Disclaimer: Don't own this movie, never will.

This is something for the June prompt: write a story set in the von Trapp attic. I don't know if this is even really any good, but I'm posting it anyway. Enjoy, I hope!

"So long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen…"

"…goodbye…" Maria quietly echoes the children's voices as they sail up from downstairs. She wipes a dot of sweat off her brow and plunks yet another box on top of the stack she has going. The heat is listlessly smothering her, and the lemon-colored sunlight seems made of dust.

Cleaning the von Trapp attic is not exactly how she planned to spend her day.

However, she would feel a little guilty if she wasn't up here. Poor Frau Schmidt. Preparing for the Baroness's "grand and glorious party" seems to fraying her nerves a bit.

Before, Maria and the children had been in the main hall, practicing their song for the party, when a decidedly frazzled Frau Schmidt walked through. She was muttering to herself, and a few silvered threads had freed themselves from her typically immaculate hair.

"Where are you going, Frau Schmidt? Do you want to watch us practice?" Gretl chirped from her spot on the stairs.

"Oh, no, dear." The housekeeper dragged her mouth into an apologetic smile. "I don't have the time. This whole – affair of the Baroness's is much more taxing than I expected. The ballroom hasn't been dusted and the cook still hasn't finished the Esterházy torta – oh! And I forgot the Captain's been wanting the attic tidied up for some time now." Frau Schmidt slapped a frustrated hand to her forehead.

"I can take care of that, Frau Schmidt," Maria volunteered. The poor woman looked so stressed, and she was sure the children would be fine down in the hall as long as they were checked up on a few times. It didn't seem fair to not help.

"Are you sure, Fraulein?" the housekeeper half-heartedly protested, but her shoulders were already relaxing. "What about the children…?"

"We can practice by ourselves for a while. I have the song memorized." Liesl offered.

"You just take care of the party, Frau Schmidt." Maria said – foolishly, she now realized. "I'll have that attic clean in no time!"

The housekeeper smiled. "If you insist, Fraulein. I do appreciate it."

Maria had expected the attic cleaning to take hardly any time at all, and that she could be supervising the children again in maybe 20 minutes. The Captain was an orderly sort of man, so she thought that his attic would already be as strictly organized as a military submarine. Or as organized as she imagined a submarine might be. And although of course it isn't a chaotic mess of musty belongings – everything is tucked neatly into a box – a few key things make tidying up the attic a bit of a daunting task:

Men as wealthy as Captain von Trapp have a lot of possessions.

Thus, there are so many boxes Maria has to stand on her tiptoes to see from one side of the room to the other.

None of the boxes seem to be arranged in any particular system.

And Maria has no idea, really, how to organize attics.

Her aunt and uncle hadn't had one, and even if they had, there wouldn't have been much to put up there. It was really something she should've put into consideration. She should have asked Frau Schmidt if there was any specific way the von Trapp attic needed to be, but of course she was too impulsive to put any real thought into it before plunging in.

Oh, well. She couldn't back out. She would work if it took ages, or at least until Frau Schmidt was finished with her other duties.

At present she is trying to separate the boxes based on content – boxes with clothing in one corner, boxes with valuables in another, and so on. She's sort of disappointed to find how…boring it is so far. It's not as if she's snooping – looking through their stuff is helpful at the moment, after all. While it isn't as bad as some of her abbey chores, she'd been half-hoping for some exciting discoveries. She's seen a few baby clothes, which was nice, but nothing that's truly wonderful. Not even a photograph, yet. Maria doesn't know what she had expected to find, but when she first looked into the Captain's attic, with its light film of dust and countless boxes, it seemed very mysterious and romantic; a hundred old memories barely breathing in wooden chests, just waiting to be woken up.

But at the moment, it's just another aged storage room. The monotony of her task is really becoming a bit of a problem, because there's nothing to distract her from the ungodly heat or the voices of the children. Even though they sound fine without her, she wishes she could be singing with them.

But those aren't even the biggest problems. When she's bored, her mind wanders far too easily. And lately, it's been wandering to things it shouldn't, namely, a certain song about a certain flower sung by a certain sea captain.

Ever since Edelweiss, things have changed. Or maybe things have been changing for a while; a bunch of little changes that all culminated once the Captain started singing. She hadn't imagined he would have such a wonderful voice. It was low and soft, but you could almost feel the depth of it, the power that voice could also contain. Somehow, he became much more than her stoic employer, and she couldn't really explain it but his voice whooshed in between her parted lips and settled warmly around her heart and she had a strange urge to just…be close to him. To sit beside him and learn about him for the rest of her life. It was like his very soul was sighing along the guitar strings, and everything about him all of a sudden seemed so…beautiful. She leaned against the wall, light-headed with the sudden humming feeling beneath her skin, and then he looked at her and it was like all the air was siphoned from her lungs. His eyes were a cool, raw blue, like the sky when it's easing itself out of day and into evening.

