A/N: This is a short excerpt from a work in progress. I don't want to give away too much of the main plot, so here's (hopefully) all you need to know:
- Rhett and Scarlett are stuck in a room together, with no way of getting out.
- Rhett has injured his arm, so it's in a sling.
- It should work quite well as a stand alone, but I'll happily blame any and all inconsistencies on "it will all come together in the greater scheme of things!"... however untrue that may be! :D
- The story is inspired by the ending of Uncharted 2. If you, like me, enjoy a jolly good banter, you should totally look up the last minute of the ending cutscene on youtube - it'll bring a smile to your face!
Last but not least, I included a small homage to Kelly Melly - I don't know if you're still around, but your Titanic story was one of the first I read as a windie in her infancy, and you dedicated a chapter to me back in the Scarlettonline/Network54 days... so a good 15 years later I thought it fittingly to return the favor. ;) I hope you don't mind!
"You know, someone once told me I should suck up to the Yankees, and the white trash and the Carpetbaggers. Get every last cent out of them, then kick them in the face the moment they couldn't serve me any longer." Scarlett smiled as she recited the words; there was something about their cold brutality which she found unexplainably appealing.
Rhett eyes were sharp with interest.
"An unusually clear sighted and practical advice, not wrapped up in any moral misgivings - I imagine that must have resonated with you. Who told you this?"
"An old…" she thought of Grandma Fontaine, suddenly seeing some of her forthright advice in a new light. "Friend."
"I'd like to meet him."
"Her, actually."
He leaned forward with the graceful, alert movement of a panther, and his lips broke into a predatory grin. "Now I'd really like to meet her! Who is this woman, and why haven't we been introduced?"
Scarlett felt a queer pang at his words, although for the life of her she couldn't understand why. She was hardly jealous of Old Miss - the mere thought was ludicrous. Laughable, even, though she'd never felt less inclined to laugh. Grandma Fontaine had looked like a hundred for the last three decades, and she belched. Even in the company of men. Especially in the company of men, Scarlett realized with a start, like she took some sort of perverse pleasure in it.
God's nightgown! Why was she even considering this preposterous idea?
But that insatiable grin and - worse - open admiration in Rhett's eyes nonetheless made her scowl darken further, and her tone was clipped when she answered: "She's someone from the county- anyway, it doesn't matter. She died a while back."
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." Rhett said simply, and slumped back against the wall again. Scarlett realized for the first time that she was sorry too. The old bird used to have an almost unmatched way of getting on her nerves with her unpleasant truths and meddling ways, but in hindsight her words had proved to be sound advice, and seemed to stem from honest concern and benevolence. Although she'd certainly be more sorry if Rhett stopped acting like her passing was a personal loss to him. "Did she leave you any other useful advice?"
"The rest was pure nonsense." Scarlett answered shortly, suddenly remembering the old lady's rude remark about Ashley being a turtle on his back. Just because he was unable to change with the times, and bred to read books and listen to music rather than being of any real use-
Rhett, true to his annoying habit of guessing her thoughts, pushed on: "Nonsense? Give me an example!"
Her scowl darkened further as she recalled another offhanded remark: "You just aren't smart." But there was no way she was sharing that little snippet of information with Rhett. Instead she sniffed and, in an attempt to appear unaffected, said: "I don't remember anything else."
Rhett nodded in understanding and stroked his chin, as if actually believing her lie. Then he grinned. "Whatever slight against your charming character, it was probably true."
Scarlett's eyes snapped irritably as her temper began to form a crushing wave, after three long months of still water.
He took one look at her flaring nostrils and slapped his hand against his knee in genuine delight. "I see. Definitely true."
"Would a stupid person be able to add a whole page of figures in her head?" she demanded heatedly, causing Rhett to roar with laughter.
"Not at all." he agreed good naturedly. "You are indeed a regular Hypatia."
"That sounds like a disease." Scarlett grimaced.
"Quod erat demonstrandum."
