Note: I couldn't stop at where I had left it, even if so few of you wanted me to continue, even if I didn't want to really continue it. But...eh, I go where the wind takes me. (Oh, and I probably didn't need the latin, but I think Rhett used his intelligence as a way to distance himself emotionally.).And ummm...I guess we'll learn why he was gone for so long. I can't promise how frequently I'll update this but I'm almost done with my P&P piece and I will focus more on Souffle. That one is meant to be a lighter, happier fling. And yup, Evanescence's My Immortal.

Chapter 2: Killing Me Softly

Snow had fallen, blanketing that Christmas day in 1879 with a cover of white. Scarlett sipped her coffee, the steam rising pleasantly into her nostrils, and watched from the window as Wade and Beau indiscriminately threw Ella and their aunt into the powdery ground. Scarlett couldn't stop herself from smirking at India's flushed, frost-bitten face. "My word! She hasn't looked so blooming since before Mrs. Wilkes' death," she silently mused. "The cold does her sallow complexion a world of good."

This wasn't thought meanly, no malice edged behind the amusement. Years had passed since Scarlett had hated India. After the devastation of Melly's passing, she had begrudgingly, slowly learned to respect the spinster. The change in sentiment had been reciprocated. Their steely natures had stopped clashing, melding together to prop up Ashley and the rest of Atlanta. Death could do that. It could bring new life to old relationships. Still to this day they could not be considered friends, only the deepest allies.

Smiling, Scarlett inhaled the bitter scent of her drink and sipped again from it. The warm liquid swilled down her throat. Wade suddenly turned on his own ally, and with a graceful brutality, flung Beau down beside his sister and aunt.

"When did Wade become a man?"

She heard her thoughts in the voice of the man beside her and looked at him. Ashley scratched his chin, staring thoughtfully back at her. His grey eyes were soft with wonder.

"I don't know," she answered. "He's almost seventeen. It had to happen sometime."

He laughed, she shrugged, and they both turned back to the window.

"Neither Beau nor Wade looks like their fathers anymore," Ashley said. "They both look like—"

"Melly," Scarlet finished.

"Melly, yes, and for Wade, Ellen as well. More and more I see your mother in him."

Scarlett nodded. Wade's curls had straightened and darkened. His eyes had too. They were older somehow, so much older than his young age. But it was more than just her son's appearance that reminded Scarlett of the two greatest women she had ever known—it was in Wade's unfailing kindness and frightening, dogged loyalty to those he loved that had first made her take note of the striking similarity.

During Scarlett's darkest days, he would come home almost every weekend from school to be with her, despite her protests and despite her having sent him away. To most, he was a tender lad, endearingly shy and good mannered, but to those who knew him best, he was their gentle rock. Whatever cowardliness had been there before Rhett's desertion, whatever tremulous temperament had characterized his childhood years had hardened into mettle as resilient as his mother's and as immobile as his aunt's. He had cared for his mother when no one else had cared about her. He had pushed her out the door, and she in turn had pushed Ashley out of his door. Ella had become his keep; his family his purpose. And not once had Wade asked why his world had collapsed within only a couple days. Not once had he asked why his beloved aunt had been taken away. Not once had he asked why Uncle Rhett had abandoned them, had abandoned him.

Scarlett could not know what had driven her timid eleven year old son to watch over her so relentlessly, to transform so suddenly. Her own heartache had been too great for her to see the anger in his soft brown eyes, to sense the hatred that had endowed him with an iron will. No one but Wade understood it. No one but Wade remembered that he was the grandson of both a rough Irish peasant and a hard-nosed soldier. No one but Wade realized that the spirit and blood of his undefeatable mother also flowed in his veins. Scarlett had not known it then and she still did not know it now, but she could see the strong young man that had grown up from that fragile little boy. These days when she looked at her son, her heart burst with pride.

Wade was handsome and tall, with long, lean legs and powerful arms. He was popular at school, sought after at home. And he was oblivious of his charm, humble about his skill on a horse or with a gun, which made him all the more inviting. He really was that genteel. He really was that genuine. Every boy in Atlanta wanted to be him. Every belle in Atlanta eyed him with envy. Every mother waited for him to come of age and inherit his considerable wealth. He was from an old family, after all. His mother had mended her ways, after all. He was, in every way, the living proof that all those beautiful, strapping young men had not died in vain.

