Belle did not appear at dinner. Rumplestiltskin slowly closed his fingers into a fist, extinguishing the fire as easily as it had been kindled. Why should she desire the company of a monster? The next morning, it was his turn to hide. Instead of moving to the dining hall when he heard Belle's step on the spiral staircase, he remained upstairs in his study. He ignored the pages of the open book in his hand.
He was startled out of his trance by the steady beat of steps on the staircase. His eyes turned toward the banister at the small auburn head which peeped around its edge. It was followed by a graceful neck, a diminutive yet feminine body, and the sweeping folds of a skirt. The color of the satin was altogether strange. As she stood still it appeared blue, yet in the sun it took on the shade of a cool green pond, and in the shadows the colors became muddled like the bottom of a lake. In her hand she carried the silver tea tray.
"You're hiding from me," she stated matter-of-factly.
He looked down and nodded in admission. He was a coward. Cowards hide. He could not meet her gaze.
"Don't," she said as she entered the room and set the tray down on a little end table.
Belle arranged the tray so it was within arm's reach. When she handed him a cup of tea, the warmth from the cup pushed out the chill which had set into his fingers. In her usual manner, she placed herself wherever she pleased, mistress of the house. This morning she was inclined to join him on the sofa where he had seated himself long before the dawn. She tucked her knees up onto the cushion and neatly placed her skirts, running her hands over the fabric.
She said absent mindedly, "I do love this dress."
"It's an unusual color." His eyes drifted to the material of her gown draped over the edge of the couch.
She nodded sweetly. "It's reminds me of your eyes."
He exhaled sharply, unsure if she meant it as a compliment or in jest. Glancing in her direction, he saw her gracious smile. Her eyes invited him to abandon all feelings of guilt and shame.
She nudged his shoulder playfully. Urging him to cheer up she pleaded, "Not even a little?"
He allowed the corners of his mouth to lift slightly as he stared into his cup of tea.
She gestured out the window, "Come on, look at that. It's a beautiful new day, filled with new hope."
At all times, Belle's presence affected Rumplestiltskin strongly. Whether she smiled, simpered, or simply occupied the room, she utterly terrified him. He could never anticipate her behavior. When he expected polite silence, she asked pointed personal questions without restraint. He was afraid to answer her sincerely, but something in her countenance compelled him to honesty. She knew him better than any other living soul. Although she was largely ignorant of it, her power over him was immense. And in moments like these he was terrified of the silence, begging to be filled with questions whose answers might forever change her opinion of him.
If her fingers grazed his skin— perhaps his arm as she handed him a cup—he felt the sensations pulse along the entire length of his body. It was as if a lightning rod had been inserted into his veins. If she didn't touch him, he feared she might never touch him again. Being with Belle was being swept along a rushing stream without boat or paddle. It was exhilarating, but there was a sense of powerlessness which he could not suppress. Much of the time he fought the current, only to be dragged down by the weight of his own boots. A small, but growing, part of him hoped if he could occasionally break the surface to catch his breath, the current would carry him safely to a lovely shore.
From the corner of his eye, he could tell Belle was restless. She had adopted his unsettled disposition. Her fingers fidgeted with her cup, and she was chewing on her lower lip. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and decided to let the river carry him downstream.
"Something on your mind?" he asked.
She nodded thoughtfully. Her eyes remained focused on her cup as she answered, "When my father proposed that we call on you for aid, one of his advisors said something about you. That we didn't need your kind of help."
"Ah, and what was the nature of his accusation?"
She stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye then quickly looked away. "He said you bargain for children. That you steal them from their mother's arms once they're born. Is it true?"
Rumplestiltskin stripped his face of all emotion. "What do you think?" he asked solemnly.
"I don't know."
The muscles in his jaw twitched, and his eyebrows went up as he fought to keep his composure. His heart was racing. His breath was short and shallow.
"It's true," he answered.
He paused, waiting for Belle's indignation and outrage. Her face grew dark and perplexed. The line of her lovely mouth drew down, and she wrinkled her brow. However, she remained quiet, offering no condemnation. For the first time since becoming the Dark One he felt the need to explain himself.