She felt, or thought she felt, something pass between them; an electric current quivering between their locked gazes. But thinking back on it, she's sure it was nothing. After all, why would the Captain have eyes for her when he has the beautiful, cultured Baroness Schraeder at his side? It must've been her imagination – and that was the whole problem.

She knows thoughts like these are dangerous. She knows she should not be feeling the things she feels whenever Captain von Trapp is around, giddiness blended with fear blended with a strange aliveness. She knows she should not be replaying the Edelweiss song in her head over and over. He is practically engaged to another woman of his own class, he is her employer, and she is a postulant. Her heart doesn't belong to anyone but God, right? Maria hopes that whatever this is will blow over in a matter of days, because being so distracted definitely won't help her do her job…

Look at you, Maria, She sighs and runs a hand over her face. You've been trying to avoid thinking about him, but here you are anyway. Get back to work!

She turns to the next unsorted box. It's wooden, rectangular, and large – too large for her to lift up, so she'll have to scoot it into whichever corner it belongs. She plops down on the ground in front of the chest and lifts the dark, glossy lid.

And looks right into the eyes of a young woman.

"Photographs," she breathes. After all the time she's put into this, she finally sees some pictures. They're sitting on top of old books and some clothing.

She gently picks up the one her eyes first landed on. Maria doesn't recognize the woman's flowery face, but it can't be anyone but Agathe von Trapp. She is standing outdoors, wearing a lacy wedding dress and smiling in a way that looks as if she might be grinning wildly if she weren't trying to maintain her refinement. Maria can't tell from the black-and-white photo just what her hair color is, but it looks either light brown or blonde and falls over her shoulder in a satin wave. Her eyes are light, too – blue, probably – and in her cheeks is a fervid blush. Just from the picture, Maria suspects the Captain's wife had a feeling of elegance about her, sort of like Baroness Schraeder's. But where the Baroness's elegance is all practiced smiles and effervescent socializing, Agathe's dignity seems more warm; tender.

Maria picks up another photo and her heart jumps. This one has the Captain. He looks much younger, and he stands beside Agathe as she cradles a baby in her arms. She flips the picture over and in careful, masculine handwriting "1922" is written. She does the math in her head – 1922 was sixteen years ago. The baby is Liesl. Maria hesitantly touches the writing, which she guesses is the Captain's, and tries to imagine the joy he felt as he wrote them, young and a brand new father. She notes that he hasn't become any less handsome in sixteen years, just obtained a more mature, adamantine attractiveness. Then she instantly dismisses the thought from her head.

She continues to go through the pictures, half forgetting why she's even in the attic in the first place. The oppressive heat becomes unnoticeable as she smiles at the baby pictures of the children she's come to love. I wonder if the children even have copies of these. It's a shame, all these memories of their mother banished up here… She comes to the photo with "1933" written on the back – Gretl's photo. She sighs sadly at the bliss on Agathe and the Captain's faces, how oblivious they are that the daughter they hold is the last they will have together. Agathe looks like a sort of tragic muse, beautiful and fated.

And there is one last picture in this box – husband and wife sitting on the edge of the fountain in front of the villa. A bump is just appearing on Agathe's stomach, and judging by their ages it's Liesl. Agathe is wearing silken white gloves, with one hand on her belly and one enfolded in the Captain's larger one.

Maria finds herself self-consciously fingering the ends of her hair. The late Baroness von Trapp was certainly lovely. Dainty, pale, elegant. Certainly different from her own clumsy, boisterous self. The possibility that there was something between her and the Captain seems even more unlikely. Why am I even comparing myself to his dead wife? Why should I care what type of girl I think he would like? I don't care at all. No, I do not.

She stacks the photographs back together and sets them back in the box, determined to quit wasting her time and get back to work. But then, underneath a heavy novel she spots a slip of white silk. Breath catching in her mouth, she moves the book.

It's Agathe's gloves, the same ones she was wearing in that last picture. The same ones which Captain von Trapp held, pressed his love into, over sixteen years ago.

Maria picks them up and looks at them. Hesitates.

She doesn't want to try them on. As impulsive as she is, it feels wrong to wear a dead woman's gloves. So she simply holds them in her hands. They feel like water against her palms, and she is positive she's never come in contact with such expensive fabric in her life, but she can't think of that for wondering what it was like to hold Georg von Trapp's hand…

"What are you doing up here?"

