princehonorable | (no subject)

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snow

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Currently, Charming is occupied in a great and terrible staring bout with a black and white fuzzy creature. His mother had a dog like this when he was little more than a boy, but it's not the same one. The patches are different, for a start, and so is the temperament. The odder thing, of course, is the presence of the dog in his and Snow's bedroom.

And it's staring at him.

"Hello," Charming says warily, tipping his head to one side to see if the dog responds to him. He does little more than give a whine. "Are you supposed to be somewhere? I'd remember if you were mine." Which is almost a joke in and of itself, given that there are still small gaps in his memory, as if fate is holding out one last joke on him. "Snow?" Charming summons. "There's something here you may want to see!"

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She's in the other room packing them a picnic lunch to take for the afternoon. It's something they'd started when he was still unable to walk long distances, and now it feels like a tradition - and one she doesn't quite want to give up for a while yet.

"What on Earth - " The shout is enough to garner her attention and she comes in from the kitchen to the room they share, tilting her head in a near mirror of Charming's when she spots the fuzzy intruder. "Where did he come from?"

"I have no idea," Charming remarks, his head still tipped on its precarious angle. He blinks and the dog blinks too, as if it's trying to learn from him. Cautiously, he inches closer to get a hand under the collar, rubbing his thumb under the material to bring him closer (though he puts up quite a whine). "It's got my name on it," he says, stunned.

"Your name?" Snow frowns, still a little bemused, but the puppy is cute enough to turn some of that confusion into a partly endeared look. She knows Charming is still remembering things all the time, but she would have recalled it herself if one of those memories had involved a dog, and their history together hadn't included one.

"An island gift, perhaps?" she asks, rounding the bed to stand at his side, her hand resting on his shoulder.

"Maybe," he remarks, still staring at the dog. "We had one like him when I was a child, but not with these kinds of colourations and spots," Charming says, reaching his hand down to slowly wind his fingers' way through the fur. "I don't remember getting a gift last year."

"Well, perhaps the island thought it was long overdue," Snow answers, balling up the dish towel in her other hand as she gives Charming's shoulder a squeeze.

"Is he a sheepdog?" she asks. Perhaps that would explain the significance of this particular breed of dog, but her knowledge only extends so far, and he can help her be the one to fill in the blanks this time.

"He is," he says fondly, twining his fingers with the coarse hair with a grin on his face. "Would you look at that sweet smile," he praises, peering up at Snow with an eager face, himself. "What are we going to name him?"

"How can you even tell he's smiling?" Snow teases, her own smile warming at the sight of Charming's, so excited and almost boyish as he grins.

"What do you think it should be? He's yours, isn't he?"

"I actually have no earthly clue," he admits, easing back on the bed and reaching out for Snow's hand to slide his fingers into hers. "I'd suggest 'Prince', but I think that may grow rather confusing. And I think for our well-being, we ought to stray from any name reminiscent of Red."

"That may get a little confusing with two Princes under one roof," Snow agrees, her fingers lacing through his in more of an unconscious reflex than anything else. "As flattered as I'm sure Ruby would be, that might also be for the best," she adds, with a small chuckle. "Maybe he'll just have to go nameless until we decide."

He grins at the comment, looking towards Snow. "If I were further inclined to give this dog a rough go of it, I'd name him George, but he's far too adorable to do that. Possibly we might have to name him something common. Spot or Rover or something of the like."

"Spot or Rover?" Snow echoes, looking at him with an incredulous smile. "No, look at this face," she says, reaching over to scratch underneath the puppy's chin. "He's very stately-looking. Definitely worthy of something more than Spot."

"He does have a very sweet face," Charming agrees, heart warming at the very look at the dog. He is hard pressed to recall the last time he saw something so worthy and tender. "Maybe I should leave the naming to you. You're far more intelligent and fair than I."

She smiles, patting the bed invitingly for the puppy to jump up. The mattress is almost too high off the ground for him and his back legs scramble in the air before she reaches down with a laugh and pushes his wriggling backside up enough to help him.

"You're not going to be able to shirk your naming duties when it's a child on the way," she reminds him, nudging his shoulder with her own.

He gives a laugh and wraps his arms around her waist, coaxing her into his hold. "No? I mean, I do have thoughts on if it's another girl, but only a middle name since I'd hardly want to burden a little girl with my mother's name. Actually," he admits, wrinkling his nose. "I have thoughts on boys, too."

"I had a feeling you'd already started thinking of names if you were wanting to have another baby," she answers, as the puppy tentatively crawls across their laps and then unceremoniously flops down, his chin resting on Charming's thigh.

"Maybe we're supposed to look after this little guy for a while first."

"Family names, mostly," he admits, thinking of his late mother and his late brother and the family that they could have had, but never did. "Practice?" he echoes, amused. "I remember when we were expecting Emma and we kept trying to practice being parents. We never really got to put that to work."

"Well, we went from a barely newborn infant to a twenty-seven year old woman. I'd say there was no practice involved in that," Snow points out, reaching up to gently tease the small pieces of hair that curl against the back of his neck.

"To a very spirited twenty-seven year old woman," he corrects, given that Emma certainly had inherited some of her qualities from her parents. He leans into Snow's touch, giving a hummed sound. "I'd like to believe we'd be good with an actual infant."

"Oh, I think we'd be naturals," Snow promises, leaning in slightly to brush the faintest kiss across his temple and then lingering there with a gentle nudge of her forehead, closing her eyes.

"Do you think Emma would want a sibling? If - if she knew?"

"I'd like to think so," he admits, adjusting his positioning so he's raised on one elbow as he regards her. "I think she'd like the sibling to be closer in age to her, given how the child would be younger than Henry." He gives a snort and though he only knows the boy through stories, he does know of his age. "That would make Henry the new child's nephew."

"Can you imagine? Poor Henry." Although, all things considered, the boy had been one of the few people who had managed to find out the truth about all of them before they'd even known it about themselves. It doesn't surprise Snow that her grandson is a true believer in their stories, even after being raised under Regina's roof.

"Well, I'd like to be able to introduce them to each other, someday," she decides, nodding once.

"I want that more than anything," Charming says, bridging the gap between them to steal a kiss from Snow's lips, making up for all the times he couldn't. "Well, Snow?" he murmurs fondly, nudging his fingers against her collar. "Shall we begin trying again?"

She chuckles, smiling against his mouth while attempting a kiss - an easier feat suggested than actually performed.

"Now? In front of - " She pulls back just enough to speak and tilts her head in the direction of the puppy.

"I don't think he's going to mind. He's a dog, dear," Charming says, already in the process of easing her into a laying back position with both hands on her hips to gently coax her. "Besides, if he's going to live here, he ought to get used to such noises."

She tips her head back and laughs, letting the dish towel that had been in her hand slip through her fingers to the floor.

"And twenty-seven years is an awfully long time to have to go without."