For Fred, because he wrote back.

Though he had not set foot in the backyard of his home in over ten years, the grounds of Pierre Robiliard's house were as immaculately maintained as they had been in the decades before the war. The grounds were made up of several small formal gardens, laid out in the French style by the late Solange Robillard. Rich in exotic plants and trees, they were a fitting setting for the numerous entertainments Solange once hosted as premier hostess of Savannah.

Waxy, white petaled calla lilies grew in clumps, their broad, arrow shaped dark green leaves serving to directly contrast the pure white of the pitcher shaped bloom. Glossy leafed box woods were painstakingly clipped into fantastic topiaries. Towards the back of the property, a grove of grace willows stood in a semi-circle around a small pond. At the pond's center, reachable only by an ornamental bridge, was a small screened pavilion. During long ago summers, Solange would hold court in the afternoons on the tiny island, its screened summerhouse her refuge, gathering around her the disposed aristocracy of France who in most cases came by way of Haiti.

Before the aunts left for Charleston, they'd spent countless hours regaling Scarlett with tales of past occasions celebrated in the summerhouse. They spoke, with shinning eyes, of elaborate birthday teas attended by dozens of girls, all from the best families in Savannah. Later, when they were older, the two elder Robiliard sisters welcomed their suitors; their virtue guarded over by the hawk like eyes of Mammy, in the summerhouse's cool confines.

Neither sister felt the need to disclose to Scarlett the tie between her very existence and the summerhouse. Scarlett had no way of knowing but the summerhouse had borne witness to the events that lead to the beginnings of the grand passion between Ellen and her reckless cousin, Philippe. It had also been in the summerhouse that a broken hearted, but resolved Ellen had told Gerald O'Hara that she would marry him.

Walking next Rhett, Scarlett's emotions were in turmoil. Chancing a glance at him from the corner of her eye, her heart broke at how exhausted he looked. There were new strands of gray at his temples. Small lines at the corners of his dark eyes were permanently etched deep from countless sleepless nights. His cheekbones, normally sharp and well defined were slightly obscured by still swollen flesh. He looked nearly as worn as he had after Bonnie died. Grief and an enormous amount of alcohol nearly ruined him after her death, it seemed that history nearly came close to repeating itself. She wanted to fling herself into his arms and laugh or cry or possibly do both at the same time. He was here at last and she hadn't a clue as to how she should proceed.

The air between them seemed heavy, alive with possibilities and the threat of disappointment. His words on the front walk were jumbled in her head. He'd been worried about her, his sister was twelve years too late to save him from her, and he never saw her note. Did he at least know what the note said? Did he care for her again? Why had he really come? She desperately wanted to believe his intentions were good, that he'd come because he wanted to be with her, but she knew him. Right now, righteous indignation and suspicious caution were her best friends.

With her heart thudding painfully in her chest she allowed him to take her arm as they cross the bridge to the island. Her expressive eyes darkened from jade to a translucent emerald as she struggled to keep a blank expression of composure on her pale face. Waiting until the door to the summerhouse was closed, Scarlett drew in a shuddering breath. Feeling his eyes on her, she turned. Facing him, she shook her head lightly. "Even without my note I still don't see how it took you so long to find me. I would have thought it would be obvious where I'd gone."

Amusement sparkled in his dark eyes. "Obvious? It should have been obvious to me that you'd withdrawn to Savannah, to spend time in the company of a man for whom you've professed nothing but contempt?" He lightly caught her by the shoulders, giving her a small, but meaningful shake. "How could I guess that you'd come here? You've told me on numerous occasions that you detested your grandfather."

An embarrassed flush spilled across her pale face. "I'm sure I've never said I detested him," she murmured demurely. He was right, God damn him to hell, thought Scarlett, she had been adamant about her dislike for her mother's father. Why shouldn't she hate him, the old monster had turned his back on his family after the war, leaving them to starve. That old hurt festered for years till she could scarcely hear mention of Pierre Robiliard without falling into a temper. "I still don't know that you could have been looking for me all that hard…" she grumbled softly.

His hands dropped from her shoulders. Arms encircled her waist, pulling her tightly against his chest. Holding her close, Rhett inhaled the scent of rosewater and lilac that clung to her hair and body.

They needed to talk, he thought, to settle things between them, but right now what he needed most was to hold her close, safe and unharmed, in the circle of his arms. The flash of possessiveness was an unpleasant surprise, but he could not deny what he knew to be true. She was his, only his, she belonged to him just as he belonged only to her.

