Months of nothing, and now I can't seem to stop! This is a one-shot (although I think it might become a loose two-parter, with the second half picking up years later) set the evening after Rhett insults Mrs. Elsing's bosom. I thought it would be interesting to explore his motivation while indulging in a spot of Scarlett/Rhett pre-marriage flirting. I've never written anything this early on in their time-line before, so I hope it doesn't fall short! Thanks for reading, I'd love to know what you think.

The hall was lit up when Scarlett arrived. Slabs of warm golden light seeped from the windows and tinted the late evening gloom a dusky, burnished orange. She stepped daintily from the carriage, aware of the dozens of male eyes watching her with poorly-concealed interest. The ground beneath her small, satin-shod feet was muddy and dotted with puddles, and she clutched at her dress, carefully lifting the hem clear of the wet earth.

'May I be of assistance?' a voice to her left asked. Scarlett looked up to find herself staring into the light, smiling eyes of Captain Carey Ashburn.

'Why, thank you,' she said sweetly, taking hold of his outstretched hand. She flashed him a smile, deliberately making her dimples blossom across her cheeks like fresh, springtime flowers. The captain's eyes flickered towards them, just as she'd meant them to, and Scarlett flushed with triumph, knowing he was charmed.

He led her across the road to the front steps of the hall. The low murmurings of the guests grew louder as they drew nearer. A gentle trill of anticipation ran up Scarlett's spine and settled delicately across her shoulders like an expensive new shawl. She loved dances. As far as she was concerned, the one good thing to come out of this damn war was the increased amount of gatherings that were now being held across the city. Almost every week saw the organisation of some new party or picnic or social occasion. It was as if the threat of violence had unleashed something in the young men and women of Atlanta, making them determined to wring every last drop of enjoyment out of life while they still could.

Scarlett made her way through the front door on Captain Ashburn's arm, greeting the people she knew with a nod. They smiled back and the small knot of unease in her stomach slowly began to unravel. She was glad that she'd decided to attend. She'd been in two minds about it earlier in the afternoon but, now that she was here, she would not have missed it for the world. To think that she had almost opted to stay home with Pitty and Melly and the baby when she could be here, waltzing and flirting and burning the midnight oil.

She had feared that the awful scene Rhett had created that morning might have spoilt everything, making her a pariah even here, in the one place where she still felt like herself. From the warm welcome she received, though, she knew that her fellow guests had not yet heard the news, or, if they had, they simply did not care. Either way, Scarlett was relieved. While attending parties in her widow's garb had made her the subject of much malicious talk amongst the older residents, here, at least, she could revel in her newfound freedom, so harshly won. She would have hated to give it up, especially because of a silly scene that was not of her own making.

'Would you like something to drink?' Captain Ashburn asked her.

'Please,' she said, squaring her shoulders when he took his leave of her. Captain Ashburn, with his stiffened arm and guileless smile, was not the most natural of protectors, but having him beside her had made Scarlett feel safer, nonetheless.

She looked around her, in search of someone to speak to. She prided herself on never having been left alone for more than three minutes at a party, and she wasn't about to start now.

Spying a young man who'd picked some flowers for her at a picnic last month - pale little flimsy things with long stems and drooping petals; Scarlett had barely looked at them before palming them off on Melly as soon as she got home - she smiled and stepped forward.

'Angling for another bouquet of dandelions and dirt, are you?' a voice, dripping with something darker than its usual teasing disdain, murmured lowly in her ear. 'You should have told me, Scarlett. I could have found you some on my way here. This city is full of weeds masquerading as flowers, don't you agree?'

Scarlett whipped round to face Rhett, her anger rising like the hackles of a growling dog. 'I don't know how you can stand to show your face!'

'Come, Scarlett. Perhaps it's not as wholesome a visage as Mr. Ashburn's, but surely it's not so hideous that I must lock myself away, never again to steal a few hours of simple pleasure from this tawdry, hypocritical little world of ours?'

'You ruined the musicale for the convalescents this afternoon,' she continued, ignoring his nonsense. 'No one could concentrate after you'd left. They kept talking about you instead of looking at the charming picture I was making in my tableau.'

'How you must have hated that, my dear Narcissus. If they'd placed you in front of a mirror, you'd still be there now, wouldn't you?'

