Chapter Text
Tap tap tap.
“I can’t make any sense of it. Can’t be… can’t be true.” Snow sat at her desk, wide-eyed and paler than usual. Her eyes transfixed on the infinite stack of documents and letters from various Fables, actively avoiding eye contact with the green, winged monkey perched at the end of her desk.
“I’m sorry, Miss White. Truly,” Bufkin said, suppressing an amount of sadness on his face, “but don’t hate the messenger. Bluebeard is the one who sent me up here. ‘Right away, or I’ll skin your little green hide!’ he said. I don’t think he likes me. Not to worry, though, I’m twice as scared of you.”
Tap tap tap.
If looks could kill, then Bufkin would be a green and red smear on the stonework. He shriveled away from Snow White’s black look, and added timidly, “Just trying to lighten the mood, is all.”
She ignored him. “Did he say where?”
“One of the holding cells, I think. That’s where they are now.” Bufkin cautiously eyed her hand, which seemed to be preoccupied with a pen chipping into the desk.
Tap tap tap.
“Okay, Bufkin,” her breath quivered, if just for a moment, but she quickly regained composure, “please, go ahead and tell him I’ll be on my way.”
“Right away, Miss White.” He flew off into the air with a swish before hovering above to shoot her a hesitant glance. “Should I also contact Mr. Woodchipper about repairing the desk for you?”
Tap tap—
Abruptly, her hand stopped hammering the pen into the wood. Instead, fingers gripped tightly around it until her knuckles whitened. She gave Bufkin an apologetic look, and replied, “No, that won’t be necessary.” No longer occupying her hands, her nervous energy decided to manifest as a trembling in her legs. “At least, not for now. Thank you, dismissed.”
Once Bufkin was out of sight, Snow’s calm and collectedness she often exhibited quickly crumbled to the wayside as she tried to parse through what the monkey had told her.
Sheriff Bigby was being held in their custody for the murder of a Fabletown citizen and three Mundie police officers. Bufkin seemed to downplay it, but from what he barely described, it sounded… brutal. Like savagery. Enough to be condemned to the witching well. After the incident, he’d been arrested off-site by Mundie police en route to the Woodlands from the Trip Trap Bar. But now he was here, in The Woodlands, being watched by Bluebeard. The thought left a sour taste in her mouth as she shooed the images of Bluebeard’s extensive torture instrument collection from her mind.
She pushed her chair to the side, after stopping to straighten her blazer and tidy her hair, and bee-lined for the door.
“Office is closed,” she announced to the line of waiting Fables while she fumbled with the lock, “please, go home.”
The chorus of ‘bullshit!’ and ‘I’ve been waiting here for hours!’ fell on deaf ears as she hurried to the elevator. This was wrong. So, very wrong. Snow couldn’t make any sense of it, but she was going to get her answers, even if she had to fight tooth and nail for them.
The echo of her heels in the stone corridors made it seem like a second pair of footsteps stalked closely behind Snow, waiting for a chance to strike her backside. Her apprehensive glances over her shoulder did no favors except make her look insane, paranoid at best. The only thing that was haunting her right now was the doubt and guilt that plagued her mind, replaying the details of Bufkin’s imagery on repeat.
Snow White was a proud woman and one who was very sure of herself. To a fault, it seemed. The voice in her mind that suggested she was wrong about Bigby spurred most of the guilt. She put a lot of trust in the man, more so than she had in any other man or animal. Centuries she’s known him, but never truly knew him, like she thought she had. Innocent until proven guilty, innocent (one fable dead, Mundie police involved) until proven guilty. The mantra spun through her head until it drowned out any other thought. She had to know, had to see him for herself. In this case, justice was blind, and with Fabletown law on her side, she couldn’t make any rash decisions or else forfeit everything she had worked so hard to establish.
“Ah, our fairest Snow White,” a supercilious voice cut through her thoughts like a serrated knife, “good of you to finally join. We have much to… discuss.”
“Bluebeard,” Snow turned, seeing the man rest easily against a stone pillar she had just brushed past. Red, angry cuts framed half his face with a smattering of bruises. He had a grin that could give The Cheshire Cat a run for his money, but something (she couldn’t quite place it) about his eyes, as it sized her up, made her queasy.
