He is a man that has lost far too much.
Lost? he wonders, Or have I given it all away?
It's a valid question, he supposes, because Bae? - yes, that was all his fault - and Belle? - yes, that was his fault too.
I'm an idiot, he thinks to himself, almost pleasantly as he wipes down the already spotless countertop, and then he stops because he realizes it's true. Gold - or is it Rumpelstiltskin? He's so used to both names, he hardly knows which one he thinks of himself as now. He's hardly the same man he was in his old life - he's no longer a coward or the Dark One or even a father - he doesn't have Belle and he doesn't have Bae, and it's all my fault, and the thought hurts him less than it used to, back in the old world, because in this world all that hurts him now is the pain in his leg.
He has become numb to everything else. Is this the price for my sins? My penitence? I felt too strongly then and now... now I feel nothing at all. It is a fair price, he can't help thinking, the punishment does indeed fit the crime. There is nothing worse than apathy and self-loathing, he reflects, when he could have been happy. When they could have been happy. When they should have been happy.
I want to come with you, Bae! (He should've listened. He broke their deal. He hates himself.)
I don't want you anymore, dearie. (He should've listened. He shut her out. He hates himself.)
He doesn't think he hates anyone as much as he hates himself.
He continues wiping the counter.
He is a man that has given up far too much.