For Helen, Bigby was like the moon. He waxed and waned, sometimes more present than others, but he was always there and would always return.

What had begun as about once a week, slowly became several times a week, which slipped easily into almost daily. Both of them had hundreds of years of pretending this was not exactly what it was and so both were happily blind to what was obvious to all the other patrons of the Mortar and Pestle.

The weather warmed and as sleeves shortened, Bigby was privy to Helen's tension between enjoying showing off her tattoos and discomfort with exposing her wrists. '

"You shouldn't worry about it," he said to her, seemingly out of the blue one April evening.

Helen blushed. It was disconcerting that he didn't try to hide how much he knew about her just from observation and scent like he did most other Fables.

"Hypocrite," she snapped back.

Bigby gave a dry chuckle. "If only you knew..."

Helen leaned forward and Bigby noticed his own pulse speed up as the front of her shirt dipped invitingly open.

"Do tell, Sheriff."

He wanted to shut the conversation down, but she had told him so much over the months he had known her.

"To my brothers I was the runt. I tried to prove them wrong for a very long time."

"You? A runt?"

He nodded and drained his glass.

Helen let the thought roll through her mind. It made it easier she supposed to mesh how others saw him (Big and Bad) with the Grey Wolf she knew.

"Still better than being 'the girl.' I had my own fucking kingdom and I was still 'the girl' in some other asshole's story."

"Yeah, but you never ate anyone."

"If it would have proven a useful action, I would have."

Bigby laughed but she had fixed an intense gaze on him and he stopped, realizing how little joke there was in her words.

"The problem is we're stuck with all these princesses and princes who slept and kissed and lived rich. There's no place for uglies like us in their society," Helen said after a space of silence.

"You're not ugly."

Helen held up her wrists. "Really?"

"Yes. Really. You've never once been ugly."

"And you've never once been Bad. Still stuck in your name like these scars are stuck on my body."

Bigby had nothing to say to that, so he acted in a way he rarely did. As she stared at the painting hanging beside the bar, Helen felt a rough hand enclose hers. She felt a blush creep over her and knew he could hear her heart pounding, but she entwined her fingers with his anyway.

Helen did not enjoy taking the train, but given that she was without a license it was the easiest way to get up the coast.

She curled up in a window seat and let her eyes slide shut, waiting for the long and horribly boring ride to begin.

"Helen?"

Her eyes popped open and she found herself staring straight at Bigby. A grin spread across her face reflexively and she made room for him in the seat beside her.

Bigby felt relief wash over him at being offered the seat without having to ask and joined her.

"No luggage?" she asked.

"Never have. Why start now?"

She smirked at him, enjoying yet another oddity of the sheriff's.

"And where are you headed?" he asked.

"Maine."

Bigby watched her blush and quirked an eyebrow. "And...?"

"You can't yell at me," she mumbled.

"I can but it's unlikely I will," he teased.

"Fair enough. I did one of those ancestry things online after we talked about my daughter. I found some of my descendants and I was curious."

Bigby looked a bit shocked but didn't say anything.

"Nothing?"

He shook his head. "You'll be careful."

Helen felt a glow spread through her and suppressed the urge to smile. "Where are you headed?"

"Also Maine, if you'll believe it. We have a small community up there that could use some checking in on."

The train pulled away from the station as they fell into easy conversation. Bigby had to admit that he rather liked not talking to her from across a bar. Her hair brushed his shoulder and her body radiated an inviting warmth beside his.

"Okay, you've got to stop tapping!" Helen exclaimed after about an hour beside one another.

"Sorry. Didn't realize."

"What's eating you?"

"Can't smoke."

"So? Where can you smoke indoors anymore? Get some gum."

"Doesn't help."

"How?"

"It's not the nicotine. I need the smoke. Blocks out smells."

"Now that," Helen said, shifting her weight to face him more, "is something I would love to hear more about. What can you smell?"

"Everything. And every smell tells me something and often more than I want to know."

"What do I smell like?"

Bigby thought through what to say to that. Loneliness. Sadness. Loss. Pure, divine attraction. A chemical combination that made him want to pull her to him when his guard was low.

"Hops and wheat. And forest. When we met, you smelled like iron and steel."

He watched her delighted reaction and was pleased with his answer. He found that he was often happy when she smiled because of something he had said her done. It was a rush he was learning to crave.

"And you smell like..." Helen leaned over, breathing deeply, "smoke."

He laughed, a short bark.

"No super smell here. I could read your palm though."

"Oh really?" Bigby asked skeptically.

"Yes really! Here..." She laid her hand on the armrest between them and he placed his hand in hers.

Bigby felt his blood begin to pound as she ran a finger over his rough palm.

"Your head line indicates you're a thinker. You analyze and consider before coming to a decision."

"You would know that anyway," he argued.

"I would. Others...?"

"Fair enough." He had more than enough reputation for rash decision making and thoughtless actions, deserved or otherwise.

"Your life line has several clear breaks. You've seen betrayals and loss."

He said nothing to that.

"But it's quite long, showing you are someone others depend on." She looked up into his eyes. "That must be hard to reconcile. That those who need you disappoint you."

Snow came immediately to mind, but he still said nothing.

Helen's heart was pounding. She had clearly gotten that last one right which was extremely interesting.

"And the heart line..."

The scent of her filled his senses, overwhelming him as she leaned over his palm.

"I need to stretch my legs," he managed before taking off down the train car.

Despair that she had gone too far drowned her. She swore, throwing her back into her seat and staring out the window. His heart line had indicated someone withdrawn but with a lot to give. Clearly she should have taken a hint...

Bigby did return some time later with two steaming cups of black coffee.

"I didn't know how you took it."

"I'm-"

"Don't. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Are you sure?"

"I have a way of letting people know when they're out of line," he smirked, sipping the awful coffee that would help him filter the air around him.

Slowly and steadily, their conversation resumed.

It was an eight hour train ride to their stop in Maine. Helen grew drowsy as night folded in around them.

Bigby watched her head drop and jerk back violently with some amusement before caving in. Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he gently leaned her against him.

Her head rested against his shoulder and he was again thrown back into memories of fireside nights in a forest in the high north. The smell of her drowned him, but now he gave himself over to it as he also sank into sleep.