“We have a situation on our hands, and while you busied yourself with other trivial concerns, I took it upon myself to act as acting sheriff until all matters were dealt with. Someone had to be the hero, after all. And it wasn’t easy.” He was still smiling, but his words oozed with bitterness. “If word of this gets out, people are going to campaign for Mr. Wolf to be condemned to the witching well, and for your… resignation.”
Hunger, Snow thought, that’s what his eyes told her. Like they couldn’t decide if she would taste better with a glass of red or white. Savored till every bite.
“Where is Bigby?” she finally gained the courage to ask.
“Behind us, of course,” he gestured with a lazy nod to the metal door of the cell he guarded.
Snow nodded. “Tell me what happened, and don’t leave out any details. I want the full story.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Miss White,” he said and cleared his throat. “Earlier tonight, the police received a call. Screams, clamor, and then silence coming from inside a building. Of course, they arrive soon, and who do they find other than our very sheriff, standing over a mutilated body? Or what was left of them. The belly is gutted, throat is cut, and Bigby is drenched head to toe in blood, of which I’m certain none is his own.” Bluebeard shook his head as if he were dispelling the thought from his mind. “He’s caught red-handed—literally, in this case!—and the police raise their weapons. He doesn’t give them a chance, and by the time he’s cut two open, he’s moved on to snap the other’s neck.” He emphasized his story by shifting his hands like he was there, enacting the murder himself.
Snow winced, and remarked, “I could do without the theatrics, Bluebeard.”
“That’s just how it was described to me, verbatim. Jack was very clear—”
“Jack?!” Snow sputtered, incredulous. “What does he have to do with this?”
“I was getting to that, Miss White. Now, if you wouldn’t mind,” he continued, undeterred. “At the same time everything is happening, Jack and a Mundie girl are going for a stroll through the Bronx, making plans to do God knows what. How that slimy bastard can manage to woo a woman is beyond me. I’m certain Jack’s beanstalk isn’t quite as enriched as he claims it is—”
“Bluebeard!” Snow hissed. “Please.”
Bluebeard nodded and continued. “Bottom-line is, this Mundie girl is the one who picks up on what’s going on, and worse, she’s also a cop. They both saw everything, from the Fable being murdered to the police being slaughtered, and if that is not damning then I do not know what is. My sincerest apologies, Miss White, but your so-called sheriff is a slave to his instincts. Seems he couldn’t control them for much longer.”
The silence was palpable, as if words unsaid had the same power to reverberate through empty halls. Denial and doubt still wracked her mind as she tried to draw up explanations, but she came up blank. Bluebeard was right, this was damning, and Bigby had a lot of explaining to do.
She peered over Bluebeard’s shoulder at the cell’s iron door. “I need to see him. Open the door.”
Bluebeard tut-tut-tutted, raising a warning hand to Snow. “Not so fast, I wasn’t finished.”
Snow tilted on her side, crossed her arms, and raised an eyebrow.
“When I caught wind of what had happened, Bigby had already been arrested somewhere outside that sorry excuse for a bar—blast, I forgot its name. The one run by that dead troll’s sister?” He shrugged off Snow’s glowered look. “I expected another bloodbath, but he went willingly, without making a scene. Ended up at the station in custody. I knew I had to clean up this mess before it got out of hand, so I had to use… drastic measures.”
“Not once did you think to notify me?” Snow questioned.
“Situation was urgent, and you were unavailable,” Bluebeard explained, exasperated. “You’re here now, yes? Let’s focus on the important business.”
“Just… fine, continue.”
Bluebeard obliged. “Working with the witches wasn’t pleasant, but I hadn’t any other choice, and it cost me a pretty-fucking-penny if I do say so. Had to alter the Mundies’ memories of the event, same as Crane had done in the past. That’s when I confronted the sheriff at the station.”
She felt her eyes land on the cuts and bruises that littered Bluebeard’s face, and she realized that they weren’t just cuts, but claw marks. There was only one fable who could leave gashes such as those. Bluebeard chuckled and tenderly touched his wounds.
