Author's note: I realized a mistake in my note last chapter, it's Tom, Dick and STANLEY! Those are the lyrics from "Gaston" :P Luckily they hadn't shown up yet for me to make a bigger moron of myself….

On with the story….where is our poor Beast and why all the household drudgery?

"Crushed Rose Petals" chapter two

"Daily Drudgery"

Belle blinked hard. She couldn't think too much on him, lest she faint into sobs again. She found when she did cry, it was impossible to stop…. Gaston had beaten her bloody when she had cried for him first they were married. And her staring son needed her, to be collected, and completely in control…

And bedtime was so far off. Only in dreams did Gaston leave her alone, and she walked in green fields with the Beast. He held her in massively powerful arms, but never did he strike her. Or make her feel unsafe….

"Louie, let's go to it, shall we?" Belle said dully, trying to sound brave. The baby gurgled and drooled a fine line of spit. Belle wiped her hands on her apron, and fetched a clean square of linen from the side wardrobe to wipe his face. Her father had warned her to be careful of small organisms that caused illness, called germs….

Papa! Belle scrubbed a wrist across her eyes hard as tears threatened to well again and re-puffen her already reddened gaze. The entire town thought his studies were insane, thought he was crazy!... And after the night Belle had been dragged away from the castle (her screams had torn her throat to bloody ribbons), Gaston had made well and good on his threat and had had Maurice committed to the asylum, Maison de Lune. Her papa had to share quarters with the mentally ill, the truly insane. His few possessions had been stolen or broken by inmate and guard alike.

And the last time he had seen her, Belle had been round with their enemy's child, helpless to her fate…

'Papa tried to claw his eyes out,' Belle thought dully. 'He used to call Gaston a handsome fellow, but then he refused to help Papa find me at the castle. He rallied the town against my Beast….and ruined both of our lives.'

Her daily life was a mockery of what she had learned to love and care about. Not once had she ever seen herself as Gaston's wife, having seen through his façade more than once on occasion, if surely the villagers could not. Especially after she had seen true kindness reflected in blue eyes…

Belle plunked her child back into his basket and tightened her apron around her in a resolute knot. The dress she was wearing was threadbare around the hem, just fine for her household duties. But if she were to go out to market or receive visitors, she had better not be wearing it. Madame Gaston had better look the part and be properly dressed. Belle shoved a lock of hair out of her eyes and jogged outside to use the water pump for her mop water.

She came inside with the sloshing bucket before her son had time to sniffle and cry. She handed him a stuffed rag doll she had sewn for him and the baby promptly sucked on the head.

Belle allowed herself a moment to watch, an instant of warmth searing her frozen interior. Her child, clutching a doll she had modeled after the Beast…. She couldn't sew a cape or attach horns lest Gaston really know who the doll was fashioned after, but the fuzzy rag man was covered with light brown fur. She had sewn bright blue buttons onto the doll's face for eyes, but Louie had long since chewed them off.

Beast….

Belle turned her head and grabbed the scrub brush, scrubbing hard on her hands and knees. The hem of her dress dragged through the wet patches, making her shiver. As afterthought, she pushed the baby's basket closer to the fireplace.

Finally, the floor was clean. Belle leaned back and wiped her brow with her wrist. It took much too long the hard way… Maurice had invented a long-handled mop that was obviously easy on the knees, but was different from other cleaning devices in that he had fashioned a switch to the mop head that squeezed water out all on its own. If only she were back in the days she could use his wonderful inventions…

But Gaston had said they were instruments of the devil, or an insane mind; if they helped the work to go faster, she would have time to read, and he wasn't having any of that. Belle recalled when housework took up only a portion of her day, and she could take the rest to reading whatever she liked and whenever. Maurice had been easy-going about the cooking, and often they cooked together.

But numbing her brains seemed to be Gaston's goal in life. And dinner with him was another matter. She had better have all his meals prepared for him or else, and spot-on-time.

He had always been a mean jerk, but now he showed his displeasure in harsh ways. Once it had been her wrist sprained by his tightened grip. Another time, her knee kicked and nearly broken. Her face was constantly slapped, and her eyes were red from constant tears while alone.

And then there was not to mention the almost daily physical attentions Gaston demanded of her. Belle's lackluster gaze drifted dully to the edge of her dress, her fingers red from the scrub brush. She had never read that physical love could be this bad, this harsh. She had only time with the Beast to touch his hand, embrace him simply. If ever she were to share what Gaston took from her, it would have been with him somehow…. Never mind his appearance, never mind if they were so different bodily. He would never have hurt her...

