Day 3 – Dusk

Belle parted her rosy lips and sighed, allowing the sound to be carried by the wind that traveled over the hills and into the sunset. Dark was approaching soon, and yet she did not feel the least bit tired. Her mind was racing and burning with unanswered questions.

Why did Gaston wish to wed her so badly?

And so suddenly?

Why would she not give him a chance?

Was it because she hated him?

Or was she simply unaccustomed to a man giving her attention? That is, attention for attributes other than her odd habit of always reading?

Was she… afraid?

And how or why did he make her feel like she did?

A strange sensation overcame her every time he came around. It was as if he set her bones on fire, although her skin was cold. Her heart beat faster and slower at the same time. She wanted to be as far from him as possible, and yet…

She couldn't get close enough.

Truthfully, Belle had never considered marriage. Not with Gaston, nor with any man. She had too much she still wanted to do, an entire world to span, with many adventures to be had. Her plan had always been to leave their provincial town once her father had passed; she would have nothing left for her here after that.

Having a husband and a household would only keep her from her dreams of travelling someday.

Belle sighed again and finished feeding the chickens, which were already snuggling up for the night in their coop. After putting the basket away, Belle pulled her hair out of her face and looked towards the house; the looming prospect of spending another night alone in the cold, empty house did not sound particularly pleasing at the moment. She missed her father.

When the sun had gone and Belle didn't feel entirely spent, she lit a lantern, wrapped her cloak about her shoulders, and picked a book from the many on her shelf. She would read in the stable until the tide of sleep overcame her.

–

Gaston sighed and wiped his face with his free, ungloved hand as he reached the edge of the wood. His other hand held the reins that he led his horse with, and atop his steed were the carcasses of his kills that afternoon. It had been a long day and an equally long hunt; the perfect distraction from his fumblings with Belle. The sun was setting by the time he had finally decided to return home.

It was always a battle with himself when it was time to leave the wilderness and head back to the relative comfort of home: if the hunter could have his way, he would spend the remainder of his days in the forest, away from people and expectations and women who violently turned him down.

Thinking of Belle, Gaston turned in the direction of her cottage, and was surprised to see smoke, but he shrugged it off; Maurice had probably returned earlier and was botching another invention. He continued moving forward.

But when Gaston looked a second time, he could see the faint orange glow of…

"Fire," he mumbled to himself as he registered that Belle could be in real danger. He had the advantage of being closer than anyone in the village, but still he knew he had to get there quickly. Without hesitation, Gaston threw the animal corpses from his horse and mounted, squeezing the equine's sides with such an urgent force that the horse reared up and brayed before taking off with a start.

–

Day 3 – Evening

Belle dreamt that she was in a castle.

Everything was opulent, from the gilded walls to the marble floors. She entered, wary, and was overcome with a chill despite the fire that roared in the overly large fireplace; it spanned all the way from one corner of the extravagant dining hall to the other. Shivering in spite of the heat, Belle clutched her cloak tighter around herself as she wandered the halls, her stomach twisting at the knowledge that she wasn't supposed to be there. That she would be killed if she were caught. But she couldn't leave; she had to find her father.

Suddenly, Gaston was there, warning her about a beast that lived in the castle. He took her hand, and tried to lead her away, but Belle yanked herself away from him. He tried to urge her to leave with him, but she refused, arguing something about not being able to leave without her father.

The dream shifted, and they found themselves on the roof of the castle in the pouring rain. It was dark, but even in the darkness Belle could see Gaston, his muscular frame silhouetted by the lightning that flashed in the sky behind him. A large, looming figure emerged from the shadows, and before Belle could shout to him in warning, the beast grabbed hold of Gaston.

Before her eyes, her suitor was thrown violently from the rooftop, and Belle cried out as his body was speared through by one of the castle's many spires.

"I only wanted… to save you," he whimpered, before the life left his once-bright blue eyes.

She must've started crying, because the dream was interrupted by someone shushing her. And then, a voice, low and deep and grumbling.

"It's alright, Belle. You're home."

"Pa… Papa?"

"No, Belle. It's me."

Her eyes snapped open as she realized with whom she was speaking. As if manifested directly from her dream, Gaston was hovering over her, looking genuinely pleased with himself as he grinned down at her.

"It… is you," Belle replied, confused by his presence in her room.

I'm in my room.

He's in my room.

Her eyes flashed crimson. She suddenly sat up straight in her bed. She looked down at her body to see that she was dressed in her ivory nightgown. Belle didn't recall going up to bed, nor dressing for bed, and nor did she remember inviting Gaston into her chambers in the middle of the night.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, but was struck down by a throbbing ache in her skull. The hunter sat at her bedside, taking a swig from a bottle of wine before he sucked his teeth with his tongue and smacked his lips.

"Allow me to explain."

He told her the story from when he emerged from the wood to when he saw the smoke, galloped to her rescue, and pulled her unconscious body from the burning stable. He, of course, left out the way his heart pounded with worry and fear that he had been too late when, after he had laid her down inside, she wasn't breathing. He also conveniently left out the part where he had changed her dirty clothes–without looking, but maybe peeking once or twice–and stayed with her until she awoke, leaving only to occasionally douse more well water on what remained of the stable, until it wasn't smoldering anymore.

