Woo. Okay, so, I got no chapters out yesterday and only two the day before. I'm sorry! D: Friends are up to visit from Long Island and I was still dealing with my boyfriend. Thankfully, things are all settled now in that area and I'm having a great time with my friends, so I'm obviously back in the mood for writing! Not to mention that I came back to several wonderful, constructive reviews from many of you. Thanks!

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine.

Chapter Eight: Anxiety


A solid month had passed since in the incident. Belle was now rapidly approaching her fourth month of pregnancy, and it had been weeks since she had experienced any sort of dizzy spell or illness in general. However, she still had what the entire castle referred to as her "bad days" every once in a while - generally once a week - in which she could experience spotting on her undergarments and/or full days where she was so weak, all she could do was lay in bed and read a book.

The physician was not concerned, luckily. He had informed them that it was simply the aftereffects of the stress that had occured in her body, and even assured them that the days would disappear completely within a few more weeks.

This, of course, did nothing to placate Vincent, who had taken on the role of worried husband and impending father one-hundred-ten percent. He stuck to a general policy of monitoring exactly what she ate, especially the quantity of it. If she was found to be on her feet for more than fifteen minutes, she was scolded and often directed to a chair or bed by force, and on her bad days, he silently and stonily stayed in the bedroom with her, not speaking a word but also refusing to leave.

Belle had initially thought that he did it simply out of guilt - now, she was fairly sure he did it out of a mixture of concern and the former. She convinced herself that it was something that would dissipate over time, and as such, she rarely fussed.

At that moment, she was slowly walking down the stairs with one hand on the railing and one hand on the hard bump on her lower torso that she had become so fascinated with. It seemed to be growing by the day, and its owner was far from self-concious about it. If she wore the right dress, in fact, you could barely even tell that there was a bump, though Mrs. Potts had promised her that it would not remain that way much longer and so to enjoy it while she still could.

Right then, a loud gurgling noise made itself known from the region right above it, reminding her that it was a good hour and a half since she normally ate lunch. She grimaced at the noise, so loud, in fact, that it almost seemed to echo in the large, empty space. As such, Vincent, who was yards behind/above her and had just started coming down the stairs, also heard it.

"You're hungry?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing.

She started at the sound, not having known that he was there as she hadn't heard him approaching. As she turned around, he quickly jogged down the rest of the stairs until he was even with her, at which point she had to turn once more to look at him.

"You're hungry?" he repeated again. "Why are you hungry? Haven't you eaten?"

Belle scowled at him. "Of course I've eaten," she snapped, annoyed that he would imply she was irresponsible enough to deprive their child of -

"What did you eat for lunch?"

There was a pause.

"Well, I haven't exactly eaten lunch yet. I was just going to so -"

"You haven't eaten yet?" He sounded so disturbed at the concept that she was afraid he might have a conniption. "Why haven't you eaten? You're starving yourself!"

He was met with a large frown. "I'm hardly starving myself," she informed him briskly.

"You should be eating three large meals a day, and while we're on the subject, we should start talking about snacks in between."

"I had a huge breakfast," she informed him, ignoring the second part of his comment entirely.

"You're eating for two now," he reminded her stubbornly, as if she could have forgotten.

"Yes, and one of us is half as long as my hand and weighs only a couple of ounces!" Belle said in exasperation. "The buns I eat are bigger than it, so I hardly think it will notice just because it's been a few hours since it got anything new."

"A few hours," he repeated, clicking his teeth together. "No wonder you're still so thin."

She rolled her eyes heavenward. "I haven't gained much weight because it's still so tiny," she said, attempting to be patient. "If I needed to be eating more, Louis would have told me so."

Vincent sighed. "Come eat right now, then." It took everything she had not to snappishly remind him that that was what she had set out to do in the first place.

He grabbed her hand and began dragging her down the stairs at a rather rapid pace, sending a jolt of panic through her. She found that ever since she had discovered her pregnancy, new fears were popping up everywhere, and stairs were near the top of the list.

"Wait!" she nearly yelled, and he stopped dead in his tracks, whirling around to look at her.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked anxiously, looking her over for any sign of something amiss. "I told you you should have -"

"Just don't go down the stairs so fast," she requested softly, staring down at her toes with cheeks flushed red from embarassment.

