Chapter Text
In the quiet of the hour, her ears hyperfocus on the ticking of the clock, the inescapable passage of time. For the first time in...
It’s been like this for as long as Snow can recall...
For the first time since they built this community, the Business Office has no list of people waiting to be seen as the day comes to a close. It’s a rare occasion, but Snow has gotten through all of the day’s appointments and has begun to progress on the backlog of jobs, long overdue work from the Crooked Man’s operations.
It’s a fact of their nature that each Fable has a unique skill, even if they’re not all aware of their capacity. She’s tasked with the arduous job of identifying their residents’ skills and finding suitable employment. King Cole gave her the role, blissfully unaware of how little time she has in the working day, but she is working through the list of Fables.
Some were easier than others.
Beast and Bufkin are working through the archives and the library, cataloguing the Old-World trinkets, the lore of their history, and the novels that have never been tracked; translations begun with Bufkin's guidance. It’s a task that will take years to complete, and she hopes that by the time it's finished, she’ll have an assistant to take over some of the tasks.
Beauty was offered the role of Deputy Mayor. It was an offer that would lower their rent, provide a steady and stable income, and ease the burden on Snow’s shoulders.
Snow maintained her composure when Beauty declined the role, citing a lack of enjoyment from the role, but inside, she was seething. Beggars can’t be choosers.
It lowered Beauty down her list - there are plenty of other fables who are down on their luck, who are much more willing to take any given opportunity to help themselves.
Aunty Greenleaf is on the books – officially, creating budget-friendly solutions for their peers. He may have disobeyed a direct order, but in his insubordination, Bigby Wolf secured the future of Fabletown and many of the residents who previously struggled to stay afloat. How he persuaded Greenleaf to create glamours for such a low price, Snow isn’t so sure, and she’s not sure she wants to know.
It’s not violence; there are no injuries on her small frame, but manipulation wouldn’t be out of Bigby’s reach.
All in all, Fabletown is flourishing, renewed as a stronger democracy.
But that chapter, for Snow, is incomplete.
She’s heard things of the case; things Bigby told her that she’s never forgotten. One piece of evidence has lingered in her psyche, something that won’t let her have finality in that chapter of the most awful part of Fabletown’s history.
The photograph.
When she’d taken his desk, it was oddly satisfying to throw the nametag into the Witching Well, the closest she could do to throwing that weasel down the well. For what he did, he wouldn’t face a severe punishment – a fine, community service, or assets seized. It wouldn’t be anything that she feels would be sufficient for how Crane hurt her.
The reason that Snow hasn’t yet seen the photo isn’t her choice – it's someone infuriatingly caring: Bigby Wolf.
Simply put, the reason she’s not yet seen the because the Sheriff won’t let her see it. When she first asked, he claimed that it was tied up in a case file as thick as their stories from the old world. He didn’t have the time to go rummaging around the folder for a small piece of paper, in a manila folder of hundreds of pages of notes and witness statements.
While not entirely untrue, that’s not the entire reason that the wolf hasn’t shown her the picture. In his words, seeing that photo was weird. It took a little coaxing to get him to elaborate, and he did give her more information.
Seeing the photograph and knowing that it wasn’t Snow, his eyes deceived him. What he saw was Snow White, Deputy Mayor, with Ichabod Crane’s hand beneath her dress. The explanation helped, but morbid curiosity has settled deep in her bones, and she’s not sure that she’ll ever be free from intrigue.
As an elected official, she should have an in-depth knowledge of the misuse of Fabletown funds. A combination of her victim’s rights, her responsibilities as newly elected mayor, and Bigby’s gentle concern, all overlapping with her sick curiosity. If she could get past the lock, she wouldn’t need the wolf.
Glancing towards the clock, she heaves a sigh.
18:15
Everybody else has left, but she’s sure that he’s still here. Bigby is often found in one of two places – his apartment or his office.
The line between work and downtime is blurred for him, just as much as it is for her. Snow has seen the wolf enter his office at noon and not emerge until the evening of the following day, having done the same when she's had a mountain of Crane's paperwork to organise.
Standing from her desk, she plucks her keys before glancing around the office. Bufkin is already in the rafters, stumbling drunkenly, and she’s safe to approach the sheriff.