Author's Note: I have to admit, most of my fics aren't written to please an audience. This one is a little different. I wrote it thinking, if there's anyone out there who gets as hopeless and lonely as me, Belle, and the Beast do, this might give you a little comfort.

Outsiders

For the one who feels alone in a crowd…

The rampart was obscure in the shadows of mystifying darkness in the late night hours. The stones on the walls were cold enough to set the whole castle shivering. Hissing, the wind told dark secrets to already dark and secretive night. No man standing on that rampart could look into the wind without feeling a shudder up his spine, nor could he guide his feet on the treacherous stones of these dark heights. But the creature who stood on the rampart was no man.

Beast leaned into the wind, his cold wolfish eyes scanning the castle all around. His rich purple cloak covered his bulky, brown-furred shoulders and fanned out behind him like a banner in the breeze. From his line of sight, nothing could be seen; not a shadow, save the hunched figures of the gargoyles even blacker than the black night. Once upon a time, those statues had been beautiful angelic sculptures.

"And I was to be king," the Beast growled in his low, somber, pain-filled voice.

He turned away, too encumbered with gloom to dwell on the memories of the past. He would prowl the castle in the dark, exploring its inner halls and dungeons, in loneliness, for the thousandth time. But no matter what room he entered, memories pursued him like ghosts still.

Desperate to escape his sleepless mind, the Beast pounced through the library doors. Here he could find a measure of comfort; this room was Belle's. He had given it to her. Anything pertaining in any way to Belle soothed the Beast's mind.

"Who's there?" a voice demanded. It was woman's voice, strong but uncertain.

Turning his shaggy head towards the library corner, Beast could see the trembling figure of Belle.

"Who's there?" she repeated.

"Belle," said beast, emerging from the obscure threshold.

"Well," said the young woman, relaxing, "if you're Belle, then who am I?"

Beast did not laugh at the joke, just grunted, pulled his cloak about him, and walked to a shelf.

"You didn't have to sneak up on me," Belle said, walking over to him with a leather-bound book in her hand. "You scared me."

"I'm a beast."

"Well you're certainly in a beastly mood," Belle agreed, snappish. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing. Go back to your book."

"Why don't you read with me?"

Beast shook his head, in an especially cold mood. Belle had been teaching him to read since Christmas, but it could be a difficult and grueling task. "I have better things to do," he growled.

"Like what? Prowling around at night, scaring everybody?"

Beast grunted.

"Come on, don't be a sissy," Belle insisted. "Anybody can read out loud."

"I don't want to!" Beast fumed. "What's so interesting about books anyway? You sit around for hours living in a fantasy when there's no use to anything! And anyway, most people don't know how to read."

Surprised by his frustration, Belle took a minute to reply. "A lot people don't know how to read," she agreed; "at least in my town. But you were a Prince, and Royalty is always educated, so…"

"How did you know I was a Prince?" Beast thundered.

Belle stumbled backward. "Mrs. Potts told me. A while ago. I thought…well, I didn't know you wanted to keep it from me."

"I don't want to keep anything from you," Beast growled, voice lowering. "But…I…wish you didn't know so much. No matter who I was or what I become, I am still a Beast…forever…an outsider." He flexed his claws and bowed his shaggy head. "That's what I am, Belle…an outsider."

Silence filled the library. Beast seemed to fade into the shadows. Belle felt an urgent churning inside her. The words that jumped through her lips seemed to steam up from her secret soul.

"Me too."

"Hmm? What?"

"I'm an outsider too," Belle said. "I worry about it a lot. My father and I move around a lot, but wherever we go, I'm still so different. I'm always in the middle, outside the circles." She cleared her throat, trying not to sound depressed. "I like being myself, I really do…but it gets lonely."

"You're…lonely?" Beast muttered. "But why? You're so beautiful."

Belle fidgeted and breathed loudly; it was uncomfortable bearing her soul to a Beast in the dark. "Well…you know women. They stay simple, they do housework, and their dreams are all wrapped up in finding a handsome man. But me…I don't want to be like other girls. I want adventure, like the heroes in the knight stories. I want to travel. I want to really live!"

With a great sigh, Belle quieted down. She hoped the Beast could not see her cheeks flushed in apprehension. Usually it didn't matter what other people thought, not to Belle. What she was suddenly and unpleasantly aware that it did matter—it mattered the world—what he thought of her. If this beast had truly been a Prince, how high might his standards be for young women? Too high.

But Beast passed no judgment. "So," he said, "we have something in common."

Belle brightened up. "Maybe more than you think. We can just keep being friends like this, being outsiders together."

Beast scoffed. What an oxymoron! He knew very well that he and Belle could never be together. He kept her here out of selfishness. She may be offering a loose friendship just now, but she was not offering love; nor could she, not to a beast. He wouldn't let her anyway, for he was too dangerous and she was too fragile.

