I started this drabble to take Bigby for a walk, so to speak, just to see how it felt to write him. Now it's expanded into more of a meditation on Season One after I replayed it recently and it's all fresh in my mind. Just a fair warning that I'm a TWAU game truther and not a fan of the Fables comics. I want to lay that down upfront so there won't be any disappointment when there's nothing from the comic adaptation of The Wolf Among Us in any of my work.

Bigby always forgot how uncomfortable his desk chair was until he'd already sat down. The kind of stiff, uncushioned chair you wouldn't want to sit in to eat dinner, much less do hours of paperwork.

Sheriff Wolf's workspace was cramped, his desk a mess of intake documents and manila folders that hardly left room for the lamp and phone. The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, barely kicking up enough breeze to keep the air from going stagnant. There was a small desk fan propped on one of his filing cabinets that cut the rest of the late summer humidity. Autumn would be here soon and he couldn't wait for the coming chill.

Bigby groaned, lifting himself from across his desk. He hadn't meant to drift off but he damn sure needed it. Dr. Swineheart ordered him to rest more, after redoing many of his stitches, and now that the danger had passed Bigby tried to take that advice to heart. He stretched and felt the pop of a few stiff joints. His muscles ached but he'd mostly healed by now―slower than he liked, thanks to that damn silver bullet, but far faster than any mundy could ever dream.

One look at the clock in this windowless room told Bigby he was up past dawn. That had become increasingly common, and there were still more notes to finish before he could justify retiring for a few hours.

Tired hands met tired eyes. He had spent the last who knows how long reviewing case files, updating records, and cross referencing outdated reports. Much of the panic left in the Crooked Man's wake subsided but Sheriff Bigby Wolf, the only officially appointed member of Fabletown's public security team, had no time to rest.

He really needed to bring that up with Snow the next time she had a minute to go over their budget; field support would be ideal but even a part-time filing assistant was better than nothing.

Once the dust settled, Bigby touched base with everyone involved with that case. Most of them were just glad it was over, others still had their own loose ends to tie up.

Lawrence... He'd been doing better since the trial, even got that closure he wanted. Bigby made it a point to call him up weekly as a wellness check. Their conversations were short, just to make sure he was still breathing, but that was enough.

Grendel, expectedly, forgot most of their talk. Even so, whether because of what went down at Lily's funeral or the aftermath of the Crooked Man's trial, Gren had become far less prickly toward Bigby―or at least his presence at the Trip Trap. Maybe the titan remembered more than he let on, or maybe Holly put in a word with him.

She was managing better too, all things considered. Bigby and Snow ensured that repairs to the Trip Trap were a priority for the Business Office after how badly they fumbled Lily's case. That alone wouldn't make things right, nothing really could, but she damn sure didn't need any worse financial strain to worry about on top of grieving her sister and Holly seemed appreciative.

Even Woody was starting to get his act together, though he did make one hell of a fuss deciding who was most at fault for the hole in his wall. They agreed to split the difference on that one, and while his room was repaired the Woodsman took up temporary residence in Toad's empty apartment, busted lock and all.

A lot of fables needed to find new work and that took up most of the Business Office's time. The amount of couriers stuck running deliveries for the Crooked Man went deeper than they realized. Then there were other businesses that were completely shut down, like the Pudding 'n Pie; Hans and Gwen were hung out to dry as a result, and Nerissa… Well, Nerissa left town and no one was sure where she'd gone.

More and more, Bigby wondered if he should have followed her after their talk. The wolf inside snapped and snarled, urging him to pursue, but he couldn't bring himself to listen. She'd been through enough, and even if he did pull her back, make her stay, what good would it have done? She was right, it was a stupid technicality. Anything else he asked her would just call into question the charges they gave and the changes they made.

Faith, Lily, and Nerissa…

Bigby tried to timeline the events down from memory, including the information Nerissa provided after the Crooked Man's trial, but there were still some questions only she could answer.

The three of them were friends stuck under Georgie's thumb, with the Crooked Man holding the keys to their literal and metaphorical shackles. They wanted to put a stop to it, so Faith stole a photo from Crane as leverage. At first Bigby thought Lily had asked Faith to cover her shift with the Woodsman, back when they met, but with Nerissa's testimony it made more sense that Faith glamoured herself as Snow to get it...

