Hello my dears,

And thank you for still being here, with me, on this story. Finally, it's settled, I know the numbers of total chapters: 55! We're close, my friends! I greatly enjoyed reading your impressions, and I want to assure you... There was never any tragedy, nor lukewarming ending intended. The path to a happy ending is a very tricky one, but I do intend a happy ending. But I believe... Yeah, we'll be past the bitterness now. They both are tired of it. And I did promise you tender moments, didn't I?

My, my, I feel some of you are quite underestimating someone :) Well, we will see about that!

To the members of the group who remembered our talk about birds, this chapter is for you! I could not help it :)

There will be things to be translated, and I will add the huge parts in the end, as I did the other times.

Have a nice reading with this giant chapter, and sorry for any mistakes. I'll try to correct them as soon as the ache in my eyes finally ease.

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By the next morning, the merchant from the other day came to the house to drop a veiled cage, and within it, the two lovebirds that had been so admired that fateful day. Carreen smiled softly at the sight yet winced as they began to chirp. As for Scarlett… Scarlett watched them, queerly, her eyes like that of a cat that was wondering how to get them out of the cage.

It was baffling, truly, this sudden, (perhaps meaningful? Whispered her heart) gift, associated with such a peculiar memory.

Thus, before the merchant left, she asked if he could return with a bird that would befit a pirate. With caution, she also added that her dear husband, a known marksman, would only tolerate the best of the best of birds, and would know how to show either his appreciation or his dismay, which quickly erased the glint of perfidious greed and condescension from his eyes.

If he wanted her to buy the lamest one possible with a costly price, he would have another thing coming for him!

Moreover, it wouldn't hurt her to show her appreciation, she thought. No, not at all. In fact, it was a very normal thing to do...

Who was she kidding? Her appreciation was a poor euphemism for the deep feeling of gratitude she felt, a feeling that would not have been so strong if it wasn't rooted in the equally deep fear she had had, as she saw Wade sink in the water, and her love for the both of them.

Suddenly, nothing seemed enough.

With a mad impulse, she even wrote a letter to Mrs. Butler, asking her for the recipe of the she-crab soup.

It was mad, indeed, to ask for such a trivial thing in the middle of a war. It was a mundanity among chaos, and when she finished it, she felt almost ashamed for writing it.

However, she had another idea in mind, and she figured it would be as good as any a reason to go back to the docks alone.

As she prepared to leave, Wade looked at her with a little pout. "Mama gone?"

"It's all for you, baby," she kissed him on the brow. "Mama will come back soon."

"Papa gone," he repeated very seriously. "Mama gone?"

Oh my God, the thought hit her. What could he understand of all of this? What could his little head understand ?

What could she have understood, herself, with two persons she loved most in the world coming and going in and out of her life?

She tried to think on it, but the understanding hit a thorny wall in her mind, and she shook her head. No, she would have to think about it later, much later. It was all for him. He would understand. Somehow. Why would she have to be the one to make him understand?

For a brief instant, she thought about taking him, his eyes demanding that she does. However, the memory of his fall still lingered and won over that wish.

Moreover, it seemed it had also a lingering effect on the boy, and not only with the suddenness by which he took on calling Rhett "papa".

Once, he even woke up calling for his "papa", and it broke Scarlett's heart. It brought tears of frustration and longing in her eyes as she held her little boy, and wondered what she could do to appease him, when she, herself, wasn't even sure of anything.

She let him cling to her and claw her in his desperate furry, until he fell asleep, all anguish spent. By the next morning, he would wake up and see the scratches he left on her skin, and would seem dismayed by their apparition, as if he weren't the one who had put them here. She could see him, older, asking her who had hurt her.

He could be that way, protective and destructive. Just like Rhett. She could try to make him change. However, she had learned to live with that duality, learned they were both sides of a same coin.

Wade would learn one day that he could hurt her. But not today. She needed to be strong for him. She needed to make him see that she would come back to him. Always.

She sighed, the tension releasing as she realized perhaps there was nothing entirely good she could do. She could only do what she could.

She cupped his chubby cheek and kissed his forehead. Her eyes sparkled with steely fierceness.

"Yes, your papa is gone. But Mama will always come back for her little boy. Mama will bring gifts for her little boy. Lots of gifts. You'll see, Wade, you will never have to be ashamed of your mama again. I swear you won't!"

Wade blinked, and it did not come to her mind that his little self had no concept of shame at all, but was certainly quite alerted by her excitement.

.

.

"Please, would you be so kind as to make sure these letters are transmitted to their recipients? I know it is a perilous travel but…"

Donaldson gave a cautions smile and nodded at the energetic lady that was his captain's wife, a lady that had not seemed quite so vibrant the first time he met her, but who had surprised him with her inquiring questions.

She was a busybody; he could see that. However, it was still unsure if it was the right kind, or the one that would try to bully them as much as she could.

"It is of no consequence, my lady. However, I fear you may have to wait for the next month if you want it to come that way. Are you sure you would not prefer any other way?"

"It is alright," she batted her lashes for a moment, yet he was not fazed. She cleared her throat. "I feel… you are someone I can trust," well, if Rhett trusted him with the ship, that man certainly was it at least a little bit. "I would like to show my appreciation for the way we were welcomed the other day."

"You are Rhett's wife, and we are his people. Of course you are welcomed."

"But it is not enough," she insisted. "And if I am Rhett's wife, then… you are my people too and perhaps I can help…"

His jaws tightened. She stopped, examining him curiously.

"Have I vexed you ?"

He stiffened, his head held with affronted pride.

"Ma'am, your husband earned the right to call us his people. You do not own us, like you would own slaves. We do not need the meddling of a defenseless, albeit exigent little lady. We are not to be starved like you would them."

Her cheeks flared with the offense. She stomped her foot.

"Starve my people ? By God, if I were a man, I would shoot you ! "She scowled, before she pressed her lips and tried to think. Men were so foolish when it came to pride ! Her blood boiled in a burst of Irish temper. "And if you are my people, well... God's nightgown! ! I don't see how this should offend you. You have everything to gain from it ! Do you think me a foolish little girl ? What will I gain, if you starve ? What good is a master that starves his own people, his own family ? If you are my people, then I shall fight for you, until death if necessary, as I do expect any of my people shall do for me !"

Tara's people would never have doubted her words to them. They would have believed her, without question.

At least, those who stayed… her lids lowered briefly under a veil of doubt.

She shattered it, not willing to show any sign of weakness.

"And I know how to shoot," she said defiantly.

Though it had been so long since she tried.

"I offered you friendship. But if you choose not to be my friend, you can hang for all I care," she muttered, crossing her arms. "I can have people do what I want, and not care at all. I would have just have preferred it to be… well, to be otherwise !"

He looked at her, baffled, before erupting in laughter. Now, that was quite a show! Quite a fire!

She frowned, feeling anger boil over again.

"Do you think my words are fickle ?"

He shook his head.

"You are a spirited one. Perhaps have I talked a tad too quickly. You will do fine here. If you drop the act of the foolish little lady."

His eyes softened.

"I do believe some rounds of drinks once in a while, after perilous travels… and even without, once in a while, could be a good beginning. Then… well, we'll see."

She deflated in front of his change of behavior, but could not help but snort. "Why, of course."

.

.

And so she began to visit the ship, at least once every three days, and if the fact she did so provoked wary gazes as she went without her husband, they soon began to be more at ease with her presence. Especially when she would make sure their cave was full, and their hearts merry with her teasing.

It was a curious little thing, this new wife of Rhett's. With them, she was utterly charming, joking with them and attentive… perhaps a bit too much, but her cunning ways seemed so lacking in subtility it was soon remarked upon with fondness. Yes, she was nosy, but she was not any of these women thinking she could run havocs with them on sea, trying to show she was as strong as a man, nor one of these feeble ladies that squirmed at the scent of battered sailors.

She wanted to please them, and they wanted to be pleased.

It was by the third visit they truly realized she had brain as she conversed with them, alluded to little things they had only evoked in her presence and idly asking some important questions about their works and wishes. Slowly, little things and little things were added to their comfort, and, to their befuddlement, they did not question it, nor take offense.

By her fifth visit, the gazes had lost all of their wariness.

Nevertheless, Scarlett was not content with only this conquest. She wanted more. She wanted to show Rhett, if he ever came back, that not only that she had done well without him, but that she could be as fine as he in this new place.

Little by little, as she built her own purpose, life seemed easier to bear, when it had once seemed so heavy. The air was not as heady, the food now seemed a little more bearable. For many days, she even found herself eating with a purpose, where she had once barely touched her plate.

It came quickly to her that the fact that she lived with that woman Elena was not in her favor to the Confederados, who gathered together in the parties and watched her with the same disdain as the Old Guard would have had. They were a tight knit, that judged yet still thrived in the shades of Mexico, while back home, their kins still suffered from the food speculation.

For a moment, she regretted it. Until she realized that Wade's presence had the benefice of softening some hearts, and gaining her some pity.

She could work with pity. It pricked her pride, but if that was to be her beginning, so be it !

Of course, some, the most curious ones, asked her about her involvement with the ship. To these, she would blink innocently, and could honestly say that as a wife, she thought it her duty to watch over his interest.

She was decided to be accepted in both of these worlds where Rhett thrived, and thus much of her energy was dedicated to it. This was only temporary, she thought, but she did not want to be the one left out anymore.

And when one would question her about her living in such a scandalous situation, she would only reply, with wide, surprised eyes, that she had no idea it had been so, and saw no way of getting out of this situation.

Until one of them, who had decided to be understanding and welcoming toward such a silly goose, but that was nonetheless a rich wife coming with an acceptable background, suggested the purchase of a house nearby to escape this terrible association.

At this, what could she say? She said she would think of it.

Days after days, very discreetly for this was quite an exciting affair, that saving of Mrs. Butler under the nose of her host, she was shown the way of many houses in the vicinity.

Of course, she declared herself dazzled by each one, unable to decide.

Until she had no choice but to decide.

The last was a beautiful two-story house, which they called a hacienda, with great colons and arks and colorful, sunny walls that brought a smile to her face. She could see herself wander through the rooftop terrace that embraced the house like a beautiful belt, linger on a warm day in the inner yard, her heels clattering on the shiny black and white cobbles as she admired the pretty potted palms and orchid trees, delighted in the latter's scent.

What she liked best though was the land, vast and curvy like a woman's body, on which a soft, lazy river idly roamed like a snake dazed by the sun. There, she felt there could be a warm, fertile soil where cotton could be sewed and grow. On one of the hills, there was a weeping fig that offered a great shade, which could be a good place for picnics, barbecues perhaps, while enjoying the sun's travel.

She felt herself becoming fond of it. Perhaps even a little in love with it. There was no red clay, yes, but the soil was fertile and rich, and it would have to be enough.

She stared, and her eyes grew moist, dreamy. Yes, she could see herself in it. She could see herself giving it to her boy, and him running around the land, free and curious of everything. She could see herself, leaned on the rail of the terrace, watching a tall, dark and powerful man coming home and raising his big Panama hat in greeting at her sight…

She blinked then dismissed it. It would be her house, bought with her own money. She was owed her own house, after all. She deserved it.