Scarlett and Ashley remained at the window, their breath and drinks fogging up the glass. There was a snowball battle going on now in the backyard of Aunt Pitty's house—still called Aunt Pitty's house by every soul in town, despite the fact that her tiny feet hadn't pitter-pattered over the floorboards for more than five years. To Scarlett the brick house had never felt quite the same. It had never been as welcoming, never smelled as sweet. But today, with the hearth alit and the snow falling, it almost did. Outside, happy screams punctured the frosty air. Inside, Ashley and Scarlett quietly watched. Both their minds were turned in the same direction as their faces. Beau had finally managed to tackle Wade, and the two cousins were wrestling, kicking up clouds of dusty snow.

"It's a shame Henry's rheumatism has flared up today. Beau told me all he wanted to talk about the last time he visited him was the fact that Wade would be coming home for Christmas."

"Wade and Ella already promised me they would pay him a call tomorrow. Uncle Henry wasn't always so mushy about things."

"He's proud of Wade."

"He's proud of Beau, too."

"Yes, but I think in Wade especially he sees what he always wanted to see in Charles. I remember Melly telling me that Henry would always complain to Miss Pitty that she had turned a soldier's son into a…ninny."

Scarlett dimpled at Ashley's feigned disgust and shook her head. "Charles," she sighed. "I don't even remember what he looked like. Wade has a frame of him somewhere—at school probably—but I wouldn't know him from Adam."

"I always liked Charles, even if I was jealous of him for many years."

"Jealous of Charles, Ashley? Whatever for?"

Ashley traced her face and body with his drowsy gaze, in a way that he hadn't for many years, in a way he possibly never had. A faint heat spread over Scarlett's cheeks. The sensation was so unfamiliar it felt unnatural, so unused it quickly faded.

"There was you, of course—that was your goal, wasn't it?"

"It's been too many years for me to remember."

"Your ability to remain in the present never ceases to amaze me. You never think of the past. You never dream of the future. You are always, ever fixed in the now. I wonder if you know how rare a gift that is."

She frowned at Ashley. Today was peaceful, as pristine as the untouched snow on the trees. Why would he want to ruin everything by drudging up so much muck from the past? It never did any good. It could never change what had already happened.

"I don't know if it's a gift so much as a choice for me to keep my mind on today. You could make the same choice, you know."

"I could if I were a different man."

He smiled at her and set his cup down on a side table. There was something in his face, some light she had not seen since before Melly's death that brightened his eyes. He had always been handsome, the shock and grief of mourning his wife had warmed away some years previous. But today, in this quiet moment, he almost looked young again. He almost looked like her Ashley. Strange, since she had come to believe her Ashley had never existed.

"You weren't the only reason I was jealous of Charles, Scarlett," he said slowly. "I was jealous of him in the same way I was jealous of the twins and my father and any number of men from the County. I was jealous that they had died and I had lived. We both know I should never have come back. I was ready to die. I wanted to die. But out of everyone, out of all my boyhood friends, I came back. I survived."

"You weren't the only one. Tony came back. Cal came back."

"True, but I was the only one who came back and understood that I had lost more than my land or my slaves or my friends. I understood that I had lost myself. I lost myself all over again the day Melly died."

"We've lost a lot, Ashley. We all have. But we're alive. We've survived. That's all that matters."

"I know, and that's my point, Scarlett. I'm no longer jealous. I'm grateful for my life, grateful that I can watch my son grow up, that I can spend Christmas with my loved ones, that I can sit here and drink coffee with a beautiful woman."

Again he drilled her with his eyes, no longer hazy or disinterested. It was a cold fire that tickled in her belly, an even colder chill that pierced her heart.

"Fiddle-dee-dee, Ashley," she said warily. "Is there a reason you're trying to butter me up?"

Ashley smiled, as smooth as the day is long. "I'm not trying to butter you up Scarlett. You've always been beautiful to me, you know that. It's just that I've finally come to terms with whatever did or didn't happen with us."

"How nice for you."

