A/N: This is my first piece of fanfiction in years (like... 8 years), so if you feel so inclined, please do comment and critique! I hope you all enjoy, and obviously, I do not own OUaT, for if I did, we would not have to wait so long for particular story lines to be resolved. :)

Belle had gotten used to her routine in the castle over the past several weeks – crude tallies on the dungeon wall signaled it had been 27 days since she saw her father and Gaston for the last time. In all honestly, it felt entirely like a lifetime – even if it was not a completely terrible change. Not worrying about staving off Gaston's advances was certainly a burden she did not miss…

And rather than the persistent threat of war and destruction, she was pushed into the constant pursuit of dust and grime, which created an entirely new ritual for the young woman. She would rise with the sun – sometimes before it, preparing breakfast and tea, clean sections of the estate – it had to be compartmentalized over several days or she would never finish, prepare an afternoon meal, attend to the collection (which seemed to be his most important task for her), and whatever other tasks he prescribed to her before she was to prepare supper and evening tea. It was only after all of this was over, that she could take some leisure with a book, and even then, she was usually in the company of Rumpelstiltskin, anyway.

Though he had been unrelenting at first, keeping her up with him, demanding this or that for his spinning, as the weeks wore on, he seemed to ease on her, perhaps pleased at her work, or finally realized she would nod off while dusting, and let her take leave of her post by the strike of ten or eleven in the evening, depending on his generosity (it was almost always nearer to eleven).

So, after her evening bath, when she was laying on her straw mattress, a blanket and cloak wrapped around her to keep out the chill, she would usually fall straight into sleep – it did not even matter that she had once been conditioned to sleep on feather soft mattresses, now she could fall asleep anywhere… But, on those nights that she couldn't sleep, particularly in the beginning, she thought she heard horses on cobbles through the small window, and voices speaking in hushed whispers, but on the nights she wasn't too tired to pick her body up from the straw mattress, she would peer through her tiny windows only to be looking out at nothing. Not even a deer, straying from the wood.

It was so peculiar, but this whole place was, undoubtedly, peculiar. Even after a month, there was so much magic – and it didn't just… fade into the background, like a scent. It pretended to, but there were moments every day where it prickled at her skin, and teased the spot right where her neck met her back, sending shivers down her spine when she least expected it. It never seemed to bother Rumpelstiltskin. And neither did the persistent draft.

While she tried her best to not complain, Belle made her protest a bit more visual – hoping that the humor in it would subdue a tantrum and bypass conflict. Though she was not afraid of him, she certainly wasn't going to start a fight. So, in the absence of anything else, she wore her travel cloak turned blanket over her simple dress while she dusted the interior of the cabinet, hood drawn up and folds drawn tight around her.

She heard footsteps behind her – the only ones she got used to, and could only hear after these few months – before, it was as though he was a stealthy as a cat. "Going somewhere?" his voice lilted, and though he tried to sound humorous, she could sense hardness in it.

Turning to look over her shoulder, she raised her hand to pull back the fold of fabric, not even concealing her smirk, "The library." A simple enough reply, she thought, and started to turn back toward the cabinet.

Before she had the chance to get all the way around, it was like he had been standing next to her the whole time. She was used to his tricks, of course, but the sneaking… it always made her jump, just a little bit. And he smirked, brown-gold eyes dancing with mirth, "A bit… overdressed, aren't we, Dearie?" he quirked an eyebrow, his hands drawn close to his chest, but one pointer finger motioning up and down the length of her body.

"Oh? This?" she asked, just barely swishing the cloak from side to side, "I didn't want to catch my death in this drafty old room," almost casually enough to be offhand, and she tried not to look at him as she said so, but her eyes flicked to the side anyway, she could not help herself – and she realized his expression changed abruptly. She had missed something.