"Rhett," she started to speak but his lips were on hers, silencing her before she could continue. His mouth covered hers completely. At first his lips against hers were tender but when she made no move to meet his passion with any of her own, he became rougher. She tried to turn her head but his kisses became even more demanding though she wondered if that was at all possible.

Realizing she could not fight against the feelings his touch inspired in her, she raised herself up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back. In that one perfect moment of passion they found common ground and that discovery only served to propel them forward. Pulling her closer, desperately needing more contact, Rhett moved his mouth from hers, kissing her throat several times before nipping it slightly just above the spot where her heart beat with frantic flutters born of need and desire.

She cried out breathlessly, calling out his name in a pleading whisper. Elated, Rhett kissed her again. This time, he would accept nothing but her unconditional surrender. Deepening his kisses, he left her no alternative but to open her mouth. When she relented, he threaded one hand in the hair at the nape of her neck, his other arm tightening around her still slim waist. Sliding his hand from her nape, he kissed her one last time before cradling her face, his thumb stroking gently over her cheekbone.

Her head fell back, lips pursed, waiting for him to kiss her again. After waiting a moment, she Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. He did not speak, choosing to study her silently. The earlier good humor was gone from his dark eyes. They were hunted, anxiously regarding her. It was clear; he'd suffered during her absence, aging visibly since she'd last seen him. But she couldn't allow his appearance to sway her; after all, what if this was some whim, an attempt to banish some of the misery that seemed to be weighing him down. "Why are you here, the truth," she asked anxiously, her face still flushed from their impromptu embrace.

A hundred flippant answers came to mind, but the truth won out in the end. "I'm here to bring you home."

A hesitant smile formed on her lips. Giving him a slight, encouraging nod she waited a moment for the rest of his explanation before she realized there was no rest. Resentment burned in her breast. Could he possibly think she would just accept that he was here with no explanation as to what inspired him to come? She was supposed to just accept that he changed his mind without any explanation as to why? No, she thought resolutely, she couldn't just allow him to spirit her away on just because he'd decided to show up on her doorstop without knowing the whole story. "And?"

Brushing an errant lock of hair from her cheek, he smiled at the annoyance in her voice. "And what?"

"You're here to bring me home? Just out of nowhere you show up, unannounced to drag me back to Charleston and you won't tell me why? Three months ago you couldn't wait to see the back of me, so why come now? What could have changed so much in three months?"

"Me," he replied succinctly.

He moved to kiss her again but, before he could, she slipped out of his embrace. "Oh no you don't," she snapped, "I'm still mad at you."

Rhett raised a dark brow. "Mad at me, you're joking."

Scarlett's eyes narrowed as she felt that familiar stab of exasperation that came from trying to have a serious conversation with Rhett Butler. "I was here in Savannah going half out of my mind wondering where you were and when I wasn't wondering where you were, I was wondering if I'd ever see you again."

Rhett heaved a sighed born of mingled amusement and exasperation. "Substitute Charleston for Savannah and I could say the same thing to you."

"I know where I've been," she replied smugly.

"Well," he said, fighting a smile, "that makes one of us." Touching her face lightly, he stroked the curve of her cheekbone, "besides," he leaned closer to her, his lips nearly caressing her ear, "I had a very pressing reason to come for you," he whispered seductively.

Shivering, she rested her palm against his chest. "And that is?"

Leaning back, he replied, his voice returning to its normal timbre, "You owe me five thousand dollars."

"Five thous-," she sputtered, shoving him back. In a huff of wounded dignity she relocated herself to the window seat overlooking the bridge. With a petulant scowl she crossed her arms over her chest. . "How in the hell do you figure I owe you five thousand dollars?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "It's a casual estimate. If you like, I could sit down and come up with a far more accurate tally." He grinned at her ire filled expression. "Five thousand dollars was about how much I spent trying to find you."

A smile crept onto her face, chuckling softly Scarlett countered, "I left you a note, that absolves me of all financial responsibility."

He stood before her, reaching down, he took her hands in his own. Looking down at them, he admired her now soft flesh, remembering how work and post war deprivation had coarsened her delicate skin, silently he vowed to never leaveher to her own devices again. Lifting first one palm to his lips then the other, he pressed a single kiss in her sensitive flesh. She swallowed spasmodically at the prickling feel of his moustache skin against her smooth palms. "Does it?"

"It does indeed," she replied.

