This was Gone With the Wind fan fic written for Yuletide 2008.
Scarlett: Twelve Oaks
The dark-haired gentleman's unflinching gaze shook Scarlett inside. She clutched Cathleen's arm for support as they made their way up the grand staircase. She leaned in to hear the gossip about him. Cathleen chattered away, and Scarlett remembered another party long ago when a fortune teller predicted she would marry a tall, dark handsome man and she had scoffed because she preferred her gentlemen golden like Ashley or flaming red like the Tarletan twins. But Rhett, tall, dark and undeniably handsome, the man who was not really a gentleman nor received in any decent home in Charleston, continued to stare.
Rhett: Twelve Oaks
Rhett could not help but find her irresistible. Here stood a girl with rare selfish charm and spirit. Most Southern girls were buried too deeply under yards of delicate fabric and teachings of mother and mammy until all that remained were pretty dolls who knew when to say "yes, sir" and "aren't you handsome, sir" and other keenly honed phrases memorized for every possible occasion. Phrases designed to hide everything real and conceal all passion. This girl's fire smoldered in green eyes and burst forth from her lips. An uttered vow and a shattered vase later, Rhett was undone forever.
Dancing at long last! Tonight Scarlett pretended that no war raged, that no squalling baby waited at home, that no dead husband had ever existed. She pretended she wore green silk that brought out the emerald of her eyes and not this crow outfit of black taffeta. Her feet were like wings, and Rhett's arms swept her out of the suttee ashes and past the glares of Atlanta's matrons. Tomorrow the matrons would write her mother scathing letters about her conduct. Tomorrow dismay would grip her, that she was not a great lady. But not tonight. Tonight she would dance.
Rhett had plenty of money to ride out the war elsewhere. He could have stayed in Paris or Mexico or any number of West Indian islands. But he kept coming back to Atlanta. He parleyed with Scarlett, barb for barb, and this partially fulfilled the hunger she brought out in him. He kept coming back, hoping not to see that vacuous look of childish infatuation whenever Ashley Wilkes was mentioned. He cursed the war. If Ashley was near, in the flesh, she would see that he was far too much Dead Sea for a woman of her passion to swallow.
Thunder growled and lightning flickered in the distant sky. The rage left her weak, unable to fight Rhett`s embrace. This cowardly excuse for a man, he could not be leaving them, two women, a baby, and a slave child, to cross dangerous country with Yankees and deserters about.
His lips bruised hers in farewell, and he pushed her skirts up around her hips.
They'll see, Scarlett gasped. Melanie was unconscious, but Prissy would see. Rhett burned inside her, filling everything. There was no fumbling or pain or awkward apologies. Just fire and tingling shards that exploded and left her breathless.
Rhett regretted many things in his life, and one of them was that he had not found a way to get those three hundred dollars to Scarlett. He should have made it happen, by any means necessary. He could have bribed one of those dim-witted Yankee soldiers, given him a generous cut. As soon as Scarlett had turned a last glittering look toward him, he knew that she would get that money. Selling herself in marriage to Old Whisker Face Kennedy seemed the cruelest joke but it solidified Rhett's determination to have her for his own, to pet and spoil.
New Orleans spread out before Scarlett like a fairy land of plenty. During her days in Tara, her face pinched with want, she had often dreamed about a table piled high with fried chicken, mashed potatoes with steaming pork gravy, and layer cakes. Now all those and more lay before her, all hers. She ate and ate, striving to fill the yawning emptiness inside. Then she drank of Rhett's lips, arched into him in the dark, and she snuggled into his arms when nightmares turned to fog and loneliness. Ashley lingered still, as always, but only as a pale ghost.
Rhett: Two in the Bed
Rhett could possess her body, he could capture her mind for a time, catch her heart in tiny spurts, but short of crushing her skull, nothing would ever rid her mind of Ashley. The embrace between Scarlett and Ashley had been innocent. He knew that because Ashley had honor. Melanie knew because she could conceive of no dishonor in anyone she loved, and she loved both Ashley and Scarlett. Rhett did not care about honor or lack thereof in Scarlett, but he craved her fire. This night he would have her. This night only two would be in the bed.
Scarlett: Dying Wish
"Captain Butler. Be kind to him. He loves you so." Melanie's words barely penetrated Scarlett's fog of grief. Scarlett clung to Melanie's dying hand, appreciating only now an unconditional friendship, the only gentle constant through the years. Melanie knew nothing about the black moods and irretrievable words shouted through closed doors since Bonnie's death. Melanie's tender soul could not conceive of such cruelty.
Melanie passed in the bleak gray of the predawn, and Scarlett wanted only to run home through the fog and be held by strong arms. Ashley, broken inside, waited to be comforted, but Scarlett no longer cared.
Rhett: At Last
Rhett had prepared to be the martyr. Now that Melanie was dead, nothing need stand between Scarlett and her dreams of Ashley. Rhett would give her the sun, the moon, all the world, and he would give her this gift. Scarlett grasped his hands and looked at him, seeing him for the first time. Rhett took it as a sign. The stronghold he had built with such care around his heart collapsed. Ashley had been banished, doomed for all time to haunt the halls of his own sense of honor.
Their kiss burned, but it was also sweet with forgiveness.