#i am nothing if not predictable. kudos if you figured out i was gonna succumb to this from my post this morning

[hourcat]

remember that scene from the sound of music where captain von trapp and maria dance in the courtyard.

yeah.

“We are at a party, Juliette,” Charles murmurs, resting a hand on the crown of flowers settled on her hair. “We are supposed to be dancing the way your papa is in there.”

Juliette’s expression is still sour. “But Charlie,” she whines, stomping her foot, “I don’t know how to dance like my papa does.” When her arms cross, Charles knows what he’ll have to do next. “What am I even meant to do while all the others have fun together?” The question gets a murmur of agreement from the rest of her siblings.

Charles can’t really fault her there. She’s eleven years old—there’s probably nowhere in the world less exciting to her than this ball is right now. “Well,” he answers after a beat, “I must teach you then, non?” With a slightly exaggerated bow, which earns him a giggle, Charles holds out a hand for her to take.

She does, immediately, with a little squeak of excitement. “You must!” But the delighted expression lasts only a moment, because her brow furrows in focus as she squeezes his hand tightly.

“Easy,” he soothes, squeezing back once gently. Her grasp loosens. The focused pout dissipates. “All right, Juliette. Like this—” he leads them a few steps forward, testing her willingness to move with him (she is, like always—a good girl, one that Pierre must be so proud of) and then stops, squeezing her hand again in signal. “Now I will bow, and you will curtsy.” He releases her from his grasp only for a moment to do so: Juliette’s curtsy is far too deep, one that has Elise and Camille giggling behind their hands, but Manon shushes them with a quick, sharp noise. Charles glances up to give her a grateful look. There is nothing worse than being humiliated trying to learn something new, after all.

Juliette, apparently, missed the commotion. “Like this?” She’s got her hands clutched in her dress, almost too tight to the point of concern over the fabric. (But—she’s so excited. Charles will mend it for her if anything happens.)

“Like that,” he affirms. “Now we go for a little walk. Just watch my feet, mon chou, I will count with the music the way we have learned.” She nods, a harsh bob of her curls, and Charles swallows the chuckle of fondness that seems to have risen from his gut. “One, two, three. One, two, three.” The orchestra inside is playing at the perfect volume to keep them in time as he starts to step with her. Juliette…is picking it up better than he’d imagined she would. Her head is focused on the ground, though—they’ll work on that next, once she figures out where her feet must go. “One, two, three, step together, yes? Very good, very elegant, Juliette. Now we move to—the music moves quicker here, so we must—step-hop, step hop.” Her grip on his hand tightens. “Look up, cherie, I will lead you here.”

“Okay,” she whispers, squeezing his fingers once more as she lifts her head to meet his gaze. As the music continues to swell, they dance to the middle of the courtyard floor, Charles leading and Juliette stumbling to keep up with the step-hop movement she’s clearly trying to skip into. They have all night, Charles will make sure all the kids take turns practicing with one another, as this band will likely be playing long into the night.

“Now turn under. Like I am twirling you, but—” her arms are just not long enough to properly execute the move the way Charles had learned, which forces him into an awkward move of his own to keep from dislocating her shoulders. She inhales sharply as they execute the first turn. “Not quite, not quite, but close, Jules.”

“Hey,” Jules calls from the other side of the courtyard, “I’m not even dancing!”

“Hush,” Charles shouts back, although he’s dissolved into giggles himself alongside the rest of the children. Juliette’s nervous-seeming expression is gone, now, replaced with that same excitement she’d first taken his hand with. “This way, we will try again. Hop step, hop—under, yes, and step.” She’s a little better at it this time around, the movements seeming less erratic than they’d been a few moments before. She’s a smart little girl. “You are doing well, we will just have to practice more this evening.” They attempt another turn, and Charles starts thinking of who he’ll try next with—perhaps Manon, as she will learn quickest as the oldest. Leo can hold baby Margaux for a little while, after all—

“Ma belle, please allow me, will you?” Pierre’s voice is suddenly right behind him, low and warm and so close Charles could—he could—

“Of course, papa!” Juliette exclaims; when her hands release Charles’, it feels like an anchor being cut from a ship out at sea. Of course she doesn’t know that this—that he—that they—

“May I?” When Charles turns back around, feeling warm in the face already, Pierre’s expression is soft and entirely unguarded. Amused, even. His hand is held out invitingly and god Charles doesn’t even wait a beat before taking it, threading their fingers on instinct. Pierre’s laugh is rumbly in his chest. (Charles is so close he can feel it.)

From inside the party, the music brightens even further. It has been so long since Charles has danced with anyone like this, so close, so warm, he’s blissfully surprised at the way it feels natural to move with Pierre as he leads them across the courtyard floor. The surprise increases exponentially as Charles realizes that Pierre is very familiar with dancing like this: he moves with Charles like he’s in his head already, their rhythm effortless as they go back and forth across the floor.

He's smiling, too. It’s something the Captain has been doing more often these days, Charles has realized. It’s a handsome look on him. Carefree, even if this party had been irritating to him when they’d first arrived. The hand he has settled at the small of Charles’ back is warm, bleeding right through the fabric of his dressclothes. Their clasped hands are starting to have that same effect.

God, Charles can’t even be terribly jealous of Pierre’s bride-to-be because of course she’s in love with him. To have him this close even just to dance is more than intoxicating, and Charles just takes care of the children. The idea of having this attention that Pierre is bestowing upon him now, both soft and raw as it pours over him, for a lifetime? He longs for it, of course, but he could never fault her for wanting the exact same.

At least she gets to have it, though. He’ll have to be happy with this. Pierre turns with him, effortless and smooth, and then pulls him suddenly closer as the music peals its final melodious notes. It is…breathtaking. “I did not pin you for a dancer, Charles,” he murmurs, so close that Charles can feel the puffed breath from each word gust gently against his face. “Although perhaps I should have expected it would come with your music.”

There’s a warmth to his words that makes Charles’ stomach coil in on itself. “I am not a dancer,” he whispers. “I—"