Chapter Text
It was the day of the Remembrance Day Ball of 1892 when it happened. Every Fable in town talked excitedly about the annual event as they made their preparations. Horses and carriages were being dolled up for the later evening, dress shirts and skirts were being ironed out, early donations were being filed. Meanwhile, Bigby Wolf couldn’t think of anything else other than what had been ailing him for the last two centuries.
He couldn’t for the life of him remember how it started, but one day he realized he had a funny feeling in his chest whenever he was around Snow White. His heart rate would increase even by only a little and he would instantly be in good spirits. It was the strangest thing. Bigby had gone to Doctor Swineheart about it earlier that week. Perhaps it was a human related disease he wasn’t aware of. But all the doctor did was smirk and state that he couldn’t help him.
That morning he thought maybe he was allergic to Snow’s perfume, so he headed over to the office next to his and walked in. Snow and Bufkin looked busy sorting out the donations they had received so far while Crane read a newspaper at his desk.
As per usual, Snow looked lovely and every bit the professional she was. There was a lot he admired about her. How hard she worked, how fierce she was. Her kindness and empathy to the citizens of Fabletown knew no bounds and her never ending strength amazed him. And he supposed he was too focused on all of that when he walked right into Crane’s coatrack. Bigby nearly went tumbling to the ground along with it but saved himself the bruises at the last minute.
He stared back at the wide and confused gazes directed at him. His eyes fixed on Snow’s and he felt his nerves beginning to fry at the ends. “Sorry, I thought I would practice my dancing for tonight.” He said stupidly.
Snow giggled. “I dare say you need more practice, Mr. Wolf.”
“This is a place of business, Sheriff Wolf.” Crane said, clearly annoyed.
“And I have no business with you, Crane,” Bigby replied, placing the coatrack right again. “So rest easy knowing there’s nothing you need to worry about from me.”
Bigby walked over to Snow at her desk. “Miss White, I have an odd question for you.”
She put her papers down. “Do tell.”
“May I try some of your perfume? I fear I might be allergic to it.”
“Allergic?”
“Yes, it’s a long story but I need to test this theory.”
Snow, looking puzzled at him, opened one of her desk drawers and took a small ornate bottle out of it. Before Bigby could do anything with it, she puffed some of it directly onto two of her fingers and took one of his hands, holding it palm side up, and rubbed her two fingers onto his inner wrist. Bigby felt her touch burn his skin. An unfamiliar sick feeling flew inside in stomach. Snow removed her hands and though the burning subsided, it still tingled.
“I think it’s working.” Bigby said, looking intensely at his wrist.
“Are you sure?” Snow asked, looking as well. “I don’t see it turning red.”
“Is perfume supposed to do that?”
“No, but that would happen if you were allergic to it,” She sat straighter in her chair. “Give it some time. If it turns red, then your theory is correct.”
“And if not?”
“Then go see Doctor Swineheart about it.”
“I did, and he said he couldn’t help me--”
“Sheriff Wolf, Miss White is a very busy woman. Leave her be and go back to your own work.” Crane piped in from his desk.
“Crane, Mr. Wolf is possibly having a health issue--”
“No, it’s all right. If the doctor isn’t worried, then I shouldn’t be,” Bigby interrupted, standing up from the chair in front of Snow’s desk and made his leave. “I’ll see you both later at the ball.”
Crane grumbled a response.
Before Bigby got to the door, he turned around to shoot Snow a smile and she returned it. She had a very special smile that reminded him of the angels he’d seen in paintings. Once again he wasn’t looking and walked right into the closed door. He quickly left the room afterwards.
The morning became the afternoon and soon it faded into the evening. The moon and stars glittered for the city below as lovers walked hand in hand and children rushed home for supper. Carriages trotted down the road from the Woodlands to the celebration and out of them stepped Fables dressed to the nines in their finest suits and gowns. They entered the ballroom and marveled at the decorations. The romantic candlelight glimmered against the chandeliers and floral vines hung like garland on the walls and window frames and accompanying them were bouquets on every table.
The party was in full swing by time Bigby arrived. He’d done a walk around the ballroom and greeted a few of his friends before deciding to sit by a window and drink whatever alcohol was available. Unfortunately it was a fruity wine. Time passed and he was soon joined by a familiar face at his table.
“Good evening, Sheriff.” Doctor Swineheart greeted him.
“‘Evening.” Bigby said in return.
“I thought I’d pop around to check on your illness, how is that going?”
Bigby gave him a sour look.
The doctor chuckled. “That bad, I see.”
“You cannot help me and I’ve ruled out allergies,” He looked at his inner wrist which still smelled like Snow’s perfume. “This is one mystery I can’t solve and it’s driving me mad.”
“You told me your symptoms occurred whenever you were around Miss White, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps you’re suffering from the shot of a heart shaped arrow.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I trust you’ll figure it out, Sheriff. Goodnight.” And so Doctor Swineheart got up and left.
The shot of a heart shaped arrow? The only thing that came to mind was Cupid but he didn’t exist. And besides, how on earth was that relevant to Bigby right now? He thought for a moment about hunting the doctor down and giving him an impromptu interrogation but decided not to, not feeling like making a scene. Eventually, Cinderella walked close by and Bigby waved her over.
“Good Evening!” Cinderella greeted him happily.
“I need to ask you something strange.” Bigby said to her, forgoing his side of the pleasantries.
She raised an eyebrow at him, intrigued. “Of course.”
Bigby went on to explain of his recent troubles to his secret spy, including his very recent conversation with Doctor Swineheart. By the end of it, Cinderella was failing miserably at hiding her grin. Bigby grumbled. “What?”
“I just never thought I’d live to see the day that Bigby Wolf fell in love.” She giggled.
