A/N: I own none of the original characters – I am simply manipulating them for my own devious purposes. Kudos to Google Translate!
1867
As Rhett nursed his brandy, he contemplated the events that had led him to this very moment.
Eighteen months ago, he'd been one of the very many fools in Grey. Well, technically, he'd been the fool in white, but that was neither here nor there.
He'd been a fool none the less, to turn up to Wars in a white suit, dress shoes and a mere pistol.
Of course, he hadn't known that evening that he'd be off to Wars.
All he cared about was that she needed him.
Scarlett.
Her name melted on his tongue and he took another swig of Brandy.
The bottle was nearing its end and he was contemplating ordering another when he saw her.
He'd recognise those eyes anywhere. Like two fishbowls dancing in the wind.
He snorted at his pathetic attempts to coerce Scarlett into thinking they were meant to be together.
No matter how hard he tried, he would never replace that yellow-belied gentleman.
Ashley Wilkes.
The name was poison on his tongue.
The girl before him had rich dark hair that was curly, not straight. It was nowhere near as fine either.
She'd noticed him looking at her and sensing a worthy customer made the decision to approach him.
"Vous avez l'air solitaire monsieur. Ce n'est pas permis ici. Souhaitez-vous l'entreprise? " ("You look lonely Monsieur. That is not permitted here. Would you like company?")
Her voice had a façade of smoothness but it was certainly no match for the Southern Belle simper Scarlett had been known to use.
What the hell? Maybe tonight he'd find some release?
XxX
Several hours later, Rhett was standing and looking out the window. Cigar in hand, he looked over to the woman lying in the bed.
It was no use. The whore could not compare to the woman he'd left behind. She may look the part but she was a pale imitation.
Try as he might, no matter how many woman he saw and had, no matter how far he journeyed, he could not slake his lust for her.
No, he conceded. It was so much more than that.
He loved her. Pure and simple.
Well, maybe not pure. He was a man after all. However, the word reminded him of that masquerading gentleman, content to lust from afar whilst living on enjoying the simple devotion his wife bestowed on him.
Rhett was the man who truly loved her.
Loved her for being so much like him. Hard and shrewd and blessed with the ability to see things as they truly were.
He loved everything about her.
Her beautiful eyes.
Her long dark hair, that shimmered like a raven's wing.
The very air about her.
She was everything he longed for in one petite, insanely charming yet complex package.
He'd stayed away too long, nursing his sorrows. He'd fled America after General Lee's surrender. He couldn't risk imprisonment and so had travelled across Europe – wanting to drown out the waste of life the Cause had brought upon them.
It no longer mattered if she hated him still; he needed, no wanted, desperately to see her.
XxX
Weeks later, he set his feet firmly on American soil.
After a brief visit to Charleston and a cloaked meeting with his mother, he made his way for the train that would take him to Atlanta. A mere twenty-five miles from his love.
It was late when he approached the city that held so many bittersweet moments for him.
Their first dance, where he held her body close.
Their first kiss, where she gave into the passion that lay between them, all be it under duress at first.
Her eyes widened and darkened with want.
Need.
He'd felt that for the first time, they were on the same page.
Until…
XxX
Atlanta was in uproar at the Captain's return.
The Yankees had pillaged the town of all its glory and turned their world upside down.
As Rhett had never had the decency to hide his true feelings about their beloved Cause, the sight of him and was torture to fallen Confederates.
How dare the blackguard return, flaunting his obvious health and wealth in their impoverished faces?
How dare he gloat at their struggles?
How dare he still be alive when their darlings were buried far away, probably in unmarked graves or in fields not fit for the Yankee scum to be buried in?
XxX
Belle Watling was delighted by his safe return.
She greeted him enthusiastically and was hurt when he did not return the sentiment.
"Why Rhett, what brings you here?"
"Oh you know the usual. How have you been Belle?"
"Well, business ain't too bad. 'Specially with all the Yankees wanting favours. But I 'spect you're not interested in that."
Rhett grinned, wholeheartedly. "You're a shrewd woman Belle."