“I see you’ve drawn your own conclusion.” Suddenly, he shifted demeanor, and the sneer he wore like a mask slipped into something more unpleasant. “The fucker wasn’t happy to see me. He allowed his ugly side to say hello as soon as I walked in. Fortunately, I came prepared, or that dog would have ripped my throat out.”
“How?” Snow found herself asking before she realized. Bigby Wolf was a force not to be trifled with, as his strength and wit made for a dangerous enemy, but a valuable ally. Snow winced. Now, she wasn’t so sure who Bigby allied himself with. Could it be the Adversary? Or could it be that Bigby only looked out for himself, sticking to the lone wolf archetype? Bigby does what Bigby wants.
“Easy.” He reached inside his pocket and revealed a syringe. A luminescent, purple liquid splashed inconspicuously around inside the glass, and Snow’s eyes widened, bringing her hand over her gaped mouth. “Swineheart helped me with this one. A special blend. Just a precaution that I needn't use until now.”
Aconitum napellus. Wolfsbane. Shit.
“You poisoned him?” she shrieked, plowing through him. Fire flooded her veins as she yanked the door open, despite Bluebeard’s protests.
She locked eyes on Bigby at the far end of the cell. His arms and legs were locked up with metal cuffs chained to the wall, but he slumped forward limply, like one of Geppetto’s puppets hanging from strings. Bluebeard’s syringe was still stuck in Bigby’s shoulder, half-emptied of the poison. He looked… catatonic. His eyes were half-lidded but not focused on anything, not even her clamor into the room.
“Is this your idea of justice?” She lurched forward, confronting Bluebeard face to face. “No one is deserving of this, this, cruelty!” Snow gestured towards Bigby but kept her eyes secure on Bluebeard. She couldn’t bear to look at the sheriff. Flashbacks of his limp body lying motionless in her arms outside of the Pudding & Pie haunted her memory. “We have to get him down from there, and get him to see Dr. Swineheart immediately.”
“Not so fast, ice queen.” Bluebeard’s face looked especially clockable right now, Snow decided. “I’m not the villain here. He’s already been seen by the good doctor. His wounds are superficial and the poison won’t kill him, only paralyze and sedate him.”
She sputtered. “At least remove the cuffs! It’s unnecessary.”
“Unnecessary! Needn’t I remind you that this,” he proceeded to ball his fist and strike the wall at his side, “beast murdered one of our own just moments ago?”
“I know!” Snow huffed, massaging her fingers into her temples. “You don’t need to remind me.”
“Don’t I? Give him a small window to ‘wolf out’ on us, and we’ve risked the wellbeing of all the Woodlands. Look, there are precautions, deputy mayor, necessary precautions, and I for one will not stand by idly while you squander them just to grant your pet a few small comforts. How many more little piggies will he need to chew through before you understand?”
“You are out of line, Bluebeard!” Snow commanded, fury flowing through her veins much like the poison circulating in Bigby. A liquid hot, palpable feeling that Snow did not experience too often. Straightening her back, she adjusted a small hair dangling out of place before addressing Bluebeard again. “However, your point has been taken into consideration. I, like many others including you, pledged hundreds of years ago to protect the few of us that are left, to live in a society of harmony and balance. But there has to be another way to, to… keep him contained safely.”
Bluebeard scoffed. “It is not like I have tortured him.” Snow could almost hear the inferred ‘too much’.
Disregarding him, Snow approached Bigby. Shaking. She didn’t realize how much her hand shivered until she brushed the hair from his face. His features were relaxed, almost untroubled, unlike their usual haunted look. Or he is dead, the thought intruded into her mind. Upon closer inspection, she saw the gentle rise and fall of his chest and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“Bigby?” she asked tenuously. “Can you hear me?”
“Of course he can’t,” Bluebeard ridiculed. “Not while on the doctor’s medicine.”
He seemed naked without a cigarette in his mouth. Or… more naked. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, revealing a chest decorated with cuts and bruises framing his abdomen like a cracked art sculpture. Some wounds looked fresh, she noticed, while glaring daggers at Bluebeard. She felt like she could strangle him if it weren’t so inappropriate. And if he didn’t subsidize 90% of the office bureau.
With that thought, Snow diverted her attention to a tray of various items to her right, assumedly stuff he had on him when arrested. Which was his lighter, the disgusting things he lit with it (ironically named Huff & Puff), a wad of cash, and more interestingly, a photo of Bigby and Snow together, taken ten years ago.