He would not begrudge her that, would he?

.

.

But of course all could not go well and unnoticed, and soon, Rhett's friend demanded she came to his office for an explanation.

Sat at his demand on the chair in front of his desk, she watched him pace uneasily, before deciding to cut the knots.

"You are my friend's wife. I respect Rhett, and we invited you into our home. I thought… with your feminine nature, you would be inclined to… but it doesn't matter what I wished. I won't have Elena disrespected. Is that clear ?"

She said nothing, dumbfounded by his assumption.

He took this as an acceptance and dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"You can go, then. I just wanted to warn you."

So briefly?

This was more than she could bear.

"You dare dismiss me? After this foolish talk? You are quite bold for one who laid the offense first."

He backed away, à baffled expression on his face, as if he hadn't expected her to reply, moreover to question him.

"What ?"

So, this was Rhett's friend? Scarlett wanted to laugh. Very bitterly. This man was a fool.

"You seek to intimidate me, but I assure you, I've faced far worse," she stood, stubborn and irritated. "If you don't want your woman to be disrespected, why don't you marry her ?"

This seemed to make him deflate a little.

"You wouldn't understand…

"Oh, it is I who don't understand ?" She berated him copiously. "Who is foolish, you think ? The world we live in doesn't understand. I know what it is, to be a young woman in an uncertain situation. Until she is unmarried, with no family to back her up, she is unprotected. You are leaving her unprotected. No, in fact, I should have put my effort in disrespecting you . But men can do whatever they want, can't they ? They can leave and be done with it as they wish. And it is the woman who suffers the consequences."

"I…"

"I won't hear anything else. If you want me to go, I'll go. But your woman will still be alone. What did you think?" She stared as finally it came to her. "You truly thought that foolishness, that I would be the one to help her? Great balls of fire, that is the silliest idea one could ever have! Being with her as she is, unmarried, living in a way that is opened to criticize by all, would only drag me down, and I won't do it. Until you change it, I won't tolerate any criticism of my conduct. I too need to make my way, and if I have to push you to do it, I will."

"Rhett told me you were a hard woman," he said, finally, with a pained smile. "He said you would not do it."

"And he was right. He wouldn't have done it either," She added viciously.

"That's why he told me not to tell you. But still, I had hoped..."

"Mother of God, how should it be any business of mine? I gave you the keys. Until then, I don't think we can stay here. I must think of my son and sister."

There, she felt good enough to leave him and his foolishness, very happy to have had the last world.

No, this was no friend of Rhett's, she thought with a twisted little satisfaction. The man did not have the cunnings for that.

You were mine, she remembered him saying suddenly. His friend. He had said that once, so very softly.

Why would it have to haunt her now? She shook her head.

As she closed the door, Scarlett was confronted with the vision of her host's lover that stared at her with horrified, red eyes, and that let out a soft cry when she saw her, taking quickly refuge to the comfort of the thick sofa and its cushion, her head buried in them like a child.

Eavesdroppers sometimes had it coming, she thought without mercy, hearing things they had no business of hearing.

She still followed though. It wouldn't do to leave her alone.

"Do you hate me so, miss Scarlett ?" Elena said, when tearful eyes finally rose, flickering a little hopefully when she saw she was there.

There, facing the woman, a little hint of shame flickered in her heart, and she tried to snuff it. But it felt even worse when seeing the warm brown eyes, and her pinked cheeks, streaked by tears.

"It's not about hating," she said with some hesitation. It's more about annoyance, she thought.

"You must do so, if you chose to side with my enemies !" She cried in such a dramatic way that it left Scarlett staring in bafflement for quite some time, looking at this woman wailing raising her hand to the sky as if appealing to God's mercy, before falling down, hiding her face in cushion, the raising arm falling back as well pathetically to her side.

"Well, it's your fault and that of your lover's well," Scarlett could not help but say, looking at the woman with disapproval. Oh, she wished she had the luxury to be so dramatic. "Why aren't you married?"

"You can't…" The woman stuttered. "you can't understand!"

Again? Scarlett rolled her eyes.

"Well, then, I shall continue hating you."

"Nooo !"

And there came her loud, dramatic cries. Scarlett sat at the end of it and waited, wondering why she even bothered. Why she even was bothered by it.

It made for a pretty portrait, she begrudgingly admitted, that voluptuous woman in her colorful silks that laid, every inch the despaired, tortured maiden, on a luxury of plump cushions, her bare little foot shown as if by accident. Certainly a vision that would inspire and seduce many men.

Scarlett could do it too, she thought. She could even do it better.

But to whom? Rhett was not sensitive to such a show. At least when it came to her, she thought, scratching the barely healed wound of her long-lasting jealousy.

Carreen quietly approached, her feet light and timid, head bowed in a humility that wasn't devoid of purpose.

"Elena," she said with her soft voice. "You can tell her."

"Mi ángel…" Elena's head raised a little, taking on the quiet girl with bright, hopeful eyes.

The youngest girl turned to her sister, disappointing them both.

"Elias' parents didn't like her," she said and, if she had barely raised her voice, the statement seemed just as brutal, a matter of fact.

Elena let out a cry, and her head dipped once more into the cushion.

"Carreen!" Exclaimed Scarlett, shocked. "I am surprised, baby. You don't usually talk like that. What would Mother think ?"

"The truth is brutal," was replied, and she seemed even meeker, and a bit ashamed. "One should not be afraid to say it. I know… I prefer when someone says it to me, no matter how it is said."

Scarlett sighed, turning back to the woman, not wanting to dwell on the terrible influence she had had.

"So this is it, then?"

Elena nodded, her pitiful face smeared with tears and snot.

"You understand, then, don't you? You understand?" she pleaded, her voice slurred by her nervous sobs. "They… they made him promise in their deathbed he won't marry me."

Mother of God.

"Then he is a greater fool than I thought. His parents are dead. You are living."

Her heart weakened, if only for a moment as she wondered what could have been, had she been in her place. Was it bravery or foolishness? Even now, she could not say.

"So, you truly wanted him. You followed him. Weren't you afraid?" She asked softly.

"Why should I be afraid?" This seemed to offend the young woman. "I loved him. When one love someone as deeply, of course one should not just wait and idle!"

This prickled her, and Scarlett retorted, irritated.

"Great balls of fire! Isn't it what you're doing?"

"Scarlett…" Carreen murmured.

Scarlett's head snapped toward her sister.

The girl was pale, almost trembling. Her hands were twisting.

What was going on with her?

This stopped her in her tracks, and she nodded curtly, linking her arm to Carreen as she took her leave.

Instinctly, she led them to her room, and sat her down, giving her a glass of water.

This was this air, certainly. Its effect had faded on her, though she could not guess why, but now it attacked Carreen.

The young lady accepted demurely, took quiet sips, her eyes avoiding while Scarlett tried to distract her. Distract her with everything that came to her mind, if only so she could be entertained and lose that sudden frailness of her.

She had asked Carreen to come to get better (and to deliver her from Frank Kennedy's clutches). Not for her state to get worse, especially when the girl had been doing so good!

"So… I believe I should pack…" Carreen murmured quietly.

Scarlett's eyes widened.

So that was it! She had not thought about what the girl would think about it!

But why wouldn't she say so? The girl was such a queer little thing, so discreet that she could let herself be forgotten.

And yet, Scarlett thought. She still had stood up to her today. So why not express herself even more, if she did not like it?

"Would you be so sad to leave, baby?" She said hesitantly.

Carreen raised her head, as if surprised to be asked. Her lids blinked slowly, and for a moment, she said nothing. She started fidgeting, her head bending, and that was the worst.

"Oh, no… you do as you think is best… but I think… I think I will keep seeing her. I hope you are not angry..."

"Why would I be angry?" Scarlett replied, irritated, though she was still unsure who she was most irritated with. "You do whatever you want to do!"

Her sister's body stiffened, and there it sent a wave of disquiet in Scarlett's heart.

"Sorry, Carreen. That was mean of me, wasn't it? I am serious, if you like this woman so much…"

Carreen nodded quietly, however, there was a sudden sharpness in her eyes as she replied.

"You know, Scarlett… when Brent died… I did not know who I was. I… think I do not quite know it now either. But I've been thinking… there are things that are important to me, and I want to keep them."

"How you run on, suddenly! Well, keep them. I won't stop you."

"And now you are angry…"

"No, I'm not!" She tried to compose herself. "I'm not."

"And, Scarlett…"

"What is it again, baby?"

"I cannot help but think… You've told me not to live under anyone's shadow. But why are you?"

"How so?" Scarlett this time cried in outrage. "I don't!"

"You're living under Captain Butler's shadow. You've been doing so for a long time… and with everything… I can't help but think you don't live for yourself, rather according to what you think others want you to…"

"I do!" She said with irritation. "I do, and I will prove this to you!"

.

.

Some days later, the house stood before them, a haven after so many disappointments.

"Do you like it, my love?" She asked to her boy that stood at her side, her feet stomping with the excitation of a young girl wanting to be praised for her gift. "Do you like it?"

His eyes were moving quickly, taking on everything at once, his arms flailing at his sides.

She figured he did very much. And she was proven right when days after their arrivals, he delighted in making them all run mad after him around the house.

Decidedly, buying a house was the thing to do.

She began to live again. There, in that house she had purchased by her own means, the colors were vibrant but bearable, friendly, and she began to settle, a need she did not know she had before it was thus given to her. The food was not so foreign and ashy, it had texture and tastes, and she began to like it. It did not bite her tongue anymore, did not make her full of longing for home, for Mammy's buttered yams she had once declared she hated.

Sometimes, she laughed. A lot more, she smiled. She walked, even ran, and sometimes ran so much it ruined her shoes and she had to come back home barefoot.

There were times where she allowed herself to rest, and found herself in the quietness of the yard, watching over the lovebirds she had settled on a beautiful aviary on the center.

Yes, it wasn't so bad, living here. But it was also perhaps too calm, too quiet, and she began to grow bored by the routine. So she began to purchase more furniture.

Sometimes the walls were turned yellow by her order, light green, rose. Sometimes, they were covered in tapestries she found at the latest fashion, and worthy of envy.

From nothing, she had begun too fast, too greedy, and the balance did not come quite yet.

She began to train herself to shoot again.

It wouldn't hurt to do so, she reasoned. Donaldson's remark still irritated her.

.

.

One day, she finally received a telegram from Rhett, transmitted through one of Elias' servants.

.

Learned that you left Elias' house in a fuzzy. Granted, it was a temporary solution, but I have to remind that we are NOT to settle there. Rent a house if you must, keep it if you like it, I don't care for it. But don't unpack your bag entirely.

PS: It was badly done of you, to leave like that, after two kind persons offered you their hospitality and support. Very badly done.

.

Oh, to repeat such words, when it was quite expensive to do so!

She huffed.

Of course, Rhett couldn't do like others. He must think each word of his was important, perhaps even more than gold!

It was badly done of you , she muttered through gritted teeth. To leave like that.