'And the way you behaved towards at Mrs. Elsing!' Scarlett persisted, refusing to be distracted by the bait he kept expertly laying down for her.

'Now, Scarlett, you can't in all good conscience accuse me of wrong doing on that score. Cast your mind back a few short hours and you'll recall I didn't utter a single word against the old battle-axe.'

'You didn't have to! The way you looked at her b...I mean her...her...'

'Her what, Scarlett?' Rhett smirked, looking every inch the indecent scoundrel he was. 'Pray, do enlighten me.'

'Her chest!' Scarlett hissed furiously. 'Why, she was positively scandalised! We all were.'

'Don't do that,' he said roughly, temper sparking hotly in his dark eyes. She hadn't realised how light he'd grown while they'd been speaking, until now, when the darkness she'd sensed in him earlier today had come sweeping back in like a returning tide. 'Don't throw your lot in with that band of lily-livered hypocrites. You may be bred from the same stock, but that is where all similarities end.'

'Well, I was,' Scarlett attested stubbornly. Now that she thought about it though, she wasn't so sure that she had been scandalised, exactly. Everyone else in the room had been so horrified by Rhett's actions, that it only felt right for her to join in with their condemnation. In truth though, she wasn't as easily offended as most Atlanta folk seemed to be. Unlike them, she'd grown up on a plantation, exposed to the realities of the world and animals' bodies, and she wasn't about to take a leaf out of Aunty Pitty's book by swooning and asking for her smelling salts at the first mention of a woman's bosom. Besides, Rhett had said far worse to her when they were alone together and, unlike the rest of Atlanta, she had never been under any illusion regarding his status as a gentleman. How could she be, when he had acted so caddishly during their first encounter in the library at Twelve Oakes?

'No, you weren't,' Rhett said calmly. Confidently, almost as if he knew how her mind worked better than she herself did.

Scarlett pursed her lips, annoyed that he was right.

'What you were, Scarlett,' Rhett said, leaning closer as if to impart some valuable secret, 'was angry.'

Scarlett, who had inclined her head towards him, drawn in by his lowered voice and confidential air, pulled back sharply, irritated. Angry? Why, of course she was angry! How could she not be when Rhett had acted so carelessly, when he'd thrown away his good reputation, not caring if he took hers down with him on the way?

'Admit it,' she heard Rhett say.

'Admit what?'

'Admit that you're not angry because of what I said - in fact you're secretly pleased that someone finally stood up to that wizened bulldog in matron's clothing. No, you're only angry that you weren't brave enough to do it yourself.'

Scarlett frowned. That wasn't right at all. So what if she thought Mrs. Elsing was a sanctimonious old fool who should stop meddling in other people's affairs and mind her own business? That was true of most people in this gossip-ridden city. Should she start airing her views on them as well? The entire idea was ridiculous. If Scarlett went around telling everyone what she really thought of them she'd be barred from every respectable house in Atlanta before nightfall. No, that wasn't why she was so cross with Rhett. She was frustrated that he'd acted so foolishly, when she'd always thought him rather intelligent. She felt let down too, hurt that he'd tossed aside their friendship for the sake of one silly, schoolboy jibe. For how was she ever supposed to go on seeing him now? Atlanta had cast him off and she'd be expected to do the same. Never again could they meet without attracting prying eyes and wagging tongues. She'd be forced to give him up, whether she wanted to or not. And it was beginning to dawn on Scarlett, slowly but surely, that she didn't want to. Not in the slightest.

'Even if what you said is true...'

'Which it is.'

Scarlett scowled at Rhett, but he only grinned rakishly and made a sign with his hand for her to continue. 'That doesn't mean you had to be the one to say it.'

'Ah, yes,' Rhett said, with the air of a man only just remembering something he'd long ago forgotten. 'That's always been your policy, hasn't it, my emerald-eyed snake in the grass? Let other people say out loud the things you silently scream inside the safety of your own head. Let them take the fall for views you hold but would never dare admit to. You're still so young, untested, you think there is no other way of being but theirs. But you're wrong, Scarlett. So very wrong. There are other means of living, better ones. More honest. This so-called civilisation they've created is no more sturdy than the home of the man who built his house upon the sand. You're a good Irish Catholic; you don't need to be told what happened to him. That's what this war really is, Scarlett. It's the wind of change, rushing in to blow everything down. And not before time, too. Aren't you tired of listening to the same old hypocrites constantly telling you to do this or not to do that, all the while knowing full well they're guilty of committing far worse sins themselves? I know I am. I'm bone-tired of the whole miserable charade and I won't stand for it a moment longer.'

