Beep. Beep. Beep.

Scarlett faded into consciousness, confused by her surroundings.

The room was as white as a piece of paper. That irritating beeping was coming from her side. It took a concerning amount of time, but she figured out that it was a monitor. It was measuring her vitals. In fact, she was hooked up to several different contraptions.

So she was in a hospital. Why? She couldn't remember anything happening to her. And where was everyone? Shouldn't she have visitors?

Mammy and Melly were supposed to be with her, wiping the sweat from her brow and holding her hand. Where were they? Where was Rhett? He had a responsibility, as her husband to be here.

It took too much effort to hold her eyes open. They dropped with exhaustion. On several occasions, Scarlett had been looking around only to discover that her eyes had fallen shut without her consent.

A cry. A shout. There was something happening outside the door…

It faded into darkness as Scarlett lost her battle with sleep.

But then she was awake again.

How long had it been? A minute? A whole day?

Light still poured through the window, agitating her sensitive eyes— though they were barely open.

There were people in the room now, but she couldn't make out exactly who it was. A woman… Mother? No… Mother was dead. Why hadn't she remembered that? There were several figures, but they sat in front of the window, where the sunbeams obscured their features and blinded Scarlett. Maybe if she closed her eyes for a moment…

Would that machine ever shut up? It had roused her from sleep yet again.

It was so hot… and so bright…

Why couldn't the sun just go to sleep?

Maybe if she could move the blankets it'd be a little better, but her arms were leaden by her side.

Her mouth was so dry… maybe someone would give her a little water.

But her parched throat failed to motivate her in the face of the tiredness pulling her back down into oblivion.

Someone was touching her. The contact of someone's cool hand with her burning face brought her back to awareness.

Who was that? The hand was definitely female. Melly? Careen?

Scarlett peeled her eyes open and peered into the face. It was Melly. Ever-caring Melanie. The sun that had been so bothersome before had fled behind the horizon and it was significantly easier to see what was happening.

"Scarlett, you're awake."

"Melly?" Her voice was no more than a whisper. After neglect and dehydration, it couldn't produce much noise.

"Yes, it's me. Here, you need some water."

Melanie helped her lift her head enough to get some water before resettling her.

Melanie ran a hand over the blankets to smooth out the small wrinkles.

"What happened?" Her voice was still small and frail, lacking its usual commanding tone.

"You collapsed at the mills yesterday. Heat stroke."

Scarlett could faintly recall her last conscious moments. Her legs had given out right after her lunch had found its way from her stomach into the trash can. And it has been right in front of Ashley. How humiliating.

"To doctors say that was why you collapsed, but that you were already sick. They ran an MRI to see if anything was injured in your brain but nothing came up."

"I'm sick?"

"Pneumonia."

Ella had contracted pneumonia only a few days before, though she was largely unaffected by it. It seemed that Scarlett wasn't as lucky.

Scarlett was already beginning to fade. Her head was pounding and nothing sounded better than succumbing to rest yet again.

The door swung open and Rhett trudged in with two coffees.

"I've got your drink, Melanie."

She waved him over enthusiastically and looked back at Scarlett's drawn countenance.

"Scarlett just woke up. Rhett's here, dear."

Scarlett blinked. Big mistake. It was an intense struggle for her to open her eyelids again, and it was impossible for them to do so together. One raised before the other, and Scarlett was positive that she looked ridiculous. They stung and watered, blurring the world around her for a moment.

"Hey."

"How are you doing, honey?"

She let out a small grunt.

Rhett fell into the chair on her other side, passing Melanie her coffee before slipping his hand into Scarlett's.

"I'm glad you're awake."

She managed to smile slightly at him, but it was all becoming too difficult. She just wanted to close her eyes for a second. It was so very tempting.

The circles his thumb drew on the back of her hand led her back into the dreamworld.

Scarlett dragged her tired body out of the recliner. She's spent most of the day there, watching television and napping sporadically.

The hospital had finally released her to finish her recovery at home. She had been resting the whole day with three stern caretakers looking over her shoulder.

Something was a little weird. It took her a moment to figure it out.

Her hand was trembling. No, it wasn't just her hand. It was every muscle in her body. Her legs, her arms, her neck. Everything that had to hold weight.

