Disclaimer: Of course I do not own BATB, and I'm not making money off of this story. I forgot to add this tidbit in the first chapter, so there you go.

A/N: This chapter will be a little 'back-and-forth' introspective piece, alternating between Belle's thoughts and the Beast's thoughts, particularly on each other and their current situation.

Chapter 3: Polite Conversation

Belle followed the hulking form before her, partially hidden in shadow, as it treaded down the corridor surprisingly without much noise. She would have assumed that her captor's massive weight against the stone floor, despite the luxurious carpet path, would have echoed throughout the wing. Although, he was of a predatory nature, she noted. Perhaps his stealth was a product of intuition rather than practice.

The walkways were rarely lit, aside from the occasional grouping of flickering wicks above, courtesy of the animated candelabra. The castle would have probably been left in complete darkness if not for her presence, in fact, she had mentioned as much to the chatty teapot after a swift tumble when climbing the stairs. As Belle thought of it, the toe of her slipper caught on the lush carpet and she lurched forward with a squeak, her balance lost. Her hands reached forward and grabbed the nearest thing she could, which happened to be a long cloak. Dainty fingers dug into the fabric, capturing fistfuls of rough fur.

"Ngh!"

Belle quickly released her grip, righted her footing, and clasped her hands to her chest. "Oh!"

He turned his head to the side, giving her a slight glare while grunting heavily, the deep sound vibrating roughly within his chest. One clawed paw quickly righted his cloak. "Watch it."

Belle didn't have time to respond to his reprimand, as he turned abruptly and continued walking down the corridor. She rubbed her arms, suddenly feeling a slight chill, but quickly followed after him when she noticed that his long strides were quickly leaving her behind.

They entered a small room, only just larger than the one she had been given upon her father's departure. Logs crackled as they were wrapped in flames, illuminating the generous hearth and spreading warmth feet beyond to a large padded chair. The material appeared heavy and quite expensive, rivaling any of the furniture she had witnessed in her own home. Another chair was placed in a far corner, although it's scheme in color and shape did not match the other. Belle assumed the two were never meant to occupy the same space, and wondered why they did so now. She had noticed that the walls were lined with shelves, on which books were grouped sporadically, along with other knick-knacks and figurines. There was a feminine touch to the arrangement of the space. It was difficult to see initially, what with the layers of dust and disarray, but after a moment one could noticed the care applied with matching fabrics and styles. All except for that chair.

The beast's clawed toes were tapping the carpet, and Belle wondered if it was a nervous gesture. He decided to occupy himself with the fire, taking an iron poker and roughly prodding the wood, perhaps more than was necessary.

Belle moved toward the fire, watching him as he worked. The awkward chair was closest to the hearth, so she gave it a better inspection now that it was convenient. She had been right about the fabric. The cool spruce shade was only enhanced by its quality. Although, the cushions were showing wear. And were those claw marks on the armrests?

After he had abused the logs to his liking, the beast moved past her and slumped into the chair. His cloak had been removed before he dropped into the cushions and it was thrown on the floor.

Bell stood quietly, wondering if she should say something to alert his attention, or to perhaps comment on the fact that he had brought her here so they both could sit comfortably. He must have forgotten as much during the two second trek from the window to this room. Belle scolded herself the rude thought.

He noticed her before she had to debate long and hard over her own actions. His subtle hum, one that seemed to indicate embarrassment, rumbled about the room and he stood again. Within moments he had lumbered over to the other chair, heaved its weight over his head, and hauled it back to where he had been comfortably sitting. It was dropped to the ground with a barely muffled pound on the carpet. He observed its position, glanced at the girl for a second, and scooted the chair closer to the fire, shifting its angle back and forth before deciding which he liked better.

Belle might have laughed at his sudden particular behavior, if she hadn't retained the shock of watching him gather such a large object in his arms as if the weight was barely felt. Impressive, indeed. She knew there was no reason to fear him, at least at the moment, but seeing such a display reminded her of his power. She would certainly prefer he use it for decorating purposes.

"Here. Sit." The beast gestured to the chair before returning to his own.

She watched him. "Thank you."

He grunted.

Polite conversation might have been too much to ask for.

He had been enjoying a quiet moment before the fire until he heard the girl wander around the halls. Naturally, he couldn't push his curiosity aside and leave her be. There were rules to living with him. He hadn't thought of them until the moment he found himself responsible for her, but he spent long hours since then formulating exactly what he wouldn't want her to do. It was a distracting task, and he always had time for those. Whatever kept his mind off of his current predicament was welcome.

