Disclaimer: I do not own Vanity Fair in anyway, not the movie, book, right, tv show or anything else affiliated with it. It however, has owned my imagination for the creation of this story. Enjoy.

She told herself that it had been easier then, but there was no mistaking what she told herself and the truth. Truth would always be that she was never truly happy and though, now as she fantasized of a life she could have, she knew that Rawdon was not the only thing holding her back from joy.

It seemed as if years had passed since the war, though it had only been three months. She gazed outside the window, bored again and with no party to attend for the evening, nothing to do at all, it was unheard of! She had told Rawdon that she was feeling ill and he went to the park with his son, leaving her at home. Ill, pah, what would she do in a park like a mere commoner? Walk around and round till she tired? No, not this Becky.

Though no one was around and hadn't been near her, or in her room for a good 20 minutes, she still scanned the room for watchful eyes before unlocking her secret cupboard. She pushed the cheque for 500 pounds aside and picked up a small, tattered piece of folded paper. She locked the unit carefully and checking her atmosphere again for intruders, sat down to unfold the paper. She had already memorized the words, but they never ceased to surprise her and with a hungering eye, she read them again....

All at once, she was drawn into a fantasy world, away from reality in a imaginary world with her and George alone, sadly never to be true.

In this world with George, there had been no scandal, no one had cared that they had run away. Amelia had not been heartbroken, they had not had children and Rawdon had been pleased to be rid of her incessant partying, which even she knew he couldn't stand. George and her had moved to a luxurious home in Italy, as fashion there was so vast and exciting. They lived with their two children, happy, both of them, neither tiring of the other. It was easy to imagine, but never could be real. Though, if she changed her name, they could avoid scandal. Becky shook the frighteningly real thought out of her mind and returned to her fascination of a life in Italy, as she traced the letters of his message aimlessly. They would go to lavish dinners together, be rich, surviving on whatever the currency was there, and if they bored of their life, or someone somehow created a scandal, they would pack up and move to another fascinating place. George, unlike the Geroge now with Amelia, would never tire. He wouldn't be as he was now, a corpse forced to walk the earth, nay, in Becky's mind, he would be perfection. Full of life, love and passion. Witty, remarkable and obsessed with society and fashion, same as she.

Of course, this was all imaginings and very wrong for Becky to dream of, because it prompted her actions thus. She folded the paper quickly, picturing the look on George's face. Her mind, the childish part of her, blocked out the pain that she knew Amelia and Rawdon would face. Though, she thought to herself, Rawdon has our son and does not love me like he once did and Amelia, could bury her guilt in Dobbin's affections. Yes, she would do it and Becky made up her mind and quickly packed her bags. It was months after the war and this letter, though she knew with all her heart that George still felt that way. She had the perfect plan, Italy first and then France to follow! Oh, what a blast it would be for them to travel. And as she hailed a cab to take her to George's place, she thought of names that they could use. Something smart, sophisticated yet common enough to be believable. Like a sudden cloud in the stormy sky, her mind thought of the perfect name and nothing could stop her now.

In the carriage, after a good half hour of her fantasies, reeling toward her destination with every moment, she stopped herself for a minute, not long enough to think of the repercussions of her actions, but only to wonder, what if Amelia was home? What would she think, Becky with her luggage at her front door? And how would she explain it? Luckily, Becky, sly and clever as she was, thought up a explanation as quickly as the problem had prevented itself, but to her luck, would not need to use it. She knew that she did this to save herself, save herself from a life of boredom, dreaming and always wanting something else. She knew George would to need this, need to be awoken and to stop living life as a ghost, he needed it almost as much as she, to be saved from boredom. In their likeness, she knew this would succeed and knocked on the door, impatient.

She had been right of his reaction and as George opened the door to a smiling Becky, he wondered to himself whatever could be happening now.

"She's not home" he replied, before the question and moved to shut the door.

"I'm here for you" she responded, handing him the letter he so carefully had passed to her months ago.

"you can't be serious?" he asked, a smile starting on his lips.

"you don't want to go?" she asked, almost whispering.

"I-" his words were lost, in disbelief to these events.

"I'll pack your bags, and you'll write the most touchingly heartbreaking goodbye note to Amelia." She explained and forced herself into the home. He closed the door and followed her, though she found the bedroom without direction, immediately retrieving his bag and starting to pack his things.

"Well, start the letter unless you can write as quickly as the rain" she urged and his final doubts disappeared and he sat at his desk, immediately starting the letter.

"Dear Amelia...... what do I say?" he asked, looking up at her as she folded his things.

"I told Rawdon I needed time away and could not stand the pressures of English society and though I love our son, there is only so much I can take. I promised eternal love, though I do not know how sound that promise is and signed as his adoring wife" Becky recalled and George smiled.

"What?" she asked in response to his sudden smile.

"We're actually running away" he responded.

"not if you take forever to write a letter and your wife comes home, now hurry, the cab will only wait for 10 minutes longer!" she urged

His halfhearted letter was written quickly and as soon as he was done, grabbed her bag and his, walked briskly to the cab, lifted her in, sat beside her and as the cab drove away, gave her a kiss on the neck.

"thank you" he whispered, but she only nodded.

"I can finally live life"