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【when there's nowhere else to turn, I turn to you】

She'd never intended for this to happen. Never intended to become Mme. Gaston, his little wife. But with nowhere else to turn—with no other options, no way out of this tiny town where she'd gotten strange looks her whole life—well, eventually even the most stubborn woman has to give in, and even though it felt like giving up on her dreams of adventure, of more, well—it was better than forcing her father to work himself into an early grave, once his fingers grew stiff and he was no longer able to tinker with his intricate clockworks and inventions. She couldn't bear to watch that, couldn't let the both of them starve. And Gaston—Gaston could provide for them.

Unfortunately, her new husband could provide more than food on the table and wood for their hearth. He could provide cold words and a stiff backhand just as well, a lesson Belle learned all too well the first time her husband found her tongue to be a little too sharp for his liking. She didn't let her father, or anyone else, see the mark he left on her cheek, or any of the others, for that matter. She knew it would only lead to conflict. More hurt. If she kept her pain private...it wouldn't reach her father.

The bruises on her wrists, those were easy enough to hide with long sleeves. She learned how to arrange her hair to hide the worst of the marks, whenever Gaston lost his temper and left one in a visible place. The worst of the pain, the shame and humiliation, came at night, when her husband claimed what was rightfully his, whether or not Belle felt amenable to it. But that...well, even an educated girl like Belle, with her ideals and her standards, knew that no magistrate would ever punish a man for what he did in his own marriage bed.

The thing is, though, that when it was just her, she could bear it. If it was just her being hurt, she could handle that. But once you feel the fluttering of quickening life in your belly, perspectives change. Once she realized that her life was not only her own, that there was something tiny and helpless inside her that depended on her to stay safe, her resolve changed. And even though she knew it would break her father's heart, even though she knew Gaston would be angry beyond belief and likely take it out on everyone else around him...

Belle couldn't stay. Couldn't risk letting this little one inside her going through the same things. Couldn't bear the thought of having this one precious child, and then another, and another, and another, until all the spark had gone out of her and she had no will left to fight anymore. So she made a decision, and stuck with it. She decided to leave. To run...where, she didn't quite know. But there had to be some other village, miles and miles away, where people would be kind. Where someone would have mercy on a young mother-to-be. Where she could reinvent herself, put everything else behind her, and finally start the life she'd always wanted to have. Safe from him.

She was cautious in her planning; she oiled the leather of Philippe's saddle well the day before, so it wouldn't creak when she put it on him. Squirreled away hard bread and fruit and cheese and salted meat for weeks in her trunk, where she knew Gaston would never bother looking. And...it was dishonest, but after all the pain and heartbreak he had put her through, Belle couldn't help but feel a little justified in taking some of his money, as well. A few sous here and there, just enough to ensure that she'd have a backup when her food inevitably ran out.

It hurt the most to say goodbye to her father; she couldn't say a word to him, of course, but she left a letter tucked in his pillowcase, and dropped a kiss on Maurice's silver head of hair where he lay fast asleep. She'd planned for everything; the door barely creaked on the way outside, and then she crept out to the stable with her pack under her arm, ready to strap to the back of her saddle. She'd planned for everything—

—except for Lefou, fast asleep on a pile of straw, right outside Buddy's stall, and directly in her way. She couldn't help but be startled; her pack fell and both hands came up to her mouth as she let out a squeak of surprise, and then froze in place. Hoping he wouldn't wake. Praying she could pass unnoticed...and that the clip-clop of Philippe's hooves wouldn't permeate his dreams. It was crushing to see how easily her plan could fall apart, just like this.

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Before the wedding, Lefou had hardly known Belle as anything more than the tinkerer's daughter, as the quarry that Gaston had set his sights on. She read, which was a strange hobby for a girl, and she and her father doted on each other to the point where they never really fit in in the town at large.

But the only time he ever saw her was when Gaston was trying to chat her up, and so Lefou never had the chance to speak to her directly.

Something about the way that she finally agreed to marry Gaston made him feel sick. He tried to tell himself that it was because he would no longer be the most important person in Gaston's life, that once Gaston had a wife there would be no need for his fool. But there were shadows around his dear friend, like stormclouds, and no matter what he tried to convince himself he knew - a true hunter would never be happy with prey that surrendered in the end.

