CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

There was so much more to survival than the persistence of the flesh. Long after Belle's tears had dried and her abrasions and bruises had healed from the night Gaston had brutally murdered her Papa, her sense of self still felt like it remained in tatters, never quite to be made whole ever again. She felt like a distortion of what she once was, unable to find her way back. Each day was a thing in itself, she did not dwell in the past, but nor did she look to the future.

Quasimodo wanted his friend back. She knew that he wanted the same girl that had bravely kissed him by the River Seine that night, the girl who brought him sunshine in an otherwise dark and desolate world up here in his isolated bell towers. But how on earth could she tell the man that those rays just were not there anymore? That she herself felt as if she were barely here?

The healing maester prescribed essence of nightshade to help her sleep at night, and tonics to slip into her tea most mornings to help ease her sickness.

Sister Alice listened to her thoughts on this matter and seemed to have all the right words. But she simply had to accept that she would be a different person from here on in, that nothing, no matter how much she would wish for it to be so, would ever be the same again, for her life had irrevocably changed the moment that Alice Beaumont had cornered Belle in the library this morning and had gone against orders by Judge Frollo not to breathe a word.

She had almost—almost—considered telling the nun what had transpired between the two of them in the hallway, how the cruel man had forced himself upon her, but she decided for now, given what she was still struggling to process, let it go. Belle had to accept that she would be different.

How this new person would be more cautious, less trusting of strangers, more fearful. But still, she clung to what little shreds of sanity she had left, to her Bible, to God, and her relationship with the church's bell ringer. She knew that in his own way, albeit however shy he might be, Quasi cared for her, and she for him, and now that Gaston was well and truly dead…

Belle bit the wall of her cheek and ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth as she pondered over what to do regarding her feelings for the man.

He could show her the way back to love if he would allow her in. Perhaps even one day, if she ever fully healed from this, she could find a way to help other women, other survivors like she was, and be a voice for the broken, but…not yet. Belle felt like her mind was reeling as her mind struggled to process Alice's words the following morning following a private meeting with the nun up in his tower. This could not be true; it could not be so. She was…she was pregnant.

Like it or not, Belle was going to be a mother in about nine months.

To a child that was the product of rape. And yet, waging war within the confines of her conflicted mind, she did not think that she could bear herself to get rid of it, for it was innocent. It had done nothing. These conflicting thoughts were not helping her already agitated state of mind as she waged war with herself on what to do about her little problem. She painfully twisted her hands together and felt her nails dug into the skin of her palms as she stifled her soft smile as she heard the barely audible thump of the bell ringer's boots as he landed gracefully from one of the rafters high above.

Belle didn't know exactly how he spent his time up there, nor did she care to know the details. Everyone was entitled to their privacy and secrets. God only knew she had kept her fair share of them. She looked around and forced a smile on her face, though she quickly let it fall when she met the bell ringer's gaze, and she knew the man was not fooled by her attempt to placate him and make him believe that she was fine when she most assuredly was not at all fine.

What was she going to do? Her mind felt like it was reeling, and she was at a complete loss. "Have you eaten anything this morning, Belle?"

His first words to her, and there was no mistaking the concern laced throughout his soft, tenor-like tones, and it was these caring undertones that convinced Belle to tell Quasimodo the truth. Just the thought of food right now was enough to make her stomach lurch.

She bit the wall of her cheek and numbly shook her head. "Not yet."

"Here." Belle's mouth twitched upward in a slight smile as he darted back inside his tower loft and handed her an apple, holding it out to her somewhat hesitantly, though as the bell ringer saw her smile, he relaxed a little.

In truth, she wasn't hungry at all. In fact, she felt quite nauseous, so she proceeded to roll the apple in her hands, shifting the fruit from one hand to the other. "There's…A—Alice says that the reasoning behind my…sickness, why I can't seem to keep much down these days," she began hesitantly, biting the wall of her cheek in a fit of nervous anticipation, not wanting to reveal her news, but knew at this point that she had no choice.

I have to tell him right now.

Belle exhaled slowly through her nose and huffed in frustration and nervous anticipation. "I—is because…he…we…I'm going to have a baby. I—it's…it's Gaston's, it's his, a—and I—I don't know what to do about it, Quasimodo," she hissed and immediately turned her head away so she would not have to look at him.