"What a shame that would be," he mused, returning to that devious tone he seemed to like so much, "How my estate would suffer!" She rolled her eyes, trying to diffuse a bubble of laughter that threatened to spill out, and continued her dusting – unperturbed by his attitude, and the way he just walked away without another word. She heard the familiar creek of the stool by the spinning wheel and then the quiet, methodical turning – just as it always was until she finished the cabinet and departed for the library.

As far as she was aware, Rumpelstiltskin remained spinning while she was busy at work, and only ceased for the brief period they took tea together after supper, where he always insisted on using that ridiculous, chipped cup. She had voiced her concern, that he might cut himself, but he would just smile – never answered her query, but continued on, using that cup.

Sometimes, she was convinced he did it just to vex her. She'd be lying if she said it did not work. But, he was the master, and such indulgences were his choices, not hers. She was still wearing the cloak, though took the hood off, and curled up in one of the chairs, feeling as though she could disappear within not only the cloak, but the cushions, at any second. He sat at his usual seat, looking contemplative.

There was never a moment where he looked like he thought of nothing, and Belle, however hard she tried not to decipher his expression, could not keep silent on the matter anymore. "What are you thinking about?"

He looked up from the rim of the tea cup and grinned; "Of shoes-and ships-and sealing-wax- Of cabbages-and kings…" he trailed off waving his free hand, still laughing at himself.

Belle smiled though, a cryptic little expression, while she lifted her head and rocked her shoulders just a little, proud of herself: "And why the sea is boiling hot- And whether pigs have wings?"

It almost looked like he was speechless, but Belle knew better, and watched as his lips picked up into a rueful smile. "You do remember what happens to the oysters, don't you?" He took on that feral look, giggling wildly over the edge of the teacup.

"Fortunately then, I am not a mollusk," she quipped quickly, taking a sip from her cup.

Rumpelstiltskin's shoulders shook and it looked, for a moment, like he might spit his tea right out – but he composed himself and did not say a word. Belle frowned, "Are you alright?"

"Quite," he coughed; his voice still shaky from nearly choking. He touched the small patch of exposed upper chest near his collar and cleared his throat again – it sounded so much deeper than his normal voice.

Shaking her head, Belle smiled and teased, "It would be a minor inconvenience were I to freeze to death, but for the master of the castle to choke on his tea? It would be a veritable tragedy." It was the master's turn to scoff and he did, so much like himself, and put the teacup on the saucer and the saucer on the tray.

"Clean this up," he waved his hand at the tray, unconcerned as to whether or not she had finished her share, and started to stride over to the spinning wheel, "and fetch me some fresh straw."

Belle sighed, pushing herself up from the chair – exceedingly careful to not break this teacup. She was such a clumsy thing sometimes, and couldn't bear to destroy any more of the valuables. One teacup, a plate, and two vases seemed enough for one vandal's career… But, she was fortuitous in her pursuit, having risen without assaulting the fragile china, and made her way across the room, cloak still swinging behind her.

As she crossed, she heard another huff from across the room and glanced over, "Did you really wear that all day?" he asked impatiently, the wheel spinning more quickly than his usual, steady pace.

Belle just smiled, "I did," she balanced the tray in her hands, not moving yet – for fear of losing concentration, "and I was very comfortable – so I might have to make it a habit." She heard the displeased clicks of his tongue and he shook his head, returning to that wheel as though she had said nothing, and waved one hand at her, the now recognized sign for 'hurry up, then!'

And she did. Though distant, reaching the kitchen only took a few moments, if one knew which turns to take, and Belle had learned them quickly, as it seemed the kitchen and she were to be constant companions. She emptied the tea pot, used what seemed to be the endless supply of warm water to clean the pot– there were times she was grateful for the magic – and then moved to the cups. She was careful, but even more so with the chipped one. Though she did not like it, Rumpelstiltskin had taken a liking to it, and she would hate to see his temper should she break it further…

These were routine things though, and she laid them out to the dry before stepping out into the storehouse, grabbing up the basket of hay she had prepared that morning, humming through the halls as she walked, greeted by the all too familiar, "That took you long enough."