Crazy Old Maurice

Summary: What if Maurice was actually crazy? What if there was no castle in the forest with a beast? A dark AU.

A/N: I never thought I would find myself shipping Belle/Gaston until I saw the new movie. Luke Evans' Gaston had so much more depth that I actually found myself rooting for him. I'm not saying he was the best choice for Belle in the movie, but what if her circumstances had been different?

Trigger Warning: Maurice in this fic suffers from dementia. It's a terrible disease.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter 1: The Inventor's Daughter

Belle slammed the door to her cottage and hurried toward the woods, leaving her father to rant and rave inside. She held a hand over the left side of her face where he had struck her and fought back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Villaneuve was a small place. She didn't want to draw any more attention to herself than she had to. She and her father were the subjects of enough village gossip already. The last thing she wanted was to let everyone know that some of what they said was true.

Things hadn't always been like this. For most of her life, Belle's father had been a little eccentric, a little absent minded, but very kind. He read her stories and let her tinker with his machines. He let her believe she could be something more than a farmer's wife. Two years ago, she started to notice the changes in him. He started to forget things. They were only small, unimportant things at first. He missed appointments. He couldn't recall the names of casual acquaintances. When he started to forget to pay the rent and other bills, Belle began to worry. Her father may have been absent minded, but he wasn't irresponsible. He always made sure they were provided for. She started managing the finances herself, telling him that she wanted to be more useful. She could hardly tell him that she no longer trusted his judgement.

Things steadily got worse. He began to lose his temper at the slightest provocation, or no provocation at all. Maurice had always been a calm and even tempered man. Belle began to walk on eggshells in her own home. He became paranoid, convinced that anyone who called was plotting against him somehow. The two of them had never been popular in the village, but his erratic behavior insured that even those with whom they had been on relatively good terms ceased seeking their company. He began to carry on conversations with imaginary visitors and rave at invisible tormentors. Belle was at a loss for what to do. She tended him as best she could, but she couldn't watch him all the time. She still had to maintain the house and their little plot of land. She had no choice, but to leave him alone while she did laundry or went to the market.

One day she came in after feeding the chickens and found that he had started a fire in the kitchen. It shamed her to think of it in hindsight, but she had lost her temper. Perhaps she had frightened him more than she intended. She had no idea what went on inside his mind anymore. At any rate, he struck her in the face with the back of his hand. Belle fled from the house. This man wasn't her father any longer. Her father was lost.

She picked her way along the path to the forest as quickly as possible. With the old trees looming ever closer, she was finally satisfied that she was unlikely to meet anyone from town. She let her tears fall then, stopping to lean against a sturdy looking Oak and bury her face in her hands. This wasn't the life she had expected for herself. She didn't have grand plans exactly. Sometimes she dreamed about travelling to distant lands and seeing the world, but mostly she thought that she and Papa would go on indefinitely exactly as they always had. She never imagined he could lose his mind.

This was how Gaston found her some little while later. The sun was getting low on the horizon and he was coming back from a day's hunting, empty handed for once. He saw the inventor's daughter huddled near the old Oak and he motioned for LaFou to go on without him.

He approached her cautiously, but not silently. He didn't want to startle her with his presence. The thought almost made him laugh. If only he'd been able to get this close to a deer today.

"Belle?" he said her name softly, almost in a whisper.

"Hello, Gaston," she replied without looking up.

"Are you alright?"

She looked up at him then and he saw that a large purple bruise was forming on her otherwise perfect face. "Oh Gaston, I don't know what to do." The tears she had held back bravely a moment ago began to flow again in earnest.

He was shocked and a little uncomfortable with this display of vulnerability. Belle had always seemed so strong. It was one of the things he admired about her. She never seemed to need him to take care of her. Great hunter and war hero that he was, he hadn't the slightest idea what to do with a crying woman. He patted her shoulder somewhat awkwardly, "Come now, why don't we take a walk to the tavern and you can tell me all about it."

