Half an hour later, Bigby finally made it to his office. Being Sheriff didn't exactly pay well, so he hadn't bothered with a taxi.

He stood outside it, hand on the handle and glanced across the hallway. Snow really should've gone to get more sleep, but he had a feeling she didn't.

Which was proven right when her head popped out the door and those bleary eyes found him.

'I thought I heard someone,' She yawned, 'Went well?'

Bigby nodded, 'They'll be fine.'

Snow yawned again as she retreated back into the Business Office, leaving the door open in invitation. When he hesitated, she raised a brow, 'It's barely seven, no-one's going to be knocking on your door.'

'Holly called me out,' He said, 'Maybe-'

'If you're not in your office everyone checks with me anyway, Bigby. Come on, I can't handle Buffkin alone when I'm this sleep deprived.'

With a shrug, Bigby headed towards her and followed Snow into the Business Office. He hadn't been in here for a while which felt odd. Both that he was being allowed in after the frosty treatment she'd been giving him and that he'd been banished from here at all.

Things were on the mend now. Best not to dwell on it.

Above, a certain green flying monkey swooped down, landing on a wardrobe and grinned down at them.

'Sheriff! Long time no see,' Buffkin said, a bottle of wine firmly in hand and a dopey grin to go with it, 'No-one's dead this time, right?'

Snow glared at Buffkin, then held out her hand imperiously. It didn't take long for the monkey to be cowed, handing over the bottle, 'Bigby's here to help with paperwork, that's all,' Snow answered once the wine was in hand.

'Paperwork?' He asked with a groan. He had more than enough of that on his own desk, 'Shouldn't you have an assistant?'

Snow made her way to Crane's old desk which had yet to bear her name, but the old plaque was gone so that was still an improvement.

'I haven't found anyone yet,' She set the bottle down with distaste, 'So you'll have to be my glamorous stand-in for now.'

Bigby sighed, 'You know I'm shit with numbers.'

'Good thing it's mostly words,' Snow said, sitting down and beginning to shift through stacks of papers.

'I'm illiterate.'

'No you're not,' She glanced up, sardonic smile in place, 'I taught you.'

Bigby glanced around, scraping for excuses, 'There's only one chair at the desk and I'm not sitting on the floor,' A collar he could deal with (just), but there was a line.

With a put-upon sigh, Snow raised her voice, 'Buffkin!'

A flap of wings accompanied by grumbling.

When he landed on her desk, eying the wine and crumpling the sheafs of paper, Snow rubbed her forehead, then looked up at the monkey, 'Sheriff Wolf-'

Bigby butted in, 'Can find his own chair,' And quickly grabbed one from Snow's old desk and dragged it over, shooing Buffkin off the table when he got back.

'Resigned to your fate?' She asked with a tilted brow as he sat down, shuffling some papers over to his side.

He ran a hand over his face and rubbed at his bleary eyes, humming in vague agreement, 'What's it about?'

Snow sombered and she huffed out a sigh, 'The backlog of complaints that Crane ignored. It stretches back years,' She stared sightlessly down at the desk, 'So many slipped through the cracks.'

'Anything for me?' Bigby asked and she blinked, looked back up. He hoped there wasn't - following up on something months old wouldn't be easy.

'Not yet,' She slid a pile his way, scrawled words in barely legible writing on each one, 'Anything urgent in this pile,' Tapped a stack of papers, 'Crimes,' A thankfully small pile, 'And the rest here.'

Bigby stared down at his collection of letters and notes. Some had dates and, as he flicked through, a lead weight settled in his stomach.

If he ever saw Crane, that hook-nosed bastard was going to end up dead.

Sifting through, he recognised Toad's handwriting, then Woody's. Gren's, Holly's. Even Georgie - the sick fuck had been asking for money to help with the running of his 'reputable business'. What a crock of shit.

Leaning over the letters, Bigby and Snow descended into companionable silence, broken only by the rustle of paper and shifting in their seats. Buffkin sat somewhere above them and had somehow managed to snag the wine back, but neither of them could be bothered to confiscate it again. If Bigby could, he'd be getting blackout drunk too.

