He is sure that Henry is making a perfectly good point about princes and swords, but at the moment Rumplestiltskin can't hear anything. And he can't see anything.
Except one thing. He can see Belle, across the diner and looking surprised with her arms full of baby Alexandra.
They stopped Granny's for a late lunch, as he made a point either to drop off lunch and insist she stop to eat or to drag her from her library each day for a quick lunch. Today it hadn't happened until nearly two o'clock. By the time they were polishing off their meal, Henry had arrived for an after school snack, and Ashley had dropped by to see Granny.
Somewhere between Henry's questions about the Dark Castle and his questions about Rumpelstiltskin's reputation as a rather excellent swordsman, Belle has ended up with an armful of content baby. Both infant and woman are staring at each other in something like amazement, the smaller of the two grabbing a fistful of chestnut curls and gnawing at them as though giving her tacit approval.
"Ah… hello there…" the soft words travel to his ears, and he doesn't care that he's grinning like an idiot while Belle very carefully slides into an un-used booth and settles herself down. He can't catch most of what she's saying because she's just far enough away, and Henry's asking what's going on as the boy kneels in his seat and twist around to follow his line of sight.
Whatever she's saying, she is talking slowly and steadily, and he's sure Belle must be telling Alexandra a story because his favorite librarian is wholly absorbed, the way she gets when she's lost in a book.
He remembers she mentioned, once, that her childhood was a bit lonely. That she had learned at an early age that books could be her closest friends. There were not any children around the castle, the ones in the village were always busy learning a trade or off in the fields. Even Gaston was a good five years her senior, and she hadn't remembered seeing him until she was nearly at her fourteenth winter. He was much too busy riding and learning the art of war to bother with a girl.
For someone with so little experience with children, she was managing Alexandra with ease. There was a moment when the baby fussed, a breath of protest while Belle reclaimed her soggy curl, but she was quieted quickly. In minutes the child was tucked against her shoulder and sleeping with the ferocious intensity that only small children could achieve.
"She would make a good mom."
It's Henry, and while the comment is one that Rumplestiltskin agrees with, it still catches him by surprise. When he looks over at the boy, the impish half smile is one that Rumplestiltskin knows all too well. How he never guessed the boy's heritage before Manhattan is beyond him. "H—" he starts to say.
But before he can say anything else, he is cut off by the boy repeating the words. "She would make a good mom."
And he can't deny the truth in the words.