No—for an outsider like him, there would be no love nor hope.

"No, Belle," he growled.

"But why not?" Belle exclaimed, her short temper beginning to surface. "Don't you want to be friends? You're lonely. I see it everyday."

"Your vision is clouded."

"Your mind is clouded!" Belle snapped.

"I don't want to discuss this," Beast said, turning to face her. "Go to your room, Belle. It's nearly morning."

"Don't you dare tell me what to do!" the young woman shouted lividly. "I'll go to my room when I please!"

"You'll go now!" Beast bared his fangs.

"No!! What's wrong with you?! Why are you giving up on yourself? You have to have some hope!"

Beast drew back a little, his nostrils flaring and his eyes full of incredulity. "You're my prisoner, Belle! How can a prisoner like you have so much hope?"

"How can you be bitter enough to hate me so much?" Belle countered.

"I don't hate you."

"Then let me go!"

Beast's temper flew out of bounds as it did all too frequently. "GO TO YOUR ROOM!!!" he roared, voice shaking the castle, teeth exposed right next to Belle's head.

Belle reeled back, at first frightened but then furious. She took up her book and threw it at the Beast's head. He blocked it easily, severing the book in two with a swipe of his claws. Belle grabbed another book but never got the chance to throw it because Beast clawed it wrathfully out of her hands, his face terrible.

Belle screamed.

The shrill sound must have brought Beast back to his senses. He stopped swiping and snarling. He looked at Belle. She was clutching at her arm and tears streamed down her face. A dash of red appeared on her sleeve, and Beast realized to his horror that his claw must have nicked her when he grabbed the book.

"Belle, I'm sorry," Beast huffed, his eyes suddenly full of concern.

"Get away!" Belle screamed. She turned around and ran like a mad thing out of the Library.

Beast was, for the moment, too horrified to follow. His eyes went from the severed book on the floor, "Romeo and Juliet," back to his own long and hideous claws. He cursed himself.

***************

In moments Beast was bounding out of the castle on all fours, propelling himself on his huge, muscular arms through the snow, claws digging for traction, tattered cloak streaming behind him.

Belle was not in the castle. A few minutes after the incident in the Library, Beast had gone around looking. It took some time to realize that she had, once again, run away.

"You might try posting some guards, for future reference," Lumiere suggested sincerely.

"A month doesn't go by when she doesn't run," Cogsworth agreed, very dryly.

"Am I so detestable to her?" Beast muttered. "…Of course…of course I should be."

But rather than stay and pity himself, he had charged off through the snow, back into the dense woods where Belle always went when she was angry.

Now as he leaped through drifts of snow, jumped over logs, and ducked under branches, Beast's eyes scanned the area for any sign of his beautiful and delicate prisoner. There were no tracks visible, and what markings existed would soon be covered by the powdery blanket of fresh falling snow. The wind was frigid.

Ice seemed to appear out of nowhere. Beast's foreclaws grabbed for traction and found none. He went skidding over the hidden patch and crashed down into a deep drift of snow hiding sharp stones. His head struck something and he faded out of consciousness, bleeding.

Beats awoke some minutes later to see a pair of golden eye staring down into his. With a roar he sprung out of the snow—painfully so, as he found several cuts along his body from the sharp rocks and ice. He looked around and found himself surrounded by a familiar pack of wolves. Belle was nowhere in sight.

"You again," Beats growled at the silent, staring wolves.

They stared fight to burn holes in him with their eyes. Beast knew they must have been attracted by the scent of his blood, even as cold and windy as the weather was. For these wolves, he knew, were desperate: lean, mongrel, hungry, and weary. There were only seven or eight now when a dozen there were the last time Beast had fought them. The scare from two months ago still stood out on his forearm like a ravine in his tough skin.

Beast gritted his teeth, furious at the wolves. He wondered why they hadn't attacked while he lay unconscious; why they weren't attacking now. They just stood there in a little group, staring at him with ghostly eyes, nostrils snuffing the wintry air.

"Why do you not fight?" Beast growled, advancing with claws extended and fangs bared. The hair on his back stood on end like rows of jagged spikes.

One of the wolves yelped, and the others backed away uncertainly. Still there was no sign of battle. Then the head wolf, the Alpha, trotted forward solemnly. His ears and tail were relaxed, and although the curl of his mouth and the expression in his eyes were slightly nervous, he seemed calm overall. He got down low as he came on, crawling timidly right up to the Beast's feet.

Puzzled and cautious, Beast brought his huge head down almost level with the wolf. The wolf stood up and quickly touched the Beast's face with tongue.

Beast lurched back, shocked. "I am not your kind," he growled at them. "You are wolf."

