Disclaimer: The characters here and the world they inhabit are the creation and property of Margaret Mitchell, her heirs, and their assigns.

The dank mists of two weeks before had given way to bright sunshine. The road was in good condition; not muddy, but damp enough that there was none of the red dust that could clog a man's eyes and nose all summer. Mounds of cherokee rose bushes forlornly dotted some of the household yards, while stands of adolescent pine filled fields that had once held cash crops. Tall magnolia trees were in the process of dropping their last cones full of bright berries, but every so often there was a hint of some sturdy hidden late jasmine on the breath of a light breeze.

None of that was noticed by the man riding his horse from Atlanta to Marietta in early November of 1873. His clothes had fit better in other days, but they were well-tailored. His horse was well taken care of, and the tack was as good as any, better than most. Yet there was something shabby or tired about horse and rider, something that wasn't what it might have been.

The rider had chosen the ride rather than the train because the train had already left and this couldn't wait until tomorrow, and the trip by rail was not much shorter. He cursed himself for caring enough to do this, but it wasn't just the proximate issue, he told himself. It wasn't just her. It was her family, and it was a wider community, which he had learned had even contained his own family for a time. There was some sort of principle or ideal about a woman who was mean and cruel and selfish and yet did so much for so many people who disapproved of her. He had once been her greatest champion; now he aligned himself with the others and in order to help them he must help her.

He reached the town and slowed in order to orient himself. She might be at the hotel. He decided to start there and to leave his horse. He was told that she was in meetings at the bank and tried them both. One was shuttered, and he hoped he wasn't too late as he turned down the street toward the other.

She was on the porch of the bank, shaking hands with two gentlemen. Her business must be successfully concluded. Although he knew it was quite expensive, there was nothing outstanding about her black dress. It was as narrow as Godey's dictated in front and on the sides, but under the bustle was none of the nonsense that so many women, including this one, usually had. No birds' cages or flowers, and not even ruffles or lace were on this dress, just some smart pleats brought the skirt around the protuberance and down to the floor. Her hair was simply held in its net snood, and she wore a simple, almost masculine, hat with just a single feather to adorn it. She had come to do business, and the look on her face was all business as well. How many times in the past had he enjoyed destroying that well-polished demeanor?

The coquettish simper he'd known was instead changed to her business face. There was something flirtatious about it, for she couldn't stop flirting any more than she could stop breathing. At the moment, though, for the most part her face indicated quiet intelligence. She was always listening and watching, and always looking for a way to maximize her own return. To be fair, if she could find a way to maximize her own return and that of the person she worked with, she took a joy in that, too.

"… You'll just have to come down to Atlanta some time," she was saying. "I won't take no for an answer. There are many things we could work on together, Mr. Cobb." She turned and saw him, and he watched her face light up. "Rhett."

It was said in a breathy whisper. For the merest instant, the thought of the last time he'd seen that look on her face, heard his own name said in that way. It was everything he could want until he remembered what had almost immediately followed. He started to scowl, but then she lost her footing on the step. It was too much like the other occasion. He had to run forward at that point.

"Too easily distracted," he whispered, as he caught her and set her on her feet. "I need to talk to you Scarlett," he said in an undertone.

"Are you all right there, Mrs. Butler?"

Scarlett's face went from joy to concern and then back to business as she twisted around. He knew a flash of pride that she could recover her demeanor as quickly as her footing despite himself. "Oh, Mr. Cobb! Captain Butler was saying I was distracted, and so I was by how I let you put one over on me."

"Why Mrs. Butler—"

"You're just going to have to come down to Atlanta next time we do business so I can even the playing field."

Rhett squeezed her elbow. "It's important."

She patted his hand to quiet him. It was an old signal they'd used in the past, signifying that she was almost done with the current conversation and would attend his issue momentarily.

"Mr. Cobb, I'd like to introduce you to Captain Rhett Butler. Rhett, this is Mr. Horatio Cobb."

Rhett nodded as Mr. Cobb said, "Captain Butler, it's a pleasure. Please don't send your wife up here by herself any more. Despite what she says, she's talked me out of one of my prized possessions. I've dearly loved that mill."

Rhett chuckled. "She has that ability, sir."

"You two will dine with my family today," said Mr. Cobb.

"I'm afraid that's impossible, Mr. Cobb," Rhett said, shifting his hat between his hands to convey apology. "I'm afraid there is urgent business in Atlanta that cannot wait. I didn't even dare wait for the train to bring me." He turned to his wife. "I left my horse at your hotel. I'll walk you over."

Scarlett turned to Mr. Cobb. "I'm sorry, but I've learned that if my husband says it's important, it truly requires my attention."

"I understand, and far be it from me to get between a husband and wife." Cobb chuckled patronizingly. "Next time, then, Mrs. Butler? You'll be in town regularly to get the mill open and keep an eye on things, of course."

"Yes, indeed," Scarlett said, and the farewells were quickly concluded.

"God's nightgown, Rhett!" she said quietly to him as they were on their way. "This is an odd way to keep the talk down."