And she had never wanted their hospitality.

She supposed he wouldn't even have sent anything if she had stayed at his friend's.

But at least, if it came so quickly, it meant he was still in Mexico.

And irritatingly informed of her whereabouts. She hoped the fact that she was making progress with his crew had come to his ear.

Carreen's words still rung in her ears. She dismissed it.

What a ludicrous idea! Living under Rhett's shadow!

After some time, she decided she would not write any berating word. However she still thought them.

She added the new address on the post-scriptum though.

.

.

.

By the beginning of March

Spring was slowly coming to Matamaros, keeping it dry and hot. Sometimes, the grass would get brown and crispy, cracking beneath their feet. Rumors grew heavier by the day, twisted, deformed by the distance, talking of lost cities and daring victories.

It was at night, as Scarlett was not waiting for his return and fell into another busy routine, that Rhett came back.

He did not come quietly, no.

He came barging in with two men holding a stretcher from which could be heard nagging complaints, and French curses.

She arose abruptly. Grand-Père ?

"Rhett? Grand-Père?" She gasped. "What…"

"Don't get in the way, Scarlett," Rhett said curtly, not even bothering to say hello. "Show us an empty room. He needs to be laid down."

"Chaton," she heard a familiar, though weak voice from the stretcher, and fine, slightly wrinkled hand waved at her. "Scarlett, mon sang, viens me voir…"

"What is going on?" She tried to get closer, alarmed.

"He's overdramatic," Rhett dismissed it through gritted teeth, and she had to stare at him curiously. He seemed… annoyed. An emotion he rarely showed. His brow quirked at her scrutiny. "Scarlett. The room."

She nodded curtly and led the way.

The guest room was still unprepared, and she lamented at that. He should have told her, she thought with a glare on him. And then her grandfather would not have to lay on a cold room!

True, the use of the word 'cold' was very relative, considering the climate of the country. But still! Her grandfather, not welcome as he should have!

"Stop glaring at me, Scarlett," Rhett said, and there was a glint of amusement in his eyes as he examined her. "What did you think, that we could afford to wait and give you a proper notice?"

"That would have been the decent thing to do," she muttered, unhappy. "Well, you said it was nothing."

"I did not say it was nothing," he corrected, and his smile widened. "I said he was exaggerating."

Her heart gave out a painful tug.

They put her grandfather on the bed, and he moaned, before cursing them once more, copiously, for their clumsiness.

"I can stay…" she murmured at the threshold, her eye fixating anxiously on the still form on the bed. "Or call for the doctor…"

"Absolutely not. The man needs clean towels and liquor, a lot of it," Rhett chided. "Not your fretting. He'll be fine."

There, with a curt nod, he gave their leave to his helpers, and to her as well.

She gritted her teeth, but said nothing as she hurried out in a storm of skirts.

.

He would regret it later, Pierre thought as he looked after her retreating silhouette.

The old Frenchman quirked a brow.

"Charming. You are lucky I am in quite a vulnerable state, mon garçon."

However, the younger man most certainly did not want to hear his opinion.

"The mighty Pierre Robillard is long gone. If he ever truly was mighty at all," He replied sharply.

"Aïe !" The Frenchman affected to wince, but this was dismissed.

"I wonder what fancy had taken you! To think that you could do this trick," Rhett continued, letting the toil of his frustration take over. "To think you could just snatch pieces of art from a warring country, to sell it where? To French museums?"

"It's called 'protéger les arts'", Pierre chided, unfazed. "Une noble cause."

"It's called 'stealing'", Rhett retorted. "You are too old to take part in such a traffic, monsieur."

Pierre barked in laughter.

"Ha! To be a little mouse when the same will be said to you! La cerise sur le gateau si Scarlett est la premiere a le dire!" he laughed some more, before looking at him like a hawk considering his dinner. "I have a reputation to protect. This old lion is not quite dead yet. And what would you have me do, in my old, old age?

"You would have me grumpy, a burden to everyone? I've delighted in it for some time, but now I want none of it. Now, about Scarlett…"

"This was a suicide attempt, what you've tried to do." Rhett cut.

"And it would have worked had you not tried to foolishly interfere."

The man had the audacity to raise his chin.

Rhett had to take a step back, a surprising nausea coming after him.

"Dear God, and you say it so easily! What about Scarlett? Would you leave her like that?"

"Aren't you married to her? Is she not provided for?"

He did not answer. His eyes found their ways at the side, unable to meet the Frenchman's.

Provided for... If only she would let him!

"She loves you," he softly said.

Pierre lifted a brow.

"I know it. Why are you stating the obvious?"

"Obvious …" Rhett repeated, for a moment dumbstruck. Then envious. "Yes, it is so very obvious she loves you."

There must have been a terrible pain written plainly on his face at this, for the man looked up, startled, alarmed.

"Pardieu, mon garcon, qu'as-tu fait?"

After a short examination of the younger man on front of him, his mouth twisted with the irritation of having to discuss something he never wanted to on the first place.

"I… came to hate that long-lasting mentality of men thinking a virile man must make his wife submit to his power. A mentality that refuses them pleasure and actions over their own lives. I know with Solange that it didn't… but this is not about us. It makes for very wrong lovers, in a very cold bed. Even in France, there are doctors beginning to write very serious essays about the dangers of the extase of love on women, and I find it completely ludicr-... Mon dieu, je ne sais même pas pourquoi moi, je dois te dire ça à propos de ma propre petite -fille!" He cursed. "Be a man, Rhett. Please your lady, and she shall please you."

Rhett stiffened, offended.

"By God, you think… This is not the problem."

The man gave him a vicious smirk.

"Oh, I had the impression you did not have any -er- chance at the moment."

"Spare me your insults."

He seemed to become serious at this moment.

"Then what is?"

A knock on the door interrupted her, followed by another glimpse of a pretty, dark-haired head beloved by the both of them. Her eyes swiftly darted toward her grandfather as the door opened and she went in, taking one bold step after her timid entrance.

Timid, Scarlett? Rhett wanted to scoff, not daring yet to turn slowly. And yet, there had certainly been a hint of apprehension in her stance, and he hated it.

He hated also that she wouldn't look at him.

"Grand-Père?"

His eyes softened. Rhett turned violently toward her, feeling his body aching by the sound of her voice, and by her beloved silhouette passing him by. Without any look at him, she dropped with deliberate purpose the clean towels she had brought on a nearby chair.

A sting to him, obviously.

The Frenchman 's eyes creased with fondness, as his hand invited her closer.

"Ma précieuse."

After pouring some drink to a glass, she went on her knees before her grandfather, her skirts billowing around her as she leaned toward him. She presented it to him in such a surprising air of devotion! What had the man done to get her to feel this? Rhett wanted to know.

Her eyes flickered over his wounded frame, the tremble of her lids and lips signs enough of her turmoil.

She tried to smile as she cupped her grandfather's cheek with her little hand. Her eyes were bright.

"You've done some mischiefs again, haven't you?"

He gave her a nonchalant shrug and a lopsided grin.

"You know me too well. And you know my tendency to come for Christmas. Je suis ton veritable miracle de Noël," he said with a teasing smile.

"That, you are," she teased with a rich, tender quality to her voice, and the dimples on her cheeks made her even more charming. "But Christmas is over, Grand-Pere."

The old man gave her a false scowl, that was betrayed by the clear tenderness in his eyes.

"Don't think I grew senile without you, chaton, Noël est fini quand je dirai qu'il le sera!"

"Mama?" A little, boyish voice called from the threshold.

Scarlett turned slightly and gave him a wide smile, with merry eyes and lips. Another arrow to the heart.

"Wade, come say hello to your great-grandfather, my precious!"

The boy gravely joined them, serious and perhaps a little impressed by this man on the bed that was still very strange to him. Rhett watched him from his corner, knowing his son couldn't have noticed it from there, and yet regretting that he didn't.

"Oh, et le petit lion que voilà ! Il a grandi… qu'il est grand et fort!" He leaned on. "Don't you recognize me? Last time, you called me ganper."

The boy tilted his head, as if considering. Then, at the insistent smile, he laughed back and repeated. "Ganper !"

And obviously seemed to like it.

"I'll have to make you improve on your prononciation, petit chenapan," Pierre winced. "Le plus tôt sera le mieux."

Scarlett smiled widely, a smile of pride and love.

Rhett stayed aside, frozen by the scene that left him craving with all his heart.

He yearned for that tenderness. Yearned for that easy acceptance.

Not bearing to see more of what he could never have, he left, the grip on his heart so tight he felt he was going to choke.

.

"Papa!" Wade called as the door slammed behind him.

The boy shrugged, then grinned.

"Papa idiot."

Pierre Robillard looked, startled, then guffawed.

"I see, it's that bad, isn't it?"

She tried to ignore it and quickly changed subjects. "Oh, Grand-Père… are you well? You're injured, aren't you?"

He patted her bent head.

"Don't worry your little head on me. It's just my old bones, berating me for thinking I am young."

He changed his tone, his voice loosing its nonchalance.

(1)"Te traite-t-il bien, ma chérie ?" He said, resting a hand on her tepid cheek.

She lowered her eyes.

"Je ne peux le satisfaire, Grand-Père. Peu importe ce que je fais…"

"N'essaie pas." He kissed her on the forehead. "Ma chère, tu t'es mise dans de beaux draps. De quelle sorte il s'agit, je finirai par le savoir. Mais tu as la force nécessaire pour t'en sortir. Est-il… méchant avec toi?"

"Il est cruel!..." she bit her lip. "Parfois."

"Comme tu peux l'être, j'imagine. Mais c'est son indifférence qui te blesse… ou plutôt ce que tu penses être son indifférence par rapport à toi."

It broke everything. Oh, why should he say these words? Why couldn't she oppose it?

"Il… oh, Grand-Père, je ne sais pas quoi faire ! Je ne veux pas y penser ! Non, je ne veux pas!"

He pulled gently at her ear. "ma chère, tu agis comme une enfant."

She let out a sob. He, too?!

He pulled harder and her head snapped with glaring eyes.

"Voilà, c'est bien mieux," he said softly. "Ne baisse surtout pas la tête. Tu as tout pour être fière. Tu es belle, pas parce que tu as des traits particulièrement harmonieux, mais parce que tu as du charme, tu es brave et tu es futée. Et tu as un fichu caractère, aussi. Mais c'est de famille."

Her eyes became moist. She blinked and nodded, trying to give him a smile.

"Voilà, là, c'est mieux. Là où il y a de la vie, il y a de l'espoir. Et je pense, ma chère, que tu en trouveras à foisons. Crois-en ton génie de grand-père."

He took her into his arms.

"C'est vrai, ce qu'il a dit," he whispered to her. "Je n'ai rien. Presque rien. Inquiète-toi plutôt pour ton mari. Tu ferais bien de lui demander comment va son épaule droite. Et amène-le moi. J'en perdrai le sommeil si je laisse notre discussion à ça. Va, file."

.

.

After a little inquiry, she found out Rhett had settled in one of the rooms on the left side.

