"What are you doing?"
"What?" she asked coyly, feigning ignorance. "I'm just watching you."
"Ha! You haven't 'just watched' me once in our entire marriage!"
"Am I making you uncomfortable?"
"No." he answered immediately, though that was clearly a lie. She cocked her head to the side and studied him curiously, reveling in his discomfort. Rhett all but squirmed under her gaze. "Looking for gray hairs?" he said at last, in a feeble attempt at his usual flippancy.
"No..." she mused slowly, distractedly, narrowing her eyes in concentration. "I'm looking for black ones."
He gasped and slammed his uninjured hand over his graying temple, mock terrified.
"Ha!" she laughed with childish delight. "You're so vain!"
"I'm not vain! I just want you to find me attractive!"
"That's the very definition of vain!" she cried triumphantly, the emphasis flying over her unanalytical head. "And anyway, now that I know the effect I have on you-" she trailed off, the flirtatious remarks flowing like water despite being out of practice for so long.
"You don't know the first thing about the effect you have on-" he squeezed his eyes shut and hissed.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
She arched an eyebrow.
"I forgot about the damn shoulder for a moment and tried to move my arm. I think there might be some nerve damage."
A look of deep concern failed to cross her features.
"Don't be silly. I set it straight again, I'm sure of it. Almost sure of it. You've probably just burst a blood vessel, or-" she said dismissively, as she carelessly pulled his shirt aside to reveal the shoulder. Vicious dark red and blue splotches had appeared over an alarmingly large area. "-or, er, all of them." she finished lamely.
"What?" he croaked.
"Uh-huh" Scarlett gulped in the affirmative, unable to tear her eyes away. "That's, er- Wow."
"How bad is it?" Rhett asked, nervously craning his neck.
"It's- God's nightgown, hold still! You're only making it worse!"
"I'm making it worse? Me?" he all but barked. "With all due respect, dear wife, I'm holding you responsible for this!"
She scowled and pursed her lips together with a sniff, but did not argue. Despite the outrageous accusation, despite her almost comical refusal to recognize her faults, despite the now constant ache in his shoulder, Rhett smiled. She was so terribly young and reckless, he reminded himself, and in her own - albeit straightforward and insensitive - way, she was just looking out for him. Besides, Scarlett's unreasonable, obstinate disposition had - without exception - been passed on to his beautiful, spirited and careless baby girl. He could not resent his wife, no more than he could bring himself to reprimand their daughter.
Rhett glanced at her crossed arms and childish pout, and his heart - heaven help him - swelled with affection. Besides, a begrudged silence was as close to an apology as he was ever going to get. Although he had to admit penance seemed far from her mind at the moment.
Her sharp face was suddenly alight with smugness, her pointed chin jutting out - as it always did whenever she was entertaining a scandalous idea. Then, without warning, she hoisted up her skirt with a huff, and began to untie the waist tape of her petticoat with nimble fingers.
"If this is your way of apologizing, then..." he said, immediately rising to his feet, and one-handedly went to work on the buttons of his pants as well, with a clumsy, almost comical eagerness.
"What are you doing?" she hissed at him, at once appalled, incredulous and - heaven help her - a little thrilled.
"I'm graciously accepting your weltering bud, duchess!"
"Well- don't." she sniffed, having absolutely no idea what he was going on about. "I thank you to leave my bud alone, I am perfectly capable of tending to it myself!" she added tartly, blissfully unaware of the crude allusion.
"Am I at least allowed to wat-" he began jeeringly, when she slipped the petticoat down to a pool at her feet and in one fluid motion effectively reduced his jape to a shaky breath. Rhett had a regrettably quick view of lace pantalets and a pair of neat, plump legs before the skirt fell back into place.
He stared at her. "What are you doing? I mean- Are you going to walk around with no- with noth- without a- without that?"
"Y-y-y-yes I am!" she stuttered mockingly, as she graciously bent down and picked up the discarded fabric. In a remarkably practised motion, she began to gnaw and tear at the hem. Rhett looked on, fascinated.
"You do know that's never going to- oh, you did it. Er, well done." he said as the fabric parted with a satisfying rip. Scarlett tore four equally long strips from the petticoat, and began tying the ends together.
"Again, what are you doing?" Rhett asked, curiously peeking over her shoulder.
"I'm making you a sling, you fool. What did you think I was doing?" she asked tartly.
"Oh, I don't know? A new gown, perhaps? After all," he mused, seeing her confused look, "you've been known to use the most peculiar components in your dressmaking."
She couldn't decide if she ought to laugh at his impudence, or strangle him for it.
"I have, of course, seen many things fall apart at your cruel hands over the years..." he went on in a silky tone, as if his latest jeer hadn't needled her enough. "Your reputation. Your character in general, really. China bowls. Bazaars. I don't even know how many engagements. Kinships. Frank, both figuratively and literally."
That effectively ended her inclination to laugh. The long textile strings lay tantalizingly in her palm, almost willing her to act. He was, after all, crippled. Perhaps somewhat drunk still. There would be no witnesses. And if the Old Guard ever woke up from their Rhett-induced trance, they would probably thank her for it.
The children were fond of him, another part of her reasoned, but then again, Wade and Ella took a shine to everyone who gave them the time of day. And- she snapped back to reality, blinked, and realized he was - incredulously - still naming casualties.
"Are you quite finished?"
"Families. Childhoods. A perfectly fine, some would even say grand, store sign. But I've honestly never known you to tear garments apart..."
Scarlett, who was still smarting over the enumeration, glared at him.
"... save mine, of course." he rounded off with a lazy smile.
"Rhett!"
She promptly went red as a beet and fumbled with the petticoat strips. He had been drunk as a fiddler all night - too drunk to stand upright even - and yet, that small detail he remembered! Men!
"Once!" she reminded him defensively in a hushed whisper. "It was-", she paused to tighten a knot until her joints cracked, and added: "-one time!", just as he said "-spectacular!"
"Bah!" Scarlett scoffed dismissively, her face now a furious shade of crimson, as she tied the last pieces together and stepped back to assess her work. Her lips were drawn into a thin line of stern approval, and she nodded stiffly. "All right. Hold it like this" she instructed, and brusquely pressed his injured arm flat against his chest in a ninety degree angle. "And remember the three B's of medicine."
"You mean the ABC?"
"No. Be still. Be quiet. And, for God's sake, behave yourself."