Belle pressed a fist to the side of her head, then carried the pots from the morning's meal out the back door and sluiced another bucket of water. She laid the sticky pots in, and on looking to either side, produced a small pouch stashed in her apron pocket. Inside was an invention of her father's, a marvelous soap powder that cleaned anything in a matter of minutes. She pinched a handful and pocketed the rest of the contraband soap from view. She didn't have the time to scrub the grease off before doing the market shopping, so she would let them soak and do it in the afternoon.

Belle preferred the market shopping in the morning as it were. Gaston would still be in the woods with Le'fou and his friends, and she wouldn't chance to run into him outside the tavern.

And she might have time to venture inside….

The baby sniffled and Belle collected him, walking to the back bedroom with a stiffened gait. The bedroom she shared with…. It was more his room than theirs, definitely Gaston in all its male trappings and furnishings. The wolf skin spread across the huge bed filled Belle always with a thread of revulsion. It was gray and white, far from the coloring of the Beast's pelt, but the analogy was too similar…

Belle sat in the rocking chair Gaston had had whittled, and set to nursing her son. She sighed, trying not to look at the bed. If her father hadn't been committed to Maison de Lune, she would have given up and run away long ago. She would have found a way to the castle and hidden, or taken one of Gaston's guns….

But her father was still alive, and his sustenance depended on how she pleased Gaston. Papa had long ago begged in hoarse whispering that he wasn't worth it, keeping her chained to a man that was a monster so that he could live. But no matter how good an argument Maurice made, Belle knew she could no more abandon him to the Maison's devices, than she could forget the best time of her life.

Belle laid Louie on the wolf skin rug, and changed into a maroon long-sleeved dress. She tied a plain white apron on top, her personal look. With disgust, she fastened a gold necklace around her collar. It was an ugly gift, an obvious display of Gaston's wealth and pride, and it needled all her sensibilities. May as well lay an iron collar tight 'round her throat; it would achieve the same affect.

Belle brushed out her once-lustrous brown hair and fastened it back into its customary ponytail. The ribbon she used was the same shade as her dress. With her new thick cloak, she looked every bit a respectable wife, THE wife of a prominent man.

Belle hated it. She turned from the mirror and bundled her son up in more layers. Winter was hard coming on, and she couldn't possibly risk a chill for him.

Out into town. One thing about her station, Belle never had to lock up. No one but a fool would dare rob Gaston's home; those that wanted to live to tell about it, anyway. She'd always had to lock every door and window at her father's home. The townsmen loved to tamper with his machines and scatter his tools around the yard.

Belle sighed and collected the baby basket, and a smaller basket in her other arm, going out the front door. As she made her way down the pathway, the neighbor women stopped sweeping the walkway to smile and call out greetings.

"Belle, hello! A wonderful day, isn't it?"

"Oh, and is that the baby? He looks just like Gaston!"

Belle waited and nodded, a customary smile crooked on her lips. Her make-up had been expertly applied and her reddened eyes masked. She looked every bit the envied wife. But couldn't these clucking hens hurry and let her on her way? She had barely enough time so she could see….

"Yes, thank you….a wonderful day," Belle agreed. The wind was brisk and cold, the sun never casting a spot of warmth in this winter day. Belle loved it, however. It had been snowing when she was at the castle….

Finally, the housewives let her go, and immediately set to talking behind her back. Without a book to freeze the words, Belle heard every syllable.

"She's looking well, well, better as it is."

"She had a rough time, being held captive by that Beast. But luckily Gaston saved her!..."

"Have you seen its head, though? It was enough to frighten me to death!"

Belle cringed and clutched the handles of both baskets with white-knuckled fingers. They had no idea who the monster was…. How she had pleaded and begged, and he hadn't listened….

Jangling of store bells above her head eased the clucking comments as Belle pushed into the bakery door. The shopping for the bread and cheese didn't go so badly. The baker always was rather self-absorbed in his work and barely gave her the time of day.

The cheese maker, an old bent white-haired man, always had a sweet smile, but even he was swayed by Gaston's majesty.

'And isn't everyone?' Belle's mind rang dark. She tucked the cloth-wrapped cheese into her second basket, and hoisted the baby's up with it. The cheese maker ran around the counter to open the door for her and raised his cap from his balding head. Belle managed a small, genuine smile as she exited to the chorus of changing bells. Small touches of kindness from the more quiet townsfolk made her think and re-inspect her troubled heart. If they had been part of the mob that fateful night, they hadn't been an active part, staying behind from the main party.

A further act of kindness threatened to undo her existence when she chanced to pass the book keeper's shop across the square. "Belle! Belle! Wait a moment!" the bespectacled keeper, fellow bookworm and some of the town's truer stuff in Belle's book, stopped sweeping his doorway and waved excitedly. A small tome flipped out of an apron pocket and Belle stopped, seeing her happy past cascade before her eyes.

Louie squirmed and squalled in his basket, panging her heart further.