She knocked, and a terrible little apprehension tickled her body as she awaited. Her toes pressed harshly against the sole of her mules.

And then, finally, the door cracked open, and he appeared. Her heart fluttered.

How smooth his features, as if she did not owe him her life, her child's, and now her grandfather!

She pressed her son, who so obviously was trying to fight against sleep, closer.

"Wade wanted to say goodnight," she managed to say.

He nodded, and opened his arms, just enough to take him from her.

"Perhaps you shouldn't…" she said, suddenly remembering her grandfather's words.

He winced as the boy wrapped his arms around his neck, but the surge of tenderness kept him going. That and sheer stubbornness.

His boy… he smelled something sweet and earthy, and he could imagine him prowling through the land, curious of everything, running everywhere to everyone's dismay.

"Papa gone," Wade said sleepily as he faced him in his arms, a little frown on his face that made him look so obviously, cruelly like his mother.

"Little one, I am returned," He replied.

"Papa gone," the boy mumbled, and this time he sounded accusatory.

His smile became crooked. His hand, his big, warm hand, came on the crown of the boy's head, covering it and then some, and mussled the hair until Wade grunted in warning.

"Well, I've been hunting for a rabbit for my cub to try his teeth on."

"Papa idiot," Wade snorted.

"Papa idiot?" Rhett repeated, his brow raising. "Scarlett…"

She affected not to hear, pulling on her sleeves for composure.

"Well, you are being silly. Now, give him back," she urged, fiercely jealous. "He needs to sleep."

"Sleep well, my boy," he murmured, kissing the dark hair. "And Mama's a fool."

"Mama's fool?" Wade repeated, and his little brows raised in surprise, then smiled, eager. "Mama's fool!"

Her eyes flashed.

"Cad," she hissed.

That made him smile.

"Among other things."

"Bully."

"That too. I do enjoy when we are finally talking," he jested, before his heart dropped as she turned away.

She went still suddenly, as if remembering another purpose, and tilted her head toward him.

The weary caution in her eyes was heartbreaking.

"Oh… and grand-père wants to see you. He says he will not sleep otherwise."

"Far from me to deprive him of his sleep," he quipped, exasperated.

However, the concern that stretched on her face told him he would do it. If only it would not deprive her of sleep.

The things he did for love, he sighed, and nodded.

.

.

"Come take a drink with me, mon garçon," Pierre Robillard enjoined him as Rhett set a foot on the room.

He closed the door quietly, listening to the silence, his ear alert for a moment, before turning back to his guest.

A very begrudgingly invited guest.

"I do hope this could not wait. I don't like being thus summoned. Especially by a man who still owes me his life."

"Oh, tu penses ca, hein?" Scarlett's grandfather replied silkily.

He poured him a generous amount. Rhett watched him with caution and took it.

"Je n'ai pas peur de vous, vieillard, I can hold my liquor."

Pierre's eyes glinted playfully. "We'll see. You've already drunk quite the amount, haven't you? What's a little more?"

He gulped down his glass and stared at him until he did the same. The alcohol gave a pleasant sting to his tongue.

"Bon. Now you are going to tell me what is happening between Scarlett and you."

"There is nothing happening between me and Scarlett."

"Ca, c'est évident. Un ours mal léché aurait plus de manières. Come on, tell me. I can make it right, I am sure of it."

"There's NOTHING you can do to make it right."

"You're a fool, certainly it cannot…"

And then suddenly, at this incessing nagging, all spilled from his closed lips. All the misery and the terrible silence, all the victories and losses. All in wrathful, desperate words, tumbling down lips he had kept closed for too long.

And then, at the end of it came an eerie silence, and he felt cold… damn, to be triggered like that! By the pestering of this man!

Pierre's eyes widened. His hands waved vigorously as the outrage settled in him.

(2)"You both gambled your marriage on bataille? Les imbéciles! De vrais gamins! Et toi encore pire qu'elle!"

He pondered on it.

"Non, en fait, je dirai qu'elle est innocente dans tout ça. C'est toi qui l'as mis dans ce cirque, elle n'a rien demandé !"

What a show of bad faith!

But the infuriating man kept going, raising his hand to the sky in an exaggerated plea to the sky.

"Pardieu, j'ai donné une perle à un pourceau! Il avait toutes les chances de réussir, mais il a quand même réussi à tout rater ! Bon sang, qu'est ce que j'ai fait pour mériter ça?"

"I should have let you die on the street," he groaned.

At this, Pierre raised a finger and looked at him with a mean triumph.

"Yet, you didn't. Don't you young Américains," and he said it as he would have done "young fools" "know anything about love, and how you don't catch flies with vinegar?"

"Well, it is known by me, through many readings and pure experience, that in France, happiness is best found in adultery, and marriage is but a pure convenience," Rhett clipped. "I do hope though you haven't talked about that part to Scarlett."

"Then, you've never understood anything! You only know what we call " liaisons dangereuses", for that's what they are, dangerous! Par Dieu, dans quoi as-tu entraîné ma petite-fille, mon pauvre garçon? You're going to kill one another in that way."

He could not help but smile slightly.

"She certainly tried once."

"Good girl." Pierre approved with a satisfied smile. "How did she try such a thing?"

"She tried to shoot me with an old gun."

The old man chortled quietly.

"You've got it easy, boy. Ma Solange would have talked pleasantly while I swallowed her poison, had I done such a thing as you told me you did."

"Charming."

Scarlett's grandfather grinned in remembrance.

"Always refined in all things, ma Solange. Scarlett lacks that subtlety, but perhaps it's for the best with you."

He sighed irritably

"Tu n'y connais rien, gamin."

"Stop calling me a brat."

An amused, vicious gleam lurked in the old man's eyes. He leaned in, barely wincing at the pain of moving his old bones as if the spite was enough to move him.

"Dangerous liaisons have nothing to do with a true marriage, gamin . If you want to have the last with her, gamin , you have to be united, as partners trusting each other when it counts. There's a reason why the first always end in tragedy, gamin ."

He seemed to consider something for a moment. "You know, it makes me think that I had once had a very interesting conversation with your mother, once starry night…"

"I forbid you…"

"She seemed lost, like a little bird. It was some months before your grandfather -er…- had to take his leave. She was beginning to question your father's motives… I told her to leave him, of course, but she hadn't listened. Perhaps she should have. But you wouldn't have been born, then. Unfortunately."

"I hate you."

Pierre Robillard dismissed it with a simple gesture of the hand.

"And yet you saved me, for her sake. That's your misfortune. A misfortune that could be quite a terrible book, perhaps the likes of Alexandre Dumas…"

He hummed in a deceptively pleasant manner.

"Ah, Dumas… he and his father. I greatly enjoy their writings, and I am sure you would love le Comte de Monte Cristo. Such a terrible tale of revenge. But you would know of it, wouldn't you ?"

Rhett froze. The sharpness in the old man's eyes deepened as he continued, his voice silky and vicious.

"I knew it all, boy, from the beginning. There was no other way possible. By making of Scarlett the tool to your revenge, you made her also the object of all your desires. You made her your future. And yet you are so deep into your own past injuries you are blind to what could give you what you want.

"Le fait est… you've been too long with whores, boy," he continued mercilessly. "You think you know women, but you have barely stopped in front of pictures. The picture of the bad woman. The good one. La mère et la putain. What a knowledge! It did not even help you that you saw her grow! Un vrai pourceau, indeed."

"En avez-vous fini, monsieur?"

"Not quite yet. I like you, gamin . But know I love my granddaughter even more, and she loves me as well. Now, I wonder… If I had to trigger you into duel, would you let yourself be killed to avoid her hatred and distress? Or would you do it without regret, as you did it, with this poor Charleston girl's brother?"

This took him aback. The man continued to lean, vicious like a snake.

"It would be a true tragedy, wouldn't it be?"

"You wouldn't… you're just playing with me…"

"I am talking to you in a way you will understand," The Frenchman's voice was sharp, cutting. "No chance of ever getting her love then. No chance of ever feeling fulfilled. And Scarlett… she would truly hate you for it. She would hate you, and she would move on. But not you. Not you because you would know you would never be able to deny you are the one to kill any chance you had then."

He taunted him further.

"Now, would you make the honorable choice?"

"I…"

"It's all fun and games when you are the one holding the gun, isn't it? But not when it touches the heart. Well, there is no need to think about it. If you treat Scarlett right ."

The old fox was still very dangerous.

Rhett clenched his fists.

"She can barely bear to look at me. I can't make her smile."

"Do you give her a reason to smile without her needing to forget any veiled insult you might have delicately thrown at her? You do have the knack to make one doubt their own worth."

He exhaled painfully.

"It is a terrible thing, the loss of a smile. I…. I saw my people lose their smile. I saw them lose their hope. Hope is a terrible thing. Just like love. It keeps people running. But maybe that's why it is so important. This is life. This is what strength is made of. But even strength must have its moments of weaknesses.

"I don't want to see my granddaughter lose her smile. She has the same dimples as her grandmother, you know? It had been such a long time before I saw them. Even before her death. She learned to smile without them, and I tried to revive them. But I never could make them come back for good. They appeared and disappeared quickly, and I could see the suspicion in her eyes. We made each other crazy, but we were still running. I should have known one cannot always run. I couldn't always run, waiting for her to call me back from the devil she sent me to after each quarrel. One has to learn to make peace."

"Before …" Rhett began, but was sharply cut.

"Before is gone. Or are you lost in your regret?"

Pierre leaned over, a malicious glint glaring through the slits of his eyes.

"I will tell you what would have happened. You marry, yes. You are happy for a time. You, not she, because she's still running, certainly hoping to get your love, and you won't say it… at first perhaps because you think she still loves Ashley, and then because in the end you realize you are just too afraid to say it. You much prefer to spoil her, without committing. So you find other reasons. You can't trust her. She's withdrawn from you. She flirts with other men. It's too little, too late, and you just don't know how to say it. And in the end, Scarlett… she is not happy. She tries to run, she tries to coddle you, but it just makes you run harder. So one day, her love runs thin. Her interest fades. She may even take a lover, one that will not be afraid to say..."

"Stop it!"

"It is a spirale you cannot escape, and that will happen no matter what. I see it now. No matter what, you always come back to it. An unresolved issue, perhaps? Je m'en fous. Scarlett n'a pas à porter ça."

He let out a weary sigh.

"I admit, you did good by taking her out of here. Sometimes, you can't overcome your difficulties when confronted with everything that led to it. Sometimes, one needs a neutral ground, his eyes narrowed. However, you would have done better if you hadn't imposed it on her."

He exhaled, watching him with great condescension.

"Truth is you're no good to any other, the both of you. You only have the potential of greatness together. Or at least of some happiness."

"Don't I know it. But there's nothing to be done. I've tried everything."

"You've tried everything that was convenient for you. Have you considered you might not have set any opportunity for her to care for you?"

Oh, the audacity!

This made him pace.

"And besides, how could she even care for anyone beside herself? She's such a child!"

However, as he said the words, he could not deny it was all a lie. Images of her leaning over his fevered body, her hands soothing and soft… her clear, concerned eyes… this made him freeze.

