Absurdly Sentimental

It's been a warm day but the sun has now fled and taken not only it's sunshine but the warmth. The chill of night is seeping in from the outside, the tendrils shifting through the house until they slip under the door of the governess's bedroom and tickle her exposed feet. The sound of rain patters against the window and Maria shifts in the bed to draw her feet under the blanket, trying to shake off the cool night air as a shiver runs down her spine. She isn't aware of the time, her mind lost in the book currently in her lap. The story is nearly over and her lip is being worried by her teeth as she reads. It's not long until a sigh escapes her as she finished the last page and she lets the book slip out of her hands with a soft thud. Another sigh and she slinks down into the bed to stare at the ceiling. For a moment she is able to escape into the wonderful words that are crafted on the page. A story of a handsome man so haunted by the memories of his lost love that he goes insane. It's not the first one she's read, and it will not be the last. Instead of reading her bible she'd taken up reading these tales. It makes her heart yearn but Maria tries to shake these notions away. They have no place in her heart, as it belonged to God. There was no man for her, but at this thought the image of the Captain playing the guitar, his eyes finding hers, burn across her mind's eye before she can stop herself.

She knows Sister Berthe would have scolded her for reading such novels, that a postulant should not be daydreaming about the kind of embraces described within these pages. And certainly should not be imaging the father of the children she was supposed to be looking after. But she cannot help herself. And that is how she finds herself throwing the duvet back before she reaches to shove her arms through her nightgown. When she slips out of her room and makes her way down to the large staircase she immediately regrets not putting anything on her feet. It's even colder in the foyer than in her bedroom and she idly wonders how it's possible that it can feel so cold in the middle of July. But she ignores her numbing toes and pads across the tiles towards the library.

Maria isn't thinking, which isn't that new, but she's too preoccupied with quickly grabbing another book and getting back to bed that she ignores the fact that light is glowing underneath the study door as she passes. She pays it no mind as she slips silently to the back of the library where she knows she'll find more tantalising novels of heartache and seduction. As she gets on her knees to scan through the few titles lining the bottom shelf, she hears a soft clink but doesn't register the sound until it's too late.

"What are you doing?"

Shooting back onto her feet, Maria spins around and finds herself in front of Captain von Trapp. He doesn't seem angry but his expression is still enough to make her feel nervous. After all, it's his library she's invading. He has a wine glass in hand and simply takes a sip as he waits for her to respond.

"Getting a book," she says, waving the new book as evidence. "I couldn't sleep."

The Captain says nothing and for a moment Maria thinks he'll simply walk away but he takes another sip of the dark red liquid in his glass and with speed grabs the book from her hand. His eyes dart to the cover and then back at her before a slow grimace stretches across his face before he tosses it back to her.

"Why are you reading this rubbish?" he asks, but then he takes in her appearance more carefully before shooting out another question. "Aren't you cold?"

Maria opens her mouth to respond but he shakes his head and mutters something under his breath before instructing her to follow. He walks out of the library, the only sound is his shoes tapping on the tiles as she shuffles behind him. Then he pushes open the study door and Maria finds herself bathed in the welcoming warmth of a low burning fire. The heat of it rushes up to greet her and she lets herself bask in it for a moment. The flames flicker and dance across the hot coals as she hears the Captain walk towards his desk.

"Please sit, Fraulein," he says as he grabs a bottle and splashes some more liquid into the glass.

Taking a seat, Maria tucks her feet underneath herself and watches the Captain as he settles himself into the chair in front of her, placing the wine bottle at his feet.

"So," he says, shadows of the fire now flickering across his features, "why are you reading this rubbish?"

"It's not rubbish," she retorts, shifting in her seat under the intensity of his gaze.

The man scoffs before taking a large gulp of wine. There's something slightly off about him that Maria can't quite place. While they weren't what she'd call friends - she had no idea what she would call Captain von Trapp - she felt that they had been getting along better. And since the puppet show last night she felt something had changed even more. At least for her it had. The way he had looked at her had made something shift within her, a longing to have him hold her. To feel those hands of his on her skin - to have him whisper her name. She knew it was wrong, that she was being ridiculous. But she took comfort in the stories he thought were rubbish. Especially ones of lost loves. She was trying to understand him, to make sense of the puzzling man before her. To understand how he must have felt.

