I dedicate this to the good girls over on O Fiddle Dee Dee, who posed the question: how would GWTW have been different if Scarlett had kicked Rhett where the sun don't shine instead of lunging at him when he came home from London. No, this is not a particularly serious story. Yes, it was fun to write.

"Cheer up—maybe you'll have a miscarriage."

Rage the likes of which she had never experienced before coursed through her veins. How could he doubt his child? As if Ashley would have done the things to her that Rhett had the night of that party—the very idea was absurd.

Why the hell had she missed him? He was a callous bastard who had stolen one of her children like a thief in the night and had the audacity to deny the legitimacy of the other one! The red-hot desire to cause him pain—as much pain as he'd caused her, for he had hurt her badly—filled her to the brim.

Inexplicably, a faint childhood recollection came to her. When she was about nine years old, her father had gone away on a business trip. When he finally did return, she'd been so eager to see him that she had jumped onto his lap rather exuberantly, slamming her knobby knees in his lap. His face had contorted in more pain than she'd ever seen in her life—Gerald had been so surprised that he had stood up and hobbled out of the room, bowled over. Her mother had hurriedly explained to her that she must be very careful about 'that place' on her father from now on. She wasn't reprimanded for her actions, but had overheard some of the house slaves discussing Mr. O'Hara's inability to get on a horse for the next several days.

Suddenly, she knew what she wanted to do to Rhett.

She ran up the stairs, swiftly, cutting him off from finishing the ascent. Scarlett wanted to attack him—and in a way that even the great Rhett Butler would not be able to laugh off.

With as much strength as she could muster in her small body, she raised her knee and through her skirts, kicked him in his well-tailored groin.

Rhett buckled over in pain. He had always known his wife to hit below the belt, but never had she done it so…literally. He fell to his knees, sliding halfway down a stair in shock more than anything else. Above him, his wife's eyes blazed with both angry triumph and barely-concealed tears.

"I imagine that's about the closest you'll ever come to feeling what it's like to give birth to a baby." She spun on her heel, calling over her shoulder, "I hope you remember that while I'm giving birth to your child."

Rhett heard the door to her bedroom slam.

What a welcome home.

He knew he deserved it. As soon as the words had left his mouth, as soon as he'd seen the expression on her face, he had known that he would regret saying them. Being kicked there, of all places, was an appropriate punishment, since it was that general location that had gotten them both into this mess in the first place.

This was the last thing Rhett had been expecting their reunion to be, Rhett thought, as he gingerly stood up. Her face—Christ, what a kick—her face when Bonnie and he walked through the door had been, if he was not mistaken, one of pleasure. She hugged Bonnie tightly when her daughter waddled up the stairs to her—the joy at seeing Bonnie had not been counterfeit. And then, of course, he had callously greeted her and goaded her into a fight. Were her words about not wanting him to be the father the truth, or was it simply the Scarlett O'Hara bravado he'd seen so many times before—his wife childishly lashing out with words of extreme hatred because she knew no other way to react?

The more he thought about it, the more logical it seemed. It was as if she had kicked him in the head and not in his still tender nether region.

In a burst of clarity, he saw what he had to do—apologize to her. She was not the mothering type, but he would make this pregnancy up to her—spoil her and pamper her, as he had done on their honeymoon. He would be attentive and kind, for even if she did not love him, she was carrying his child and would be giving him another precious gift—like Bonnie. Another child would make up for all the nights he had ached to have her in his bed these last few years.

A few hours passed, with no sign of Scarlett. She refused to come out of her room for dinner, and so Rhett and Bonnie spent their first dinner back with only Ella and Wade. Rhett was pleased to see his stepchildren, and entertained them with stories of his and Bonnie's travels. The stories were amusing enough that they even distracted his children from asking why he was walking so strangely, which was one story he had no real desire to tell them.

After dinner, he went into the kitchen to see about getting some food for his angry, pregnant wife. The knowledge that she was in her condition had softened the resentment and jealousy he had been feeling towards her—coupled with months away from her, of course. He'd missed being close to her, and now he wanted to make sure she got something to eat.