He spoke slowly with deliberation, "I don't steal children. I never steal anything. The terms of my contracts are specific. The understanding: mutual. You might be surprised at just how many people are willing to sacrifice their firstborn for so small a thing as a pair of glass slippers."
"Fools—all," she whispered.
"Quite," he agreed.
"So, you just show up when they're born and take them and then what?" Her wide blue eyes shimmered with emotion.
He waved his hand to illustrate the room, "Do you see any children?"
"No." She thought for a moment and gasped, "You don't—"
"What? Eat them?" he chuckled softly and shook his head. "No. Too gamey."
Belle sighed as the tension dropped from her face. She set her empty cup down and positioned her body to face his. "I didn't think you did, really."
He smiled and continued, "Most of the time when I…come to collect…the mother has discovered a new appreciation for that which she was willing to forfeit. Prior to my arrival, she has combed through every jot and tittle of our agreement, searching for any way to withhold her promised treasure."
"But your contracts are ironclad. Once a deal has been struck, nobody can break it."
He held up a finger to his lips, "I'll let you in on a secret."
She leaned in closer. He felt the warmth of her breath as it crossed the distance and washed upon his exposed neck. In this moment, he wanted to unburden his entire soul to her. However, he would satisfy himself by sharing what he believed was his most noble truth.
He pointed at her and instructed, "But, you must promise never to reveal it to another soul—living or dead. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
"I always include in a loophole for firstborn children."
Belle leaned back, her eyes wide in disbelief. "No!"
He nodded once demurely. "All the mother has to do is call me by my name three times. It's all in the contract."
"But, everybody knows your name. You're infamous," she blanched and corrected herself, "famous."
"Yes. Most of the time, the mother has cleverly uncovered the loophole, and I walk away," he held up his palms, "empty handed." He smirked as he considered his own generosity.
Belle, however, still looked concerned. "And, if she isn't clever, doesn't find the loophole, you take the child?"
He felt a surge of panic rise in his gut. He answered defensively, "Those who are willing to barter with the life of their child do not deserve to be parents. They know what they do. As many as there are who are willing to sell their children, there are those who would give everything for the chance to have a child. So, yes, I take the babe, and I give it to a family who will love and cherish it and never allow anything—or anyone—to separate them."
Rumplestiltskin ended his noble speech quite out of breath. He remembered the devastation of his heart when he let Bae slip into another world. With shame, he had refused to relinquish his powers as the Dark One. Losing Bae was his penalty. From that moment, he had believed all who would squander their children deserved to feel the anguish of that pain, including him.
Belle murmured, "I don't like it. Loophole or no loophole: It's wrong."
"Don't you think the babe would be better off with someone who appreciates the value of a child?"
Belle considered carefully before answering, "Who are you to judge whether a parent and child should be separated before that love is tested?"
"That love has already been tried and has failed, before the child's birth. Those unwilling to fight for what they love, deserve what they get," he echoed the painful words spoken to him long ago.
Bell said, "In life, we get a great many blessings we do not deserve. They make us want to be better, to be worthy of the gifts we are given. This world is filled with orphans who need loving homes. Why not help them find families instead of trading on the desperation of fools?" She spoke gently, "Why contract misery when you have the power to create love?"
Rumplestiltskin was without answer. His soul churned against itself, a mixture of sharp rocky crags and fire. He muttered, "What you must think of me."
He moved as if to stand and leave the room, but Belle placed a hand on his leg, stopping him. Her touch was like a gentle waterfall slowly smoothing the jagged rocks at the misty base. A cool peace permeated throughout his body from the source of that soothing pressure.
"No, don't go," she pleaded. "Stay. Let me tell you what I think. I think you love children. And, I think you want those who have forgotten how precious they are to remember, because you know the pain of that separation. You know what it is to lose a treasure."
He sucked in a ragged breath. She would not have seen his nod so slight was the movement.
"But, I also think your judgment is wrong—clouded by the evil darkness of your curse. I don't know if you can help that on your own."
At last, he found the courage to turn his head and chance a look into her eyes. They were deep, serene pools of sympathy. He answered softly, "That's why I have you."