Here it is. I'm sorry I took so long. With my boss back from vacation, that hour I used to have after rounds, and finishing my notes, to goof off and work on my chapters - is gone. Thanks for checking up on me! Anon, best of luck on your med entrance exam. I can honestly say it's a rough road, but worth it.

A couple of clarifiers from the last chapter: Yes, the age difference is a bit difficult, but necessary. As you know, both Thad and Rose are variations on our favorite couple, with some things expanded, or taken to an extreme, or simply switched. I tried to mix everything up, while keeping the parameters same (roughly the same age difference as Rhett and Scarlett, only with inverted personalities.) Thad is my "Scarlett" – the child of two worlds, half peasant, half aristocrat, and also a child of trauma (for Thad, his childhood and his bastard birth, for Scarlett, the war). Both are temperamental, and sensual, even though Scarlett didn't know it about herself until much later. Thad is more self-aware, and better educated, but both become over-controlling in face of danger (which was my point in the last chapter. Thad is so frightened that his talk with Rose will spin out of control – that he will lose her, like he lost Tasha - that he tries to micro-manage it, and her, to the nth degree, just like Scarlett tries to control everything in her life so she will never be without money again).

Also, Thad wasn't yet "in love" with Rose when she was eleven. More like "really interesting girl. If she grows into an equally interesting woman, she might be worth waiting for." Years later, when he did fall "in love", he was all freaked out, because he still thought she was too young – having seen too many girls become involved with men too young growing up, and not wanting that for Rose, or himself.

Since Rose is "Rhett", the age difference is the only thing keeping the balance of power right in Thad's favor right now. Barely. If she were older….heaven help him. If he does marry her, he will need all of his wits about him.

I know I said the mini Rhetts next, but Rose insisted on emptying a water pitcher over Thad's head first (and really, can you blame her?). This is supposed to have echoes of the proposal scene (again with gender switch-up as to who does the "proposing") …and others.

For the guests, who wanted more Rose and Thad. And for Coco B, who wanted to hear more about the nightgown. And for all of you, who gently prodded me for an update. Hope you enjoy.

O! when she's angry she is keen and shrewd.

She was a vixen when she went to school:

And though she be but little, she is fierce.

- Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream.

As the white horse trotted back through the forested hills, Rose became ever more thoughtful. The events of the morning were still fresh in her mind, but as the delight of Thad's declaration settled, other, more troublesome thoughts came to the fore. She slowed the mare to a walk, and, instead of taking the right path directly back to the Ranch house, she doubled back to a part of the forest she had visited so often as a child.

She rode up a hill, and then down again, and then she was there.

Here the trees were the oldest, and the densest. Even the song of the birds seemed muted, and the horse's footfall was cushioned by soft moss, and last year's leaves. The entire world seemed wrapped in a cocoon of silence. As a child, she had thought that this was a place of magic, a fairy-land, in which unicorns lived, and man was forever immortal. She pulled on the reins, and breathed, taking in that deep, hallowing repose. The white mare stood perfectly immobile, not even an ear twitching, as if she, too, were caught up in a spell.

Rose put back her head, and through the loom of the tree branches, saw fast-moving clouds far above her, en route to distant shores. The invisible stars waiting behind the Blue emptied their conch of gold over her, and she the felt their riches scatter over her body, clinging to her clothes. She was no longer a young girl, helpless before the majesty of love, nor youth cowed by age, nor naïveté dwarfed by experience. She was like the living tree itself, with roots in the red earth, and arms branching up towards the heavens. Her arms, her legs, her chest were uniquely hers, and yet part of a greater organism, that was always expanding, growing, breathing. She was Rose. And she was Bonnie as well, and her mother, and Ella, Ellen, and Solange Robilliard. She was so many nameless, faceless women, curving back through the path of time, merging, dividing, remerging. At the very creation of Time, she was the Dust of the Stars, and the entire universe, and God himself, at the Beginning and the End.

She would lose it again, that insight, she thought sorrowfully, as she finally turned her horse towards home. She would once again doubt her connection to the cosmos - even doubt her own reality. But perhaps, she thought more optimistically, it would return, and, one day, remain.

There was a humming in the trees, like a whisper of the wind. Grieve not, it seemed to say, almost sadly. It shall return. Even for you, Titania. But she did not heed it.