"Oh my god, I'm shaking."

Rhett had seen that sign before. It was her muscles straining to hold her weight. At any moment, her legs could give out.

Panic and dread began creeping into his stomach and up his throat. This was not a good sign.

Rhett rushed towards her and scooped her into his arms. "It's because you're weak. You shouldn't be trying to walk. You need to drink more water. Eat more food. What did you have today?" His tone had taken on a bossy quality, but his concern that she could be undermining her health overrode the nagging in his heart at treating her so brusquely.

"Some soup. Salami. Toast. Potato chips."

"That's not enough, Scarlett."

"It's just… other stuff makes me feel sick."

"Potato chips don't make you feel sick?"

"The salt makes me feel better," she mumbled quietly, ducking her head slightly.

A sharp pang ran through his chest. He hadn't meant to hurt her with the chip comment. He just wanted her to eat food that would help her recover. But greasy potato chips were better than nothing.

"Alright." He'd carried her into their bedroom and went about trying to carefully set her on the bed. When she was finally comfortable, he began measuring out her dose of antibiotics. "Last dose for today and then you should go to bed."

She downed the liquid in one movement. The pale pink concoction was sickeningly sweet with a terrible, bitter aftertaste. The flavor was so revolting that Scarlett nearly threw up. She certainly would have if Rhett had not been right beside her with a glass of water and some chocolate for her to drown the taste out. It had been an old trick Mammy had used on her as a child. It was almost endearing that Rhett knew about and respected it.

Almost.

Rhett pressed a hand against her forehead as she chugged the icy water and popped the treat into her mouth.

Her fever had gone down, but she still wasn't as well as he wanted her to be. She was only a little behind what the hospital had predicted, but it was a worrisome sign in Rhett's mind. He had to trust the doctors, who were claimed her recovery was satisfactory. Ideally she would never have been sick at all. He'd almost had a heart attack when the hospital had called him and told him what had happened. They couldn't give him a full diagnosis at that time, so he had spent hours agonizing about what could be wrong and if Scarlett might die.

Maybe it was his punishment for baiting her the night before. He had been particularly cruel, attacking every weakness he could find to try and get some twisted sense of revenge. She had gone to lunch with Ashley that day. A business lunch. Yeah right. He wasn't a fool, he knew it would be more than business.

It occurred to him that he had definitely overreacted. He just couldn't help himself when it came to her. She spoke to his most primal instincts. He wanted to fight for her, to claim her, and to eliminate the competition.

But Scarlett didn't need someone to fight for her, she needed someone to care for her and make sure she recovered. So for now he would have to settle into the role of caring husband— the one he had always wanted but been afraid to take.

"Get some rest. I'm going to put the children to bed and then I'll come back."

She nodded once and he swept out of the room.

It was impossible for her to get comfortable. She hated sleeping on her back because, well, she wasn't a psychopath. But nothing felt right. She flipped between sides, changed how much she curled her body, moved her arms to new positions, and even tried sleeping on her stomach. That was a mistake.

Scarlett was still tossing and turning when Rhett returned, showered in the attached bathroom, and then reentered the bedroom.

"Are you okay?"

She hummed an affirmative and flipped sides again. It still wasn't comfortable.

The light seeping in from the bathroom diminished into nothing as Rhett pushed the door closed. He sauntered across the room and easily settled into the bed.

It was infuriating.

Scarlett had been struggling for almost an hour and he had almost drifted off in five minutes. He was even better at sleeping than her.

Frustrated, she kept searching for a decent position.

Maybe ten minutes later, Rhett was fed up with her constant movement.

"Just come here, Scarlett." Not waiting for a response, he slid his arm under her waist and pulled her flush against him.

Blood rushed to Scarlett's face, but she had always liked cuddling with him. She might as well take advantage of his offer.

She snuggled into his side, her head resting on his chest and her right leg flung over both of his.

"Rhett," she whispered into the darkness.

"Yes?" She could feel the exasperated laughter reverberating in his chest.

"You sleep on your back."

"Only when I know you're having trouble sleeping. You like to spoon me."

"I see. Then it's good to know that you're not insane."

He only chuckled and pulled her closer.