The poker game was going smoothly. Rhett was losing terribly, and everyone sitting around the card table was pleased, including Rhett himself. This was his secret maneuver. He pretended to play badly at the beginning, making rookie mistake that could easily be beaten, and as the drinks flowed and the men grew looser, he changed his game. Every night he walked out with a fistful of cash (not that he needed it, but it was satisfying just the same), and every night his competitors were left to shake their heads, complaining, "What a lucky bastard!"

This night was looking like it was going to go no differently. Around him sat two Yankee Captains and a few of their men. They glanced at each other dopily as Rhett once again lost the pot.

"Pity we'll have to cut this game short," said the fat bearded one whose name Rhett could not recall.

"Oh?" Rhett tapped the ashes from his cigar out into the ash tray. "Have you plans to raid homes of the decent southern peoples?" He grinned at the men and they grinned back. He was on good terms with the Yankees, mostly because he didn't care a lick their purpose in Georgia and preferred their company to the stuffy Old Guard.

"Actually-" began the fat man, holding up a beefy finger.

"Corporal," warned the Captain, glancing ominously between the man he addressed and Rhett.

"What's that?" demanded Rhett jovially. "A secret you're too afraid to tell me! You're not defiling the Confederate gravesite again, are you?"

"No," denied the Captain, smiling a little despite himself. "Well, Rhett, if you must know- you were aware of that little, er- situation that Mrs. Kennedy got herself into?"

"I'd heard of that," offered Rhett mildly, inwardly fighting the urge to punch the Captain in the jaw.

"Well, we received word that some of the confederate men had it in their minds to clear out the rest of the forests. What they don't know is, we'll be ready for them." Pleased with himself, the Captain sat back and fingered his bushy mustache.

"Yes, we'll be ready for them all right!" agreed the fat man, chuckling. Rhett laughed too, and pushed all of his chips into the center of the table.

"All in," he declared.

"I guess his lucky streak finally wore out," joked the beefy Corporal as he counted his money. "Pity he had to leave so early."

One year later, Scarlett Butler pursed her lips as she twirled calculatingly in front of the large mirror in the boutique. The seamstress fluttered nervously around her, trying desperately to pin the sash around Scarlett's tiny waist as she moved.

"I don't know, Rhett. Do you like the fluttered sleeves or the ruffles?" Scarlett had become used to taking fashion advice from her new husband, and Rhett, sitting lazily in an armchair facing the long mirrors, never tired of the view.

"Anything you like," insisted Rhett.

"Frank cared nothing for how I looked," sighed Scarlett, sparing a little smile for the handsome man in front of her. "In fact, he discouraged my prettiness. What a waste." Scarlett frowned. Rhett looked down, grinning.

"Indeed," he agreed. "You can thank me later."

"Whatever for?" She turned taunting green eyes on him, but her gaze suddenly sparked a hint of guilt in Rhett, and he busied himself with lighting a cigar.

"Rhett-" began Scarlett again, but her tone had changed, and Rhett glanced up at her and instantly felt on the alert. Her playful gaze was suddenly threateningly thoughtful, and his guilt turned to slight fear. He'd waited for the day that she would grow suspicious about his involvement the night of the Shantytown raid, but her questions never came.

Scarlett narrowed her eyes. Rhett sat up a little straighter. Scarlett pursed her lips. Rhett cleared his throat.

"I've changed my mind about this shade of blue," she finally asserted, turning back to gaze at herself in the mirror.

The seamstress and Rhett Butler both heaved an inward sigh- the seamstress, because dressing Scarlett Butler was an exhausting task- and Rhett, because keeping the largest secret of his life from his wife was, well… exhausting.

No, Scarlett Butler should never know that it was Rhett who put the bullet in Frank's skull.

He had chosen to go all in, and insofar, it was worth it.

A/N:

This little tickle came about after, when my husband and I finished watching GWTW one night, he said "I bet it was Rhett who killed Frank."

The quality of this piece wasn't great (yeah, it's been almost two years), but the secondary goal for posting this was to search for a beta for a multi-chaptered story. So… anyone? Anyone?