Vincent stared at her for a moment, his brows drawing together as he noticed the color in her face. "Are you... afraid of the stairwell?" She had been prepared to hear laughter or even mocking in his voice, but instead, it was gentle and quietly curious, which was probably the only reason she honestly answered him.

"Yes," she said, her voice hushed. He cupped her chin and tilted it up so that she was looking at him.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," he explained, and she promptly burst into tears. He patiently held her against his chest, ignoring the fact that his shirt was getting rapidly wet.

"I don't - know - why - I'm - crying," she gasped after a minute or so, and he had to admit mentally that he was equally as stumped.

"Let's go to breakfast," he suggested, and she nodded with a few sniffs. He wrapped his arm around her waist and led her very carefully down the stairs, the railing on the other side.

Once they got into the dining hall, Mrs. Potts saw them and exclaimed, "I wondered when you would make it down for lunch!" She ordered them to be seated and promised to be out with a fresh loaf of bread and milk shortly (tea had been strictly prohibited, though no explanation had been offered as to why).

Before she could rush off into the kitchen, Vincent requested, "Will you send someone to find Lumiere, please?"

Belle sent a curious look at him, but he offered her no explanation and they settled into a discussion about buying a new, shorter table for dining.

Mrs. Potts returned with bread, cheese, and milk, as well as Lumiere in tow. She disappeared once more and Belle waited for Vincent to talk about whatever he was going to talk about, glancing over at him when silence ensued. He was staring back at her, one eyebrow raised as he gestured at the food.

With an exasperated sigh, Belle poured herself some milk and took a sip, her expression saying clearly what she couldn't (her mouth being full of liquid as it was): "Are you happy now?"

He seemed content and turned to the servant that had been standing there, waiting patiently for the little scene to end. "Lumiere, I would like to arrange for our bedroom to be moved downstairs, please."

Belle just about spit out her milk, glowering at him. She swallowed quickly and exclaimed, "We are not moving our bedroom!"

"Belle," he argued, "you said yourself you were afraid of the stairs."

The presence of Lumiere made her face light bright red, clearly not helping his case.

"We aren't moving it," she said firmly. "I like our bedroom where it is, and that's where it shall stay."

"That is utterly ridiculous. I'll not have you going up and down them more than is neccessary, and come to think about it, it's un-needed stress in the first place."

"I go to the library more than I go to our room," she reminded him, "and the library is upstairs. Switching to a downstairs bedroom would only force me to go up and down them even more than I would have otherwise."

The argument raged on for five minutes or so before Lumiere quietly cleared his throat and interjected, "Ahem, monsieur, if I might make a suggestion? A compromise of sorts?"

Both parties turned to look at him skeptically. Vincent was the first to speak, inquiring, "What sort of compromise do you propose?"

"A sort of chair, perhaps, that the mademoiselle can sit on, attached to the banister. It will pull her up."

They exchanged glances, both clearly impressed with the concept. "That's a lovely idea," Belle said slowly, "but how could such a chair work?"

"I didn't get that far," Lumiere said, deflating.

They resumed their arguing for several more minutes until Mrs. Potts came out and chided the prince for distracting his wife from her food - which became especially important when she placed unnaturally large amounts of soup on the table along with pastries, berries, more bread, and some sort of poulty. They were promptly informed that they weren't to leave the table until every scrap had been consumed, most of which, she instructed, was to be done by the impending mother.

Of course, Belle assumed that with her out of the room, she could eat however much she wanted - which was obviously incorrect. Vincent drove her like a slave, half force-feeding her at times until she told him in all seriousness that if another thing touched her tongue, she was going to vomit everything she had eaten. Though he had grumbled that he would just make her eat again, he let it go and ate his own share of the food.


So sorry this took so long. Halfway through it, I went to save and it said I wasn't logged in - I lost a good four-hundred words! Ugh, I HATE retyping things, and I'm certain the original was better, but here it is just the same. To make up for the length, I made it a bit longer than the other chapters have been :)

Ever yours,

-~- Tears of Insanity