Oh my God... How could I have left this for so long?

Hello everyone, and please accept my deepest apologies for this. With work, visits of my family, (and well, I must admit, a little romance), I quite lost my head, and put it back for too long.

This was supposed to be a short, sweet chapter. Yet, in the end, I decided to divide it in two, because there were many things that I wanted to add to make the plot more fluid, and it made more sense that way.

So here, I'm sorry to say any new resolution of regularity begins badly.

Part two is nearly finished (90%!) and should be posted either during the night or tomorrow.

I hope you will like it!

PS: Congratulations to Jaded Orbs who managed to find the references! First was "My Bondage and My Freedom", by Frederick Douglass, which was the book Cheyenne was reading. Second "To his mistress going to bed", John Donne's poem (which is a bit cocky for Rhett on his current position... Yet, you know him. And he certainly did not expect what would come next). Third "How do I love thee" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (much more romantic, yet quite sarcastic on Scarlett's part). And the last one was a modern one that I couldn't help hinting at, "Hit the Road, Jack" by Ray Charles, which was totally the tonality of the quarrel for Scarlett (at least without the money reference).

...

In his arms was her body, so small, so still, with the warmth leaving each member while he tried to fight its fading. Her eyes, usually so vibrant, had been staring at him so vacantly as he called for her. His hand, which had been big before, was now no bigger than a lady's sash.

He had to admit it all now.

His strength had left him, his fearlessness too. He was unmanned, a mere child when he had thought himself so grand. A child, just as well as she. The mask was broken, and now that he saw it, that he saw him, there was no turning back against the enemy. An enemy he had thought he knew and had despised. A boy just out of his breeches, so clear and dull and pretentious, not even worthy of shining his shoes.

However, the hair had darkened before his eyes, the body had broadened, and the thin, aristocratic features changed shape.

An enemy he knew very well in fact and despised even more.

And yet... how fierce, how terrific! What a beautiful mane, what a powerful stance!

Everything he was, everything he had ever wanted...

Now against him, smiling, laughing at him, his black eyes shining with malice.

"Now, you damned fool," He purred with his typical Charlestonian drawl. "Who did you think it was?"

Rhett Butler... The man he was. The man he had become.

Rhett awakened with cold drops of sweat running down his back and his brow, and a broken cry that he willed not to leave his lips.

He crouched over his thin sheets, trying to regain his breath. His forehead was massaged very thoroughly. However, the images were carved in his mind.

Fool, fool, fool... The word echoed in his ears.

Fool, yes. But not the only one.

He sighed.

Fool for her, and yet what a little fool she was. How could she hide such a thing from him? How could she ever think of it? So many years, wasted... And a baby. A baby that was his...

He shook his head. No, no, he would not think about the boy. A boy...

God, she really intended to make him mad to the last extent, didn't she? Up to her having a boy, when thinking about it, he would have liked a girl, a girl with straight black hair and eyes and a smile only for him!

It was all her, that, making a boy that she would keep for herself, that would keep her love away from him while he mourned for it deeply!

Everything in her was made to drive him to distraction, to madness. The heady scent of magnolia and clay, the luscious black hair that set around her pale face like a veil, the green light of her eyes goading him, the red little mouth that begged to bite and be bitten... He could put his hands on that beloved head, and the edges, with that cutting square jaw, would fit perfectly, he knew that. And from the face, the hands would follow softly the neck he had many times thought to wreck, thought many times to kiss, the thumbs caressing the tender collarbones.

Everything in her was made to be with him, from the shape of her body to the love she had given, and the one she could give, that he knew he had been craving for, he, the man who thought he had been better on his own. As a child, she had given him the family he needed. The tenderness, the sense of belonging, and the comfort of a home. As a woman... She had shown him it was not the only thing he wanted, that bonds were not so easily cut and thrown away. They grew and tightened and changed. She had shown him that a little girl could grow into a beautiful woman, a woman that took from him yet was very much still her own person just as he was. A woman, the woman, that could challenge him, make him run and like it.

And he... He had thrown it all away. Thrown it away with ignorance, thrown it away with fear, and pride, these two mingling so closely that he had persuaded himself he did not need it, that he was better off without it.

He had been so close... She had been at arms' reach, and he had been too blind to see it. Damn it all! For all of his cunnings, he had not seen it!

Belle had been right about that. He had created his own monster. Yet, she had not thought he would be that monster.

And Scarlett... If he were a monster, she was one of his kind, and it was a curse as well as a blessing. A curse especially because she had learned from him .

