-Twelve Oaks-

Ashley envied Rhett Butler.

He had the unique advantage of being a stranger in this room, and could therefore offend at will. It was rude, of course, and possibly dangerous if the look in Charles' eyes was anything to go by. Yet there were no long-term consequences; these men would forget the slight, they would fight other meaningless fights over far less serious matters than war.

Ashley envied Rhett, because he could say out loud what Ashley was hardly permitted to think.

If Georgia goes, I go with her.

There was no such sense of duty or obligation in the other man's being.

Ashley excused himself. He wanted to talk to Rhett Butler, and hear some sense for once. The war was inevitable. Ashley wanted to have the cold comfort of knowing he wasn't alone in his doubts and misgivings.

He was waylaid by a breathless Scarlett, and thus the course was set.

.

-Blockade Running-

The wind in his hair, the shore at his back, and the freedom to live how he pleased.

Rhett loved nothing more than sailing on this ship. He didn't need to, of course. He could send someone to do the work, and stay onshore to reap the benefits of his war profiteering. Belle had implored him to do that very thing, after Gettysburg.

He understood, but it was more reason to sail. As long as he was in motion, no one would wonder too loudly why he wasn't fighting.

Gettysburg had done the South in, or so Rhett felt. It was a blow, having lost General Jackson not long before, and then Lee losing such crucial ground. When he'd left Atlanta, Rhett wondered for the first time if the town would be standing when he returned.

Gettysburg.

Scarlett's eyes haunted Rhett. "Every family in the county."

Except the Wilkes family.

Rhett didn't know if it was kind of Providence to spare Ashley Wilkes.

There wasn't going to be a place for Ashley's type once the war ended.

Waves crashed against the tiny ship, and Rhett's reverie was broken. But he would later wonder about the gentlemen of the South, and of one in particular.

.

-Return to Tara-

He had thought many times about courage.

Had the Tarletons been courageous at Gettysburg?

Was Charles courageous when he asked Scarlett for her hand?

Ashley wondered if courage was the absence of scruple. Was Rhett Butler courageous?

If so, then surely Scarlett was the most courageous of them all.

He couldn't leave. He should; take Melanie and Beau and run, somewhere, anywhere. North, maybe.

Melanie would never forgive him.

"Ashley, why, whatever are you doing by that drafty window? Come back to me, my love."

He shut his eyes, squeezing out the memory of the kiss in the yard, and went back to Melanie.

.

-Mrs. Kennedy-

So she had stolen another beau from another woman.

Rhett wondered idly about courting Carreen O'Hara, and the thought was as fleeting as the guilt he assumed for Scarlett's latest loveless match.

"My dear Mrs. Kennedy." Rhett hated the taste of pleasantries. He injected venom for spice. "My very dear Mrs. Kennedy!"

Scarlett, dressed in new clothes that hid her unnatural slimness, that flattered and added color to her pale post-war pallor, flashed green eyes at Rhett. She read his words for their sarcasm alone.

So did he.

He did.

He looked away from Scarlett's impertinent gaze and continued to spar with her.

His very dear Mrs. Kennedy.

.

-Decatur Road-

Frank hit the ground with a thud not unfamiliar to Ashley.

That was the sound the dead made. How many times he had heard it in the war, he did not know.

As though the war were over. As though the fighting were done.

Ashley witnessed the panicked efficiency of the others with detached interest, as though it were a story from Shakespeare he'd memorized and was reciting.

He didn't feel the bullet.

He, too, hit the ground with a thud.

Was he dead, then? Was it finally over?

He would not have to face Melanie. No bravado necessary. He could spare Beau the haunted, hunted, defeated look in his eyes.

He could leave Scarlett.

Scarlett. Frank is dead, and Scarlett is alone.

Ashley moaned in pain, at first just to know he was alive, and then from actual pain.

The seering, white-hot pain of an open bullet wound?

The thundering realization that wars never really ended.

.

-Belle-

"Rhett, you can't marry her."

Belle Watling had many charms. Her candor was one of them.

Sometimes.

"I can, and I will."

"She's in mournin'."

"An obstacle. One of thousands. I'm through waiting, Belle."

"She's a horrid Scallawag, and you know it."

He laughed, and Belle scowled.

"You have no problem with a Scallawag or two, Belle. I know."

Belle's nostrils flared and Rhett regretted the remark. She did have a problem with them. Not so much that she wouldn't take their money, but she wouldn't let even one cross into her own boudoir.