Unfortunately, his job was a bit more important than Buffkin's.

Instead, he was staring at months-old reports of robberies and muggings and all else that he should've investigated but never got a chance to because of a certain cowardly little fuckwit.

No wonder so much corruption had grown right under his nose. Throughout the Crooked Man case he'd wondered why no-one said a thing. Now he understood.

Crane had fucked up the whole fucking town.

Bigby sighed, shook his head and re-focused. He'd sorted through a sizeable amount of his stack already, but nowhere near as much as Snow. Although he'd mostly been joking about being illiterate, Bigby wasn't nearly as good at reading as everyone else at the Woodlands. On the page, words swam in front of his eyes until he dug the palms of his hands into his sockets and glared down at the letters.

It was some trivial bullshit from Jack. About starting a business. Bigby read the first paragraph before setting it on the 'everything else' pile.

Just as he started on the next one, a knock on the Business Office door. Both him and Snow looked up. Though the line of Fables wanting to speak with her would be tedious, it couldn't be much worse than reading these damned letters in Bigby's opinion.

Sat on the back of Snow's chair, Buffkin woke with a snort and began drunkenly flapping towards the door to let in whoever had arrived.

Bigby leant back from the desk and stretched, the resounding cracks in his back indicating they'd been slouched there far too long, 'I'll go.'

'If there's anything for you, I'll send them over,' Snow said as she began packing away the letters.

He nodded in thanks, and made to go when she spoke again.

'Bigby?'

He turned to face her again, brow raised.

'Stay safe.'

With a nod he went back to heading out the door, 'You too.'

Buffkin welcomed in a Fable - Johann - and Bigby walked out, careful to give him a wide berth but the butcher still flinched.

It must have only just struck nine, yet the queue was already ten strong. Many he recognised and a few he didn't.

With a nod to Flycatcher, Bigby made his way into his office and immediately shed the scarf and trench coat. He wasn't fond of the colder months without his fur to protect him, but apparently being human made him a bit more resilient.

Time to do even more paperwork. What a joy.

At midday, there was a knock on the Security Office door.

Bigby looked up, surprised. Rubbed his eyes, strained from the non-stop reading, and called 'come in!'

Whoever it was hesitated before nudging the door open an inch or two at a time, until his face came round and darted around the room before settling on Bigby.

Bigby raised a brow and beckoned him in.

Another long moment, then he complied and slid into the room completely, letting the door fall shut behind him.

'Hi,' He said, oddly loud compared to his skittish behaviour.

When he didn't say anything, Bigby gestured to the seat across from him, 'You are?'

'Oh, yeah,' He scrambled to the chair and sat with rounded shoulders and a pronounced slouch, 'I'm Grim. Grimtooth. Everyone calls me Grimey.'

A fellow wolf, then. Strange that Bigby hadn't seen him before.

Again, he didn't offer any information.

This time, Bigby let the silence stew. He knew it was probably politeness - the wolf version of it. He also knew that, whilst they were both humans, the usual social rules weren't nearly as binding or compelling. Otherwise he'd have had a harder time breaking the habit of giving Snow dead rabbits and the like all those hundreds of years ago.

Eventually, Grim spoke up, 'Our shop was robbed.'

'Recently?' Bigby asked, pulling out his notebook and pencil.

'Yeah.'

Back to the silence.

He wondered what had brought this on. Weeks without anyone stepping foot in his office, not even reporting crimes to Snow. Then someone comes, albeit nervously. Perhaps it had something to do with his visit to the Trip Trap this morning.

Grim sucked in a breath, 'Shop. I mean restaurant. Café.'

'When was it?' Bigby asked, poised to note down the answer.

His interviewee froze and shrunk down even further, if that was possible. Then, in a small voice that contrasted with his lanky frame, 'A week ago.'

'Was anything stolen?'

'Don't think so.'

Bigby nodded, rubbing at his neck absentmindedly, 'Anyone have something against you or whoever works there?'

Grim was staring at him but quickly shook it off, looking down at the desk, 'Don't think so.'

He wasn't going to get much out of him here. Perhaps a trip out was called for, not that Bigby wouldn't take any excuse to escape his paperwork.