Scarlett rolled her eyes at that. "You know what, Rhett Butler? You are such a pompous, superior rascal-"
"And you-" he interrupted mock-sternly, wagging a disapproving finger at her. "- are lying to me. What more did she say?"
Suddenly she smiled, a devilish, nasty glint in her eyes, and laughed an ugly laugh.
"Well, she did call India a dried-up old maid."
The corner of his mouth went down at this unseemly display of malicious glee.
"... And what did she say that you're so decidedly set on keeping from me, frau Schadenfreude?"
She thought of buckwheat, bending during storms but never breaking... which she now - years later - realised was another slight at Ashley. For a moment, she fervently wished Old Miss was alive again, if only so she could smack some sense into her.
Rhett was watching her with great amusement, chucking to himself - probably still entertained by his latest latin nonsense. Christ, he was obnoxious sometimes! Well, she certainly wasn't about to present him with another opportunity to belittle her.
"She told me to always save something to fear." she said instead. "That it was unnatural and wrong to not dread anything - and the worst thing that could happen to a woman. Can you believe it?" she added with a disbelieving snort, and looked up to find him studying her with something akin to pity.
"And did you?" he asked instead, wiping his face clean of the expression. "Save something to fear?"
She squared her jaw, crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "No."
He laughed softly. "I don't believe you."
She shrugged her shoulders non-committedly, as if his opinion was of no concern to her. Shuffling closer on the crate, he added in a low voice: "Now, why would you lie? You know you can tell me anything."
"I have no wish to discuss it, that's all."
"Indulge me." he insisted, an edge to his voice.
"No."
"My lovely, stubborn mule. Have faith." he drawled. "If I could make you scream, I can make you talk."
Oh! She flinched at his coarse insinuation, blushing furiously. He was vile and intruding, and this conversation had gone far enough.
"You have some nerve" she hissed, "to come strolling back after three months and expect me to-"
"This again!" he interrupted with an impatient cry, slamming his good fist onto the crate in frustration. "What has that got to do with anything?"
"Why should I trust you when you could be sauntering out the door again at any moment, and never come back?"
"First of all, I obviously couldn't." he said, gesturing carelessly to the closed door.
"You know what I mean."
"And second of all, why do you care?"
"I- Well- Er-" she faltered, taken aback by the unexpected question.
"Were you honestly afraid I'd leave you?" he suggested boldly. "Is that it?"
"Excuse me?"
"Were you afraid I'd never return?" he repeated patiently when she didn't immediately deny it. "And be honest now, for once in your life!"
"Don't presume! I couldn't care less about you or your whereabouts."
"You couldn't-?" he repeated incredulously, before her smug grin forced him to recompose. Throwing her a quick side glance, he added: "Oh, please. You worried."
"Pffs! 'Worried'!" she snorted ungraciously. "I wasn't even concerned when those two ugly apes approached me outside Shantytown." she lied smoothly.
"'Not even concerned'" he mimicked. "Oh my." For a brief, fleeting moment there was unmasked admiration in his eyes. "Is there really nothing in this world that frightens you?"
"I worry that your incessant meddling is wasting our oxygen."
His lips twitched in amusement. "Anything else?"
"That you won't mention me in your will."
He grinned. "You're avoiding the question, my pet. There must be something you're afraid of?"
She cocked her head and gave him a level look, as though estimating how much mockery was behind the question.
"Well, I suppose there's..." she began hesitantly, before furrowing her brow and shaking her head. "Never mind."
"Tell me."
"No. Forget I said anything."
"Is it about Tara? Has Will or Suellen-"
"No, it's nothing like that."
"Do you need money?"
She shot him an affronted look. "Of course I need money!" she spat. "Like the air that I breathe. But that's not it either."
"Go on, then."
"It's ridiculous. You'll make fun of me."
"Oh, please! When have I ever-" he stopped short when she whirled around on him, eyes blazing. "Alright, fair enough." he conceded, holding up his hand in surrender.
He knew he was watching her too eagerly, that his captivation was written all over his face. And for once, he didn't care. Why should he have to hide it? Everything about her was fascinating, and he had spent far too long denying it - to her as well as himself.
