Author's Note: This is a one shot. Nothing more. But I thought that we could all use a little something. It isn't happy, sorry, I'm still working on getting back there. Its been a hard year, and it never seems to end. But at least I'm posting something trying to get back into the habit of writing.

The pain was beginning to wear away. It was not that he did not miss her, but the constant aching in his chest was beginning to recede enough that he would once again breathe. And now that breath was once again filling his lungs, he began to see just how cruel he had been. He could try to justify it, explaining that Scarlett had been a terrible witch and deserved everything that she got. But that was not really true. Now in the darkness he could see the changes that had been wrought in her even before Bonnie left. Even in his mind he could refer to it only as when she left, as if the wording changed any of the facts.

The sparkle in Scarlett's eyes when he had returned with Bonnie should have clued him in, that and a million other small nuances. He knew he by heart, but he was unwilling to let go of his pride and admit that it was possible that her feelings for him were changing. But he had been arrogant, and to his own dread apprehensive. It seemed too impossible a dream for her to care for him now that he had waited for such a long time. There was something terrifying about being in a place to finally reach your goal. He had spent so many years and so much time trying to get there, but the reality of reaching that place was more than he was prepared for.

And yet now he had wasted so much time. She couldn't possibly still love him, because of all of the cruel things that he had said. And yet an even more terrifying thought flitted through his brain that after all of this mental preparation that she had been wrong and that she really didn't love him. How was he to deal with that? She had claimed to love Ashley, and yet that love had waned. What prevented this newly born love for him from being extinguished as well?

Sitting in the darkly draped rooms of his mother's home in Charleston, he had had too much time to think and consider what his words had done to Scarlett. And now true to his word, he was returning to check on her. He did still care, but his heart was too weary to allow himself to open up to her advances. His heart couldn't survive being anymore broken than it already was.

The house seemed to have shriveled in his absence and the lot on which it was built seemed to have shrunk as well. This house had brought him nothing other than heart ache and ruin, and yet it had been built in one of his many attempts to buy Scarlett's affection. The best and worst days of his life had been spent within those garishly painted walls. And he was still trying to force himself to walk through the doors – those over done, over-priced, stained-glass laden, gilded doors.

And yet he couldn't stand out on the lawn forever, waiting for something to convince him to go inside. He needed to make everyone think that it didn't bother him in the slightest, even though just standing in the shadow of the house was enough to make him quake inwardly. He considered going around to the back of the house in order to avoid entering the house as he had returned from his trip to Charleston with Bonnie, and yet going to the back of the house opened even more deeply infected wounds than the memories of that day in July.

He hadn't sent Scarlett a message that he was coming. He wanted the upper hand with her, which of course he did not have, even though she was always blissfully unaware of just how strong a power that she held over him. But now he was returning to their home, and would be there before she knew.

It angered him that the day was fair. As dismal as the state of his heart was, he wanted the weather to match his mood. But instead the air was warm and soft and filled with the fragrance of flowers and the soft twittering of birds in the trees. And yet here he stood with his heart open and bleeding ready to walk back into Scarlett's life, whether for a moment or for a lifetime, he wasn't sure. But he had returned, as he always did. Because there was something about her that drew him to her. And try as he might to escape, he was still intoxicated by his need for her, at times inebriated by her. And he reached out his hand and pushed open the door back into the life that he had departed.