A comedic moment frozen in time; he was puffing a cigarette while she was fanning it from her scrunched face. Snow recognized the dumb smirk Bigby wore, the one where he knew that he was annoying her, but persisted anyway. Flycatcher had been the one to take this photo, which means that Bigby must have gotten a print from him. Snow couldn’t figure out why.
Unthinkingly, she pocketed the lighter and the smokes. He would likely ask for them when he woke.
“Bluebeard, keep watch until I return,” she directed. “I need to make a few visits, and a few calls.” More like a few hundred. The work kept piling up with no end in sight. She continued, “We don’t have the full story of what happened, with who, where, and why. And if… if Bigby did murder those people with no good reason…?” The photo of the two together, relaxed and having fun, permeated the back of her mind. “...Then I will personally see to it that justice is served.”
“Of course, Miss White. You can rely on me,” he said, putting on airs. “You are making the right decision.”
“I hope so,” she muttered and strode from the room, leaving behind one last shadowy silhouette of her figure before the cell doors closed with Bluebeard and Bigby inside.
Snow’s first mission was to trek back upstairs to the office and phone Dr. Swineheart. Over by the shelves, Bufkin bobbed an inquisitive head out from behind the books, but as soon as he noticed her sour expression, he swiftly retracted his head and went back to doing what he was doing. Probably drinking, as per usual.
The line rang a couple of times before a prim and proper voice announced itself from the speaker. “Dr. Swineheart. May I ask who’s calling please?”
“Swineheart, it’s Snow. We need to talk.”
Snow heard a sudden shuffling of papers as if Dr. Swineheart had just put some work aside in preparation for a very long phone call. “If I might ask, is this about the murdered fable? I’m still in the process of performing the autopsy and identifying them.”
“That, yes. Also,” she paused, attempting to find the best way to phrase her words, “do you care to explain why you gave Bluebeard the means to poison Bigby?” It came out more forceful than she intended, as she heard the sound of books falling from the shelves followed by a monkey’s muffled ‘ow’.
“If you didn’t know,” he replied, and Snow could hear the exasperated sigh through his words, “it was Ichabod Crane who commissioned me to create a sedative years ago, back in the 1690s. Although I do not care what the sham says or does now, back then he expressed concern over a certain new member being introduced into Fabletown. I’m certain you can guess who I’m talking about.”
Of course. Of course, the lying, perverted criminal would be so depraved as to invent such a thing. The fact the man was still alive left an alarm blaring in Snow’s mind, but now that his actions affected her to this day just made her feel irritated.
“Even after everything… I can’t believe he went behind everyone’s back to do this.”
Swineheart scoffed. “I can. And not just because he paid me to.”
A foreign smile formed on her lips.
“I gave away the sedative because I trust my abilities to not kill him, but Bluebeard’s incompetence just might as well.” Swineheart’s tone shifted dramatically. “The sedative isn’t a lasting solution. Used in excess and over a long period equals a death sentence.”
“Then what do I do?” Snow exclaimed, choosing to ignore Bufkin peering wide-eyed at her from across the room. “I cannot risk the safety of the Woodlands, nor all of Fabletown. I also need to hear from Bigby’s side, and hold a fair trial if necessary.”
“Lucky for you, there is still some time,” even through the garbled speakers, Swineheart sounded sincere, “and I’m certain, of all the fables, Snow White could figure this out.”
Somehow, for a moment, she believed him.
—
As Snow assured herself in the quiet of her office, somewhere else and just as quiet, under the moonlight glow of the city sky two individuals exchanged a carefully wrapped envelope in the shadowy escape of an alleyway.
“This is it, then?” one asked, gruff yet timid hands grasping at the parcel.
“Indeed,” the second answered. “You’ve done what I’ve asked?”
“Yes, as much as it loathes me. You promised it wouldn’t hurt nobody.”
“No, I promised it wouldn’t hurt him. Our terms and conditions still apply.”
Turning away, still clutching the parcel dearly, they walked away towards the street. “I hate you business types.”
“Yet, you love doing business. Cheers, friend.”
And with one final laugh, the individual disappeared into the shadows.