Thank you for the warm reviews on the previous chapter! As always, they brightened my days! :-)

Bonnie's funeral this time. For me, one major crossroad was the way they handled their daughter's death, Scarlett being the worst of the two. Here is my take. This isn't happy nor fluffy. I apologize in advance.

Chapter 4: The funeral

Nothing around her made sense anymore. This day wasn't supposed to be like that. It should be cold and cloudy and grey. How could this day be so offensively bright and sunny? Why did the birds sing and the butterflies fly? How could flowers smell so nice? Why wasn't everything around her in mourning? How could life go on when her little girl was in that coffin? Why would anything move forward without her? And these men, what were they doing putting her daughter in the ground?

"No. NO," she wanted to yell at them. "Don't take her away. She is so vivacious, so cheerful, so very young. Don't take her away from me."

But no word left her mouth. She stayed there, rooted to the ground, watching the gravediggers effortlessly descending the small coffin into the freshly dug earth. Within seconds it was out of sight. The hollow sound followed, more deafening than gunfire. The sound of irrevocable finality. A handful of soil on wood.

She brought her hand on her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She felt her nails digging into her face. No more, she thought in panic. I can take no more. She had managed to go through the previous days in dignity. She had somehow found the courage to arrange her girl's funeral. I will think about it tomorrow, she kept saying again and again and again. One more day and it will be over. If only I get through another day, this nightmare will be over. And tomorrow came. She had forced herself out of bed and managed to stand straight through it so far. But this… That sound… This was too much to bear. She just couldn't do it anymore. There was nothing left in her. She was spent.

As her arm fell listlessly from her mouth to her side, her skin brushed against soft cloth. A startling sensation. Very slowly she turned her eyes. Large, dark hands. Muscular arms. Strong and unyielding. They had protected her, held her, comforted her when weak and vulnerable. They could do it again. They must do it again. She grabbed from one arm fiercely. She needed something to hold onto. Something to keep her from collapsing. The muscles tensed under her palm. Strength. They spoke of strength and vigor. Everything she lacked. She leaned her head on the shoulder. Just for a moment. A moment was all she needed to find her courage back. The moment went and nothing happened. Only her knees began to bend. The arms were instantly around her stopping her fall. They were holding her tightly now. Her tired head rested on the strong chest. It smelled of safety and security. She could feel the pain and the sorrow, brutally suppressed for days, rapidly emerging from their dark hiding place. She couldn't control them anymore. They were threatening to overwhelm her. Yet she had to hold them back. She had to be strong. But she knew not how. She heaved again and again, one agonizing breath after another. More air. There was no air and she needed more air. Her knees bent again, but his grip tightened even more.

"Let go," his hoarse voice said in her ear.

She opened her mouth to cry out, to somehow ease the pressure on her chest. A gasp was all that came out and the very first tear slid down her cheek along with it. The grieve finally unleashed signaled the point of no turning back. Her body began to shake violently as waves of sobs raked through it. She grasped his lapel, burying her face into the fine shirt to muffle the weeping sounds. His hand on her hair crashed her on him even more. The arms around her were shaking - much like she was in them. Wet, stubbly skin brushed against her neck. Gusts of hot breath burned her flesh. Signs of sorrow matching her own, offering more comfort than any available words. Instinctively her arms wrapped around his neck and her fingers sank into the thick messy hair pulling him closer. Unconscious, clumsy gestures to soothe back.

Eventually the tears dried up and the breaths returned to a normal pace. The gripping loosened, the embrace remained tight.

His heart was throbbing calm and steady under her cheek. A familiar, consoling sound, as long-missed as his warm, solid body. She opened her eyes slowly, her vision blurred by a veil of wet eyelashes. The freshly covered grave was the first thing she saw and she shut them back tightly.

"Take me away from here," she mumbled throatily. "Please."

"Back there?" he breathed, palpable terror in his voice.

She thought of their house. Mirrors covered with black sheets. Candles. Shut windows. Closed curtains. Black dressed people offering empty condolences. The dim, suffocating atmosphere of death and mourning. She looked around, in her face nothing but despair. Melanie was standing a few feet away from them, Mammy next to her.

"We can't go back there," she mouthed silently. "We can't."

"Then go," Melly mouthed back. "I'll handle it."

Mammy shooed them away, backing Melly up. She nodded once, feeling more gratitude than she could possibly express with words. She put her hand in Rhett's, the mere thought of not touching him right now seemed impossible. She would collapse otherwise.