Belle was silent for a moment. She chewed her lower lip and roughly ran her fingers through her hair, almost harshly. Gaston wanted to reach out and stop her nervous hands.

"I must've fallen asleep while reading," she said at last, pensively. That would explain the horrific nightmare she'd had, at least. It brought her the tiniest sliver of calm to see that Gaston was alive and well.

Gaston rolled his eyes; as if a woman being allowed to read wasn't bad enough, he had to look at what had almost become of Belle as a result of her nasty habit. But he kept his mouth shut. It was perhaps the first time he had ever done so.

Belle inwardly thanked some higher power for the fact that she had been the only living creature in the stable that night; after selling the cow and her mother's sheep to pay off debts, and since the chickens had their own coop, the barn was inhabited only by Philippe–who, as far as Belle knew, was currently carting Maurice and his award-winning invention back home to their provincial town.

As she began to wonder what her father would think if he walked in on Gaston at her bedside at such a compromising time, and in such a compromising state, she also began to register a warmth seeping through the linen. Her eyes traveled down to her upper thigh, where the hunter's large and ungloved hand was currently resting. Not squeezing, nor groping, but lying atop the blanket, conforming to the curve of her leg in such a way that a similar warmth began to bleed into Belle's face.

Bleed.

Bleeding.

"Gaston," Belle choked out as she realized that the heat she felt was not only from Gaston's skin, but his blood as it soaked through the coverlet.

He didn't follow her gaze. Instead, a little slow on the uptake, Gaston looked to the inventor's daughter with genuine interest. "Yes, Belle?"

"You're bleeding!"

"Huh. Must've happened in the stable." Curious, Gaston lifted his hand and looked at it thoughtfully before shrugging. He rotated it in midair, observing the trickling streams of red from all angles, too engrossed in his injury to realize that Belle had left the room and returned with a bowl of water and a cloth. She knelt beside him.

"Here, now," Belle cooed as Gaston fingered the wound. She gripped his wrist to stop him. "Don't do that."

Something inside of Gaston nagged him not to accept help from a woman. And yet, seeing her pale hands on his tanned wrist–no, feeling her soft, delicate hands on his rough, dry wrist–felt wonderful. It was a new feeling that twisted his gut, but it was also a familiar feeling that he hadn't felt since his mother used to care for him as a child.

Gaston took another sip from his bottle–rather, Maurice's bottle, since he had helped himself when he had been rifling through the kitchen pantry–before Belle gently took it from him. He never thought of her as much of a drinker. Then again, she did almost die. She needed all the help she could get.

But she didn't drink it. "Just hold still… this might sting a little… "

Distracted, he didn't notice Belle forcefully placing the alcohol-soaked rag on his wound until a violent pain shocked Gaston back to the present. He hissed and pulled away.

"That hurts!" he cried angrily, jumping out of his seat. It fell back with a heavy thud from the force. Belle wiped his spray of saliva from her face with a disgusted groan.

Same old Gaston.

"If you'd hold still it wouldn't hurt as much!" she yelled back just as angrily. She rose to face him.

"If you were a normal woman, this would have never happened!" Gaston regretted his decision to save her. He should have let her burn.

He knew that wasn't true as soon as she saw her face. His words had struck somewhere deep as she turned away from him, trying her damnedest to mask how hurt she was. The emotion of simultaneously being considered a freak and a goddess–both shunned for her mind and revered for her beauty–as well missing her father, coupled with the strain of her near-death experience and having to deal with Gaston immediately afterward… well, it would've been too much for anyone to take.

Belle collapsed to the bed, holding her face in her hands as tears began flowing freely.

The solid part of Gaston's heart that had once housed his lust for winning her cracked, and everything inside of him dissipated as he watched her. He stood, awkwardly, as her body shook with silent sobs. The crack opened wider with each shudder and gasp of her grief. It began to fill with something else. Something that froze him in a thin layer of fresh fear.

He wanted to take her into his arms, cradle her head, and kiss her hair. He wanted to hold her until she slept and then continue holding her through the night, every night, until they were awakened by the children in the morning, eagerly shaking them awake, excited for breakfast and then the hunting trip that would follow.

It was beyond the bet.

Guiltily, Gaston kneeled before Belle and laid his head on her knees. Belle stopped crying almost at once. She hiccupped. She stared down at the back of his head, confused and fearful and oddly comforted.

After several terse moments had passed, the hunter finally raised his head. There were no words. His eyes spoke an apology that Belle saw and accepted. With a newfound respect for Gaston, she raised his hand and picked up the cloth.

Gaston growled quietly as Belle gently held the damp rag to the shallow gash that ran the length of the hunter's calloused palm. Her fingers brushed his and she tensed briefly. They only spoke again when she had finished wrapping his hand.

"By the way… thank you, for saving my life."

"You're welcome."

With that, he left, stopping only once to turn and smile at Belle from the doorway. She smiled back.

Gaston left Belle's house for the second time that day, but this time he didn't slam the door.

–

Wait and see, a few days more, there may be something there that wasn't there before…