When I start these things, it is always my intention to post every 2-3 days, 4 at the most. Sometimes life gets in the way, however. (Yes, I do have one that doesn't revolve around my fantasy world, lol.) So this chapter took longer than I wanted it to but here it is, finally. Hope it was worth the wait.

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The following morning Scarlett entered Rhett's room a determined woman. Somewhere during the night, she decided that he would never know how heartbroken she was over his doggedness about sending her back to Atlanta alone. She would do as he asked and find a suitable house for him before she left, but she wouldn't hurry. She would be very particular about his quarters, she thought as she smiled inwardly. And that would take time.

She opened the discussion about what he wanted in his new home as they ate breakfast. He was having a rough morning, she could tell, and hoped that perhaps the conversation would distract him from his pain. Rhett had begun insisting on using less laudanum, citing the addictive qualities of the drug. He'd seen others that had become dependent and Rhett never wanted to be dependent. She had agreed but was now regretting her acquiescence, seeing the pain he was suffering.

Rhett listened to her babble on and on about houses, what style he would prefer, location, and more until he lost patience. His arm was being particularly aggravating this morning. The doctor had examined the elbow and confided to Rhett that he would never have full use again. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with the joint; it was the skin. The fire had literally melted the tender skin inside the joint and as it healed, it had fuse together, the leathery tissue locking his elbow in a bent position. Whenever he used the arm too much, it pulled at the skin and made it raw. He'd suggested to the doctor to cut the skin and keep his arm extended while the new skin grew in, but the doctor insisted there would be too much exposed tissue and that whatever grew back would be worse than what was there now. So Rhett had resigned himself to the situation.

Yesterday, however, he'd been upset about it. He knew he'd hurt Scarlett with his attitude and his insistence that she return to Atlanta. And his last barb, that she loved only herself and he had grown tired of her, it had been a deep blow to her. He regretted the words the instant they left his mouth. That was their history though, lashing out without thinking or caring about the effect on the other. While she had napped, he'd fretted, reliving the conversation repeatedly and flexing his arm in the process. Now he was paying for it. It's only fair, he told himself, that you hurt as much as you hurt her. She's been very good through all of this, been there when no one else would have stayed. Why, even your own mother can barely look at you…

Desperate for the pain to stop, both in his arm and in his heart, he interrupted her in mid sentence, "I think I need some laudanum."

She stopped talking immediately and rushed to the table to pour a dose. "You are hurting," she asked, concern filling her eyes.

"Yes…my arm…damned elbow." Scarlett fed him the dose and then helped him settle into the bed, fluffing his pillow and covering him with only a sheet. Then she reached for a small jar on the bedside table. "Let me see," she instructed.

He looked at her suspiciously. "Why?"

"I have this ointment. The doctor left it. He said one of the old women down in the quarters gave it to him…said it will soften the skin and help it stretch better."

He held his arm as open as he could, wincing at the pain that it caused. She began to apply the salve, gently rubbing the irritated area. Rhett watched her fingers as they moved over the reddened, raw skin and remembered another time she had rubbed him. It hadn't been raw skin and she hadn't used salve, unless the bodily fluids counted. He'd taught her to do that to him and he smiled inwardly as he remembered the mix of aversion and fascination that only Scarlett could achieve. That had been early in their marriage, before things had gotten so complicated and out of control. The gnawing in his gut told Rhett he wanted those days back. If only they could go back and do things differently, but of course they couldn't.

He sighed as he watched her finish. Her touch had been soothing, doing as much for his pain as the medicine. And Rhett Butler, a man who thought he was no longer capable of surprise, was shocked to realize that the gnawing in his gut was desire, desire for her touch …for the feel of her beneath his fingers. As the medicine pulled him into sleep, he looked at her through heavy lids and whispered her name, "Scarlett…"

Scarlett studied the quiet form of her husband. He had been in a strange mood, she thought. While she'd never fully understood him or his moods, she had at least been able to recognize them. But today was different; his mood was different.