Before she had a chance to draw breath and say anything more, he stopped in a quiet spot and faced her. "Where is your cash?"

"That's what you wanted to see me about? Most of it is invested. You know that, and you know how I have it set up. It hasn't changed since my accident."

He winced. That had been his fault, and he'd looked over her holdings and managed her businesses while she recovered to atone. Perhaps that's why he was here today. "Yes, I do know how you've managed your money. I mean your cash. Is it deposited in the bank?"

She evaded his eyes. "Some of it. But with the way the panic has gone, I couldn't stand to leave it there."

"Let me guess, you have it stashed around the house."

"Not exactly. I did that at Aunt Pittypat's, and then Frank found it and took it from me."

Something within him that shouldn't have cared was irritated at the thought of being lumped with her other husband. "Scarlett, you know I would never do that."

"I know that, Rhett. You're more honest and altogether a better husband than either of the other two." She looked up at him with the expression of hopeful adoration that he'd only seen twice so far and had already started to hate.

He looked skyward to avoid her eyes. "We're not going down that road of discussion. We are, however, going down the road to Atlanta. I suspect there will be a run."

Scarlett grabbed his arm. "Oh, Rhett, what's to be done?"

"We can talk about it on the way. When is the next train, or would you rather ride?"

There was time before the next train for Scarlett to give Prissy directions to pack the children and take them to Tara, as had been planned. She and Rhett would go to Atlanta and stay over night there. She would continue on to Tara tomorrow or the day after at the latest. Then she and the children could have some weeks of rest. If he was fair to her, he could admit she deserved it. She'd been all over town making sure that the plans for Melanie's funeral had been made by the Wilkes family, covering balances where necessary with various tradesmen. Then she had stayed near the outskirts of the family, looking content whenever the arrangements were complimented. Rhett wondered at how she managed to change her conduct so quickly. It wasn't the Scarlett he was used to. On the other hand, it wasn't entirely unlike her, either. It was a situation that bore watching.

"What do you suggest I do?" she asked, once they had found a private spot on the train. They didn't want to openly speak of the situation for fear it would precipitate the very thing they were hoping to avoid.

"Can you invest most of it?" he asked. "If you have enough to live on for a few months at the house or otherwise stashed away, you could invest most of your savings account through the bank. The investment would be safe enough, even if the bank fails entirely and you lose the savings you leave there."

"But Rhett, why would I leave any?"

"The bank needs cash in order to function. They're going to have to post bad results tomorrow, which will more than likely destroy confidence. If they can manage to pull through the next week, your money will be safe enough."

"Can they pull through?"

"Yes, I believe they can, although it will be difficult for a while."

"So you are suggesting that I leave them my money in charity?" This was more the Scarlett he was used to."

"If all of their cash in hand is depleted, they will have to close their doors, perhaps permanently. Then everyone in town loses their money."

She considered this for a moment. Then she nodded her head. "What are you investing in?"

Rhett laid out some changes he was making. There was a railroad that would come through the panic unscathed eventually, and there were some new industries that he thought might be important someday. Scarlett agreed with him. "Those won't work for me, though, will they? I need my money to work better in the shorter term." She thought a moment. "There are some changes I could make, though. What do you think of textiles and food-related investments?"

As she described what she envisioned, Rhett nodded his head. "Those are industries that will need to keep growing even with money tight." She smiled, a little uncertainly.

They were quiet for a while, and Scarlet leaned back to doze a little. He took the opportunity to look at her. There was something almost fragile about her. She'd lost weight. He understood why when the boys came through selling sandwiches and she quietly shook her head.

"You're not eating." It came out harsher than he intended. She cringed.

She shook her head. "I don't guess I've been very hungry."

She turned away, looking out the window. The conversation, for now, was over.

Several hours later, they left the bank in Atlanta. The directors there had come to take care of Scarlett and Rhett personally. They had said little, but gravely nodded when they heard what was wanted. There was an almost audible sigh of relief when the transactions were complete. The bank had feared that they would lose two of their biggest customers and with them all hope of solid footing. Rhett accompanied Scarlett to the store. She showed him how she had placed her cash. "Goodness knows I won't be laid up with a miscarriage any time soon, but if for any reason you need to access it because I cannot, I want you to know how it's situated."

Rhett managed to look at her without wincing. "I'm not sure if the roles were reversed I would trust you so much, Scarlett."

She sighed. "I'm sure you have other people you can trust. I have no one but you."

"Do you expect me to feel sorry for you?"

"Fiddle dee dee, Rhett! Call it 'pity' if you like. Or 'kindness' if you prefer. Aren't those the two things you said you feel for me?"

Sometimes she surprised him. It was hard not to react to her throwing his own words back at him. He couldn't decide between surprise or annoyance and was able to keep his face straight.

She looked at him and then shrugged before saying, "Call it whatever you like. I'm just stating the fact."

A/N: This is not my first fanfic, but it is under this name. I'm putting my toe in the water to see how it goes.