'Where's this restaurant?' Bigby asked, standing from his desk and heading to the door, reaching out to grab his trench coat and scarf-

That's what Grim had been staring at. Bigby froze for a moment, then rubbed a hand over his face, down his chin, to the collar constricting his throat. How could he forget?!

Behind him, Grim's worry was palpable.

Bigby sighed and shrugged on his coat, stuffing his notebook into his pocket. The entire point of this whole stunt was for Fabletown to feel safe. That couldn't happen if they never found out that he was forcibly human. And therefore harmless (useless).

'C'mon,' He said, holding open the door as he debated taking his scarf. Grim slunk past, shooting him cautious looks. A moment more of staring at the tatty piece of fabric hanging forlornly on his coat stand, then Bigby sucked in a breath, squared his shoulders and left without it. Still tugged his lapels up, though.

They walked through the Woodlands, past the line and into the lift, Grim lagging behind.

When they got to the ground floor, Grimsby was asleep and the lobby was empty. On the steps outside, there wasn't a decapitated head, but Bigby stopped halfway down anyway. Just looking out, towards the gate. Grim stopped with him, didn't comment on it.

A moment later they continued on their way.

Sky a pale blue and cloudless, the day was cold. Above them the sun's ineffectual rays provided light but no heat as they walked the streets of Fabletown. Bigby's breath misted in front of him and he could feel his face becoming numb. His hands were a bit warmer, shoved in his pockets.

They walked for a little over half an hour, Grim leading the way through back alleys and shortcuts that lead to the very edge of Fabletown. Wherever they were going, it was probably less reputable than even the Trip Trap. That, or catering to less people. Or Grim had lied and it was a place like the Puddin' N' Pie. In which case, they were being shut down the instant Bigby got an inkling of what was going on.

When they finally got there, his concerns swiftly became obsolete.

He'd be lying if he said it was a charming building. Or a charming part of town because, of course, it really wasn't. Rubbish littered the street and the shops next to Grim's restaurant had cracked or boarded windows.

Despite that, there was a certain appeal to it. The door had a surprisingly cheerful sign declaring it to be open and the interior was cosy from what he could see. Above the entrance, bold letters spelled out 'Food N' Fangs'.

Grim walked up to the building and held open the door, which greeted them with a somewhat battered-sounding bell. Bigby entered and his face began to tingle from the sudden warmth.

'It's me,' Grim called, which caused a commotion behind a set of double doors across the room from them.

A stout, broad-faced woman appeared with a grin on her face, 'Grimey!' She exclaimed. And a moment later, that grin disappeared upon setting eyes on Bigby, 'Sheriff?'

Silence.

It appeared Grim hadn't let her know he was calling Bigby in. Which was interesting, though not they'd discussed going to him about the burglary but decided against it and if so, what made Grim change his mind?

That was unimportant and Bigby set himself to the task at hand, fishing out his notebook and pencil, glancing around to familiarise himself with the restaurant.

He'd been right; it was rather cosy. With only a small room, tables were haphazardly shoved in and the tiny space only allowed five of them, even with the… Creative placement. Photos adorned the walls - of Grim, the woman who'd just walked in and a teenager. In front of the restaurant, at the Trip Trap and one was a painting. A wolf and lioness sitting with a huge, speckled egg between them. From the look of it, it was old. Homelands old. Interesting.

From the corner of his eye, Bigby watched Grim and the woman speak in whispers. It didn't seem like they were trying to hide something, but he'd been wrong before.

Finally, the woman clapped Grim on the shoulder and turned to Bigby, a somewhat strained smile firmly in place, 'Sorry to have bothered you, but-'

'There was a robber here,' Grim interrupted, earning himself a stern glare from the woman, 'A week ago.'

Bigby raised a brow, watching the two squirm before he replied, 'Who're you?' He asked, dipping his head at the woman.

She blinked, squared her shoulders and said, 'Kath.'

'I'll catch your robber,' Bigby tried to sound reassuring, 'All you need to do is cooperate.'

Kath stared at him, her wide-set brown eyes assessing. Then she nodded, 'Alright, Sheriff.'