Nerissa told him Faith was the first to have her ribbon pulled. Lily must have been collateral. If Nerissa implicated the three of them and wasn't punished how they were, then maybe Faith covering Lily's shift made her seem like more of an accomplice in their eyes. Or maybe Lily agreed with Faith's plan from the start and the two worked together, instead of it just being a convenient opportunity… Bigby couldn't say. He couldn't even be sure that the Faith he met that night at the Woodsman's place was really Faith at all, or―

Bigby frowned.

The alternative didn't make sense to him; it would be too much trouble for Faith to have orchestrated all of the aftermath while glamoured as Nerissa, even going so far as to glamour the head. There didn't seem to be much point in switching identities like that, and even less in showing her hand to him right at the end if that were true. Donkeyskin was known for that kind of trickery, though, so he couldn't let the possibility go―but if that were true then Nerissa was dead from the start and that turned the entire case on its head.

Swineheart's tests on Faith's remains focused on the cut, what sort of magic made it, but wouldn't he have been able to determine if her head was affected by glamour? He would have said something. Even if he couldn't figure it out on his own, the glamour would have to be a back alley job like the others; it would have run out of juice at some point.

No, Bigby couldn't buy that. Not yet, anyway. Nerissa made sure to give him all the clues she could; Crane's incriminating photos were placed deliberately for him to find, Faith's jewelry boxes were most likely broken in her search for Faith's ring. She tied it to the ribbon and hid it in Faith's mouth, then placed her friend's head right on the Woodlands' doorstep.

That had to be it.

Her name had even been on the order-board in the back of the Butcher's shop. Nerissa must have disguised herself as Faith that night and gone to Lily's appointment with the Woodsman, hoping he would make enough trouble for her that the Sheriff would get called. She had to make sure he wouldn't forget Faith's face, or the ribbon around her neck.

Mermaid or Donkeyskin, that girl was smart. Damn smart. The kind of smart Bigby wished he could have as support here. Too bad he let that opportunity slip through his fingers. He didn't want to complicate her life or that case any further, and now he didn't know if she'd ever come back.

Bigby pushed his chair away from the desk and knocked an empty soft pack of Huff & Puffs onto the floor. He paid it no mind, just like the filled ashtrays strewn about his office, the empty foam takeout containers, and the nearly empty coffee mugs littered about various surfaces. Bigby went to a small closet off to the side, inside which were mainly office supplies and some much needed rations of instant coffee.

A while back, the Sheriff brought an electric kettle into his office for difficult nights like these. He also kept a bottle of cheap whiskey in his desk for when the work was even harder. Fabletown's cleanup was arduous and, realistically, this kind of work would never end; it would merely ebb and flow like the tide. From where Bigby was standing, though, it seemed the waterline had finally begun to recede.

Maybe they could all breathe a little easier soon… especially Snow. But that was easier said than done, with Bluebeard cutting in line and walking around like he owned the damn place.

Bigby poured some water into the kettle, and just as he set it to boil there came a knock at his door.

Usually when people wanted something from him they were either angry or scared. They would shout his name, bang with their firsts, or barge right in. This knock was polite, calm and respectful.

"Excuse me, Sheriff. Are you in there?" The voice matched.

"I'm here, Flycatcher." Bigby flipped through his limited choices of flavor from the packets of instant coffee when the Woodlands' janitor opened the door. "You need something?"

"Oh, no. Not me." Flycatcher adjusted his cap. "I'm just making the rounds. I didn't want to disturb you if you were still working, but…."

Brown eyes swiveled around the mess of his office. When Bigby was in the thick of work the state of things rarely bothered him, but once other people stepped inside he couldn't ignore how inhospitable the place looked.

"Do you want me to clean up? I-I won't get in your way."

Bigby scratched his stubble to assuage the creeping embarrassment. "Yeah, actually. If you're not busy."

"Great!" Even when Flycatcher was excited, his voice stayed soft. "I mean, it's what I'm here for."

The orange of Flycatcher's jumpsuit was almost blinding against the dull and dreary wood grain of the Sheriff's office. He wheeled in a dingy yellow mop bucket and a small gray cart full of cleaning supplies, all of which easily took up a third of the floor space. Bigby pressed himself closer to the wall while waiting for the hot water pot.

"You must be really busy, huh, Bigby?" Flycatcher asked as he picked up a stray mug.

"We're all busy, Fly."

"I guess so. I try to be, anyway."

