Beauty and the Beast (D*sney version. All characters, excluding Reginald, belong to D*sney.)
The only profit I make in this endeavor is the fulfillment of a story well told. No monetary gain is made.
Rated M / Nc-17 / R / Adult for later chapters.
Belle/Beast

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Belle peeked over her book again to look at his face. When she had first arrived at the castle, had first realized the…unique form of her father’s captive, she’d made sure to keep her face clear of scrutiny, her looks at Beast subtle, never truly satisfying to her intense curiosity and wonder.

Now she was free to look, as often and long, as deeply as she wished, to awe over the marvelous being who had somehow managed to sneak her heart away.

All the same she felt guilty. Every murmur and facial change from his sleeping form sent two separate sparks through her: the rekindling of hope that he might wake and forgive her for her late arrival, her stupidity that had led Gaston and his men right to him, and the impulse to hide her staring behind her book.

Book after book was piled around her, adorned with bright pieces of paper fit between their pages, signifying paragraphs, illustrations, pages of information that she used to puzzle together how Beast’s health was doing. None of her searches gave her any conclusive answer; so singular was he that not one creature held more than two of his traits, and therefore he was undefined medically. It seemed to her that the maleficent warlock who had cast this curse wasn’t even able to make a firm decision on what the prince’s new body would be sculpted towards.

Belle had managed to identify certain things from an “Encyclopedia Of Land Oriented Mammals” As it were, he seemed to be a mix of Lion, Buffalo, and of course Homo Sapien.

There was extensively more information on the care and sicknesses of lions than buffalo, and the book informed her that the temperature of the pads located on the paw, the sound of breathing, and heart rate were the best indicators of health. Belle religiously kept a notebook on changes in each of these, and informed the castle’s physician of them every day the man came in.

The physician would listen to her politely, and would then re-check all these things for himself, using tools that Belle was not familiar with, and obviously gave more accurate results. Afterwards he excused her from the room, in order to clean and care for the prince, inspect and re-dress the accumulatively less infected stab wound., and slowly spoon the proper foods to the unconscious body as it did its work to heal. Belle took the time she had away from the prince to go to the library, wondering as she looked through the shelves, “Why do I keep trying to do the doctor’s job? I’m not really helping.” But then her mind would replay the blooming sensation that had happened in her stomach when she pressed her head lightly against his broad chest and listened to the steady thunder of his heart. The way her heart had fluttered when she lay her hand in his palm, feeling the downy fur between the black swells of flesh, slightly rough from supporting his weight during the angry paces he made on all fours on stone floors, she supposed. Goodness, his hands were big; her hand seemed tiny in comparison, pale and feminine.
She’d trace her way to the ends of his fingers and gently hook her finger nail onto the very tip of a mostly hidden claw; if she tugged just lightly it would extend to a shocking two inches, sharp and black.

No, maybe her minor explorations of Beast were not very effective, medically, but her daily touches woke something in her that was new, previously unfelt. It was as if by allowing herself to study him, she could also study these new feelings.

She’d add another book or two to her arms, and return down the hallways she had come, armed with knowledge, and renewed in her wish to solve the mysteries that stuck in her mind.

She had been born curious, and to leave these things unknown was unacceptable.

As Belle came to the last turn preceding the stretch of wall that led to the prince’s healing room, she heard soft voices speaking: Cogsworth’s slightly affected lilt mingling with the doctor’s professional tone. The marble hallway carried their conversation to her, and what it held surprised her enough to stop and listen.

The doctor’s voice was disbelieving. “He’s healing faster than he should, faster than it’s possible to heal; the knife was completely embedded in his mid-back, twisted, and now it’s almost completely closed, the infection disappeared overnight—“

Cogsworth cut in, “But that doesn’t have to mean there’s magic involved, does it?”

“I don’t think there’s any other explanation for it!”

“Perhaps he just heals faster than most?”

