AN: Baby chapter, but I wanted to update, and this is such a delightful diversion from my angsty stories. Old Maid Wilkes, acceptable (lateagain) substitute birthday present? :)

With another character, I might have tried to find a GWTW counterpart, but Roscoe Karns is simply too magnificent, and I couldn't replace him in any way. Nobody puts Shapeley in a corner!

Chapter 7

Scarlett watched that infuriating man stalk away from her, and stamped her foot in stymied fury. How dare he think so little of her, that she just bought everything, including kindness! She didn't have to buy people's decency—they usually just afforded it to her! And even if it had been true, was it her fault? He would surely think her stingy if she hadn't offered.

She looked around her, feeling slightly forlorn. Whatever was she to do with herself for twelve hours? The newness of the first bus station experience had worn off fairly quickly, and now she was even more worried about being discovered, with her picture splashed all over the papers.

She could go back to the Windsor, or maybe do a little shopping. She wasn't particularly interested in either of those, right now. She wanted to be on her bus, feeling her heart thrum as the wheels carried her closer to Ashley. Now he was still however many miles away, and half a day before she could even begin to bridge the distance. She felt frustrated and thwarted, but aimlessly made her way outside to walk around a bit.

And then it began to rain.

~nb~

"Bus leaving for Savannah, Charleston, Columbia, Greensboro, Richmond, Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York… Savannah, Charleston, Columbia, Greensboro…" a bored, nasal voice intoned.

Finally! Scarlett thought, feeling tension melt into relief all along her shoulders. It had been the most interminable day, waiting all these hours for the next bus. With one hour to go, she had resolved to stop checking the clock. It made her more anxious every time she checked, to see that what she was absolutely sure had been at least seven minutes, had in fact only been three.

She had kept her resolution for all of another two minutes, before she broke. Then she had resolved not to look away, as if getting involved in a staring contest with a clock would force time itself to hurry. Her eyes burned, and she blinked several times. Remembering Pa's triumph and laughing admonishment when she had lost a similar battle over turnips one night at supper, she frowned.

Blinking didn't count against a clock, given a timepiece's advantage of not having eyelids, she decided.

The second hand ticked forward, and she began to gaze at it meditatively. Like her steps this morning, she allowed the ticks to lull her, as if they were saying, "Ash- ley- Ash- ley." This morning's mantra had been happy excitement, but this one felt more like grim determination. She would make this bus, and she would make it back to him. Everything that got in her way only made her more resolute to finish this journey. Besides, she could not give up now; she had not even made it to the next state. Pa would never let her hear the end of it if she gave up this soon.

She felt steely single-mindedness to see this thing through now, and at long last, that bored, nasal announcer broke through her thoughts. She walked outside clutching her ticket and wallet, and climbed up into the bus.

Several rows back, he was sitting next to the window, the seat next to him open. Not for all the snow in Halifax! He looked up from his paper and his eyes glittered, hard, when his gaze fell on her. Directly across from him, there was another open seat, and the man at that window wasn't a marshmallow who would sleep on her.

She'd take her chances. Without looking back, she ducked into the seat.

The man next to her folded his paper, and glanced toward her.

"Hi, sister. All alone?" he asked, smiling. Scarlett looked coolly back at him. Something about his smile made her uneasy, but he did find her attractive, and that was nice.

"My name's Shapeley, might as well get acquainted with each other, it's gonna be a long trip, gets tiresome later on. Specially for somebody like you. You look like you got class."

Scarlett felt his eyes slither along her figure, and resisted the urge to tug at her skirt. It felt as if he was trying to imagine her without her underthings on!

Picking up right where he left off, he continued, "Yessir, with a capital K. And I'm the guy that knows class when he sees it, believe you me." Scarlett doubted this.

Then he had the audacity to laugh at his statement, as if it were in any way amusing. Scarlett glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Ask any of the boys. They'll tell you. Shapeley sure knows how to pick 'em. Yessir. Shapeley's the name, and that's the way I like 'em. You made no mistake sitting next to me," here he leaned in conspiratorially, "just between you and me, the kind of mugs you meet on the road like this ain't nothing to write home to the wife about. Ya gotta be awful careful who you heat it up with, is what I always say, but you can't be too particular neither."

Scarlett had turned to look down the aisle (she couldn't help it if she happened to see that cad across the aisle out of the corner of her eye when she turned this way) as his monologue began. "What's the matter, sister? You ain't sayin' much." He finally took a breath, to light a cigar, and she turned back to him in indignant amazement.

"Seems to me you're doing excellently without any assistance."

Her most cutting remark only seemed to delight him, and he laughed. "Oh, that's pretty good," he replied, and then in a high voice imitated her, "'Seems to me you're doing excellently without any assistance,'" before laughing again. "Well, shut my big nasty mouth." If only he would!

He hooted with laughter again, and actually slapped his knee. Ellen would never believe.

Scarlett looked back down the aisle, noticing again the empty seat there by the… cad. She'd have to think of a better name for him. He was infuriating, but at least he kept his mouth shut sometimes. She'd be able to get some rest—no, she reminded herself, that would never do, either to let Shapeley know he bothered her or to let him know his company was preferable to another person's. His astounding ego needed no encouragement from her, and even if he was very pleasingly warm, she was not that cold, and he wasn't even concerned about her current distress, anyway!

"Looks like you're one up on me. You know, there's nothing I like better than to meet a high-class mama that can snap 'em back at ya. 'Cause the colder they are, the hotter they get. That's what I always say. Yessir, when a cold mama gets hot, boyyy, how she sizzles." He giggled at this latest evidence of wit, and Scarlett could not help rolling her eyes.

"Now you're just my type. Believe me, sister, I could go for you in a big way. One on the side Shapeley, they call me. With accent on the fun, believe you me."

Finally, Scarlett had had enough. She turned to him, cool as she could, and said, "Believe you me, you bore me to distraction."

Shapeley only laughed again, and Scarlett began to wonder in earnest if the man could ever be deterred from talking to her. "Looks like you're two up on me now." He held up two fingers to demonstrate. He'd run out of fingers before they got to Savannah if he kept this up.

Scarlett heard a rustling movement in the aisle, and looked up. He was leaning over their seats, one arm propped up against the luggage rack. He was so very tall.

"Hey," he said, looking at Shapeley, and she noticed again his deep, resonant voice. "There's a seat over there for you." He jerked his chin toward the seat he'd just vacated.

"What's the idea?" Shapeley asked.

"I'd like to sit next to my… wife, if you don't mind."