"What?" she demanded testily, with a combination of self-consciousness and foreboding, when she caught him staring.
"Has anyone ever told you you have an arresting face?"
She stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Yes! Just about every man I've ever met!"
He grinned again, and this time the smile reached his eyes. His thoughts went to the war; to starvation, poverty, death. It was a load many young men had crumbled under, but Scarlett had not only survived; she he flourished like the green bay tree. He doubted that the death of Frank Kennedy plagued her conscience any more than a pebble under the caravan's wheels. And she must know by now that her beloved white elephant was safe. He watched her intently, narrowing his eyes. She was hard, unscrupulous, selfish, greedy, self-assured… vain.
"Are you afraid of getting old?"
"Now you're just projecting!" she countered immediately.
"Are you afraid of getting fat…" his gaze flickered unconsciously over her. "... ter?"
"No! And shut up!" she cried, slapping him hard on the back of his head. "Forget I said anything!"
"I'm sorry!" he laughed insincerely, easily warding off her attack. "Is it your old nightmare?"
The swift and unexpected change of subject had the intended effect. Scarlett froze and blinked. Then she narrowed her eyes, and drew her lips into a tight, determined line. Her nightmare. Of course! While it wasn't what she'd been thinking of, it was a plausible and more than ample explanation. And he had always been so kind and considerate about it - so utterly unlike his real, perverse self. Yes, she'd tell this small lie, and then the unpleasant subject would forever be swept under the rug.
With slumping shoulders, she leaned back against the wall and played with the hem of her skirt.
"Yes." she sighed heavily, staring down at her hands. "It's my nightmare. Now, will you drop it?"
The room feel silent. She kept her gaze downturned, idly toying with the hem, breathlessly awaiting his reply.
"Scarlett, look at me." he said softly. She reluctantly obliged. "I obviously know it's not your nightmare."
"How- I mean, yes it-"
"Why would you want to keep that a secret? I already know about it."
She furrowed her brows in childish defiance, and stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest. That was it! That cocky, overconfident man was not going to get another word out of her tonight! she thought, clamming her mouth shut.
The corner of his mouth went down as he met her defiant stare. She had always confided in him, no matter if the secrets of her heart were rushed to her lips by his jeering barbs, or freely relayed to him when no one else seemed able to withstand them. So the sudden hesitancy to confide in him was both uncharacteristic and illogical. This unexpected refusal, he reasoned, boiled it down to two options - her secret concerned either Ashley Wilkes or… him.
"Are you afraid your beloved Ashley will never leave Mrs. Wilkes?"
"Of course not! Don't be silly." she snapped, at once ill at ease at the mention of Melanie.
"Are you afraid Ashley will leave Mrs. Wilkes so that you'll have to spend the rest of your life listening to him drone on and on about poetry, books and lost worlds?" he said, playfully nudging her shoulder with his.
She snorted at the absurd picture he painted. "I am now."
Rhett watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was still wringing the hem of the skirt between her fingers, although her discomfort seemed less feigned this time. He desperately tried to think of another reason for her distress, fought to keep the sudden surge of expectation growing in his chest at bay, but nothing came to mind. He had not allowed himself to believe for so long. Hope was like poison in your veins; it distorted your perception and lowered your defences. He smiled wryly when he remembered how effortlessly a certain hungry feline had tricked him - how she'd consume him completely, had she only thought of sheathing her claws with Pittypat's gloves - and made another attempt to steel himself against her. She was not to be trusted. Yet- the way she'd looked at him when he'd joked about never returning…
Rhett couldn't keep a small tremor from his voice when he implored: "Tell me, honey. Please."
"Well, I-" she stopped, unsure, when she saw a raw flame flicker in his eyes. "I suppose there is one thing-"
"You can tell me. I'll be nice."
"Promise me you won't laugh."
"I promise."
She furrowed her brows. "You are going to laugh."
He put his hand over his chest in an exaggerated gesture, wordlessly signaling an affronted "Who? Me?". "You have my word as a gentleman."
