A/N: My first attempt at fanfiction. After reading Drought by the incredible CaptScarlett and a week-long GWTW fanfic glut, I couldn't resist adding to the myriad of Gone with the Wind Fanfictions with a supernatural take on that fateful evening after Ashley's birthday party.
Disclaimer: You might have noticed because this written in under Gone with the Wind, but I do not own anything featured in this story except for the prose and plot. Rhett Butler, Scarlett O'Hara, and all other characters mentioned belong to Margaret Mitchell and her estate.
It was the dead of night, and after hours of drunkenly making love to his crude, covetous, cruel wife, Rhett Butler stirred.
His mind was clouded by sleep, and he wondered at first who the woman beside him in bed was.
Did he stay at Belle's after all? If so, why on earth did he fall asleep? He looked around at the room he was in, and after his eyes adjusted to the faint light the moon and stars provided, he realized he wasn't in the Girl of the Period saloon. He was in his room, in his house. The memories of the previous night came crashing back to him and he felt himself waver.
He looked at the small, sleeping figure that laid next to him. It wasn't Belle he spent the night with, it wasn't any of her nameless girls that he used to let out his anger. No, it was his own wife. His wife that he had not made love to for two years, his wife who insisted on being chaste and kicked him out of their own bedroom, his wife who gave him nothing but a flimsy excuse of not wanting any more children when he damn well knew she only wanted to be faithful to her precious Mr. Wilkes.
She breathed quietly, And Rhett couldn't help but watch her. Her lids were close, hiding those dazzling emerald eyes that bewitched him the first time she saw them. It was almost impossible to discern where her alabaster skin ended and the pristine white sheets began. Her gleaming black her was almost indistinguishable from the shadows that embraced her.
Even cloaked by darkness, Scarlett O'Hara was breathtaking. She wasn't conventionally beautiful by any means, and yet there was something about her face that pleased and entranced the eye. God, he loved this woman.
He shook his head. Scarlett was a stubborn, spiteful hellcat that had tortured him for years. He had always thought her sharp tongue and disdainful glare attractive, it was only a shame that most often than not they were directed at him. Yes, he loved her, but by God he would never tell her that until he was sure she would say it back, until he was sure she had finally gotten over her obsessive infatuation with the wooden-headed Ashley Wi—
It was then that it hit him.
No.
No.
It was impossible. Absolutely not.
He had been drunk off his mind, but there was no way that the memory of him telling her that he loved her over and over again as she writhed in his arms was real.
There was just no way.
His pulse quickened. His stomach turned to knots.
He did.
He did confess his feelings.
He really had been drunk and stupid enough last night to tell her that he loved her. His anger towards her and the compromising scene she had been caught with the honorable Mr. Wilkes the morning before and all the years he spent waiting for her to love him and forget her stupid Ashley had caused his feelings to burst forth and leave his lips in the form of a love confession.
As he did whenever he felt a situation that would involve letting his feelings towards Scarlett known—or in this case, verified—coming, he felt the overwhelming urge to run.
Yes, he would run. There was no way he could stay and wait for Scarlett to throw his feelings to his face and lord it over him. There was no way he would wait for her to wake up and reject him and profess her endless love for that lily-livered gentleman Ashley Wilkes. There was just no way.
He would go to Belle's.
Yes, he would go to Belle's. She would welcome him and listen and provide comfort and understanding.
He began to slowly disentangle himself from his heartless wife. He immediately regretted it when he was greeted with the sight of her chest and arms, covered with bruises and purplish spots.
Involuntarily, his eyes closed. Of course, how could he forget? He had forced himself on his wife. How could he be so occupied with mulling over his drunken love confession that he forgot that he had hurt Scarlett, that he had taken her against her will?
Bile rose to his throat. Scarlett was vain and greedy and cruel, but she was so much physically weaker than him, so small compared to him. He loved her beyond words, how could he have forced her into his bed?
There was no way she would ever return his feelings now. Even her fondness of him, as she had so eloquently put it when he proposed, would surely vanish after this unforgivable act of violence, of defilement.
He had to get away from her. Before he only wanted to leave to protect his heart from her certain rejection and rebuke, but now there was no way he could face her and see the anger and pain and disgust that would be present in her glimmering emeralds eyes once she saw him.
Yes, he had to leave. Now.
He stood up and silently went to his closet. He grabbed the first articles of clothing he saw and dressed silently, his insides contorted with dread.
When he entered his bedroom again, Scarlett was still in his bed, sleeping.