Mammy, being Mammy, had kept a plate of food warmed up for Scarlett, and Rhett insisted on taking it up to her. With some trepidation, he knocked on the door of the 'inner sanctuary'.

"Scarlett? I brought you something to eat."

"Go away. I don't want it," was the muffled response.

He could practically hear her stomach growl through the door.

"Come on, Scarlett—you need to eat. Starving won't do you or anyone else any good."

"If it makes you sorry for the abominable way you've treated me, it will!"

Another hit below the belt—it stung. He set down the tray of food, afraid he might end up throwing it in frustration before this conversation was through.

"Scarlett, you are pregnant—you need to eat. Be reasonable. I have dinner here, I'm sure you're hungry—unlock the door and I'm sure you'll feel much better."

"I'm not going to open the door and I'm not going to eat and you won't make me do either!" was the petulant response he got.

At that, Rhett lost his patience with her.

"You will eat if I have to force-feed you every bite, and as for this door— "

He violently yanked on the handle, intending to break it and force his way into the room. To his great surprise, the door flew open with his minimal first effort. The doorknob remained attached to the door, and he stood stupidly in the entrance to the ornate bedroom, wind completely taken from his sails. Scarlett lay on the richly upholstered bed, face pale and eyes clearly red from crying. She stared up at him. He stared back.

"The door was unlocked," he said, stupidly, all anger forgotten.

"It hasn't been locked in months."

He leaned over the pick up the silver tray of food, wincing at the pain from her earlier attack on him. He walked over to her slowly, and she felt simultaneously glad and guilty that she had caused him to lose his usually confident stride. Sitting down next to her on the bed, he softly placed the tray on her lap with more gentleness than he'd shown her in a very long time.

"Did you stop locking the door because you hoped I would be tempted to break our agreement of separate bedrooms, Mrs. Butler?" he asked, teasingly. Scarlett didn't answer directly, her mouth full. She had immediately started digging into the elaborate steak dinner that was prepared for his return, and the voracity of her hunger was heartening.

"A better way of getting you to break it would have been to get you really drunk, wouldn't it?" she asked, swallowing a huge bite of potatoes. "Of course, I might not see you again for several months if I try that. Next time, could you please send a notification of where you are in case I need some extra money to provide for any children you might leave me with?"

"If I'd known you were pregnant, Scarlett, I would have come home sooner," he said, seriously.

"What for? You don't even think it's yours." She threw the fork down on the tray with a loud clang. "You probably wish that I had fallen down the stairs with the baby and we'd both died—then no one in Atlanta who's been talking about me all these months would be able to doubt that you're the father of my child!"

"For God's sake, Scarlett, I didn't mean what I said!" He knocked her tray out of her lap and onto the floor and gripped her shoulders, staring wildly into her tear-stained eyes. "I would never wish such a thing on you—Jesus Christ, just the thought of that happening to you kills me."

The image of her falling down that long staircase was vividly etched in his mind—it was the most terrifying thought he'd ever had.

Scarlett burst into tears and flung herself into the arms that held her shoulders. Rhett rubbed her back as she cried, the same childish sobbing of the night Atlanta fell. Even though he had caused her tears, he was her only anchor on reality and the only person left in her life who could truly comfort her.

"It's alright, Scarlett…darling, just cry. I'm sorry I said that, baby, truly. I don't want that to happen to you—I never want that to happen to you. I'm going to keep you and the baby safe, I promise. I won't leave again…"

At those words, Scarlett's feelings tumbled out of her mouth and into his chest, muffled by his starched shirt. They were a nearly incoherent mess of deep-seated fears, insecurities and hormones.

"After that night, I thought you cared for me, but then you left and took Bonnie away…and…I thought you only saw me as just some body you'd bought—and then I found out about the baby—"

He gripped her tighter and smoothed down the frenzied mess of ebony hair with his hand, gently. Her hair felt as fine as Bonnie's did.

