. And yet, leaving was more daunting than anything I'd ever done in my life."

"Why?" He couldn't understand how his strong, brave, beautiful Maria could have any reservations about escaping from her uncle. He had witnessed her pain whenever she remembered it; he had seen the scars she carried because of what that monster had done to her.

"Because, horrible as it was, life with my uncle was all I knew. Heading into the unknown was terrifying.

"We're heading into the unknown, aren't we?"

How was it she knew what he needed before he knew himself? 'It shouldn't be surprising' he thought ruefully. She had known exactly what the children needed when he could barely connect with them at all.

"It's only natural you're scared. We all are. But I trust you, and know you're doing the right thing. You wouldn't be the man I love if you didn't."

Georg knew she understood. Without saying it, she had told him she would be there by his side to weather the storm ahead.

Every day since his return from Vienna, he had been so grateful for everything she had given him. He would give her the world if he could. But the exact opposite was happening; everything they knew was being taken away.

July 1938

Georg was disorientated. Before he knew what had happened, Fraulein Maria had grabbed his hand and run, leaving him to be dragged along with her.

He was now standing the gazebo with the governess, when only a moment ago he had been engaged in a game of tag with his children.

Much to the chagrin of Max and Elsa, especially, Georg had spent much more time with his children, both collectively and one-on-one. He had learnt so much about each of them and was so proud of the people his children had grown up to be. He just hated that he had missed it.

Fraulein Maria was standing in the centre of the gazebo, with her arms clasped in front of her and a look of awe on her face.

"It's so beautiful," she sighed. "I always wanted to come inside."

"Yes, it is," Georg mused absently. "I haven't been here in years."

It was beautiful; just as beautiful as it had always been. The last time he'd been in the gazebo was the night Agathe had died. That night hadn't even entered his head until just then. For some time now, it hadn't hurt to think about his wife.

And he didn't find being back inside the gazebo painful at all.

"Oh Captain," Fraulein Maria's voice brought Georg out of his reverie. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"No, no please," he interrupted. From the startled look on her face, Georg knew she felt bad about intruding on a place so personal to him. "It's alright."

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Yes," he replied. "What do you like about the gazebo, Fraulein?"

He now realised he was genuinely curious about what her answer would be. Ever since the argument, they had become amiable around each other. Though their conversations mostly revolved around the children, he had discovered that they had many things in common.

"Well" she pondered. "I think mostly because it's so secluded. It's like another whole world, and when you're here all your problems are forgotten. Here you can be away from it all. You can be safe."

Georg knew that feeling all too well. Another whole world was exactly how he had always thought of the gazebo.

"Why have you never been inside before?"

She regularly took walks in the evenings, and he'd seen her down by the gazebo often enough. She had admitted that she loved it, and looking at her now, it was clear that she was overjoyed to finally step inside.

That alone made him happier.

What was happening? He admitted the little Fraulein's effervescence was infectious. But this was the gazebo. A special place he had shared with the woman he loved. He wouldn't even let Elsa in here.

Georg looked back at the governess. She looked absolutely breathtaking and he remembered the other evening, after the puppet show. No matter how much he tried to deny it, he had sung that night because she asked him to. The image of her in that blue dress as she listened to him sing had haunted his mind ever since that night.

"I know there are rooms in this house which are not to be disturbed," she answered.

Georg had almost forgotten he had asked her a question at all. He doubted whether this woman had an impure bone in her body. She may be far too vivacious for her chosen path of a nun, but there was no doubt she possessed the integrity for it.

Had he really sounded like that? No wonder things had been so miserable before she came.

'Not anymore,' he vowed silently. He wouldn't allow the governess to wander into somewhere like his study without permission, but no longer would any room in the house be forbidden.

"You may come down here any time you like Fraulein," he said, gesturing around the glass structure.

He could tell she wanted to protest, and was relieved after a moment of silence that the only words to leave her lips were "Thank you."

"No Fraulein. Thank you."

He would be forever grateful to her. She had brought music back into the house. She had opened his eyes and his heart, united his family and made his house a home once more.

The least he could do was share the gazebo with her.

October 1938

Share the gazebo with her.

Would she ever see the gazebo again? Would he? For a moment, Georg was furious. Furious at what his life now held for him. For his wife.

"You don't deserve this," he said feebly. "You gave up the only life you wanted to marry a man twice your age, and you haven't been back from the honeymoon for a day before you find out you have to leave the country, and all you ever knew."

"Austria is my homeland," she said simply. "You are my home."

Georg had never been a man who cried, but those words nearly moved him to tears. Maria had told him many times since the beginning of their engagement how much she loved him and how grateful she was that she had finally found her home, but this was different.

And she was right. There was no Austria. Not anymore. The country he'd fought for two decades ago had ceased to exist. Now his home was the woman beside him and their children.

They sat on the bench for some time; time that was lost on them. They didn't say a word. They barely looked at each other. They just sat together, their arms around each other, each drawing strength from the other's presence, the silence saying everything words could not.

Eventually, they left. She held his arm tightly as they walked in tandem up to the house. As they stood on the terrace, Georg cast one last look over the grounds.

They would never come back. But just like his home, he would take the memories he'd made in the gazebo, both the good and the bad, with him over those mountains and carry them with him until the end of his days.

Well I couldn't let this story end without a flashback for Maria now could I? I really enjoyed focusing entirely on Georg's perspective; I haven't really don't that before. With this chapter I really wanted to pull apart dialogue from the musical and make it work for Georg in the film, and I hope that I succeeded.

I have had this story planned for a very long time, and I can't believe it's now over. Thank you to everyone who has read, favourited, review etc. And don't worry; I'm not going anywhere.