Wade had unexpectedly decided to take heed of Scarlett's demands for once and returned home. But after giving her an offhand kiss on the cheek, he had mumbled something about visiting an old childhood haunt: the city's central library, and had retreated into the bowels of his room to unpack and change his clothes. Scarlett had merely sighed, throwing her hands up in defeat: It seems that everyone in this family is mad in some way or another. That boy is going to need a looking glass to see anything by the time he turns twenty.

And as per her weekly ritual, Ella had decided to attend some party in town with a few "acquaintances" she recently made. She had spent hours in her room, and when she had finally emerged, even Scarlett had done a double take: Ella was sheathed in a lavishly embroidered contraption of deep crimson silk that brought out the coppery undertones of her fiery hair which cascaded in shimmering waves down her back. The gown was cut low, baring her white shoulders, dainty collarbones, and the very tops of her breasts and Scarlett had come up behind her to pull the front of the dress up, but Ella had immediately pulled it back down, grinning with a satisfaction Scarlett had seen so many times on her own face.

Judging by Ella's breathless whisper of a voice and her fluttering hands, Scarlett could see that she was laced far too tightly and was tempted to try to loosen the stays but ultimately relented for she knew that that was also a battle she had lost long ago. From head to toe, Ella was red, red, red and Scarlett couldn't help but smirk as she tried to imagine the scandalized look on Frank's rabbity old face if she were to tell him that the red woman standing before her was his daughter. And at the sight of Ella's sparkling eyes, the scarlet cheeks, cherry lips, and defiant chin, Scarlett couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride for she knew that even if the Robillards were all but dead in name, they would continue to live on in spirit.

As she watched the two descend the staircase, with Wade muttering as he searched his pockets for his watch and Ella throwing on a matching shawl tipped with rather straggly looking maroon ostrich feathers, admiring her reflection in a small jeweled mirror, and dabbing cologne on her already heavily perfumed neck and wrists, she thought she could finally understand the sweet melancholy Ellen must have felt watching her daughters grow up and leave the nest.

She had also dismissed the servants for the night and they had only too eagerly taken their leave. Scarlett had decided to be severe after all and replaced all of her staff, sending Prissy and Pork back to Tara. She was certain that they had all seen and heard one too many things from a period of time she would much rather forget and she didn't need her own servants whispering and watching and prattling about her in her own house. If she needed any information regarding the latest gossip about herself, all she needed to do was step outside.

And so, for the first time in weeks, she found herself completely alone in the house. After hovering uncertainly near the front door for a few moments, she decided to retire to her bedroom for the night. But before she could do so, she felt an all too familiar tug at her skirts. Sitting squarely on his haunches with a worn leash in its huge maw and an expectant look on his face was Wade's dog. Scarlett was never particularly fond of animals and dogs were no exception, but the creature had a particular fondness for her and would often follow her around the house like some overgrown toddler, leaving a glistening trail of spittle in his wake. Exasperated, she had tried to shoo it away at first but he had merely slobbered all over her skirts and shooing hands in response. He weighed more than Scarlett did and seemed to be perversely aware of that; whenever she would try to walk him, he would drag her to wherever he wanted to go and it was all she could do to keep up, hoping that they ended up somewhere in the vicinity of the house so they could find their way back. She had eventually decided to forego using the leash altogether, and he had been more than pleased with the arrangement, and so, more often than not, anyone looking outside the window in the evenings would see her and the beast walking side-by-side.

The duo had traveled along their usual meandering route and for once, he had taken heed of her coaxing to retire early, but when they were only few blocks away from the mansion, the dog abruptly stopped and raised his head, sniffing the air with his ears pricked. He then lowered his nose to the ground, sniffing as intensely as a bloodhound, following some invisible scent trail that Scarlett hoped to God wasn't from some squirrel or possum for that would mean another night spent calling his name until her throat gave out. But he continued to sniff diligently in her line of sight until he reached the iron-rod gate of the house where he suddenly took off at breakneck speed up the dirt pathway, raising a cloud of dust in his wake.