He watched her, delicately perched on the edge of that ridiculously delicate chair. It had been made for a woman, so it certainly received little use as of late. It fit her, the chair, as did the room. If he hadn't wished to continue using it as one of his own, he might have let her stay here.

"Are you warm enough?"

She flinched, and he realized that his rough voice must have drawn her out of a reverie rather forcefully, despite his attempt at speaking softly.

"Ah…yes, thank you."

He noticed that she rubbed her arms, perhaps to ward off a chill, despite assuring him otherwise. He exhaled, hoping to eliminate his growing frustration with her. Why could she not say exactly what she meant? Certainly that hadn't been a problem before. He gingerly rubbed the bandage on his forearm. If you'd hold still, it wouldn't hurt as much!

Irritating woman.

She rubbed her arms again, so he reached down to where his cloak sat in a pile and threw the large expanse of fabric at her.

Belle was surprised when the garment landed over her head. She pulled it down quickly, mussing the hair that had been neatly pulled back by a ribbon. It was hard to decide if he was being purposely obnoxious or kind, as they seemed to coincide with every action he took. How gentlemanly it would have been to simply hand the cloak to her, instead of thrusting it at her face. But what could she honestly expect from a beast?

He was ignoring her now, having returned his gaze to the fire. She assumed that he must have caught the irritated purse of her lips and furrow of her brow. It was similar to reprimanding a child for unwanted behavior, without having to raise your voice or show other sorts of vocal displeasure. He just knew. Although, he might have been used to disapproval, given his current state. Belle found her empathy for the creature occasionally irritating. He had certainly started this entire matter.

Not letting the warmth of the cloak go to waste, even if it was his warmth, Belle wrapped herself up in it. She had expected it to smell of animal, and considering that he had worn it in the snow, wet animal. Surprisingly, she could only detect the subtle sent of burning wood, and beneath that whiffs of pine. It was…pleasant. But she would never admit as much.

Her eyes caught the shelves of books again. "Do you like to read?"

He let a lazy eye catch her own, seemingly judging her demeanor to see if she was still angry. "No."

Well then!

The beast had never been so…amused. Especially not with a woman. How fiercely she scowled when he confessed his dislike of reading. He needn't tell her it was partially due to his not remembering how. She would probably think him ignorant, not that he could really argue. Isolation had stripped away many of his mannish qualities, firstly those he had been forced to learn as a boy. How she would raise her priggish nose at him. And she, a mere peasant!

He would never admit as much, but the idea of her knowing his inadequacies sent a ripple of shame through him.

"Do you?" He wouldn't look at her. "Like to read, that is." The question wasn't much of one. He was certain he already knew the answer.

Her eyebrows rose, as if he had asked her if she was indeed a captive, brown-haired female "Oh yes." An 'of course' almost spilled over her pink lips, but he could tell that she quickly righted herself. Her eyes returned to the books that flanked the walls around them. He had noticed that she had been regarding them here and there for a majority of the time they occupied the room.

"I thought they might be yours." She spoke softly then, with a reverence that he would probably never understand. They were just books, after all.

"No." He paused, wondering what he should tell her. "They belonged to my mother."

She was shocked. He could tell. Perhaps she had thought that he wouldn't share a portion of his history with her, or maybe she hadn't considered the reality of his having parents. He had often wondered what type of stories people would tell after seeing him. They would think him a demon, having erupted from a fissure in the ground, or something similar. Sometimes he wondered himself. Perhaps the memories of family were actually figments of a yearning imagination.

He was suddenly tired, and wished she would go.

Belle felt the immense guilt again as she watched the poor creature wearily watch the fire, his large hand toying with the bandage on his arm. Despite how she often felt about being kept captive in this dreary castle, she certainly couldn't ignore the pain of the man before her. Whoever or whatever his mother was, she must have loved him. She remembered such love, wishing it could have been bottled before it slipped away. They were two of a kind, in that respect. Strange thoughts, indeed.

"Thank you, for bringing me here." She let the cloak slip away from her shoulders and began folding it out of habit. "But I am tired, and would like to return to my room." The approach was rather hesitant; she wasn't certain if he would feel insulted at her departure. She stood before him, cloak in hand, and slowly placed it over his arm. In that exact moment, his hand reached out and the soft fur of his odd finger-like appendages brushed the back of her hand. She stepped backward quickly, taking her hands with her.

His chest rumbled, sounding like a cat's purr, and Belle fled.