Who hasn't experienced the pain of love?

Or is it the fear of losing someone you care and cherish?

The pain of grief?

The pain of loss and despair?

Isn't love supposed to be a passionate, overpowering emotion? Isn't it supposed to be something that makes your heart flutter and your spirits soar every time you think of the person you've fallen in love with? People say love is capable of making everything around you feel utterly breathtaking, fascinating, exhilarating, endlessly magical.

Well, Maurice was certain that the love he was experiencing now was nothing like that. In fact, quite the opposite.

Adjusting his coat tighter against the frigid wintry wind, he huffed before commanding his unwilling feet to move. His sudden movement stirred the tiny being in his arms and within seconds an agitated whimper could be heard. Maurice dashed frantically through the cobbled streets of Paris, looking for a decent place to sit and rest. He settled with an old, tattered wooden bench whose seat was rotten with age. Depositing his belongings on the ground, he turned his attention to the bundle in his cradle that was pleading for his attention.

"There….there… Papa is here. Are you hungry my darling?" he crooned down to the infant, who gradually wound down from offended screams to hiccuping little sobs. Maurice reached for some milk supply in his bag. In a few minutes, the infant returned to her slumber, and Maurice expelled a sigh of relief. He stared at her peaceful countenance and once again was engulfed in a drowning wave of naked admiration. She was beautiful, except for her alabaster skin, the baby was almost an exact copy of his wife. It was like looking at her portrait in a whole different time. But something tugged painfully in his chest when he remembered the love of his life. A name rippled in his mind…

….Estelle.

A few weeks ago, Estelle had bestowed upon him the best gift he had ever received. When Maurice had looked down at the tiny figure nested in his wife's embrace, his heart had swelled with endless joy and hope. The baby was red, her face scrunched up in a undelighted frown, her skin was wrinkly and her eyes still shut. On the bed lay Estelle, looking exhausted and disheveled, but with a radiant smile reaching far into her eyes. An alien, but affectionate, warmth had crept through his entire being as he had watched Estelle lean down to plant a kiss on the baby's forehead.

Their baby.

All the screams of pain and agony were long forgotten, replaced by joy. A calm had fallen over the room, Maurice almost felt guilty to break it. Somehow, his inquisitiveness invited his feet to inch closer and have a little look.

"Come and meet your daughter, Maurice," he remembered her saying as she handed the baby over to him.

Maurice had hesitated, standing stock-still, face terrified, looking at the tiny being whose face was squished up into wrinkles and absolutely, hideously perfect. "Wait! What if I….hurt her?"

But Estelle didn't give him any room for negotiation, nonchalantly placing the baby into his awkward hold. Every fiber in his body had screamed in panic and fear and….-

When the soft swaddling cloth grazed his arms his mind went blank, thankfully, his fatherly instincts took over and he didn't drop the baby.

The infant had snuggled into her blanket, sleepy with milk. But the sudden 'handover' experience had disturbed her peaceful slumber. She opened her eyes, rolling her little tongue as she yawned, and was soon trying to suck her papa's massive finger that he gently grazed over her cheek.

As soon as Maurice looked into her hazel eyes, he fell in love…

"Isn't she precious?" The tired but warm voice of his wife had whispered, her glazed eyes full of pride."What are we going to name her?"

Maurice hadn't been able to take his eyes off the tiny creature resting in the curve of his arms, she was…. astonishingly beautiful!

"Belle….we shall name her Belle," he had replied eloquently as he nuzzled the baby's soft cheek, inhaling her sweet newborn smell, delicate and innocent.

Maurice remembered that his eyes had begun to fill with moisture as he cradled his new daughter, swaddling her closer to his heart, as he gently swayed and smiled mindlessly. Such happiness and pride had welled up in his chest - it was an indescribable feeling, as though he had just received a piece of heaven. This was Belle, the embodiment of their love, a symbol of their boundless dedication towards each other. At that moment, Maurice was sure his life couldn't have been more perfect.

On the same day Maurice found himself in the streets of Paris, in the same part of the city, Agathe; in her current disguise as an old woman; strode aimlessly down the busy aisle of Rue d'Arcole. She was wearing modest clothing, withdrawing herself from the attention of the passerby, as her trained eyes watched men and women minding their own business before the sliver of sun sunk beneath the horizon. Tomorrow she would have to return to Villeneuve, where she had been closely monitoring a ruthless, conceited ruler and his spoiled-rotten son that, allegedly, had been driving his subjects to the brink of poverty. But, her enchantress' sense somehow alerted her that today she was needed in Paris, because someone… may require her assistance.

Then she saw him. A man, not older than thirty-five, sitting on the corner of the road, tucked away from the prying eyes of the public. He held a tiny creature in his arms, a newborn. His bloodshot eyes were glazed with tears; his countenance weighed down with despair and sorrow. Agathe was certain; this man was the reason why she was here.