~~oo~~

The evening had been pleasant enough. They had had an excellent dinner – Charles and Chase had been very successful in providing them with fresh pheasant -, and Thad, their host, had been in an expansive, almost exuberant mood. Rhett watched him laugh and joke, and shot an occasional glance at Rose, who sat at the other end of the table. If he read her correctly – and he usually did – her own exuberance was tempered by a certain ambivalence. Belle and Charles seemed to be talking more as well, Rhett noted. In fact, Thad's exuberance seemed to cause Belle to redouble her own focus on Charles, made conversant by his success in the hunt. Rhett sighed. He would have to talk to Belle about Rose, at some point. He was not looking forward to it.

As the evening progressed, Rhett continued to take it all in – Thad's wide smiles, the not-quite surreptitious references. Had he and Scarlett been this obvious? Scarlett seemed oblivious – Belle, experience sharpened by misgivings, was not. Rhett also had some concerns about Ella. Ever since her miscarriage, her natural self-effacement had become enhanced to a worrisome degree. Rhett had never met Carreen, Scarlett's sister, but he had heard she had suffered a similar withdrawal from the world after her fiancé had died in the war. He knew Scarlett was continuing her efforts to draw out her eldest daughter, encourage her accompany her on walks, and other activities, and that there was a comforting degree of closeness between them. But he worried nonetheless about her lack of spirit – and he knew Scarlett did, as well.

When they had concluded the evening, and he was walking towards his room to join his wife, he encountered his youngest daughter, apparently waiting for him.

"Daddy!" Rose called, pulling him into the small sitting room across from his bedroom, and closing the door. She did not sit down. "The robe is gone!"

He looked at her, shaking his head. "Your mother found it."

"Oh," she said. She cocked her head to the side, looking at him, catching his thoughts as they flitted through his dark eyes. "But she didn't…"

He did not attempt to torment her further. It would have been futile, at any rate. "No. She thought it was mine. And that Minnie had placed it into the wrong trunk."

"Ah. Good." To his daughter, the subject appeared closed.

"Don't you want to ask me about the nightgown?"

"What nightgown?" Rose frowned.

"Your mother found the nightgown, as well."

"But my nightgown was still there." Rose seemed puzzled, then she brightened. "Oh! Her nightgown! Did she find it?"

Rhett regarded her narrowly. "What nightgown did you think I meant?"

"The one I wore to Thad's room."

"Do you mean to say it wasn't….."

His daughter burst into peals of laughter. "Heavens, Daddy, no! I admit I pinched it from Mother for that purpose, because it had such a pretty box, and said, Rue de la Paix. But when I opened it I knew it would never answer. It was almost….sheer. And much too short."

Her father looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Tell me about it."

She giggled. "Daddy! You thought I went to see Thad in …..that? I would never have dared."

His silence, and the twist of his lips was her answer. She laughed again. "Poor Daddy. The idea! No. I wore one of my own gowns. I admit it was….very low-cut, and kind of, errrr….form-fitting, but it was almost down to my feet. And you couldn't see through it." She giggled. "Thad was upset enough as it was. If I'd worn that…he probably would have died of a heart attack, on the spot!"

"I am delighted to hear you say that," her father said, dryly.

She giggled. "I did admire your taste, Daddy. Mother is a lucky woman."

"We are not pursing this topic," her father told her firmly. "How did your discussion with Thad go?"

She started. "How did you know we… talked?"

"Because you and Thad returned from your ride within minutes of each other, and you both looked…. thoughtful," he answered, shaking his head. "But either way, one look at your face would have told the tale. Did you think you are the only one that can read me? It works both ways."

"It went….fine," she said, slowly, not debating his point. "But…." A frown marred her perfectly even forehead.

"But what?"

"I can't talk about it yet." She shook her curls with determination, and walked up to him, hugging him quickly, and firmly, much to his surprise. "Thank you, Daddy," she whispered.

"What for?"

"For writing him." She stepped back, and looked up at his face, catching the surprise in his eyes. "If you hadn't…we would never have had a chance."

"It was the least I could do," he murmured, softly.

"It was much….. more than that," she murmured. "As you said, we're twin souls, you and I –so I know it must have been one of the hardest things you've ever done. We don't either of us …..open up easily." She caught her breath, and then forcibly exhaled, almost like a sob. "And you did it for me."

"It was about time I did something for you, wouldn't you say?"

She laughed under tears. "I won't argue with you." She remembered how often, since they had moved from Galveston, he had attempted to explain how he felt – how he tried to answer her questions honestly, and without evasions. She suddenly realized she had failed to return the favor. She took a deep breath. "I was irritated."

"Irritated?"

