Georg von Trapp was hiding in his study. If someone had told him years ago he would be avoiding his governess, he would have laughed scornfully after giving his famous von Trapp scowl, saying he always confronted people face to face. And yet somehow, now, his reality was entirely different; he was ashamed to admit that he had trouble leaving his study because of the governess.

Georg shuddered when their conversation came back to his mind. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his hands. How could he have read the situation so wrongly? He had worn his heart on his sleeve, he had opened himself to her, showing his most vulnerable side to the person that mattered most, aside from his children. But as a result, he had ended wounded, with his heart completely broken and his mask shattered into millions of pieces.

Six days ago, he had made the biggest mistake of his life.

At least it had started fine, when, after having that lovely dance with the temptress of the governess, he had realised that he was completely unsuited to marry Elsa. He had talked to her after the ball, explaining that he couldn't marry her when his heart wasn't in it. Much to his relief and surprise though, Elsa had expected it. She told him how she had seen how distant he was whenever he was talking to her. While he had been so attentive to her in Vienna she had noticed how he had changed little by little into a man completely different to that she had known in one of the many Vienesse glittering saloons. She had never mentioned Maria, however, her eyes showed she knew more that she wanted to say.

He sighed thinking about Maria, then he chastised himself again – Fraulein Maria. How easy it was to think about her in the friendly, familar way that had grown between them over the last weeks. He felt another pang of pain in his chest remembering that fateful night.

Georg had decided to be brave. It was time to take some risks and tell her how much she meant to him and how much in love with her he was. After the looks they shared, the conversations they had, and their beautiful dance together; for him, it was obvious something was going between them. Strolling outside, he had found her sitting on a bench, pensively, admiring the long trees and the moon shimmering on the lake. He had sat down next to her. Perhaps he should have been alerted when she had moved several inches away, uneasily. But he had assumed she was just nervous, worried about their situation.

"September is approaching very fast...Will you miss us?"

"Yes...I'll miss the children..."

"Uh...Only the children?" he had asked, hopefully.

"No...Yes!" she said hurriedly, and his heart swelled with love with her admission." Is there something wrong about that?"

"No. I only hoped that you could...stay."

She got up restlessly, full of agitation. "Stay? But I have to go back to the Abbey! And you will have the Baroness to take care of the children."

"Uh...Maria," he said, and she stopped dead in her tracks after hearing him use her name. But her back remained towards him. He stood up and approached her, deciding it was time to reveal his feelings. "There isn't going to be any Baroness."

"No?"

"No. Elsa and I...we weren't meant to be together. She has returned to Vienna..."

"Oh...I'm sorry."

"You are?" he was surprised, his eyes wide. She looked like she hadn't listened to him, and she blinked several times, confused.

"Of course. Wasn't your desire to marry her?" she asked, puzzled.

"You...you can't marry someone when you're in love with another one. Can you, Maria?"

"You are in love with another woman, Captain?" she frowned, looking even more confused than ever with his words.

"I'm in love with you, Maria," he said breathlessly, pouring his heart out with every word and looking at her with adoration.

Seconds passed and she looked taken aback, almost scared at his declaration. She took a step back, resting her hands on her chest like a shield and opening her mouth several times but without articulating any sound. Georg started to feel his blood leaving his face, aghast with her reaction, fear was running through his veins as he realized, with horror, how wrong he had been with his assumptions. He felt as if a knife had plunged into his chest, the pain spreading rapidly until he couldn't take it anymore. Every wound that had healed thanks to her was opened again, and he even felt his eyes moistened.

"Captain...I..."

"Don't," he said brusquely, raising one hand.

"Captain" she tried again, tentatively. "I...I'm sorry. I didn't do a thing...I would have never dreamt..." she stammered, trying to find the right words. "You are a very handsome and honorable man, and I won't deny it...And there were times in which I almost..." she shook her head, taking a deep breath. "But I don't...feel..."

"Don't," he repeated, without a trace of his usual commanding tone in it. It was a plea.

Maria pressed her lips, her fingers entangled in the blue dress he loved, and she took another step away from him.

"I should go back to the Abbey."

"No!" he almost shouted suddenly, with horror. "Don't go back, not until September."

She was doubtful, but he pleaded with her. After all, he couldn't embarrass himself any more than he had already done.

"Please. Don't go back, not yet. The children will be devastated." he said, gulping, trying to swallow the despair he felt in his throat. "Please" he whispered.

Maria nodded, in silence, and his back went rigid. At least his children wouldn't suffer the consequences of his actions. He nodded in gratitude, and before she could reply to him he strode back to the villa, with his eyes set on the door. He went directly to the study and closed the door angrily, throwing himself on the sofa, trying to find some solace.

After recalling what had transpired that night he pressed his hands to his eyes, feeling the sting of tears. He hadn't cried since he had buried Agathe and he wouldn't do it now. But after a lifetime of suppressing his feelings, it was hard to put everything back again in the cage he had locked for many years. Several nights ago he resolved to put his mask on again and try to act indifferently towards her, and that's what he was doing. He was glad no-one knew his feelings for her. The only thing he hated was her look of pity every meal they had together with the children. He never looked at her; he acted casually around her as if nothing had happened.

It made him sad because they had been like friends. After two months of sharing their worries about the children and stories about their past lives, he had considered her a friend. She was one of the few people he could rely on. And now, the late-night discussions had ended after that horrible night. Instead, his mind preferred to return to the old times, before the puppet show.

He avoided her like the plague, not wanting to cause her any kind of distress. He only approached the nursery when the children were alone and he was sure she wasn't there. And if they were forced to be together, he only shared a few words with her, cool and distant. With his children he continued being tender and caring, not wanting to worry them and let them believe he was going back to his dark moods.