"I can't stop, monsieur! Maybe another time," Belle smiled regrettably. The book keeper bent to collect his novel, and regarded his favorite customer with barely restrained shock.

"But, Belle….we have new books from Paris! I knew you'd want first crack at them, so I've set them aside…"

Belle wanted to wrap her arms around his skinny shoulders and weep, and it took all her might not to reach for him. It wasn't just the words on paper she missed, it was everything! Her father's warm living room, reading aloud to him at supper…. Not to mention sharing this passion with….

Her cheek had been pressed to a warm shirt sleeve, fur rustling beneath. Claws had turned the pages of their life together as they sat, an eternity of contentment….

"No thank you, monsieur! Another time, I promise you…." Belle demurred politely. The book keeper gave her an odd look but grinned it off.

"It's alright, Belle. I know you're a new wife and very busy….just don't forget your interests," he advised.

Belle's new shoes clacked to a stop on the cobblestones, her hands clutching her baskets tightly. Deeply she took a shuddering breath. "If only you knew, Monsieur…"

The town's tavern stood empty and silent on the corner of the square, and Belle sidled close. She caught a glimpse of blond hair down the way, and pushed open the double doors hurriedly. If she ran into one of the Triplets, she really wouldn't get to do what she came to do.

Even if it killed her each time she came….

The tavern was dusty and unlit, closed for business so early in the day. Belle waited just inside the door, and heaved a huge sigh. In the far corner, above the huge fireplace…. Don't look yet, don't look…!

Belle set her shopping basket down, and plucked Louie out of his. She took her time adjusting his blankets, her heart thumping an irregular rhythm. It clanged so hard it was like to split her breast in two…

Belle took a deep shuddering breath, but felt no more filled. Her gaze dimmed as she exhaled and truly she couldn't breathe. Don't faint…don't faint!... You've seen it before….. This is not the first time!

'Not it, HIM,' Belle thought fiercely.

Slowly, lest she disturb her memories, Belle moved past the edge of the bar towards the heavily furred and antlered high-backed chair, the bear-skin rug (this time beside the chair in the corner; always it seemed to change positions each time), there, the very edges of the stonework around the tavern's enormous hearth….

Belle finally swept her gaze all the way up….past the deer heads and boar heads….and settled upon the visage of her love.

Gaston had been cruel in his taxidermy instructions. The Beast stared out behind vacant glass eyes, his precious blue long been laid out for the crows and unseeing her brown-eyed gaze forever. His lips had been separated, slightly agape; Gaston must have been going for a snarl, but he seemed to Belle to be mutely pleading with her. His horns had been polished, his furry cheeks laid in careful waves.

And now….Belle stopped, her world crashing to silence as it always did. Her love, the only person she had loved as a man….and here he was laid to rest, mounted high up and it was all her fault.

"I'm so sorry, Beast!... It's my fault, all my fault!" Belle finally whispered the words she thought in private every single day. And finally brought to light, the tears came….opened from a surging dam that wouldn't stop. No…. no….

That night she had been kneeling in his blood, her gaze shimmering to black from the blow Gaston had struck her….the Beast had been roaring for her, his cool blue gaze stilling to darkness as he reached for her….claws stretching….

"No!..." Belle knelt on the wooden floor, clutching her child. Soon her sniffles became unabated wails as she tried to suck in breath through her sobs. Her nose ran onto Louie's blanket, his tiny hands flailing at her cheeks as he cried with her.

On and on the grief surged and rocked her small frame until Belle knew she would choke from it. If her body hadn't made HIS child's, she would have found the gun or the knife and turn to her love in green meadows she could only dream in torment of.

Oh, Beast!

Belle was so drawn inward she failed to hear the click of the double doors, the hesitant footsteps venturing near the bar. When her name was softly called, cold stark reality froze Belle and chilled her blood. Someone had caught her here with his remains, had caught her crying over his loss….she had announced to all she all but cared for him that horrible night, but to WITNESS it!...

Gaston would be told, he would hurt the child next if not her…

"Who…" Belle sprang to her feet, scrubbing her eyes with the edge of the baby's blanket. His cries shifted to snuffles…thank god he regained his composure quicker than she could.

A vision of blond hair danced in the corner of her blurry gaze and Belle scrubbed her eyes with one hand. One of the blond triplets ventured closer, her hands twisting. "I thought I'd find you here, Belle…." she said.

End for now

To be continued!

Note: Hehhe the mention of the bearskin rug comes hot off the commentary on the dvd, where the director and producers point out the animation flub of the bearskin being in front of the fireplace almost like it's alive and thinking….then in next frame, is beneath the chair! I found this hysterical for some reason so in it goes :P Personally I think that effing thing is pretending….

And one of the triplets! I've heard they're referred to as the Bimbettes, kinda funny, but I have something else in mind….