But the pack didn't seem to care about that. Several of their tails were wagging and younger one barked in excitement. Beast was bewildered beyond words. He didn't know how, but he was certain that these wolves were invited him as a friend.

And suddenly it dawned on his troubled mind: these wolves were outsiders, hated by the world. They knew better than anyone what it is to be an outcast. But they were not evil—they were only trying to survive. Two months ago they had been hunting Belle's horse, fearing Belle herself as the feared all humans. Nobody in the whole world understood Beast's bitterness and isolation like this pack of wolves.

"We are outsiders together," he murmured.

The alpha wolf trotted back to his pack. There was such an atmosphere of loyalty and love around them that it tugged at Beast's heart. He suddenly realized how desperately these pack members needed each other, how utterly hopeless a wolf would be on his lone. The term "lone wolf" finally made sense. Wolves were never alone unless they were crazy, ill, or outcast by their pack. "Lone wolf" was an oxymoron, the zenith of loneliness.

Beast was a lone wolf. But these wolves were invited him to join the pack.

"I can't," said the Beast gravely. "I already have a pack."

With that, he galloped off again in search of Belle. She was his pack, or could be. All the creatures at the castle were his pack. He had to find them. To protect them.

Belle stopped running, feeling as if her lungs would freeze. She had forgotten her cloaks and it was snowing. She halted, still sobbing softly, and wrapped her arm up tightly with a handkerchief. The cut in her wrist was minor, little more than a scrape, but it still stung. Belles shuddered. She knew that Beast had the capability to tear to pieces without strain, but that was not the reason she had run away.

After all, Beast had proved himself pretty friendly—almost kind—over the Christmas season. Still, though, he refused to allow her any freedom. He refused to allow her friendship. He'd given gifts, he'd been periodically polite, but that was all.

Belle had run the exact opposite direction she usually went. She headed behind the castle, through a space of brush and low woods, onto a flat snow-covered plain. Here the land rose and fell in small hills, dotted her and there by patches of woodland, until it faded into a horizon of misty mountains. Behind her, the castle and its grounds faded into a dark blob, and the thick Black Forest on the far side of it sat like a shadowy cloud on the white landscape.

"He won't fin me," Belle told herself. "If I go straight for a while and then bear right, I can double back to the Forest where it isn't so near his castle." From there, Belle felt sure she could find a road and retrace it to her village. So she trudged on, taking quick steps up a steep, slippery hill.

Belle came to the crest of the gill and hurried forward without even looking—a grave mistake, for the drop on the far side was much longer than the climb. Crying out in surprise, Belle tried to stop her tumbling fall, but the icy hillside was treacherous. She landed roughly on her side, twisted an ankle and drenching her thin dress in freezing snow.

"Ah, stupid hill!" she muttered, trying to stand. She was shivering violently, and could furthermore bear no weight in her injured ankle. "Nice mess I've gotten myself into."

Belle slipped again and fell. This time she did not get up, but lay shivering and miserable in the cold. Her life was ruined, she thought to herself. Not that she regretted saving her father, but…well, she was a prisoner, and all her plans for epic adventures were over. She had fought desperately to escape and ended up in more trouble…all alone.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe being with the Beast was better than waiting for a chance of adventure in a village—in a world—that hated her. What she wouldn't give to feel his warm fur right now.

Suddenly and wonderfully, Belle's unspoken wish was granted. She started as she felt herself lifted, light as a child in the thick, hairy arms of the Beast. Shreds of his tattered purple cloak fell about her, and she was held gently against his warm, soft, animal chest. The fur was so long and soft that Belle could bury her hands and face in it, listening to the thump of his great, beastly heart.

"Beast," said Belle, lamely. "Are you saving me again?"

"Of course not," he growled; "I hate you, remember?"

"I'm sorry I said that." She bowed her head.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. I haven't learned to control my temper. Probably never will." The Beast grunted in shame. "Well, the truth is…I came to get you because…you're all I have left."

There was a short silence. Then Belle said, "Wow. I didn't know you were so…"

"What? Silly?" Beast growled in apprehension.

"No…fluffy." Belle rested her head against Beast's soft chest again. "You know," she said, "I thought I couldn't have any adventure as a prisoner. But I was wrong. Every day with you is an adventure."

"Don't think of yourself as a prisoner. I'm only trying to protect my pack. Belle, you and I will always be outsiders…" he hesitated, embarrassed. "But there's no reason we can't be outsiders, together."

"Sounds good," Belle smiled.

Another silence followed as Beast walked through the snow.

Belle was now quite sure she would stay with the Beast until it got warmer and safer outside. "Beast," she said to him.

"Hmm?"

"It will be spring soon. How about a nice dinner in a few nights? A dance maybe? I can teach you."

"Sounds good," said Beats with something like a smile. Little did he know that after that upcoming dinner and dance, he would finally and entirely give into love.

THE END