"Bitter, false words," Pierre dismissed him. "She cares about Wade. She cares about you, in a way. Care as much as you allow her to care. At arms' length. Care is what love is made of. If you forbid her to care for you, if you dismiss her as a child unable to give it, how could she ever give it to you. She would only be a receiver."

"She'b be a bully," he bit.

"Et tu es un ange de réconfort, c'est connu!" Pierre snickered, his gleeful eyes taking him in a manner that made him think that to the man, he was nothing more than a troublesome boy. "So, you're insulting the manner of her care? Tu te tires une sacrée balle dans le pied ."

"Thank you for your advice," Rhett forced himself to say, growing tired by the subject. Tired and burdened by it. Surely, this would appease the man, make him stop talking.

Pierre Robillard shrugged.

"Don't thank me. Do it," he insisted. "What is the use of lonely old lovers, if they cannot be of use to young ones? Et puis, de toute façon, tu n'as pas le choix, mon garçon. Je serai le taon qui vous pique vicieusement chaque fois que vous, les enfants, vous ferez des bêtises. Surtout toi. Toi, tu es trop vieux pour être aussi têtu."

Too old... He dared to use his words against him.

His mouth thinned as he attempted to refrain from murdering this meddling man that promised to be a nagging presence.

"May I say how much I despise you?"

The Frenchman only grinned wider.

"I take that as a compliment."

.

.

A soft knock on his door made him pause through his book, trying to forget the sudden stings of pain brought by his wound. The candle still glowed quietly, though half of its size was already gone, droplets of melt wax falling down to the dark wood. With a sigh, he closed it, and pushed it back. His gaze caught for a moment the sight of a lonely bed, draped in fine linen. Much more comfortable than what he had been used these few weeks, chasing after that hellish Frenchman. And for what?

Another knock, impatient. He chuckled and raised, smoothing the lines of his clothes. An eye on a delicately wood-carved mirror informed him of a straying strand, which he quickly put in line with the other.

Opening the door, he had the answer to his previous question.

For her. Obviously, for her.

Scarlett faced him in the near darkness, the flame of her candle flickering over her, hiding, then revealing bits of her little by little to his hungry eyes.

How he had missed her. How anxious, the first days, when he had begun to reconsider his decision, and the last days, wondering how he would be received!

"Scarlett?" His voice came out, near whisper.

She took a little step forward, her bag held in front of her. Her eyes still wouldn't meet him, but he could see her chest heaving with difficulty.

So much apprehension for only himself, he thought. How long was it like that? He couldn't quite remember. Was that what they had done to one another?

Her lips, her tender lips opened, revealing little teeth, and the slits widened to form words, to release breath through it, soft little things that made him want to lean, if only she could whisper in his ear, barring the world. She could say anything. Mundane things. Silly things. He just wanted her to talk until that voice of hers lost its terseness.

"Grand-pere told me you were hurt. And you winced when you took Wade in your arms. So I… waited until I could be sure you were in your room."

His lips went tight. Damn that Frenchman. Why had he told her that?

However… she had waited? His heart clenched.

"Barely anything."

"I've come to dress it. If it needs be."

He was about to refuse when, blast his weak heart, the opportunity of having her close, willingly close, and touching him, caring for him, was too much to be let.

Especially after the excruciating talk with her infuriating grandfather.

He opened the door wider.

"So do it."

With deliberate slow movements, sending a teasing smile her way, which made her roll her eyes. However, he liked to think that, by the light of the candles, there was a lovely flush on her skin.

Until he could not hide anymore his wound, that had begun bleeding again. The blood made for a strangely perfect, faded circle on the bandage, and she began to unwrap it carefully.

Was it the way she had nursed other men? He thought. He had always dismissed it, jesting to himself in remembrance of her disgusted face when talking about it that she might have been quite hard on her unfortunate patients.

She drew a sharp breath as the cloth was finally unwrapped. "Barely anything…" She repeated.

The mark of gunshot was still purple and slightly swollen, but the pain had been less sharp.

To his dismay, her brows came into a little knot.

"Don't get wrinkles over me," he tried to jeer.

"You're a cad," she said, not dignifying his remark with a glance to his face. Her brows knitted in concentration. "This needs to be done again. I knew it."

She cleaned and dressed the wound silently, and he was innerved by that new kind of silence between them, not hostile, however not very companionable as well. Her concern was like sparks of electricity waving around her, and it prickled him. He watched her, so focused over him, and felt almost ashamed for making her feel so.

"You went away to save him, didn't you?" Her voice startled him. "You really did?"

He tried to dismiss it. He had to draw the line before she thought his heart was at her mercy.

"It took quite the convincing, and a near death experience. Your old man is a mad one."

He did not want her gratitude. He hadn't done it for it. And yet… there was something weak in him that took pleasure in the way she looked at him.

"You saved him," she repeated with awe. She kissed his cheek and pressed his arm softly, her eyes bright with tears. Precious emerald stealing all lights. "Thank you. Thank you."

And that was all the reward he wanted.

He wished he could have said it was nothing. He wished he could have laughed it off. Yet, by the time he thought of a reply, she was already gone. His eyes followed her retreating shape as he wondered how just a touch of her lips, her sweet, tender lips, could still draw such a deep devotion from his heart.

"I love you," he whispered.

.

.

At the same moment, in a village near Matamaros.

She stares. She cannot believe it. Even now. It had to come back now…

So close so triumphant… for a moment, the remnants of childish jealousy spark in her belly.

Then all gets drowned in an ocean of longing. Yes, perhaps it would do her good, if only to catch a glimpse…

She grazes the letters on the paper, contemplates them.

"Scarlett." She whispers. "and Rhett Butler. So they are truly here…"

"What is it, my love?" He asks.

Her hand crimples the piece of journal. The crisp sound of paper rustles, stretches unendingly in her ear.

"It's… nothing. It's nothing, Ross."

His eyes are trusting, though still pained by the torturous longing they share. She holds on to it, but it doesn't end the quiet suffering.

A little lie. Just a little, teeny weeny lie. It shouldn't feel heavy, should it?

.

.

Since Grand-Père 's arrival, it seemed a truce had been found, unspoken. A fleeting peace, at least. But the tension was still lingering, waiting to be released. Scarlett felt it.

Grand-Père had quite the strange idea. Deciding that Christmas wasn't done yet, he had made their people run many errands for "his little party" as he called it, ordering it all from his room.

Let the old man have his fancies, Rhett had said. At least, those that would not kill him.

Cheyenne did not complain. No, in fact, she had all to rejoice on the change. While they shimmered in their turmoil, filled with white silences and games of war, she was getting richer.

And Rhett… Rhett was strange. Quiet. Waiting.

For what, she did not know. She had given up on figuring him out, for her own sanity of mind. However, his eyes on her were even more difficult to ignore.

He had watched her trim Wade's hair this morning with a strange, intense stare that had sent tickles to her spine.

But still, she needed to do it. The bird had been dropped by the morning, gently set in her great aviary.

So she had asked him to join her in the evening before Grand-Père's party, and he, visibly intrigued, had followed.

Now, she did not know how to give it to him.

The silence stretched between them, stifling.

He looked around, and thankfully, his mouth opened.

"I've forgotten to tell you," He finally said. "I do have to admit this is quite nice. I've never truly settled in a house ever since Charleston. I suppose this one is a nice anchor point."

Or perhaps unfortunately.

An anchor point? Her heart dropped, even though she knew she should have been prepared.

So, he still thought about leaving.

His mouth fell as he watched her disappointment.

The clock rang.

She quickly brushed it off and rose. Her hand gripped the soft veil covering the opening. Besides it, the orchid tree smelled so sweetly.

"I…" She began, and the fingers clenched. "I wanted to give you something. For the birds. And for Wade…"

"You would want to thank me for saving my own son?" He sounded offended. "And for buying whatever I want and give it to whoever I want?"

Her cheeks flustered, eyes flashing. However, she managed to stay calm.

"And for my grandfather."

His head turned slightly to the side as he tried to find the words among his tremulous emotions.

"You didn't have to."

"But I wanted to."

Before he could say anything further, she pushed the fabric, and opened the door. Her head turned almost shyly, gesturing him to follow her.

And he did.

The lovebirds were asleep, pressed against one another on their perch.

"Raise your hand," she softly told him. "I think... Its name is Apollo. At least… that was I have been told…"

Surprisingly, he did that too. His gaze on her was inscrutable.

"Apollo?" He repeated perplexed.

The sound of wings flapping preceded a smooth, graceful landing on Rhett's arm. There, the bird stood, his head tilting, eyeing his new owner with curiosity. Its feathers seemed like scales on its dark chest, he darkness fading to almost pure white at the feet, making the scarlet on the inside of the taail flash pleasantly like the train of an elegant and original suit.

"A parrot?" Rhett seemed baffled, his eyes widening in recognition.

"Well, aren't you some sort of pirate, after all?" She attempted to jest. "At least your grandfather was one, and you liked him, so…"

"Pirate! Pirate!" The parrot repeated, and the nod seemed enthusiastic.

She closed her mouth, and, and the anxiety pushed to her heart.

"It can talk," he said drily as he considered it.

"It can talk," the parrot repeated once again.

The mouth twitched.

"I see. It promises to be a nuisance."

"You… you don't like it," she was fidgeting.

Finally, he looked at her.

His face spit into a genuine smile that had her heart in tumble. How long ago since he had smiled like that to her? How long?

"I love it. That's… surprisingly thoughtful of you."

"Oh," she said weakly, feeling her apprehension ease, and the fluster grew. How silly she was! "They call it an African Grey parrot."

He nodded.

"I've heard of them. Quite a clever bird."

The parrot nodded. "Clever, clever bird!"

His head turned to her. "Then I suppose you liked the lovebirds."

Nodding quietly, she sat to the bench that rested between the birds' perches. All a storm in a teacup! She was tempted to chuckle, and her legs were antsy.

"I've talked to Elena," she admitted. "Before leaving."

"Oh," he simply said, and he sat cautiously by her side, after having put Apollo back to its perch. "And? I suppose you intend on telling me what you've talked about."

"She is a fool," she blurted out.

He let out a bark of laughter. And the parrot laughed with him, sharp. The lovebirds awakened, and flew away.

"No, really, leaving her own life behind, for a man she couldn't even be sure about!"

"That wouldn't be you, would it?", he jested.

She went silent for a moment, looking at him bluntly. "No, that wouldn't be me. And…" she added bravely. "I doubt any other man would have liked having a woman following him blindly around like that. Not if he's out in some adventure and doesn't want anyone to weigh him."

"It depends on the weight, I suppose."

She did not reply. He exhaled and tentatively offered her his arm.

"So... Should we go to that ridiculous belated Christmas party?"

.

The supper was rich and surprisingly light-hearted, as the old Frenchman regaled them with tales of romances and adventure, from France to Haïti. So, ears were delighted, and taste buds as well with the feast, extravagant like the man that had decided on it.