Flycatcher poured what little stale coffee was left into his dirtied mop bucket, dried the rim with a rag, and set it atop the nearby filing cabinet. Since the mugs came from Bigby's own apartment, washing them would be his responsibility; collecting them in one place would just make that easier, and keep them out of the janitor's way.

Bigby watched him do the same for the others with a creased brow. The former Frog Prince had always been dutiful and work oriented as a Fabletown resident, it never made any sense to him why Crane would fire Flycatcher. Not only was he good at his job, leaving him without work was practically abuse. Then again, maybe the cruelty was the point. Crane sure did his damnedest to avoid physical violence but that asshole had been hurting fables in other ways for years.

The bubbling kettle caught Flycatcher's attention through his ruffled curtain of hair. He plucked up the last dirty mug, sprayed some cleaning solution inside, and set to work on it with a fresh paper towel.

"I know we're all just doing our best, making ends meet…" Flycatcher rinsed the cup with plain water, "But you work hard, Sheriff. You really do."

He inspected the mug thoroughly, then presented it to Bigby just as the water reached a boil.

"Uh, thanks." Bigby took the cup, along with the acknowledgment.

Flycatcher smiled―subdued as always, but just as genuine.

The corners of Bigby's mouth lifted. His smile was a brief, tired beacon of calm before he remembered where he was and what he was doing.

"Let me get out of your way," Bigby offered as he prepared his drink, then returned to his desk and that same damn uncomfortable chair.

"Thank you. I won't take too long."

The click of Bigby's lighter seemed to prompt Flycatcher onto the next task. He collected the full ashtray on Bigby's desk and dumped the contents into a trash bag hanging from the cart. Like with the mug, Flycatcher wiped the ashtray clean with a cloth and handed it to Bigby, who traded Flycatcher for an empty takeout container filled with more dead cigarettes.

There wasn't much silence between them for long. Flycatcher was always personable, even if awkward at times.

"I like cleaning your office, Sheriff," Flycatcher said without pausing his work.

"You do?" Bigby raised one of his brows.

"Yeah. It might feel a little cramped but there's a lot more here for me to look at than when I clean the halls." Flycatcher tensed suddenly and peered over his shoulder. "I-I mean, if it's okay for me to see the stuff on your cork boards…"

"Relax, you're not gonna get in trouble. I don't put anything confidential up on the walls."

"If you're sure… I don't mean to be nosy."

"It's fine, Fly. You probably saw worse things at the Tweedles' office."

"Maybe…" Flycatcher emptied Bigby's trash can. "Their office kind of reminded me of yours."

Bigby gave a confused grunt through a puff on his cigarette.

Flycatcher stammered. "B-because of all the paperwork, I mean…"

"...Right."

Their conversation lulled as Flycatcher collected the remaining empty takeout containers. Bigby had practically lived in this room since that case closed, only going back to his apartment to shower and sleep. If he had a Murphy bed in here then he'd really have been in trouble.

Flycatcher couldn't let the silence sit for long. "By the way… I know it's late, but I-I think you did the right thing. With the Crooked Man, I mean."

Bigby rubbed the back of his neck. "I hope so… I know it didn't make everyone happy."

"That's hard to do. They probably just need some time. It's good to have alternatives, you know? Then it won't be so scary when things go wrong. They won't think they'll, uh…"

Be killed.

Flycatcher kept beating around the bush; Bigby noticed these topics were always difficult for him. The wolf cleared his throat to ease some tension.

"Yeah. Speaking of, how'd it go with him up at The Farm?"

Greenleaf's suggestion was poetic justice, Bigby thought. He liked the witch's spiteful sense of irony.

"About like you'd expect. Some folks thought it was fair, others weren't too comfortable about the, uh… implications." Flycatcher wrapped the end of another garbage back and deposited it on the underside of his cart. "But it's better than the alternative!"

"Yeah, I doubt anyone up there would enjoy hearing about fables getting thrown down the Witching Well," Bigby grumbled, rubbing his tired brow.

"R-Right…" Flycatcher swallowed. "And um… For what it's worth, I think you did the right thing with Colin and the Toads, too."

Bigby lifted his head. "Really?"

"I mean… It's not great how things ended up. I know how sad TJ was about it. Toad and Colin were, well…"

"Pissed."

"Right… B-But, maybe it's for the best."