Laughing, he pulled her to her feet. She came willingly, wrapping her arms around his waist before resting the side of her head against his shirtfront. The familiar aroma of tobacco, whiskey, and a myriad of other scents that were purely Rhett brought unbidden tears to her eyes. "I don't understand how your sister could do such an awful thing. I know she doesn't like me, but you're her brother, " her voice caught in her throat, "she only helped make a bad situation that much worse. Didn't she care that you were hurting?"

Kissing her forehead, he rested his chin on the top of her head. "Did she care," he mused, half to himself, "I wish I knew. What possessed her to continue to keep her treachery a secret, I can't answer that either. I suppose that this is just one more thing we'll have in common in our new life together."

"A life together, do you see us having one?"

'Yes. Look at me Scarlett." She raised her face and this time when his dark head descended, his mouth swiftly slanting over hers, she did not attempt to turn away.

Capturing her lips in a deeply passionate kiss that made their earlier embrace pale into insignificance, Rhett seduced her. With his mouth and hands, he wore down the final lingering shreds of her earlier resistance, demanding that she give herself up to the pleasure he knew was coursing through her. Passion and desire coursed through his own body as he lifted her into his arms, carrying her over a wicker chaise.

Without allowing her the chance to protest, he unbuttoned the bodice of her dress. Scarlett shuddered as his fingers caressed the expanse of now exposed flesh. Wrapping her arms tightly around him, meeting him kiss for kiss, she whispered, "I've missed you so."

Hearing the hurt, the faint undertone of grief in her words moved him. Though he feared he would regret it later, he knew that if he didn't stop kissing her, their reunion would be little more than a hasty coupling in a seldom used summerhouse. As she watched him with baleful eyes, he slowly rebuttoned her bodice "I can only think of a few things more uncomfortable locations than that of our last liaison. Making love to you on a rickety wicker chase is one of them."

Impatiently shoving his fingers away, she began to button the remaining jet buttons. "You are getting ahead of yourself Captain Butler, a few kisses don't mean that I am going to allow you to take me at the first given opportunity," she replied tartly.

"You sound so sure, are you issuing me a challenge," he asked, running his fingertip down her still exposed décolletage.

"No," she replied bluntly. "In the past we've played a similar game. If you recall, I lost. Badly."

"You've always been a poor loser Scarlett."

"You came because you were worried about me, what did you think could have happened to me?

"I wasn't worried about you, I was just curious about your whereabouts," he corrected her.

"You just said you were worried about me not more than ten minutes ago."

The way she asked so pointedly about his feelings made him suddenly wary, deciding to protect himself from further heartbreak, he proceeded with caution. "You misheard me. You're a big girl Scarlett, I never doubted your ability to take care of yourself."

"True, I can take care of myself quite nicely" Coming to her feet, she moved toward the summerhouse door. "As you can see, I'm fine. I have not wasted away; nor am I crushed at being so callously discarded by you."

Their flippant banter had gone on long enough he suddenly decided. Catching her by the wrist, he shook his head. "I'll show you my cards if you'll show me yours."

She shook off his grip. Not wanting to further aggravate her, he allowed her to. "I don't have any cards Rhett, if I did, I thought I had shown them to you. Whether you saw it or not, I wrote you a note telling you just how I feel," she corrected herself, "how I felt about you. You're the one who still has secrets. I thought we'd established that you came because you were concerned about me. Now you say that isn't so. I don't know what you want from me. If you can't be honest with me, then we really have nothing more to discuse."

"You're going to make this difficult for me, aren't you?"

Scarlett shrugged slightly, "The thought had occurred to me."

"I came to you as soon as I found out where you were, shouldn't that count for something?"

"It does," she replied, her green eyes glittering with what he thought could be tears until she spoke, "it counts just as much to me as it did to you when I came to Charleston and threw myself at you."

"Scarlett..."

"You..." her voice broke a little, but the anger in her eyes never wavered, "you treated me like I was a stranger or worse, some discarded whore that had the audacity to hang around you, beginning for any sort of recognition. Now you're here and you think all that it will take to make things right is a charming smile and some kisses."

"It counted Scarlett, you'll never know how much. After you left, when I tried to convince myself you didn't care as much as you said you did, I looked at what you endured at my hands and I knew…Scarlett, I knew that the only reason you would allow me to treat you so poorly was because you loved me."

"And the only reason you could treat me so poorly is that you no longer loved me, if you indeed every really did."

R.I.P

Fred Crane

1918-2008

God Bless You

"What do we care if we were expelled from college, Scarlett? The war is going to start any day now, so we'd have left college anyhow."