He stared at her like she suddenly grew three extra heads at once. “What? How is that possible, I’m not attracted to human women.”
“You say so, and yet it looks like your heart is telling you different.”
Bigby was about to continue arguing with her when a series of noises rang out over the crowd. It sounded as if a fight had begun given all the yelling and crashing and gasps from people scrambling to get out of the way. He got up from the table and just barely saw over the bobbing heads Boy Blue and Pinocchio fist fighting on the ground while Flycatcher tried to break it up. Cinderella had already gotten closer to see what the fuss was about and Bigby was about to head over himself and deal with it when a delicate hand took his.
He whipped his head around and saw that it was Snow White.
“Follow me.” She said to him.
And he did. Bigby wordlessly let himself be lead out of the ballroom and down the hall to a private office room that was lit by a few candles. Waiting for them on the desk in the room were two champagne glasses and a small bottle of whiskey. He heard Snow close the large wooden door behind them, thus making sure they were alone.
“I know this is rather improper and I’m a few months late,” Snow finally said, walking over to him at the desk and opening the bottle to pour it into the glasses. “But you’ve been Sheriff for two centuries now and I intend to toast to you about it.”
She held her glass to him and Bigby chuckled. Smiling the whole time he took the remaining glass and went to clink it against Snow’s but she moved her’s away.
“Not yet, I still need to say my speech.”
“Oh? I get a speech?”
“Yes you do.” She cleared her throat. “To Bigby Wolf. Our Sheriff who has provided two hundred years of loyal service to the community and may he continue to do so. Cheers.”
He stared at her for a moment. “That’s it?”
“What do you mean ‘that’s it’?”
“I expected it to be longer.”
“Oh no, not for just two hundred years. If you wish to have a long speech you’ll have to wait for your three hundredth and forty seventh year of service.”
He snorted. “That’s oddly specific, Miss White.”
“Isn’t it, Mr. Wolf?"
The pair shared a good laugh and finally toasted to the special occasion. They took a silent sip each of the whiskey and Bigby laughed again at Snow’s scrunched up features. Clearly it wasn’t her type of drink.
They stood in comfortable silence, leaning on the desk, their arms a breath away from touching. Out of the corner of his eye, Bigby couldn’t help but notice how radiant Snow was. She wore an ivory gown with matching roses in her pinned up hair and pearls adorned her neck and ears. The candlelight danced across her raven hair and her baby blue eyes looked so soft and enchanting.
“Thank you, for this.” He said just loud enough for her to hear.
She replied in the same quiet voice. “You’re welcome.”
Bigby could almost swear that Snow was blushing now, but he was hesitant to say it for certain in case he was wrong. He chuckled again when Snow’s face contorted when she sipped her whiskey.
“Here.” He gestured for her to give him her glass and she did. He then poured the rest of it into his glass.
“How can you drink that stuff?”
“So far it’s the only alcohol I’ve enjoyed,” He shrugged. “Where did you get this anyway, I thought they were only serving that fancy wine?”
“I found it in the kitchen and snuck it here.”
He grinned. “Are you suggesting you stole alcohol for me? I’m touched.”
“I’m suggesting nothing of the sort.”
Now he could say she was blushing. Now he would bet good money on the fact that a rosy colour was blooming on her cheeks and being illuminated by the candlelight. He thought back to the first day they met. In the Homelands in a stretch of field that had been matted down by the tired feet of prisoners. How fearless Snow had been while she held a bloodied stolen sword to him, the Big Bad Wolf. Something in him changed in that very moment. Her scent had intoxicated him. It was like warm sugar and cinnamon on the coldest day of winter, and had since found himself tugged towards her by an unbreakable string.
And years later when he thought about this day, The Remembrance Day Ball of 1892, hiding in a private room with Snow with the taste of whiskey on his tongue and her sweet scent overwhelming his senses, Bigby would know that it was this moment that it hit him. There’d be times he would thank the heavens for this day and others where he would curse it in his trademark colourful language, but no matter what the truth would remain the same. He was undeniably head over tail in love with Snow White.
“Huh.” Was all he said, downing the rest of his drink in one swift motion.
“What?” She asked him, clearly concerned.
“It’s nothing,” He lied. “I just remembered that Blue and Pinocchio had gotten into a fight.”
“Oh goodness, yes. I hope it’s been settled.”
“Knowing them it must be.”
“I suppose I should go back out there, by now people must have noticed my absence.” Snow said, removing herself from their intimate little bubble.
Bigby wanted to take her hand and pull her back in. He wanted to insist that she stay with him and forget the world outside of this room in favour of conversing for the rest of the night. Joking and laughing and wrapped up in each other. But he knew she’d say no. And he didn’t even have the nerve to ask. Instead he watched her leave.
“And, Bigby?”
His head snapped up.
“Thank you, for being such a good sheriff.”
He smiled at her. “Thank you, for always believing in me, Snow.”
She smiled back. “Goodnight. Enjoy the whiskey.”
And so she left, and Bigby Wolf was left to figure out how to handle his newfound feelings of romance. Because another truth he came to was that Snow White was never going to feel the same way towards him, so Bigby decided that he wasn’t going to do a damn thing about how he felt.
It didn’t take him long to finish the whiskey and by time he left, other partygoers were leaving the ball. He didn’t bother going back inside the ballroom to say goodnight to anyone, figuring he’d see those same people in the morning at work. He immediately saw Snow talking to King Cole, probably about work because she was incredibly dedicated to her community. Bigby didn’t stop and wave, he just went home. He went straight to bed.
He thought of Snow the entire time he was trying to fall asleep. It brought him a foreign type of joy and a sense of heartache bubbling in his chest.
Shit.
Fuck.
Damn.
Hell.