Her attention moved to his face. The burns were healing and the skin was looking better. But as she studied the scars, she realized that side of his face would always have a melted look to it. His eye would always droop a little and he'd never smile on that side of his face. He would never be able to achieve that smug grin that she loved to see on him, the one that he'd flashed at her that first day at the Wilkes barbecue. There were times when she had wanted to wipe that grin off his face, times when he'd gotten the better of her, but just as many times she secretly delighted in it. It was Rhett, the one she had grown to depend on, had grown to love…her Rhett.

After a few minutes, she called Emma in to watch him and then she set out to begin the search for his house. Scarlett talked to the bank manager, a lawyer, and several businessmen in search of information about properties that might be available. She ended the day with a list of five possibilities. Three were in the downtown area, one north of town and one on Sullivan's Island. And while all were nice homes, spacious and filled with Charleston charm, she knew Rhett wouldn't like any of them. But she hoped that they might provide a distraction from his pain. Besides, it would seem to him that she was trying to follow his wishes.

He woke that evening, his arm still sore but in less pain. She sat with him as they ate, although he ate very little. Still, he was making the effort. Rhett listened as she told him about her search and the results. She described each house and smiled inwardly as he dismissed each one.

He knew the houses downtown and rejected each in turn before she could even describe them to him. The one north of the city sounded more interesting to him but as she described the details of the interior, much like their Atlanta home, he rejected it also. The house on Sullivan's Island intrigued him until he learned how far out on the island it was. "No, that's too far," he told her. "I don't want to be too far from the city."

Rhett listened carefully to her descriptions and watched her closely. She was up to something but his mind was fuzzy and he couldn't quite discern it. As they ate, he couldn't keep his eyes off her. She was still beautiful and could stir feelings in him that no other woman could. And those feelings were stirring now.

Inwardly Rhett was laughing at himself. You ass, drugged, in pain, half dead and you still want her…God, how you want her. He tried to remember why he left in the first place, all the hurt and bitterness, but that night all he could think of was how her presence made him feel. And so, as she described each house, he didn't need to listen too closely; he simply needed to find some detail to use as a reason to reject her find because as long as she looked for a house, she would remain here with him. And for reasons he wasn't fully able to understand at that moment, he wanted her to stay.

After they finished eating, she helped him back to bed, again fluffing his pillows and then covering his scarred body. He thought she was preparing to leave but instead, she sat down next to his bed and resumed reading the book that she had been reading to him for the last few days. He tried to concentrate as she read but instead his thoughts were only of her as he watched her. His eyes watched her mouth, her lips as each word formed. She had beautiful lips, even without the small touches of paint that she sometimes employed. His mind flashed to other times, times when he'd kissed those lips, when she had welcomed his kisses.

Shaking his mind from those thoughts, he tried to focus on the story. But as he listened and watched her, he studied her neck, remembering the feel of her neck beneath his fingers as he caressed her there; and she tasted so sweet when his lips had travelled there. He snapped himself back to the story but attention wandered again as he watched her eyes. Silently he willed her to look up, he wanted to see the emerald of her orbs. He wanted her to look at him. But then, he didn't because if she looked at him, she would see how deformed he was, how grotesque. But she didn't seem to mind his appearance, he told himself. She was able to look at him without the distress that others showed. And finally, she did look up and their eyes locked.

He fought the emotions that rose within him as her mouth stopped moving, stopped reciting the words from the page but remained slightly apart. And he was overcome with an overwhelming desire to kiss those lips, to kiss her. Color rose in her face as she realized the meaning of his look. And then she surprised him by leaning forward and resting her lips on his. The contact shook him, like he'd been hit by a bolt of lightening. Then he quit fighting and gave in, letting his feelings rule his actions. The kiss was short but meaningful, full of the emotions they both were feeling, full of promise. And when it was done, she settled back in her chair and began reading, as if nothing had happened. But for Rhett, everything had changed.

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So, you guys know what to do...the little button hasn't moved.