"Leaving so soon, Captain Butler?"
Rhett froze. Scarlett was still in bed, and there was no way that voice, so undeniably masculine as it was, came from her.
His fingers reached for the dueling pistol he always kept at his back, tucked into his trousers and hidden by his shirt and coat.
The low, masculine voice tsked. "Now, now, Captain Butler, bullets won't work on me, and it'll be rude to wake my wife when she's so peacefully asleep."
He turned towards his bedroom door, where the voice was coming from. His eyes grew wide as he took in the ghostly figure that sat at his lounge chair. The crop of bronze hair and those brown doe-eyes was unmistakable. It was Wade, only older—
No.
It was Wade's father, Charles Hamilton, Scarlett's first husband.
Scarlett's long dead, long buried first husband.
"What the—how—"
"A miracle, Captain Butler. Think of it as divine intervention."
"I'm dreaming," he declared. Yes, he was still asleep. Soon he would wake up and leave Scarlett's side and go to Belle's to avoid the inevitable hatred his wife would lambast him with.
"Believe me, Captain Butler. All this is very much real. You'll be thankful that it is, too. A great lot of misery this visit of mine will give you."
Perhaps he had gone insane. It was a bit farfetched, but not as impossible as actually having the spirit of his wife's first husband in his bedroom, telling him his ghostly visit would be a helpful one.
"I would like to make this quick, Captain Butler, so we could be done by dawn. Seeing that you're already dressed, it's high time for us to get going."
"What? Where?" It was certain. He, the infamous Captain Rhett Butler, had lost his mind and succumbed to insanity. It wasn't a fate he thought he would ever have, but it was far better than facing his wife in the morning and understand what she'll scream.
"I'm real, Captain Butler, and you are still of a right mind. Crazy people do not think that they are crazy."
That was true, Rhett had to admit. But then why was he seeing ghosts who appeared to have the ability to read minds?
"W-Where are we going?" Rhett cringed. Why was he stuttering?
"To the future, of course. Well, futures, that is. There is a long, painful path ahead of you, Captain. I am here to stop you from making a mistake that will cost you greatly."
The ghost stood up and walked towards Rhett. "I will show you what will happen if you stay and talk it out with my wife, and what will happen if you turn tail and run."
Although miffed, Rhett regained his composure and asked, "If you do not mind me asking, Mr. Hamilton, why are you so interested in helping me? I recall you were quite cross that day in Twelve Oaks when I said your precious, sacred Cause was doomed to fail."
"This isn't about you, Captain." Now that he was closer, Rhett could see that while his features, although shimmering and slightly transparent, looked the same as he was alive, his eyes lacked the naive glimmer they possessed when he almost challenged him into a duel. Those warm orbs were now flat, emotionless, just like his low voice. "This is about Scarlett, and the pain your cowardice will give her and her family."
He raised a brow, his disbelief and slight fear temporarily overcome by disdain. "Such overwhelming care you have for her, Mr. Hamilton. Such a pity your concern for her well-being was not one bit reciprocated by the woman herself when you were still wed."
Charles's spirit did nothing. His face remained unmoved. In the low, flat tone he had used since he first spoke to Rhett, he told him, "I loved her, Captain, and that is all that matters. I died a happy man because of her, because I was so sure that I had her love. And despite her lack of warmth, she went through great lengths to make sure that our son was safe and fed during those dark days at Tara.
"Besides, I am here by order of a higher being, and this is a chore I cannot refuse, although I wouldn't even if I could. I will help you avoid a most grievous fate, so kindly bite your tongue and be thankful, Captain Butler."
They stared each other down, Charles's ghostly eyes blankly looking straight at Rhett's equally blank look.
Finally, Rhett spoke out. "I am most grateful for your charity, Mr. Hamilton. Pray, may I ask in what future we are going?"
"Three months," Charles told him. "First, three months into the future where you stay and comfort Scarlett, and second three months into the one where you succumb to your cowardice and abandon her like a thief in the night."
Rhett's eyes almost twitched. Almost. It was true that he planned to run away from his wife like a coward, but it wasn't something he liked to hear out loud. "Then please, Mr. Hamilton, lead the way."
Charles merely nodded, and Rhett saw mist curling towards him. He cast an inquisitive look towards the ghost of man his wife married out of spite.
"Fret not, Captain. It won't harm you."
White fog engulfed him, and suddenly all he saw was darkness.
When his vision cleared, he was outside, looking down on manicured grass. By the scent of honeysuckles that wafted in the air, they were most likely at the large garden behind the overdone monstrosity he called home.