"Pfft!" she snorted ungraciously through her nose. "Much good that'll do me! By the way, your heart - if you got one - is to the left!"
He grinned and adjusted his hand accordingly.
"I swear on my mother's grave I won't."
That stopped her in her tracks. God's nightgown! Before she could make that bold claim herself... She had lied to her sister's fiance and not regretted it once. Well, not the lie itself at least. She lied to her customers on a daily basis, and had been for years. And she'd gladly - yes, gladly! - lie straight to every face belonging to The Old Guard, had it not pleased her more to shock them with the truth. She'd even lie on the bible without batting an eye, her fear of God long forgotten... but this!
Scarlett narrowed her eyes and studied him suspiciously. His dark eyes held a wicked, boyish gleam, though underneath it she sensed something akin to honest concern. It had been so easy to confide in him during her pregnancy with Ella. When everyone else had said "Dear me! Have you lost your mind, honey?", "I wouldn't do that, Sugar, if I were you..." or "Miss Ellen gwanna tuhn in de grabe", Rhett had laughed approvingly and encouraged her on. She thought of his comforting solace right after Frank's death, and-. She blinked. She knew this man. Knew him better than anyone, and-
Her train of thought was interrupted when he gently took her hand in his, and as Scarlett peered into the dark eyes alertly searching her face, she found the courage to voice her fear.
"Well, the thing is- and I can't believe I'm admitting this - but... Here's the thing! God's nightgown! I'll never hear the end of it..." She clutched his hand tighter. It felt good. Warm and strong and reassuring.
"Neither will I, it seems." he smiled, politely ignoring the way her nails dug into his flesh.
"Oh Rhett, don't tease me! Not now. Not about this."
She felt his hand tighten around hers in a grip that hurt. "Scarlett, you can't mean that you-" he began hoarsely, at the same time as she blurted out:
"Cows!"
He immediately dropped her hand and recoiled.
"Sorry, what?! Cows?" he cried in indignation. "Over never seeing me again?"
Too defensive to register the disappointment and hurt his words carried, Scarlett sniffed and shrugged. "I hate cows."
In that first instant, he thought it vengeance - albeit in particularly bad taste - for his seductive little trick before. But it was obvious she was telling the truth; he could tell from her defiant glare, daring him to make fun of her. Rhett stared incredulously at her haughty face for a long moment - his hopes and ego shattered into dust -, closed his mouth with a snap, and then the barrier came crashing down. He was laughing in a way she hadn't heard him do since that dreadful evening on Pittypat's porch.
"You swore on your mother's grave!" Scarlett cried, marking each word by slapping him on the arm.
"She's not dead!" he choked.
"You buried her alive?!"
He laughed so loudly that the sound echoed in the stillness, and Scarlett almost expected Mammy to come barging in at any moment with a look of utmost disapproval on her broad, stern face. Two things in the world brought on the dreadful suspicion in Mammy's mind that something horribly indecent was taking place; Mist' Rhett's boisterous laughter, and whatever her lamb had said or done to conjure it.
In Mammy's absence, Scarlett tried to upbring some trace of reproof at his inappropriate behaviour. She folded her arms over her chest, lifted her chin, and regarded him haughtily.
"She would die of shame if she could hear you now." she pointed out coldly.
"Oh, please! Smooth your ruffled feathers, that offended air is just for show… Come, Scarlett! You're obviously loving this as much as I am. Go ahead and laugh! I can tell that you're dying to!"
She knew he was referring to the corners of her mouth, bobbing up and down in suppressed laughter.
"They've been like that all evening. There's something wrong with them."
This nonsensical assertion resulted in another loud guffaw from her husband. There had been a time - too many to count, really - when she'd never wanted to hear Rhett Butler's inappropriate laugh again. Now, however, she revelled in it. Scarlett peered down at his doubled over shape, feeling the last barrier of resentment and bitterness between them melt away. Her mind reeled "My friend is here! My friend is here!", and the realisation brought a fond smile to her lips.