"Well, if you want that information, than I suggest you go to Miss Pitty's. She'll help you I guess."
With that, she left the room, her dignity intact.
XxX
Miss Pitty almost fainted at the sight of the notorious Captain Butler in her hallway. His parcel of bonbons proved enough to stay her from fainting and she reluctantly permitted him entrance to the parlour.
It didn't take long for Pitty to forget herself when her visitor started to engage her in one of her most treasured pastimes.
Gossip.
That afternoon, he'd learnt that Scarlett and Melanie had refused to return to Atlanta. That Ashley Wilkes had returned and they were all living at Tara.
How convenient, he thought snidely.
Still, no matter. Ashley was no match for Scarlett and never would be.
When Miss Pitty had tired of talking, he took his leave and wished them all a good night.
XxX
He heard it then.
The cry.
The fear.
He saw the woman run like the hounds of Hell were after her.
A giant of a Negro followed her idly. Menacingly.
It called to him then, the Code that was be-stilled in him as a child.
It was one of the only useful things his father had taught him.
Women were to be respected and protected.
Heaven help the man who stands aside and lets the honour of woman from any rank be tarnished so vilely.
Swiftly, he followed the pair, not knowing that he wasn't the only one to see the danger in the Negro's eyes.
The woman's cry was high-pitched as her assailant was torn from her, to be shot through the head. The stranger pulled off his jacket and wrapped it over her shoulders.
"Permit me."
She had scarcely breathed before his arms were about her, taking her out of the dark hole the night had created for her.
She leant her head on his chest as he asked her if she had a place to go.
When she whispered the name, he nodded, ironically,
Oh he knew it alright.
XxX
As Rhett deposited the girl to one of the less salubrious whore houses in Atlanta he had no idea he was being pursued.
It was only when he was at a safe distance from the brothel that he felt the pudgy hand on his arm. Turning, he saw the familiar blue uniform of the Yankee Guards and was silent as he was told to follow the Guard to the Yankee prison, for crimes against the Yankee Government and the murder of one of Atlanta's citizens.
XxX
Scarlett leant against the wall of Tara as she read her latest correspondence.
It was from her Grand-father, asking her once more to come to Savannah.
It had been the same for the last few months.
When the War ended, Scarlett wrote to tell them they survived but did not have enough to support their needs.
They had struck a bargain.
Pierre Robillard would assist Scarlett in exchange for her promising to take up the mantle of housekeeper.
She'd deferred it first, as she was needed at Tara to work the fields.
Set the stragglers to rebuilding the fences in exchange for bed and board in their former dining room.
Then there had been her father.
The end of the War had brought back some of his vitality and with the arrival of more former soldiers, begging for recuperation, he was once more Gerald O'Hara, proud master of Tara.
It didn't last though.
Sadness enshrouded his soul and his pining for his dear wife cloaked his mind to the realities of the world anew.
Scarlett couldn't abandon him now and wrote as much.
He'd conceded temporarily and had continued to send supplies and cash for the restoration of Tara.
However fruitless he thought it would be.
Next to the Fontaine's place, Tara was one of the better plantations in the County. With Scarlett's strength and the ex-soldiers assistance they were slowly mending the carnage brought upon by the Yankees.
One of the stragglers proved more helpful than any of them. His name was Will Benteen and his passion for the land almost amounted to hers.
Scarlett knew immediately that something was clearly on his mind and she urged him to share the news.
He made no attempt to soften the blow.
"The Yankees want three hundred dollars for taxes."
"I paid them already."
"Well ma'am. They say you owe more, which usually means that someone has their eye on this place."
"Damn the Yankees. They take our land, send us back to the marshlands and now they want us on our knees, begging them for favours? When does it end?"
Will felt embarrassed but managed to conceal it. He'd come to respect Miss Scarlett and all the work she'd achieved.
Tara would never be the grand plantation of her childhood but it would make a decent farm. One he never wanted to leave.
They'd come to an understanding and he'd gradually come to take over some of the duties that burdened Scarlett's shoulders.
He would never be able to remove them all – some burdens could never be shifted, no matter how many years went by.