There. She said it. The words escaped unchecked from her lips in a hushed tone, barely audible, spat more than spoken and whispered like she had been harboring a deep, dirty secret, which, Belle supposed that, in a way, she was. Belle clenched her eyes shut and bit the wall of her cheek, not wanting to look at him, for what he must think of her. At this rate, she did not want to know what he thought of her, for what would he say to her?

She had not exactly been forthcoming with Quasi in her admission that she had been married, and initially, he had been upset, though following her father's gruesome murder, they had not really a decent opportunity to discuss this, though she supposed, given her circumstances, there was no time like the present.

Though the unspoken words seemed to hang in the air around the two of them like a deathly poison, suffocating her and wrapping its chilled hands around the pale column of her throat.

"Are you all right?" It was all he asked, and when she still refused to meet the bell ringer's gaze, she flinched and let out a muffled whine as she felt his strong gloved hand come up underneath her chin to cup it and tilt it slightly upwards so she was forced to meet his gaze. His tone did not sound accusatory, nor hurt, or betrayed.

But rather, it was laced with concern and a certain tenderness, that, given everything that happened to her over just the last month alone, Quasi's unwavering loyalty and kindness felt like a stab straight to her heart, the pointed tip of the weapon digging deeper into that corded mass of muscle.

Belle felt her lips part open slightly to speak, though no words came to her, much less a coherent thought as her mind still felt like it was reeling.

She felt his grip upon her chin tighten, and when she still did not answer him, Belle could feel him sigh, and it took him a moment to find his voice.

When he spoke to her, his tone sounded tired, as though he really did not want to ask this next question that burned on the tip of his tongue, yet Belle could tell that it felt imperative that he do so, considering this news she had just revealed was a bit of a shock, and his tone was just as surprised as hers.

"Belle, I need you to open your eyes a—and look at me. Look at me." Though his tone was gentle, the bell ringer was practically begging her now, and Belle's eyes flung open, just for a fraction of a second, and the anguish and heartbreak in his cobalt eyes were almost too much for her to bear.

She did not think that she could take it, to see the hurt that dwelled within. "I—I can't!" she wailed, clenching her eyes shut and turning away.

The last word escaped her lips as a half-choked sob, and by now, hot tears were welling and stinging in the corners of her vision, threatening to pour over. It felt like all she did these last two weeks was cry, and she came to wonder how it was that she had any left within her to give, though she seemed to keep finding new ways. Belle wondered if she would ever smile again.

"Yes, you can, Belle. Look at me." The command came again, and his soft, tenor-like, musical tones were laced with a tinge of melancholia and remorse, though for what he was feeling sorry for, Belle did not know at all.

He had nothing—nothing—to apologize for. She was the one who should and needed to apologize to him, though she was having trouble at the moment finding the right choice of words, for what could she even say to him?

"How could I, Quasi, a—after everything that I have done to you? You have done so much for me and asked for so little in return. By rights, you should hate me, my friend, a—and I would deserve it, f—for I was not honest with you about my—my being married, a—and now this," she whispered, painfully wringing her hands together and digging her sharp nails into the skin of her palms.

Belle heard him emanate a tense, frustrated exhale through his nose as he came to stand in front of her, though he made no move to turn away, at least at first, he didn't, and she let out a muffled squeak as he hopped up onto the balcony's railing and straddled it, both his gloved hands resting on the rail.

Before she could even fathom what was happening, she shot forward and reached out an arm and clutched tightly onto his right forearm. "Don't fall!" she pleaded, sticking out her bottom lip in a slight pout and biting down hard. "What...what are you thinking? Get down from there!" she shouted, socking him on the arm.

The gentle smile with the slight teasing sheen in his brilliant azure orbs was enough to ease some of the tension in her shoulders and then it widened.

"I—I'm sorry, Belle," he began, sounding apologetic, though Belle furrowed her brows in a slight frown as the bell ringer did not sound at all apologetic in the slightest. "But it was the only way I could get you to look at me," he explained, raking his gloved hands through his thick tuft of ginger hair as the autumnal wind rustled it gently, pushing his bangs back away from his face, the wind kissing his cheeks and pinking them.

She was grateful at least, that he wore long-sleeved linen undershirts underneath his thick green woolen tunic, that he would stay warm up here. She shivered, clutching her middle, though the cold that washed over her was not from the autumnal chill.