"At Thad," she explained. "He told me he loved me, but I was irritated by the way he went about it." Rhett laughed, and she continued, "I'm even more irritated that I didn't know why I was irritated. Until much later. And that I couldn't tell him." She shook her curls. "I felt that he didn't really listen to me at all. He didn't consider there might be another side to what happened with us over the last few years."

"I understand. Thad can be …..overbearing. But you will have to let him know how you feel, Rose. During the bad times, I resented your mother for so many things….but I failed to give her a chance to correct them, until it was almost too late. Silent resentment is …..deadly."

Her big blue eyes were looking at him. "Thanks, Daddy. I'm sure I will, eventually." She smiled, and seemed somewhat lighter. "Sleep well."

As she left the room, he was filled with something like foreboding. "Too much like me," he thought. "It is a curse." He walked slowly back towards the bedroom. "At least she wore a different nightgown."

He quickly closed his bedroom door behind him, eager to rejoin his wife.

~~oo~~

It was long past midnight, but Rose could not sleep. She tiptoed down the quiet hallway into the library, where a low fire still burned. She saw the crystal gleam of the brandy decanter on the sideboard. Rose picked it up. She had never drunk alcohol, but she remembered some of her patients telling her they used Brandy for sleep. Perhaps it would work for her, as well, this once. She picked up a fresh glass, and poured herself a liberal helping, unsure how much she needed to consume to make herself tired.

She swirled the amber liquid around, admiring the rich reddish-brown tones the low firelight brought out. Finally, she brought it to her lips, tasting. It was sweet, and not unpleasant. She took another sip. And then another. A pleasant warmth began to pool in the pit of her stomach, and seep through her limbs. She took another sip. Before she knew it, she had drained the entire glass. She waited for a few minutes, and did indeed fell a little drowsy. It seemed to be working.

On her way back to her room, Rose felt curiously light-headed. She noticed she was not quite steady on her feet. She wondered at herself, but in an odd, detached manner. "How strange I feel!" she thought. There was a spinning sensation to the world, as if it were juddering on its axis on its journey through space. She stopped, and suddenly felt like ….skipping. She had not expected that. She made a couple of hops into the air, but skipping was no longer as simple as she remembered. She felt irritation mounting within her. When she reached her room, she sat down. The irritation intensified. "I'm angry," she thought to herself. She didn't quite remember what she was angry about. Then she remembered. She was angry at Thad. That was it. She had to show him how angry she was.

She looked around, and her eyes fell on the large water pitcher on the table next to her bed. Slowly, she rose, and picked it up between both hands. "Wrapper," a single, unintoxicated neuron whispered, and she sat the pitcher back down. She grabbed a simple, white wrapper with a blue velvet trim, and even managed to hook up some of the eyelets, even if not quite in the right order. Then, satisfied with her work, she grabbed the full pitcher again. It was heavy.

She made a wavering path through the hallways, occasionally stopping to ponder where she was. More through luck than accuracy, she finally made her way in front of Thad's room. Briefly, the adrenaline surge sobered her, and she managed to open the door, and slip inside noiselessly, still balancing the pitcher.

As the first time when she had thus visited him, he was laying on his back, his right arm flung out. This time, she allowed her eyes to study him, lingering on the muscular chest, the matted, dark hair, and the expanse of his abdomen that the coverlet left bare. Had he been awake, he might have seen a very different look briefly battling the irritation in her eyes.

Her mind briefly flashed to the events of the day, and of the past years, and the irritation surged back, tenfold. She moved forward with determination, and unceremoniously dumped the content of the pitcher over his head, jumping backwards at the same time. She almost fell, but managed to steady herself against the wall.

As the last time, he snapped up. Only this time, there was no Rose within reach to throttle. Instead, rivulets of water ran over his dark hair, dripping down his chest, and onto the white sheets.

"Bloody hell," he swore, his eyes searching the semi-darkness, and latching onto Rose holding the pitcher. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"It wasn't an object," she said, reasonably if drunkenly. "It was…..water." Her voice sounded slightly slurred.

His eyes narrowed. "Rose. Are you….drunk?"

"Not very much," she assured him, helpfully. He looked very funny, and she stifled a giggle.

He sighed, stood up, and surveyed the damage. Rose was mildly disappointed - apparently, their last nightly encounter had prompted him to go to bed in pajama bottoms. "My entire bed's soaked," he muttered. He smoothed back his wet curls with both hands. Then he turned back to Rose.

