He wakes to the smell of pancakes, and the sound of giggling and humming.

Ah. Must be a Saturday.

He half-considers going back to sleep, but there's pancakes to be eaten, and his stomach is all too eager to get to work. Getting out of bed takes some effort—his bum knee's been getting worse, recently—and then it's off to the kitchen to see if any pancakes are ready for eating.

The giggles turn to squeals when he's halfway to the kitchen, and when he arrives at the scene he understands why. The entire kitchen is covered in flour, and Mrs. and Ms. Gold are both rolling around on the white-dusted floor, kicking up clouds of flour as they tickle each other to within an inch of their lives.

"And what have we here?" His voice is barely audible over the shrieking tickle-fight, but his wife and daughter freeze.

The silence doesn't last long. "It was her fault!" Rose yells, before the flour has even settled.

Belle wrinkles her nose at her daughter. "My fault! Who was it who dropped the flour? I seem to remember it was you!" She punctuates her statement with a jab to her daughter's stomach, and before the patriarch of the family can get a word in edgewise, the tickle war has picked up where it left off.

"I hate to interrupt, but it would seem there are still pancakes cooking."

They freeze again, and this time Belle disentangles herself from the mess of limbs to rush to the stove. The pancakes have started to char—he can smell it from across the room.

"It was her fault, really, daddy!" Rose is at his side, now, pulling at the pajamas on his good leg and leaving powdery handprints. "She tickled first!"

"Of course she did," he says sympathetically. His left hand runs through his daughter's hair, dislodging puffs of flour. "Your mother can be exceedingly naughty at times."

At the stove, Belle turns over her shoulder to give him a wicked grin. He winks back, and she sticks out her tongue and goes back to pouring batter into the pan.

"Daddy, can we have pancakes now?"

"Of course, dearie," he smiles, taking her hand. "Let's go set the table, and then we can have all the pancakes you like." He hesitates at the threshold to the dining room. "…Although we might want to get you into some clean clothes, first."

One change of clothes later, Rose is taking plates from her father's arm to set the table. Belle hums at the stove, and her husband hums a counterpoint from the dining room. The smell of pancakes wafts through the house.

Because it's a Saturday, and in the Gold household, Saturday means pancakes.