Neither of these two were exactly talkative, were they?

Bigby sighed and scratched his chin, turning away from them to scan the room, 'Was anything taken?'

'Nothing much,' Kath replied, her previous unwillingness melting away, 'Some cash from the till.'

'When was it?'

'Early morning.'

'Anyone see who it was?'

'No.'

On and on the questioning went. There must've still been signs. Perhaps even a lingering smell of the perpetrator. Not that Bigby could tell, uselessly human as he was.

Whoever it was had forced the door, stole only from the till and wielded a simple kitchen knife, one you could get anywhere. They'd worn a black mask and wide-brimmed hat with bulky clothing. Perhaps hiding some sort of armour.

It wasn't much, but Bigby far preferred working on theft than nothing at all except dreaded paperwork.

Once he was certain he'd gathered all information directly relevant to the crime, Bigby turned to figuring out the odd pair who worked the restaurant.

'That you?' He asked, jerking his chin at the painting of the wolf and lion as he put away his notebook.

Kath folded her arms defensively, 'The Mundies think it's a fantasy painting-'

Bigby nodded, watching her reaction. He could see why it had taken a week for this to get to him.

'It's not just us though,' Grim spoke up, 'That egg in the middle is Egg.'

'... Egg?'

'Yeah,' He grinned, 'They help out when they get time off school.'

A younger Fable, then?

Bigby knew there was more here, especially since these two had evidently known each other a long time (since the Exodus - that meant decades). And on top of that, they'd been running this little place and he'd never even heard about it. That either meant they dealt with trouble themselves or had someone to call in to do it for them. Considering that both appeared to be animals, he was leaning towards the former.

With that Bigby nodded, took a last glance around the restaurant and walked to the door. Turned back just as he was about to leave, 'If you need me, call or come round my office.'

'Won't you be busy?' Grim asked.

Bigby couldn't stop himself from snorting, 'No.'

He walked out the door, chilling cold making him shrink down into his coat. At least he had a case to focus on, now. Something to pull him away from the never ending paperwork and distract him from the collar that sat tight around his neck.

He began to make his way down the street, reaching for his pack of cigs out of habit more than necessity, lighting one up as he mulled over the situation.

A robbery with nothing of any real value stolen. That painting alone would have been worth at least something and the door to the back room didn't bear any damage. Just the contents of the till taken, and from how long it had taken Grim to tell Bigby about it, there couldn't have been much in there. Big Bad Wolf or not, people came to him when something serious happened, even if they were scared shitless. In the Mundy's world, money came above pretty much everything else, even self preservation.

Bigby sighed, rubbing at his face. He was exhausted already and the nicotine wasn't helping at all. Just making his lungs constrict and the collar seemed to tighten around his throat. If Snow's fucking make-him-human spell gave him cancer Bigby wasn't going to be happy.

Regardless, he took another drag.

Without the money for a cab, it was going to be a long walk. But it would be a walk without paperwork so Bigby didn't mind too much.

He tried to concentrate on other things - the robbery, how surprisingly well things were going with the Trip Trap, the steadily growing bags under Snow's eyes - but he kept being pulled back to the pressure on his neck.

Lit up another cig. He needed a fucking drink.

Maybe not the best idea without his stupidly high metabolism to burn it out of his system.

Bigby looked longingly in the direction of the Trip Trap, flicked his eyes skywards to see the sun only just being obscured by the New York skyline as it began a slow descent. Holly would probably be just setting up. Perhaps-

No. Bigby had a job to do and he'd do it.

Another cig that he really didn't need and his trudge to the Woodlands continued.

When Bigby finally arrived, he immediately regretted not wearing his scarf.

There wasn't an unusual amount of people, but he could feel their eyes on him. Some confused, others gleeful. All queuing up for the Business Office, stretching down the hall and nearly reaching the lift.

Bigby made sure his lapels were firmly in place and strode past, ignoring the stares. Until someone reached and grabbed him, because of course they did.

He stopped. Didn't shrug off the hand and continue on like he wanted to.

Glanced up at Jersey's shriveled, liver-spotted face and raised a brow, 'If you want to talk, my office is-'

'Snow finally got you under control, huh?'

