Author's Note: I haven't disappeared, I've just been busy with school In fact I just got back from my second test of the week, and instead of posting this I really should be studying for my third test of the week. But it had been a while, and this had been lying around in my in progress file, so I thought that I should actually share it. Just a little over a month left of school, and then I should be back to updating more often.

The air was hot, and even the airing out that the servants had done prior to her return had not removed that faint aroma that testified to the fact that this room had until recently been a sick room while she recovered from the accident. The air was stale and hot and even opening a window would do little to dispel that, for the air outside was no cooler. She sagged against the bed, her head throbbing and her sides still tender. Would anything ever be right again?

She had been able to pretend that she was better for a brief time, pretend that her heart wasn't still aching, but that was not the case. No, her heart would forever feel this way. While at Tara there had been many hours that she had spent sitting in a rocking chair thinking of what her mother had endured. Had mother's heart hurt like this when the baby boys had died?

And yet there was no child. There never would be a child. She could see it in Rhett's eyes, that Bonnie was all that he needed. He didn't need her and that left her feeling hollow inside,. And there was no way that another child would be conceived. Her child was gone just as surely as the way of life from before the war was gone -- just as life from before she had kicked Rhett from her bed was gone. And she knew they she needed to push that pain aside, but it clung to her. She could not shake these feelings of grief; these feelings were ever present. And she desperately wanted for Rhett to tell her that he was sorry, that he grieved for this child -- their child. But he was now little more than a cordial and polite stranger. And an apology -- any shared moments of grief or compassion -- were obviously more than he was willing to offer her. He wanted nothing to do with her. Perhaps he still believed that the baby had not been his. The thought caused the bile to rise in her throat. He didn't care that their child was gone.

She had been a fool. She never should have reacted to his taunts. She should have remained impassive and aloof as he had -- as he always did. But no, instead she had reacted as she always did, and now she was paying dearly for it. She knew that she had come so very close to paying for that outburst with her life. Perhaps she had been just as much a fool to allow Rhett to manipulate her into selling the mills to Ashley. He would run them into the ground in no time. But as she felt now, though she would admit it to no one else, she knew that she was too exhausted to be able to run all of her business with any efficiency or success. She would have managed -- somehow, but she would not have done so without great cost to herself. And there was enough money now, so that she did not need to push herself like she had done before -- during the dark times after the war when every day was a battle for survival. And even her body was rebelling against her, holding her back, and she was powerless to fight against her own body.

Now that she had returned home, she felt as isolated as she had at Tara, and no amount of acting could hide the truth. At Tara for the first time, she could not quite find her footing. It was as if home was no longer home. It was as though the world would never be right again. And yet everyone, even Suellen treated her cordially. And yet, none of the children would come near her. None of the children at Tara, and returning home had not changed that. She knew that Wade and Ella were terrified that she would be hurt and of her grim coolness, and Bonnie, heaven only knew the baby's reasoning. But it was obvious that the child only cared for her father and wanted nothing to do with her mother.

She closed her eyes and leaned weakly against the pillows. The boning in the corset was digging into her side painfully, so intense was the pain that tears pricked at her eyes. And then the tears slowly began seeping out, and she made no move to brush them away for there would be no one to see them. The effort seemed too great for the meager strength that she possessed. It didn't matter, the pain was a constant. The constant aching in her side never abated, and so she bore the pain, for there was nothing else that she could possibly do.

She was startled then when she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Scarlett, wake up." Rhett said.

She blinked, trying to focus on her surroundings. "I… I must have fallen asleep." She said while rubbing her eyes, hoping that it would help disguise the tear tracks. "What are you doing in here?" She asked as the haziness began to clear from her mind.

"I knocked several times, and when you didn't answer I grew concerned." He responded cordially. "I apologize for intruding, but dinner is ready and waiting. Bonnie was expecting you to eat with us tonight."

It took his offered hand to help her rise from the bed, wincing as her still tender ribs protested from the movement. She could feel his eyes on her, but she said nothing and neither did he. "Send Prissy up to help me change." She told him, turning away so he could not see the emotions flickering in her eyes.

"You don't need to change for dinner. You look fine. There is no one here but the children," He told her blandly. "Just come along, dinner will be cold if you don't hurry."

She was too tired to protest, and besides protesting any of his decrees never gained her anything. She followed him slowly, wearily trudging behind him. But she stopped at the top of the stairs as memories assaulted her. He turned back and watched her again, and for a moment she thought that she could see a flicker of something akin to regret flash across his eyes before he shuttered them again to hide his emotions. "Do you need some help?" He asked, asking only what a polite passerby might ask. But they were not strangers, they were husband and wife.