Finally came the time of the openings, as Pierre finally revealed a large green velvet bag, and its many treasures. His expression was good-natured, generous, and gleeful like a child, as he made a great show of his gesture. They all indulged him, all except Rhett, who seemed to be more irritated by it than pleased.

Carreen opened her gift first, revealing a delicate porcelain doll, with golden locks and frozen smile.

"Carreen," He said softly, as one would say to a child. "pour toi, une adorable petite poupée. Oui. Une vraie petite poupée. »

Carreen cleared her throat.

Her eyes were welled up with tears.

"It's… beautiful," she stuttered. "But I am tired. Very tired. May I go to bed ?"

"But…" said Scarlett, startled. "This is not…"

"Let her, Scarlett." Rhett cut, before nodding to the young girl. "Yes, you may."

Her cheeks reddened. She forced herself to look down, while her anger continued to grow.

"C'est le portrait craché de sa mère," Pierre said quietly. "Ellen était comme ça à son âge."

Scarlett bit the inside of her mouth. She would not think about it now. One thing at the time.

Then came the gifts that had been prepared for Wade, a beautiful wooden horse, brightly painted, and little tin soldiers.

Out of all of these gifts, Wade seemed to have a strange fixations on the ribbons used to seal the boxes, spreading them carefully inch by inch, testing their resistance with his hands, then his teeth, rubbing them on his cheek and mouth and wrapping them around his wrist, his arm, his neck.

"Oh, sweetheart," Scarlett finally intervened, pulling him to his lap and attempting to deliver him from his self-inflicted restrain. "Don't do that."

Chuckling, Pierre presented two wrapped packages to Rhett from his large bag.

Scarlett pursed her lip, freezing and visibly upset that he had two gifts.

"I wasn't sure what book you would prefer," Pierre explained with a strange sense of purpose. Insistent, too insistent. "These are two interesting books. Take one," he said, looking at him with sharp eyes. "I hope you will make the good choice."

"I have enough of your lessons," Rhett gritted his teeth. "And I've already read them all."

Scarlett looked at them curiously, before her eyes widened in recognition, as she read "Emma".

"Isn't it the book you once offered me?"

A malicious little glint came to the Frenchman's eyes. "Oh, he did, didn't he? Do tell me more…"

"I don't see why you would take interest on that one," Rhett quipped, smoothly changing subjects. "I thought the French hated anything English."

"Oh, as a matter of principle yes, just like they do us – though, to be honest, it is mostly because they have no taste – but I have to admit their women made good litterature.." He examined the both of them, an amused, teasing laugh gleaming in his eyes. "But perhaps you could read it together? He idly suggested. Sometimes it all seem better when things are done… avec une perspective différente, je dirais…"

Her head snapped in Rhett's direction, as she pondered anxiously what his reaction could be.

"She didn't like it once, I don't see why she would like it now," Rhett replied through gritted teeth, his eyes sending a warning to that infuriating man.

"It's never too late to find pleasure in a book," Pierre countered. "Except if one burns the book. Like one would burn bridges. You do seem one to delight in burning bridges, don't you, Rhett?"

And Scarlett was left watching them, baffled by the tension brought by something so silly as books.

"Oh, I could," she said suddenly, more to oppose Rhett than anything. Though also to ease that sudden tension in the room. "I could love it."

"Love?" Rhett let out a harsh laugh from the back of his throat. "I doubt you're even able…"

Scarlett had risen abruptly, her temper about to burst in flames.

"Scarlett, ma chérie…" Pierre called her softly, while giving Rhett a short, warning glance. "Viens me voir."

"No French," Rhett snapped, "There are my rules ."

They stared at him for a moment, startled, and he could see Scarlett's chin tremble slightly, making him regret instantly his harshness.

"I have another option for you, ma chère. Your… epoux seem to believe it'll ennui you."

"Ennui? Bore, you mean," she grinned, seeing that her grandfather wasn't about to let himself be bullied. And so, she wouldn't. The tension on her shoulders eased.

Grand-Père's grin widened.

"Exactement. My English is so… what is it, already? Lacking . But this? This is the very antidote to ennui ."

With impatient fingers, Scarlett shattered the paper, then paused as she considered the fine red leather-bound book in front of her. A hint of perplexity crinkled the brows. She squinted, lifting it a little, then gave him a smile.

"Les Liaisons Dangereuses?" She chortled, letting it rest on her lap, her fingers still grazing the foil. "Well, it sounds scandal…"

Her breath was swiftly taken out of her as Rhett's hand pulled violently the book from her grasp and threw it with terrible force in the fire, dislodging some blazing logs. The fire roared and swelled in protest at this injury. Scarlett rose to her feet, outraged.

"Rhett!"

"You don't like books," he said, and his voice was terse and dark.

"I could have liked this one," She protested.

"No, you wouldn't have," he said it firmly. "Not this one. Not ever."

"Do not worry, ma chère," Pierre Robillard said with an appeasing, amused voice that had the effect of calming her instantly. She wouldn't let Rhett ruin a perfectly good evening! "It was a little farce, and it ended in tragédie as well. I wouldn't want that at all for you. No no, you deserve better than that."

She smiled, the tension fading, and sat closer to his side.

He gave her another box, smaller this time, thinner. This time, there was an intensity in his gaze that made her a little anxious.

Inside the box laid a beautiful necklace with fine golden chains, waving, intertwining, linked together by a ruby almost as big as an egg.

Scarlett stared at him in awe. Pierre's eyes took all that in, the darkness a well of tenderness as he gestured for her to try it.

"There… it was your grandmother's."

"Grand-Père…" she mumbled.

(3)"S'il te plaît, pour ma vieille âme…" he whispered to her ear, his voice pleading. fais-moi le plaisir de le voir porté. C'était le dernier cadeau que j'ai voulu lui faire… je n'ai pas eu le temps de… non. J'ai été trop têtu pour le lui donner. Je l'ai donc gardé, près de mon cœur. Tout ce temps. Et maintenant…

Scarlett was about to cry, Rhett could see, and he knew how she hated to cry when in company.

"The boy needs to go to bed," he suddenly said.

She flinched, her eyes darting to him in alarm.

"Go to him," Pierre said softly, before kissing her forehead. "Your boy needs you."

She nodded, appeased.

"I suppose… yes, I need to put Wade to bed.."

There, she took Wade's little hand, whispering sweet nothings as the boy nodded off.

He turned sharply toward Rhett.

"You're lucky Scarlett is not like Solange. See, boy, for all of her dear mind and tricks, she lacks the care for imagination, and when it comes to you, I dare say, having looked at you these days, she acts in mirror to you, while fancying it comes from her own wish. But it does not satisfy her, no. Why should it? It is not her own feeling. It is yours ."

"I said I didn't want any of your lectures."

But the man still continued, a tender smile coming to his lips.

"She's a spitfire, my granddaughter, yet the fire of anger, once cracked, fades out, and she is already looking for reconciliation. Solange was ice, and her voice was just as cold when she was angry," At this mention, the scowl on Pierre's face eased, and he let out a wistful smile. "God, how she could keep a grudge! Ma reine des glaces…"

"Thank God Scarlett has Irish blood, then." Rhett quipped, before trying to distract the man's attention. "Yet, there must have been pleasure in melting that ice."

"Touché, jeune idiot," The older man chuckled, putting a hand to his chest as if he had been touched to the heart.

A pang of curious envy drippled over him as Rhett stared at that man, who still so obviously loved with ardor. Even after death.

"You always talk about it. You must have been terribly in love with her."

The man exhaled.

"I was... fou d'elle. Ne l'as-tu pas déjà compris, mon garçon? It's the kind of love that cannot allow itself to be forgotten. You may run from it, but you always come back. Tu le dois. C'est dans ton sang, ton âme qui se rappelle à ton corps, te dit que tu ne devrais pas t'éloigner car sinon tu n'es qu'une coquille vide."

Rhett went still, caught by the raw feeling in the words.

"I loved her, to the death and obviously beyond, and yet, there would still be things I will never know about her. I will never know why she was there, on the middle of a battlefield in 1801, when her parents had fled long ago. I can guess, for she was not one to give up on what she thought hers, and she never stopped. She had Britton blood, from her grandmother's side. I suppose that's part of that pride in land. Scarlett must have it in double, with her father being an Irish man. Celtic blood is quite a tempestuous blood."

The door softly closed, making Rhett raise his head in alarm, for he hadn't even heard it open, while Pierre only smiled and invited her closer.

"Ah, Scarlett. I was actually talking about blood."

"Blood?" She startled, then glowered at Rhett with accusation. "Such a macabre discussion!"

Oh, the infuriating man! Was he willing to add up to the list of things she would hate him for?

"Oh non, ne réprimande pas ton pauvre mari, il est innocent, et il ne s'agit pas de sang tel que tu l'entends."

Her head dipped slightly, as if a bit ashamed. However, it was not Rhett she was looking at. And how he wanted her to look at him!

"Oh." She murmured.

"Nous parlions de ta Grand-Mere," he cleared his throat. "I was saying she was a lot like you."

"Oh? How so?"

"Elle était féroce," Rhett quipped, a subtle reminder that he wouldn't bear to be left out.

She glared. Pierre laughed.

"Oh, yes, she was. But fierce women are the most able to make men do anything for their love."

She sat down near her grandfather's chair, on her knees beside him. Rhett scowled.

"Scarlett, don't be ridiculous, sit on the sofa."

She ignored him. He hated that, and he knew she wouldn't have done it if there wasn't her grandfather's presence.

"What is the craziest thing you've done for Grand-Mere?" She asked curiously.

"Well, I almost changed religion. But she would have mocked me for that. So I built her a house. A house with pink stucco, to honor the part of her family that came from Toulouse. A strange mixture between North and South, your Grandmother, and when she grew old, she had all their rules understood and applied to, even if sometimes they contradicted themselves. She loved order in all things, so I let her do that. Though I would enjoy teasing her about the fact she never respected them when she was younger. And… I remember she wanted to have that dreadful kind of portrait, with the wet clothes. A torture, I assure you."

Scarlett grinned.

"That's more than one thing."

He shrugged, however seemed very pleased by her attention.

"I suppose when one loves truly, one doesn't just do one crazy thing. And you, young buck, what do you think of this?"

The infuriating man!

"I think Scarlett must get to bed."

As if she had forgotten him, the pretty little fool startled, and for a moment he had the twisting pleasure to see the color raising to her cheek, her pretty mouth opening, little porcelain teeth showing, then disappearing once again. Her brows furrowed, and she did not seem just as pretty, though there was still beauty in the blaze of her green eyes. Was she going to tell him off? Was she going to defy him? His body tensed in anticipation.

But she only nodded.

"Alright . Master Butler."

His mouth fell down with disappointment. His eyes followed her retreating form as the mark of blank indifference began to crack under the hurt.

"Quel rabat-joie," Pierre's voice rang. "Mon garçon, tu me déçois."

"I definitely have to forbid the use of French in this house," he scolded. "Entirely. No, in fact, I should confine you to your room."

