Author Notes:  Please be advised this story contains slash, which means there is a male/male more-than-platonic relationship at the focus.  If this offends you, please go away now.  This has been a fascinating story to write, and a difficult one, trying to reconcile the way I wanted the story to go, with the realities of life in 1864. It relies heavily upon the characterizations present in Margaret Mitchell's novel, rather than the movie (I am sorry to say that Leslie Howard has never represented my ideal Ashley Wilkes). In the tradition of "five things" fanfiction, this story will consist of five scenes which never actually took place (but I have tried my best to tie them into book canon so that they could have happened, somewhere, perhaps while we weren't looking). The pairing is Rhett/Ashley. The rating is R for sexual situations.

My thanks to Valarltd, Lar, Celli, Deepa, and Chickenjodie for beta comments on parts 1 and 2, and to all the people who suffered through AIM spamming while I tried to be brave and write something new.

Five Things That Never Happened to Ashley Wilkes

Act 1: Open, locks, whoever knocks (iv.I)

Of all the people that Ashley Wilkes might have expected to see standing on the doorstep of Miss Pitty's house on Christmas Eve, Rhett Butler was not one of them.

He hardly recognized the visitor at first, hidden as he was behind an armload of gaily wrapped packages. But there could be no mistaking the rich sound of Rhett's voice as it resonated through the empty house.

"Good afternoon, Major Wilkes!" he said. "I come bearing gifts. Just a few things Miss Pitty had mentioned she might like to have, if I was ever going to England again …"

"Of course, Captain Butler. Here, let me …" Ashley reached up and grabbed two of the boxes from the top of the stack, taking them into the parlor. Rhett followed with the rest.

"I'm surprised to find you here alone," Rhett commented as they put the packages down in a corner of the room. "After two years away in the service of our noble cause, I should have thought the women wouldn't let you out of their sight for five minutes. How ever did you manage to escape their loving ministrations?"

"Uncle Peter drove them over to the hospital with Mrs. Meade and Mrs. Merriweather, to sing carols for the wounded soldiers," Ashley replied. "They asked if I'd like to go along, but I …" he hesitated. It wouldn't be charitable to say that he'd seen more than enough of his share of wounded soldiers. "I don't sing," he said finally.

"I understand," Rhett said, and as he took Rhett's coat and hat Ashley could see that he did indeed understand, and probably even the things Ashley had not said aloud.

The book Ashley had been reading before going to answer the door was lying open next to the armchair he'd been sitting in; Rhett picked it up and turned it over, a worn, leather-bound copy of Macbeth. "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time," he read in a clear, dramatic tone.

"And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death," Ashley finished, pouring two snifters of brandy and offering one to Rhett.

"What an interesting choice of reading material. Thank you," he said genially, putting the book down again and accepting the glass. When Ashley indicated they should sit, he took the sofa so that Ashley could reclaim the armchair. Rhett was not a small man; his chest and shoulders were broad and strong, his legs sturdy and muscular, and the fashionable cut of his suit only emphasized his overpowering physical presence. Sprawled across Aunt Pitty's matronly cushions, Rhett made the furniture around him look almost as though it belonged in a doll's house.

"Are you an admirer of William Shakespeare?" Ashley asked. "You don't strike me as the type of man who would enjoy tales of tragic heroes."

Rhett sipped at his brandy. "Macbeth was no hero. He was just an ordinary man, manipulated into evil deeds by the women in his life... If he'd had a little more imagination, or perhaps a spine, things would probably have turned out quite differently."

"Then there wouldn't have been anything to write about," Ashley said stonily. But if Rhett noticed his petulant tone, he chose to ignore it. Ashley could see a tell-tale sparkle of mischief starting in his black eyes.

"Personally, I've always had a soft spot for the noble MacDuff," Rhett drawled. "He's willing to fight for Malcolm's kingship, even while grieving for what he thinks will become of his country ... Such loyalty! He's a man of unsinkable character. Why, MacDuff even reminds me of so many of our fine county boys, so patriotic in their gray rags -"

"You must not find his character all that attractive," Ashley countered quickly, his pride ruffled. "Otherwise you would have followed his example, and joined the Confederate army."

"No, no, thank you; I had enough of the military at West Point to last me two lifetimes," Rhett laughed, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand. "But I can see that I have offended you, my gracious host, and that was not my intention in calling here. I apologize for my inappropriate jocularity." He fixed Ashley with a steady gaze, fingers playing across the sides of his brandy glass. "So, tell me truly, Major Wilkes. How are things on the field of battle these days?"

Ashley could not hide a slight frown. It was common knowledge that Rhett had been such a successful blockade runner because he had many contacts in the Yankee military. He didn't want to go into any detail about the war effort if he could help it, but his upbringing wouldn't let him be rude to a guest by dodging the question altogether.

"We've been stationed in Virginia these last few weeks," he said at last. "We have many good men." He hoped the words didn't sound as hollow when spoken aloud as they felt in his heart. "Their spirits are strong and they believe in what we're fighting for. By spring, we'll surely have -"

"None of that," Rhett said sharply, sitting forward. His eyes were keen, searching Ashley's face. "All this week you've been talking lies, no doubt, so as not to frighten the women. But I won't play along with you. I know which way the wind is blowing. The Yankees are buying troops by the boatful from Europe, when the Confederates can't even keep their own men fed. By spring you'll be lucky to still be as far north as Virginia. I know things are bad, and I'm asking you to tell me, without embellishment, just how bad they really are."