There's that word again, Scarlett thought. Hypocrites. It was the third time Rhett had used it in less than ten minutes and she still didn't have the faintest clue as to what he was going on about. She opened her mouth to demand he tell her when Captain Ashburn appeared back at her side, a glass of punch in one hand and a shot of whiskey in the other.

'Here you go,' he said, smiling at her.

'Thank you,' she replied, reaching for the punch, though Lord knew after her conversation with Rhett she could sorely have done with the whiskey.

As if he could read her thoughts, Rhett threw her a devilish wink and casually stole Captain Ashburn's whiskey from out of his hand, knocking it back with one swift, well-practiced jerk of the wrist.

'Cheers, Carey,' he said, mock-saluting the captain with the now empty glass. 'I think you'll agree my needs were greater. I'll buy you one in return once you've battled through ten minutes with the incomparable Miss. O'Hara. Never has talking to a woman felt more like waging a full-scale military operation. Why trudge through miles of mud to fight the Yankees when she is right here and so clearly born to be sparred with?'

Captain Ashburn, his pale cheeks flushing blood red as if he really had been wounded at war, stepped forward indignantly. 'Sir, how dare-'

'Shall we dance?' Scarlett cut in quickly to say. Having Rhett entangle her in one embarrassing scene today was more than enough, she wouldn't idly stand by and let him drag her into another.

Taking Captain Ashburn's good arm, she tugged him gently away from Rhett and led him onto the dancefloor. As they began to waltz slowly around the room, she couldn't resist the urge to glance back over her shoulder to look at Rhett. He wore such a queer expression on his face, his usual jocular mask stripped away to reveal an open sort of fury. The same fury that she had first spied when he's stormed out of Mrs. Elsing's parlour that afternoon. Watching him, Scarlett felt a tremor of apprehension shiver its way softly down her spine. For the first time since she'd met him she began to understand why other people said that Rhett Butler was a dangerous man to fall foul of. Unconsciously, she tightened her grip on Captain Ashburn, half afraid that Rhett would stride across the floor and strike him down where he stood.

She needn't have worried. The next time she swept past where Rhett had been standing it was to find that he'd vacated the spot in favour of propping up the bar. As she danced with Captain Ashburn, and then a long line of bright-eyed, eager suitors whose names she never was to remember, she kept one eye on Rhett, watching on as he sunk back drink after drink, behaving more like a drunk at a dingy saloon than a dashing blockader at a respectable gathering.

Eventually, tiring of overenthusiastic partners stepping on her toes and unable to hold back her curiosity any longer, she made her excuses and left the floor. Pushing past the crowd of men at the bar, she came to stand behind Rhett.

She only tapped him lightly on the shoulder, but he spun around as sharply as if he'd been stabbed, muscles tense and hands curled into fists, the very picture of a street brawler spoiling for a fight. It struck her then that that was exactly what he'd been wanting all day: a fight. He'd been riling people up on purpose, desperate for someone to call him out for it.

'Scarlett,' he said, all the pent up rage disappearing the instant he realised it was her. 'Did no one ever warn you it's dangerous to sneak up on a man like that?' he teased lightly, though his eyes were strangely sombre, tinged black with remorse.

'I wasn't sneaking,' she protested hotly. She's never been a sneaker, someone to creep up behind closed doors and listen in where they shouldn't. Growing up, such underhanded tactics had always been more Suellen's style. Scarlett herself had always favoured more direct means, which was what prompted her to blurt out rather bluntly: 'Fiddle dee dee, Rhett! Whatever is the matter with you today?'

Caught off-guard by the question, Rhett laughed loudly, a happy bark of genuine surprise. 'Never one to beat around the bush, are you, Scarlett? No, no, I'm not criticising,' he hastened to add when she scowled. 'Indeed, it's one of your most attractive qualities, and, my dear, there is so very much about you that is attractive.'