"Nice isn't the word I would use."

"I don't care what word you would use. I don't want to hear—anything."

"I know, but you've always been stronger than me. And I thought for once I could help you. I wanted to offer you some peace of mind."

"My mind's just fine, and so was my peace before you started talking."

"Then maybe I only want to help myself. I certainly can't seem to stop myself." Ashley took a step toward her. "Scarlett I've begun to wonder if Melanie might have known about…about us. I think she might have at least suspected something."

"Don't say that Ashley. Don't say that. My one saving grace out of the whole mess is that Melly didn't know, that she loved you and me and never, ever knew of our betrayal."

"We'll never know for certain, but don't you see that it would be better if Melly had known? I used to think that it would have been the death of me if she had found out about us, but I don't believe that anymore." His voice dropped with conviction. "My dear Scarlett, can't you see that it could finally set us free of our guilt? If Melanie knew of our dishonor but chose to overlook it? If she chose to trust that we loved her more? If she chose to love us more? For the first time in years I feel like my wife has forgiven me. I can think of her memory without the burden of my shame."

Scarlett's hands trembled, the cup shook against the saucer. Things she did not want to remember were rising up from their graves. Things that should remain buried. Without saying a word, she put her coffee down and spun around, stalking out the back parlor. Ashley hurried after her, his swift footfalls right behind.

"Where are you going?"

"I can't do this today, Ashley. If you want to go digging up old regrets, that's your business. Not mine."

She pulled her heavy cloak off the rack and threw it around her shoulders. Three days ago Rhett had waltzed right back into her life, and with every nerve tingling for his touch, she had shoved him out her door. She wasn't about to let Ashley, with his wistful eyes and foolish talk, confuse her all over again.

"You can't go Scarlett. We haven't even had supper."

"I'll do my eating alone tonight. Wade and Ella won't mind if I'm not here."

"They will mind. We all will"

"You should have thought of that before you started going on about things that don't need to be said."

She glared back at him, hating him right now as much as she had once loved him. After all they had been through together these last six years, after everything she had done for him—keeping the mills running, putting food on the table for his son, cleaning him up when he would barely dress himself.

"Merry Christmas, Ashley," she muttered.

"I saw him, Scarlett," he replied. "I saw your—I saw Butler."

Her hand was on the door and at his confession it fell limply to her side. The wind blew out of her lungs, the anger out of her body. She should have known. All roads always led back to Rhett.

"When?" she asked hollowly.

"Yesterday."

"Where?"

"At the cemetery."

So he was still in Atlanta, as recent as yesterday. Slowly she nodded and even more slowly she turned back around. Ashley stood only a foot away, his slender frame blocking her view from everything else. He had always been in her way, somehow distracting her.

"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I wasn't certain if you were aware of his visit."

"I was aware. He let himself into my house the other day." She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. "Did he speak to you?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing, really. He asked about Beau and the mills. I told him they were both doing fine, because of you. He didn't seem surprised."

"He was visiting Bonnie's grave."

"I believe so. He approached me."

"He did?"

Ashley shrugged his shoulders. "We were always civil."

"Did he say anything else?"

"Not exactly, but I did."

Scarlett couldn't manage any more shocks today. She brushed her hand across her brow. The weight of this day, of these last few days settled on her and she straightened her spine to withstand the pressure.

"What did you tell him?"

"I apologized to him for any harm that I might have done him."

Scarlett laughed raggedly at this. No matter how many years she had known Ashley she would never understand him. Gentlemen, gentle people, were a mystery to her. After everything he still thought something like honor mattered!

"Oh, Ashley," she said, still laughing. "Oh, sweet Ashley."

"That's precisely what Rhett did, apart from calling me sweet. He laughed at me and then said the oddest thing—I still don't fully understand it. He told me that I should have just given in at Twelve Oaks and saved us all the trouble of pretending." Ashley had one hand in his pocket and the other rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not sure what he meant by it, but it did make me suspect that maybe he had known about us for longer than I had supposed. Of course, I knew he had to suspect something after that day at the mill. But his comment did make me think that maybe Melly had known too. Whatever Rhett is, he is not a fool. And for all Melanie's innocence, she was not naïve."