Oh, to make a farce of himself like that! To be thwarted by one's own mind, by one's own love! To want to teach, and to be taught so!

Something alit in the darkness. A flame that was rebelling against such feelings of powerlessness.

No... it was her fault! Not his!

Oh, the damned coquette... His darling, selfish, lovely little hypocrite...

She put his reasoning to the test, and he had seen the limits of them, without wanting to admit them.

He chuckled, the sound dark and deep.

And now, she wanted him to make a show of himself? Well, he could very well make it. But he would not be content with her just being the spectator of it. She needed to see her limits as well...

Atlanta, July 28th

It had been too good to be true. Twenty days without attempts to disturb her peace. Twenty mundane days, during which she had breathed and lived on, the agitated determination to fight with every strength she had increasing, before leaving her abruptly, with a feeling of powerlessness and deep puzzlement.

Twenty boring days. Ten days of strength, two of waiting, five of bafflement, one of despair (she wasn't that proud about that part), and two now of attempts at resignation.

Well, perhaps it had been all show and he found out he did not really care.

Somehow, that was all so very worse.

And then, by one fine morning, with the song of birds and men preparing for war came the sound of another type of bird.

The rapacious kind.

.

AWAKE thee, my Lady-love!

Wake thee, and rise!

The sun through the bower peeps

Into thine eyes!

Behold how the early lark

Springs from the corn!

Hark, hark how the flower-bird

Winds her wee horn!

The swallow's glad shriek is heard

All through the air!

The stock-dove is murmuring

Loud as she dare!

Apollo's winged bugleman

Cannot contain,

But peals his loud trumpet-call

Once and again!

.

Springing out of her bed, she managed to put on her easiest dress and to come down, ignoring the startled cries of Melly and Aunt Pittypat.

A thing she had done a lot and was getting used to.

After Melly's betrayal, she had thought to leave the house and go back to Tara in a move of temper. Twice, the suitcase had been set, until finally, she realized the best way to punish her was to meet Melly's pleading eyes with cold, distant, and dismissive courtesy. The kind no one could object to and could reproach her of, yet the one that stung nonetheless.

She was at the door when Wade began to cry, and she cursed as she was already opening it.

Well, she reasoned. Wade would have to wait. She had to get rid of the intruder.

Excitement made her hand tremble, but she managed to keep a cool demeanor. Because there he was, dashing and so very proud of himself, determined that she would not be able to resist him.

"There you are, finally. Come to join the show, Scarlett?" His voice drawled as his fingers teased the strings of his guitar. "I think George Darley himself would be proud of my little performance," And as Wade's cry relented, furious, he noted with a smile. "At least one little monster seems to agree."

Her nails scratched on the wood of the door and she gritted her teeth.

"You're the whole show by yourself. You don't need me to do it."

His eyes glinted.

"No, you have your own show going on, haven't you? How is the shattered widow's act going on for you?"

To his jib, she only raised her head higher.

"I can play the part!"

"Can you?"

"What do you want?" She hissed instead.

"I thought that was obvious," He smirked, striking the strings with a grand gesture. "I'm leaving for Paris sooner than I thought I would. Knowing that, I could not leave without at least an attempt at compromising you. Then you'll have no choice but to marry me, you little fool."

Her heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she was left speechless in front of him, in front of that outrageous, wild, charming, over-confident man that had hurt her, that she had loved. She was small and fragile in front of his big, strong body, and she craved warmth and love.

Marry? He wanted to marry her? And he was going to leave?

Then came the insult, the mention of compromise and it settled it. He wanted to force her. He disrespected her.

She frowned and gripped the handle.

"No."

The door closed with a bang, and she hoped it would knock him down until sense would grow into that thick head of his.

She ran up the stairs and took refuge in her room, before realizing with dismay that she wasn't alone.

"What did he say?"

She let out a heavy breath.

"That he wanted you to come down. He mistook the window."

As she peeked through the curtain, Sarah Hamilton looked at the man waiting outside, his strong and manly figure, and flushed.

"Oh! I shall never do that!" Notes rang from outside, and the poor spinster's head spun swiftly back to the window, and her chest heaved and fell with exhilaration. She put a hand to her heart as if such thing could do anything to calm her down.

"Oh no, he's doing it again!"

And indeed, Rhett's excellent bass had raised higher, booming toward the sky.

.

Then wake thee, my Lady-love,

Bird of my bower!

The sweetest and sleepiest

In the room, Wade cried higher, as if trying to match his father.