"You desssserved it," Rose announced, still standing in the middle of the room. "You were a…cad." She set the pitcher on the side table, and placed her hands on her hips.

He ran his hand through his wet hair, seeming resigned. "I was a cad?"

"Yessir!" she announced, seating herself on his large armchair, and dangling her legs. Then, as if an afterthought, she added, "You never wrote to me either, you know."

"I never wrote to you?" If he was surprised at the sudden non-sequitur, his voice did not show it.

She nodded. "All this time!" Her fingers poked holes in the air in his direction. "And when I was first in Charleston. And I wrote annn…..wrrrrote! You. You…never answered me. And I'd….done nothing then!" She nodded again, confirming. " You see -you were ….a cad."

She got up, and made a few elegant (she thought) dance moves into his room.

"A cad, a cad a cad a cad! He was a cad, and he was had!" She smiled brightly, looking pleased with herself. "That rhymes," she added, thoughtfully.

His lips twisted. "Remind me to keep you away from …..what was it you got into, Rose?"

"Brrrrandy," she announced, rolling the r on her tongue. "Brandy, Mandy, Dandy!" She giggled. "That rhymes, too. But it makes no sense."

"Rose." He shook his head. "We should talk when you…."

"But we should talk now," she said, in a suddenly high-pitched voice. "You never let me get a word in edgewise, Mr. High-and-Mighty. You know how everything works, don't you. Tell me - where does your expertise come from, Mr. Know-it-all?" She paused again, surveying him like a school mistress would a particularly slow student. "If you really knew everything, you'd have written me."

He frowned. "I'm not going to argue with someone who's drunk."

"Hah!" she announced. "But you never argue at! all! You just tell people how they feel! Not only how they feel now, but how they will feel! Because you know….everything!" She smiled at him with fake brightness.

"Rose….."

"Did you ever stop to think that I was waiting?"

"Waiting?"

"Waiting," she repeated. "Word! Ing-form. Acting verb. You see….waiting is an…..action, too!"

"Rose. You're making no sense again," he said, calmly.

"I know!" she agreed, cheerfully. She twirled around again, and almost fell. He reached out his hand to steady her, a swift shadow by her side. His hand remained at her waist.

They stared at each other. "I was afraid, you see," she said, softly. He bent his head, their floating curls mingling into a dark cloud. Under the cover of that shadowy sky, she poked him in the stomach with her finger. "You're going to kiss me now, Thhhhad. It's your….punishlent. Punishment."

He drew back. "Rose."

"Be quiet," she told him, firmly. In the semi-darkness, she reached up her small hands, and placed him on either side of his cheeks. She pulled on his head, trying to bring him down to her level. It was like attempting to move a tree trunk.

"Come down …..or I'll scream," she said, threateningly. "Then you're mother will come and I'll be….combomised. Compromised. And you'll have to marry me." When he still didn't move, she made good on her threat, and let out a blood-curdling scream, head tilted back wolf-style.

"Rose!" He clamped his hand down firmly on her mouth.

"Ummmmmm!" she protested, squirming her face from his grasp. "Whatsso terrible a…bout kissing me, anyways? Anyone would think you don't find me …..tractive."

"Keep your voice down, Rose."

"I'm going to be as LOUD AS I LIKE!"

"Rose!"

There was a knock on the door.

"Thad?" came Belle's voice. "Is everything alright?"

"See what you did," Thad hissed at her, clearly livid.

She looked chastened. "What do we do?"

His brain, not under the influence of intoxicants, worked faster. "Under the bed."

"But I don't want to," she pouted, like a petulant child.

"Thad!" the voice came again.

"I'm all right mother," he called. He grabbed Rose, and shoved her under the bed, none too tenderly.

"I heard screams," Belle called, suspiciously, her voice muffled by the oak door. "I'm coming in."

"No," he called. But the door opened relentlessly.

Belle stepped inside, looking around distrustfully. She wore a voluminous, pink wrapper, overloaded with lace and flowers. Her reddish-white hair attempted to escape from its cap. "What happened in here?"

Under the bed, Rose heard Thad's nonchalant voice answer her. "I … dropped a water pitcher."

"On your bed? Everything is wet, including you! Let me ring for Trish…"

"No thank you, mother. Please don't wake up Trish at this hour. I can handle it."

"But…"

"I said I can handle it." His voice could turn icy when his will was thwarted, Rose thought, and almost said so out loud. She stopped herself just in time.

"Go back to sleep, mother."

