I just want to point out that this story is influenced by the 'Storybook Love' arc of 'Fables' by Bill Willingham, and as such I have 'reused' certain bits of dialogue, only since its very strong writing that I feel I simply can't replace or rephrase any better in this kind of story. I'm not making any money out of this (duh), so I hope you all can overlook this small bit of plagiarism (cheeky, I know).

Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy!

The pungent stench of cigarette smoke could at times be considered synonymous with the Sheriff's office, no doubt a result of said sheriff smoking more than – as he himself put it so eloquently – 'a Bristol chimney.' The small fan on a side desk alongside one of the walls did little to alleviate this, or the heat for that matter, as it blew air around the cramped confines of the room. The crackling, dull, wallpaper on the walls, which in the light of the desk lamp appeared a sickly yellow, didn't do well to help this predicament either, making the small office appear even more repulsive.

At times, one would ask themselves if this small room could even be considered an office. Of course the piles of papers scattered on the large splintering wooden desk, the multiple photographs hung in frames – all unevenly hung – across the walls and the numerous notes pinned to the board on the back wall were a clear indication of this.

For a certain Sheriff however this didn't deter him at all. Growing up in the woods didn't tend to leave one with a great appreciation or want for luxury it seemed, or perhaps that was just wolves. Regardless, the office suited Sheriff Bigby Wolf just fine. He was more at home here than any, his rugged appearance making him blend in with his small den just fine. Long dark brown hair combed to the back of his head, a severe case of stubble across the lower half of his face putting any man's five 'o' clock shadow to shame, hazel eyes that at times appeared a fearsome amber, a plain white shirt with the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up past his elbows revealing muscular hairy arms and a black tie not round up all the way around his neck, as well as dark grey trousers gave the sheriff a distinct 'Don't fuck with me vibe'. In his line of work they were all very useful features at least when it came to apprehending crooks and other fiendish Fables – and beating sense into them. Dealing with other law abiding citizens however was another story, though when it came to Fables, his appearance was the least of his concern.

'The Big Bad Wolf'

That's what they used to call him. Still do in fact, behind his back usually when they think he can't hear them, and many times when they knew he could. The name suited him well, however inelegant it was, though that name, like many things about him, were now just a part of his past. Or at least were supposed to be. No longer the great beast of legend, he was a new wolf now, a new man. The latter thanks to a certain lycanthropy infected knife. He was now the protector of Fabletown, entrusted with safeguarding its citizens. A strange joke some would say, and he wouldn't blame them. The one who once terrorized them now guarded them. The monster whose name was whispered to frighten misbehaving children now represented the law. The wolf who once tore them apart now did everything he could to keep them from tearing each other apart. He once believed that the only way to do so was 'by being big, and being bad.' But now, he wasn't so sure anymore, especially given the last few days.

The deaths of three Fables, the women Faith, Lily and Vivian shook him to his very centre making him realise how much he genuinely cared for these people, how guilty he felt that he had failed to protect them, failed to prevent their deaths. Once upon a time, no one would think that the wolf could care, but now…

He had gotten them justice at least, those responsible brought down, the Tweedles, Jersey, that psychotic maniac Bloody Mary, Georgie and the Crooked Man, who now had a permanent residence at the bottom of the Witching Well. He did everything he could to do so the right way. He wanted to prove to everyone that he wasn't a monster. So when he investigated leads, when he questioned Fables, he kept his cool for the most part. He was lenient; he didn't lose his temper, however tempting it was to do so. He didn't spill blood when he could avoid it. He didn't bash Beast's face in, or tear Grendel's arm off or burn Aunty Greenleaf's tree. And when he was finally sent to apprehend him, Bigby kept his promise to Snow White and brought the Crooked Man back alive for a fair trial. For the first time ever, Fabletown saw a new side of Bigby Wolf, someone that cared. A side that Snow White believed to be there all along.

Oh Snow.

Since the day he met her she had always captivated him. She was the one person he couldn't ignore. Despite him smoking severely to deaden his heightened senses to cope with city life, he could never forget her scent, her beautiful scent… He always knew where she was, what she was feeling, when she was happy, which was rare, when she was sad and when she felt so desperately lonely, which was most of the time. Her beauty, her intelligence, her compassion, her strong sense of independence, her determination, her strength, and oh her wonderful smell. He wanted her. More than he ever wanted anything. He wanted to be with her, wanted to see her laugh, wanted to make her laugh, wanted to make her happy. He wanted to taste her, like he did so many years ago…

He shook such thoughts from his head. He was deluding himself. He knew that whatever support she had shown over the years was for the betterment of the whole community and while she may have become friendlier with him over the past few days, she had since reverted back to her 'Ice Queen' no nonsense demeanour ever since adopting the office of deputy mayor. She rarely smiled at him or spoke to him for that matter, and never about anything other than business. Besides, how could she ever want him?

"I'm not yours to lose!"

Those words reminded him of his place. He was a wolf, little more than a wild animal no matter how well tamed he was. He had nothing to offer her, he was no Prince Charming. All he knew were woods, wilderness and loathing.

His thoughts shifted to Crane. Were they more alike than he realised? Crane believed he loved Snow yet Snow wasn't convinced. Neither was Bigby considering the weird shit Crane was up to with Lily and the glamours…

'I know what this is and this is not love.'

Maybe he was just another perverted fucker as well. Though he'd never take it that far, maybe he was just filled with wild delusions. Snow deserved better than him that was certain.

He took a long drag from the cigarette in his hand. No, that didn't help. Not that he thought it would. He was still thinking about her like some forbidden fruit.

'Ha', he thought to himself.

Fruit? Apple? Oh forget it.

He knew that she would never feel the way about him that he did about her.

'She doesn't really need me.'

Oh but her scent was still so intoxicating…

That was it. It was driving him crazy, every day as the years roll by she was the apple of his eye – damn he really needed to stop the apple jokes – and he was still merely a colleague to her. He thought he could deal with it, but the thought that someone you cared about dearly never reciprocating your feelings was just damn torture.

He needed to forget her scent. He needed to move on.

But he couldn't.

'I'd stop it off if I could.'

…

Maybe he could…

He didn't want to, not deep down but if he could live with himself, with this pain…

If it meant Snow would be safe from him…

Maybe he should pay the witches on the 13th floor a visit.