The doctor spoke slowly now. “Mr. Cogsworth, perhaps you do not understand. Where there was once a gaping and fatal wound there is now not even a scar. No mere body can do this. Which leads to the inevitable conclusion that—“

“She is still involved,” Cogsworth finished, horror in his voice. “That this curse isn’t over yet. Oh, no.”
“Now, now, if she is directly involved in His Majesty’s rapid healing, then her presence has been benevolent…”

Belle stepped into view, startling both men. “Benevolent?” she said angrily, “If it weren’t for her he wouldn’t be in this situation!”

Cogsworth looked stunned, while the aged doctor looked at her impassively. “That, young lady, is debatable.” He looked to Cogsworth. “I will return tomorrow to feed him.” He gave Belle a stiff bow and left up the hall, away from them both.

Miffed at the doctors demeanor and the implication of his reply, Belle looked to Cogsworth with questioning eyes, “What is he talking about, Cogsworth? Who else could be responsible for what she did? …He doesn’t blame Beast does he?”

Cogsworth looked slightly panicked. “Ahh, well, mmm,” he stammered. He looked down at his wrists and straightened his cuffs, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “He may think that way, but people are certainly entitled to think many things about many situations, without being correct, which doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re wrong…” Suddenly he seized his pocket watch and flipped it open. “Oh, goodness!” he cried, “Is that the time? I must go! Adieu!” He turned and ran, surprisingly fast for a man his size, down the hall the doctor had gone.

Belle stood, alone and slightly confused. She took the few extra steps needed and opened the door to the room where Beast was sleeping. Sighing softly, she added her new selections to the pile of reading material already stacked on the night table. She tucked the sheets of his bed around his still form, not worried about drafts as much as she was at a loss for what else to do.

Mrs. Potts had thoughtfully had a comfortably overstuffed chair placed in the room, once Belle had made clear that she insisted on staying at Beast’s side. Belle sat down on it now and her eyes traced the intricate designs bordering the ceiling as she pondered the strange behavior of her friends in the castle these days. Mulling over things, she felt slightly uneasy with the thought that something might be amiss, and lay her hand on one of the novels she had borrowed, finding comfort in the subtle texture of the cloth covering the hard sides of the tome.

Sleeping, Beast snorted and rolled over, and the sheets covering him shifted, leaving his back exposed to her. The movement brought Belle’s eyes to him, and something from the conversation she had overheard came back to her.

“…where there was once a gaping and fatal wound there is now not even a scar”

Suddenly, without much thought, Belle got up from her seat, and walked over to inspect for herself, kneeling before the bed. After the slope that seemed to join his head to his back, there was an area in his fur that had been trimmed for the sake of hygiene and ease of cleaning the wound. Looking straight at it now, Belle could see no scar, no discoloration, nothing that would hint to there having ever been any breaking of skin.

Belle had received many minor abrasions as a child, forging through the forests and meadows surrounding her home for the adventure she had always craved had left her small reminders of cuts, and scrapes, on her skin. Even as completely inexperienced as she was in the field of medicine she knew from her own experiences that the doctor was right: no normal body could heal this way.

Her thoughts turned again to the Enchantress. The picture she had held in her mind of a purely evil being, a warlock of infinite malice and a empty black heart, was suddenly called into question. Now Belle considered a witch with at least enough soul in her to make amends for her wickedness, but even this felt inaccurate, or somehow incomplete. Absentmindedly she ran her thumb gently over the somewhat stubbly feeling patch of shortened fur as her mind continued to wander.

Quick footsteps sounded outside the door, jarring her from her thoughts. Panicking without reason, she flung herself towards her chair. Her heart slammed itself into her throat as the chair tipped back onto its hind legs in response.

The door slammed open just as the chair regained its balance. Lumiere stood in the doorway, radiating his individual flare and confidence, holding up a shining silver tray with one arm, and a white cloth dangled over his other.

“Bonjour!” he greeted her heartily, “and how is our favorite lady tod-“ he interrupted himself when he saw Belle’s surprised face, “Pardon moi, Mademoiselle, I did not mean to frighten you.”

Mentally scolding herself, she responded, “Oh, you didn’t, I…I was napping. What do you have there?”