"Excusez-moi Monsieur, are you alright?" An unfamiliar raspy voice broke Maurice from his reverie. In front of him was a lady. Judging from her crooked posture, a glimpse of her face, and her hands, the woman was much older than him; wearing a shabby, discolored, borderline unwearable peasant dress and an equally ragged cloak dangling just slightly above the filthy street. Most of her face was concealed under the shadow of her hood. Perhaps she was a…. Beggar? Traveller? Maurice speculated.

Maurice rubbed his eyes and blinked several times to shake off the fantastical daze that danced around his vision. But wait…his cheeks were….wet. Had he been…-?

"Here, use this," the stranger offered kindly, passing him a surprisingly pristine white handkerchief that seemed to appear from nowhere. Maurice accepted it reluctantly. A small bottle of alcohol, tucked safely in his pocket didn't go unnoticed by Agathe's watchful eyes.

"I don't mean to pry, but may I ask what is troubling you, Monsieur?" she inquired.

"It's just… my wife," Maurice retorted bleakly. "She is… she is….-"

Dying. He wanted to say, but a powerful sob took his breath away. These last three weeks, Maurice's life had been a living nightmare. With a newborn baby to tend, he was forced to watch as illness strangled Estelle's body, chewing up her strength and dimming that spark of life in her defiant eyes, they were no longer filled with zest for life.

"Her condition deteriorated as the day went by," Maurice began again after regulating his breath. "I'm just..- I had to leave her." His eyes stared into space as he cupped his own chin, embracing the frustration of the world.

The woman paused for a moment, before suggesting. "Sorry if this sounds patronizing, but why don't you take her to the hospital where she can get better care?" Her voice sounded puzzled, but Maurice had expected this.

He let an aggrieved sigh. "No… it's just not possible because she is….- nevermind." Maurice instantaneously impeded his own intention to expound his great dilemma. If there were any benefit in narrating his current predicament to a stranger, it would be to ease his own sense of guilt.

"I am sorry to hear that," the old woman could only respond apologetically even when curiosity piqued in her chest."You must've been torn."

Torn was truly an understatement. Maurice was destroyed when the doctor announced there was no hope for a cure and advised him and Belle to leave before the plague got them too. He took a measured breath, trying to curb the lashing emotions in his chest and remain composed. However, the woman's compassionate words unlocked that in a heartbeat. The pain in his heart was as sharp as ever, undimmed by any alcoholic haze. And as the woman's surprisingly warm hands wrapped around his to express her sympathy, his composure finally wore down to nothing. His eyes narrowed with rage, spilling angry tears. He wept his heart out into his palms, snorting and weeping profoundly.

"She is… she is a gypsy." His voice was small. "No...no hospital would… would accept her," he stuttered between broken words and unmanly sobs. "I am heading somewhere, to start anew with my daughter." And I have left my Estelle to die… alone. The cruel thought claimed his senses, vicious and unforgiving. "I...I don't. I don't know whether I can go on without my Estelle….by my side."

Stitching all his disjointed sentences together, Agathe finally grasped the whole story. She eyed him carefully, and a wave of pity engulfed her. "There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love," she articulated eloquently, her voice kind and soft. "Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity and ability to love serves to counteract their grief and heals them. You must be strong for your little girl, Monsieur. You love her don't you?"

Maurice replied to her fluent rhetoric with a weak nod. There was a lot of wisdom in her words, he had to be strong and move on courageously for Belle's sake. A faint smile graced his lips. "I suppose you are right," he sighed resignedly.

At that moment Agathe was deeply touched by Maurice's love for his family and readiness to suffer. "Now, perhaps I can help you by curing your wife and extending her life by a few years."

Her words felt like a metaphorical slap in Maurice's face, and his heart gave an invigorating leap at her claim. "Cure my wife?! But… the doctor…-" his logical mind wanted to dismiss this hope with skepticism.

"I know I am no physician, Monsieur," the lady clipped his answer, but her tone was kind and patient.

"Maurice, Maurice Beaumont," he swiftly inserted, staring at the lady with rebounded hopefulness.

"No one can avoid the angel of death when it desires to take its victim. We mortals all will eventually die. I can only delay and buy you some time," she explained. "But… I cannot postpone death for free, Monsieur Beaumont."

She requires a payment, Maurice mused. Is this some sort of black magic? Witchcraft? He contemplated. To be perfectly honest, Maurice didn't care. Whatever it was, for the wife that he loved, he was more than willing to be enslaved, ready to live in deep poverty even trade his life for hers if that was what was required just to buy her those few extra days.

"I don't have much money, Madame," he admitted. "But if you, in your grace and benevolence, could save my wife from the clutch of death this once, I will do anything you require to repay you."

"Anything?"

"Yes, anything," he affirmed, a spark of hopefulness emanating from his eyes.