"No, I'm fine. I'm merely appreciating the view." She replied brittlely, her voice rising with the lie. And yet she remained rooted the spot just as surely as if she were clinging to the banister. She stood erect, trying to appear as if the stairs did not bother her and yet they did, they terrified her. She was afraid that she would only cause herself more pain if she went down those stairs. Those stairs had now taken a frightening role in her nightmares, and even in the daylight, it was impossible to not be affected. And then the thought briefly flickered across her mind that perhaps all of the agony would end if she had another accident. She had never been a quitter-- never thought that she would consider death a welcome end, but the pain was constant, both physical and mental. No! Her mother's teachings remained, and she knew that that brief thought was a mortal sin. She could never take her own life, if for no other reason than she was terrified of going to Hell.

She wished that he would contradict her, tell her that she wasn't fine. But he did nothing other than take her by the hand and lead her down the stairs. Didn't he notice how clammy her palms were or the rapid terrified rhythm of her pulse? She walked with her head held high. Damn him, for his arrogance. In her pain, she wanted him to hurt too. Did he not bleed?

But finally the descent was over, and she was walking into the dining room, where the children were patiently waiting... well Wade and Ella were patiently waiting, while Bonnie squealed and made a ruckus.

Bonnie seemed happy to see her, and Wade and Ella were behaving perfectly as they generally did in her presence. Bonnie chattered happily, although most of the words were unrecognizable to Scarlett. But she pretended to listen for no one else seemed to register her presence at all.

No one noticed that her food was largely untouched, even though the foods served were some of her favorites. The pain robbed her of any desire to eat. She was constantly feeling nauseous, and the thought of food only made the problem worse. She felt like a child, pushing the food around on her plate, praying that no one would notice how little food she had managed to choke down.

The meal was quickly over, and Mammy had taken the children up to the nursery leaving Rhett and Scarlett alone. Scarlett was staring at her plate, idly playing with her unfinished dessert in silence.

"Was the food not to your liking?" Rhett's voice pierced her thoughts, and she jerked up her head to look at him. Apparently he had noticed more than she had given him credit for, but that was his way, at times he was annoyingly observant.

"It was fine." She responded unemotionally, and then resumed playing with the food on her plate. She wanted him to care, desperately aching for him to do something, anything, but he did not. She wished that he would hurl insults at her that he would express some emotion, but instead he was merely polite. He rose from the table and excused himself leaving her there alone. It was an empty hollow feeling that surrounded her. It was almost as if she was screaming for someone to help, but no one could hear her, and she could do nothing to change it. She was powerless and nearly invisible.

Finally she rose from the table and made her way to the stairs. She stood before them, gazing dejectedly as if they were Stone Mountain. She had once thought the sweeping stairs grand and majestic, but now they were merely an obstacle before her that was nearly too great for her to handle.

"Do you need some help?" Again Rhett was there, politely offering her his hand.

"No. Thank you. I can do this myself." She replied, refusing to touch him. She wanted more than he was offering, wanted much more. But after only a few steps, not even having made it to the first landing, her breathing was labored and she held on to the railing. Upon reaching the landing she stood quietly waiting for her breathing to slow down.

"Let me help you." He offered again, appearing at her side as if out of thin air.

Her tender ribs were aching so fiercely that it brought tears to her eyes. "I don't want to fight with you." She returned.

"Don't be a fool." For a moment it was as if he cared about her, and inwardly she rejoiced, but she soon decided that she must have imagined it. "Allow me to escort you to your room. It appears that you are not as well as you would like people to think. That was quite the act that you put on at the station, but I realize that is what it was, an act."

He laid his hand on her shoulder, and she jerked away from him. Her reaction only brought her more pain, for now the ache was replaced with a stabbing pain, and tears began to stream down her pale face. "I don't need your help." She replied through the tears.

"Like Hell you don't, you little fool." And there it was again, that spark of passion and emotion that had been so visibly absent. He reached down and carefully cradled her in his arms as if she weighed no more than Bonnie. She knew that she still was underweight from her illness, at least 15 pounds lighter than the last time that they had journeyed these stairs. But she refused to think about that night for it led only to more memories that made her heart ache. "I will do my best to jostle you as little as possible."

She could feel his eyes on her, but she remained silent, her lips pinched together tightly to keep from crying out. "You needn't be a martyr. You were seriously injured. No one will say anything if you do cry out."

She looked up at him, and saw the briefest glimpse of pain in his face. And then her tears began in earnest. It was as if the fact that he had actually felt something was enough to give her permission to open the flood gates. She clung to his shirt, sobbing brokenly as he opened the door to her bedroom. And then he sat on the bed with her until her tears had abated. She withdrew from his embrace and then took the offered handkerchief. And then he was gone, staying only as long as she was holding on to him, and as soon as he was released, he ran like the coward that he was.

Prissy arrived soon after, "Mistah Rhett, done told me to come an' help you get outta di heah dress." Scarlett nodded meekly and used all of her remaining strength to stand so that Prissy would do the work required to release her from her cage.

"Send Mammy to me," Scarlett commanded imperiously as she climbed into her bed, But by the time that Prissy left the room, Scarlett's eyes had fallen shut. Mammy wakened her only long enough to give her a small dose of laudanum to ease the pain, and she fell back into an exhausted slumber.