Chapter 20
Disclaimer: Not too many more of these to go, hopefully. Today's version: anything that well-trained Disney lawyers in Mickey Mouse ears will not rip away from me for copyright infringement in civil court belongs to me.
Belle flung open the double doors that led to the room where Nightingale was housed, the room where she had last seen the Beast, to the sound of fighting. She was horrified by what she saw. The room was brightly lit by the beams of morning sun coming in the windows. Her dazzled eyes barely had time to register the two shapes in the room, both blurs of motion, before the scarlet-scaled shape swiped one clawed paw across the flat of the sword wielded by the man in dark samurai armor and disarmed him. Then, as Belle watched, awed by the grace of the motion, the Beast neatly flipped the samurai's helmet from his head, exposing Getsuru's sweat-streaked, vulnerable, terrified face. Neither of them so much as glanced at her; their burning eyes were locked together.
"Tell me why I should not simply flick," the Beast hissed, placing one gleaming razor-sharp claw next to Getsuru's windpipe, "And end your life right now, for daring to suggest that I am not the rightful possessor of Nightingale." Belle watched as Getsuru's eyes went down for a moment, to the sword still lying beside him on the floor, and she recognized the dark vine pattern of Nightingale's blade.
"I…please…" Belle had never seen Getsuru so frightened. He seemed almost a different man, stripped of his calm certainty that things would eventually go his way. "Forgive me…" he whimpered, "The sword…does belong to you."
There was a dreadful pause. No one in the room dared to move, or to breathe. But, abruptly, the Beast growled, "Very well." He slid a step backwards, still in the half-crouch that allowed him to bring his reptilian face level with his attacker. "I shall be merciful—this time. Though I must admit I have never wished to kill anyone as much as I do you at this moment. Leave my oshiro at once, or I may change my mind. I never wish to set eyes on such as you again!" With a final snarl, the Beast turned to face the door, and his smoldering, furious eyes met Belle's. Immediately the look in them softened, to shine like glowing embers. "Oh, Kirei-san," he murmured, his throaty voice a caress over the name.
"Beast." She could say no more. She knew him well enough to understand what a strain it must have been for him to contain his temper and show such mercy to a man who had dishonored him so. And he had done it with his back to her, had not even realized that she was in the room. In that moment, she knew that she loved the Beast, more than she'd ever loved anyone else. A distant part of her still protested weakly that it should have been impossible to feel such things for a creature that was not even human, but it no longer mattered to her. He was good, and kind, and honorable to the core of his soul. She'd never thought she would meet anyone like him before. Still overcome by her new and tumultuous feelings, she started forwards to meet him.
Had either Belle or the Beast had eyes for anything but one another, they would have seen Getsuru's rapid crouch to the floor, seen his hand reaching to seize the forgotten sword. As it was, neither of them noticed the samurai warrior's motion until it was far too late. Nightingale flashed forward in a rapid stab, and the Beast roared in agony. Eyes bright with triumph, Getsuru raised the gleaming blade for the final blow.
Belle had at first been struck motionless by the shock of what had just happened, but only for a moment. Even before she realized what she was doing she had pulled out her own knife, the one that was Nightingale's pair, and leaped between Getsuru and the Beast. The blades met with a resounding clash of steel on steel. Belle's arms throbbed with the force that Getsuru had put behind his downward thrust, but she clenched her teeth and held firm.
Her intervention had clearly surprised Getsuru, but he recovered quickly and struck again, this time at her. Belle blocked him easily, though this was the first time she had ever wielded a knife against a living opponent. Seven months of hard work at the Beast's evening drilling sessions came back to her immediately, and she took up a guard stance.
Back and forth they traded blocks and blows, Belle concentrating on both her defense and keeping herself between Getsuru and the wounded Beast. Getsuru, for his part, was evidently astonished at the extent of her skill. He tried more and more complicated strikes and feints, which Belle continued to ward off with increasing difficulty. Like the fight in the forest with the gaijin-hating men, she was at a great disadvantage compared with her opponent: in this case she was deadly tired from lack of sleep, her weapon's reach was far too short, and her training of seven months, rigorous though it had been, was hardly enough when compared with Getsuru's years of conditioning. She felt herself begin to slow down and did her best to conserve what remained of her energy.
