AN: This story has always been one of my favorites, but I wish we could have seen those moments between Belle and the Beast where they came to know each other and fell in love. Through a series of one-shots, I'll attempt to uncover what might have happened.

In Those Moments

1: What Once Wasn't


"GET OUT!"

Belle was not sure how far her feet alone would carry her, but as she practically flew down the staircase of her captor's castle, the adrenaline pumping through her veins promised a good distance. Or, at least one that would take her to safety. She was vaguely aware of a clock and candelabra calling out to her as she twirled her cloak around her body and pushed through the entry door – the same one that had sealed her fate after she entered in hopes of finding her father. 'Promise or no promise – I can't stay here another minute!'

The chill of the air hit her hard, so much that she almost lost her breath. A fresh layer of snow covered the ground and she could feel it seeping through her flimsy shoes. She knew she could not keep up her pace with damp footwear…

Philippe!

Belle spotted him just ahead of her, as if he had known of the recent turn of events and was waiting for her all along. She clumsily pulled herself into the saddle and snapped the reigns. Philippe jerked into a full-out gallop, kicking up clouds of snow behind him. Belle's grip on the reigns tightened as her pulsating heart kept up with the pounding of her horse's hooves. She knew she should not have gone into the West Wing, especially since she was ordered not to. Why had she gone into his room of all places? Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she relived the moment when the Beast found her.

She had found a rose, strangely suspended in midair, and covered in a glass casing. Curiosity had gotten the better of her when she lifted the glass and reached out to touch the soft petals.

She shuddered, remembering the image of a large, furry body towering over her.

Even though the room was only lit by the glowing rose and the moonlight, she could see his piercing blue eyes as they cut through her like his clawed fingers.

She doubted that she had ever felt so exposed in her life. Then he began shouting. The low timbre of his gruff voice reverberated through her again and her body prickled with tension. She bit back a sob and immediately felt angry at herself for crying. Even if he could not see her, she would rather relive his rage than give him the satisfaction of knowing she had shed tears over it.

Philippe snorted, wondering if his master would be all right as he dodged low-lying branches and roots that threatened to throw him off balance. Wolves howled in the distance, but the sounds of growling had recently become closer. Shadows with glowing yellow eyes flew through the timber.

Belle had not noticed the imminent danger and urged Philippe onward, snapping the reigns again in order to go faster. In that moment a wolf darted in front of Philippe and aimed its jaws at the horse's leg. Belle was thrown back in her saddle as Philippe reared upward, but she still gripped the reigns. She stifled a scream as more wolves materialized from the shadows of the timber. "Go Philippe! Faster!" Belle was no longer interested in direction as much as she was speed. She steered Philippe left and right in a most haphazard fashion, just barely losing the pack of predators that followed. She almost sighed in relief at the sight of an opening in the trees. Perhaps she was closer to home than she thought.

Philippe followed the order to push forward and entered the open field only to fall through the ground. Water and ice swallowed his legs. Despite the numbing sensation and his initial shock, Philippe plowed through the river's frozen covering.

When Belle first felt the sting of the hidden river on her calves, she thought she would jump out of her own skin. Now she felt numb and frozen to her saddle, and the only thing keeping her from fainting was the sound of claws scraping on the ice and the grunting of fanged jaws. She noticed Philippe was now moving of his own accord, finding the closest row of trees and rushing toward them. He did not want to be in the water any longer than she did.

When they met the ground again, Belle glanced behind her and found that the wolves were still following relentlessly, although a few dared not to enter the water and watched from the opposite bank. Would it never end? Would she never feel safe? She knew Philippe's stamina was running down as his pace was much slower than it had been. Other wolves must have heard the commotion for they too were emerging from the trees. When one darted toward Philippe's legs in another attempt, the tired horse jerked backward again but Belle had not energy to hang on. She fell in a heap on the forest floor, but quickly righted herself in order to defend her horse. Philippe's reigns were stuck on a tree branch and she couldn't free him. She jerked and jerked but that only seemed to make the leather wrap tighter. In a moment of panic, Belle grabbed a thick branch from the ground and began to swing at her assailants. If they would not leave then she would fight them off!

Had she not been so tired, her aim would have been better and her blows more powerful. She made contact with a few but it was a losing battle. Philippe momentarily forgotten, they encircled her. One jerked on her cloak and pulled her to the ground. They were playing now, and it was a deadly game. A wolf in front of her stooped low and Belle prepared for him to lunge at her as she closed her eyes and tried to protect herself with her arms. But the attack never came.

A loud roar dulled her ears. She found herself on her stomach in the snow and lifted her chin to find dark brown fur tickling her forehead. It – it's…him! It was hard to believe her eyes, but just feeling the warmth of his massive body over hers was enough to prove the truth. She watched in amazement as the Beast leapt over her and attacked the wolves in a rage that rivaled the display at the castle. She wondered why he was so angry. He had told her to leave, so he certainly couldn't be mad at her for doing just that!

The Beast rolled through the snow as the wolves tore at his clothes and flesh. He knocked most of them away, although a few clung to his back with their claws. He growled in pain but continued to battle for his prisoner's sake. Any time a wolf even looked in her direction, the Beast was there to defend. He ripped through their hides with his claws or used his massive fists to force them back. Eventually the wolves knew they had met their match and limped into the darkness of the forest.

Belle, who was still sitting in the snow, now observed her captor in a new light. He was no less frightening or fierce, as the battle with the wolves clearly showed, but where had the protectiveness come from? He did not need her. Frankly, her death would have given him one less responsibility. So why did he care? The cuts on his back and arm dripped and tainted the snow, and in that moment Belle realized what he had sacrificed in coming to her aid. His pride. Her eyes caught his right before they rolled back into his head and he fainted.