Still, he did what he could, which is how she'd been able to sneak away to read her letters in the first place.
"I can get the money. But what's to say they won't ask for more next year? And the next? No one has money, except for the Yankees and Carpetbaggers."
It was too much to be born and Scarlett fled from her resting place. Once she was at a good distance, she picked up her skirts and ran.
It was only when Ashley grabbed her arm that she saw how far she had run.
"Ashley?"
He'd been out mending fences and chopping wood.
"What are you doing out here Scarlett? What happened?"
The tears she had never shared for her mother welled inside, desperate to spill. Her breath was heavy and all she wanted was to bury her head and cry until there was nothing left of her.
Ashley was carrying on, patting her arm ineffectually. She looked up at him and for a moment, he reminded her of the man she had mistaken him for at the age of fourteen.
How grand he looked on that white horse. He looked like a knight in shining armour, his blond hair – now tinged with grey – shining like the sun.
His grey eyes had danced with the joy of youth and had captured her heart and soul completely.
Ashley was saying something to her. She shook her head and felt infinitely disappointed that her dream Ashley was nothing more than a puppet whose strings had been cut.
"Is it something to do with Tara?"
Of course it was Tara!
"Ashley, the Yankees want three hundred dollars for taxes. They're worse than locusts. They just take what they want and leave us with nothing."
Ashley's eyes were bright. "Ah yes. That's what we were fighting for. We fought for the right to keep our way of life, the beauty, the sheer wonder of it."
It was the first time he had shown any gumption since before the War. Since his return all life had been exhumed from his body and he was content to bury his head in the sand.
It angered her.
"I like to dream of the life we had, in all its grace and tranquillity… Scarlett, my dear, what is it?"
Her eyes had hardened and Ashley felt his concern grow.
"I don't believe this. Tara is in danger and you're dreaming? Maybe it's a good thing Twelve Oaks is gone, what would you have done if it was your home that was in trouble?"
"Scarlett, I…"
"I haven't got time for dreaming. It gets you nowhere. It's no use talking to you. You're no help."
She left him, standing there, the wind knocked out of him.
XxX
Her letter was short and to the point.
If her Grandfather could help with the taxes, she would send Suellen to act as house-keeper.
"Her fiancé is working hard to ensure they will be comfortable. Suellen could do with sometime away from the country and will do all she can to learn the skills she will need as a wife."
She paused, before continuing.
"There is another matter. The Yankees aren't intimidated by us and will keep on demanding taxes. If they knew that Pierre Robillard of Savannah was protecting Tara, then we would be safe."
She finished her letter and gave it to Will to take to town.
XxX
When she was sure she was alone, she locked herself in her room and went to the loose floorboard under her bed.
Buried there, lay her own hoard of cash saved from bribes her Grandfather had given her and also some odd coins from the money he sent.
She kept it all in her mother's jewellery box and told no-one it existed.
Suellen often asked about their mother's jewellery and after the War, Scarlett had shown her, before hiding them once more, out of precaution.
The time would soon come to divide her Mother's treasures, but until then, she'd keep them safe.
XxX
Pierre's reply came two weeks later.
Yes, he would supply the money, if Scarlett would offer Suellen as temporary collateral along with a mortgage.
He had wired the money across and agreed to give Tara his full support.
He also wanted Scarlett to travel to Atlanta to assess Frank Kennedy's business assets and figure out how long it would take him to marry Suellen.
When that day finally arrived, Scarlett would travel to Savannah and take up Suellen's role. She would receive an allowance which would finance Tara and provide her with the means to be 'a true Robillard'.
Finding his terms fair, Scarlett sent her answer by telegram and set about making plans to send Suellen to Savannah and herself to Atlanta.
XxX
The middle O'Hara girl was reluctant at first to be palmed off like an unwanted parcel but Scarlett didn't care. It wouldn't be for long and then she would be married and have everything Frank Kennedy would give to his little wife.
She didn't realise that whilst there were material benefits to be had for Suellen, it was the loss of family Suellen mourned. The loss of her home and family.
Still, she went along with the plan and braced herself for the months of isolation in Savannah.