The crazed half-smile slid off Scarlett face. Pity and contempt burned in her green eyes. If this was a day for reckoning, so be it.

"I pray you are wrong about Melly, Ashley. But you are not wrong about Rhett. He did know for much longer than you ever knew. He knew since the barbecue."

"What?"

"He was there—on the sofa, in the library. He heard everything: my declaration, your…whatever it is you told me…he heard it all. And he never forgot about it. He never let me forget about it, either."

"Well," he said. "That does clarify things."

"Aren't you…"

Ashley raised his brows at her. A tender grin emerged on his lips, almost mocking. He suddenly seemed amused.

"Aren't I what?"

"Aren't you upset?"

"Upset? On the contrary, I'm relieved."

"Relieved?"

"Wouldn't you be? Here is this man that I have loathed for years, loathed as much as I loathe myself, but who I still should never have wronged. More than wanting you, the sin of my own dishonesty has always bothered me most. I couldn't help the way I felt about you. I couldn't stop myself from desiring you, and I assure you I did try, but if I had been a bigger man, I might have at least been honest—with you, with Melanie, and even with Rhett. So yes, it's a relief to know that I did not deceive him, at least."

A single feeling arose within Scarlett from this: fatigue. Her shoulders slumped. Would this never end? Would she never be free of her mistakes? Whatever Ashley had claimed, she had not forgotten the past. It stayed with her always, that constant, lurking shadow of all the things she would have done differently and of all the people she would have loved better.

Hesitatingly, Ashley closed the short distance between them. He placed his hands on her shoulders and studied her face, imploring her for patience, his touch light.

"I can only imagine what his reappearance does to you. I gather Wade and Ella don't know?"

She shook her head, too tired to speak.

"If he's still in Atlanta, dear, I can find out where he's lodging. I will go to him and ask him to leave, if that is what you want. Although, I'm not certain he'll appreciate the irony of me as the messenger. Do you have any idea why he returned?"

"Who knows why Rhett does anything—I certainly never have. I've never understood how he thinks or what he is thinking."

"Call it a bizarre quirk of fate, but I usually have. We always did think alike, even if we acted so differently. We were both against the war, but we both still fought in the war. We both hurt you even though we both loved you—and I did love you, Scarlett. It was different than my love for Melly, but I did still love you. In a way, I always have. "

Scarlett stared up at Ashley, her gaze wide with despair, her lips open in confusion, and her cheeks flushed from exhaustion. "I'm going to pay for loving them both for the rest of my life," she thought forlornly. Suddenly she felt Ashley's grip harden on her shoulders, and from the depths of his grey, distant eyes surged unmasked desire.

"What would you do if I kissed you?"

"Ashley—"

"You asked me to kiss you once, right in this very spot, practically on this very day."

"I still have a husband—"

"I had a wife. She was upstairs sobbing, and I still couldn't say no to you." He bent his head to her face, his lips brushed hotly across her cheek. "You don't owe Rhett anything, Scarlett. I'm the one who is here—we're the only ones still here. Kiss me, darling."

She was too stunned, too tired, too indifferent to protest. His arms wrapped around her waist and when his mouth found hers, Scarlett didn't want to resist. It had been so long since a man had held her in this way, since there had been heat in her blood and a flush on her skin. The shadows of the years melted off from her. A stirring of passion, of love, of life swirled in her core. She clung to Ashley, forgetting it was Ashley. He was flesh and blood; spring after the long, endless winter. He was a man and she was a woman. And in that bewildering moment that was all that mattered.

Hungrily they kissed one another, blind to their surroundings, oblivious to all but the remembrance of wild, sweet infatuation. Vaguely Scarlett realized they had moved, that Ashley had spun her around, that as she arched her back, her spine scratched against the wall and her head bumped against a picture frame. His lips lowered down her jaw, skidding along her neck and dancing across her flesh. His hands—she didn't know where his hands were, only that they were everywhere. She moaned, her eyes fluttering open, and that's when she saw Wade.

Instantly she wrenched Ashley off of her. He staggered back, his confusion lasting only as long as it took him to trace the line of her unblinking gaze, and twirl around. She noticed his tall body convulse and his hands go rigid, but his surprise was nothing, a blurry blip in her periphery. She only had eyes for her son.

