Looks like this half of the story got deleted. I'm sorry about that, guys. Here it is again, though I'm still not a huge fan of this. It's just as unlike Scarlett as I think the first part was, but you can read it if you want to.

Rhett sat by Scarlett's bedside. He didn't dare touch her for fear of what she might say to him when she awoke. He hadn't wanted to be here with her slack body, but he had to see the aftermath of what he had done. She certainly looked dead. A voice in his head argued that there was always the possibility that Doctor Meade had lied to him. Of course that would be ridiculous. No one would lie about anything this serious.

The rise and fall of her chest was almost enough to convince him that she was alive.

Maybe if he had just invited her to the garden party with the children she'd be okay. He hadn't really wanted to exclude her, but he just couldn't stop himself. They paid so little attention to each other nowadays that it felt wrong to have her at his birthday celebration. And he wanted to be able to pay attention to his darling little Bonnie, not her cold and detached mother. Besides, they would have had a family supper that evening anyway.

If he'd just picked her up on time the day before, maybe that would have helped. He hadn't wanted to see her flirting with Ashley Wilkes. He knew when Ashley usually left the mills, but he still hadn't gone. If he was honest with himself, he wanted to punish her for everything: her bitterness, her rejection of him, her neglect of Bonnie. Right, Wade and Ella too.

Things had started to go wrong when he'd picked her up. It had been nothing like what he imagined. Scarlett hadn't been angry or regretful, she'd been completely empty. Her eyes lost their sparkle and the remnants of softness had been wiped away. He'd never realized there was some aspect of gentility and security marked on her visage until it was absent.

It was all his fault. Why so much of the pain in Scarlett's life caused by him? The war had done its fair share to break her, but that was different. It ruined the lives of many and held affection for none. He loved Scarlett, damn his soul to hell. And yet he'd hurt her too.

Was there a way he could have been nicer? He should have been. Although Scarlett claimed she married him partially for the money, she'd held true fondness for him. At times she was kind and affectionate. His response had usually been to jeer her and provoke her temper. Cruelty hadn't really protected his heart. Although Scarlett had no way to taunt him with it, she was incredibly reckless all the same. Maybe if he'd given her more hints she wouldn't have banished him from her room at all. He'd thought he was doing enough, but he should have known that she would have trouble grasping the reason for his gentleness. What was it he had last said to her? He hadn't really been paying attention to what it was. It certainly hadn't been overly kind.

Her finger twitched. Her breathing pattern changed. Sleeping Beauty had awoken.

The first thing out of her mouth was a small whimper as she swam to consciousness.

When her eyes fluttered open, she groaned again, the dim light intensifying her headache. Rhett grabbed the glass of water from the bedside table and waited for her to adjust to the dim-yet-too-bright world.

"Rhett?" Her voice was raspy and quiet, but easily heard in the silence.

He did his best to keep his words low. "Yes. Would you like some water?" With considerable effort, Scarlett held out her shaking right hand for the glass, but Rhett shook his head. "Use your left hand. Your right arm is either sprained or slightly broken; Doctor Meade wasn't certain which. It's not too serious though."

"Anything else to tell me," she asked carelessly as she sipped the lukewarm water.

"Yes. Doctor Meade says you've likely got a head injury, which I would tend to agree with since you were knocked unconscious. Your left ankle looks sprained and your right arm is swollen. It's either a sprain or the bone cracked. Other than that, you've just got some bruises and cuts. He says you should be fine, but we should watch to see if anything else develops. Memory loss, for example."

Scarlett nodded once and let herself slip back into sleep after Rhett took back the glass.

Scarlett, draped in an elaborate velvet wrapper, stood before her bedroom window.

She'd been trying to find entertainment for days and failing. Writing was still too painful to attempt again and she couldn't go anyway because of her imposed bed rest, courtesy of Doctor Meade. Rhett had been persuaded to let her walk around her room, but all other rooms of the mansion were banned.

In addition, no one would leave her alone. There was always someone in the room with her, which was terribly frustrating. It was Rhett's turn, Mammy having just left. When Melanie came over, at least she tried to make conversation or distracted them both with some task. Rhett sat silently in a chair, watching her. It was unnerving, and Scarlett just wanted a moment to herself to process the emotions swirling around her mind. They'd returned with a fierceness that was not helped by her lack of distraction.

Finally fed up with his intense gaze, Scarlett spoke. "I think I'm alright now. You don't have to watch over me."

"I can see that."

There was a long pause as Scarlett fiddled with the curtain and Rhett lit a cigar. They stayed in silence for several minutes until Scarlett grew impatient.

"You really don't need to stare at me," Scarlett snapped. "Has my face gone green?"

"Doctor Meade made it clear that we need to supervise you because of your head injury and… other things."

"I'm not going to do anything, if that's what you mean."

"An astute conclusion for you to make from what I said. The time you've spent away from work must be good for your analytical thinking. But with you, we can't be sure of what you'll do," he said, the edge of his tone accusing her.

"I only fell off a horse, there's no need for a big fuss."

"We've yet to talk about that. Was it an accident? I'm sure you were going way too fast. Was that carelessness or something else?"

"I'm fine, Rhett. I just wanted to go for a ride."

"I acknowledge that I may have had a part in what drove you to—"

"For God's sake, it was an accident. And you're not helping this awful headache. In fact, you're making me rather dizzy with all these circles around what happened. I'd like to be alone," said Scarlett, her temper rising.

Under the agitation over his questioning, it was obvious that Scarlett was fighting back sobs. In the wake of the apathy came soul-crushing sorrow, and she no longer had no idea which one was worse.

"I just—I didn't mean to pry, but something is bothering you."

"It's nothing." Defeat had crept into her tone.

"It's not nothing if it's going to kill you."

Scarlett only flicked her hair over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "How you do run on. I wasn't trying to hurt myself. I was just tired."

"Tired?"

"Yes, tired. You're familiar with the concept. You're tired of me, I'm tired of me…I was fixing it."

"I never meant for you to fix yourself."

Rhett had become earnest and regretful, taking her hand, not of his own volition.

"I didn't mean it like that," Scarlett whispered, averting her eyes.

He only stared, disbelieving.

"I just wanted to feel alive again," she asserted quietly. "And now I'd like to be alone."

"I really can't leave. Mammy would skin me alive, and I always thought I was rather handsome. I think being skinless would ruin that."

Scarlett grudgingly let out a small laugh, cursing her weakness. The amusement quickly faded, however. Soon the haunted expression returned to her face and the pain returned.

She opened her mouth to say something, convince him to leave but came up with nothing. Instead, she swept into her closet, the one place she might have the tiniest semblance of privacy.

Rhet could hear her muffled sobs through the door.

When she finally emerged, her tears had long dried and the dead weight of emptiness had settled back onto her chest.