He mostly ignored Belle, at first. Ignored the way that the fire in her dimmed, that she became more womanly, more weary. How meticulously she kept her sleeves pulled down, and how she wore her hair to the side sometimes, after Gaston had had a long night at the tavern.

He noticed, because he remembered keeping his own sleeves pulled down, his collar high and his bow tight. Remembered learning how to ride his horse steadily after Gaston had taken his pleasure with him, and remembered hiding the pain of the bloody bite on his stomach as a bit of bad rations. He noticed, because he'd been doing it for years. Because that was the price to pay to be close to Gaston.

He tried to keep Gaston's spirits up every way he knew how. He tried to placate him, to keep that darkness at bay. But the less that it came out around him, it seemed the more it was taken out on Belle. He was a fool, not an idiot. He knew if he tried intervening, Gaston would take it out of his hide next, and then hers again for good measure. He had the right to do whatever he wanted with his wife behind closed doors.

But Gaston stabled Lefou's horse for him because Lefou hadn't the room to do so. And Buddy, he'd claimed, had been eating something that disagreed with him, and wasn't feeling well, and would Gaston mind if Lefou just slept in the stable for a few nights?

Proudly, he liked to think, to hope, that having a witness within earshot reminded Gaston of his Christian soul. The straw may have scratched and poked through his shirt and gotten stuck down his breeches, the nights may have been so cold he was halfway turned to a snowman, but if he could soften Gaston's anger... Maybe the both of them could make it easier for each other.

Unfortunately for Belle, Lefou had been a soldier, and Gaston had kept his senses sharp even over twelve years of inactive service. He stirred, groggily, from his uncomfortable bed, then snapped awake when he realized that there was someone in the stable with him. Sleepy eyes focused on her in confusion, keeping his voice hushed to barely a whisper.

"...Belle?"

If Belle had ever known, if she'd ever realized what Lefou was doing for her—that he'd even noticed to begin with—she wouldn't have reacted the way she did. But when your husband was, well, Gaston...you never knew who exactly you could trust. Lefou had been Gaston's right-hand ever since she'd known him. How could she ever assume that she could trust him?

Her heart hammering in her throat, she slowly lowered her hands, realizing that she had, in fact, woken him up. The sinking feeling in her stomach only deepened, knowing that the jig, as it were, was up. There was no way she was getting out, now. She'd been seen. Heat flooded her cheeks, her hands wringing together at her side, and slowly she toed her pack behind her with one booted foot.

"Oh—I'm sorry to wake you. I was just...checking on Phillippe," she finished lamely, knowing it rang hollow even to her own ears.

Lefou got up from the ground, stumbled on the heel of his shoe and caught himself on Buddy's stall. The shaggy black and white pony leaned forward to sniff at his fingers, then snorted and lazily chewed another mouthful of hay.

"Oh, uh, sure," he said. It felt incomplete in his mouth, but he didn't know what else to say. He picked straw from his hair and shrugged his jacket back on to make himself decent in front of the lady (not that he wasn't plenty covered by his shirt, breeches, stockings, and shoes). He didn't have anything in common with Belle, not really, other than Gaston. He'd only spoken to her a handful of times alone. He was bad with words at the best of times, but... his best friend's wife? He was just glad she wasn't a more typical woman, someone with a sister or a cousin or a best friend of her own to try to set him up with.

"...Little late to be checking on the horses, isn't it?" he asked, when he looked outside to see it still pitch dark with the new moon. He was curious, not suspicious.

Belle reached out with one hand, just too late to be of any use, to steady Lefou, just on instinct. She felt bad for Lefou; he'd been under Gaston's thumb for longer than she, much longer by far, and who knows how terribly he'd been treated before Belle came along. The whole village might have seen him as a fool, but Belle had long learned to see the best in people, and part of her had long wondered how much of that was fact and how much of that was merely perception.

But now, with her heart in her mouth, was not the time to ponder it. She averted her gaze, taking a deep, steadying breath.

"I know. I...couldn't sleep." She faked a brief smile, hoping perhaps it might assuage any suspicions he might have, whether real or imagined. "And Philippe...he's getting old, you know."