Coughing, she bunched her skirts up in both hands and ran after him. She found him pawing at the front door and barking with hysterical delight, his tail whipping back and forth in a white and brown blur. She peered briefly through the windows: nothing appeared to be out of place. She placed her hand round the doorknob and turned. Her breath caught and her heart began to hammer almost painfully in her chest: It was unlocked and she was dead certain she had locked the door before heading out. She pushed the door open but hesitated at the threshold; Wade's treasured darling didn't seem to notice her dilemma and dashed in and she so desperately wanted to follow suit, to fly into the house, but it would do her no good to make an ass out of herself panting like the dog was now…as she had been the last time.

She should order him out. She would order him out. Who in God's name did he think he was, showing up like this, after all this time? But what kind of idiocy was that, ordering someone out of his own house? For this house and everything in it, from the finely carved walnut and mahogany furniture to her damned underwear belonged to him. She could streak off to Tara like a cornered animal to its ditch. Hell, maybe she could move in with Ashley and India; they owed her enough as it is. But she knew that either choice would merely delay the inevitable and as much as she loathed to admit it to anyone, especially herself, she had been waiting for this day and she knew that even if it had never come, that she would have waited until she breathed her very last. With the grim air of one entering a battle she knew she had, in many ways, already surrendered, she stepped smartly over the threshold, shutting the behind her.

She headed to where she knew he would be and there he was, seated across the dining table, scratching the dog's ears. And at the sight of him lounging on that chair as if he didn't have care in the world, she finally understood why so many men of her generation were liable to shoot first and make inquiries later.

"What are you doing here?"

He turned to look at her, and as those roving black eyes that she had come to hate as much as she missed and loved slowly traced the length of her, she, to her ire, felt a flush creep into her cheeks and sweat begin to pool in her palms.

"I told you that I would come back to keep the gossip down."

If you really cared about that, then you wouldn't have left in the first place.

"Do you have any idea how lucky you are that it wasn't Wade or Ella who found you first?"

"I wouldn't exactly call that a stroke of luck."

Scarlett folded her arms, frowning. "I don't understand."

"That's not surprising."

Her hand twitched and hot words rose from her throat to froth at her lips, but she managed to swallow them back down.

"You must have had a long journey. I'll bring us some tea."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Tea?"

"Yes. Tea. If you haven't already been rifling through the liquor cabinet, you can see that I haven't had a drink in years." And more importantly: if I don't leave the room this instant, Wade may come home to find his father's pistol short a bullet or two and Ella may be grieved to find herself short a stepfather even if he hasn't been much of one for years.

He shrugged and she swept from the room, the pup trailing behind her.

She slid his cup to him and sat across from him. She took a sip from her cup in an attempt to steady herself: "Why are you here?"

"I just answered that, didn't I?"

"When last we spoke, you told me that all we had left was the past, a broken past, and you didn't want even that. What is there even left for you here to come home to?"

"Scarlett, when a man gets to be my age, he begins to truly realize what and who he has left in this world. Things between us may be broken, but there's still hope for Wade and Ella, and I want to repair whatever I may have left with them. They played no part in either of our wrongdoings and yet they suffered for our mistakes. I daresay they were downright neglected those last weeks. My father, for all his faults, did not abandon his children. He cast me out, but I was of age and could handle myself."

Did he happen to abandon his wife? "What makes you think either of them even wants to see you?"

He turned his chair to face her fully then, the smallest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"You'd be surprised."

Scarlett didn't know what to say to that and so picked up her spoon and began to stir the tea.

"It's been years. What made you decide to come home now?"

He paused.

"My mother's dead."

She stopped stirring her tea then and found herself staring down into its murky depths. She could now see the dregs at the bottom. She hadn't strained it properly.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Are you?"

She stiffened.

"And whose fault is it that I never met her?" Scarlett snapped.

He cocked his head ever so slightly, an odd, twisted half-smile appearing on his face.

"But my dear, you have. Don't you remember?"