Scarlett was free, finally free, and Rhett meant to do something about it. He could finally possess her as he wished to, and he was going to ask her today, before any fool thought to walk in.

Before Ashley woke up and decided to shake off that damnable honor of his.

"Belle, I'm going to marry her." His determination was palpable, a charge surrounding him, making him dangerous to those who would cross him.

Belle sighed, softening. "Alright, alright...shhh..."

She stepped into his arms and took one last good look in his eyes.

She wondered how long it would be until he came back.

.

-Lumber-

Never let it be said a Wilkes didn't do his duty, live up to his honor.

Scarlett was leasing convicts. There was something obscene here.

Slavery was different. Ashley's mind insisted on it. Why was it different? Well, they had always been kind to darkies. Johnny Gallegher wasn't kind. He was rotten, Irish like Gerald O'Hara but fundamentally different.

Ashley knew that some things counted for nothing. A Southerner could be mean, could be course. A Yankee could be genteel, could be loving.

Convicts were not slaves. They were guilty.

Slaves were not convicts. They were innocent.

Ashley realized with a start that the sun was low in the western sky, that the baking Georgia heat was less.

Scarlett would wonder about the books. And give him a condescending glare, which she would correct immediately to a belle's pining gaze.

When she returned.

From her honeymoon.

He shook himself and returned to the column of figures.

.

-Not a Gentleman-

He was so very tired of walking eggshells with her. She wanted out. He would not give it to her.

He admitted to Belle that he was still in love with her. She still owned him. Belle had not acted surprised, but poured another drink just the same.

She was in the house.

It was bruising, and it was revenge, or it was intended to be.

Revenge on Ashley.

Rhett defiled the queen. He wondered if the pawns would rally.

.

-Not a Gentlemen, Redux-

And so Rhett Butler fled Atlanta, daughter in tow, and his wife was left to her whims and wiles.

Ashley was feeling the brunt of it. She was a woman possessed. She drove the business harder than she ever had.

She was going over figures for a third time, convinced Ashley had done something wrong.

He felt chastised and humiliated.

And guilty.

Rhett was gone. The store was dim, this was twilight. No passers-by had wandered past in over an hour.

The employees were dismissed, paychecks in hand, luckily before the storm had landed.

"Ashley, how do you expect...?"

He stopped her scolding him with a kiss. He was thinking of Tara, of red earth and splitting rails and running away to Mexico.

He was shocked, because Scarlett tasted like resistance and tears.

He pulled back.

Her eyes were wet. "Ashley....oh, Ashley...."

In love. With....

Ashley went home to Melanie.

.

-Bonnie Blue-

Her tiny kid gloves were stained in streaks of green.

It had taken him days to notice it. He stroked the fingers of the gloves and told Bonnie he would buy her new ones.

New gloves. Yes, she could have velvet gloves, like her mother's.

Mother.

Scarlett was pregnant. Or she wasn't. What happened?

Rhett saw a streak of blue and heard a scream.

He needed another drink.

Bonnie was lying down. She didn't answer when he said her name, and that infuriated him. She should answer him. Didn't he love her best of all, wasn't he her sweetheart?

Daddy, I want to go home.

He regretted bringing her home. There was a reason. There was pain.

There was bourbon.

Scarlett.

Where....

On the table. Dead.

Yes, you may have new gloves. And a new bonnet and frock. You may have anything, darling, only let me kiss you.

Scarlett?

Bonnie.

On the table.

Drink.

"Captain Butler?"

Rhett would later admit to himself that Melanie was really the better woman, the better wife. Ashley wasn't such a fool after all.

.

-Grave-

Rhett wasn't at Melanie's funeral. But he sent an arrangement and his regrets.

His best wishes.

Ashley noticed it days later, perhaps weeks. Time had stopped meaning a thing to him. It was the war all over again.

He'd forgotten that wars never ended.

Armistice, however, did.

Rhett's note was simple.

"Mr. Wilkes,

You were right.

I will send money for Beau. Please accept it. Your wife was a great lady.

Rhett"

There was nothing about Scarlett.

For once.

Melanie was dead. Scarlett had left for Tara.

Rhett left no forwarding address.

There came a time in battle when a soldier was left alone. He was either dead, and running ahead, or alive and the only one.

Ashley called for Beau, and the day went on.