Philippe snorted indignantly from his stall, as if to express how patently ridiculous that was. Behind Belle's ankle, her pack fell over, and several items rolled out onto the stable floor.

Damn.

"I know how that feels. Believe it or not, straw doesn't make the most comfortable mattress." Lefou said with a nervous smile of his own, to try to put her at ease. He glanced at her horse when Belle mentioned that Philippe was getting old. It was probably true, the white horse had been with Belle and her father since they arrived in the village (shortly after Lefou and Gaston had left for the war, coincidentally).

He felt a chill when he finally noticed the pack at her feet, the rations that tumbled out onto the stable floor. He was dead silent for a long moment. It definitely wasn't the kind of food to pass off as snacks for her horse, and the pack looked like it had a few days' worth of food in it. She was running away.

Lefou would have to help Gaston hunt her down, run her to ground like a wild fox.

He bent down and picked up a jar of jam that had rolled to a stop at his feet, turning it over in his hands without looking up at her.

"...You know he won't rest until he finds you."

"I believe it," she answered, a little too quickly to be natural, and then she wasn't thinking much besides that it was all over for her. That she'd lost her chance to escape. Unless Gaston didn't find out about this, unless there was some way she could convince Lefou not to tell.

Or not to stop her. One hand came up almost without thought to rest over her stomach, the whole reason for this escapade, and Belle bowed her head, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment to ward off the tears that wanted to escape.

"...I know."

It hurt, that knowledge. That strong possibility that no matter where she went, she might never be safe. She might never be able to rest. But she had to try. Had to give herself a fighting chance.

She forced herself to look back up at Lefou, her face mingled grief and determination, a faded bruise mark just visible on her neck.

"Please, m'sieur. Please...don't tell him. I beg of you, don't tell."

It twisted something deep in his gut, dark and painful, to look up and see the faded bruise on her neck, the shape of Gaston's hand. The conflict was clear and open on his face, his loyalty to Gaston at war with the grief on Belle's face, the determination that was just a spark of how strong she used to be. He was weak, he was soft. He was Gaston's batman, his whipping boy, his loyal dog.

He was a coward.

He averted his gaze from her again, but stepped closer and bent down to carefully bundle everything that had spilled back into her pack. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his voice was tight and pleading.

"He can track you. He's going to-" Lefou didn't know what Gaston would do to him, but the cold fear settled in the pit of his stomach because Gaston knew that he was sleeping in the stable. He couldn't lie to Gaston, he'd never been able to. His hands stopped, gripping her pack. "...He's going to make me."

Belle stepped aside, giving him space as he bent to pick up her things. One hand pressed over her mouth as he spoke; she knew. She knew. She'd spent long enough listening to Gaston's legendary hunting exploits to know he'd be able to find her. But was it better to stay, and know she'd be hurt over and over again, than to leave, and at least have a chance at a better life? Belle didn't think so.

But Lefou's assertion that he'd be forced to help Gaston—that struck her with a surprising amount of hurt, because she'd assumed Lefou wouldn't care. Would go along with whatever Gaston wanted him to do without question. Somehow she'd never considered he might not follow so blindly as she'd thought.

"I'm sorry," she manages. "Really. It's just that, it isn't just me anymore." Her hand finds her stomach again, just beginning to swell, soft and completely unnoticeable under her dress. "I can't let him...I can't stay."

He didn't notice the first time that she did it. He was an only child, and then a soldier, and he'd never looked at women for long before anyway. He knew objectively what the steps of marriage were, what almost always resulted, at least eventually. But when she said that it wasn't just her anymore, he looked up at her. And her hands were just below his eye level, after all, and he saw.

And then he Realized, and he fell back like he'd been struck, like she was contagious. She was pregnant. That changed everything.

Except it didn't really, did it?

"You're-"

He stood up and held her pack out to her, then fumbled his purse out of the pocket of his jacket and pressed it into her hand, focusing his gaze on that action, not on her face.