Belle nodded numbly and allowed him to guide her back toward town. Gaston belatedly thought that this wasn't necessarily a good sign. Any other woman would have been thrilled to have him escort her to the tavern, but Belle had always refused, saying that she had to take care of her father. He didn't know Belle's father particularly well, but like everyone else in the village, he had noticed an increase in the old man's odd behavior. People had generally regarded Maurice as a harmless eccentric. Now there was talk that maybe he could be dangerous. If Belle's face was any indication, Gaston thought, he certainly was.

They arrived at the tavern and Gaston got Belle seated at a quiet table in the corner with a large mug of dark ale which she peered into morosely, but otherwise left untouched. The corners of his mouth twitched. He had a feeling she might. One look at the misery etched on her features quickly sobered him.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

She took a shuddering breath, "My father isn't well, Gaston. He hasn't been himself for quite some time. I try to take care of him as best I can, but I can't be with him all the time. I have the house to care for and the chickens and the garden." She paused to wipe her nose on the sleeve of her shirt and winced as she came too close to the afflicted area under her left eye. "Lately, he's been much worse. He rants and raves. I can't reason with him. He says the strangest things. Some days he's convinced that we've been locked in an enchanted castle by a beast. He sees danger in the most mundane household objects. He thinks the teapot is out to kill us or the candlestick or the mantle clock. I don't know what to do. I'm at my wits' end."

Gaston nodded, unsure of what to say. He knew the villagers called her father crazy old Maurice. He'd called him that, too. He never imagined it might be the truth. "What happened today?" he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

Belle looked at him and realized that she'd never heard the big man speak quite so tenderly to anyone. "He set fire to kitchen while I was outside feeding the chickens. He said the stove was plotting to kill him. I lost my temper and screamed at him. He was like a frightened animal. I'm not sure he even recognized me. Anyway, he struck me and I ran out. Then you found me."

"Oh, Belle, I'm so sorry," he sighed, "What can I do to help?"

"I don't think there's much that anyone can do. Agatha gave me some herbs to soothe him, but they only make him sleep. They do nothing to rid him of his delusions."

"Would you at least let me walk you home? I can't let you go back there alone, not knowing what state he might be in."

"I go back there alone everyday, Gaston. It's just how my life is now."

"But it doesn't have to be!" he slammed his fist down on the table harder than he intended, making his drinking companion jump. His demeanor softened. He didn't want to frighten her away. "Why won't you let me help you?"

This time Belle scoffed, "Help me? Is that what you want? How can I accept help from someone who's only doing it for something in return? I don't want to marry you, Gaston, and all the help you could offer won't make me feel obligated to."

"Is that what you think? That I want to help you in some tit for tat exchange for your hand? My God, Belle, what have I done to make you think so meanly of me? I want to help you because I can't stand to see you in pain. It's what we do for the people we care about. Say whatever else you like about me, but I'm a loyal friend. Ask LeFou. He'll tell you."

"What happened to make the two of you so close?" she asked timidly. "It's just that you seem to make such an odd pair."

Gaston waived away her concern, "I suppose it looks that way at first. LeFou was with me during the war. We saw some truly terrible things and did some that were even worse. There were times when I felt like I'd lost sight of who I was. He was always there to pull me back to myself, to remind me that I was Gaston from Villenueve. I can never repay him for that." He reached across the table and took her hand, "Let me be your friend, Belle. Let me prove to you that I'm more than some silly peacock who cuts a fine figure in a red coat. Let me help you."

Grudgingly, she nodded and agreed to let him walk her home. They said little on the walk. She had so many things spinning around in her head. Was it possible that she had misjudged him? Or was there something in him that she simply didn't see before?

Gaston entered Belle's cottage first. "Maurice?" he called, quietly at first and then louder, "Maurice!" Eventually they found him, curled up under his workbench, asleep. Belle would have brought a blanket and let him sleep where he lay, but Gaston lifted him easily as if he were a child and carried upstairs to his bed. Belle wondered if he would carry his own children off to bed in exactly the same manner. Then she wondered why she would think such a thing. Gaston's children were certainly no concern of hers.

He returned a moment later and wished her a goodnight. He opened the door to see himself out when she called him back. He turned, and before she could think herself out of it, Belle raised herself up on her tiptoes and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. It was over before it began and Gaston found himself walking the path back to the village alone, wondering what had just happened. "The inventor's daughter just kissed me," he said to the empty night, "She kissed me!"