Torn between preening at the compliment and bristling at his overly familiar tone, Scarlett decided to press on. 'You were impossible this afternoon, and now you're standing here, getting drunk like some...some...'

'Florid Irishman who'll have to sleep downstairs in his boots?' Rhett taunted, his eyes positively gleaming.

'You hush up about my pa!' Scarlett seethed, hating to be reminded of that mortifying night, even if it was the main reason she was still allowed to live in Atlanta today.

'Who mentioned your pa? Really, Scarlett, you shouldn't sell out your own father's secrets so easily.' Rhett paused, a shadow passing over his face. 'I've managed to keep my own father's far better, though Lord knows that man's done nothing to deserve my loyalty.'

'Why did you do say that to Mrs. Elsing?' she asked again, exasperated by the way he was forever going off on some inexplicable new tangent. Why, the man couldn't give a straight answer if his life depended upon it.

Rhett smirked, amusement bleeding into his dour expression, instantly making him look years younger. 'I wasn't the one who began speaking of bosoms, Scarlett. If Mrs. Elsing did not wish to draw attention to her own distinct lack of such, then she really shouldn't have raised the subject in the first place.'

Scarlett opened her mouth to reply tartly, stopping short when she caught his expression. It was so playful and goading when only moments ago it had been stark and fearsome, that she could not help but burst into laughter. Rhett joined in, chuckling roguishly under his breath. It was a nice sound, Scarlett thought, made nicer by the fact that, for once at least, she was not the source of his amusement.

'Oh, Rhett, you are terrible!' she cried, enjoying his wickedness, as she smacked him lightly on the arm.

Quick as a flash, Rhett's hand shot out and clasped hers, pressing it firmly against the soft, expensive material of his suit jacket. He caressed the skin of the back of her hand with his thumb, stroking up and over her knuckles and lingering slightly at the base of her ring finger, where, up until recently, the wedding band Charles had presented her with had sat.

'What are you doing?' she asked. She felt alarmed, wrong-footed by his strange behaviour and sudden mood swings. She knew that she ought to pull back her hand and step away from him, but she could not seem to make herself move.

'Do you remember the night you threw away your ring?' he asked, still gazing intently at the place where their hands touched. He sounded far away, as if he really was back there at the bazaar, reliving the moment she'd rid herself of the shackles of her doomed marriage.

'I didn't throw it away,' she stuttered unconvincingly. It was hard to concentrate when he was touching her like this, tenderly, as if they were lovers of many years' standing. 'I donated it to the Cause.'

Rhett chuckled, his thumb resuming its slow caress. 'Of course you did. I apologise most humbly for daring to suggest otherwise. Let me rephrase the question: do you remember the night you selflessly donated your most beloved possession for our great and glorious Cause?'

Scarlett glared at him for mocking her, but he did not look up to see it. 'Of course I do. That was the night I won the most amount of money in the dancing competition.'

'My memory must be faulty, I thought it was a charity fundraiser not a competition?'

'Of course it was a competition, Rhett,' Scarlett huffed impatiently. Sometimes men were so slow on the uptake. Every unmarried woman there that night had known they were pitted against one another in silent combat. Whether they admitted it to themselves or not, they'd all wanted to attract the highest bid of the night. They'd all wanted to be singled out as the prettiest, the most desirable. They'd all wanted it, but only Scarlett had achieved it. Even now, the mere memory of her triumph was enough to bring a self-satisfied smirk to her lips.

Rhett smiled at her expression, his eyes unmistakably fond. 'A competition I was only too pleased to help you win, Scarlett. Even if my wallet did take something of a beating.'

'Was I not worth the gold?' she asked coquettishly, safe in the knowledge that she had been.

Rhett laughed at her brazenness. 'Even carat of it. And you know why? Because you were the only woman in the room, nay, the whole of the South, who would have sold her reputation to buy herself a few minutes of pleasure.'