"...I'll- Okay." He didn't tell her what he was sure she already knew - that Gaston would not only hunt her down, but he would take it out on everyone around him. He would take it out on Lefou, on Maurice. He knew Belle had to be serious if she was willing to leave her father behind. "I'll... try to keep your father safe. When you settle somewhere, we'll find a way to get him to you."

She watched him, watched the realization strike him like a hand—fall back like she herself had fallen away from her husband so many times—and nodded, face worried and tight. Her brows knit together, watching him fumble for something, only realizing what it was once has was putting it into her hand. Immediately, she pushed it back at him, shaking her head.

"No, I can't—I couldn't take that from you." But she couldn't deny that his offer to keep her father safe was tempting. She offered him a tight little smile, looking very grateful indeed even as she turned down his help.

"Thank you. Really. I hate to leave him, I really do...but I can't keep all three of us alive." Fear niggled at her. "I don't even know if I can keep myself and my little one alive, actually, but."

That was beside the point. She'd figure something out. Somehow. She was smart. She was an inventor.

Edited 2017-08-08 17:42 (UTC)

"Please," he insisted. He knew she would never steal from her father, and didn't like the thought of Gaston having more to hold over her than just her running away with his child. She was carrying his best friend's child. He wanted to take care of her, if his friend wouldn't. "You can use it for food and lodging- whatever you need." They stood at eye level to each other, or nearly so, and he met her eyes for a moment before he stepped away before she could press it back to him again.

It stung him, the uncertainty in her voice. He didn't know if he could keep Maurice safe, either. Hell, he didn't know if he could keep himself safe once Gaston was on the warpath.

"You're smart," he said. "You can find something. You will." He gave her a smile, dim even if it was the brightest he could muster at the moment. "Now get out of here before he notices you're gone."

With great reluctance, Belle took the little purse, unable to admit that she'd already taken from her husband's purse. She still felt ashamed about it, even if she'd done it strictly out of necessity. But there was a lot she felt ashamed of—leaving her father behind chief among them. She'd do anything for her father, and this was one of the most difficult choices she'd ever had to make.

But she was touched, too, by Lefou's gesture, even as she was reminded of the hurt she was leaving behind her, and that more than anything gave her pause. Made her wonder why Lefou would betray Gaston by helping her slip through his fingers. She worried at her lip for a moment, still clutching the purse in her hands,

"But...what about you?"

The purse was light, but it was something. All he carried with him, anyway. He was clumsy and prone to losing things, and he had the bad habit of overspending if it made people like him. So he kept most of his money at home. Her question made him pause, though, the smile fading with concern as he looked away again.

"I'll- ...think of something." It wasn't his strong suit, but. He could say he forgot something at home, or that Buddy had been feeling a little better so he'd stepped out to the tavern and stumbled back to sleep. Gaston would never...really hurt him. He was his oldest and best friend. Lefou was the one person who'd been there for Gaston through everything, that had to mean something.

For some reason, that answer just didn't sit well with her. Perhaps because she'd seen the way Gaston treated him. The mere fact that the man was known by the entire town as Lefou spoke volumes. But she couldn't shake the feeling that, besides inevitable being forced to help her husband hunt her down, he would suffer in other ways, too. Because of her.

Suddenly, Belle seemed to steel herself; her face took on a new resolve, and there was something like the spirited girl she once was in her face as she looked at her husband's best friend. And she seemed to decide something.

"Come with us." It wasn't a joke, and that much was clear. "Come with us, and when Gaston comes after...my father will be free to go somewhere safer."

His nickname was a story that dated back to his childhood, to the cruelty of the headmaster and the other boys in the school. To Gaston and the whole town's indifference toward the dignity of a slow little boy. But he could have been treated worse. Gaston rarely raised a hand to him anymore, even if it was because Lefou shied back from the sound of the man's raised voice.

The resolve in Belle's voice shocked him and he looked at her in surprise. He was at war with himself, and for some reason the side that had been months ago jealous of Belle's closeness to Gaston, of being replaced as the most important person in his life, was silent. There was a part that wanted to flee the darkness he knew was gathering around Gaston, burrowing deep in his soul, but there was a part that knew that he was the only one who knew Gaston well enough to banish it.

But he balked at the idea of leaving.