Maria flinches and jumps to her feet. "Oh – Captain – " she stammers. Her pulse starts to thrum erratically at the sight of him in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered. "Frau Schmidt mentioned that the attic needed to be cleaned, and she was too busy with the party arrangements. I thought the children would be fine on their own, but if you need me to go back – "

"No, it's alright." He answers. His blue-lightning eyes study her. "I just saw the children alone and…wondered where you were."

An awkward silence clutters the space between them. Maria looks down at the gloves in her hand and inwardly winces. He must think I'm prying. Well, I guess I am, but I don't want him to know that…

"I haven't seen those gloves in a long time." He says quietly.

Now it's Maria's turn to study him. Is he angry? Does he look pained? His expression is a little guarded, but he doesn't seem to be either of those things…

"Sorry, Captain. I'll just put them back in here."

He takes a step closer, and heat involuntarily gathers in Maria's cheeks. Stop it, won't you? She scolds herself.

"What else is in that box?" he asks.

"Oh, just some photographs. And some books. I'm not completely sure, I haven't finished looking. I mean, I'm not looking to be nosy, it's just that I'm organizing the boxes based on what's in them –" She forces herself to shut up. Why on earth is she babbling like that? As intimidating as he can be, why does she feel so nervous around him lately?

The Captain kneels down beside her and takes a look in the box. She is determined to focus on anything but his face, so she looks at his hands. Those aren't much better, unfortunately.

Wordlessly, he picks up the pictures and takes his time looking at each of them. There is a flit of sadness in his eyes, but he isn't closing up like she's seen him before. His clean aftershave scent is a welcome break in the attic staleness. She notices a slight hint of salt, too, as if he has been perpetually marked by the sea's spray. She wonders if he would like her mountain, too; a rippling sea of grass.

He glances over at her. "Those gloves might look good on you, Fraulein."

She raises her eyebrows. Is he teasing her or not? "I don't know about that, Captain."

"They might actually make me mistake you for a proper Baroness," he smirks.

"I'd need a fancy dress to go with it," she laughs nervously. He can't be serious. I'm barely disciplined enough to be a nun, much less a Baroness.

"A blue dress, maybe," he muses. "Blue looks rather nice on you."

She feels the blush flying across her cheeks again, and he looks down, clearing his throat. She remembers Edelweiss, again – the two of them staring at each other, her blue dress striking against the white walls as the rest of the world grows cloudier –

He is picking his way through the box again. Silence has never felt so much like a concrete slab. She wants to break it. God, she wants to break it.

"Have the children seen these photos, Captain?" she asks, determined to make her voice sound normal.

His eyebrows furrow. "Yes. I think so. Or, I know the older ones have, but…I'm not sure about Marta and Gretl…maybe even Brigitta…"

"You should take some of these things down and show all the children. I'm sure even the older ones might want their memory refreshed." She prompts. When he stays silent, she says "It doesn't seem right to keep all of your wife'sthings locked away up here. You've started moving on, and it might help to act like she's not some sort of painful secret…"

He smiles grimly. "You're right, Fraulein. You seem to be right quite often." He leans back on his heels and looks around the room. "You've never been afraid to challenge me about anything. I certainly wasn't expecting that when I sent for a governess from the Abbey, but I think I need to be challenged once in a while."

"Definitely," Maria answers, and he laughs.

"Yes. I think I will show the children some of these. I should've realized…acting like she never existed is like letting her die in more ways than one." He shakes his head. "It's a shame, how much time I've wasted. My children haven't had a mother or a father the past few years…"

"It's never too late to mend things, Captain. I've told you that."

"I know, Fraulein. I'm glad of that." He gathers the pictures in his hand. "Go ahead and leave that box, please. I might come back up later to look at what else is in there." He stands up and lets his eyes wander the attic. He gives a long sigh that somehow breathes life back into the unstirring space. "It's strange," he says thoughtfully, almost to himself. "For so long every thought of Agathe was painful. But it isn't anymore. I can think of her and it doesn't hurt."

"That's wonderful, Captain." Maria smiles at the contented expression on his face. "You've moved on, and now you're in love again – "

He blinks, for a fraction of a second looking startled. "What was that, Fraulein?"

"Well – you're in love again. With Baroness Schraeder, of course."

"Oh, yes." His smile returns too quickly. "With Baroness Schraeder." He averts his gaze and clears his throat. "Thank you very much for finding these, Maria," and then he is gone.

Maria is alone in the attic again. Her hands are over her cheeks and she is wishing that words were tangible, so she could pick up the lingering sound of his voice saying her name – "Maria", not "Fraulein" – and hold it tight to her chest.