Scarlett gave a start, for he had spoken the truth, a truth that she had forgotten…or had chosen to forget. She had met his mother, just once. She had been over at the house shortly after Bonnie had died but had swiftly departed only days after the funeral without so much as a word to her. Scarlett vaguely remembered her as an older woman with graying black hair, but even that image was hazy at best. The only thing she remembered for certain was that the door, his door, had been open. Had she wrenched it open? Had he or Mammy left it open? Why hadn't she closed the door at least? Perhaps she had paid it no mind due to the grief and anger or perhaps she had wanted everyone to hear…had wanted her to hear.

Her hand trembled, the cup shook against its saucer and the spoon fell to the table with a loud clatter. This, this cad…these years of silence, of solitude, of regrets that she could voice only to cold, gray headstones…wasn't this enough of a punishment? She wasn't going to let him do this to her, to use her as some sort of verbal whetstone. She braced her palms on the table, pushing her chair back. She managed to stand up, but he was already on his feet and had her wrist in a gentle yet firm grip. And when he spoke, his voice was soft, almost soothing:

"Scarlett, I didn't come back to relive the past or to dredge up old wounds and I certainly didn't come back to fight. You might find this hard to believe, but I never wanted to fight, not with you and not with anyone else. Besides, haven't we both fought enough battles for a lifetime?"

I don't believe you. "Is this your way of asking for a divorce?"

"If I wanted a divorce, I could have gotten one long ago. A man doesn't have to ask his wife to get one. Besides, this arrangement we've had for the last few years…it's as good as a divorce, isn't it? And it has the added convenience of not requiring any paperwork or lawyer's fees. I might again be exposing my lack of breeding, but I've never viewed marriage as a particularly sacred institution; I only ever decided to partake in it because I saw it as the only way I could have you. Interesting thing, marriage…so many have and still use it as a means to an end, but I now merely think of it as a sort of wager to see who would break first." Scarlett winced, but he continued:

"I thought I had seen and heard all there was to see and hear from you, but it seems that you will never fail to surprise me. I had told you not to run after me, but knowing you, forbidding you is the same as daring you, isn't it? What made you decide to give up the chase?"

"What good would it have done either of us if I had shown up at your doorstep like some desperate fool?" she snapped, but then she sighed, averting her gaze. "You told me that you feared for your freedom and peace of mind so I-" the dog thrust his snout into her free hand, and she paused to scratch his chin and to look into those soft brown eyes and when she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper: "I suppose I wanted to try to do something for you…for once." And I wanted you to come home out of your own free will, because you wanted to, and not because I bullied you into it.

He didn't reply and so she looked up at him: there was an open, almost amiable expression on his face in contrast to his usual bland inscrutability, and Scarlett felt her heart flutter, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared and she wasn't sure if she had seen it or if it had merely been a trick of the light.

"I'm too old to start over, and I may be too old to fix what's broken, but I am not too old to stop desiring you. I loathe admitting it to anyone, especially to you, but I still want you, Scarlett. I always will."

I still want you.

So there it was, the reason: He was a man and she was his wife, and he was lonely. Belle had been a handsome woman in her youth with that flash of red hair, rich vulgar curves, and that ample bosom that strained her bodice. But age and a lifetime of drunken debauchery had ravaged what was left of her looks; whatever she had used to achieve her hair's signature color had also eaten away at it, exposing the mousy brown roots and flaky pink scalp underneath. Scarlett had brushed past her more than once while in town, and had seen that unhealthy bloat and bloodshot eyes that she was all too familiar with, that yellowing of the skin that no amount of rouge could conceal, and that strange, damp odor that clung about her flesh that no amount of perfume could mask. There had also been whispers of a scourge, of syphilis, that often plagued such brothels.

And Scarlett knew that she was approaching the age when, in all likelihood, she would fail to quicken. Perhaps that was why he had waited until now. She would serve as a sanitary means of getting a good night's bed rest, and what an investment that was, for he wouldn't have to pay for this bed warmer. This whole situation was unreal, ironic, for wasn't this why he said he had originally married her? Ironic. Lord in heaven, Rhett, you really have been gone for far too long. I am starting to sound like that man or perhaps I have been listening to Wade's yarns more closely than I had thought.

