Chapter Text
The stale smell of smoke, old and new, clung to the corners of the Woodlands’ shoebox-sized security office. Behind a battered desk, the Big Bad Wolf pushed pencils, trying his best to keep his heavy eyes open and focused on words that refused to stay still.
It had been a long week. Bigby hadn’t rested in three- no, four days. He hadn’t even seen the inside of his apartment in that time. Any hints of sleep he’d gotten had been snatched in the back of cabs between crime scenes and suspects.
His aching hips and calves were thankful for the chance to sit, but the rest of him was much more restless.
Bigby hated paperwork.
The idle documentation of his investigations only served to piss him off. He could be doing something useful, chasing leads, scaring suspects, but instead, he was stuck here so Snow would stay off his back.
At least his nose got a break in here. No perfume, no sewer steam, no lies sweating through cologne. Just the stale stink of cigarette smoke and the grounding comfort of his own scent layered into every surface.
With his patience already shot, when Bluebeard let himself into his office for the third time that week, smelling like old money and expensive tastes, he didn’t look up. Just grunted. “Door was closed for a reason.”
Bigby wrinkled his nose. So much for the break.
“Yes, yes. Privacy. Confidentiality.” Bluebeard’s voice was as smooth as always, like wine poured over velvet. “And yet, the lock remains tragically unused.”
Bigby didn’t answer. He was halfway through a report Snow had marked “URGENT” with three underlines. Which meant it probably wasn’t, but would be if he didn’t finish it before heading home.
Bluebeard took the liberty of seating himself. He was in one of those ridiculous tailored coats again, all gold trim and smug posture. Bigby could feel his gaze crawling up his neck.
“You’ve been keeping yourself scarce, Bigby,” Bluebeard said, primly folding one leg over the other. “Solving crimes. Guarding Fabletown’s virtue. Looking…” He paused delicately. “Worn.”
Bigby paused to look up at the well-dressed man, blinking harshly as his eyes refused to refocus. “I’ve been working.”
“Of course you have. Heroism becomes you. But surely even the Big Bad Wolf is allowed a break now and then.”
Bluebeard leaned forward, smile just sharp enough to raise a few internal alarms, alarms Bigby, in all his social brilliance and sheer exhaustion, completely ignored.
“I was thinking,” Bluebeard purred, “we might dine together. My place. Rare steak, aged wine, and conversation that doesn’t involve blood spatters. Doesn’t that sound... civil?”
Bigby frowned. “You need to tell me something?”
Bluebeard blinked once. Then once again. When he spoke, it was slowly, as if he was talking to a small child, or a particularly dull adult. “No. I am inviting you. To dinner.”
“Right.” Bigby rubbed the back of his neck. “You want to discuss… town budgets?”
“Gods, you’re charming,” Bluebeard sighed with fond exasperation, sitting back again. “No, Sheriff. I want to watch you eat something that isn’t a cold sandwich and cigarette ash. Preferably in a setting with candlelight.”
Bigby froze. That… That sounded like a date.
But that couldn’t be right.
No one wanted to date him. People barely wanted to speak to him. Most of Fabletown still looked at him like he might snap and rip their throats out, and not entirely without reason.
“…Are you threatening me?” he asked with no malice. He was genuinely confused.
Bluebeard actually laughed. Not mockingly, not cruelly. Just… laughed. “Gods, no. I’m flirting.”
Bigby’s ears burned. “Oh.”
Like the light switch connected to his nose had been flipped, he was suddenly drowning in the musk of Bluebeard’s… interest.
He straightened in his seat, feeling oddly self-conscious of the sight he must make. Unshowered, exhausted, and probably tattered from his latest escapades chasing god-knows-what through Fabletown’s underbelly.
Bluebeard stood, straightening his coat, smugness settling around him like a favorite scarf. “Don’t strain yourself thinking about it. If you decide to say yes, I’ll have something tailored for you. Something black. You’d look devastating in black.”
He winked, an actual wink, and left.
Bigby stared after him, dazed.
He forgot to finish the report.