"Like a true tyrant that you are," Pierre lazily said, unbothered. "She lost some spirit, and that's quite the crime. Nothing that can't be repaired, but still. You shouldn't dismiss her as if she were a child. Not if you want her as a woman."

Rhett gave him a sinister glare.

"Oh, I see. You're still punishing her for what you believe she doesn't give you, and that you want."

"And what is it that I want?"

"Her love. Her family. Your famille. You are the child in this. Bien, I'll be juste, you are both children in it, je le répète. De vrais gamins, se tirant les cheveux a tout va. Grow up."

"I shall not keep hearing myself called a child when it's her…"

"It's her faute, isn't it? My poor boy, do you even hear yourself talking? This is your family.

This made him pause.

"I never wanted that. To be a part of a family. And yet, here I am. But you're wrong. This is no family. We… "

Pierre sighed.

"Mon pauvre garcon. The Youth doesn't know. They tell you when you're young, but it's so early for you to plainly understand. Roots. Family. Belonging. You feel it as something which clips your wings, prevents you from moving as you would like, from thinking as you would like. You feel you have everything to prove, and yet everything should be given to you. It's when you're old you realize that you have nothing to prove, and that you spent your days running for something that was never meant to make you happy. You're weary and cold, your feet ache and you just want a place to rest, a place to find warmth."

"I feel it with Scarlett," Rhett admitted softly. "Sometimes. I see her with Wade and she looks at me, and I could almost think that she cares, that all is not lost. Yet, it seems as if suddenly, as I'm about to reach her, she remembers that she hates me, and she… closes herself to me."

"And so you close yourself to her. You resent her. However, you are wrong in your judgement. She doesn't hate you, she distrusts you. Obviously. Every being tends to mistrust the hand that had slapped them, even if it can also give the most tender of caresses."

Rhett raised his head.

"What if she slaps me first ? Am I supposed to let her?"

"Then you're in for a never-ending circles of slaps. But I know you. I know Scarlett. She only slaps if she feels cornered, and you are one to enjoy doing so immensely, am I wrong?"

"One prefers a reaction rather than nothing at all," He muttered. "You talk of a place to rest. Of a home. But how can you live in a home the storm is threatening by each turn?"

"Then you make it so it can stand the storm," Pierre said patiently, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. "You consolidate the foundations, fill the holes on the walls and make sure to keep the roof on your head."

Rhett shook his head.

" Tell her . Tell her or it'd be for nothing," Pierre insisted, more urgently this time. "Don't let Scarlett become ice. She can still do that, you know, if you continue the way you do. But she's not made to be it. You might kill that spirit you love so much if you smother her so. You might destroy her, and in the process destroy yourself. This is the true work of à husband."

"I am a husband to her! I provide for her, my money is at her disposal…"

"Oh, but do you love her as you so obviously want to?" Pierre dismissed him, merciless. "Until then, you're no true husband to her. Drink."

How terrible these words, when he had thought he had done more than enough! He took the drink automatically, downed it on one gulp and put it back.

What good were these arms if they could not hold her? If they could do nothing at all?

He closed his fists in powerlessness. Pierre Robillard patted his shoulder with condescending indulgence.

"That's the thing, mon garçon. You treat love as a transaction. As if rubis and émeraudes were the worth of her love. No matter how much you pay, you'll never have her truly until you decide to bind words with acts. Have another."

"No…"

"Is the Great Rhett Butler a weak drinker? A weak lover?" Pierre said harshly, his eyes taunting.

Rhett took it from him violently. An air of twisted triumph lit the Frenchman's eyes. He leaned in, his chin resting on his joined hand, and Rhett had the detestable sensation he delighted in all of it.

"That's the thing when you've been too much with whores. You think a proper payment can get you what you want with women. But in the end, you end up with quite a cynic view of them. Une cage dorée ne fera pas l'oiseau chanter."

A poem came to his mind, a voice from the past telling it with a sadness that was another shot to his heart.

"Poetic yet untrue. Scarlett likes shiny things." His clipped tone only made his interlocutor smile, for he saw it as it was, a last attempt to dismiss the open wound that was already bleeding. Already, Rhett was pouring himself another drink, as if to fill the void.

"No, you know with time, by doing that, you will think yourself shut in that cage, while Scarlett, once she realizes she doesn't need you, mind you, would take the best of it, and without giving you what you think you deserve for giving her it. You set yourself as the buyer, not the lover."

His head bowed, vanquished. He stared at his empty hands.

"It is hell… to be so close to true happiness, to have it at hand's reach, to feel its warmth, it's scent, and suddenly it is taken away, as everything can be, when you've paid the highest price for it."

A wrinkled, yet firm hand pressed his shoulder, with blue veins showing through the sunburned skin. Rhett raised his head and blinked. For a moment, it felt as if he were in front of another version of himself, older, crueler. And this version had the loss of the love of his life carved in his face. It was all in the streaks around his eyes, eyes that never cried, but bled, all in the twist of the mouth, that had carved deep, painful wrinkles like scars.

He talked, and it was almost surprising to Rhett to hear a faint French accent in an impeccable speech, when the man was known to delight in butchering English whenever he could. Until that, the illusion would have been perfect.

"And it's that price you're trying to make Scarlett pay now. It's sad, boy, that you had the greatest foundations for happiness, but you make such a poor work at keeping it. Both of you. You're digging holes when you shouldn't be. She is not your enemy. She is your wife."

"Tell it to her", he replied, but his voice was slurred, too angry.

Pierre Robillard caught his ear and sharply pulled it.

"No. Tell it to yourself. Scarlett will follow. I dare say she will run. And don't say it through a gift that has no meaning to her. Now drink again. You look too desperate not to.

.

.

Waking up in the middle of the night, Scarlett felt on her belly the soft burden of the indulgence she had had, and which made her restless. She quietly put Wade back to his little bed, kissing his soft, warm little cheek. She needed to breathe, to release some of the tension.

She found her way to the courtyard and exhaled, relishing on the fresh air.

There, a lone figure stood in front of the aviary, watching at the bird quietly. She went closer and called.

"Grand-Père?"

He turned and smiled to her.

"Je suis content de te voir, ma chère," he told her, before leaning to her ear, a conspiratorial grin on his face. "Quelle chance… well, I believe you must take care of your husband. I believe he suffers greatly in his almighty tower. I admit... I may have gone too far for him. He must be in dire need of your care ."

There, he chortled, as if laughing at à joke only he had heard.

"In the dining room, chaton," he softly added. "He must still be there."

She nodded, and he left her, as she pondered whether she should do it.

.

.

And she cursed herself as, barely minutes after, she stood in the dining room, trying to catch a glimpse of...

"Captain!" She startled, before sighing in relief. It was only the parrot. Then she thought. Why was it here? "Captain Rhett Butler is here!"

And indeed, as she squinted at the corner of the room, she could see.

His hand was still on his glass, but his body, his strong, usually invulnerable body, was half bent, head lolling to the side. The shirt had been opened by three buttons, showing a great deal od bronze skin and dark hair. Her shawl was draped across his shoulder, and she realized then she had forgotten it after the party.

For a moment, the sight baffled her. Then, she could not help but smile with mischief and hum as she crouched beside him and tried to take back her shawl.

" What do we do with the drunken sailor, what do we do with the drunken sailor, what do we do with the drunken sailor…"

"Early in the morning."

Her body froze, followed by a sharp pang of her heart. He was awake.

"I would have thought these songs beyond your notice."

His eyes gleamed merrily, almost cheekily, awakening tender memories that, for a blind moment, sent her to a past she had tried to deny. A past when they had been friends, and she had rested on his shoulder, sure he was the only one that could understand her.

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Scarlett. Test me and you shall see."

"My fun has been spoiled," she said through gritted teeth, willing the feelings to go away.

"That's unfortunate. I like hearing you."

Her heart skipped a bit, unnoticed. Instead, he was turning to the bird.

"I believe we both do. Don't we, buddy? What you think, Apollo?"

"Yes we do, captain!" The bird replied, his head nodding. "Captain Butler the great, the magnificent, the terrible…"

Rhett pointed at the parrot.

"He's a bird of remarkable intellect and taste. You should listen to him."

Her eyes raised, mouth twitching in begrudging amusement.

"Of course you would make him learn that." She said, before watching his still hazy eyes."You're drunk," She muttered. "I've never seen you drunk before."

He grinned widely.

"I believe you did."

She flustered. What a foolishness!

"Oh, you weren't that drunk."

She turned away.

"No... Stay a little. I order you," he said, but for once, she did not take offense. His mouth was furry, the end of the sentence dragged pathetically until it seemed more like a plea than an order. "Sit with me," He pulled on her skirt, and she begrudgingly obliged.

He wrapped up a strand of raven hair around his finger.

"So… what will you do with that drunken sailor of yours? Especially after I heard you're truly about to trigger a mutiny with my crew. Don't think your efforts haven't been noticed on that aspect. I've never heard of such a quick conquest."

She could not help but smile, a little bit proud of herself.

"So, what will you do?"

"Oh, shave that silly moustache first."

"Funny, I thought you told me once never to shave it."

"That's because I..."

"Because...?"

She huffed.

"Fine, if you insist. When we were younger, Melly, Randa and I came to see Mammy Jincy."

"That big old woman certainly liked to get money from young ladies."

"She told me I'd be marrying a man with a black moustache."

"Quite clairvoyant. Perhaps I should go see her. If she's still there.

"Now, why would you want to meet her? You always said the future was on our hands, and not in destiny."

"It is. But isn't it fun sometimes to see what people can say about it? Especially an old lady as Mammy Jincy certainly seems to be, a lady after my own heart, ready to swindle innocent hearts… did she ask money for it, sweetheart ?"

She stared at him, disbelieving.

"No. It's perhaps for the pleasure of it," He replied on his own.

"She talked to me about..." She admitted. About mistrust begetting mistrust, and people meddling, or something like that."

"Interesting. You know, I always thought Mammies were pits full of wisdom, for their lives sharpened their eyes and kept their hearts tender. Mine always told me I'll be as much a blessing as a curse. "

"That, you are."

"A blessing? "

"A curse, most certainly."

His fingers drew the curve from jaw to behind her ear. She shuddered violently.

"I could be a blessing as well. If it pleased me."

She opened her lips, then decided otherwise. It would not do, to play his games. She would always end up losing them.

"You certainly made quite the party with my grandfather."

"He made the party all by himself," he grumbled.

A sigh left her lips.

"Rhett, you shouldn't do that. He's still injured. And you as well."

"And a little alcohol can only soothe him."

"As it soothes you?"

He grinned.

"Touché . But don't worry Scarlett, the old man is still very much a menace to himself and others. Especially others. Have I told you I hate him? I'm almost tempted to kill him, you know."

She could not help but laugh.

His eyes twinkled with pleasure.

"You should laugh more often."

She could say nothing to that.

He sighed.

"I hate him, but he said the truth. Or perhaps, I hate him because he said the truth."

"What truth ?"

"Not yet, not yet, my little cat," he said, with a ludicrous show of condescension, his finger shaking toward her, yet the amusement clear on his face. "I don't give my secrets so easily."

Her lip curled.