Bigby tensed, then deliberately relaxed, rocking back on his heels to get some space. He fucking hated this pile of shit herding him in. And the only other option was socking him in the jaw, which Snow wouldn't appreciate.

'Cat got your tongue?'

He wanted to say something. Or not - growl, make this cunt piss his pants and get on with his day. Bigby glared instead, because that was all he could do other than start cursing him out and Snow wouldn't approve of that, either.

From a few people in front, 'Fuck off, Jersey.'

Bigby started, glanced over to see Gren with his single working eye trained on the pawnbroker.

'The fuck you think you're talkin' to?' And Jersey shoved Bigby, but his hand was off of is shoulder and there was space between them, which was enough for him to be able to think outside blood and fists and teeth.

Bigby eyed Jersey, 'Calm down or wait outside.'

'What a fuckin' hard man,' Jersey snarled, fists balled and his yellowing teeth bared, 'Corny-ass fuck. I been waitin' here for hours you-'

'Then shut up and calm down,' Bigby interrupted, voice raised but steady. Kept the threat of violence out of it.

Jersey Devil didn't do shutting up and calming down, but then Snow was calling someone else into the office, head poked round the door.

The line moved forwards and she glanced his way, brow raised, 'Causing a commotion means you lose your place!' She reminded them.

Money comes above everything in the Mundy world, even feuds and the supposedly intolerable pain Jersey must feel whenever he backed down from a fight.

Bigby waited a second longer just to be sure the cranky bastard had settled down, then continued his trudge to the Security Office. Didn't nod or smile at Gren in thanks, but his expression must've conveyed the sentiment clearly enough.

And Bigby was finally back in his office.

He shut the door a bit too firmly and flung his trench coat at the hangar where it promptly fell off. On his desk, the piles of paperwork hadn't magically disappeared and he shoved them aside as he sat down, getting out a fresh sheet, pencil in hand. Best to note down the details before he forgot.

Robbery. Nothing of value taken. Only reported a week after the incident and the owners didn't seem too shaken by it.

The intruder had been someone new - the description didn't match anyone Bigby knew. Wide-brimmed hat, black mask and bulky clothing. And since they were animal Fables, they would've noticed if they smelt familiar.

So; someone new?

Someone new who'd shown up only after the Crooked Man's death. Could they be linked?

There were other Fable settlements outside of New York, perhaps this burglar was from one of those? Despite Fabletown having a non-existent relationship with said other settlements (Bigby was quite sure he was a pretty big reason for that) perhaps the Crooked Man had been talking to them.

The fucker had been bold enough to at least plan to put Bigby on the Farm, so he wouldn't put much past the man.

Bigby was so fucking glad he'd put an end to the Crooked Man. So fucking glad.

Without anything else to go on, he couldn't really do much, except for the usual asking around, asking Snow to get the word out that there was a burglar.

More pressingly, Jersey Devil had definitely seen the collar. Why he hadn't said anything, Bigby had no idea. Gren having to butt in had been bad enough and Jersey would have no qualms mouthing off about the leashed lapdog every chance he got. And since he worked with Jack, that gossiping, opportunistic little shit, everyone would know by the end of the day.

Well. Good thing Jersey didn't say anything about it because Bigby probably would've broken his jaw, Snow being just down the hall or not. Maybe he'd understood that and kept his little display toned down enough to have an intact face at the end of it.

Plus, after the Crooked Man, there weren't half as many people picking fights with him. Woody and Gren were more friends than enemies now and Bigby hadn't seen hide nor hair of a Tweedle.

Perhaps everything would settle down, just like Snow had said. Perhaps those Fables that liked to pick fights with him for shits and giggles would quit it, let him have a week or two of peace until this damned collar was taken off.

Unlikely, but Bigby could dream.

Dreaming wasn't his job. Breaking up brawls and general peacekeeping was.

Both of those things demanded paperwork, as per Snow 'straight as an arrow' White's orders.

