A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! There are two more chapters to go, and I am going to post them on December 23 and 24. So be sure to check back here to see what happens!

The mist rose up around him, enveloped him—he could not breathe—and then, at once, it fell away from him, to the frozen ground, where it formed a ghostly layer, whispering around his feet, out in all directions, as far as they eye could see. There were staunch black shapes rising up out of the ground, and Rhett stumbled over one, and fell. He could not find his feet under him, to rise again. He put his hands against a rough, granite surface of a stone—

—and then he stopped, for he knew where he was now, and what it was he was scrabbling again. It was a graveyard, a place he had passed many times but a place he had never dared set foot in, himself. It was the graveyard where they had buried Bonnie, that cold place they had taken her that day they had taken her from him, for the last time. He had never come to her funeral, never seen her grave, until now. But this was her stone, he was holding in his hands. He crawled around to face her name. EUGENIE VICTORIA BUTLER, 1869-1873.

Below that was one word: BELOVED.

He had called out for Bonnie and she had brought him here, to the place where she was. He was a fool. He had wanted Bonnie in the flesh, but Bonnie was below the ground, now, mouldering. The Bonnie of just a few moments ago had been an illusion, no more solid than the mist swirling about her tomb. All the tumult of the night caught up with Rhett at last. The love—the loss—the regret, the anger—he leaned his head against his daughter's stone, and his shoulders wracked. He did not know why they should, at first—but then he felt the wetness on his cheeks.

He was crying. Rhett Butler was crying—he could not remember the last time he had cried.

The clouds in the milky sky parted, and the light from the cold, pale moon shone down on the eerie landscape. A little ways off from Bonnie's grave there was a raw, gaping hole in the earth, and a tall, forbidding figure in whirling black robes stood looking down into it. Rhett could not see its face, but he knew it for a spectre. He did not want to go to it, but his feet were bearing him up, at last, and toward it, as though his head had no say in the matter. He went slowly, like a child to a terrible punishment, to the hole in the earth where the figure stood. A gaping maw—a fresh grave.

The figure raised its head and looked at Rhett full on. And—and he recognized it! Those thin lips, tucked up in such a cruel smile. The black moustache, the small, cold eyes. Rhett had seen that face look at him so a thousand times, in life, and each time he had seen it he had trembled, but never with so much fear, as now. For this face had been gone from him for thirty years. He had seen it, lifeless—he had seen the casket lid closed over it, as it was taken from him, forever—so he had thought.

"Father!" he breathed, "Oh, no—no!"

Robert Butler did not speak. He did not move but all the same he seemed to gather his robes around him and stand even taller. Or maybe it was that Rhett suddenly felt so small. He felt like the powerless, fearful child he had once been, had never expected to be again. Rhett's father showed no sign of even noticing him, save training its cold eyes fully on his son's shaking form. He looked from his son's face to the black abyss of the grave in front of him. And back. There was something, Rhett understood, that pleased him about this grave very much. He could see it in his face.

"Who is buried here?" Rhett asked harshly, his fear making a rasp of his voice. "Or who is to be buried here—whose grave is this, Father?"

The man in black inclined his head toward the stone at the head of the grave. It was made of finest marble, a grand, imposing monument. There was something pleasing about its shape, as if it had been sculpted by capable hands, but Rhett hardly noticed it.

For the name on the stone was his.

RHETT KINNICUT BUTLER.

And the date on the stone—the date of death—was Christmas, 1874.

Tomorrow.

I'll think about that tomorrow—tomorrow is another day.

Rhett felt a surge of fear so strong that he nearly retched. In his life, he had faced prospectors, pirates, and Yankees—but he had never been afraid, and he realized now that it was because he had never really believed that he would ever die. Who can ever really conceive of such a thing as their soul leaving their body, and their body placed under the ground, to turn to earth? He had seen a strange calmness come over the dying—he had seen people riddled with disease and bleeding from mortal wounds who calmly protested that they were fine, would be fine. Because they could not believe it. Oh, so many times—after Bonnie, after Scarlett—he had wished for death to come, and now he realized that it was not death he wished for. He had only wished for respite. Not this cruel, final severing of the bond!

"No," he said, falling to his knees. "No, no! It can't be true—it can't." For he saw now that he had never really begun to live.

All his life he had put a half-heart into living. He had thought it was what he wanted. But faced with the end, he only wanted the beginning back again. He wanted to feel the wind on his cheeks. He wanted to be in a fresh, untouched place. All of life at his feet, waiting to be trod upon!

He wanted Scarlett, that day she had looked at Twelve Oaks, when he had first seen her, so unused to life, and smiling. Yes—yes—he wanted that! Oh, he wanted it back—he wanted it!

Rhett lifted his face to his father's. "How—how did I die?"

The spectre spoke for the first time. "You died like any other man," it rasped. "Alone."

Alone—yes—because death was a thing that you must do yourself. But then: Rhett thought of the gathering at Peachtree street, talking of his death so calmly, with such obvious relief. Had there been anybody with him, when it happened? To help him out of life? Good Lord—had anybody thought to even look for him, when he did not appear in the places he was meant to be?

Had—would—anybody come to his grave, to mourn him?

He thought of Scarlett, and knew that she, alone, out of everyone, would be looking for him. She, alone, would care. And she would come here, to this place, and perhaps kneel down before it, as he was doing now. She would run her fingers over his name. On Bonnie's tomb it said BELOVED. If anybody was to put that word on his grave, it would be Scarlett. Oh, she loved him—he had seen it—it was not an act! He thought of her white, peaked little face, and he knew that he did not want to be the reason for her tearful eyes.

Not when he had already caused her so much pain.

"Father!" Rhett turned to the grim figure, and grasped at the hem of its garment. "It doesn't have to happen this way? Does it? I'll be better. I'll change. It can't be too late—it can't! I'll go to Uncle Henry tomorrow and get him to put Scarlett back on my account. I'll go and see the children, more. I'll send Wade to college—I'll help Beau, I'll even help Ashley."

"Too late!" the figure rumbled, trying to shake him off.

Rhett felt his body prickle with a cold sweat. "I'll do more than that! Aunt Pitty—India Wilkes, even—Tara, yes, Tara. I'll give Scarlett all she wants for Tara. I'll let her marry Ashley if she wants it! I'll give Mrs. Meade whatever she needs for the Widows and Orphans! Scarlett—whatever she wants—"

"Too late!" boomed the figure, again.

"No! No! I—I'll go to Scarlett. I'll ask her to take me back! I'll beg her forgiveness—I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to her. I used her terribly. She was like a toy to me. I played with her, and then I tired of her, and I threw her aside. It won't be like that, ever again! I'll let her love me—I know she does—for I love her, too! We'll be a family, a real family, in a way we never were. Oh, please! Me and Scarlett and Wade and Ella—and whatever children that want to come to us, after. I'll remember the lessons I learned here, tonight! I—I'll keep Christmas in my heart, all through the year! The true meaning: love, and hope, and kindness, always, always!"

The figure stepped closer to Rhett, and closer. The smile on its face had widened. "Too late," said his father. "Too late, my boy, too late, too late!"

Rhett felt the imprint of the man's boot on his back. He kicked him forward, roughly, and Rhett was falling, falling into the grave, clawing at the darkness of an abyss that went on and on, forever and ever and ever…