A/N: Guys, I am back in business with this fic I think. I'm sorry it's been so long between updates, I've been doing my best! Please, if anyone is still reading, or indeed anybody new is reading, leave me some reviews, it makes it all worth it.
CHAPTER TEN:
"You're not who I thought you were gonna be, Rhett Butler." Will Benteen commented. It was late at night, and the women and children had long retired to bed. The two men were standing on the porch at Tara, looking out at the bare red land. It was long after the harvest now, but the silvery moon in the clear sky threw stunning shadows across the raw land. Rhett even thought he might understand a little more why Scarlett loved it so deeply.
"Who did you think I was going to be?" Rhett responded mildly.
"Some folks say you're a scoundrel. Others say you're a gentleman. Then Scarlett says you're everything from a handsome varmint to a Yankee-sympathising devil-man." Rhett laughed at that. Will merely peered at him. "Seems I never had an idea who to believe."
"You're a good man, Will. I'm not. So you may think what you want and I'm sure it'll be true."
"Ah, now you're confusin' me with a gentleman. I'm just an honest hard worker, Rhett. An' I think you are too, somewhere in there, though we work at different things." Rhett thought about Will's words a while, before he nodded.
"You're lucky you got the baby, Will. Never forget you're lucky." Rhett told him, clapping him on the arm.
"An' you're lucky you got Scarlett."
The parting words were barely a whisper as Rhett climbed the stairs. It would be strange sharing a bedroom with Scarlett while they stayed at Tara. As he slipped into bed, he noted that her dark hair was loose and falling over the pillow beneath her. He lay beside her and looked up at the high white ceiling for a long time before he dared to glance at his wife again.
Perhaps he would always love her, in a twisted way. He didn't want to love her, and certainly he didn't like her, but he did love her.
It was this final admission to himself that sent him to sleep.
Sunrise came quickly, and Scarlett was the first awake. She was confused at first to find a heavy arm draped over her, a large hand resting on her stomach. Then she remembered where she was, and who the arm must belong to. Tossing Rhett's arm off her in disgust, she got out of bed and made her way over to the window. It was silent outside, the birds having flown south for the winter. And it must still be early, because it wasn't quite light.
Her own hand travelled down to her stomach now and her forehead puckered into a frown. What if…? But she couldn't allow herself to ask that question; the consequences were far too painful, and besides, what good could it do, even if she did ask it? She still wouldn't know. Not yet.
She heard Rhett stir behind her and didn't turn round even as the covers rustled.
"Scarlett?" He called to her groggily. "It's early. Come back to bed."
His hair was falling across his forehead and into his eyes. He was confused, sleepy, and had not quite remembered the situation he was in. Rhett had just awoken from a pleasant dream about his early days of marriage, the sweltering nights they'd spent dancing in New Orleans…
"I'm awake now, Rhett." She seemed not quite herself either, Rhett noted. Scarlett stood gazing out the window, apparently perturbed by some thought.
"Did you have a nightmare?" The thought hadn't occurred to him in years- that maybe she still had her awful night terrors that used to reduce her to tears, reduce her to his arms. It was strange what a difference his talk with Will had made to the way he was looking at Scarlett; he seemed to be remembering her vulnerable, softer moments, rather than the hard-hearted, harsh ones that stood out more easily. They were like repressed memories resurfacing, reminding him that the woman he'd married was more complex than she appeared.
"I haven't had those dreams for years, Rhett." She didn't sound pleased to recall them, though. Her tone was icy. "You came up here late."
"Did you miss me?" He teased, a little more awake now.
"You can only wish." She retorted, finally turning around. "I was thinking about my Aunt Eulalie. That old hag- I have been sustaining her since the war! How can she think to keep me out of her will after everything I've done for her?"
"Scarlett, you never did think of anyone but yourself."
"Oh, don't start in on me. You know it's perfectly true that I have continually sent her money! I am not angry because of what I have missed out on- after all, it is not much, only a house. But it is the… the principle." She stammered her finish.
"I never thought Scarlett O'Hara would ever be in a position to lecture about principles!" Rhett grinned.
"Oh, shut up, you are infuriating me." This entire exchange was so much like the old days- the days where he had riled her up just for his own entertainment purposes, and she had fallen for it all hook, line and sinker. These days, though he really intended to wound her pride, it never seemed to work. The barbs he threw her way were true now, not teasing of things he really admired- and yet now was the time that she refused to rise to it. But now, in the confines of her bedroom at Tara, it was like she had become something of her old self for a moment. Perhaps because Tara was the everlasting symbol of her old life, her roots- a planter's daughter, and a southern belle to boot. A tiny part of Rhett wished he could capture this moment and hold it in his hands forever- but a much larger part was furious, and wanted to fling it all back in her face. What was it about this place- this plantation- that brought back these old memories? Or was it merely Scarlett's latest design to torture him? He decided to go with the latter. It was easier to hate her.
Rhett lay back in bed and closed his eyes.
"Rhett, do you think that I am legally entitled to anything, given that I am the sole provider to Aunt Eulalie and have been since 1864?" She asked him distractedly, not really thinking about the things they'd been saying to each other. She didn't hear the echo of bygone days in the exchange- she had something to focus on, something practical, and she was excited to cling to it, and fight for it, because fighting was all she knew how to do. He didn't answer her question, anyway. "Perhaps I should write to Uncle Henry? Rhett?"
Rhett kept his eyes shut and tried to block out the sound of her voice. His heart was pounding in his chest.