Bigby slowly sat up in his chair, stretching until his back popped. Untidy stacks of paper shoved to the edges of his desk loomed. Choosing at random, Bigby grabbed one and slid it towards him. From the first page it was something to do with Johann complaining that he'd been intimidated, which was absolute bullshit. He hadn't laid a hand on the butcher. Maybe said a few rough words, but it wasn't his fault if a Fable pissed their pants at the faintest whiff of anything unpleasant.

When Bigby finally snapped, whoever took over as Sheriff was going to be minced meat in a month.

The day passed incredibly slowly.

Johann's complaint, Toad requesting reparations, Jersey accusing him of grievous bodily harm, Woody with the same.

Bigby waded through them for half a fucking day before the clock on the wall informed him it was time to clock off.

He was exhausted, but there's always more to be done in Fabletown.

Packed away the files he'd been pouring over (shoved them to the edge of his desk), grabbed his trench coat and made his way to the Business Office.

Snow looked up from her own mountainous paperwork as he entered, 'Is it six already?'

'Yeah,' Bigby said as she groaned, 'You should get some sleep.'

Snow hummed, trying to blink away eyestrain, 'Only if you do.'

And that was why they were both chronic insomniacs.

Bigby strode further into the Business Office, 'I've got a new case.'

Whatever friendly, relaxed expression had been there was instantly gone as Snow sat up straight, gaze going from bleary to focused in the blink of an eye, 'Is it important? What happened?'

'A petty robbery-'

Snow slumped a little, 'Good.'

Bigby nodded, 'Yeah, but I think it might mean there's a new Fable in town.'

'A new Fable?' She mulled it over, then turned towards the wall of bookcases, 'Buffkin!'

A few seconds later and the familiar sound of a green, winged monkey flapping his way towards them.

'Yes, Miss White?' Buffkin asked as he landed on the desk, crumpling papers and knocking over a small stack of them. Sheafs fell to the floor as Snow stared, then turned to the cringing monkey.

'Get the books,' She said with a sigh, deflating as she rubbed at her forehead.

Bigby knelt down and began collecting them, Snow joining him after a moment, 'Sorry,' She sighed, 'I don't know why we keep him around.'

'Because he can read the ancient Homeland languages,' Bigby replied, 'And if you fired him he'd be sent to the Farm.'

If he quit being Sheriff, would Snow send him to the Farm?

Bigby blinked, freezing halfway to picking up yet another piece of paper. Shook it off and continued, but not before Snow gave him a puzzled look.

It wouldn't come to that. And even if it did, she wouldn't do that to him.

Even though, if Bigby decided to act out, there wasn't anyone in Fabletown strong enough to stop him. Even though she'd already indirectly threatened him with it. Even though there was a place for him especially made. Even though-

'-igby?'

He started, looked up.

'Are you alright?' Snow asked, knelt down in front of him with the papers all neatly stacked in her hands.

'Yeah,' Bigby said, pushing himself up and turning away a little. Fiddled with his own crumpled papers until they vaguely resembled a stack. Set them down on the desk. 'I'm fine.'

Snow didn't look at all convinced, but Buffkin's clumsy return interrupted whatever she was about to say.

'Who're you looking for?' He asked as he all but fell onto the table, thankfully not knocking anything over this time.

'Well…' Bigby said, glancing at Snow.

She stared at him, 'You don't know?'

'Again?' Buffkin huffed, throwing the books down.

'I tried,' He protested, folding his arms, 'But the scene was a week old and the robber was wearing a mask.'

Snow glanced at him, 'A robber? Should I let people know?'

'Yeah,' Bigby replied, 'But nothing specific.'

Buffkin cleared his throat, flipping open the books one by one, 'What do you know?'

'Not someone from Fabletown,' He started off, 'Or if they are, they can mask their scent.'

'Oh!' The monkey exclaimed, beginning to flick through, 'What did they smell like?'

Bigby blinked, glanced at Snow, 'I-, uh. Don't know.'

Buffkin paused, 'Do you have a cold? Miss White should I call Doctor-'

'No, Buffkin,' Snow pinched the bridge of her nose.

Waiting for an explanation, he stared at them for a few seconds. When no answer was forthcoming, Buffkin turned back to his books with a huff, 'Anything else?'