Unbothered by her sudden change in topic, Lumiere smiled warmly and balanced the tray on the questionable support of the books resting atop of the small table, allowing her to see the neat pile of light sandwiches, accompanied by two cups of soup.

Amused, Belle lifted a elegant brow at Lumiere, “I think this is a bit too much for me,” she said with a smile.

Lumiere gave her a friendly wink. “I thought such a lovely lady might like some company with her meal,” he said with affected flirtatiousness. He leaned towards her, then lifted his hand to shelter his mouth and looked behind himself, as if wary that the prince might be listening. He mock-whispered, “Perhaps we can rouse him with jealousy, hmm?”

Belle giggled softly at his display, and played along in whispering back. “It’s certainly worth a shot.”

Smiling in satisfaction, Lumiere lifted a wooden chair at a writing desk and placed it opposite of Belle.

“Ahh,” he said as he sat down, “Not exactly the feast we gave on your first night here, but it will have to do.”

“It’s just fine,” Belle countered happily. “From what I understand, there isn’t enough staff to put on a show like that anymore.”

Lumiere selected a sandwich from the pile and dipped it in his soup. “True.” He took a bite and continued after swallowing. “Many have left, now that the spell is broken. They have legs to carry them and they are free to go.”

“What about you?”

“I am happy to stay. Babette is here, and so are my friends. I have spent too many years here to just leave, non? This is my home.” A smile grew on his face as he looked around the room. “And I doubt I could ever find a home as impressive as this castle, am I right?” Belle finished chewing, and sipped her soup, following his gaze, silently agreeing. “What about you, mon cher?” Lumiere went on, leaning forward slightly and raised his eyebrows. “The entire castle has been wondering if you are staying for good…”

Belle shifted in her seat, looking down at her bowl thoughtfully. She had already made her decision nights ago on the balcony, but it was more difficult to put into words.
“Yes. I am,” she said simply, and took another sip of her soup. Belle hoped that he wouldn’t ask the obvious questions that she had not yet been able to ask herself.

Lumiere looked overjoyed. “Merveilleux! Angelique has been pestering the entire staff with wedd-“

Belle felt her stomach seize. “Lumiere, what happened on the night Beast changed?” she asked quickly, not allowing him to finish his sentence. Lumiere blinked. She continued. “No one has told me, and- and I need to know, I can’t, it makes me nervous, why won’t anyone tell me?”

Lumiere sighed. “It is not a happy story, mademoiselle. It led to many dark years for all of us. Naturally we would wish to put it behind us.”

Belle looked down at her hands resting lightly on the table. “Oh,” she said softly, “I feel silly now, that I was so worried…” She smiled sheepishly and looked up to Lumieres face, “I guess I’d heard so little about it, I just assumed the worst…”
Lumiere smiled back to her and patted Belle’s hand, “No worries, with the prince in such a state , spending all your time in this room, it would put anyone in a tizzy, no?”

Lumiere stood up. “Well, it is time for me to take my leave.” He bowed deeply to Belle, and she inclined her head in return. He took his bowl, and said “I’ll return later for your dishes, and they had better be empty!” He waggled his finger at her. “The way you nibble at your food, the Prince will not be able to recognize you when he wakes up!” Belle smiled.

Lumiere closed the heavy door behind him and scratched at a spot on the porcelain bowl in his hands as he walked down the hallway, to the kitchen.

‘I must remind the kitchen staff to take more care with their cleaning’ he thought to himself, ‘the Prince will waken soon enough, and the wedding will be shortly after…Angelique will have their heads for such infractions.’ He chuckled and shook his head, making his way to the staircase.

As he took hold of the banister, he glanced at his newly-reborn fingers, long and graceful, hands that he’d missed so greatly as a candelabrum. He and Babette celebrated their reappearance each night, among other key body parts, since the spell had been broken. He stood still for a moment and let recent memory flood his mind with details: sensual lips accompanied by a characteristic mole, hipbones that only barely hinted at their shape beneath warm, lightly scented flesh. His skin erupted into goose bumps. 'Oh yes,' he thought, 'As soon as the Prince awakens, the wedding will take place.'


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