He can smell it on her the moment she steps into his office.

It's an intriguing change to her usual lavender tinged sweetness that he's come to recognize as hers before she even enters a room. It's different – sweeter, headier, with a distinct change so distracting that he realizes she's been talking to him for at least a minute before it occurs to him that he should probably be listening.

(She is his boss. No matter how weird that still sounds to him. Partners seems closer to the truth, but hell if he wants to be Co-Mayor of fucking Fabletown with all the shit this place gets itself into.)

But that damn smell. What the hell is it?

A strange tingle runs down his spine at the primal familiarity of it. He's smelled it before, that's for sure, but not on her. In fact, he doesn't think he can match this particular scent to anybody or anything that he's smelled in he doesn't know how long, but it sure as hell is something stronger than a change of perfume, or sweat, or even arousal.

(Now that's something he's become quite familiar with, actually, and he'd recognize that on Snow in an instant.)

He's just about to drop it and attempt to focus on her words instead of that damned smell when it hits him like a kick to the chest.

Fuck.

"Bigby?"

Shit. Holy fucking shit.

He feels like his belly has been split and filled with the Woodsman's fucking stones again and his mouth goes dry. His eyes drop to his desk as he fumbles in a drawer for a cigarette, placing it shakily between his lips. No, that can't be it, can it?

"Bigby."

He glances up sharply to meet her gaze, her blue eyes flashing with an unspoken irritation.

"I- uh- yeah, Snow? I'm listening," he lies, and lights up, breathing deep as he inhales the comforting tendrils of smoke making those stones in his gut feel a little bit less heavy.

Snow groans, rubbing a hand across her forehead with a roll of her eyes.

"Great, now the only person in this freaking town on my side doesn't listen to me."

He swallows hard, forcing his stare to tear from where it had dropped to straight ahead of him, at the crisp, buttoned blouse resting flat over her stomach and goes back to her eyes. Her brow is creased with frustration and her eyes have subtle color beneath them, implying even less sleep than usual.

"Snow. How are you?" he asks softly. "I mean, you look tired," he backtracks, as her eyes narrow. He glances away and ashes his cigarette, putting it out on second thought.

"I'm fine," she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest.

Hell, does she even know?

The longer the silence sits between them, the more her own stoic expression falters, giving way to suspicion and then concern.

Yeah. She definitely knows.

Bigby sighs, habitually reaching for his half-smoked cigarette and then stopping halfway through.

(Damn, he's going to hate having to get used to that.)

"Listen, Snow, are you sure you aren't working too hard? You just look like you need a break is all."

Snow gapes at him, chuckling dryly. "Oh, I know I'm working too hard, but none of us really has a choice right now, do we?" She raises her brow, suddenly looking uneasy. "Just take the files and look into that lead for me, Bigby? I've got to get back to the office. I've got a line of people waiting a mile long out there."

She agitatedly smoothes her hand over her blouse and skirt and avoids eye contact.

"I'm fine." She repeats with a stiff nod. "Now if there isn't anything else, I have an angry town to take care of."

She leaves him with a pile of manila folders that he has no fucking clue about because he was so distracted, but he doesn't give them a second's glance as the door to his office closes.

"God damn," he whispers under his breath, raking a hand through his hair.

Snow's pregnant. There's no doubt in his mind of what that smell was. She's pregnant with his cub. His baby. Their baby.

"Holy fucking shit."