"Are you quite done?" she added dryly when his laughter finally subsided, and he was wiping tears from his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Scarlett." he said in a high pitched voice, betraying he was anything but, and cleared his throat. "Your answer took me by surprise, that's all. You are so young and reckless, and for a long time I've been living under the misconception that nothing can stop your caravan. Tell me about the cow related tragedy that changed your life?"
"Nothing happened!" Scarlett sputtered. "They're just sinister creatures, and anyone who doesn't see it is a fool. Prissy is scared to death of them too! She's even more afraid of them than of me. Er, than me. Than I am."
"Ah, yes of course. And, of course, Prissy's good sense precedes her."
"I'll have you know that Prissy is a lot smarter than she looks!"
At this outrageously false assertion, Rhett threw back his head and laughed anew. Then his merriment turned to dread for one glorious moment, as he lost his balance and toppled sideways to the floor, disappearing from view. When he didn't resurface, Scarlett peered over the edge. Her husband was lying on his side with his face pressed against the floor, emitting guttural sounds of rapture.
"And I thought- I thought-" he wheezed, rolling onto his back and gasping for air, "I thought you said it had nothing to do with Suellen!"
She met his eyes, and saw they were peering up at her as teasingly as a small boy's. Then his insinuation registered and the last shards of her self-control melted away. Besides, nothing raised her spirits like making fun of Suellen.
"Get up." she demanded when, at long last, their laughter was receding. "You look ridiculous."
"And you don't?" he immediately countered. "The daughter of an Irish peasant, about to faint at the mere thought of cattle! And anyway, I can't get up" he said, gesturing down to his slinged arm. "You must help me."
When she reached down to assist him, he unexpectedly grabbed hold of her arm and firmly yanked her down with him. Scarlett landed clumsily on top of him, her forehead colliding forcefully with his nose. She lifted her head to assess the latest damage to her husband's mangled body. There was no bleeding, in fact no sign of injury at all except for a look of stunned bewilderment.
"Rhett?"
No answer. He appeared not to have heard her, and the eyes staring up at her were bleary and unfocused. Good God, did he suffer from a concussion?
"Rhett!" she repeated, slapping his cheek and accidentally hitting him on his nose again.
"Owb." he said with a pitiful, nasal voice, hardly recognizable as his own. They stared at each other, deadpanned. Then they were laughing so hard again that she feebly slid off his chest and rolled over on her back beside him. When they finally regained some semblance of self control, they found themselves slumped together on the floor, shoulder to shoulder with their backs against the wall.
"That was… cathartic." Rhett mumbled with a sigh of contentment, wiping tears of mirth - perhaps mingled with pain - from his eyes. "Life with you is never boring, I'll give you that."
Receiving no reply other than an affronted harrumph, Rhett gently nudged her shoulder with his. "Although I never took you for a-" he smothered a grin and glanced sideways to fully gauge the effect of his next word. "... coward."
She rolled her eyes and shook her head with a snort. "Ridiculous! You are ridiculous, your moustache is ridiculous, and your stupid wordplays are stupid and ridiculous!" she concluded hotly. Then, after a beat: "Udderly ridiculous."
He grinned appreciatively, his swarthy face so close to hers that her heart fluttered in her chest. He really was astonishingly handsome - how had she never noticed it before now? Unaware that he was being watched, Rhett slowly stroked his mustache and gazed into the distance with unseeing eyes.
"Ridiculous, you say? Huh. Perhaps I ought to shave it."
"Oh, no! Don't!" she said quickly, clutching his arm in a frightened way, as if he'd been on the verge of carrying out his threat. She felt him tense under her touch, and awkwardly disentangled herself. "I mean, it looks… Er, you look alright." she amended clumsily, aiming for off-handed but ending up with an embarrassed murmur. Am I blushing? she wondered, resting her palm against her cheek. Oh, God! Either that, or my face did just spontaneously combust.
"I'm touched." he drawled. "A compliment from Scarlett O'Hara... There's a first for everything!"
She scoffed. "That's a lie! I do it all the time!"