Scarlett frowned, not liking his assessment of her actions one bit. 'I didn't-'

'Oh, but you did. Whether you realised it fully at the time or not. Seeing you there, striding towards me to claim your dance, those glorious eyes alight...' Rhett fell silent, rubbing again at her bare ring finger. 'I've known a lot of women in my life, Scarlett,' he said softly, tightening his hold on her hand when a flash of jealousy prompted her to try and pull it back. 'Not like that. Well, not the women I'm talking about now, anyway. I mean the women I grew up with, the sort of women who ran that city just like they run this one and every other one like it across the South.'

'Women like Mrs. Elsing?' Scarlett asked, beginning to understand where he was leading.

'Exactly, her and her ilk. Because they're all the same these women; they're all cut from the same fraying altar cloth. They'll preach about Christian values, they'll sit in judgement of your supposed crimes, but don't be fooled; their blood contains not a single drop of empathy, of basic human kindness. They're a member of every charity board going, but the minute they see someone in genuine need - a mischievous boy who means no real harm, a young man who's fallen on hard times or, Saints forbid, a fallen woman with a heart of gold - they'll turn the other cheek so fast it's a miracle they don't snap their necks. They preach forgiveness without displaying even a modicum of it. They're -'

'Hypocrites,' Scarlett murmured quietly to herself, Rhett's earlier words coming back to her with newfound clarity.

'Yes,' Rhett said. For once there was no accompanying grin, no aggravating taunt about her surprising show of intellect. He seemed honestly glad to be understood. More than that, he looked relieved, as if the weight that had been hauling him down all day had finally been, if not lifted, then at least shared. 'The only reason they don't cut me in the street is because I'm useful to them. They want the things my blockade running brings them and they're willing to bend their morals to gain them. The minute this war's over, however, the moment I can no longer be of service...' Rhett made a wet, ripping sound with his mouth, drawing the index finger of his free hand viciously across his throat. 'How is that for Christian feeling, I ask you? No, I've danced to their tune for as long as I care to and now I'm taking my leave of the floor. I won't give them the satisfaction of throwing me off it.'

Scarlett nodded. She could understand that. She remembered the way the Old Cats had whispered about her at the bazaar, and how she'd instructed Rhett to lead her away from them, determined that she would decide when she stopped dancing, not them. She still thought Rhett could have gone about it better - and preferably when she wasn't there to be tarred by the brush of association - but she no longer felt the need to berate him. Not now she knew his reasoning.

A young man suddenly appeared next to them, his watery blue eyes fixed on Scarlett. 'I b...beg your your pardon, Miss,' he said, nerves making him stammer slightly. 'But I was wondering if you'd do me the honour of partnering me in the next reel?'

Scarlett frowned at him, annoyed that he'd interrupted her and Rhett's conversation. 'I-'

'Sir,' the bartender said, placing a fresh glass down beside Rhett. 'Your drink.'

'Thank you,' Rhett said, releasing Scarlett's hand to reach into his pocket and retrieve his money.

'I'm afraid I can't just now,' Scarlett told the boy, for she saw now that he was a boy, long and gangly like Charles had been before he'd gone marching off to war. The similarity repelled her, an uncomfortable mixture of guilt and irritation stirring low in her gut when she remembered her late husband.

Scarlett barely spared him a glance as he slouched away in defeat, for her eyes had already been drawn back to Rhett. She watched him pay, feeling oddly bereft now that he was no longer touching her. Her left hand tingled slightly, pinpricks of sensation darting across her skin. She clenched and unclenched her fist a few times, trying to get rid of it.

Rhett looked surprised to see her when he turned back around, as if he'd expected her to run off and dance with her admirer without saying goodbye. She wondered now why she hadn't. So what if the man had born a passing resemblance to Charles? When had something that insignificant ever stopped her from enjoying a reel? She should go and find him in the crowd, claim the dance that was rightfully hers. She should, except...

Except she didn't want to. For some reason, the prospect was less appealing than staying exactly where she was and continuing her talk with Rhett. It's only because it will be harder for you to see him now, she told herself firmly. From now on, with all of Atlanta against him, you won't be able to spend nearly as much time with him as you have been. You only want to stay with him because you don't know when you'll next get an opportunity to speak to him.

Yes. Scarlett nodded to herself. That's why.

'What's the matter, Scarlett?' Rhett asked. 'Aren't you feeling well? It's not like you to turn down a chance to show off your dancing skills.'