Belle blinked owlishly at the redhaired young bell ringer, amazed at the man's nimbleness and agility. She glanced down as she poked her head over the railing and immediately wished that she had not. "Oh, God," she moaned, and her stomach lurched, and for a second, she thought she might vomit. She took a faltering step backward, one hand clutching at her heart. "Ngh—don't—don't ever look down again, Belle. You—you never fear to fall, Quasi?"

Quasi must have noticed her discomfort, for the corners of his mouth turned upwards in a light smirk, ignoring the bitter Paris breeze as it wafted through his hair. "No. You don't have to worry about me, my friend. I've been climbing for years, it's the closest thing I can come to this," he added, gesturing towards the City of Paris with his right arm. "You don't like heights, do you, Belle? And yet…you visit me up here, at the top of the world, almost every day. Why?" he asked, and there was not mistaking the desperation in his voice. "I—I have to know. There…you…you are so beautiful, Belle, a—and I am an 'almost made', a 'monster," he growled, as the bitterness crept into his succulent tone, and Belle hated to hear her friend speak of himself in such loathing. "What could someone like you ever possibly see in someone like me?" he asked, furrowing his brows into a frown as Belle gingerly crept closer.

She did not avert her gaze. Her gaze was unwavering and unabashed as she closed off the gap of space and came to stand behind him on the railing, and she felt him stiffen as both of her hands came to rest on his upper thighs.

Her fingers raked down the material of his woolen green tunic, gripping onto the fabric almost painfully tight for support. "Because…I care about you," she confessed, no longer surprised to hear herself confess it now that her husband was permanently out of her life and no longer an obstacle for her. "I like you, Quasi. I like you a lot, and I never want to hurt you, or for you to be harmed. I think that I…" Belle's voice trailed off, as she reached up a hand to caress his cheek.

She let out a content sigh as one of his gloved hands came up to catch it and held it there in his firm strong grip. "I think that I love you," she whispered, biting her bottom lip and she sighed, reaching up a hand and carding back that one stubborn lock of coarse fiery hair that had an unfailing tendency to fall and hang limp into his one good eye, acting as a shield from his line of sight and that which he did not wish to see, though his gaze had never once left Belle as she had approached him to close off the gap of space between them.

Belle heard him let out a content chill as a tremor…something, traveled down his spine, though whether it was because he found that her running her hands through his thick tuft of red hair was eliciting a pleasurable reaction from him or whether it was in response to the bitter, chilly breeze that traveled through the streets of Paris this morning on the first of October, she didn't know.

"But you shouldn't, Belle," he answered painfully, one of his hands moving off the railing and coming to grip onto hers, curling his gloved fingers into a fist over her own. "You should not want to be anywhere near me, I…"

But his voice trailed off and he did not complete his sentence. He looked away for a moment, though Belle did not give him a chance. This time, it was she who brought her hand up underneath his chin and swiveled his head back around, forcing the lonesome bell ringer to meet the inventor's daughter's hard, piercing gaze, and she was almost giving him quite literally a stony look.

Quasi furrowed his brows into a frown and his free hand not currently wrapped around her waist to prevent her from slipping came up to find purchase in the back of her hair, taking a strand of rich dark chocolate in his fingers and toying with it. He let out a sigh as his gaze drifted to her stomach.

Belle would not start showing for several more weeks, according to Alice, as she quickly followed his gaze and noticed where she was looking. "I…I want to be there for you, Belle," he began hesitantly, biting down on his lip. "I know that I am not much," he sighed, resting his chin on top of her hair, "but I…I care for you, with all that I am. What I am," he clarified quickly.

The heat rose to his cheeks, and he promptly tried to look away as a light pink blush crept along his face that had nothing to do with the bitter cold.

Though he did not attempt to pull away or divert his gaze, for which Belle was grateful. He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat and continued, clutching onto her hand and uncurled her fist, spreading her fingers. He noticed Belle's confusion and furrowed eyebrows, though he made no comment as he wordlessly dug into his pocket and procured a gold ring.

She inhaled a sharp breath that pained her lungs as she shifted the little yellow gold ring in her hand, feeling its weight. She recognized this ring.