Oh, the insufferable...!

Swiftly, the window was open and closed, enough time to throw the entire content of a basin at him. Raised voices clapped against the glass, echoing in her chest, that hollow cave that vibrated so easily. It bubbled and sounded almost like laughter, the laughter of a cheeky little girl that had made some mischief. She kept it to herself. Yet, she could not control her eyes, which were glowing so vividly. As she turned away, these flashing lights glinted once, then dulled, as if the baffled expressions of the Hamilton ladies had the effect of turning them off. No, not exactly turning them off. It was as if the emotions were veiled under a thin sheet of silk, soft and nearly opaque.

She crossed her arms and explained herself.

"Well. He was being foolish."

"You're so bold, Scarlett..." Aunt Pitty stammered, her voice thin and quivering with conflicted feelings. "I wish I had gathered the courage... But you know, my constitution..."

The compliment was satisfying and made her chest heave with pride. Yet, green eyes kept being dragged to the window, to the man outside.

And he saw her. He saw her and went smiling, a very wide smile that dared her to go to him once again, to break her resolve. His shirt was wet, and she could see the muscles underneath. He bowed to her with that wide smile, so ridiculous with his Panama filled with water, the drops falling as his head lowered, and she turned away, lest he could see her smile.

He would have to try again, before succeeding to compromise her!

September 22nd

Maybelle Merriwether was getting married. To that little Creole, Rene Picard, who had bid for her at the Bazaar.

Of course, everyone had to congratulate her for her catch, for her fine taste for she was marrying a soldier from their dear Confederacy. And she seemed in love too. With that little man that looked like a monkey.

Well, good for her, if she liked him. But Scarlett swore she was not to scream it to every house like that!

For today, to Scarlett's dismay, it was her turn to offer her best wishes for that girl.

And worse than that, what in God's name made Rhett offer the wedding dress for her so that she could flaunt it to her eyes? What suddenly took him?

Under Maybelle's eyes, Scarlett looked at the fine dress, the delicacy of the laces on the bodice, and the soft, buttery silk of the skirt and sighed. She wished for one moment she was the one that would wear it. How beautiful she would be in it! Certainly much more than Maybelle!

And yet... Yet, she had already been married. Her dress had been an old one, that of her mother. A dress for duty, straitlaced and sober. When the wedding passed, the colors faded, and then black came, and black she had decided to stay.

If this was Rhett's trick to make her drop the black, he would be disappointed, and she was offended he would think of such a thing. Her resolve was stronger than that, and it was an insult to the respect she bore for the deceased, which was true.

Her fists clenched, and with a wide, too wide smile, she congratulated Maybelle on her upcoming wedding.

...

October 2nd 1862

One knock at the door, among many these days. Uncle Peter was used by now to say they were making their prayers to the dead, and should not be disturbed, at least if Captain Butler did not want any officer to berate him for his intruding.

Uncle Peter was a good guardian, fierce to protect his ladies.

But Uncle Peter was not always there and had to go occasionally outside to get supplies.

Oh, she almost wished the supplies would get to the house without one of them having to take a step outside!

Well, that would be a nightmare for her, for the seclusion in the house was too much for her spirit. But the nightmare was also out of the house. And Rhett particularly liked to make it so.

One knock, and she couldn't take it anymore.

He's going to wake Wade up if he insists, she reasoned. I have to do it.

She knew she ought not to open it. That opening it was not only improper but was dangerous to her mind. The more she would see him, the more he would manage to drive her crazy.

Yet, she did anyway.

"What is it?" She barked.

He smiled widely.

"Hello, my virtuous little lady," His eyes twinkled with mischief as he put a box on her hands. "I thought you, as many others little ladies I've managed to help, might be in need of color, so I brought back a little something from France. May I..."

She struggled to find her breath, batted her lashes, yet her lips were already forming the word.

"No."

The door was closed once again to his nose.

Feeling a little satisfied at dismissing him so, she allowed herself to take a peek at the inside of the box, determined to throw it away later in front of his eyes.

Yet, as she saw it, she froze.

She looked at the hat, so adorable and cheeky, and that would suit her so well. She looked at the bright green velvet that would bring out the color of her eyes...

"What was it, Scarlett?"

She looked sharply at the hat and put it back to the box, knotting the ribbons back together.

"A gift, aunt Pitty. Your biggest admirer came."

Sarah Hamilton seemed startled for a moment, flushed at the memory of that big, imposing dark man, and fanned herself.