He raised his brows. "Lie?"
"Tsk!" she harrumphed and leaned away, scrambling to return to safer footing. "Flatter you! Besides, I thought women complimented you all the time! What's one more or less?"
"Not all the time." he rectified, pointing a stern finger at her. "Sometimes they are content to simply lust from afar."
A genuine snort of amusement vibrated through her nose this time, some of her recent humiliation forgotten.
"Ah, listen! It's the mating call of the green eyed minx." Rhett drawled, his eyes dancing with laughter as her face turned bright red again. "One of nature's most feral - and fertile - creatures. Once she's sunk her claws into her poor, unsuspecting victims, they are at her mercy for the rest of their miserable lives". Scarlett hid her flustered face in her hands and giggled, but fell silent when he tugged at her arm. "But that's not all." he continued gravely. "Would you like to know the worst of it?"
Scarlett nodded dumbfoundedly. Rhett leaned closer, made a show of peering around the room for any unwanted onlookers, and added in a confidential whisper: "Her lumber rates are frankly preposterous!"
His mock grimace turned into a pleasantly surprised smile as her arm snaked around his again, and before he knew what had happened, her hot, embarrassed head rested on his shoulder.
"You are disgusting." she murmured into his shirt.
"Disgusting and only moderately attractive…" he concluded dryly.
She momentarily lifted her head from his shoulder to point out: "Don't forget crippled." Scarlett laughed heartily as one corner of his mouth went down with a grunt. She had never seen him look more genuinely offended, and for some reason she found his affronted grimace hilarious. He made a small, unintelligible sound of indignation, which only caused her to laugh louder.
"Thank God for my illbegotten millions!" he muttered dryly.
"I think I'm finally beginning to understand what you meant by marriage being fun." she sighed happily against his neck, and burst into another giggle.
Her comment made him laugh anew, uncontrollably and almost maniacally - causing her to sit upright again with an offended pout - before his amusement ebbed out into a wistful and melancholy smile.
"Oh, my dear innocent..." he said hoarsely, shoulders still shaking in silent laughter. Pulling her confused form flush against him, he gave the side of her head a quick, chaste peck. "You really don't." he sighed.
She scrunched up her nose in puzzlement, her hand absently reaching for the part of her hair just touched by his lips. God's nightgown! The kiss had been over before she hardly had time to register it, let alone enjoy it. Well... If that was the only liberty he was planning on taking tonight, she thought with a surge of irritation, it had been downright wasted! Frown deepening, she realised that apart from this- this- - she didn't even want to call it a kiss, because that would be an insult to all of their previous embraces - this fleeting brush, he had not touched her once since his return. No indeed! A chaste peck was all she had to show for tonight, after three long months apart; the same platonic affection he lavished a hundred times a day on Bonnie! Even Pitty - the fluttering old fool! - had received more attention from Judge Canton than that!
"Your lips seem to have recovered from their strange affliction" he noted with amusement, breaking her reverie. "I can tell it by your scowl. Is it because of my serious breach of our, er, sleeping arrangement just now? "
"Quite the contrary!" Scarlett promptly assured him, provoked into her Irish forthrightness by his unaffected flippancy.
His gaze flickered over her flushed face, the loose strands of hair - stale from sweat and dirt - that stood in every direction and made her resemble a tumbleweed, the disheveled, ill-fitting dress and the narrowed eyes blazing like emeralds, and suddenly he wasn't laughing anymore. His eyes were unmasked and black as coal as they met hers, and when the corner of his mouth went down, the question she had asked herself all evening was finally answered. So he did feel it too.
Her irritation forgotten, she leaned forward and playfully dragged her index finger over the sling on his chest.
"What terrifies the famous Captain Butler then?" she asked coquettishly in a low purr.
Rhett drew a swift breath and cleared his throat. "You." he said after a tense silence, directing a playful finger at her.
She looked down at the finger, then at him, with her forehead creased in confusion. Just before realization dawned on her, he nudged her hand aside and added:
"- are going to have to try a lot harder to get that out of me."