"You never do."

"I need a little time before… laying myself bare," he wiggled his brows at her.

This made her snort, and for a moment, they shared a laugh. His eyes softened, roamed over her as she recovered from it, the feeling still dripping over her like raindrops.

"I know my flaws… however, contrary to popular belief," he said with a little jeering smile. "It is not always my fault…" his eyes grew mischievous. "Sometimes, it's yours."

She pursed her lip, her hand raising in warning.

"No, no, don't hit me, I'll stop, I'll stop," he laughed. He stared at her with merry eyes, before his gaze became thoughtful. "What if I say he was the one to make me drink?"

"I'd say I wouldn't believe you. No one can make you do what you don't want to do."

"That's… in fact false in so many aspects."

"So he forced you into drinking?" She said dubiously.

"I wouldn't say that either. "

"You are ridiculous."

"Oh, you want me to be ridiculous?"

He leaned on her, his eyes twinkling with a myriad of tender, little lights.

"Katie, my very own cat, Scar of my heart, give me another glass of that good water from the Lethe river, and I shall love you to infinity!

She backed away, her heart skipping.

"Oh, you're infuriating!"

"Scaroffffmyart!" The bird repeated with a drawl, coming at their feet and eyeing them curiously.

He laughed.

"I could make à pretty damn good song about it! What do you think, old friend?"

"Old friend, old friend!"

"Don't even think about it," Scarlett chided. "Your hair is too long these days."

He gave her an affronted frown.

"That's my mane, baby. A mane for a man, your man, and quite a handsome one if I may say."

"You're silly. And you should cut it."

"Cut that hair?" He looked at her as if she was mad. "That beautiful hair, from which I hold all of my strength? Are you serious, woman?"

"Wade did not seem to mind when I did his."

"Wade is a boy. "

"Would it make you less of a man, Rhett Butler? Fiddle-dee-dee, I did not think your masculinity so very fragile it could not resist a little cut of hair."

"By God…!" He cursed, before seeming to ponder on it. "it's true there was quite an interesting hint of softness when you did his. I think I wouldn't mind my hair being cut if you give that… gentle touch all for me."

"Oh, dear," she rolled her eyes.

"In fact, I dare you to cut my hair."

"You'll regret it by the morning."

"Cut my hair, Scarlett."

"Stop bullying me."

"You are a bully yourself, getting bullied is actually what you need to refrain yourself. There are different kinds of bullies, you know."

"I don't like your kind."

"I think you do."

He sighed and rested his head on her lap, just like that, without asking, and she was exasperated by how easily she bent to his will.

"May I say you look lovely now?" He said quietly.

"Lovely, lovely !" Sang the parrot.

She had to dismiss it.

"Oh, please don't! I'd have to say you are handsome, and the Lord knows you don't need that."

He raised a brow at her, and she realized he might take this for flirting, as her tone was not as cutting as she would have liked it to be. Quickly, she added:

"Else your head would be so big it would not be true at all."

Amusement gleamed in his eyes.

"My dear, you are still rowing. Are you still angry as well?"

"you have softened at least. Just à very little bit, don't worry. You are still as sharp as ever."

His hand came to her cheek, barely grazing her. He was suddenly... serious.

"I've demanded too much of you, love, haven't I? I'm sorry. I don't want to be cruel to you… but it seems I cannot help it."

His smile was rueful, his eyes tender, for once.

She pressed her lips, her lids together, trying to prevent the tears from spilling. A crease appeared between his brows, as if he was suddenly having a headache.

The words had cut deep. She hadn't known she had wanted him to say them, but now that they were said, they were like re-opening a barely healed wound.

"Oh no, don't cry. I've never wanted you to cry. At least, not like that. Never like that."

She swallowed a betraying sob and held up her chin.

"I'm not crying. You could never make me cry, Rhett Butler. Don't presume."

"So brave… even in your lies," he whispered. "Even when I have you cornered…"

She was about to retort, but words failed, when confront3d to the softness of his eyes.

"Tell me..." he said, just as softly. "Tell me truly. Am I never to hear you say the words I so want to hear? If I do all the steps... Would you say it to me?"

She swallowed painfully. He seemed so solemn now. What on earth did he want from her?

"I don't know what you want me to say."

He sighed.

"Then, I suppose it's a lost cause."

Her fist clenched, and she impulsively hit the floor with it, before wincing as the pain stung, echoing deeply in her body.

"Great balls of fire, can't you never be clear with me? If there is something that I should do that would please you, just say it!"

He looked at her in a serious, almost childish manner that made her think of their son.

"But would you mean it? No, you have to mean it."

Her forehead crinkled.

"Rhett… please, tell me..."

But he was lost to the world, with a dramatic curl of the lips she wanted to scratch.

And on top of that, he was still on her lap.

He was unbearable !

"Rhett Butler," she hissed. "You are a bully and I hate you. I hate you so much! And I don't care if you're in pain later!"

He turned and curled his arm around her. His hand grasped her bottom so familiarly that for a moment she froze and blinked, not knowing what to do.

"Rhett Butler, I hate you," the bird repeated.

Her eyes stared for a moment at the bird, as he jumped from his perch and went closer, its head tilted right and left, before nodding vigorously.

"I don't," she whispered, her weariness falling down on her. "I don't."

But the bird kept looking at her curiously.

She couldn't stay like this, on the floor with her knees already becoming dumb and antsy. However, she could not leave him in that state!

Not to mention she did not know if she could actually rise.

As she pondered on this, her head nodded off in sleepiness.

When she opened her eyes again, she was in her bed, closely tucked under the covers.

And Wade, unused to stay in the nursery for all night, was calling for her. So she took him back to bed.

.

.

By the morning, she shared breakfast with Carreen, who dropped her eyes to the barely touched bowl in front of her.

"Grandfather doesn't like me," She said.

"Of course, he likes you!" Scarlett dismissed it.

"No, he doesn't. But it's kind of you to try to reassure me. Do you think it is because I look like Mother?"

She assured her it was not the case, but she knew very well in her heart that her sister may have had it right all along. Carreen nodded, unconvinced, before going back to her room.

"She is quite perceptive. Surprising, considering she is your sister."

She raised her head, facing Rhett.

Of course, despite obviously suffering headache, the man had eavesdropped it all!

Her grip on the spoon tightened.

"If it is to insult me, you better not talk at all."

"Ouch. Do you have to talk so loudly, woman?" He said as he sat by her.

"Caaat, darling lil' caaaat!" The parrot nodded vigorously as it flew toward its master, landing on the table and nodding. "Love you, love you!"

"This parrot is broken and keep following me," Rhett mumbled. "Make it stop."

"Darling, darling lil' cat!" The parrot repeated enthusiastically.

"Cat!" Wade said from Scarlett's lap.

"This is hell," grumbled Rhett.

"He is perfect," she grinned. "I do like hearing that on a beautiful morning."

"I am now convinced you only offered it to me to make me suffer."

Obviously, she could not help but snicker.

"What do we do," the bird began to sing. "What do we do…"

"Enough !" Rhett snapped, and Wade applauded.

"I'm going out," she said in a high, cheerful tone, and with this, she nonchalantly put Wade in Rhett's lap. HIs arms closed around the boy while He kept his head in his hand and waved her off.

"Do so! And quietly, for God's sake!"

She slammed the door, if only to make him suffer a little more.

"For God's sake!" The bird repeated, and Rhett almost thought it was out of compassion. compassion, for he was tempted to curse as well. Then, it said, its voice flowing as Scarlett's would have. "hate you so muuuuuch! hate you so muuuch!"

Bewildered, Rhett stared at the parrot, his brow raising. He set his boy on the floor, nudging him toward his still lingering gifts, and faced the bird.

"Buddy, I don't think I like you anymore."

Innocently, the bird went closer, eyeing him strangely, before having a vicious bite at his thumb.

"Ouch!" He cried in pain, shaking his injured hand as the parrot flew away, before la landing to what should have been Scarlett's place. "Bloody bird! Do that again and I'll cook you. And no love you to Scarlett as well. Traitor."

The bird blinked, then nodded once again, his mouth open as in a grin.

"Rhett Butler, captain Rhett Butler," the parrot drawled. "Love you, love you! Rhett Butler the magnificent, the terrific…"

It flew off before Rhett could have an hold on it.

.

.

The walk through the market was decidedly a good idea, Scarlett reflected, humming happily. The odor of spices and grease and roasted meat tickled her nostrils pleasantly, so very mouth-watering.

With the fading of her overbearing sadness, the country was slowly growing on her.

There was cotton on the stands, and she could not help but touch it. To approach her nose to it, hoping to get a bit of former feelings, the feeling of work done, of love and family. Her cheek brushed against the softness.

Nothing.

She let go. Her lids dropped in disappointment. Her eyes wandered around, as she tried to stomp the longing out of her heart. Wandered around that mass of these people that were still strangers to her.

Strangers and strangers and…

She turned her head and stared.

Suellen…?

Eyes met, recognizing one another.

The girl froze, a deer caught at the length of a rifle. From her cheeks came a deep redness

Just as suddenly, she turned and run.

Scarlett jumped ahead, chasing.

"Suellen, wait!" She cried.

But the crowd was too thick, and soon enough, she had to admit her defeat.

.

.

.

(1)"Does he treat you well, my darling?" (...)

"I can't satisfy him, Grandfather. No matter what I do..."

"Don't try." (...) "My dear, you are in quite the troubles. What sort, I shall soon enough know of it. But you have strength enough to overcome them. Is he... mean with you?"

"He's cruel!" (...) "sometimes."

"As you can be, I imagine. But it is his indifference that hurts you... Or rather what you think is his indifference toward you."

"He... Oh, grandfather, I don't know what to do! I don't want to think about it! No, I don't want!"

"My dear, you are acting like a child."

(...) "Here, that's much better," (...) "Don't ever lower your head. You have everything to be proud. You are beautiful, not because you have particularly harmonious features, but because you have charms, you are brave, and you are cunning. And you have quite the temper as well. But it is from the family."

"Here, there, that's much better. Where there is life, there is hope. And I think, my dear, that you will find many of them. Believe that genius grandfather of yours."

(...) "It is true, what he said," (...) "I have nothing. Barely anything. You better worry for your husband. You should ask him how his right shoulder is doing. And bring him to me. I shall loose sleep if I let our discussion unfinished. Go, quickly."

(2)"... the imbeciles! True brats! And you worse than her!"

(...) "No, in fact, I'll say she is innocent in all of this. You led her to this mess, she did not ask for it!"

(...) "By God, I gave a pearl to a piglet! He had every chance to succeed, but he still managed to fail it all! Blast, what have I done to deserve it?"

(...) "in what have you led my grand-daughter, poor boy? (...)

(3)Please, for my old soul (...) Do me the pleasure to see it worn. This was the last gift I had wanted to give her... I did not have the time... No. I was too stubborn to give it to her. So I kept it, near my heart. All this time. And now..."

.

I did say they needed a therapist, didn't I? ;)

OK, though this one is clearly biased and vicious. Well, perhaps it is for the best?