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This is my entry for the Fic Challenge on the Fan Fiction / Writing board at Fan Forum http://www.fanforum.com/f24/challenge-t
The theme was to use the REO Speedwagon Song "Can't Fight This Feeling"
Overcome
He looked at her from across the field, her dark hair blowing wildly in the harsh wind. Her soft, worn dress hung on her thin frame, the fabric whipping against her legs. She tried hard to ignore the burning sores of hard work on her once-delicate hands. The beauty of her face was heightened by the tan and glow of sweat from the intense work. She was taking a break for just a moment, one hand on her hip and the other holding her sunhat to her head. All day she bent and picked the cotton, filling her sack faster than either of her sisters, faster even than himself. It guilted him that he was so slow, but he had never adjusted to the labour. But Scarlett, she was relentless. Nothing would stop her. She had sworn she would never be hungry again, nor any of her people, and she never once let the fatigue or pain or scorching sun or thirst stop her.
He watched her, his sack hanging limp at his side, and he felt things stirring in his body that he had never felt before. With Melly inside with the children, all Ashley could think of doing was taking Scarlett in his arms and kissing her, hard, trying to tame the fire burning in her heart. But all he could do was bend again and pluck the cotton from the low bush, burying his desires for another day.
Day in and day out they existed together, this motley family of blood relations, neighbours, drifters, and former slaves now clinging to Tara as the only home and security they knew in this new South. Mr. O’Hara sunk further into his memories and farther away from reality, and responsibility for what was left of the plantation fell to Scarlett. She never shirked from this duty, desperate to save the home of her childhood, the home her mother had made when she became a bride. Scarlett rarely watched her tongue these days, and it snapped more often than she ever realized. It snapped with the children, her sisters, even her father. But she managed to keep her bitterness in check with Ashley. She still held strongly onto the hope that she could free him from Melly and make him hers.
Night after night he stood outside the library, now mostly empty except for some bits of old furniture, a scorched rug, and some damaged paintings on the walls. It had never been filled with books; the O’Hara’s were not great readers and the only book that mattered to Mrs. O’Hara had been the family bible. Ashley watched Scarlett bend over a low table with papers covered in numbers she tried desperately to balance, to find a way to keep Tara afloat, pay the taxes, feed it’s people, and make it through the coming winter. He was in awe of her bravery, and he needed some of it for himself. One night, he knew he had to take a chance or he would never have the courage again.
As Melly lay sleeping upstairs, he stepped softy along the old wooden floor and tattered rug and placed his hands upon Scarlett’s shoulders. He gently ran his calloused fingers down her upper arms, pushing down the threadbare shawl, and bent his tired back to graze his cheek against hers.
“Darling,” he whispered.
She turned slightly to see him, curiosity becoming anticipation in her green eyes and rosy, sun-kissed cheeks.
“Ashley?” she questioned, before rising into his arms. She breathed him in, absorbing the scent of lye soap and every beat of his pulse and thread of his fraying sweater and gray of his hair with all of her senses. “My Ashley,” she muttered as he held her close.
“I can’t fight it anymore, Scarlett. I’ve tried so long, that I’ve forgotten why I tried so hard. I’ve lost so much. Twelve Oaks is a ruin, father is dead, we lost the war and all the ideals of our people. Everything is gray and dying. The future is dark, empty, pitiful as that skinny cow and broken fences and numbers that are never big enough no matter how many ways you try to add them up. I’ve become a wanderer, Scarlett, even as I stand in one place, because I watch you and see the light still burning inside of you. I travel the world with you in my mind. The only fire left around here is in you. I need that fire, Scarlett. I need you.”
Scarlett was not a woman of abstract language and complicated thoughts. She liked plain and clear talk, so it took her a moment to decipher what he was saying. And when she realized what he meant, her heart raced and her legs felt like jelly.
“Oh Ashley, do you mean… finally you mean…”
“Scarlett, I can’t promise you anything. But, does that matter to spirits like ours? You have the fire that I need, the brightness that keeps me awake and moving in this darkness. You’re like the lifeblood of this make-shift family, Scarlett, and I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything or anyone in my life.”
She turned her face up to him, her lips slightly parted, and he kissed her. Hard. Seeking everything he imagined in her taste. Panting, grasping, they were on that tattered rug, stomped on and burned by Yankees. He stifled her moans with his kisses. And he held her in his arms when it was over. He held her, breathing in sync with her, rubbing her back, running his fingers through her hair, kissing her cheeks and nose and chin and throat. He held her as the moon shone through the window. He held her until they made love again. He held her until the first stirrings of morning were near, and he let her go, knowing that he had walked full-knowing into the fire. Knowing that it felt so good to burn. Knowing that it was the only time it could happen. Knowing that he would have to pack up his wife and son and move far away, because he could never bear to see the look of absolute pain that would stare fiercely at him when he told her.
He lost his fight that night.
But he remembered why he had been fighting.
He was a gentleman. She would never understand, and she would never forgive him. He would tell himself this a thousand times as the regret ran through him, but he was a gentleman of the South.