"I—I found it," he explained sheepishly, still toying with a lock of her dark hair as he carefully brushed it back away from her shoulder. "Then—the night that you took it off and threw it away, I went back for it later that night, thinking that…w—well, I—if you wanted to, I—if you would like to, that I could…that we could…that I could court you, Belle, I—if you'd have me…I—I want to be there for you, Belle. I don't care if this child is not mine. I would love it no less. I—if you want me in your life, then I will raise it as my own. I promise. You are not alone. You—you have me if you…want. I'll stay with you. And I want you to stay. I hope you know that I would never harm you or lay a finger on you or—the baby," he whispered, his eyes darkening as he no doubt was thinking of her husband. "I am not like your husband, Belle. I…love you, with all that I am, though I know I'm not enough. I just…I just want you to be happy, and why…why could you want me, Belle?" He bit his lip and cringed, hating the sheer awkwardness of it all.

Belle shifted slightly at the edge of the railing, but too slowly to be normal. She lifted her chin and when she spoke, her voice trailed rather slowly.

Like her words were unwilling to take flight. There was a sadness in her eyes, the brown almost too glossy as they brimmed and glistened with unshed moisture, as a fresh onset of tears welled in her eyes.

"How could I not want you? You have done what no one else in France could. You have accepted me for who I am, faults and stubbornness and all,' she chuckled, wiping away a stray tear with a flick of her finger as it trailed down her cheek. "Not for who you or anybody else wanted me to be. So many times, with Gaston, I could…never really be myself around that fiend. But you. Not once you have told me that I am not good enough for you, or pretty enough for you. And you are so much more than you think, Quasi! Do you truly hold such a low opinion of yourself, Quasi? Do not speak of this," she pleaded, biting her bottom lip. "You are so much more than most men I know. Gaston, my father, included. You are kind, you're a good man. Just the fact that what you are discussing of doing-that you—you would do that? For me? After all that I've done?" she asked, biting her bottom lip, hating hearing the crack and dip in her voice as she struggled to fight back the salty liquid that threatened escape. "Even with…" Here, she glanced towards her still very abdomen and flinched, suddenly not wanting to meet his gaze.

Though Quasimodo was not having it, and she felt his gloved hand come up once more and gripped her chin as he for a second time forced the young brunette to meet his piercing and slightly hardened gaze. "Yes. I want...you, Belle. Marry me." His voice was firm, as was his resolute, and Belle could tell the man had made up his mind.

Belle parted her lips to speak, though only one word came out. "Okay."

It was all she could say, and she stifled her small half-smile as Quasi gingerly grabbed her left hand in his and without a word slipped the ring onto her finger that had used to belong to her when she'd been married to Gaston, and though she knew that there was no escaping the memories attached to the simple ring, that she now had a chance to make better memories, with a man who genuinely cared for her and seemed to truly love her unconditionally.

The two of them stared at each other in an odd way, as if it were a silent argument. Their glances battled one another until tears arose, and both found themselves silently crying. "Why did you do it?" Belle whispered hoarsely, tears rolling down with the same quietness. Quasi sighed, wiping his own tears with the back of his sleeve, his other hand still curled into a tight fist and came to wrap around her waist as he pulled her close for support, seeming to need the comfort just as much as Belle did. She felt an urge to do something, to comfort him, but also herself.

Without even waiting for the church's bell ringer to respond, she pressed her lips against his, felt his body stiffen involuntarily at the unexpected intimacy of the sudden gesture, though she quickly felt him loosen as he allowed himself to relax and felt his strong arms touch her shoulders.

Despite this was only the second time that she had kissed him, she knew she had to go slow, for his sake. She did not want to scare him away by moving too fast or forcing him to do something that he was not comfortable with, but she couldn't help but want more of his embrace.

For someone so inexperienced when it came to matters like this, he learned quickly, and Belle felt her mouth stretch into a wide grin that she tried to fight back as one of his gloved hands came up to find purchase in the back of her hair.

He kissed her and the world fell away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand rested below her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek as their breaths mingled. She ran her fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and she could feel the beating of his heart against her chest.

His strong fingers gently ran up and down her spine, coaxing shivers out of Belle. With her cheeks still blushing hotly, she glanced back up into his captivating cobalt orbs, where dozens of emotions were flickering through them. He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers. Belle watched breathlessly as his eyes studied hers with silent intensity. His warm breath ghosted across her face.