Philippe nudged his master with his nose now that he had freed himself from the tree. The hairy man-beast that had saved her appeared to be dead, oozing red into the snow. His master grabbed the saddle, looking away from the scene. He could feel the clenching of her small fists on his back, perhaps an outward expression of internal conflict. What would she choose?

Belle knew what she wanted to do, knew that she wanted to run as quickly as she could in the opposite direction and forget this nightmare. But the look in her captor's eyes before he fell left an imprint on her heart. Perhaps he was as lost as she felt, and his literal solitude in that dark castle was strikingly similar to her lack of companionship in the village. Perhaps they were more alike than she had bargained. If that was truly the case, she couldn't leave him.

The Beast's body was thick with muscle and dense bone, and his prone and lifeless state added to that weight. Belle was used to a fair amount of physical labor, as someone had to take care of the animals and repairs while her father was occupied with his inventions, but she was still too petite to lift such a large and heavy body onto a horse. Belle knelt by his side, careful to avoid his injuries, and covered what she could with her cloak. The garment wrapped around her comfortably, but barely covered his massive chest and lower body. Bell shivered and reached out to touch him. Her hand hovered above his face, inches away from the fur that could have been soft or rough. She wondered just for a moment if it felt like the fur on his chest, which she remembered to have brushed her forehead earlier. Shaking those thoughts away, she moved her hand to his shoulder, which seemed the safer option. She cleared her throat and shook, "Uhm…excuse me…please?"

The darkness and hush were starting to fade as a slight pressure on his shoulder urged wakefulness. The Beast heard a soft voice which mimicked the touch he now understood to be a hand. No one had touched him that way in years, back to a time he could hardly remember. Despite the deep ache of his back, the feeling of his own blood matting his fur, and the cold biting his legs, he felt the hand on his shoulder more acutely. It created a warmth that pooled to his stomach, which was both pleasurable and painful. It knotted and twisted in a way he had never experienced, except for maybe once. The sight of the enchantress…

Belle held back a gasp when the Beast's eyes popped open and stared at her with an intensity she was now coming to expect from him. He regarded her for a moment, looking at her face first before traveling down her neck, then to her chest and abdomen, and finally back to her face. His gaze became wary, as if he had anticipated seeing someone else, and Belle realized that she had kept her hand at his shoulder. "Oh!" She immediately withdrew and held it to her chest. "I…you're…" She motioned to his arm and the blood that had stained his clothing as well as her cloak. "You're hurt and I can't get you onto my horse." It was rather direct, but when was Belle otherwise? "Can you move?"

Despite his injuries, or perhaps because of them, the Beast suddenly felt extremely irritated with the girl. She dared to invade his private space and then had the gall to run away from him! The fact that he told her to do as much was inconsequential, of course. Look at the trouble she had caused him! He could die out in this weather, with a broken body and vital liquids spilling onto the ground. Granted, she would expire sooner than he, as she lacked the insulation of a furry pelt. But that was another point that also didn't matter, because she touched him without asking permission! Prisoners didn't touch their masters. He wasn't about to admit that he was perhaps more angry that she had pulled away so quickly, with what might have been horror. Should he have expected otherwise?

Belle watched her massive captor with curiosity. He never answered her question and appeared to have forgotten about her presence completely. While he stared at her, his eyes were unfocused, as if he was lost in thought. That certainly wouldn't do, as he possessed her cloak and her fingers were starting to turn a discomforting shade of purple. "You." She pressed his shoulder again, addressing him perhaps rudely but certainly less so than "Beast". She didn't expect his clawed hand to dart forward and grab her wrist.

Her shriek hurt his sensitive ears, and the jarring movement of his arm pulled at his wounds. He couldn't contain of painful grunt and scowled. "Stop doing that." He let her go, but not before noticing how the strength of his fingers could snap her tiny wrist. "Call for your horse."

Belle held the wrist that he had snatched with her other hand and stared at him with wide eyes. She had been manhandled and given two stern orders in the span of seconds, but she was strangely unaffected. Well, she wasn't angry, but she was intrigued. What caused this man-beast to terrify her completely, save her life, and then order her about like some servant? She glanced at her wrist. His grip hadn't been completely gentle, but it certainly contained a fraction of the power he could have used. It could have crushed her, but it was firm and nothing more. Belle called for Philippe, and realized that her captor suddenly became an interesting subject for her curiosity to study.

The Beast pulled at the horse's reigns when it approached, attempting to be at a more equal level if he wished to use the horse as support. The horse was not completely thrilled with the idea, he noted. He also noted that the girl was trying to be of service, catching her dropped cloak and making motions to push him forward if he happened to lose his balance. As if one of her size could support one of his. That opinion was tested when his legs partially gave out.

Belle let out a muffled "ooff" as the Beast's body fell back against hers. She pushed him forward with her hands, using all of her strength to keep up upright. "C-can you reach P-Philippe?" She grunted against his back. He had already grabbed the horse, thankfully. If he hadn't, Belle was certain she would have resembled that rabbit her father had accidently stumbled across, most literally, when he startled Philippe and lost control of the cart.

He hauled his own body over Philippe, the poor horse grunting under his weight. When was the last time he had ridden? Years had passed, he knew, but how many he could not remember. The wounds on his chest were aching with every ripple of the steed's muscles as they made their slow journey back to the castle. His discomfort was increased when he noticed the girl walking near him, clad in a thin dress and a poor pair of slippers. She would certainly freeze to death before they reached home. As he slipped into unconsciousness, he strangely hoped that wouldn't be the case.