Spun with Gold

A/N: I know, it's been awhile, but good news: I have a jobly thing that actually gives me cashy money! *cues parade and fanfare* Yay!

As usual, I don't own dear Rumples or Belle or any of that. And the reason I wait so long to update on these running show fics are because I like to keep them as canon as possible. Helps to improve the illusion of plausibility.

Speaking of: TWO MORE EPISODES TILL THE VERY END. Excited? Yes.

As always, feel completely free to review with pros and cons alike. Seriously. Feel VERY free.

Always my dear loves,

|ACP|

Chapter 3: In making deals

In Rumplestiltskin's experience, making deals required an acute ability to rebound from unexpected variations. Like the merchant Lord's daughter, Belle. She'd been at the Dark Castle an entire month and had thoroughly accepted her fate. The kitchen shone with an unaccustomed clean, the spnning room well dusted and the entrance hall mopped and organized, with even a boquet of flowers in a vase, because she'd thought they "brightened the place up". Very quickly he'd realized that no matter how many chores he gave her, she wasn't going to try and wriggle out of them. When he listed off her duties, she'd accepted them all with a thoughtful nod and respectful confirmation. He'd expected to have a snappy, rude comment at the very least.

But no.

The rich, priviliged girl had set straight to work, making tea and meals, coaxing herbs from the garden and constantly cleaning and offering up polite conversation. He began to wonder if something was wrong with the girl. She was so content to work. And he could find absolutely nothing to complain about. Her meals, (after the first two or so) were delicious, her tea somehow the precise strength he preferred it, and her cleaning thorough and neat. She seemed to exude contented resignation. It completely unhinged him.

This, on top of her seeming complete respect for him, made him strongly suspect her of being a sociopath. The first day after she arrived, she served him just the right morning tea. He stared from her to it for a few moments, until she noticed and grinned. "It's not poisoned, I promise." she assured him, setting breakfast scones before him, accompanied by delectable smelling bacon and eggs topped with cheese. "And why not, dearie? You'd be free you know." he teased, pretending to scrutinize the little teacup he hadn't known he even owned. "Not really. We did say forever right?" she pointed out, barely holding back a smile. "That we did. Stuck with me forever, I'd poison me too."

Belle laughed and shook her head, unwittingly throwing a strong wave of rose-scent over him, accompanied by the odd and musty smell of old books. "I hope it's steeped long enough, I didn't know how strong you liked it." she went on apologetically, rubbing her hands on her dress as though suddenly afraid he might smite her for watery tea. What a terribly amusing idea. He took a tentative sip and found it not only exactly as he liked it, but just the right temperature to be drank with ease. "I just made it how I have it, I can make more differenly if you want-" she began to babble when he didn't say anything. Fearing that she might continue on chattering nervously, which was getting irritating very quickly, he eyed her skeptically and said, "It's just tea." Belle visibly relaxed, a relieved smile spreading across her face. The resulting effect was like a ray of golden light. Probably just that fancy dress, he reasoned. That reminded him. She'd need different clothes for daily wear. Maybe he should get around to that.

Eventually.

She excused herself to tend to her other chores and he sipped his tea thoughtfully, realizing that this particular conversation had been their longest yet. The entire day before, he'd suffered through her polite respect. This casual, laughing Belle was much more tolerable.

Now a month later she sat with him as he ate, asking informed questions about his work, speaking her opinions on whatever deals he was immersed in that week. "Do you ever get tired of dealing?" she asked, stealing one of his lemon poppyseed scones and tucking her feet up under her on the chair beside him. "Never. The people though dearie, I could do without them." He gave her a pointed look and she rolled her eyes. Rumplestiltskin only pretended he couldn't care less. The people were fun to mess with and the deals always tipped in his favor. Just look at this one. In exchange for a problem he'd started, he'd gotten an entertaining housekeeper, one that seemed interested in his workings and was willing to keep him company. Not a bad outcome. Even though he still liked the other deals he'd been hoping to make through her, he had come well enough to terms with the fact that he was more or less stuck with the girl for the rest of her life.

"Well I think you'll get tired of it eventually." She reasoned, and he smiled. "300 years. I've not got tired yet." He ignored the surprise practically shooting out of her and set about taking a scone for himself, buttering it and somehow maintaining his composure. "Really? 3oo years?" she asked, aghast. And then her demeanor changed and she squinted at him, half-grinning. "Oh I see. You're lying again." He just munched his scone in a dignified manner, pretending to ignore her. "You are! Fibber." She laughed anyway, and he didn't have the heart to tell her she was wrong. "Don't you have curtains to dust?" he asked, faking irritation. "Don't you have gold to spin?" she retorted playfully, the wicked glint from her childhood back in her eyes. Rumplestiltskin sent her off, swatting at her and closing the door as she left the room, still laughing.

Yes, in making deals it is very important to adjust to variations. Especially the ones that make excellent scones.