He looked up and realized that Charles was nowhere to be found. He had half a mind to call out to him before the unmistakable laughter of his children reached his ears.
The sun-soaked scene that greeted him made him wonder if he really was awake, for the sight was something he had dreamed of for years.
Wade and Ella were running after Beau Wilkes across the well-kept lawn, their mother chatting amiably with Miss Melly on a checkered picnic blanket, his precious Bonnie seated on her lap.
"I can't believe it," he whispered. It was impossible. There was no way this kind of future awaited him if he only stayed with Scarlett. That simple choice couldn't possibly lead to his cold wife spending time with their children and looking at Miss Melly like she was a beloved, treasured friend.
The fact that she looked delighted, even though her stupid Ashley was nowhere to be found only increased his doubt.
They paid no attention to him although he was standing at the wide yard in plain sight. They all looked so happy, so content, so like he had always hoped they would be.
He saw Ella run towards Scarlett and begin telling her mother what Rhett assumed was the flighty speech she always gave those willing to listen. The topics of these speeches were as random as the Southern weather. He flinched as he waited for his wife's jovial facade to drop, for her to scream at their daughter—for Ella was his daughter, even though many would insist otherwise. Ella knew better than to aggravate her mother with endless chatter, why was she doing it now?
There was no describing the surprise he felt when instead of being angry at Ella for talking incessantly, Scarlett gently pulled the little girl to sit beside her. The smile on her face matched the one Miss Melly wore as the two women appeared to listen to whatever Ella was saying.
He couldn't say if Scarlett wasn't just pretending to pay attention, but the important thing was that his wife, who had always chided and yelled whenever her children bothered her, whenever Ella tried to speak to her about things that weren't important, was actually patient with their daughter, was actually taking the time to make the girl feel like her mother cared about what she had to say.
He then heard his voice, although he was sure he did not speak. He turned towards the door and saw himself, or at least his future self, walking towards Miss Melly and his wife. Bonnie stood up to greet him, and, wonder of wonders, so did Scarlett.
If he thought she was glowing before, she was positively shining when she walked up to him. Bonnie was already in his arms, and he greeted his happy wife with a grin.
Scarlett herself wore a shy smile.
They spoke for a while, before he turned to Bonnie and told her something that made the lively child run to her aunt and sister.
Rhett saw himself pull Scarlett into his arms, and he saw his wife return the embrace.
Suddenly, he heard Charles behind him.
"We'll be going soon," he whispered.
Rhett said nothing. His eyes were fixed on Scarlett and himself, on the delighted smiles on their faces, and finally on his hand that was slowly rubbing her stomach.
She was pregnant.
His mind was consumed by the thought.
A future where Scarlett regarded Miss Melly as a dear friend, where she smiled genuinely without being near her beloved Ashley Wilkes, where she willingly and happily spent time with their children, where she was actually patient and attentive with their children, where she welcomed his affections, where she was happily pregnant with their child—
He would never admit it, but tears pricked at the corner of his eyes. It was unbelievable, impossible.
It was simply too ridiculous to ever be real. He had waited years to have something like this, and nothing had ever come of his efforts. How can a night of forcing his wife against her will lead to the accomplishment of his dream of marital bliss?
"Captain Butler."
Charles Hamilton's words broke his reverie.
It took a few seconds for him to find his voice. He wanted to go back to the present and make sure this would be the future he and Scarlett would have.
"We still have somewhere to go, Captain." Although his voice was as flat as ever, Rhett felt like he was being scolded. He turned towards Charles.
"I've already made my decision. Are you certain we can't go back yet?"
Charles shook his head, his ghostly form almost completely transparent under the glaring sun.
"We need to go, Captain," he said again, and finally Rhett nodded.
He glanced at the scene before him. He and Scarlett was sitting on the picnic blanket with their daughters and Miss Melly. Wade and Beau had ceased playing and were also sitting with them, completing his dreamed picture of a happy family.
He couldn't look away, and before he knew it the fog had shrouded him again, and the world was nothing but darkness.
This time, he was standing inside his home, in front of the grand staircase Scarlett adored.
Charles was by his side this time.
The house seemed empty and was completely silent. It didn't matter to Rhett, though. He was still high on the future that awaited him if only he played his cards right. He had no idea what he would do or say, no idea how he would convince Scarlett into having a joyful, affectionate relationship with him, but he would do everything right. He would do everything to make sure they get the happy future they deserved.