"Those stories are rubbish," he says again. "I would also think that nuns wouldn't be reading those sort of stories at any rate. Hmm, Fraulein?"

A puzzled expression graces Maria's face and she tries to shake off the embarrassment that threatens to suffuse her face.

"I think they are romantic," says Maria. She sits up a little straighter and adds, "The tragedy of losing a loved one, the joy of reuniting together. The aches and pains. Love isn't some silly thing, Captain. I know you know that."

"It's absurdly sentimental," he says dismissively. "The aches that you describe with such earnestness, the pain, the loss. You clearly have not lived it at all. In fact, you only seem to know what you read in books."

It hurts, the words he says. And Maria can't help the anger that bubbles within her. This man was so unpredictable but she had believed that the man was not the same aloof creature that had yelled at her that very first day. But here he seemed to be sitting, his eyes were fixed on her - the blue of them dull and barely there. It seemed as if he was nothing but a ghost himself, Maria thinks. She wonders where the man that had smiled at her last night as he played guitar was? Where was the man that had sung so smoothly, with so much feeling that she had been robbed of the breath in her lungs? She doesn't understand why he is acting this way.

"That's enough, Captain," says Maria. "Yes, I might only know most things from books. But I still know how much pain love can bring. How tormenting it can be." She falters here as she feels her heart thud in her chest. She doesn't want to reveal too much. To show how much she cares for him. It was beyond her wildest imagination that he would care for in return. For a moment, a very small moment, she had felt the treacherous flames of hope within her. They had turned to ash the minute the Baroness had gone to the Captain's side and and placed a possessive hand on him and declared they have a party. It was nothing but an idle daydream, she had told herself.

Maria could not read the Captain's mind, and so she had no idea that his feelings for her were dangerous. That the reason he had been drinking all evening was because Max had made a point of bringing up last night's show and how the little Fraulein had managed to capture the attention of not only the children but the grumpy sea captain too. Georg was angry at himself. That he had let something like this happen. That his well laid plans with Elsa were teetering now, no longer solid. And all because of some slip of a girl with a sunny disposition and a sweet voice. She was talking once more, about the stories she had been reading, eagerly trying to get him to understand her. How dare she speak of love? Georg thought. She had no idea. It was idiotic that he lead her into the study at all, he should have sent back to bed. He knows he still can, but he doesn't.

"You insist on describing the torments of love when you clearly know nothing about them," he remarks darkly. She goes to protest but he cuts her off. "I am not done yet, Fraulein. What do you dream of?"

The woman stares at him, her lips parting and Georg has to ignore the desire that floods through him at the sight. All he wants is to bring those lips to his and shut her up. He doesn't care for words right now. He just wants her.

"Dream?" she repeats, "I don't-"

"You read these books and don't dream, Fraulein?" he questions, his voice low and tinged with malice. He knows he is on the defensive, trying to push her away. But it doesn't stop him. He feels haunted. But not by the usual melancholic memories of Agathe but a soft smile and blue eyes. His imagination throws the image of her standing in the parlour at him, her blue dress bright against the cream wall she leant against. She had no right to do this to him. He had plans, solid plans and she was ruining everything.

Georg takes another swig of the wine, letting it flow through his veins and make his head spin.

"Hmm, Fraulein?" he says, his expression hard. "Do you dream of a kind man? A pure soul to be redeemed? Perfection?" A laugh escapes him, it's cold and unfeeling and part of him cringes that he's being so cruel to her. His free hand twitches with desperation as her face flash between emotions like an open book. He wants to comfort her and he wishes he would stop talking but he's too far gone now. She knew nothing, the angry part of himself was saying, absolutely nothing. "Perfection has no place in love, Fraulein. I advise you to remember that your stories are nothing but that. You know precious little about the human heart or love or the pain that comes with it. You are nothing but an ignorant child with a head full of nonsense."

He regrets the words as soon as they have left his mouth. The angry fire dying as quickly as it had come. The way she stares at him with nothing but pure devastating hurt is shattering. Her blue eyes are bright in the fire light and she slowly stands. He thinks for a moment she might burst into tears but she doesn't. She just shakes her head.

"I know they are stories, Captain," says Maria quietly. "I never meant to imply I knew more than you. But for you to say I know nothing is unfair. You know nothing about my life, just as I know very little of yours."