Belle looked around the room one more time, unconvinced, but obedient. She was disappointed when he not only opened the door for her, but stepped out into the hallway to watch her until she had disappeared into her own room - not even giving her the chance to press her ear against the door.

"Can I come out now?" Rose called, when he stepped back inside.

"Yes. But keep your voice down."

She rolled herself out. "Dust….mites." She brushed the sleeve of her wrapper energetically. "Servants always forget to sweep under the bed." She hiccupped, and looked embarrassed.

Her black curls were a tangled mess around her head. In her dusty white wrapper, incorrectly buttoned, her flushed face, and her floating hair she was a sight. Thad laughed, in spite of himself. "You're never… boring, Rosey. I will say that for you." He shook his head at her. "Would have served you right, had mother found us, and you'd find yourself wed to me."

She ducked her head. "I never wanted anything else." The drunken feeling was gone, and the light-headedness was back.

He seemed to sway. "Rosey." And suddenly, she was in his arms, and smiling up at him. "I'm not dying yet," she murmured, with the last remnants of her defiance, as he lowered his lips.

The moonlight hid the expression in his eyes. "It counts if I feel like I'd die, if I don't kiss you." Then, suddenly, his lips claimed hers.

The first thing Rose noticed was the softness. It was a pleasing sensation, and she pressed her lips up against his to feel it again. He bent her over his left arm, and leisurely explored her lips, with playful little nips, and gentle, brushing strokes, encouraging her wordlessly to explore his as well. It felt awkward, being this close to someone, this exposed – but it felt awkward on a level her fogged brain was no longer processing, so she managed to concentrate on discovering ways to brush her lips against his, and making nips of her own. Why had no one had ever told her a man's lips could be this….. soft? She tried intensifying the pressure. Now she could not only feel him, but taste him as well, which, as she discovered, was much more intoxicating than even the brandy.

"Hmmmmm", made Rose, a soft, humming sound of satisfaction in the back of her throat. Instinctively, she arched her body against his, clumsily attempting to coax him to part his lips for her, seeking to taste him deeper. She felt the same rush of connection to something greater than herself, that she had felt earlier in the forest. It rushed through her body, heated her blood. Thad must have felt it as well. His arms tightened, and his lips were suddenly no longer playful. They were hard and insistent, parting hers, seeking and finding her tongue, sending tremors down her spine, and panic into her mind. She stiffened, and attempted to pull away.

He drew a deep breath, and released her. She could see the struggle in his face, as centuries of civilization fought against much older instincts. Had she not been so tipsy, she might have been terrified.

Civilization won. They stared at each other. Thad looked genuinely apologetic. "I'm ….sorry, Rose. I should have taken my own advice, and …"

"No scientific explanation, please," Rose murmured. "You'd be much nicer if you could admit the situation just got away from you, for once."

He laughed, the tense moment broken. "The situation got away from me, for once."

"See? It's not so hard," Rose nodded, approvingly. "Maybe I better go? Maybe we can talk more tomorrow."

"Yes. Maybe you'd better." He was still looking at her, softly. "Your first kiss?"

She blushed. "Yes."

"I hope it didn't disappoint."

"It was ….nice."

He laughed. "Nice? My vanity. It agonizes. It faints." He grinned at her. "Maybe you'll give me a chance to improve upon …nice, sometime."

"Maybe." Her mother's brows arched into her father's crescents, but she could not prevent a blush from creeping up her neck. She wondered about this power she had briefly wielded, which was now firmly his again. "Sorry about your bed," she offered, as an afterthought.

"It's quite all right," he said, politely, but his eyes were dancing. "As you correctly pointed out ….it was only water." He brushed his knuckle over her cheek. "Let me check the hallway, first. I rather suspect my mother of laying in wait for whoever comes out."

She giggled. "She thinks I have designs upon your virtue."

He grinned. "How right she is." He bent forward quickly, and brushed his lips against hers.

"And bonny Rose and sometimes Rose the curst;" he quoted,

"But Rose, the prettiest Rose in Christendom

Rose of Rose Hall, my super-dainty Rose,

For dainties are all Roses, and therefore, Rose

Take this of me, Rose of my consolation.

"I am not a shrew," Rose admonished.

"Did you or did you not toss water over my head?" He poked his head into the corridor, and looked around. "All clear, it seems. Now run. We will talk more tomorrow."

"Bossy again," she said, archly. She held the door, and turned to look at him again. "It's lucky you kiss ...nicely."

She caught the expression his face, and smothered giggles all the way back to her room.