"To the National," she said gently, but decisively.

She didn't let go of him in the carriage that drove them away. Nor when they reached their destination. Not even when Rhett hoarsely asked for a room and a bottle of whiskey. And he didn't let go of her either. They climbed the stairs to the third floor slowly. Each one trying to drag the other along. A few more steps. A few more steps and the door would close behind them. And no one would stare. No one would criticize. No one would judge. And the door did close behind them. And they just stood there, holding hands, looking at the room in front of them not knowing what to do next. The room service came to the rescue. He placed the order on the table and left as quietly as he had come. Leaving them alone in heavy unbearable silence. He made a move to leave her hand.

"Please don't," she pleaded.

So he poured two drinks, still holding her, and offered her one. They both swallowed it in one big gulp. Then he poured another round and, as if prearranged, they sat listlessly on the couch. She rested her head on his arm and this time he didn't tense. Only his shoulders sank lower.

"And now what?" he asked hoarsely.

"I don't know," she sighed. "Wait for this day to pass, I guess."

"And then what?" despair was creeping in his voice.

"I don't know."

She had absolutely no idea how their days from now on would be. How days without Bonnie could even be. And for once in her life, she so much wished they didn't have to know. But they would. Just not yet. For now, she didn't want to think. She wanted her brain to stop. She wanted the brutal images in her head to disappear. She wanted this nightmare over. She wanted the day before yesterday back. When Bonnie was still alive. When there was still something to be done to change her tragic fate.

Would she ever feel whole again, her heart not broken into a million pieces she knew not how to glue back together? Pain. So much pain. So much loss. She couldn't take no more. The panicking feeling returned, stronger than before. The room was suffocating, the air was thick. And again, she couldn't breathe. She clenched his hand even harder. A silent plead for help. And it came. He must have moved her, for she was now cuddled on his lap, his arms around her, rocking her back and forth, her breathing normal. Hot tears dropped down her face again. Would they ever drain? Would a day come when she would have no more tears to shred for their dead daughter? Would this reality ever become bearable?

"It can't be, Rhett," she cried. "It can't be. Not our baby. No."

Violent sobs drowned her last words. An infinite while later, she felt moving again. Rhett was taking her to bed. Terrified of not feeling his warmth, she wrapped her arms around his neck refusing to let him put her down. He tried to loosen her grip, but she resisted.

"It's alright, Scarlett," he reassured her. "I won't go anywhere. Just let me breathe a bit."

And she did, counting the seconds he needed to lie on his side next to her, her eyes gawked on him, barely even blinking, for fear he would vanish.

"Come," he opened his arms, his broad chest offered to rest her throbbing head.

She huddled up, a ball of limbs, fabric and undone hair, squeezing herself to fit completely into that protective shell that were his arms, his torso and his thighs. She then buried her face in his neck, the radiating warmth and the steady heartbeat beneath her ear blocking out the rest of the world. And in there, like a baby floating safely in its mother's womb, she fell asleep. For how long she did not know. Screams brought her out of her slumber.

"Stop, Bonnie…Stop… Bonnie…Bonnie…"

And she knew it was her turn to console. Her small body spread open and then closed protectively around the shaking volume that was Rhett. She shushed and soothed and caressed and back from the start, again and again, until the shaking seized and all that was left was his dark head soaking in sweat and tears under her chin.

"It's on me," he sobbed. "This is all on me."

"No, no. It's not," more shushing, more soothing, more caressing. "It was an accident."

"But you said…"

"No, no," she stopped him. "I was in pain and I lashed out and I'm sorry. It was an accident. It was a horrible accident."

"I bought that horse. I put my daughter on that horse. It was me…"

"No, no," she went on and repeated everything again –two, three, four times– as many as it took for him to no longer protest.

"It was an accident," he finally said it out loud as if that would somehow help him accept it and believe it.

"Yes," she reassured once more. "Just like Pa's."

"He's got her now, hasn't he?" he startled her.

The thought of her father holding her daughter, sparkling blue eyes staring into sparkling blue eyes both of them smiling in mischief, brought more peace in her aching heart than anything else could. She looked at Rhett and she instantly knew he was feeling the same.

"Pa's got her," she nodded. "I'm sure of that."

"She is in good hands then," he breathed in relief.

They spoke no more. Tangled in each other's arms and in their shared grief, they eventually managed to get some sleep.