A/N: My my, we have a lot of Gaston-haters here! Don't worry - I promise Belle will take some action next chapter. Although I can't promise you Gaston will die... I actually kind of like him. His plans are so purile I was probably a better plotter than him by the time I was six years old, and in general I figure he'd score about as low as Dr. Evil on a villain-competency exam. Not that that excuses evil intentions of course - he's still a villain - but it makes him an endearing villain. At least to me.

And I do think there's hope for him to reform, at least a little. He's conceited and brutish, but really not that bad a guy.

Several hours later, Gaston crashed through the door even more loudly than he had in the morning. "Belle? Let's go."

"Go where?"

"Your father invited us to dinner." Using Maurice to cheer her up was an idea that had come from Lefou of all places, but Gaston was sure it was the right move. "It'll be nice. Besides, don't you need to stop by your house and get some fresh clothes?"

She rolled her eyes at the look he swept over her battered dress, then brightened a little. "I can get the book I'm in the middle of!"

Gaston looked alarmed. "Book?" he repeated. "Oh, no. No wife of mine is going to sit around reading."

"Gaston, what do you care if I-"

"No reading! I have a feeling that's where all those strange ideas come from," he muttered, mostly to himself. "So, if there's no books, there'll be no strangeness."

"But it's not-"

"No books!"

Belle crossed her arms and sat down on the couch. "Onceuponatimeinafarawaykingdomtherewasaverylonelyyoungprincess theyoungestofthreedaughtersofavery great king," she recited, then paused for breath. Gaston just stared. "Whilehersisterswereinlovewithsilverandgold andallthatsparkled theyoungestdaughter sometimescalledRose caredonlyforthebeautifulflowers intheroyalgard-"

"Stop that!"

"I want my books," Belle declared, "And if you won't let me get them then I'll just repeat the ones I know, over and over and over again, for the entire time I have to live in this, this... this cave of yours."

Gaston looked around at his bare walls and wondered what she meant by calling his house a cave. He had a fireplace. He had some furniture. He supposed most people didn't keep weapons and firewood piled up in the corners the way he did, but he liked to have everything he needed close at hand.

Maybe she was complaining about the chunk of burning wood he kept on the wall? But torches were so much more effective than a puny little candle, and if it made a bit of smoke, well, that's what windows were for.

He shrugged. Who knew what went on in the mind of a woman, and more importantly, who cared?

"Dinner, Belle."

She crossed her arms even tighter and looked away. "I'm not hungry."

"All right - I guess I'll be eating with Maurice alone."

Belle reached out and snagged his tunic as he made to brush by her. "No - I'll go. I won't make my father sit with you all night."

He pinched out the torch with his bare hand, growled, "Oh, Belle, you say the sweetest things," and then strode out of the house, taking such big steps that she had to run to keep up with him.

Lumiere and Mrs. Potts - human, and still getting used to it - were on duty, sitting in a makeshift tent on the terrace and trying to coax the Beast to open his eyes.

"We really should get you indoors, dear," Mrs. Potts said gently. "You should be inside where it's warm."

He just stirred weakly. "Belle? Where's Belle?"

Lumiere just gestured nervously, so Mrs. Potts explained: "She's gone away until you're better. Now, you just-"

"What's wrong with me?" He managed at last to roll onto his side and pull his cape tighter around him.

Again Mrs. Potts stepped up to deliver the bad news. "You, er... you've been stabbed, master. Now hold still, if you please - I have to get at the wound."

She reached towards him but he shook her off. "No - where's Belle, she's been taken away! I must go to her..." He dragged himself to his knees.

Mrs. Potts would have protested, but Lumiere nudged her and glanced to the puddle of dark tacky blood that the Beast had been lying in for two days. "It would do him some good to get inside, I think."

"Maybe it would, but he shouldn't be trying to move on his own," she argued firmly. "Now, master, just hold still, let me-"

"NO! Leave me alone - I want BELLE!" he roared. "Where is she?"

Lumiere edged away, but Mrs. Potts reached for him one more time.

He bellowed and lashed out with his paw, catching her on the face and shoulder. The force of the blow spun her straight around into Lumiere's arms. They all stood frozen for a moment, equally shocked.

Lumiere broke the silence first - there was something warm and wet seeping through his shirt. "Sacre bleu," he gasped when he looked down at her. The Beast's claws had scored her to the bone.

The Beast looked sad and utterly confused. "I didn't..." He dropped back to the ground. "Leave me. Just let me die here... outside... where I belong."

Mrs. Potts sighed and used her apron to sop up the blood streaming from her jaw and shoulder. "Lumiere," she instructed quietly, "Go into town and find the poor girl. Let her know that he is alive and that he'll come for her... when he can," she finished, turning to the Beast. "Which, I'm sorry, is not today. Master, you can't even stand up on your own. Now please be reasonable - just hold still..."

The Beast watched blood drip down her arm into his already blood-matted fur, and felt an unfamiliar, unpleasant twist in his stomach. He recognized it from when Belle had talked about missing her father, but now, unlike then, there was nothing he could do to help. He racked his woozy brains for what to do when you've hurt someone you wish you hadn't, and finally remembered: "I'm sorry."

He was looking away, and so missed her expression of surprise. She settled down on the floor beside him and tried to get him to eat. "You're going to get well for sure," she told him. "It seems like a hard road ahead I know, but after how far you've come... it'll be a walk in the park."

He would have liked to answer her, but the world was greying out again and he collapsed right into his porridge.

TBC.

Yes, Mrs. Potts is incredibly forgiving... on the other hand, she's already lived a large chunk of her life as a teapot just because the Prince couldn't behave like a gentleman for one evening. At this point she must be an expert at not holding grudges.

Thanks so much to all who have left me comments so far!