"Oh, dear! Oh, certainly, I must not accept!" Yet, she was already leaning towards the box, like a bird on a feeder. "Oh, but... What is it?"

Scarlett's eyes glinted in mischief, and a different image came, that of his horrified face if he should see that poor old lady with his gift on her curly gray hair, and not even the right getup to give it justice.

A waste, certainly. But one never said she could not have fun over it.

Miss Hamilton's eyes were already glowing. "It's so pretty..."

"It's yours, Aunt. All yours."

...

November 5th

Many members of the good society of Atlanta had watched with amusement as the great blockade-runner seemed to amuse himself greatly at trying to force the door of Miss Pittypat Hamilton's home. Rumors had it (strongly hinted by herself and her niece-in-law) that he wanted to court the poor lady, but did not manage to find his way in. So he bothered the household.

Better them than us, the good people thought. Captain Butler was great for the Cause, with his coming and going through the blockade, and he could be quite thoughtful with the ladies. His focus on these ones, though improper, at least prevented him to create havoc among the soldiers, as he was known to do.

And he had quite the ideas to gather money. His latest quite pleased the ladies and the gentlemen staying in the city.

A play. A way to entertain everyone, innocent and diverting, when the war threatened to break their spirits. A way to get his money as well, which he had used until then mostly for clothes and that he claimed for all to hear that he would invest quite immensely for it.

There was just a tiny little bother.

He insisted on Scarlett Hamilton playing one of the main roles, and the lady, though spirited by nature, was too proper to do such a thing.

He was unmovable on that point, and the others had to agree. Scarlett would be easy to persuade, they thought. She was a woman, and with a past of one easy, fast girl after all. Better her doing it than the others. And after all, hadn't Mr. Butler said humbly he saw her as a little sister, for having seen her grow? It was not so bad, after all.

Knowing his niece-in-law, Henry Hamilton said he would have nothing to do with it.

So, to this goal, Dr Meade was the first to decide to try and convince her. Yet, to no avail.

Then came Maybelle Merriwether and Fanny Elsing, which were dismissed gently, but surely, and came back with lowered heads and a feeling of guilt at having any part in forcing Scarlett out of her grief for her beloved husband.

Even Melanie Hamilton could not break through her, and it was soon deemed so very improper.

What, it was only a tiny breach on tradition!

Finally, Mrs. Elsing, Mrs. Merriwether and Mrs. Meade's pleading offered a new hope, them soothingly saying to her how well they understood her desire of respecting the deceased and the property, especially with a young son. They were willing to overlook such lack of propriety for the sake of the Cause, so why couldn't she? Wouldn't her respect be greater if she did this?

After a quiet moment, when the three ladies thought their cause was lost, she raised eyes to them, put down her teacup, and said softly that if it was so, she would try and meet him to discuss him reasonably.

At first, Rhett Butler demanded no chaperone at his hotel, saying widowhood was a guardianship by itself for any honorable man. But she refused and demanded everyone should be there and watch. He relented and suggested one of the servants might accompany her to him.

Finally, after days of negotiation, it was settled that they would meet on the neutral ground of Doctor Meade's house, in the study to get them some privacy, yet with enough persons in the other room to make it look inconspicuous. No compromise of her virtue would be tolerated here.

So, here she was now, with expectant eyes on her back as she entered it and made the first steps in.

"It's quite a lot of work, getting you out of your den," His voice came from behind her, along with the sound of the door closing, and she was startled, lured by his drawl, into the intensity of his gaze.

She was cornered.

"They told me you wanted me," She said, trying to sound firm as he turned around her, before wincing at the double-entendre. Images of his chest came, his strong chest on which she had rested after love and that she had seen not so long covered by a wet shirt. She gulped. "For some charity, I've heard."

"Oh, I do want you."

Her teeth gritted as she flushed, caught staring.

"You offend me."

"You do not seem offended." He took a step further, a teasing smile on his lips. "Yet, it's not the only thing that you lack."

"And what do I lack?"

His eyes glinted maliciously. He knows about the hat, she thought.

"A little bit of color."

"I'm colorful enough."

"True." His finger grazed her cheekbone, following softly the curve as it flushed under his touch. She turned away and crossed her arms.

"So what do you want?"

A corner of his mouth went up. "In general or just now?"

She glared at him, but he only grinned harder.

"I want you to... How did you say it? Play the part." He smiled at his own private joke, but she was not to show him that she cared. "Surely, from your very complete education, which I played a very important part..."