"I-I can't. I don't even have a kit packed or anything." He was afraid for Maurice. He was afraid for himself. He was afraid of leaving Villeneuve, he was afraid that without Gaston he would cease to...be. He was afraid for Belle, and her child. The longer they stood here arguing, the less of a head start she would have.

Belle was more than used to people looking at her like that. She'd always been a surprising sort of girl. Even now, even with the spark beaten out of her, she was still that same woman. Her mouth tugged into a frown.

"We can...stop. Get your things. Please." Suddenly she was determined. Lefou had been a soldier, after all. He knew how to survive out in the wilderness in between villages, right? And she could see something else in his expression. Was it fear, or merely indecision? Either way, it didn't sit right with her, leaving him behind where he would most likely take some of the heat for her actions. Her father, she was sure, would be okay. If she knew Gaston, and she did all too well, he'd come after her as soon as he realized she'd slipped through his fingers. After all, she was nothing more than a possession to him. And Gaston liked to keep his possessions firmly in hand.

Including, she knew, Lefou.

"We...we can both get out. If we go now."

Lefou looked over his shoulder, out the stable door to where he knew Gaston was sleeping in the darkened house. She had to go - could he really go with her? Should he? The thought of her running off pregnant into the wilderness by herself sat wrong with him. Villeneuve was a day's ride from the nearest village - and if she went by herself, he knew that would be where Gaston searched for her first. But the other way was five days' ride - Gaston wouldn't expect her to go that way, he might not even realize that Lefou had gone with her until he was halfway to the nearest village. Belle was resourceful, but the nights were cold.

He looked at Buddy, who shook his head and then lapped at the bucket of water.

Get out. Could it really be that easy? Was it really something he needed to escape from?

He sucked in a breath and grabbed Buddy's tack before he could change his mind.

"Okay." He slipped Buddy's bridle on before leading him out of the stall, settling the saddle onto the shaggy pony's back. He looked back at Belle, and bit his lip in worry. "...All of us."

Despite all her fear and trepidation, she couldn't help but look relieved when she saw the man go for his tack. That was the best answer he could give her; she didn't hesitate in scooping up her pack, stowing away that little purse of coins inside and tying up the top nice and tight. She slung it over her back once more and strode with renewed purpose toward Philippe's stall, where she began to saddle the big draft horse up like she'd done a thousand times. Bringing him out to join Lefou and Buddy in the aisle of the stable, she hesitated just a moment, before whispering a quick "Thank you" and then swinging herself up onto Philippe's back with practiced ease. The butterflies were still there in her stomach, but now that she knew they weren't alone—now that she knew Lefou would be at her side—she felt a thousand times more sure of herself.

Belle bent over Philippe's neck, brushing aside wisps of sandy-white mane to speak low and soothing in his ear.

"Quietly now, Philippe. We don't want to wake anyone up."

After a false hop, LeFou pulled himself up onto Buddy's back with much less grace, settling in the saddle and taking hold of the reins. He tugged them so Buddy would let Belle and Philippe go first, patting the horse's neck and leaning in.

"Alright, Buddy," he whispered. "Don't mess this up." He flicked Buddy's reins. The horse stayed put. He flicked them harder and Buddy took a step backward.

The third time, Buddy fell into a slow, plodding step behind Philippe. LeFou sighed, but didn't speak now that they were out of the stable. Gaston's house was at the edge of the village, while Lefou's was little more than a shed that Gaston let him live in. When they got there, he led Belle and the horses around back, slipping in and packing every scrap of food he had, along with his flint to start fires. He brought his meager savings (no more than a few livres hidden in one of his old army uniform stockings) and, after a long moment of deliberation, his guns and a hunting knife. A pistol and a rifle, and all the ammunition he had for both.

The whole time he listened intently, anxiously, for the sound of Gaston's stallion, for Belle to scream, for them to be found. But there was nothing.

When he came out with his kit, Belle and the horses were still there. He tied his kit to the back of Buddy's saddle, adjusted his weapons, and hoisted himself back up, sparing a glance to the single room that had been his home for years.

"Let's go.