The theme was to use the REO Speedwagon Song "Can't Fight This Feeling"
Overcome
He looked at her from across the field, her dark hair blowing wildly in the harsh wind. Her soft, worn dress hung on her thin frame, the fabric whipping against her legs. She tried hard to ignore the burning sores of hard work on her once-delicate hands. The beauty of her face was heightened by the tan and glow of sweat from the intense work. She was taking a break for just a moment, one hand on her hip and the other holding her sunhat to her head. All day she bent and picked the cotton, filling her sack faster than either of her sisters, faster even than himself. It guilted him that he was so slow, but he had never adjusted to the labour. But Scarlett, she was relentless. Nothing would stop her. She had sworn she would never be hungry again, nor any of her people, and she never once let the fatigue or pain or scorching sun or thirst stop her.
He watched her, his sack hanging limp at his side, and he felt things stirring in his body that he had never felt before. With Melly inside with the children, all Ashley could think of doing was taking Scarlett in his arms and kissing her, hard, trying to tame the fire burning in her heart. But all he could do was bend again and pluck the cotton from the low bush, burying his desires for another day.
Day in and day out they existed together, this motley family of blood relations, neighbours, drifters, and former slaves now clinging to Tara as the only home and security they knew in this new South. Mr. O’Hara sunk further into his memories and farther away from reality, and responsibility for what was left of the plantation fell to Scarlett. She never shirked from this duty, desperate to save the home of her childhood, the home her mother had made when she became a bride. Scarlett rarely watched her tongue these days, and it snapped more often than she ever realized. It snapped with the children, her sisters, even her father. But she managed to keep her bitterness in check with Ashley. She still held strongly onto the hope that she could free him from Melly and make him hers.
Night after night he stood outside the library, now mostly empty except for some bits of old furniture, a scorched rug, and some damaged paintings on the walls. It had never been filled with books; the O’Hara’s were not great readers and the only book that mattered to Mrs. O’Hara had been the family bible. Ashley watched Scarlett bend over a low table with papers covered in numbers she tried desperately to balance, to find a way to keep Tara afloat, pay the taxes, feed it’s people, and make it through the coming winter. He was in awe of her bravery, and he needed some of it for himself. One night, he knew he had to take a chance or he would never have the courage again.
As Melly lay sleeping upstairs, he stepped softy along the old wooden floor and tattered rug and placed his hands upon Scarlett’s shoulders. He gently ran his calloused fingers down her upper arms, pushing down the threadbare shawl, and bent his tired back to graze his cheek against hers.
“Darling,” he whispered.
She turned slightly to see him, curiosity becoming anticipation in her green eyes and rosy, sun-kissed cheeks.
“Ashley?” she questioned, before rising into his arms. She breathed him in, absorbing the scent of lye soap and every beat of his pulse and thread of his fraying sweater and gray of his hair with all of her senses. “My Ashley,” she muttered as he held her close.
“I can’t fight it anymore, Scarlett. I’ve tried so long, that I’ve forgotten why I tried so hard. I’ve lost so much. Twelve Oaks is a ruin, father is dead, we lost the war and all the ideals of our people. Everything is gray and dying. The future is dark, empty, pitiful as that skinny cow and broken fences and numbers that are never big enough no matter how many ways you try to add them up. I’ve become a wanderer, Scarlett, even as I stand in one place, because I watch you and see the light still burning inside of you. I travel the world with you in my mind. The only fire left around here is in you. I need that fire, Scarlett. I need you.”
Scarlett was not a woman of abstract language and complicated thoughts. She liked plain and clear talk, so it took her a moment to decipher what he was saying. And when she realized what he meant, her heart raced and her legs felt like jelly.
“Oh Ashley, do you mean… finally you mean…”
“Scarlett, I can’t promise you anything. But, does that matter to spirits like ours? You have the fire that I need, the brightness that keeps me awake and moving in this darkness. You’re like the lifeblood of this make-shift family, Scarlett, and I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything or anyone in my life.”
She turned her face up to him, her lips slightly parted, and he kissed her. Hard. Seeking everything he imagined in her taste. Panting, grasping, they were on that tattered rug, stomped on and burned by Yankees. He stifled her moans with his kisses. And he held her in his arms when it was over. He held her, breathing in sync with her, rubbing her back, running his fingers through her hair, kissing her cheeks and nose and chin and throat. He held her as the moon shone through the window. He held her until they made love again. He held her until the first stirrings of morning were near, and he let her go, knowing that he had walked full-knowing into the fire. Knowing that it felt so good to burn. Knowing that it was the only time it could happen. Knowing that he would have to pack up his wife and son and move far away, because he could never bear to see the look of absolute pain that would stare fiercely at him when he told her.
He lost his fight that night.
But he remembered why he had been fighting.
He was a gentleman. She would never understand, and she would never forgive him. He would tell himself this a thousand times as the regret ran through him, but he was a gentleman of the South.
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