"I know you don't want it, but I'm going to make things as easy as possible for you, Scarlett. I'm sorry that—"

She untangled herself from his arms.

"Oh, Rhett, I do want it!" She turned away from him and crawled to the other side of the bed. "I have since Dr. Meade told me…I thought it would help clear the air between us, and make things alright again…but you won't even claim this baby."

"Scarlett…look at me." Reluctantly, she turned her head to meet his eyes. "Scarlett, I know that I am the father of your child. I said that because—I thought you didn't want it. You told me that you wished anyone was the father but me, Scarlett—was that a lie?" He dared himself to hope.

"Yes, Rhett," she answered, "I only said that…I don't know why I did. You're the most baby-crazy man in Atlanta, of course I want you to be this child's father." She laid her palms on her barely-showing stomach. "If only you wanted this child as much as I do—"

He crossed the bed and cut her off with a more passionate kiss than he'd ever given her. There was no aggression in his touch, only tenderness—Scarlett wrapped her arms around his neck instinctually. His hand trailed from her neck down to her abdomen, and he gently caressed her stomach. He pulled away only reluctantly.

"Oh, God—I want it. Knowing that you want it, too makes me the happiest man on earth, Scarlett."

He cradled her softly in his arms and she felt safer than she had in years—Rhett's gentleness was so different from the raw aggression that had fueled the conception of the child—the conception she still blushed to remember but could recall in exquisite detail.

"You want our baby?"

"Of course I do, Scarlett. I love Wade, and Ella, and you know how much I love our Bonnie—your children are a part of you, and they are magnificent."

It was the most honest thing she had ever heard him say. For the first time since she had met him, she felt absolutely certain he meant what he said—there was not the slightest trace of insincerity in his eyes or tone. She shifted a little in his embrace and felt his muscles tighten in pain—then she remembered the way their last conversation had ended.

"Oh, Rhett, your…" Her eyes wandered down to the unmentioned area.

"There are several euphemisms for the area, my dear, but I think a full list would cause a woman in your delicate condition to faint." He said, dryly. He was too happy to care what she'd done—the fact that she wanted his child gave him profound hope. Perhaps she wanted him, too.

"I'm sorry I did that." As she remembered what he had said to provoke the attack, her sheepish look turned hard. "Actually, come to think of it, I'm not sure I am sorry."

"I deserved it." He agreed, "I was surprised that you knew what a devastating blow to a man that could be. Wherever did you pick that one up?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"I accidentally did it to Pa when I was a girl." She blushed at the roaring laugh that followed her pronouncement.

"Only you could do that to a man by accident!"

"It was an accident, Rhett, honestly!" was her defensive rebuttal. It was as if years of resentment had fallen away—at least for this brief moment of relative harmony between them.

"I'm sure."

She could see he was smiling, and the feeling of contentment at his return she'd expected to feel filled her up inside. Instead of a stinging retort, she slapped his arm, lightly.

"Are you really glad about me having this child, Rhett?" she asked, looking for confirmation that he cared. Perhaps the love he had professed that night were not only alcohol talking…if she could sort out what he felt, perhaps she could sort out her own confusing feelings.

"I'm very happy about it. I look forward to telling everyone, especially Bonnie, that she will have a new baby brother or sister."

"I think it'll be a boy," she blurted out. "At least…I hope so."

His dark eyes alighted with pleasure at the admission.

"Do you know, you've made this child even more special to me today, Scarlett?"

"How's that, Rhett?"

"Thanks to your little attack on the…source of my masculine power," she turned red again, "You've put serious doubt in my mind that I'll ever be able to have any more children."

The expression on her face was worth his brief poor taste in humor. He seriously considered extending the lie far enough to get back in her bed, but the fact that he could hardly get her pregnant again was a worthy enough excuse for the time being. By the time the baby was born, he had high hopes that they would both be ready to admit to deeper feelings, and no separate rooms would be necessary.

And then all their problems were magically solved and they had hella babies.