Just as she'd hoped, Philippe seemed to take her request to heart; his big hooves clopped ever so gently over the worn boards of the stable floor. She spared a glance over her shoulder to make sure that Lefou was indeed following, and after a few false starts, his pony seemed to relent. She couldn't help the tense set of her shoulders as they made their way away from the house and toward Lefou's little cottage. Cottage was the kinder word for it, she figured. Belle waited patiently, keeping her back to the wall, scanning the horizon for any sign that her husband had gotten up to relieve his bladder and discovered her missing. Luckily, there was none.

She couldn't help the way her eyes grew a little wide and her fingers gripped the pommel of Philippe's saddle a little tighter at the sight of Lefou's gun, but the fright was only momentary; she gazed sidelong at the man as he looked one last time at his little house, and then nodded, head bowed, clucking her tongue at Philippe and feeling him begin to move underneath her. It was going to be a long night ahead; they needed every moment's head start they could get.

If he noticed the way that her eyes widened and her grip tightened on her saddle, he didn't say anything. He didn't acknowledge the gun at all, for the moment. The pistol was in good repair, but it had gone unused for twelve years, and the rifle had only seen use for hunting.

He tried not to think about the fact that he was going to have to hunt for the both of them, or about the fact that he was never any good at it. He could find wild vegetables, but Gaston was the one who brought home game.

He nudged his heels into Buddy's sides to spur him into following the other horse with a cluck of his tongue, but Buddy resisted anything more hasty than a gentle walk.

"When we get far enough to cover the sound, we should try to push them faster," he whispered loud enough for her to hear. "Otherwise even with a head start, his charger'll catch up to us in hours."

She noted the way Lefou's horse seemed reluctant to hasten any further, and was relieved to hear him suggest that they pick up their pace once they were far away enough. She couldn't agree more; she nodded back at him, hoping that if they gave that shaggy little pony of his some time to warm up, he wouldn't be so resistant. She pointed up ahead of them, toward a copse of trees on top of a crest that served as a windbreak for much of this side of the town; once they were past that, they could hasten onward.

Sure enough, the moment they were through the last of the branches, Belle turned to give Lefou a raised-eyebrows look of confirmation, before leaning forward in her saddle and digging her heels into Philippe's sides. The old draft horse didn't have to be asked twice; it wasn't often he was given his head and allowed to gallop.

Despite the fact that it was his suggestion, Lefou knew full well that Buddy always went at Buddy's pace and no one else's.

"Philippe isn't going to try to show you up like Magnifique, Buddy," he whispered in hushed tones to the black and white horse. "But I'm gonna need you to run here in a minute, okay? This will have an immediate and long-term effect on your supply of apples, so you'd better come through for me here."

Buddy whickered and shook his head. Damn. Well, warning was issued.

When Belle turned over her shoulder to glance at him and then dug her heels in to drive Philippe into a full out run, Lefou took a deep breath, flicked Buddy's reins, and drove his heels in hard. Buddy stopped dead in his tracks hard enough to almost send Lefou pitching over his head, before dancing backward a step or two and then lunging into a full-blown gallop.

Lefou went pale from his face to the white-knuckled grip on the reins, eyes wide in terror as he tried. Really hard. Not to scream.

Philippe was certainly a lot less showy than Gaston's charger, and a great deal less ill-tempered, too; the two of them had to be stabled at opposite ends of the barn as they didn't exactly get on well. Still, Philippe's long strides might have been intimidating to the shaggy little pony, or else he was just that stubborn. Either way, Belle's eyes go wide when she glances back, hair streaming where it's come loose from it's chignon, to see Lefou white-knuckling it behind them, looking absolutely terrified. She pulled up on her reins a bit, bringing her own mount back down to a fast canter in the hopes that Buddy would ease up a little, too. It would do them no good for Lefou to take a nasty spill and risk injury, after all.

Edited 2017-08-09 03:52 (UTC)

Lefou tries not to jerk the reins forcefully, but he pulls up hard, and Buddy winds up slowing to a quick canter next to Philippe. After being jerked forward again and settling back hard on the saddle with a wince, Lefou risked raising a hand to brush the hair that had been knocked loose from his ponytail out of his face.

He flashed Belle a strained grin.

"Hi, have you met my horse Buddy? Top contender for Worst Horse Ever."

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