The last three days had been torture. Every time they started a conversation it ended with them bickering about nothing and everything. It wasn't like the playful banter of before, now their words were filled with pain and defensiveness. It seemed whatever had happened that day triggered fresh arguments, until one of the children or the staff interrupted them. They never touched on the subject of what happened that night, tiptoeing around it, though their last disagreement ended with some hurtful words until he turned and left the room, leaving her with her mouth agape, about to refute him.

And here he was now, brooding again and thinking about his governess...no, the governess. He wondered what he had done in his past life to end up with a broken heart again. But he resolutely refused to show his wounds. The only thing that showed his distress was that he had returned to his old habit of smoking cigarettes when he was alone. At least he hadn't drunk himself into oblivion like he did when his wife died. No, he had stopped drinking and he promised himself not to touch a glass again.

His reverie was broken by a soft knock on his study door. Thinking that it was Frau Schmidt, he didn't make an effort to straighten the knot of his tie or smooth the locks of his hair that were falling untidily over his forehead. But when the door opened and he saw her golden hair and her blue eyes, he rapidly redid the knot and combed back his hair. He was hurt, but he wasn't going to show her how much.

"Don't you know you have to wait until I give you permission to enter?" he said bitterly, gritting his teeth.

He was furious, but not with her. How could he be angry with his saviour? The truth was he was mad at himself, with how foolish he'd been and how he had messed everything up.

"Sorry," she said apologetically, but then something shifted in her eyes and the determination he saw at first came back. She frowned and rested her hands on her hips, standing in front of him. "You're avoiding me."

Of course, she had noticed his defensiveness and the way he was once again building barricades to shield himself from pain. It was funny because she almost sounded hurt. Georg couldn't understand why she could be hurt, after all, it was his heart that had been broken. But he had thought she preferred to have her space after his confession. He brushed aside her remark and acted casually, taking his fountain pen and writing several sentences which made no sense on a piece of paper, pretending he was busy writing a letter.

"I don't know what you're insinuating, Fraulein, but you're completely wrong," he said nonchalantly, without looking at her, still writing on the paper.

"Captain" she raised her voice, with an edge of irritation. Georg ignored her and folded the paper, opening the drawer of his mahogany desk, placing the paper inside. But then he had to think of something else to keep up the appearance of being busy.

"Captain!" she repeated when he still didn't respond, then he was startled when she took his fountain pen from his hand.

Georg widened his eyes, surprised with her action and finally, his eyes found hers. She was angry with him, with her chest rising and falling rapidly and her expressive eyes full of fire. He wanted to say something, but he found himself completely mesmerized by how her irises changed from light blue when she was happy to a stormy blue when she was angry. He knew it was hard to resist her when she pleaded with those big eyes. He only had to recall the first time she had begged him with those beautiful eyes and he had found himself singing Edelweiss after several years without even having touched a guitar.

Georg was still staring at her, when Maria - no, he rebuked himself, the governess - repeated his name. He blinked and he felt his ears burn. How had he ended up embarrassing himself again in front of her? He felt the anger rise in his stomach, and he got up, trying to disguise his discomfort.

"What do you want, Fraulein? Are you only able to repeat everything like a parrot?" He snapped, crossing his arms behind his back.

She opened and closed her mouth until she pressed her lips in a line, taking several steps until she was close to him. Georg's back went stiff when his nostrils were filled with her scent, and he clenched his jaw, hating how vulnerable he felt every time she was near him.

"I can be a parrot, but you're doing what you promised you wouldn't do again. In the process of avoiding me, you're also neglecting your children," she said harshly.

Shocked, Georg was livid with himself as he realised she was right. In the process of avoiding her, he was hurting his children. And now that their relationship was almost restored, he couldn't fall back into his old habits. It was like an ice cube thrown in his face. He felt a lump in his throat and he closed his eyes, sighing regretfully. Suddenly, a warm touch caught his attention, and he opened his eyes. Her delicate hand was resting on his hand, lightly caressing his knuckles. His anger was slowly disappearing, while she was brushing his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps. He didn't dare to look at her eyes, so he pulled his hand away, walking to the window, keeping his back to her.

He heard her quiet steps, as she approached him until she stopped behind him. They remained in silence, the air thick with tension, with the only sound of their breathing. He waited, knowing she wanted to say something.

"Captain" she spoke softly. "I...well, you should know that..."

"Leave it," he said abruptly, turning suddenly and looking at her eyes. There was sadness in her eyes, and the anger that had melted away with her touch returned with force. He hated pity. "It won't happen again. I won't neglect my children. You shouldn't worry."

"Captain, that night..." she tried again.

Georg raised a hand, stopping her, shaking his head. "No, Maria. Don't mention it. I don't want to talk about it, and it's better if we forget it." He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "I won't make the same mistake with my children. You're right; they don't deserve to suffer my dark moods again and my frequent absences. It won't happen again."

She nodded slowly, giving him a little smile. It seemed she wanted to continue their conversation but in the end, she retreated from the room. Georg took a long breath, feeling better with her away. When she was near him it was impossible to breathe without feeling his heart-ripping. But she was right. He had thought that giving her space would be better, but he had ended hurting his beloved children again. It would be the last time he would break a promise.

He was alone. He felt desolate. When Agathe died he had been walking around in a dark tunnel, searching for a light that could guide him through his grief. Maria was the reason for being alive after four years of feeling empty inside. But happiness hadn't lasted long. The dark tunnel had dragged him in again, deeper than before.

He used to question his reason to live, but the answer had been easy: his children. And for them, he would continue breathing every day, even if it hurt.

Well...Here I'm back again! I know this would be improbable, but it was an idea I wanted to explore.

Special thanks to bloomandgrow for checking my grammar.

I don't own TSOM.