But this was all wrong. She should be angry. She should be outraged, but where was the hurt, the rage? She had never lacked for rage and the world had ensured that she would never lack for pain, so how could she explain this utter lack of feeling?

Perhaps this arrangement wouldn't be all bad: she was a woman after all, a human being. She had desires, wants, needs and she had been alone for too long and unlike men, she had nowhere to go to sate them. Oh Pa. It seems that I have no pride left.

No, it wasn't quite true that she felt nothing. There was a feeling of unease bubbling in the pit of her stomach, this nagging at the back of her mind. Something was…off.

Could it be that he was merely testing her? Perhaps the man was lying to her. It wouldn't be the first time, but why would he feel the need to do so? Maybe he was trying to make sure she no longer loved Ashley, but Scarlett knew that he knew she meant every word she had said that night. She had seen the belief in his eyes, those eyes which had been the only things she could really see that night, the only things that she could really see since then. The words, his words, hadn't come back until much later, and when they had, they returned in snatches that hurt her until they stopped hurting.

Or perhaps you have come back to try to finish me off…as I had done with you. After all, there is no doubt in my mind that you know how I feel about Ashley and you. But I can't let you. I won't let you, for the children's sake, for Tara's sake. And aren't we getting too old for such games, Rhett? For this has always been a game to you, hasn't it? And I was the prize…only I thought it was my body you had wanted, not my heart.

Rhett, I may be difficult to love, but you're just as difficult, if not even more so. With your constant quips, lies, and drinking, you've made it so that only children, dogs, and whores can love you with any real ease.

I was angry at you for lying, at Ashley for being a coward, and most of all at, I was angry at myself for being such a fool for not being able to see what was in front of me, but if you had been truthful from the start, if Ashley had been man enough to choose me, and if I had been able to see in time, then we wouldn't have been ourselves, would we?

You said that I was a poor liar, and must have wondered why I had even bothered to pretend, but I wasn't really pretending, was I? I had truly wanted to be a great lady like Mother because…I wanted to be loved. I wanted everyone to love me. Only you, Mammy, and Pa knew who I truly was and loved me despite it, but you and Mammy eventually gave up on me because of it, because I was too selfish to see anyone beyond myself and too stubborn to let Ashley go. Even Melanie and Mother… would Melanie have loved me if she had known that I had wished for years that she would die so I could take her place by Ashley's side? Would Mother have loved me if she had known that I was comforting another woman's husband as she lay dying instead of attending to my own who I had ripped apart only weeks earlier? It seems that Pa was the only man, the only person, who truly loved me for who I was, for I know that he would not have given up on me even if he did know these things. That's the difference between you and I, Rhett: I don't give up…and as for whether that will be the thing that does me in, I suppose we will find out together, won't we?

She sighed and tentatively laid her free hand on top of his.

"So it seems that we are in agreement for once."

He reached out his hand and touched her neck by her ear. She shivered, but also felt something hot run through her bones, loosening her limbs. He put a hand under her chin and lifted it so that she was looking directly into his eyes. His face was empty of expression, but she thought she could see something in those dark depths, but before she could be certain, he leaned in. There was no tenderness in the kiss, only hunger but she kissed him back eagerly, feverishly, and then desperately, drinking in the feel, the scent, and the taste of him like a child dying of thirst. When his hand moved from her shoulder to the back of her head to deepen the kiss, she couldn't stop a low moan from escaping her lips. How long had it been since she had been touched, been held, been loved? Being in love and believing that you were…were the two really so different? He had broken the kiss and his lips were now tracing the lines of her jaw and throat. Burying her fingers into his hair, his black hair, she impatiently pulled his head down to her breast. She had wanted him back and the world had deemed it fitting that she would get exactly what she wanted, but just that…and only that. Looking up, she could see that the chandelier had become a dancing, shining blur, and on her lips was the salty taste of tears.