'Wore a wide-brimmed hat, black mask and bulky clothing,' Bigby said, somewhat relieved he hadn't had to explain why he was so fucking useless. Buffkin probably deserved to know, but Bigby probably deserved Fabletown's trust and a holiday and that wasn't happening.

With a sigh, Buffkin closed his book and turned to another one - the one with all the pictures that Bigby would never admit he liked. The rustling of pages and then an open spread was being pushed towards him.

'This is a page of the more notorious Fables that aren't in Fabletown,' Buffkin said, tapping the book.

Bigby hummed, leaning over it. At his back he could feel Snow edging closer to try and see over his shoulder. He shifted aside for her and they both peered down at the drawings.

'Do you think it's any of these?' She asked, brow furrowed. As if she could tell who it could be just by staring at these interpretations, images sketched from hundred-year-old memories. People changed in that time, as Bigby well knew.

None in particular stood out. Except Red, of course. One of the few people to ever escape him back in the Homelands. Bigby grumbled upon seeing the sketch, 'Not her.'

'We can't rule anyone out-' Snow protested.

Bigby sighed, 'She'd die of fright at the sight of another Fable, last I heard.'

She shrugged, 'Fine. Boy Blue? Didn't you work with him once?'

'Yeah,' He stared down at the slim man that represented his old acquaintance. Doubtful, unless he'd been tricked into it.

Then Bigby's eyes landed on a figure he didn't recognise, 'Who's this?'

'Him?' Buffkin asked, jabbing a finger at a thick-set man in armour wielding a sword, 'That's Saint George. I think.'

Next to the knight was Prince Charming with that cheesy fucking grin of his drawn on so accurately it made Bigby's skin crawl.

'He would definitely rob a restaurant,' Snow said, seemingly understanding the origin of his full-body shudder.

Bigby nodded, 'It'd explain why he doesn't want to show his face.'

'We can't assume it is him though,' She said, ever the voice of reason.

Buffkin reached for the book and turned the page, 'There's more of them. And there's Fables that aren't even in the book.'

'It could be anyone,' Snow sighed, 'But at least it's not someone from Fabletown, this time.'

'What about the Farm?' Bigby asked.

'I don't think we have a book with them,' Buffkin said after a moment of thought, head bowing a little, 'And they'd have to get a glamour, wouldn't they?'

Bigby stood back from the desk, scratching his chin, then under the collar, 'Crooked Man proved it's not that hard.'

Snow looked over the new page, eyes lingering on a young woman bearing a striking resemblance to the Deputy Mayor. Bigby opened his mouth to ask about it, but swallowed his words when he saw the crumpled expression on Snow's face. Better not. Perhaps if it was important later on.

'What will you do now?' She asked, turning away from the book, blank mask in place. Everywhere but her eyes, which were still distant. As if she'd seen a ghost.

Bigby shrugged and reached into his pocket for a fag. It was odd doing it completely out of habit instead of to keep himself sane, 'Ask around. Let people know there's a thief and that I'm gonna find 'im.'

Giving Fabletown the sense that he was doing something other than murder was a good idea.

'Alright,' Snow said, nodding, 'That makes sense. Call me if you find anything.'

Bigby smiled, 'Yes boss.'

She grinned, 'And don't you forget it.'

With that, he turned to the door. Potential suspects in his mind's eye. Prince Charming, the smarmy bastard that ran off with Snow's sister. Boy Blue, a do-gooder, but that had been many years ago and he'd never been the brightest. Red Riding, though Bigby really didn't like thinking about her. He knew she and Blue had been somewhat involved at some point - the little prick had waved a knife at him because of it. Then there were the rest. Saint George, Cindy going rogue, someone from the Farm. An old associate of the Crooked Man. Perhaps even a Tweedle with something to obscure their scent.

Bigby sighed, pulling up the lapels of his trench coat as he walked out of the Business Office. Headed to the lift and jabbed at the button panel.

At least this would keep him busy. Distract him from the pressure around his neck.

AN: FFN seems to be fucking with my formatting. I think line breaks aren't showing up. Sorry about that and I'll see about changing them :)