It wasn't enough. All Getsuru needed was one small opening in her guard, and Nightingale was slithering around like a snake to knock her own blade from her numb fingers. It flew through the air and landed with a clatter—behind Getsuru. Belle swallowed hard, nervously eyeing the tip of Nightingale, which was pointed at her throat. She resolved that she would not beg for her life as Getsuru had. She hoped her father and the Beast would forgive her, and closed her eyes, waiting to hear the slight hiss of the blade in the air towards her.
It never came. Instead, there was a roar of fury the likes of which she had never heard before. Her eyes flew open in time to see a scarlet blur appear from behind her right side. The Beast leapt up from the floor towards Getsuru; his mouth was wide in a hideous snarl. He pushed Belle out of the way as he went. The samurai, caught off guard, swung Nightingale recklessly towards this new source of attack. The sword trailed lightly across the Beast's chest, a superficial cut compared to the earlier deep stab that had penetrated the scarlet scales of his back and emerged again from between his white belly scales. But the Beast had clearly had something else in mind than a final attack on his enemy. As the sword continued on past him he gave the unsharpened edge a hard slap with his paw. Getsuru was caught behind the added force of the blow and the momentum of his own swing. Nightingale split his leg armor easily and opened a slash in the samurai's leg.
The wound hardly looked to Belle as if it would do more than slow Getsuru down with eventual blood loss. But from the way Getsuru screamed it might as well have been a stab to the heart. He bent low to clutch at his leg, dropping Nightingale. Belle never quite saw how the Beast did it, but another swift, well-placed blow from his paw knocked Getsuru senseless. The man fell heavily with a clatter of armor. The Beast, though more graceful, was not far behind.
Belle was already at his side, tearing frantically at her skirt for rags to stop the bleeding. "No, Kirei-san," the Beast choked out when he saw what she was doing. "Bind him." He gestured weakly at Getsuru.
"But what about—" Belle started.
"It is only…a matter of time, for me. See to him first."
"But—"
"Please." His eyes, their usual fire clouded with pain, bored into her.
"All right." Belle conceded resentfully, "But only because you ask. Hold on, please…" She bit back a sob, clenched her teeth, and bound Getsuru's wound as quickly as she could, only putting enough bandage on to ensure that he would not die before returning to the Beast.
The light in his eyes was even darker, but they welcomed her silently. "You came back. I never…thought you would."
"I led them here," she confessed, "I'm so sorry! I was coming to warn you…please forgive me."
"Nothing…to forgive," he whispered hoarsely, "Now I can die peacefully, knowing…you were at my side…to the last. I could ask…for nothing more." His breathing grew shallower, his words softer. "And now…you will be…truly free, Kirei-san. Free…of me...forever."
"No!" she cried, her mind fighting against the horrible truth that she knew he had already accepted. "No, I never wanted to be free of you. Well, at first I did," she admitted, scrupulously honest to the last, "but later, when I grew to know you, I was happier with you than I have ever been. And now I realize…I can't live my life without you."
His eyes had already fluttered quietly closed. She felt him growing weaker beneath her, his life slowly ebbing away in a bright pool of blood before her eyes.
"Wait, please!" she begged, hoping he could somehow hear her, "Don't go yet. I need you." Suddenly, she was for the briefest moment seventeen again, sitting in a darkened bedroom, holding her mother's hand as it grew limp and cold. Those had been her words then as well. But now, the grief she felt was compounded by a new sorrow. She rested her head gently on the Beast's chest, straining to catch that final beat of his heart. There was nothing. "Not yet, please," she wailed. "I never got the chance to tell you…" She faltered, her head still on his chest. "I never told you…I love you."
Author's Note: I managed to get myself teary while writing this, so it's perfectly acceptable if you need a box of tissues right about now.
SamoaPhoenix9