"I could lend you a few years to her life," Agathe stated rigorously. "But, I must borrow that from someone else," she muttered lowly under her breath almost inaudible to Maurice's ears.

"Someone else? Take it from me!" Maurice asserted without any second thoughts. "Take it as many years as you need," he declared without hesitation.

"Unfortunately it isn't that simple Monsieur," Agathe replied, her eyes following the curve of Maurice's hand and her sight fell on the baby in his grasp. "I have to take it out of the life of someone you love just as strongly, otherwise the spell won't work."

Maurice gasped audibly when he realized who the old woman was staring at. He felt his chest tighten and fear claw up his throat.

"No...no… please don't shorten her life!" he pleaded pitifully, his face marred with panic and dread. "Her life is barely just begun. S'il vous plaît, Madame... just take mine instead...-!"

"No, that's not what I meant Monsieur Beaumont," Agathe said, clearing the misunderstanding. "Those borrowed years won't shorten your daughter's life, but she will have to be bound to me and do as I request. Rest assured I won't harm her life."

A sense of relief cascaded down his face as soon as the old lady's word reached his ears. Maurice meditated intently, it was a hard decision to make, but he decided that Belle would benefit from having her mother a few more years than none at all. Besides, this elusive stranger could lose track of them, or even forget about the deal altogether?

"I accept your condition," Maurice stated his resolve firmly.

"Very well," the lady nodded, before pulling out an astonishingly impeccable looking blood-red rose from under her cloak. How the rose remained stowed beneath her garment without any of its petals becoming mangled or withered would continue to be a mystery to Maurice.

"Tell your wife to smell this, and the plague shall leave her," the lady commanded conclusively before handing over the flower. Maurice's brows drew together in bewilderment over the absurdity of the request, but he decided to hold his skepticism at bay. As long as my Estelle returns to health, he thought. I will do anything, no matter how ridiculous.

"I will certainly do so, Madame. Merci," he responded offhandedly. For a few silent moments, Maurice was captivated by the beautiful, but peculiar crimson rose in his hand. Its petals had a strange gleam around them, the stalk scaled with thorns that were surprisingly soft to the touch, and it carried a distinctive yet unidentifiable scent to it, unlike any other rose he had ever smelled.

"Uh, pardon me," Maurice sobered, realizing he had been staring and twirling the flower in his hands like a person who had never seen a rose before. He swiftly tucked the blossom carefully into his bag, while the enigmatic lady was still there, smiling at him understandingly.

"Would you care for some food?" Maurice offered, thinking it was the next sensible thing he could do as an immediate act of gratefulness. "I am afraid I have nothing exciting, but it would help replenish your strength." Maurice pulled his bag up and began to rummage through its contents, searching for some bread he could share.

"Oh, that's quite all right. I just returned from a long journey, that's all. A little tired, but I am fine really," Agathe politely rejected his thoughtful act, however, she took note of Maurice's kindness and generosity.

"Long journey?" Maurice repeated.

"Yes, I just came back… mmm…visiting my relatives in Villeneuve," she replied tentatively.

"Villeneuve you said?" Maurice's voice raised in interest, brows knotted artfully.

"Yes," Agathe replied tersely, observing Maurice's reaction carefully.

"Oh, what a coincidence! I have a cousin who lived there, but mind you; he said he would move out sooner or later. The ruler of that region is famous for…-"

"So, you've heard," Agathe chuckled dryly, recalling the atrocity created by the tyrannical, selfish ruler that she planned to deal with one of these days.

"Yes… not the most pleasant place to live," Maurice commented absently. "I hope there will be some revolutionary changes once his son rises to the throne."

Agathe just responded to him with an inscrutable stare before politely excusing herself. "I must get going. I wish you all the best, Monsieur Beaumont. I am sure we shall meet again someday."

"Merci beaucoup, Madame. You've truly made my day," Maurice said with sincere gratitude, consciously lifting his hat and smiling warmly at his wife's savior.

As Maurice watched the enigmatic woman's retreating form, he mused in his head about his odd and surreal encounter. He wondered whether or not it was just a resolve of his delusional sadness, a fragment of his wild imagination or a depiction of his fantasy. It all sounded so impossible, yet the rose was still there, tangible evidence that he wasn't hallucinating.

A few seconds later, he realized something. "Wait, Madame! I haven't asked your name!" Only to address Agathe's retreating back as her silhouette dissolved amidst the crowds.

Note: Hello, this is my first multi-chapter BATB fiction. After a good response putting in the series of one shot (which I am going to expand further), I want to try to write something a little deeper. There is a possibility the rating may increase to M in the later chapter, and the chance of Belle meeting Adam before the curse.

I just noticed that the same guy who played Maurice was the voice actor of Phoebus in 'Hunchback of Notredame.' I am sure this was a pure coincidence, but I like the idea of him and Esmeralda as Belle's parents, especially after I remember Maurice's remark about her being fearless.