Author's Note: I do not own the characters etc of Once Upon a Time
Here she is, perfectly put together as always. I've not so secretly envied that from the day I met her. I can't believe she still wears those impractical but oh so sexy heels that really do define her legs. I know she's caught me staring from time to time but I am only human.
Apparently she won't stop wearing them until she busts a hip. Well I've already done that - got the new metal one to prove it. At least it doesn't ache anymore. God she looks good. I know that nightly routine of hers has kept wrinkles at bay unlike myself who's starting to look like a road map.
But she, she will always look beautiful, even though she hates the grey hair, which let me tell you, somehow only makes her look better. She's here to see me, like most days, just to check in. To see if I'm checked in because I guess, some days I can't remember a thing.
Which isn't all bad until I forget my son, until I forget her. That's when I wish my mind would just do its job & remember it all because I can't forget them.
"Hello, Blondie," she says in that voice, the one that's only gotten a little bit huskier over the years.
"I'm hardly blonde, I'm turning white," I snort in amusement.
"Quite fitting considering who you are, dear" and there she is, sitting on the corner of my desk, legs crossed.
Always the proper lady unlike me with my knees spread wide and hunched down in my chair.
"White Knight?" I question skeptically.
She only nods once, a stray lock of hair falling out of place. How I want to tuck it back behind her ear but I can't. That's not my place and it never has been.
As I cross my arms over my chest, I remind her, "I haven't been that in quite awhile. Just the Sheriff. If I can call myself that."
There goes that damn eyebrow, arching perfectly.
"Have you forgotten your job already?"
Only she can get away with a wise crack like that.
"No, well yes I did once but I'm not a fucking Sheriff, just sitting at this desk answering phones," I huff out in frustration.
Maybe we've had this conversation before. I don't remember. Either way before I know it, her arms are on the armrests of my chair and she's in my personal space. Just like it's always been.
"You have protected this town, it's people, your family for 30 years. Your stubbornness and unfortunate Charming genes have seen you on the brink of death more times than I can count. You're not young anymore. Let your deputies sort out the cats in trees and drunk teenagers. You've earned your title and you've earned an easier job."
With that, she's already turned and halfway to the door before I can even think of something to say.
"But a monkey could do this job," I whine, which isn't befitting to a person over 60.
"True and you did date one of those once," she winks and I hear her laughter up the hallway.
"See you tomorrow," I call out as I shake my head.
30 years and she still won't let the monkey thing go.