"Uncle Ashley," Wade said, keeping his glittering gaze locked on his mother. "Beau wanted to borrow your gloves. His are soaked through. Will you get them for me?"

"Of…of course," Ashley stammered. "I think…I think they're upstairs."

"Would you mind getting them now? I believe Ella and Aunt India are coming in." He glanced at his uncle. "I don't think you want them to see you at the moment."

The back of Ashley's neck bled from red to crimson. He swiped his hand through his hair, cast Scarlett a look of pure, broken humiliation, and swiftly went up the stairs. Wade waited until they heard the upstairs floorboards creak before he walked toward his mother.

Scarlett had regained some calm, some dignity. She wrapped her cloak about her and refused to be further abashed by her glaring boy.

"Wade Hamilton—"

He immediately cut her off. Scarlett could not bully her son or make him cower. A reality that made her as mad as it made her secretly glad. But that is what happens when a child starts to believe he or she is the adult, as it had happened to Wade six years ago.

"Mother, can you imagine what would have happened if Beau or Aunt India had been the ones to walk in? Or Ella? Do you have any idea what that would have done to Ella? It would have destroyed her."

"Don't be so dramatic, Wade," she snapped, now more peeved than embarrassed. She didn't need her son telling her off about her own daughter.

Wade didn't flinch.

"How long has this been going on, Mother?"

"That is neither your concern, nor your place to ask."

"It is if you are going to be kissing my uncle without discretion."

"No, even then it would not be your concern. You're crossing a line, young man."

Wade came to a halt an arm's length away. His face was flushed red, from the cold and the anger. He folded his arms and took a long breath.

"I do apologize, Mother. I am only trying to understand. Are you marrying Uncle Ashley?" He clenched his jaw. "Are you finally divorcing Rhett?"

Scarlett started. It wasn't that she never spoke her husband's name anymore, but she hadn't heard Wade speak it since the day Rhett had left. Her eyes darted nervously around, as if Rhett would suddenly appear at the rare utterance of his name. Something told her it would be bad if Wade bumped into his stepfather without any forewarning. And if Rhett was lingering in Atlanta, she had better do it soon. But the words would not come so easily.

Wade watched Scarlett, with an intensity and acuity that belied his mother. And then his expression shifted. He bit on his bottom lip and cursed.

"Wade, don't—"

"You saw him, didn't you? I thought…I thought I spotted someone that looked like him at the depot. It wasn't just someone who looked like him, though, was it? It was actually him?"

"Yes," she said simply.

Wade cursed again and Scarlett started to scold him, but her voice withered into silence at the look on his face. If Ellen had ever hated someone, hated someone as deeply as she had loved everyone, Scarlett now knew how those kind brown eyes of her mother would have burned into lakes of terrible fire.

Abruptly Wade stalked away and stormed out into the snow. The door slammed shut just as Ashley came back down the stairs. He paused on the last step, wordlessly beseeching her for an explanation.

"Should I go after him?" he asked after a moment.

"No, let him be."

She sank down onto a small bench in the entryway. Ashley shuffled towards her. He looked on the verge of saying something—some perfunctory apology, some useless talk about forgiveness and admiration, some nonsense she didn't want to hear.

"He doesn't care about you anymore, Ashley. He knows Rhett is in town."

Ashley stuttered to a halt. "You told him?"

"He guessed."

"Do you think he's going to look for him right now?"

"Yes."

"To talk to him?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

A clatter of voices erupted in the back of the house. India, Beau and Ella were loudly entering through the kitchen door. Their laughter jarred against the deadness in Scarlett's heart. She leaned her head back and stared blankly up at Ashley.

"I think Wade's going to try and kill Rhett," she said flatly. "And I can't decide if I want him to succeed or not."

Before Ashley could respond, Beau came bounding in and threw a snowball in his father's face. Scarlett watched Ashley wipe away the ice, a wooden grin on his lips. The lips that had so recently been kissing hers. She shivered. The flame between them had flared high and fizzled fast. It had left her feeling so much colder than before.

Please review, even if you hate it. :) I appreciated the honest feedback. Cheers.