"I'm surprised to hear that you have any interest at all in the situation, Captain," Ashley replied coolly. "I thought you were only interested in pocketing as much money as possible from the death throes of the Confederacy."

Rhett did not answer right away, to Ashley's surprise; he swirled the brandy in his glass and looked thoughtful. "Money is all that war is about," he said finally. "It wouldn't be in the best interest of any government to throw away so many resources and lives otherwise. That's how wars have always gone: there's money to be made in destruction, and even more in rebirth; power to be had for the greedy and the manipulative, and those with the foresight to seize it however they can. War's a dirty business, but it's a business nonetheless." He shrugged. "And I'm a businessman. I do what I have to do in order to survive."

The two men sat drinking quietly for few moments, with only the ticking of the mantle clock to break the silence. Try as he might, Ashley could find no opposing rebuttal that would be equal to Rhett's perceptive remarks. In his heart, he knew that the Confederacy was doomed, that going to war had been a huge mistake. Too many people had suffered or been needlessly killed while trying to save a way of life that had been lost as soon as the first shot was fired. Ashley thought it was a terrible waste, and it looked as though Rhett, ever the realist, felt the same way.

It should have been a relief to discover that here was someone Ashley could speak to openly about his fears. He had said as much in his letters home to Melanie, wistfully dreaming of days long past, expressing his great feelings of loss and betrayal, knowing that she would never reveal his traitorous thoughts to anyone. But Melanie never had much of consequence to say in return; to her, war was not a matter for women to discuss. She wrote of her love for him, her longing for his safe return, her faith in his strength and her hopes that they would someday have children and a family of their own. While her words were warm and comforting, how Ashley had longed to have a deeper conversation about his despair with someone he could trust! And here now was a person who would be unafraid to talk with Ashley on that level, a man with opinions that seemed to match his own and who could see things in a much broader perspective.

Had it been anyone else, someone he thought he could trust, Ashley might have unburdened his conscience at that moment, and talked about how he really felt about the war, and the Confederacy's cause. If anyone might understand, and not sputter in proud Southern outrage, it was Rhett Butler. But he also knew that Rhett would not hesitate to exploit any man's weakness to his full advantage once he had found it, so instead he said nothing, and as time went by to his great relief Rhett seemed disinclined to continue that line of conversation as well.

Finally, Rhett spoke again, setting his empty glass down on the table. "I'm sure you've had enough of this war talk by now, anyway, and I see the hour grows late, so I'll get to the point. I didn't come here just to bring gifts for the ladies. I have something for you, too." From his pocket Rhett produced a small ivory-colored card made out of heavy paper, and he handed it to Ashley. Written on the card in a fine hand, in black ink, was an address in Richmond.

"This is where I can usually be reached when I'm not at the hotel here in Atlanta," Rhett said. "Even when I'm not there, someone at this address will always know where to find me. As I'm sure you know, I generally have access to many useful and necessary things - items than can be extremely difficult for the average person to acquire these days. If there's ever anything that you need, I want you to contact me right away."

Ashley was on his feet quickly, nearly knocking the almost-forgotten book to the floor, his hands trembling with indignation. "Captain Butler," he said firmly. "I must protest."

Rhett stood also, but much more slowly, rising to his feet with panther-like grace. He looked down at the younger man, but there was no trace of mockery to be seen on his face. He placed a strong hand on Ashley's shoulder. "If you really must, then go ahead, but the offer stands. Despite how you probably feel about my degree of patriotism – or lack of - I mean what I've said and I won't take it back. If you ever need anything, anything at all, send word to me right away and I'll do whatever I can for you. Don't worry about the cost – we can work out whatever you believe is fair. I'm not exactly headed for the poorhouse. You may think my ill-gotten gains beneath your pride to accept, but we all have to survive, dear lad. You forget I've lived in Virginia; I know the winters are merciless, and must be as cold as hell to you Georgians. You're no good to anyone if you come back too starved to stand on your legs, or with your hands frozen off."

"I don't understand," Ashley said, flushing with confusion. "In all the time I've known you, Rhett, I've never seen you give anything to anyone without expecting something in return."

Rhett smiled wryly, but his expression was otherwise inscrutable. "Ah, you question the honorability of my intentions! Well then, allow me to explain - you see, Mrs. Wilkes," he emphasized, taking his hand away from Ashley's shoulder and moving to gather up his things, "has always been much more generous to me than I have ever deserved. She has defended me when I was indefensible, and received my company in her home when no other decent family in Atlanta would allow even my shadow to darken their doorstep. I may never be able to repay the kindness she has shown me, but I always try to make good on my debts. If the best I can do is help keep her foolish husband alive in spite of himself - then that's what I shall offer. If you won't keep this card, then I'll give it to your wife. Between the two of you, I generally think she's the one with the better sense, anyway."

While Ashley stood gaping at that, Rhett touched the brim of his hat and turned toward the door. "Don't worry," he said. "I can see myself out."

Ashley followed him to the door. He still didn't know what to think, but he kept the card, gripping it tightly in his fingers, watching Rhett stroll down the walk. When Rhett reached the gate, he turned back and waved.

"Merry Christmas, Major Wilkes," he called, "and give my best to your family."