A/N: by the way, this entire story was done without spellcheck, so if there are some... creative spellings, then sorry.
The first rays of the sun fell in Belle's eyes, and woke her right up. She'd dozed off on the couch, gun laying across her lap, still alone and a little scared.
The dog was no longer curled up around her feet - he was sitting patiently outside the kitchen, nosing at the door as if he wanted to go in. There was something of a racket going on in there, furniture shifting and things dropping and some mumbling that sounded like Gaston talking to himself. Belle was a little relieved to know that he was back... and a little disgusted with herself for feeling that way.
She knocked on the kitchen door. "Gaston?"
"Not now, Belle, I'm…busy." His voice was a little shaky and she frowned.
"I'm coming in."
"I said not now, Belle, I'm in the middle of-"
"Oh, no!" Belle took one look at the situation and covered her mouth. Gaston was sitting on the chair with one leg propped up on the table, sewing up a gash that ran from his knee to his ankle. He was positively covered in blood, spattered everywhere and the back of his shirt soaked through. He didn't raise his head to look at her; his concentration was focused entirely on the tiny needle in his massive hand. Sweat and blood dripped down from a lock of hair that was hanging in his face, and he blew upwards at it absently.
"I'm almost done." He stuck the needle in for another stitch and Belle couldn't watch. "Al…most…done." When he was finished with the cut and had tied off the string he was using, he looked up at his wife for the first time. "Well? What is it?"
"I-I- a doctor," she stuttered, horrified. "We have to get you a-"
Gaston threw back his head and laughed. "Belle, you can't be serious! A doctor? For a couple of scratches and bites? Look, if you really want to be helpful, you can heat me up some more water for a bath. There's going to be a party tonight to celebrate my impressive victory, and I can't go looking like this."
"A party? You can't go to a party - you'll be lucky not to go to a cemetery if we don't get those cuts closed up!" He was still just smiling at her. "Gaston?" she pressed. "Your eyes aren't right... look at me, will you? You look terrible."
"I am looking." It was clearly an effort, but Gaston got his eyes to focus. "And I look fine," he insisted, reaching for the dagger he had stuck into the tabletop. He looked at his reflection for a moment, and then handed the blade to Belle as though it were proof. "See? There's not a scratch on my face - it's still perfect." He shook his head, wishing it would clear. "What was I saying again?"
"That you're in terrible shape, and that your back is still bleeding."
The loopy smile went away and his face darkened. "Yes, well something mauled me - from behind."
"Should I... see what I can do about it?" she asked hesitantly. Lately she had been making an effort to stop thinking of the Beast at every opportunity, but here she couldn't help it. She'd helped him, too, with his scratches and bites... the poor thing...
"Thanks, Belle." Gaston sounded surprised, but rather than look a gift horse in the mouth he just turned his chair around to straddle it backwards.
She peeled off the pieces of his ruined shirt and got up the nerve to press a warm wet cloth against the wound. She was braced for him to explode like the Beast had, but all he did was drum on the table and grind his teeth together. "Sorry," she murmured, "I know it hurts."
He shrugged.
"And you're probably going to have a scar," she warned him, watching the rag turn red beneath her hands.
"It's fine - a souvenir. And it won't be the first time." He shifted a little in his seat. "Sew it, would you? But make sure it's straight - I can't stand scars that are all lumpy and ugly." He started talking, at first to distract himself and then because he couldn't get enough of the story once he started. "They were everywhere, Belle. Huge, dark, wild animals with these glowing red eyes... savage... and the boys were terrified, of course... but I was amazing."
"I'm sure you were," she agreed, soothing.
"Oh, I was. I didn't miss a shot all night... well, maybe a few, but only when Lefou or someone was distracting me. Most were dead on. Those things were dropping like flies... and the ones that wouldn't go down right away, I went after them by hand. By hand, Belle, not one in a hundred men would dare attack a wolf by hand!"
"You came home half-dead," she said, almost accusing, "And you don't even seem upset about it."
"Upset?" he craned his neck to look at her. "I live for this."
"Stop twisting around or I can't sew straight." She turned his face forwards again firmly, then rolled her eyes at him from behind. Live for this? It was dangerous, and destructive, and stupid. How very like Gaston to think it was fun! She sighed aloud.
"What?"
"Nothing. It's just that every time I think I'm starting to get along with you, you do something to remind me what a strange, sick person you really are."
"Oh, believe me: there are people stranger and sicker than me," he growled, letting his mind turn to the conversation last night in the barn...
"Where's Belle?"
"You?!- but you're... You were dead!"
"Where is she?"
"She's where she belongs: at home - with me. I married her. You're far too late."
"No - I love her! And she loves me back, I know it."
There was no possible answer to that except an incredulous lip-curl. When Gaston turned away, though, something grabbed him by the back of his shirt, digging in hard and painful. "Let go- aah!" He spun to face the Beast, tearing himself open on the thing's claws.
The Beast let go at once. "I apologize," he rasped when he felt the warm sticky in his hand. "But you're a liar and I want Belle. Where is she?"
"You're not wanted here! Go away. Belle is in my house - our house - with a shotgun, waiting to kill anything that comes into the yard. Take your chances if you like, but I warn you: she's not a bad shot."
At that moment Lefou had started shrieking. "Help your friends," the Beast decided. "We'll finish this later."
And he'd melted back into the shadows he came from... but not before Gaston snagged a piece of his cloak and stuck it into his pocket.
By the time Belle was finished sewing him up, all the adrenaline had fully worn off and Gaston was squirming and hissing with every stitch. He contorted to see the finished product in the mirror. "Good job."
"You should lie down," Belle suggested, concerned despite herself. He was swaying on his feet.
"I'm fine. Just heat me a bath. Afterwards Rameau and I are going..." To find that hideous creature and finish what I started. "...to the party. I'm sure it will be a great lot of fun."
Belle thought he had never sounded more sinister in his life, but chalked it up to delirium and blood loss, and drew him his bath.
TBC.
Muahahaha.