Belle was so pure. So much that every time Rumplestiltskin so much as touched her- from the most innocent to the least- he felt sick, guilty. Because he had no right to touch her so casually, no right to receive the smiles he got, to feel the love that was as unfamiliar to him as the weight of the ring upon his finger. It wasn't that he hadn't felt love, of course, because he had. But not like that, never like that.

That, he supposed, only made things worse. Because his Belle, his beautiful Belle, didn't know that the dagger she carried with her wasn't real, didn't know that he didn't even trust her enough with that. That he'd valued gaining the trust of the townsfolk over giving his trust to her as completely as he had his heart. Valued stopping the control it had over him. That he was deceiving her, along with everyone else, again.

She was the solitary light in his life. He had no one else, not since Baelfire had died. And that he was betraying her once again hurt him deeply. But he also knew he had no choice.

He needed to get out of that damn dagger's control. Needed to stop being a slave to its power. Then he'd be free of it for good, free to tell Belle the truth, free to live his life without knowing that Zelena could happen again, that he could spend his future forced to hurt the ones he loved (and the Captain- but he didn't really matter).

But that didn't change the simple fact that he was hurting her. He needed to talk to her- even if it meant losing her forever.

He wandered into the bedroom, ready (almost) to tell her the full truth. But when he saw her staring forwards, hands clasped firmly in front of her, he moved to embrace her.

What he had to say could wait. He had to find out what was upsetting his Belle.

"Belle, sweetheart? What's wrong?" he asked, soft as he could. She was shaking like a leaf in his arms, and she reached out to him in response, burying her head in his chest and mumbling something he couldn't hear.

"Could you say that again?" he asked, and she pulled back.

"I'm pregnant."

Just like that, his heart stopped. His world stopped revolving around him. All that he knew was that he was going to be a father. Again. So soon after he'd lost his son…

He sighed, and buried his head in her hair, not trusting himself to speak. She let out another broken sob, grasping more tightly to him as though she thought letting go of him would have him disappearing on her.

"I'm so sorry, Rumple…" she cried. He shook his head.

"Belle, love, you don't need to apologize. If anyone should be apologizing, it's me, I…"

He stopped in his tracks. If he told her that now, he ran the risk of losing not only her, but their child too. He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let that happen.

"Why?" she asked. He shook his head, clearing it, and managed to give her a smile, cupping her cheeks. If there ever was a time to tell her, it was then. But the Dark One never claimed to be anything but a coward. So it was with his coward's heart that he told the lie.

"I'm not good enough to touch you, Belle."

It came out easily, too easily, and Belle was predictably scolding. Telling him that of course he was good enough to touch her, reminding him that she'd chosen him, not anyone else, giving him a smile along with reassurances she shouldn't have had to give. Because yes, perhaps he wasn't good enough to touch her. But that wasn't what he should have said to her. The words were like bile in his mouth, and he swallowed them back, not letting them pass his lips.

It was then that he turned to reassuring her, talking about the baby instead of his own issues. He put his hand on her stomach, his magic telling him of his daughter, his little girl growing inside of her.

Part of him was relieved. At least with a daughter, he wouldn't have to be reminded of Baelfire. Not like Henry, the boy making him think near-constantly about his lost son.

(Aside from the constant requests for magic- that was just odd.)

Gently, he leaned down and pressed his lips against Belle's.

The next few months weren't easy, of course not. Belle admitted herself that her body wasn't coping very well with pregnancy, and the labour took its' toll. But when the baby was held up at the bottom of the bed, screaming her heart out, both of them melted at the sight. When he was handed the child, the baby who reached for him with chubby little hands, he leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

"Papa's here. Papa loves you."

Words that were so familiar, but also different. Back then, he'd been a cripple. A man with a wife who didn't want him, a man safe in the knowledge that everyone he knew would consider him a coward. Now, he had a wife who loved him, and a town of people who either feared or respected him. He'd never have to worry again. His daughter would never have the fear of being ridiculed.

He had two lights in his life. Both circling each other, circling him as he circled them. The centre points of his universe, reminding him why he lived. Giving him reason to live. Giving him reason to get that damned dagger out of the picture before Belle could find out that he gave her a fake one. He wasn't going to let this go ever, and certainly not when he had this wonderful little human being to take care of. Gently, he placed her in the crib next to the hospital bed and let out a soft sigh, smile touching his lips.

No, he wouldn't give up this for anything. He'd rather be a coward. He'd rather lie to them both for as long as he lived.