'There's nothing wrong with me,' Scarlett insisted, unconvinced.

'Then why don't you go and enjoy your reel?' he said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass round in circles before he drank it down. He looked tired, Scarlett thought, as he placed the glass down on the bar. She'd never seen him look tired before. Rhett ran a hand wearily down his face and Scarlett resisted the mad urge to reach forward and clasp hold of it, momentarily overcome by the desire to feel his thumb stroke her flesh again.

'Go on,' Rhett urged. 'I'm in the mood to drown my sorrows, and I won't risk being near you while inebriated. A man is wont to reveal his deepest, darkest secrets while inebriated, Scarlett, and I fear it would shock you greatly if you were to discover mine.'

Scarlett thought she might like to hear his secrets, but Rhett wouldn't hear of her staying.

'Go,' he said. 'Go find yourself a charming young gentleman, and ask him to dance.'

Scarlett turned to scan the crowd, intending to do as he said. Perhaps if she took her leave of him she'd be able to shake off this strange, dangerous feeling. The persistent little itch under her skin that made her want to plant herself at his side and stay there for the rest of the night. Longer even, if she was being honest with herself.

She spotted the Charles-lookalike who'd propositioned her, and gave him a smile sweet enough to make him forget the sting of her earlier refusal. The boy blushed, his pale cheeks turning blotchy. Scarlett sighed, feeling none of her usual triumph.

'That was quick,' Rhett quipped admiringly.

Unfortunately, she thought but didn't say. Gathering herself, she skipped lightly across the room, her hips swaying enticingly from side to side. She saw a dozen men's heads move to follow the back and forth motion, their eyes flitting in their sockets as if they were watching a tennis match. I could have any one of them, she thought. One look from me and they'd come scampering to my side like pet dogs in search of a treat. The thought should have bolstered her spirits, but instead she only felt more deflated. Sometimes, it seemed, there was such a thing as too easy. Impulsively, she glanced back at Rhett, wondering if she'd captured his attention too. Her lips pursed when she saw that he'd already turned back to the bar, his arm raised as he called for another drink. It didn't sit right with her that she should be so easily dismissed. That their conversation, which had so confused and unsettled her, should be forgotten by him so swiftly. Overcome by some reckless, mad impulse, she spun around on her heel and marched back over to where he stood. She pushed herself into the space next to him, feeling Rhett startle slightly as she brushed up against him.

'Scar-'

'Do you want to dance?'

The words were out of her mouth before she knew it, before she'd even decided what it was she wanted to say to him. When she brain caught up with her tongue, she could have bitten it off. She tensed, waiting for his rejection; the stinging barb that would catch in her skin and tear it clean away.

Rhett's mouth opened and closed, his eyes wide.

Shocked, are you? Scarlett wanted to say. I suppose you would be. All these months you've been needling me, trying to get a reaction. I bet you never thought I'd give you such a good one as this.

'You must be mistaken,' Rhett said, collecting himself. 'Though I'm flattened you still think me young, I'm afraid I can't in all good conscience claim to be a gentleman.'

No, but you are charming, Scarlett would have said if he was one of her beaus, all the while fluttering her lashes and swishing her skirts. This was Rhett, though, a man who'd never taken kindly to her flirting and was unlikely to start now. Instead she stood there, her tongue lolling in her mouth, fat and thick and useless. She didn't know why she felt so unsettled, and because of Rhett of all people. A man she didn't even like. Not really.

As if sensing her distress, Rhett's expression softened and he held out his arm for her to take. 'Will you do me the honour?' he said, and it felt nothing like when Charles' lookalike had asked her the same question.

'Yes,' she said, as if it had been his idea all along.

'And to think I only came out tonight to get a decent drink,' Rhett whispered ruefully as they took to the floor.

'Oh, hush up,' Scarlett scolded, happy now that she'd got what she wanted. She took Rhett's hand and didn't protest when he pulled her too close. 'At least you don't have to pay for this one.'

Rhett startled her by throwing back his head and laughing loud enough to wake the dead. 'Oh, I'll pay all right, my dear. You've no idea how dearly.' Curiously though, Rhett didn't seem too upset by the idea. In fact, as they spun together through the crowd of dancing couples, Scarlett thought she'd never seen him look happier.