It feels her heart has been broken into small tiny pieces as Maria slowly makes her way across the study towards the door. She cannot bear to look at the Captain. Before she reaches the handle, she feels a warm hand on her wrist as she is gently turned around. His face is close to hers and she feels the small pieces of her heart struggle to put themselves back together at the sight.

"I'm sorry, Fraulein," he says softly. "I should not have spoken to you like that. I do not think they are true."

"You weren't wrong, Captain," she says, aware that his hand has now slipped down her wrist and is now holding her hand. "But you cannot tell me that I don't know about pain and loss."

"I apologise, again," he implores, trying to her to understand. "It's been a rough day," he adds with a mutter before finally letting go of her hand.

"I do not know how hard it must be for you without your wife," says Maria boldly, the ghost of his hand holding hers still crying out for attention. "But I know about losing loved ones - I lost both my parents at a young age." It's hard for her to focus with him so near but she goes on, trying to keep her voice calm. "Your children love you, Captain, and they have been so happy to have you back. Please don't leave them again."

A puzzled expression graces his face and manages to ease some of the tension in the room. He blinks at her for a moment, no sound except for the crackle of the fire, before he speaks.

"I would never do that again, Fraulein," he says slowly. "You were right, those things you yelled at me by the lake." He offers her a small smile before it slides away once more. "I am not tormented by thoughts of Agathe."

Surprise barely covers how Maria feels in that moment. He had barely mentioned his wife before, and certainly not by name. What could possibly be wrong with him?

"Oh," is all Maria manages, and realising this is a poor response adds, "I know it isn't my place, Captain, but-" she falters here and awkwardly pushes her hair out of her face, "well, I am always happy to listen if you need someone to talk to."

The smile she gives him makes Georg want to cry. It's too pure and so full of innocence that he cannot bear it. How could he possibly talk to her? She was the reason he was intoxicated and moody right now. How could he possibly explain that his thoughts were preoccupied with the sound of her heavenly sighs as she writhed underneath him? That he dreamt of her in his arms? That now, in this moment, all he wanted to do was fall at her feet and remove the hideous gown she had on and explores her body in the light of the fire? It would frighten her away, he knew, if he was honest with her.

He finally settles for saying, "Thank you, Fraulein, but not tonight." Not ever, he adds to himself.

Maria smiles again at him, still confused but slightly comforted by his vague words. The man is able to convey so much through his eyes and there is something in them that makes her want to believe him. Her smile falters in the silence as he continues to stare at her with that piercing look. An urge to break it rises within her as she feels her face flush but it's as though her tongue is made of wool and she cannot move. She's stuck in the moment as he moves closer and for one horrifying, yet sinfully blissful, moment she thinks he's going to kiss her. Which is absolutely absurd. Her disappointment is palpable as he simple reaches past her and turns the handle of the door behind her.

"Goodnight, Maria," he says as the door swings open. "Enjoy your stories while you can."

When Maria is finally back in her room, she sits on her bed and stares at the wardrobe with the new novel clutched in one hand. She can barely remember walking up the stairs and down the hall. It's like it had been a dream of sorts. Her room is so normal, there are no dancing shadows on the wall, or the heady scent of wine. And there is no imposing Captain von Trapp in this room. With a small shake of the head, she flings the book onto the nightstand and gets into bed.

It's not until her eyes are drifting shut does the sound of her name comes to haunt her. His rich voice saying goodnight echoes in her head and she wishes that it was something she could hear every night while his hand held hers. She shivers, and lets the dark night envelope her once more.

A/N Hello! It's a me! I finally had a visit from my muse - hurrah! I do have a story I've been working on for a long time (like a year) but I felt I needed to write some random one-shot in typical me fashion - just to get me back in the gist of things. There isn't anything really happening in this but I just needed some exercise!

It was based on these quotes from the film Crimson Peak:

"It's absurdly sentimental. The aches that you describe with such earnestness, the pain, the loss. You clearly have not lived it at all. In fact, you only seem to know what other writers tell."

"That's enough!"

"You insist on describing the torments of love when you clearly know NOTHING about them. I'M NOT DONE YET! What do you dream of? A kind man? A pure soul to be redeemed? Perfection? Perfection has no place in love, Edith. I advise you to return to your ghosts and fancies, the sooner the better. You know precious little about the human heart or love or the pain that comes with. You are nothing but a SPOILED CHILD!"