A/N: Storybrooke plot takes place between 2x9 and 2x10. This one is based off of Jennifer Morrison's answer to who she would play on the show other than her own character.
On his back, stark white shirt starting to sport a few smudges, Charming grinned. This was his element—doing, building. He'd always imagined working on his baby's crib in a nursery...just a much smaller nursery...and without half a dozen servants offering to do it for him, lest the prince strain himself.
He chuckled. A prince. Shaking his head, he let out a whistle and tightened the crib's leg.
"How's it coming?" Snow asked. From the corner of his eye, he caught her bulge first. She'd finally started to show even with her gowns on. Ebony hair flowing down her shoulders, a clear blue robe...it was about time she was able to relax. A few sparrows perched at the window ledge chirped when she passed by.
"Not too bad," he grunted, scooting over and standing up. "It's level. It's tight." He jostled the crib for a second to test it. The little crystalline mobile Snow had insisted on jingled only a little. Four more months and soon all these immaculate blankets and stuffed animals would boast all kinds of stains. The toys arranged on the shelves and the thin, brightly illustrated books would be scattered all over the floor. The fresh flowers near the chair would fail to mask the odors of soiled diapers and regurgitated mother's milk and he absolutely could not wait.
Charming found the sheriff's office grew on him. It hadn't been that long ago that he'd been a suspect here, wringing his hands worrying about Kathryn. He'd lost Mary Margaret here. On the other hand, everything had changed now and this was where Emma worked. She flipped on the lights and tossed her coat over her chair. She had moved to the other side of the desk, forming a barrier between them, to which he didn't say anything. Unlike Snow, he understood restraint and he refused to drive Emma away. After all, it really hadn't been all that long ago that he'd been nothing more than the schmuck who broke her best friend's heart.
She flipped through files for their turnover, reviewing everything he'd done in her place these last several weeks while his eyes darted from her to the unspecified right side of the room. He ought to say something. You know, flannel is so much more comfortable than leather, he thought. Yeah, that doesn't sound idiotic...
"Everything looks great," she said. He nodded. "Place is even neater than I used to keep it."
"Well, I leave everything in your capable hands," he said.
"Don't forget that." She pointed to the gun still in his holster.
"Oh, right." He unfastened the holster and imagined being in the castle, sheathing a sword and putting on riding gloves, with a little girl sitting on her parents' bed, so high up her feet didn't touch the floor.
"Did you ever actually use it?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Uh, well, I was trying to have more of an Andy Griffith thing going on," Charming chuckled, handing the holster over to her. "I still prefer a sword."
"It didn't have much effect in the Enchanted Forest," she laughed. "Still prefer it to swords and bows and arrows, though."
Connecting with Prince Charming. Did it sound as ridiculous to her as it did to him? He'd taken a look at Henry's book. It really wasn't that much better than the more generic stories out there of him out slaying monsters and rescuing damsels...wait, her face was lighting up.
"Can I tell you something? Something I've never told Mary Margaret?" He didn't answer, but angled his head and looked right into her eyes. "When I was a kid, I thought a lot of the princesses in the stories were kind of boring. I wanted to be Prince Charming." A warm exhale of a laugh escaped him, followed by a smile. "Horseback riding and killing dragons and fighting in battles—that was always the stuff I liked."
"Mar...your mother didn't teach you how to shoot an arrow?"
Emma shook her head.
"I guess then, in that case, we could teach each other how to shoot."
Now would be a good time to hug, he thought, but held back. Even at the start, right when the curse was broken and the purple fog lifted and she'd been so angry, he'd felt her snuggle just a little in his and Snow's arms, felt her press back for just a second.
But Emma was a grown woman...his heart could barely accept it...and she was a grown woman who could have used a father during parts of her life she locked away and longed to forget.
"You know, this town could really use a deputy," she said.
Then again, he could be here for her now.