It didn't matter what this future would hold. It wasn't what awaited him, anyway. There was no way he was walking out on Scarlett now.
He heard the front door open, and he heard Bonnie's excited voice yell, "Mama! Mama! We're home!"
The sound of Scarlett's rustling skirts reached his ears, and eventually her voice did, too. "Bonnie? Bonnie!"
She ran down the stairs to meet their daughter, and then pulled her into a tight embrace.
"Daddy bought me a kitten," Bonnie told her, and Scarlett looked at the tiny pet with a smile.
"You left with Bonnie," Charles whispered behind him. Rhett saw himself walk towards his happy daughter and wife. He delighted in the brilliant, loving smile that Scarlett gave. "After you left Scarlett, you stayed at Belle's for three days. She was worried sick, you know, and after your long leave you rubbed her lack of maternal instincts in her face and declared you were taking Bonnie on a trip."
Rhett flinched.
He watched as Scarlett sent Bonnie away with Mammy to see her pony, Mr. Butler, so she and her errant husband could be alone together.
He also watched, with increasing worry, as Scarlett and himself seemed to break into an argument. He began to walk towards the stairs, flinching once again as he heard Scarlett scream that she didn't want their baby, which he knew couldn't be true. He saw how happy she was in the garden, how she seemed to enjoy—or at least not hate—her pregnancy.
She declared that he would rather have anyone else be the father instead of a cad like him, and his blood ran cold when he heard himself say those unforgivable words.
"Cheer up, maybe you'll have a miscarriage."
Scarlett lunged at him, and he saw himself dodge, and he watched in horror how Scarlett fell, how her tiny form tumbled down the large, high staircase, how her pregnant body hit and rolled over the hard, wooden steps, how she hit the floor with a sickening thud, her eyes closed shut, her screams cut off.
He saw himself run down, his eyes gleaming with terror.
Scarlett, their baby—
At the corner of his eyes, he saw mist slowly curling around him, their white tendrils threatening to swallow him whole. He looked at Charles with a pleading gaze. He needed to stay. He needed to see if Scarlett would be alright. There was no way he could leave now.
What if she died? What if their baby died?
His stomach turned at the thought, ice coursing through his veins.
What if they both died?
What if they both died because of him?
What if they both died because he didn't treat her better? Because he couldn't resist riling her up to hide his true feelings? Because he was too much of a coward to face her after that fateful night, to face her and risk his heart, risk receiving her ire and rejection?
Charles shook his head, and Rhett felt the overwhelming urge to get on his knees and grovel. He knew he would change everything once he got back to the present, he knew this awful future where Scarlett lay limp in his future self's arms, pale and broken by her fall, where death loomed over his beloved wife and their unborn child because of his own damned fault, where his pained, choked voice screamed for any of the servants to help, to get Doctor Meade, would not be the one he would choose.
But still, he wanted to be sure of what would happen to Scarlett. He wanted to know if there really would be a future where one feat of cowardice from him would lead to losing Scarlett or their baby or both forever.
The mist closed in around him, just as his future self opened the door to Scarlett's bedroom, just as he heard the front door of their garish mansion opening and Pork's hollered promise to get Dr. Meade quickly.
He was overwhelmed by the swirling white mist that enclosed him. He bit back a scream. Soon the mist turned into never-ending darkness, and then that darkness turned into his bedroom, barely lit by the faint tendrils of dawn.
He was breathless as he realized he was back to the present, the spirit of Charles Hamilton gone. He panted, relief rushing through him. It wasn't too late. Scarlett was still alright. His wife was beside him in their bed, she didn't have—and wouldn't have—her accident. She was safe.
He turned to her. His dark eyes met gleaming emeralds, and suddenly it didn't matter if the whole ordeal with Charles's ghost was true or just a dream. All that mattered was that Scarlett was by his side, healthy as could be and pregnant with their child. She looked at him with worry.
"Are you alright, Rhett?" Her voice was small, unsure. She had never even thought for one moment that her husband, the dashing, strong blockade runner who acted as though he feared nothing and nothing could get to him, had nightmares of his own.
His erratic breathing eased. His shoulders slumped and he pulled her head to his chest, his arms caging her into an embrace. He placed a tender kiss on her head. "I'm alright now, love."
A/N: I just noticed that the title could be interpreted as a bad pun, what with Charles, who is dead and literally a ghost in this story, visiting Rhett at night. I promise it was an accident and even my sense of humor isn't that bad.
Please feel free to review and point out any mistake I might have made. Requests and suggestions are most welcome.