"Important part being that you criticized everything I learned and made your very own class."

"... That being an important part," His grin went wider as he pushed a book toward her. "you must know that play."

Her eyes went down to it.

"The Taming of the Shrew?" Her eyes narrowed. He was definitely up for something. But what? "I might remember something."

"Oh, do you?"

In the darkness of his orbs came a tiny flame of amusement.

She tilted her head away with a moue. Down her spine, there were like little fingers dancing, teasing and the more she tried to shake them off, the more they tickled. She put her hands on her hips so that they would not tremble. Yet, her voice did.

"And what are you doing, in that little play of yours?"

He shrugged, on his face the expression of a contented cat.

"What do you think? I'm the very handsome and grand Petruchio."

She rolled her eyes.

"Very coarse, you mean. And very like you, indeed. I seem to remember he drank and fooled around..."

His eyes gleamed with pleasure.

"So you do remember."

"A little."

She bit her lip, then batted her lashes.

"Very well. Shall I play the ingenue?"

He shook his head with a chuckle.

"No, dear girl, no one would take you for an ingenue. At least, no one that knows you well. No, no, Scarlett. You can't be anything else but Katharina, of course."

She froze. Then burned.

"So, this is how you show you respect me?" She seethed, until the anger grew and grew, and she could not take it. "By making me the humiliated wife of a tyrant? You must be quite confused!" She snarled. "Is that the future you plan to satisfy your wounded pride with? I'll not have it! I won't be the Katharina to your Petruch... Petruch..."

"Petruchio," He supplemented with a smile.

"Whatever that name is!"

"No. You'll be my very own Katie... Scarlett." He raised his hands in surrender at her glare, though his eyes were merry. "There's nothing you can throw there, Scarlett."

"Except the book!"

He laughed.

"My dear, you already know your part, how wonderful!" He jested and she pouted as he tried to look at her face better. "You, my dear, need a pet you can bully all you want. Now, what have you done with that dog I offered you ?"

She huffed and crossed her arms.

"It's gone. And now I want you gone as well!"

"My apologies. That's why you're so stingy."

"I don't need a pet," She berated him fiercely. "YOU could never afford a pet."

"I could. In fact, I'm very much considering it," And there he was leaning toward her and she couldn't do anything but let him, her senses numbed by the powerfulness of his body, that body she wanted to rest on and never let go. Yet, he caught an erring strand of hair, and that could very well be the loss of her. "A pretty little cat with green eyes, with a soft fur…"

She slapped his hand.

"And sharp claws !"

But it didn't seem to deter him. In fact, now the little light in the darkness of his eyes seemed to mock her, telling her 'I did catch you!'.

"So you agree, my pet. "

"Do not call me your pet !" She snarled and attempted to turn away, her skirt whirling in fury. "From child to pet, great balls of fire! I want none of it!"

"Then, what shall I call you... darling?"

"In your dreams! The only role I'll have will be Lady Bountiful until I die!"

She closed the door behind him, and an amused smile almost escaped her, creeping through her cheeks. Begrudging fondness grew like a bud, and she gripped it, trying to crush it. Yet, it only ached harder. She closed her eyes. She had to fight it!

Yet, it already seemed like a losing game, she knew that. Her nature was not in fighting her own feelings.

She breathed in and out, and met the startled gaze of the others. She huffed.

"He's no honorable man. There's no reasoning him."

December 20th 1862

Winter came hopeless and lonely for Melanie Hamilton as she waited anxiously for the bells to ring for the Complines. It was dry and a bit fresher, and so very, very quiet that she was tempted to cry on her own. Her fingers trembled on the needles as she tried to focus on the snitching of her dress, but her thoughts couldn't help but recall the reason for that silence.

At least, one of the reasons. One dreadful reason...

Oh, it was all her fault! She should never have intervened!

And now, Scarlett had gone away, to Tara, and she was left alone with Aunt Pitty who, if she was a good enough company, was not one she could confide in when it came to secrets.

And of secrets, she had many to tell. She lowered her head and the scene went back to her mind, to the day Scarlett found out she was receiving Ashley's letters.

"Ashley is my cousin, Scarlett..." She had replied quickly, weakly. Something like a feeling of guilt came gripping her heart prevented her from telling the truth of what she felt about it, and Scarlett's reaction was certainly not helping.

Scarlett had looked at her with a mean, all-too-knowing little smile, green eyes glinting so viciously that Melanie felt the blood rush to her face, and something like anger raised to her face.