The inventor's daughter shut her eyes in anticipation. She stifled a surprised gasp as his soft lips captured hers, causing her body to flush with heat. The heat seemed to travel through her veins, warming her.

Just as she felt a rush of bliss envelop her, making her heart sing with pure joy, Quasi drew away. She instantly missed the lovely heat curling within her.

His hands were wrapped around Belle's waist and hers locked around his neck pulling him down slightly. When the two of them finally broke apart for air, Belle rested her forehead against his and gathered some much-needed oxygen, willing it to return to their lungs, though she wanted nothing more to do it again, to kiss him and never let him go, if she could have it her way. She wished that she could bottle his warmth that he gave off, this incredible fiery heat, in a tiny glass vial, and carry it around with her wherever she went.

His soft, reassuring smile told her everything that she needed to know, that Quasi loved her, in his own way, and would never lead her astray, never lie to her, never leave her, or ask of her to do anything that she was not comfortable with, that he would be a wonderful father to this baby, whether it was his or not, and Belle smiled back, sinking into his stronghold, not wanting to leave it.

She parted her lips to speak, though Quasi lifted a finger to her lips, effectively silencing her. She blinked in surprise, though did not question it.

"Don't." Quasi pleaded, the desperation in his voice evident, before moving his finger, and pressing his hand against her cheek, giving the bell ringer more support to push himself towards her as he effortless swung his legs over the railing and returned to the balcony terrace floor to be closer to her, and connect their lips again. He did not exactly know what was happening, but it was intoxicating. Sinful. But if it were with Belle, then so be it, for nothing could stop something so exhilarating, something that felt so right.

His lips were firm against hers, but the kiss remained soft, gentle, slow. The two of them held it for a few seconds before their lips began to move in perfect sync, slowly, cautiously. Quasi exhaled through his nose, not wanting to let go. His entire body had been taken over by the overwhelming feeling of relief, combined with eccentric panic, and lust.

He moved his hand from her cheek to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her long, dark chocolate hair, lightly pulling her into him, adding more pressure to their lips, deepening the kiss before breaking apart after what felt like several minutes.

"Thank you," he said at last, his voice sounding somewhat pained.

Belle blinked in surprise; her hands still wrapped around his neck. "For what?" she whispered, truly at a loss for words, her cheeks flushed with color.

"For being my world, and for being yourself," he answered softly. Belle looked back at him, and there was a softness in his cobalt orbs as bright as sapphires. His eyes glistened in the light.

Belle let out a sigh and looked down at her lap, painfully twisting her fingers together, weaving her fingers in between her knuckles in agitation, afraid that, if she stared any longer, she would ruin his beauty and handsomeness, for when she looked at him, she did not see the contusion above his left browbone that was really not as bad as he thought it was. The man had a handsome face and the warmest smile around.

He did not like that Belle looked away, for her betrothed only took his finger and lifted her chin upwards so that she was forced to meet his eyes.

Although his eyes were soft, Belle noticed the feelings behind them, as if he were longing for something. He rested his forehead against hers, and she felt the warmth again. One that she had never experienced before. It filled her body, from head to toe, invigorating Belle and filling her with a passion and hope that was powerful, one that she had previously been led to believe did not exist. He leaned his head closer to hers and his lips met hers for a kiss.

Gentle but passionate, he held her as close as he dared, pressing his lips into hers. The world and the bell tower's balcony terrace around them slowed, so Belle could be in the moment. Her heart fluttered, and she kissed back.

Belle cherished the moment and Quasi. She had not known that a kiss could ever be like this, only having known abuse at the hands of Gaston.

But Quasi, he made her feel like none of that mattered anymore, that she could entomb her memories of Gaston in a thick wall of ice. His lips were soft and warm, and she shivered as he put his gloved hand on the back of her head.

The bell ringer pulled her closer to him, and they pulled back and smiled. Belle laid her head on his strong shoulder, and though she was still filled with the incredible heat, warmth from their kiss, she felt and heard herself shiver.

"Are you cold?" Quasi asked but did not give Belle time to answer as he quickly darted inside the tower loft, returning a moment with a thick woolen blanket and without waiting to be asked, draped it over her shoulders gently.

The two of them stood out on the balcony watching the sunrise at that moment and did not say another word, for it was too precious to ruin.