Bigby couldn't fault Flycatcher's logic, especially with the Tweedles on the run and how they threatened Toad's son. Going to The Farm would keep them away from any immediate retribution, even if it was an empty threat. Still, the whole situation didn't sit right with him.

"I'm gonna talk to Snow soon," Bigby sighed. "They're right... The Farm shouldn't be seen as a punishment."

"Oh. That'd―that'd be great!" Flycatcher smiled.

"Maybe if they can do some work up there they can pay off the difference for a glamour to come back and get another job in the city." Bigby breathed smoke. "I don't know… The current system's just not cutting it."

"That's a pretty good compromise." Flycatcher paused in his work, more engaged with the current topic. "It'll be tough but that way it'll be more like community service, just enough to get them back on their feet. Then maybe it won't feel like a… Like a, uh…"

"Like a prison." That's what Bigby hoped, anyway.

Fabletown's rules existed for a reason but their government had been broken for years. Snow was well aware of that, but convincing her to change laws without Mayor Cole's involvement was another matter. She wanted to do everything by the book… and sometimes the book was wrong. If their foundation was faulty then they'd have to dig it up before the whole town sank.

"Don't tell them I said any of that shit if you see 'em, alright?" Bigby frowned.

Flycatcher fumbled with replacing the trash bag in Bigby's waste bin. "Oh! Uh, o-of course not."

"I just don't want them getting their hopes up…" No change was guaranteed and those two had a penchant for making asses out of themselves when given an inch.

"Yeah… I hear you, Sheriff."

"Good… Thanks."

"Though, you know―"

Bigby groused through a drink of coffee.

"―Maybe there are more witches out there, like Auntie Greenleaf."

"Yeah, maybe… Snow wondered the same thing."

"If there's more witches who can produce similar results, maybe at different price points… that sure would take care of the glamour shortage."

One of the first things Snow wanted to do was make sure those back alley glamours were illegal instead of just frowned upon. It wasn't the best solution, given the circumstances.

"Right," Bigby stamped his cigarette out in the freshly cleaned ashtray. "It's worth looking into."

Another smile pulled at Flycatcher's freckled face. "I'm just about done. If you like, I can mop the floor once you're finished with work?"

"Sure. I don't think I'll be much longer." Fatigue was catching up with him and the coffee wasn't doing much good.

"Okay!" Flycatcher's enthusiasm was as muted as ever. "I'll just take this trash out and freshen the bucket."

Both men straightened their stations; Bigby arranged the papers strewn about his desk into their respective folders, or made new ones for any unhoused sheets, while Flycatcher made sure all of his supplies were accounted for and that the garbage bags wouldn't fall off his cart.

When Flycatcher opened the door, Bigby called after him. "Hey―You want a cup?"

"Oh! Thank you, Sheriff. I would, it's just…" Flycatcher's expression wobbled between gratitude and apology. "I don't want to spill."

"Yeah… Well, thanks." Bigby raised his mug and gestured toward the room. "Appreciate it."

"Sure thing. A-And thank you―for the talk. It helps…"

The cart left the room first, pushed out with the wheeled bucket and Flycatcher at the rear. As he exited, the door stopped just short of touching the latch. Not a moment later and Flycatcher leaned back in.

"Um… Just so you know," Flycatcher lowered his voice, "There's a lot of people out there and they don't look happy."

"They're never happy, Flycatcher," Bigby sighed through a cloud of smoke, "That's why they're coming to the Business Office."

"Oh, yeah… Um. Good luck today, Sheriff."

"You too, Fly."

Once the door fully closed, Bigby sat in his office sipping coffee and listening to the wheels of Flycatcher's cart grow quiet down the hall. He heard the ding of the elevator's arrival and felt its descent through the floor. Bigby packed up the rest of his loose files and slid them into his locked drawer; he was too tired to sort them properly.

With cup in hand, Bigby stood from his workspace. He would have to make multiple trips to bring all the mugs home, but that could wait. Sure enough, down the hall there was a line in front of the Business Office; Grendel, Hans, Gwen, Tiny Tim, all the usual suspects since the last case wrapped, and more would join them within the hour.

"Any of you have business with me today?" Bigby called from halfway out the door.

Gren snarled back, "If we did, don't you think we'd be standing over there?" and suddenly the hall was filled with hurried whispers, all pleading for him not to rile up the Sheriff.

Bigby just sighed and closed the door. "Same shit, different day…"

At least a little had changed; for once he could get some sleep.