"Oh, don't be like that! Like some kind of... of..."

"Of what, pray tell?" Scarlett had relented smoothly.

"Like a viper!"

The word was out between them, hurting them both and they had stared at each other, Melanie with horror, Scarlett with narrowed eyes, as if it confirmed something she already knew. And at that time, Melanie, unused to such feelings, hated her friend. Hated her to make her feel so powerless, so weak against the world which she had been sheltered from. There was a rush of energy that wasn't entirely hers, something Scarlett gave without knowing, and it was too much for Melanie's body. It was rough and raw, primal and uncivilized. It hurt and burnt, and it was alive and moving.

"Well, at least I know what you truly think of me..."

And she was regretting it.

"No, Scarlett!"

But it was already too late. Already, Scarlett had closed the door of her room with barely refrained fury, and the echo of it numbed Melly's head to this day.

Three days later, she was gone, without even a glance her way, and Melly felt like a puppy abandoned by its master, sure of having done too much mischief and desperate to make it right.

Now, Melly was left with her truth, and all the ways she could have explained to Scarlett.

The truth was that Ashley had never stopped sending her letters. Charming letters, polite and courteous. Not the letters of a lover, of course. Not of a genuine one, that she could discern. But it had definitely a tinge of romance and courtship in them.

The first time she had received one, she had sent a reply of refusal, but not a firm one so that he wouldn't feel insulted. Yet, another had arrived the next week, and the week after.

And Edward's letters arrived less and less often, forcing her to reread again and again the ones he sent to make sure he still felt for her...

So many times, she had wanted to talk to Scarlett about it. Yet, Scarlett felt so distant and sad. Her thoughts were obviously on Mr. Butler, the poor dear, and Melly could only imagine the pain it must be to look into that adorable baby she had, and to find more and more similarities between them...

A reminder of their love... Melly craved it for herself. Oh, a family of her own! A house of her own!

It was her dream, and it couldn't be. Not now, with the war going on. But soon, hopefully...

Footsteps were heard in the courtyard and Melanie went alert, her body tensing. Slowly, she listened to the noises upstairs, to Aunt Pitty's loud snores. Aunt Pitty was a heavy sleeper, bless be her soul. And Uncle Peter had been listening to it as well, afraid something might trouble her sleep. No doubt he was asleep as well. He had been so demanded during these weeks...

Melanie raised from her armchair and put her needlework carefully on the table. She looked at it for a moment, before getting rid of her shoes, too loud on the parquet. The toes relaxed, happy to be let free, and she went to the courtyard herself, gathering her shawl around her.

The grass was fresh on her feet, cooling her nervous body as she looked from right to left, until they met a friendly wave.

Her heart jumped and went alight with love.

"Edward!"

"I am here, my love..."

"Oh dear heart! I've been so lost without you!" She cried softly, taking him fiercely in her arms, with tears on her eyes. Oh, to lean her weary head on his chest! To hear his soothing heart and feel it calm hers!

His hood fell, and she saw his hair, shortened since the last time she had seen him. With that change, his features seemed more angular, more mature. There was something frank about him, without the shade of shyness he had had months ago.

He was still a boy when he met her, and now... He was a man, and she felt slightly overwhelmed.

He embraced her back, then caressed her cheek, making her stand back in shy, flushing modesty at her outburst. Oh, what must he think of her behaving so unproperly?

"I've drawn you so many times with my memory, but now..." He marveled, looking at her over, and she blushed with joy. "Oh, dearest, I'm here!"

His arms squeezed her lightly against him, and she felt reassured by his love.

Yet, she had laid that burden, and the others came down.

"I've made such a mess of so many things!"

He held both of her hands in his and shook his head in loving amusement.

"Melanie, there's nothing your soft hands could mess, or break," He jested tenderly. Blue eyes met the melting brown and were still awed by the mirroring emotions that laid for him in there. "Except my audacity if it displeased you."

But she only smiled and allowed him to kiss them, her eyes shining bright as a morning star. He smiled back widely.

"Now my sweet lady, please, won't you let me in?" He teased, dark blue eyes sparkling so much they looked like the color of the night just after the sun had come down. "Won't you let me warm my feet to your fire and listen to you, so that I know how I can serve you?"

She chuckled and felt like a little girl all over. A little girl this time that wasn't hindered by any shyness or the fear of hurting the ones she cared about. Here was the man she loved, and she promised her heart to him once again.

"You've certainly learned."

He gave her a bow.

"From the worst, I fear."